“That’s just what the Emperor fears,” Bohemond answered sharply. “It’s crossed the mind of every one of us from time to time, but you must never say it out loud while you are in Romania. Put it right out of your thoughts. Now to govern a province of Romania, as a faithful vassal of the Emperor of course, would be quite another thing. That might be worth trying. One day there will be a weak Emperor, and then your grandchildren would prosper. But that’s all in the future. For the present, Alexius is as brave as a Frank and as cunning as a Greek, a dangerous combination.”
Bohemond turned about.
“Is everything clear, young Tancred?” he asked sharply. “Until we reach Constantinople I command this army—because my sword is the heaviest in it if for no better reason. What’s more, I can get you there safely. Not everyone could do that. In the city we meet the Emperor, and the other pilgrims. I don’t know what we meet the Emperor, and the other pilgrims. I don’t know what comes after that. If it’s something absurdly dangerous I shall go straight home to Apulia. My vow will be unfulfilled, but I can get some bishop to absolve me. Even the Pope can’t command a Christian to commit suicide. If you wish to leave my army you may go tomorrow. Once we are on the march again any disobedience of my orders will be punished.’
"Until we reach the city I shall obey your orders, and if need be fight under your banner, uncle. After that, we leave the future to settle itself. Will that do?"
They turned amicably to the little cottage where they slept side by side on the mud floor.
In the New Year the army resumed its march, a little north of east until it reached the Via Egnatia, the paved road from Durazzo to Constantinople. It was easy to travel on the great road, and at every halt provisions awaited them. But they must submit to Greek guides and a Greek escort.
The guides were officials of high rank, polite and always willing to talk through their interpreters. By this time Bohemond had accepted as a fact of natural history that no Greek understood a word of any foreign tongue, and that all their interpreters were renegade foreigners. He himself was fairly fluent in the Greek of Bari, which was not quite the Greek of the city. Of course he could not read anything written in their strange alphabet, so Greeks of the upper class, all literate, took it for granted that he could not understand their language. He encouraged the mistake by always discussing official business through an interpreter. One never knew when that kind of thing might come in useful.
The pilgrims saw no Greek soldiers, except a few Patzinaks standing at forks in the road to indicate the right way. These heathen knew no Christian language, so it was impossible to question them. They would merely point and grin, unless some pilgrim was obstinate about taking the wrong road; then they would draw their bows and shout what was evidently a threat. Knights did not take kindly to being directed by traffic police, but Bohemond commanded them to do as they were told. He guessed that there must be other Greek soldiers within reach, or these savages would not be so bold. Then a few words overhead while they passed through a village told him that a large body of Patzinaks followed behind.
Discipline was as good as could be expected, when the pilgrims were bored by their long slow journey. They had landed in October, and they were still in Macedonia by February. There was only one nasty outbreak, when the pilgrims discovered that the village through which they were passing was inhabited by heretics. Bohemond already knew this, though he wondered how the rank and file had managed to find out. Of course they sacked the place.
The Greek officials were annoyed, protesting that the heretics had been exiled to this spot by imperial command and were thus under the Emperor’s protection. Bohemond wondered whether someone had deliberately tried to cause an incident. Why bring the pilgrims through a village of heretics, and then let knowledge of it leak out? But when all was over the officials accepted his apologies. Perhaps some other Greek had been trying to discredit them as inefficient. All Greeks were cunning and devious.
In the third week of February they reached the River Vardar, flowing through a green and pleasant valley. There was plenty to eat, and it seemed a good place in which to rest the horses and observe Ash Wednesday. But the guides explained to Bohemond that the pilgrims were not supposed to stay in one place for more than three nights; rather than quarrel with them he gave orders to resume the march.
The River Vardar was too wide to be bridged; but there was a good paved ford and a ferry for the baggage. As always, crossing was a slow business; as always, the non-combatants were slowest. Ferry-boats returning were nearly as full as those going east, as cooks and servants came back for something they had forgotten. Bohemond led his knights through the ford, and then rode on to get away from the noise and confusion.
