Count Bohemond

by Alfred Duggan

  “Don’t forget I am a king’s son too,” the Duke of Normandy objected. “Oh, I see what you mean. My father wasn’t a king when I was born.”

  “But I don’t know the ground, or the time, or whence the enemy will appear,” Count Hugh said at once. “Besides, I have never commanded in a great battle. I shall be proud to charge with such gallant knights, but someone else must give the word.”

  “And that someone else must be Count Bohemond,” said Duke Godfrey. “He has chosen the spot where we should fight. He saw exactly what we must do while my messenger was still speaking. I also will be proud to charge with such gallant knights, under Count Bohemond as my leader.”

  Tancred exhaled a gusty sigh of relief.

  “Very well, gentlemen, if you insist,” said Bohemond in a winning tone. “I shall array the line as I think best, and from a sense of my own unworthiness I myself will lead the rear-battle.”

  He was in a daze of glory as he, Bohemond of Hauteville, ordered famous Dukes and Counts to the places where they would fight and, very probably, die. But it was so clear in his head that never once did he hesitate. He draw up five long lines, each in a single rank. Widely spaced they completely filled the ground between the river and the lake. He himself led the sixth line, about a hundred men. They were all Normans of Normandy or Apulia, and they formed up close together in two dense ranks. Then everyone stood at his horse’s head and said a few prayers in lieu of breakfast.

  The sun was barely up when the Turks appeared. They rode in a narrow column, just as he had hoped. Before they could open out and string their bows he ordered his first line to charge.

  He had planned a succession of shocks, as more likely to break the Turks than one great charge. It also concealed his small numbers. But it did not seem to be working. One after another the first five lines charged. The Turks, clubbed in a solid mass, pushed them slowly back. Then Bohemond turned to Robert fitzGerard, who bore his banner and rode beside him.

  “This is it, Robert. We must scatter those Turks, or die on the field. If we retreat to the camp they will follow, and probably break through the palisade at our heels. I suppose it’s my fault. No leader should put his men in a position where they must conquer or die. Or perhaps it’s the fault of the pilgrimage. A mad idea from the start, but we all joined it of our own free will. We swore to die for the Holy Sepulchre, and now is the time for it. Come on, gentlemen, our last charge, and the fiercest we have ever delivered.”

  Robert lowered the banner until it pointed forward like a lance. The final reserve moved forward, well closed up.

  By the time they reached the enemy they were in a wedge, with Bohemond a length in front. He picked a gap in the failing Christian line and crashed into the Turks without checking his pace. His hungry horse just managed it; another furlong would bring it to a faltering trot. But if this charge should succeed there would be spare horses in plenty. It succeeded.

  Turks in their flimsy leather cuirasses were slashing with light sabres, their ponies at a stand or barely edging forward. Before the heavy mailed Normans they went down in heaps. More Turks were pressing forward in the rear, but between the river and the lake they had no room to get into action. To begin with they turned about to find more room to fight, but once they were on the move they could not stop. Soon the whole throng of mounted men was galloping upstream towards the Iron Bridge.

  At the narrow entry to the bridge the infidels were checked. The pilgrims made a great slaughter; many knights mounted well-fed Turkish ponies whose owners had been killed. Those Turks who got over the bridge continued without stopping to their base at Harenc, and the knights still pursued.

  At the edge of unwalled Harenc, Bohemond reined in, and ordered fitzGerard to display his banner upright. The Christians were quite ready to end their exhausting pursuit. Bohemond organized a search through the town, and was amazed at what he found. There were hundreds of mules and camels, a great troop of spare horses, flour, oxen, sheep and goats. He asked the Count of Flanders to take back the spoil to the camp. It was not the kind of work knights did cheerfully, but Count Robert was a level-headed and willing pilgrim who saw it must be done. Bohemond hurried back to Antioch with as many knights as could still get a gallop out of their horses.

