“No bother about that,” said Raymond quickly. “Since both Heraclea and Antioch lie within the Empire, so must all the country in between.”
“Then that’s settled. Tomorrow we march north to what’s this place, Mazacha. All fortresses we take must be held for the Greek Emperor. That’s all, gentlemen. Issue orders accordingly.” Godfrey hurried away before anyone else could begin a speech. Some of the lesser Counts snatched at any chance to address the assembled nobility of Christendom.
So that’s what Raymond is after, Bohemond said to himself. He doesn’t mind which way we go, he will even help Alexius to whom he would not give his oath when it was really needed for the welfare of the whole pilgrimage. He only wants to make sure that I don’t get Antioch, though it was promised to me by Alexius himself. Only because I defeated the whole Danishmend horde with my single lance, when he said he was too sick to charge. There’s jealousy for you.
He knew that he himself was being petty and jealous. Raymond had indeed been sick. About the Duchy of Antioch nothing had been finally settled, though the question had been discussed privately. The trouble was that he, Bohemond, who saw his way clearly through every difficulty, who could plan a campaign and picture a battle before it was fought, was beginning to be lost in a fog.
Some great lords were happy to live in a fog all their lives. Duke Robert of Normandy, for example. He spent any money he could lay his hands on, he hit any foe who came within reach, he gorged when food was plentiful and starved without complaint if there were none; he took what came and did not try to alter Fate. His brother had stolen a great Kingdom from under his nose, and Robert had not even noticed until it was too late.
But the Hautevilles, and Bohemond in particular, made longterm plans and stuck to them. Once he had planned to conquer the whole Greek Empire. With his father, who had risen from nothing to be the mighty lord of Apulia, he had attacked the Venetian navy thrice in one week because the Venetians had to be removed. When the situation had changed, not because of any weakness of will, he had planned a partnership with Alexius which would free all Christendom from the Turks. A Hauteville did not give up just because his goal seemed to be out of reach; he saw his aim clear and stuck to it, as Guiscard had stuck to his entrenchments during the famous siege of Bari.
Now he was puzzled. He did not know what to do next. Alexius expected the pilgrims to fail; it was likely that he hoped they would fail. But he had given them Taticius, an honest man who did his best to help. At Constantinople Count Raymond had so hated the Greeks that he would not swear to serve Alexius; now he was an advocate of imperial claims in Anatolia. It didn’t make sense. He must wait for the situation to clear.
Bohemond supped, as usual, in his own pavilion. They would march at dawn tomorrow, but by this stage of the long journey the servants had learned to pack everything at the last minute. The pavilion, even the chests and stools in it, were exactly as they had been in Thrace last autumn.
For supper there was local wine, new bread, and some of the salt pork infidels never stole. Tonight he would sleep dry and fed; tomorrow he would ride through strange lands. Why worry over the future? Why not take everything as it comes, like those boobies Duke Robert and Count Hugh? So far they had fared as well as any far-seeing Hauteville. They were all embarked on an endless pilgrimage. Let them wander day after day as Taticius or that feckless council of leaders should advise, until it pleased God to send them a pillar of cloud to guide them to Jerusalem.
Then Tancred burst in, and brought his mind back to politics. The boy was very angry. He must be heard with patience.
“Uncle,” he stormed, “have you been blinded by that Greek trickster? Will you really march north to gain more fortresses for Alexius, when you know that Jerusalem lies to the southward? Even if you are so foolish they can’t deceive me. In the morning I take the road for Tarsus, with any knights who will follow me. If you come too, with all the Normans of Apulia, we shall conquer the whole land. Even on my own I shall win a good fief, and perhaps reach Antioch before you. I came to tell you in good time, so that you won’t try to stop me at the last minute.”
“You should have said all this to the council. Golden Nose, by the way, isn’t a Greek. He is a Christian Turk, and an honest man. The Emperor may be a scoundrel, but he has honourable servants. I think we have chosen the best road, but I can’t stop you going by another. I won’t come with you, because I have already given my word to the council. How many knights will follow you?”
“About eighty, I expect, and several hundred foot.”