After a short stage they halted, in the hope that the baggage and dinner would soon come up. Bohemond was sitting on the grass with his back against the peak of his war-saddle, when an excited Italian sergeant galloped up from the rear.
"To arms, my lord," he cried. "Heathen Patzinaks are killing our men on the far side of the river.’
"Do they hold the ford?’ asked Bohemond, as a groom placed the war-saddle on the still-damp back of his horse. "They do? Then we need cross-bows to clear it. Hugo, get the cross-bows moving, all of them. Hurry them back. And you, dry that horse’s back before you put the saddle on. Dry it with your breeches if you can’t find a rubber. You’ll give the beast a sore back, and there isn’t another good horse for sale this side of Brindisi. Now, gentlemen, we are in no great hurry. We can’t cross the river until the cross-bows have opened the ford for us. Where is lord Tancred?"
"I told him first, sir,’ said the messenger. "He has already gone back.’
"Then there is absolutely no hurry for the rest of us. No one is to break down a good horse by galloping to this petty affair. When we do move off, trot or canter gently.’
While Bohemond looked calm and almost bored his mind was racing. If once the pilgrims began fighting in earnest they would not stop until they had ravaged all Romania or been killed by the Greeks. This might be a treacherous assault planned by the Emperor; in that case they would all be dead in a few hours, for no Greek took chances. He must assume that it was an accidental collision, and damp it down by showing no interest; it had been a mistake to hurry those cross-bows. But he was always sensitive about his rear and they were the right men to drive Patzinaks from a ford. It was hard to turn in a moment from the alert commander into a bored nobleman, but he had managed it. A pity if young Tancred were killed by a Greek mercenary before he had met an infidel, but that strange young man must see his first action some day. He continued to lounge, apparently without a care in the world.
An hour later he was armed and mounted, on his way back to the river bank. Suddenly a squadron of knights galloped to meet him. Or were they knights? They rode destriers; but they were clad in tunics, without shields or mail. Young Tancred reined in before him.
"Don’t gallop so fast. That horse has to carry you to Jerusalem. Where is your mail? What have you been doing?’
"Sorry, uncle. Sorry, my lord, I should say. I have just ridden in my first charge, and I am still excited. But my horse is sound, and we have taken some remounts.’ He pointed to a knot of bound Patzinaks who rode under-escort behind him.
"Those ponies are no use to us, except perhaps to eat. You’re dripping wet, and filthy. Whom did you charge, and why?’
"Those Patzinaks, of course. They had attacked some of our knights who were still on the far side of the river. They held the western end of the ford in force, so I turned south. As soon as I was out of their sight I swam my horse across the river. That was why I thought it prudent to take off my mail, but I left a groom to guard it. Some of your knights followed me. On the far bank we charged the Patzinaks, and cornered them against the river bank. We killed some, and a few got away. The rest surrended, so I brought them to you for questioning. Have we anyone who speaks their language?’
"Of course not. But some of them may speak
Greek, and here comes a Greek lord complete with interpreter. You left your mail, and I suppose your shield and lance, so that your horse could swim more easily? I’m glad you remembered to take your sword, or I might have supposed you were deserting to the enemy. But it has all turned out well. Thank you. Now we must try to find out what these savages were trying to do.’
The interpreter questioned a Greek-speaking Patzinak; Bohemond, with an expressionless face, privately checked the translation and found it accurate. It seemed that these brutes were too stupid to do anything but obey orders. They had been told to keep the pilgrims on the move, and here were knights delaying at the river crossing. They had shouted to them to get on, and been surprised that their message was not understood. So they had loosed a few arrows. Where they came from that was rather a gesture of emphasis than a declaration of hostile intent. Then one thing had led to another just because they were faithful mercenaries who obeyed orders.