  He reached the camp before sunset on the same day. He found, as he had expected, that the Turks of Antioch were attacking the palisade; but the infidels withdrew into the town when they saw knights riding to the rescue. It was hard to conceive that one day had brought such great changes. Now the besiegers had food and fresh horses in plenty. It was Shrove Tuesday, 9th February 1098, and a very auspicious beginning to Lent. All the pilgrims agreed that their good fortune was due to the skilled leadership of Count Bohemond of Hauteville, and that was best of all.

  Chapter XIII - The Road to St. Simeon

  The supplies taken at Harenc did not last long. The Count of Blois was a scrupulous guardian, who divided fairly everything he had; but he lacked the force of character to say No and stick to it. Any blusterer, even a non-combatant who could curse fluently, would leave the central store with a decent ration. By the end of the month the store was empty. The Count of Blois had seen this coming, complaining of it to everyone he met. When it had come he could do nothing but wring his hands and lament.

  Once more the hungry army depended on supplies bought from Armenians and Syrians, who admitted quite frankly that they also sold to the Turks in Antioch. It was all a matter of price, they explained, spreading their hands wide; they were peaceful merchants who made a living by selling grain. Surely the pilgrims, who were under God’s special protection, would conquer the infidel anyway; it would be impious to doubt it. In the meantime poor unwarlike men must support their families by selling to the infidel what would otherwise be taken by force.

  Tancred, of course, led the faction which proposed that these traitors to Christendom should be hanged before they left camp. The more responsible leaders forbade it; better to share food with the infidel than to have no food at all. Bohemond in particular was glad to see plenty of strangers in camp; though the siege had continued all winter he still hoped that a traitor would appear from Antioch.

  The only other source of supplies was irregular convoys from St. Simeon, the port at the mouth of the Orontes. The Greeks of Cyprus sent a certain amount of free aid, collected by the exiled Patriarch of Jerusalem; the Genoese and the pirates sold what they could spare from the plunder of Cilicia. Even some of this reached the Turks, though no one was so base as to sell it to them. The coast road was exposed to raids from Antioch; small parties of sailors were sometimes captured by the infidels.

  The whole pilgrimage was fretful and discouraged. Few died of starvation, but everyone was hungry; they did not seem to be any nearer the capture of Antioch and there was no reason why the siege should not endure for generations. The Normans of Apulia did not make things any better by boasting of the four-year siege of Bari; learned clerks who mentioned the ten-year siege of Troy were rudely advised to find some more inspiring example from the past.

  At the beginning of March came news of more ships in St. Simeon. The news was unexpected, though not especially important, as Bohemond explained to Tancred while they were inspecting the Apulian horse-lines.

  “They said this was an English fleet,” he said, “but it is not another armed passage through the Straits of Gibraltar. I have been talking to Greeks from the port. The ships are Greek, though the men are English enough. It seems that a lot of Englishmen take service with Alexius, since they don’t want to fight for the son of Duke William who conquered them. This fleet sailed from the city. How do we take that? Are they Latin pilgrims, come to help in the siege? Or are they some of the Emperor’s soldiers, come to bag Antioch as soon as we win it from the Turks?”

  “The English are faithful to the Pope,” Tancred answered. “In Italy everyone knows that. Exceptionally faithful, in fact. No heresy or schism in England. So they must be pilgrims, even if the Emperor pays them.�
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  By next morning the pilgrims had learned more about the new arrivals. They were indeed English Varangians from the city, and their ships were Greek; but a number of Frankish late-comers had joined them instead of making the dangerous crossing of Anatolia, and their leader was an English nobleman of high rank. After a routine meeting of the council the Duke of Normandy told his friends all about it.

  “He’s the chap who would be King of the English today if my father hadn’t conquered the country. Edgar, the only survivor of the ancient royal line. No connection with Harold the usurper, of course. He’s quite respectable. His sister is married to the King of the Scots, he fights on horseback and speaks French and has all the other manners of a gentleman. I have invited him to join my following. We share a common hatred of my brother William, who has done us both out of the same crown. Unless one of us gets it we have no reason to quarrel. Some of my knights hold land in England. They will be glad to see Edgar. This pilgrimage is really bringing all Christendom together.”