“Then if you get through that narrow pass you will be strong enough to take over Cilicia. The Emperor may try to take it from you afterwards. Don’t come to open war with him if you can avoid it. Otherwise I have nothing to say. I wish you luck. It’s just that we see the campaign differently.”
Tancred felt disappointed. He had come along in expectation of a heart-warming family quarrel, and Bohemond seemed barely interested. “What will happen to Cilicia if we don’t liberate it?” he asked belligerently.
“It will fall into our hands as soon as we hold Antioch,” Bohemond answered. “You haven’t studied that map properly. Cilicia faces the sea. In the old days Tarsus was a great port. Our great weakness is that there are no Frankish ships in these parts. When Antioch is ours Italian ships will come. Then the Armenians of Cilicia, who hate the Greeks, will ask us to rule them.”
“Unless the Emperor grabs it.”
“Yes, that is a problem. In the end who will be stronger, the Emperor or the pilgrimage? The pilgrimage is a much bigger thing then I expected when I joined it, bigger than you expected. We’ll liberate Jerusalem. Then what? How many will stay? You will, I will. Count Raymond will, confound him. Who else? I have a feeling, something I can’t prove, that there won’t be room for both pilgrims and Emperor. But we must wait and see. The Empire is much stronger than most of these Franks suppose. It would be good to see the Greeks properly obedient to the Pope, and one Frankish realm from Jerusalem to Constantinople.”
“Emperor Bohemond, eh? Well, why not? Time will show. So I go south with your good will? I’m glad. See you in Antioch, or in Heaven.”
Next morning Tancred slipped off as quietly as he could. But a knight of his stature could not avoid notice. His adventure immediately became the talk of the pilgrims; before evening Baldwin of Boulogne had led another band towards Cilicia. Although Baldwin was the youngest and least of the Boulogne brothers his following greatly outnumbered Tancred’s small mesnie.
Chapter IX - Armenian Discords
Bohemond trudged cautiously along the narrow trail, thankful that his temperate Armenian horse never tried to push him in the back. At a convenient turn in the road he looked behind at the long column of dismounted knights who followed in single file, each leading his horse. On the edge of such a precipice it would be suicide to ride.
It was hard to believe that the whole army of the pilgrimage had travelled this rocky path; but a glance into the depths brought confirmation. Dotted throughout the gorge were the remains of pack-animals and a few men; where the trail first narrowed, at the beginning of the pass, they had seen many abandoned waggons.
If this was the safe and easy road, what had happened to Tancred and Baldwin who had chosen the dangerous one? Or was Taticius, after all, a traitor who deliberately led the pilgrims to destruction? Bohemond began to distrust his own judgement of character, until with relief he found a simple explanation. The Emperor and all his servants were absurdly afraid of the Turks, but they were used to mountains. On this road there would be no danger of attack, since the peaks on either side were impassable. Thirty years ago the path must have been much wider, if it had really been the main caravan route between Antioch and the city. This must be a bad patch. Once they began to go downhill travelling would be easier.
They were certainly on the right road; the wreckage of the main pilgrimage proved it. For his present troubles he must blame only his foolish pride. Taticius had w
arned him that mailed knights could not catch fleeing Turks. But it had seemed a splendid opportunity to demoralize the Turks even further.
The Turks were already demoralized. As the pilgrims approached the mountains from the south-west they had heard that the Armenians of Placentia were beset by an infidel horde. That horde, the same Danishmends who had already fled before Bohemond, had once again disputed the advance of the army. Again they fled in disgraceful panic after a short fight. The pilgrims nearly trapped the besiegers against the walls of Placentia; the Turks barely escaped, and the rescued Armenians offered fresh horses to their saviours. Bohemond led the knights of Apulia in hot pursuit.
From a narrow military point of view that was the right course. Once an enemy is in full retreat you must push him as far as he will go, without giving him a chance to reorganize. But the Danishmends fled north, and the road to Jerusalem led south-east. It had been agreed that the main body of pilgrims should cross the mountains while no enemy opposed them, and that Bohemond should follow after. It was evident that their journey had been unpleasant.
