Voices in Time

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From many leagues came citizens high and low to see the pontiff, to hear his message. Those unable to find lodging put up tents. We are told that the fields near Clermont resembled a military encampment. Peter the Hermit was seen, albeit chronicles from those days disagree as to whether he spoke.

All in good time His Holiness came forth, attended by cardinals and bishops, a tall man robed in white. When he lifted his hands, the multitude fell silent. He spoke with sweet and persuasive eloquence:

“O Frankish men, in how many ways has our Lord blessed you. How fertile is your land. How steadfast your faith. How indisputable your courage. To you, accordingly, do we address our brief. We wish you to know what just and grievous cause has brought us hence. We hear ominous tidings. We hear of a malevolent race withdrawn from the communion of our belief. Turks, Persians, Arabs, accursed, estranged from God, that have laid waste by fire and sword to the walls of Constantinople, to the Arm of Saint George. Until now Constantinople was our bulwark, our rampart. Now it stands disfigured, imperiled. How many churches have these enemies of God polluted, torn asunder? We hear of altars desecrated by filth from Turkish bodies. What else can we say? What more shall be said? To whom, therefore, does the task of vengeance fall, if not to you? Be you now armed with the sign of the cross and step forth to battle enemies of our Lord. Let no obstacle dissuade you. Let no possession detain you, nor family solicitude. Recall the words of thy blessed Savior. Whosoever shall abandon for my name’s sake his house, or his brethren, or his sisters, or his father, or his mother, or his wife, or his children, or his property, shall receive a hundredfold and shall inherit everlasting life. O ye Franks. Palestine is a land flowing with milk and honey, precious in the sight of God, a place to be divided. Therefore we call upon you. Wrest from that accursed race the promised land, Jerusalem, fruitful above other lands, center of the earth, made illustrious by His sojourn, consecrated by His passion, redeemed by His death, glorified by His burial. The way is short, the struggle brief. Fear not. A bed awaits you in Paradise. Therefore march assured in expiation of your sin. Go assured that after this world you shall know imperishable glory in the world to come. Let the host of the Lord rush against His foe. Now may the army of God cry against His enemies. Deus lo volt! Deus lo volt! Deus lo volt!”

And the shout rang across the meadow. God wills it! We are told that while Pope Urban addressed the multitude, an apparition of the Holy City glowed in the sky above his head. Does not a certain order embrace all things?

Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy knelt before the pontiff, asking leave to go. His Holiness decreed that the Bishop Adhémar should go and rule the host. This was as it should be. Nine years earlier he had made the pilgrimage and now was first to accept the cross.

Next came envoys from Raymond, count of Toulouse, half-Spanish through his mother, Princess Almodis of Barcelona. He was fifty-three years old, scarred by ancient wounds, had lost one eye battling the Moors. Count Raymond would undertake the journey, his blue standard leading Provence mountaineers with saddles fashioned from soft Cordoba leather, reins weighted with gold ornament. He would bring his youthful wife Elvira, princess of Aragon, and their newly born son. Thus would they journey toward another life, realizing that duty imposed by Holy Scripture which bids us transcend the self.

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