"I believe what they say,’ Bohemond declared to the Greek interpreter, "though I know they haven’t told everything. At some point it struck the brightest of them that they had cornered a handful of knights, and might win some of our precious western mail if they murdered the lot of them. Otherwise they wouldn’t have held the ford. But I don’t want to deprive your Emperor of their services. Officially we shall call it an accidental clash, brought on because they obeyed orders too zealously. Try to keep them a bit further from my rear unless you want more trouble. From now on I shall order my cross-bows to shoot at any Patzinak who lingers within range. A cross-bow carries much farther than the short bows they use. Now they may go off and earn more pay. I suppose. Tancred, they lost their purses in the scuffle, and some of our men happened to pick them up? Then that’s all, interpreter. Tell them to get moving.’
As the relieved prisoners trotted off, free, Bohemond rode aside with his nephew. "That’s another tip. Those mounted archers have no fixed home, so they carry all their wealth in their belts. Even the shabbiest corpse or prisoner is worth robbing, if you can spare the time. You did very well, and I’m proud of you. Next time you charge you should wear mail. It’s safer. But you have an eye for country, and you make up your mind quickly. When we meet the Turks you shall have an independent command.’
As Lent advanced the army settled into a routine. The great road led them east by easy stages. At every halt provisions awaited them. Armed Patzinaks barred every side road, so that no pilgrim might wander off by himself; but that was a sensible precaution which could not annoy a veteran. Some pilgrims complained, especially the clergy among them, that they were never permitted to enter a walled town. They might not pray even in the famous shrines of Salonica, endowed with plentiful relics of the Apostles, or indeed see any of the wonders of the civilised east. But the Greek guides answered that men who were marching to worship actually within Christ’s Holy Sepulchre should not delay their journey to visit the tombs of mere saints. Bohemond was disappointed. He was quite sure that his own shrine of St Nicholas at Bari was more beautiful and more holy than anything Romania had to offer; but he would have liked to examine some of those gates from the inside. Unfortunately a man of his great height and striking appearance could not get near the walls in disguise.
Unexpectedly, he had found a competent deputy and second in command, the young nephew whom he had barely known when they landed beside Durazzo. It was probable that Tancred would get himself killed in his first fight, for the lad was utterly fearless. To take off your mail to get at the enemy quicker was a strange beginning to warfare. But Tancred saw in a flash what ought to be done, and was willing to take responsibility. While he lived he would be as useful as an extra sword-arm. His gallant rescue of the stragglers at the crossing of the Vardar had made him the hero of the army; even veterans would follow without grumbling a young knight of such prowess.
The Emperor sent an envoy of high rank to supervise the approach to the city, a pleasant young lord who was willing to be polite even to Franks. He was a distant kinsman of the imperial house, handicapped with the name of Alexius Comnenus; so he was always addressed by his title of Curopalates. He used his interpreter with such practised grace, and the interpreter was so quick and unassuming, that Bohemond could gossip with him by the hour and forget that his companion spoke no Frankish.
On 1st April 1097, the Wednesday in Holy Week, the army encamped outside the town of Rusa in Thrace. At last they were nearing the end of the march they had begun in October; Constantinople was not more than a hundred miles away. When Bohemond suggested that they might be permitted to halt for more than the agreed three days, to celebrate Easter in such a pleasant spot, the Curopalates readily agreed. As a return gesture of friendship Bohemond commanded that the survivors of the baggage animals they had taken from Castoria should be returned to their lawful owners.
They were now within range of the gossip of Constantinople, which the Curopalates was always willing to pass on. Bohemond took him aside for the usual walk in a meadow which was the only chance of private conversation in that crowded army. He inquired for news of the other pilgrims.
It was hard to remember that the interpreter walked with them. He spoke in the first person, and copied the tone of voice used by each speaker.
"Yours is not the last army to arrive, lord Bohemond. Count Isangeles is not far behind you. Have I got his name right?’
"Very nearly, Curopalates. His name is Raymond of St Gilles, a very great lord. He is Count of Toulouse and Marquis of Provence.’
"With him, but leading a separate army, marches the Count of Flanders. I know that is his correct title. His father once served the Emperor in arms, our good friend and still remembered in Romania.’
