Guibert's description of the count of Normandy, for example, shows
remarkable moral flexibility:

It would hardly be right to remain silent about Robert, Count of
Normandy, whose bodily indulgences, weakness of will, prodigality
with money, gourmandising, indolence, and lechery were expiated by
the perseverance and heroism that he vigorously displayed in the army
of the Lord. His inborn compassion was naturally so great that he
did not permit vengeance to be taken against those who had plotted to
betray him and had been sentenced to death, and if something did
happen to them, he wept for their misfortune. He was bold in battle,
although adeptness at foul trickery, with which we know many men
befouled themselves, should not be praised, unless provoked by
unspeakable acts. For these and for similar things he should now be
forgiven, since God has punished him in this world, where he now
languishes in jail, deprived of all his honors.

His defense of Stephen of Blois also shows a remarkably complex
tolerance and sensitivity towards aristocratic failure:

At that time, Count Stephen of Blois, formerly man of great
discretion and wisdom, who had been chosen as leader by the entire
army, said that he was suffering from a painful illness, and, before
the army had broken into Antioch, Stephen made his way to a certain
small town, which was called Alexandriola. When the city had been
captured and was again under siege, and he learned that the Christian
leaders were in dire straits, Stephen, either unable or unwilling,
delayed sending them aid, although they were awaiting his help. When
he heard that an army of Turks had set up camp before the city walls,
he rode shrewdly to the mountains and observed the amount the enemy