More and more Germans gathered around the pillory.
Many of the poor German Crusaders wore tattered old robes, with unkempt beards, cracked lips, and sallow faces, as if they had all been cast from the same mold.
Those dressed more finely were mostly newcomers who had only recently arrived in the Holy Land from Europe and had yet to endure the ravages of a prolonged siege.
At first, they merely followed the Crusader from Bohemia in singing the "Hymn of Saint Lothar." Only when their mouths gradually grew dry did they stop.
A German knight raised a sheepskin waterskin to his lips, but only managed to squeeze out a few drops, which fell onto his cracked lips and vanished at once without even needing to be swallowed.
"Those Gauls across from us are guzzling wine, while we do not even have a jar of clean water!"
A ringing voice suddenly sounded.
"We have had enough of this unfair treatment!"
The German Crusaders all turned to look. It was a young soldier in a ragged surcoat, the cross on his chest stained with blood. He beat his chest and shouted:
"Our dead countrymen have nowhere to be buried, and our dear friends tortured by illness have no one to heal them. Those wealthy Gauls were born with fertile lands my German brothers do not possess. They live lives of comfort, yet have never shown the slightest generosity or charity to their brothers in Christ."
"They only ever say, 'Look, those German rabble, poor because of their laziness!' Then they shamelessly seize our warhorses, stripping our knights of their honor, and have the nerve to claim that this is the greatest contribution we can make to the holy war!"
His words gave voice to the feelings of many German knights.
Recently, even