‘If only,’ one man told them, ‘she could be queen of all Europe. She has beauty without pride. She possesses the blessings, and none of the vices, of youth. She is not impetuous or foolish. She follows the promptings of virtue in everything she does. Modesty is her guide. She is a paragon of courtesy and gentleness. Holiness is in her heart. Bounty to the poor is in her hand.’ All of this was true.
But let me return to the story. The merchants declared that they would not return home until they had seen Constance for themselves. Once they had seen her, they were in truth content. They loaded their ships with merchandise and travelled back to Syria where they conducted their business as before. They prospered. There is nothing more to say.
Now it so happened that these men were much favoured by the sultan of Syria. He was very courteous and gracious to them. Whenever they came back from any foreign country, for example, he invited them into his presence and questioned them about all the wonders they had seen or heard of. He loved to hear news of strange lands.
So the merchants told him, among other things, about Lady Constance. They told him of her beauty and her virtue. They praised her gentleness and her nobility. They extolled her so much, in fact, that the sultan began to imagine her in his arms. He wanted to love her and to cherish her for the rest of his life.
In the book of the heavens, the great dark sky above us, the stars will have written that his love was to end in his death. There can be no doubt about it. In the patterns of the stars can be seen, as if in a glass, the death of every man. Yet who can interpret them properly?
In ancient times the stars had foretold the death of Hector and of Achilles, of Caesar and of Pompey; their fates were decided before they were born. In the heavens could be seen the siege of Thebes. The stars prefigured the death of Socrates, the adventures of Hercules and the misfortunes of Sampson. Yet the wit of man is dull. He cannot see what is above him.
The sultan consulted his privy council and – to cut this story short – he told them of his intention to possess Constance by any means he could. If he could not have her, he said, then he was as good as dead. So he charged them with the task of discovering a way his wish might be granted. How could he get hold of her?
Diverse courtiers said diverse things. They argued between themselves and canvassed many opinions. They had plenty of ideas, of course. Some advised the use of magic, while others suggested even more deceitful methods. And yet finally they concluded that the only way to win her was to marry her. It was the best and simplest solution.
But then they realized the difficulties. To be quite plain about it, there was such a difference between the laws of East and West that it would be very difficult to find any accommodation. ‘No Christian ruler,’ they said to the sultan, ‘would dream of marrying his daughter to one who professed the sweet teaching of Mahomet. Blessed be the prophet.’
The sultan gave a firm reply. ‘Rather than lose Constance, then, I will be baptized as a Christian. She must be mine. There is nothing else to be said. No. Please. There can be no argument about this. Either I have her or I will die. So go on your way without delay. Travel to Rome. Bring back the woman who has plunged me into such distress.’
What else need I say? There were negotiations and embassies between the two realms. The pope was obliged to mediate between them, too. The princes of the Church, and the princes of the Roman court, were all involved. The Romans themselves were agreed that this was a good opportunity for augmenting the Christian communion. It represented a triumph against idolatry.
So these were the terms of the treaty. The sultan and all his kin, as well as the members of his court and government, would be baptized as Christians. After that ceremony was performed, the sultan was free to marry Constance. A great sum of gold was also to be paid to Rome, in surety of his good intentions. The pact was duly signed by both parties. Oh Constance, God help you!
Some people would now expect me to describe the feasts and celebrations arranged by the emperor for his daughter. But I do not have space to enumerate all the details of the festivities. I can only say that they were magnificent. It was, after all, a noble occasion.
It was agreed that Constance would be accompanied on her journey by many bishops. Travelling with her would also be lords and ladies of renown. There were others with her, too, but I cannot remember them all. Then it was proclaimed throughout Rome that the citizens should pray for her, and invoke the blessing of Jesus Christ upon the marriage.
So the day came for her departure. That woeful day, that fatal day, could not be avoided. Everyone came out on to the streets. Constance herself was overcome with sorrow. She arose that morning, pale and trembling, and dressed herself for the journey. She knew that there was no other course.
Who can wonder at her tears? She was being sent to a strange land, far away from the friends she had loved. She was being placed under the dominion of a man about whom she knew nothing. Husbands, of course, are always good and considerate. Just ask their wives. I say no more.
‘Father,’ Constance said, ‘take leave of your wretched daughter. And you, Mother, who has brought me up so tenderly. I have loved you both. You have been most precious to me – more precious than anything, except the Saviour on high. I commend myself to your prayers, now that I am about to depart for Syria. I will never see you again.
‘It is your will that I travel to a barbarian nation. So be it. May Christ, who died for our sins, give me the strength to obey His commands. I am only a weak female. It is no matter if I die. Women are born to servitude and punishment. It is ordained that they should be ruled by men.’
There was never such weeping heard when Troy fell in flames, or when Thebes was taken, or when Rome was wounded by Hannibal. The tears and laments echoed through her chambers. But she had no choice. She was obliged to go.
Oh first mover, outer sphere of heaven, inflexible and cruel! You are the power that moves all things from east to west, that makes the stars revolve in their unnatural course. It was you who put Mars in the ascendant at the beginning of this dangerous voyage. It was you who cast a blight upon the marriage.
Inauspicious ascent, bleak and tortuous in effect! Unhappy Mars must fall out of his place into the darkest house of all, the house of Saturn. Oh feeble moon, of unfortunate fate! You move into a place where you are not welcomed. You are banished from your blessed haven. Such are the movements of the spheres.
And as for you, imprudent emperor of Rome, Constance ’s father, was there no wise man in the city? Is one time no better than another in Rome? Surely you had an astrologer in your court who could have determined the proper moment for such a voyage? Was there no one who could cast Constance ’s horoscope? Or are all the Romans stupid or slow-witted?
So the woeful maid is conducted to the ship with every formality and every ceremony. ‘Jesus Christ be with you all,’ she cried out from the deck. And the crowd shouted out, ‘Farewell! Farewell Constance!’ They had no more to say. She tried to maintain her composure, but it was difficult. Now I must leave her on the high seas and return once more to Syria.
The mother of the sultan, a woman who was a pit of vice, knew all about her son’s intentions; the sultaness had heard that he was about to abandon his old religion. So she sent for her own privy council. They gathered in the palace according to her instructions, and when they were all assembled together she told them her plan.
‘Lords,’ she said, ‘you all know well enough that my son is about to turn away from the laws of the Koran, vouchsafed to Mahomet by God Himself, and to do great dishonour to our holy religion. But I make my vow, before you all, that I would rather die than disobey the least one of our religious laws.