"Is he the last?’
"There are no more Franks in Romania. But in Italy another army is getting ready to sail to Durazzo. Their leader styles himself the Count of the North, which sounds rather a magniloquent title.*
"A mistranslation. He is Count of the men from the north, now dwelling in a Frankish province. My own grandfather came from those parts, so I know I am right. Duke of Normandy is a better version. Are you sure he has not yet landed in Romania?’
"He arranged to land just after Easter. I don’t know what is happening in Durazzo today, and he may be there. But have you ever heard of an army that arrived before it was expected? Soldiers usually find it hard to be punctual.’
The jest gave Bohemond an excuse to smile; at such good news he could not keep his face unmoved. Since he left Apulia he had been wondering how the Duke of Normandy would receive him. The lord of Bari and Taranto was a great Count and a famous warrior. But to Robert fitzRollo, Duke of all the Norman race, he would be merely the son of a country knight who had gone abroad and done well for himself in a foreign land. That his silly brother Roger the Purse had been so humble before the Duke would make things worse.
Now Duke Robert had delayed in Italy. He had a reputation for muddle and incompetence; probably his journey to Constantinople would be slow. Before the Normans of Normandy arrived Bohemond should have at least six weeks to get on terms with the other Counts. But Duke Robert might lift his eyebrows at the pretensions of an upstart Hauteville. There was no time to be wasted.
"What of the pilgrims ahead of me? Has the Emperor received them graciously?’
"Count Hugh, brother to the King of all the Franks, is now lodged in the Emperor’s own palace. There has been a little trouble with Count Godfrey, the one who led his army overland through Hungary. The Emperor offered to ship them into Asia, but they prefer to remain outside the city. There have been riots in the suburbs - perhaps a few swords drawn - nothing serious. They will all settle down when your supreme commander arrives, this Count Isangeles whom you call by another name?
"Count Raymond our supreme commander? Who says so? I don’t for one, and there will be others who think as I do?
"Count Isangeles says so himself, in a message his envoy brought to the city. At least those aren’t the actual words of the message, bu
t it comes to the same thing. He said that your religious leader, a Bishop appointed by your Pope, marches under his command. Since a Bishop cannot bear arms I suppose the Count who rules him will command in the field?
"Oh dear, you’ve got it all wrong. The emperor has Franks in his service. You ought to consult them. Our Bishops often bear arms. No Bishop obeys the Count who happens to defend his diocese. Count Raymond is rich and well born, but the other Counts won’t defer to him. There is going to be a nasty muddle, and just outside the walls of the city. Look, I must stay here over Easter, to hear Mass after the Frankish fashion. Then I shall leave my followers under the command of my nephew Tancred, and ride on as fast as I can to clear up this mess. Riding post I can be in the city by Tuesday. I have seen your Emperor in the old days, even if it was only on the battlefield. He’s a good soldier and a man who takes quick decisions. Give me a token to show to the postmasters, send a message ahead to say I am coming, and beg the Emperor to grant me a private audience. It really is important. I may have to reason with the other Counts, or there will be bloody war all round the city. But get this into your heads, all you servants of the Emperor. We have come on this pilgrimage because the Pope asked it of us, but neither the Pope nor his deputy will command us in battle. We shall choose our own leader."
Bohemond was surprised at his own vehemence, but his tongue could not keep up with his racing thoughts. There was deadly danger that the whole pilgrimage would dissolve into war between Franks and Greeks. The Franks would probably sack Constantinople, even if the Greeks wore them down in the end; though it would be tactless to say so at this moment. He was sure that Pope Urban had not appointed a commander. At Clermont he could have done so; but he would never do anything so rash at this late stage, especially without consulting all the leading Counts.
The Curopalates was persuaded. He would give orders to the poastmasters. Bohemond could start on the afternoon of Easter Day and reach the city by midday on Tuesday. A courier would carry a message at once, begging that the Emperor would receive him as soon as he arrived. While he was away Tancred would be recognised as his deputy.
Count Bohemond Page 8