Of course Bohemond had not caught the Turks. When he found a deserted bivouac with its cooking-fires cold, and on the same evening one of his fresh Armenian horses died of exhaustion, he had given up the pursuit.. On the return journey they had gone slower. From the condition of the dead animals he passed he guessed that he must be at least a week behind the main army. He hoped that the council of leaders had not done anything foolish while he was not there to advise them.
By nightfall his men were over the crest and the path had widened into a steep wooded glen. They could camp in one body. After Bohemond had seen to his own horse he inspected the others before they were hobbled and turned out to graze. No knight would shirk the care of his own horse, but some had rubbed them down very clumsily. It was one of the many tasks every gentleman learned in his youth, and never expected to practise again after he had grown to be a knight. In Europe they would have mounted grooms with them, or catch local peasants and make them work for their betters; this glen was uninhabited. Some knights ate biscuit and cold bacon; others, including Bohemond, must fast until they caught up with the army. His wallet was not empty, but it held barley for his horse.
They slept huddled close together on the bare ground, for it was very cold. They had no fire because they had no servants. A gentleman might tend a horse, he might not cut firewood. It was a gloomy camp.
But next day things went better. Before midday they reached an Armenian village where the peasants gave them goats and wine, though they explained, by gestures, that the main army had already taken all the bread, Before sunset they found baggage mules waiting for them and tents spread, under the direction of the Count of Blois.
Count Stephen embraced Bohemond. He seemed genuinely glad to see him.
“Did you catch those Turks? No? I thought you wouldn’t. But it did occur to me that you and your knights would be very hungry. This was the worst stage of the march for us, though now we have bread in plenty. I know what it is to travel just behind a hungry army; it’s happened to me more than once. But I have never travelled without any servants at all. Surely even the Holy War does not demand such extreme hardship? I was working out the supplies we should need—I manage my own abacus, you know. Suddenly it came home to me that you must be without provisions. So I brought back these pack-mules. Take your time and rest your horses. The army is waiting for you.”
Bohemond thanked Count Stephen with genuine gratitude; at the same time he reflected on the curious character of that noble pilgrim. Stephen should never have been a Count; they ought to have made him a Bishop. Of course he must know what it was like to travel behind an army; very likely he had been just too late for several bloody battles. All the same, he could think straight and he thought of the welfare of others. Bohemond would have thought of a party of his own vassals, travelling on weary horses through a ravaged land; he would not have turned back to bring food to fellow-pilgrims to whom he had no responsibility. Stephen was not an inspiring leader in the charge, but they ought not to waste his unusual capacities. Perhaps the council of leaders might appoint him to superintend the fair division of supplies among the whole army? The honour of such an appointment would keep him happy, and that would be another good thing.
After Bohemond had given due thanks, promising to pay for the rations from the next plunder he acquired, he asked for the latest news of the campaign. “Has my nephew Tancred rejoined the march? I suppose he is well? Did Baldwin of Boulogne come with him?”
“Count Tancred is flourishing. A splendid young hero, though of course his size helps him. It’s easier to be brave when you are a head taller than all your foes. Oh dear, I shouldn’t say that to you. Forgive me. He didn’t actually come back with Baldwin. It seems they had some sort of quarrel, though I don’t know the rights of it so don’t ask me for details. Anyway, Tancred’s back. Baldwin hurried back to say good-bye to his wife. She died of sickness, poor thing; a noble lady and a true martyr of the Holy War. So now Baldwin is a widower. He’s gone off again, to the eastward. He has all these shady Armenian friends, and the gossip is that he will marry some Armenian princess for her dowry. There, I ought not to repeat such rumours. Baldwin is a very good knight, and he was in floods of tears as they buried the lady Godvere. Your nephew Tancred is a very good knight also. In fact every pilgrim is a good knight. The wicked knights stayed at home. I only wish good knights could agree better among themselves.”
