The moment of my liberation grew closer, minute by minute. What a glorious adventure it would be. The bells tolled until their vibrations beat painfully against my ears like the throb of a military drum. Once again I stood in the abbey church of Saint-Denis. Once again Louis approached the altar, and as before the heat and emotion pressed down on us. Today he was clad in a black pilgrim’s tunic, the red cross of the crusader emblazoned on his breast, as it was on hundreds of others around me. It was over twelve months since Abbot Bernard had preached the Crusade at Vezelay. How long does it take to muster an army and all its accoutrements? Far longer than any of us had expected. Now we were ready, the army gathered, the retinues assembled, the baggage carts pulled by oxen packed and repacked. Around me the church blazed with thousands of candles. Banners and gonfalons shivered in the air from every surface. It was an awe-inspiring occasion—if only it would end and we could get on with it.