  Bohemond noted that Duke Robert did not expect to gain England. The Duke was quite happy on this pilgrimage, except for the temporary lack of food. He was the only great leader who was never tempted to hurry home to look after his fiefs. When he was at home he did not look after them.

  Everyone was tepidly pleased to learn of the reinforcements; but Tancred alone thought their arrival ought to affect the campaign. He still burned to take the offensive, while most pilgrims were content to hang on before Antioch. He pointed out to the other leaders that one gate was still open to Turkish conveys. The west gate south of the river, known as St. George’s, had long been considered out of reach of the besiegers. The great Bridge Gate, where the Turks clustered most thickly, barred the way to it from camp north of the river; Christians could reach it only by the long and rough ride round the south of Mount Silpius. Tancred now volunteered to hold a castle opposite this gate. He made conditions. Since his followers were now penniless they must be paid by the whole army; and carpenters from the English fleet must help him to build the castle. Perhaps among the new pilgrims would be cross-bows and other foot willing to join the garrison.

  “It sounds reasonable,” said Bohemond. “On a campaign like this to do almost anything is better than to do nothing. If anyone can hold this castle right behind the Turkish lines my nephew Tancred is the man. By the way, St. George’s Gate. In Romania all sorts of things are dedicated to St. George. Who was he?”

  “A very great saint,” Bishop Adhemar said at once. “One of the most famous martyrs of the days before Constantine. He has a church in Rome down by the Tiber, a fine church lined with coloured marble.”

  “He was a soldier,” Count Raymond said severely. “A soldier in the pagan Roman army who defied the persecutor Diocletian. You see his image everywhere, armed and mounted, so I suppose he was a knight. I thought everyone knew of him. Perhaps Normans who invade the lands of fellow-Christians are not so well instructed.”

  Bohemond answered in anger. “In my town of Bari we have the complete body of the famous St. Nicholas, brought from Romania to save it from the infidel Turks. My old friend Pope Urban consecrated the shrine for me. I don’t know the names of all the saints venerated by schismatics. Perhaps that’s because I am the immediate vassal of the Pope.”

  “Doesn’t your younger brother the Duke of Apulia stand between you and the Pope?” muttered a south Frenchman.

  “No one holds the fealty of the mighty Bohemond,” Tancred shouted. “He came on this pilgrimage without leave from any lord, certainly without consulting his younger brother. I follow him, and will gladly prove on the body of any French knight that he is more free than a Marquis of the German Emperor.”

  “Until this pilgrimage has been accomplished you may not prove anything on the body of a fellow-pilgrim,” said Duke Godfrey in a tone of reproof. “Do you wish to say more to this council?”

  “I am sorry, noble Duke. Now that your brother Count Baldwin no longer attacks my men I shall not wage war on any pilgrim. My immediate plan is to get in touch with the English at St. Simeon, but I have not enough knights to escort a convoy. Will any other lord join me with his following?” It was a legitimate score off the brothers from Boulogne, though a rash remark in full council. But Tancred never allowed prudence to control his tongue.

  “I shall ride to the port this very day,” said Bohemond at once. “I suggest that my nephew Tancred stay here and plan his castle on the ground. My knights can escort the convoy from the ships.”

  “I also shall ride to the port,” said Count Raymond. “Two mesnies are stronger than one, and this convoy is important. The sooner Tancred builds his castle the sooner we can restore Antioch to its rightful lord the Emperor.”

  Even in public council no one concealed the enmity between the south French and the Normans of Italy. Raymond was determined that the Apulians should not ride off where he could not see what they were doing.

  That afternoon two strong mesnies set off on the fourteen-mile ride to St. Simeon. The Turks of Antioch saw them go, but there was no way to stop that.

  After one night in the port they began the return journey. St. Simeon was not a place where Bohemond cared to linger. The little settlement at the river mouth was unwalled, and the ships anchored in the stream or moored to the shore were not in his military eye a useful fleet. Pisans and Genoese and Frisians had fought hard to get there, and the English Varangians were famous warriors; but now that they were in harbour they did not obey their commanders, and men who were pirates by trade kept their hands in by stealing from one another. There were men in complete mail who claimed to have been knights at home; but they had brought no horses and must take their place among the lowly foot.