“So Tancred has been quarrelling? I’ll straighten that out when I meet him. He’s a strange, headstrong boy, very sure of himself. But he’s a gallant leader and an ardent pilgrim. I can usually make him see sense. In the end he was willing to take oath to Alexius, and when that fell through he scored off the Emperor quite neatly. Now let’s sit in the shade, and while we eat you can tell me everything that’s happened.”
Gnawing at the inevitable lump of salt pork Bohemond returned to his questioning. “What did they do with Placentia after I left you? I hope we have an open road behind us, if anything goes wrong.”
“Oh yes, Count Raymond thought of that too. He reminded us of our treaty with the Emperor, and that it would be dangerous to offend him while we were so far from home. So we decided to keep the terms of our oath to the letter, even though Alexius has withdrawn from the Holy War. Placentia had been within the Empire until the Turks came; we are bound to give it back to the Greeks as we gave back Nicaea. We looked round for a Greek to give it to, but we couldn’t find one. Count Raymond suggested that we give it to Taticius, that nice Christian Turk with the golden nose. He was very pleased at the offer; but he explained that the Emperor had commanded him to march with us to Jerusalem. He dared not stay behind, even to govern a rich town. He proposed a compromise. He knew of a Frankish knight who had long been a faithful servant of the Emperor. This Frank could talk to us, he knew the customs of the west, and he would hold the town as though he were a western vassal of the Empire. That was a clever idea, don’t you think? So we left this Frank in charge and crossed the mountains. A terrible journey.”
“Yes, but who was the Frank? A pilgrim?”
“No, not a pilgrim. He has been in the Emperor’s service for many years. I don’t know when he joined us. After Nicaea, I should think, because I usually remember faces and he was a stranger. Not a man of very noble birth, naturally. I suppose he would rank as a knight, the kind of knight who hires out his sword for wages. His name is Peter, but I can’t remember the rest of it. At least, I do remember, but I must be remembering wrong. The lord Peter of the Alps? Would anyone call himself so? There is no fief ‘of the Alps’. But some knights choose rather grand titic: when they live among strangers.”
“You’ve got it very nearly right, my dear Stephen,” said Bohemond with a chuckle. “Peter of Aulps, not Peter of the Alps. I knew him in my youth. I heard he had taken service with the Emperor. I should like to meet him again, just to stick his head on a pole in memory of the old days.”
“Dear me, is he an enemy of yours?”
“Not really an enemy. Merely a recreant who sold himself to the Greeks while he was fighting under my banner. He tried to betray me, but my other knights wouldn’t follow him. That was years ago, when I was helping my father to invade Romania. I suppose he has been in Greek service ever since. Since the pilgrimage arrived he must have led a hunted life, dodging about near our army and yet keeping out of my sight. If it wasn’t such a frightful pass over the mountains I should like to take my Apulians back to Placentia. But we must put the welfare of the pilgrimage before our own frivolous pleasures. Well, well, Peter of Aulps in charge of the only road back to safety. What a pretty little piece of Greek planning.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing more than a mischance. Old Golden Nose is an honest man.”
“Golden Nose is honest, but his master isn’t. Alexius fixed this. Probably he fixed it before we left Nicaea. Just an extra precaution. He doesn’t want me near his city, so he makes an extra drawbridge out of Peter. But doesn’t it look pretty? The pilgrims give back his fortress to Alexius, and in return Alexius installs a Frankish knight. A compromise that should please everyone. All done so neatly, while I am away chasing Turks. I wonder how they put it to Golden Nose? ‘Put this Peter in command of a strong fortress, but it must be done while Count Bohemond is away.’ An order that must have puzzled Taticius.”
“Well, it’s done now, and unless you go to war with the Greeks you can’t undo it.” Count Stephen was at once shocked and thrilled by this glimpse of Greek intrigue. “Pilgrims are forbidden to make war on fellow-Christians, and I suppose even Alexius is a Christian of sorts. Now Peter the recreant is anchored. He can’t follow us to stab you in the back. Anyway, you may be imagining things. Alexius may have forgotten that Peter once betrayed you. Now when all your men have eaten I suggest you bed down early. From now on it’s a good track. By tomorrow night you will be back with the army.”
Count Bohemond Page 16