  Every sailor from the Mediterranean could use a cross-bow, and so could some of the Franks who had taken passage on the Greek ships. Luckily the English and Frisians preferred to fight on foot with axes, and Edgar the Englishman proposed to sail with them to the sack of various infidel or Greek ports. That was all for the best. Englishmen in a French army would be tempted to fight the battle of Hastings over again, instead of forming part of a united front against the infidel.

  Bohemond and Raymond, working independently, each collected a force of Frankish cross-bows and carpenters, to help Tancred build his new fort. There was a certain amount of food; and some useful timber and tackle for making siege-engines. Altogether there were two useful convoys. Normans and south French were by now too hostile to work together, but each watched the doings of the other and the two convoys set out at the same time. Where the road narrowed Count Raymond went ahead, whereupon Bohemond and his knights fell back to guard the rear.

  Like all the valleys of northern Syria this was ideal country for an ambush. Count Raymond was experienced in wars against the infidel; but he was himself too old and sick for hard riding, and he did not always make his knights carry out his orders. Bohemond did not trust his scouting. But to send out Norman scouts after Raymond had declared the way safe would be an insult that might end in bloodshed. Bohemond kept his knights in good order and waited for the Turkish attack. He was not at all surprised when it came.

  Unfortunately no one else was ready for it. The cross-bows and skilled workmen marching on foot beside the waggons trusted in the south French knights riding ahead. The advance guard expected an attack from the front, the Apulians in the rear were looking over their shoulders, for they knew that Turks liked to attack from behind. A cloud of mounted bowmen suddenly popped out of a deep ravine to charge the straggling column in the middle.

  In a moment the Turks were so mixed up with the Christian foot that Bohemond dared not charge. Besides, he still waited for another Turkish attack from the rear. There seemed to be more Turks ahead, since the south French knights were dressing their line to charge forward.

  Bohemond turned to his banner-bearer. “The artful devils, they have caught us. This broken country is a curse, you never see all your enemies at once. You and I are safe eno
ugh. Light horse cannot harm mailed knights. But I don’t see how we are to save the waggons. Halt. Send scouts to the rear. Open ranks to let fugitives through. Wait until the Turks have the waggons and begin to move them back to Antioch. Then we can pelt after them and perhaps take back their plunder.”

  The centre of the column quickly dissolved in rout. Those foot who had not been cut down in the first onset took refuge behind rocks on the steep hillside. They were at the mercy of the mounted infidels, but luckily the Turks did not pursue. They were too busy rounding up the waggons and controlling the oxen who drew them.

  With a great gabbling and shouting the Turks got the waggons under way. They were in a desperate hurry, apprehensive of what seemed to them too easy a victory. Bohemond shut his eyes, to see behind their closed lids his imaginary map of the valley.

  “Gentlemen, this battle isn’t lost,” he called to his excited followers. “The infidels must cross the river with their waggons. That’s it. The Bridge Gate. If they drive the oxen at that speed there will be a lovely jam there. Follow me carefully, and make sure that none of you charge before you see my banner lowered. We’ll hustle the Turks without actually charging them. Shout the warcry. Make all the noises you can. But don’t actually get among them before we reach the bridge.”

  Oxen can make good speed if their waggons are lightly loaded and the men riding beside them are nervous and flustered. The Turks ought to have dropped a rearguard to delay pursuit, but perhaps there were not enough of them. Bohemond noted that with apprehension. Another infidel army must be attacking the camp. If that should have fallen by the time they reached it they must fight their way back to St. Simeon and then sail away to Europe; they might be among the few survivors of the disastrous pilgrimage.

  But so far the second stage of this muddled battle was going well enough. When a waggon lost a wheel the Turks abandoned it, proof that they dared not stand to defend the plunder they had seized. The Apulian knights kept just out of arrow range; but they rode closed up, shield on neck, ready to charge. A mile ahead they came on the knights of Count Raymond, prudently drawn up on a hillock just north of the road. Without a word they fell in beside the Apulians. Raymond might be unwilling to speak to his rival, but he was not too proud to conform to his movements in the field.