After a long interval with the night breeze blowing across his lightly clad back and making him surprisingly cold, Derar saw the sentries change and betray the location of their post. They did not point or look in his direction so he crept forward until he reached the stump. Searching with his fingers, Derar felt several arrows but none bore a message. In his mind he considered the possibilities: the Romans were being careful not to leave evidence to betray him, or one of their messages had been found and even at this moment a trap was now being sprung by Dumrul’s men. Suddenly uneasy, he shot quickly at the tower and then crawled back by another way.
Not long before first cock-crow, Derar entered their tent hoping to find Farisa asleep. Stealthily, he crept under the cover, propping himself on an elbow to see her more clearly as his eyes became accustomed to the blackness. She was lying awake but said nothing, just putting her arm around him as he moved closer to her.
With the arrival of the famous Abbasid military engineer, Abramas, from Archēsh where he had been enjoying the fruits of his labours, the conduct of the siege took on a more deliberate design. Abramas was once an architect and builder but found war more profitable. His presence re-energised the assault on the city. The wild attacks of the tribesmen over the previous nine days had served to distract and wear down the defenders. The noise of drums, trumpets and horns played intermittently during the nights, with occasional fierce nocturnal attacks, deprived the defenders of Manzikert any respite. Now the Sultan’s engineers, supported by Daylami heavy infantry and ever more slaves herded in from around the countryside, pushed forward the tunnelling in earnest and laboured to fill parts of the ditch, despite the casualties. The army was split into three teams: one working as the other two rested. Thus the stranglehold tightened around the city.
This, Derar al-Adin relayed to the Romans.
Manzikert,
Afternoon, 30th August 1054
From the arrival of the Seljuk Army, Guy spent eleven exhausting days on the fore-wall during which there were many probing attacks and two heavy assaults on his section. All had been beaten off. Several men under his command had been killed and many more bore minor wounds. He had seen the irregular troops of the enemy ride off to devastate the countryside and watched the fanfare as the Sultan himself departed to the north.
The day after the Seljuk columns had deployed from the besieged city, the strategos had acted in response to the bishop’s warnings about the dire food supply in Manzikert. While the over-confident Seljuks investing the city were pre-occupied with plundering and laying out their huge encampment, hundreds of citizens in small parties with pack animals had crept from the city under cover of darkness. Necessity overcoming fear, they dispersed to gather fruit and vegetables, goats and sheep, carts and draught animals from the many secluded gardens and meadows that dotted the area. David Varaz led horsemen to where the remnants of the cattle herd that Bryennius had brought from Sashesh grazed unheeded along rivulets in the steppe. That night and for the following day, these citizens gathered what food they could find. The next night as Count Theophanes Doukas diverted the Seljuks’ attention to the west by leading a noisy sortie from the walls, the citizens brought the vital supplies in by the eastern gate, protected by a screen of irregular horse commanded by Apocapes himself. Scores had died in the food raids, but they ensured the city would not soon succumb to starvation.
Cydones, in one of his strolls along the wall, had paused by Guy to ask how his study of the Greek language was going. In the ensuing conversation, Cydones commented on the raids. “Many praised God’s infinite wisdom for making the Sultan so stupid,” Cydones related, “but in truth Apocapes cursed his own lack of forethought and thanked his luck that the success and daring of common folk had rewarded him.”
Guy had mixed thoughts about the imperial courier. He did not trust the man, so he remained silent when Cydones asked a rhetorical question about how Apocapes knew to chance the raids. Still, when he was in the mood, Cydones could be amiable and informative, passing on the benefit of his languages and travels.
On that occasion, Cydones, given his past army experience, expressed interest in weapons and fortifications and had a lengthy discussion with Jacques about his “Frankish bow”, which Jacques allowed him to try at a discarded shield beyond the walls. Cydones had hit the target and Jacques, in the enthusiasm of a shared interest, complimented him. In that flush of accomplishment, the citizen of Constantinople glanced up at Guy’s eyes, as though to ensure his skill with the unfamiliar crossbow had been noted, then blushed and looked away.
The look had not escaped Jacques’ notice. “He fancies you,” the groom later stated bluntly. “Be careful—men can be more dangerous than women when their feelings aren’t returned.”
Guy thought no more of it; he had enough problems.
Derar al-Adin had fallen silent after his second message, which informed the Roman defenders of Manzikert that most of the Seljuk army was departing to ravage the land. Those in the small circle that knew of him hoped despondently that he was with the Sultan and had not been killed in one of the assaults.
On the fifth day of the siege Guy watched, with detached trepidation, the lead Daylami units of mounted infantry ride their camels into view and the poorer foot begin to tramp into the Seljuk encampment. The first engines of the siege train arrived soon after. Sentries on the walls marked the arrival of regular caravans of camels and mules carrying hay and grain from the direction of Archēsh. With the mass of Seljuk irregular horse gone and those outside the walls now comprising mostly professional cavalry, infantry and engineers, the camp took on a more ordered appearance. Tents were neatly laid out in ordered streets and a row of shops under goat hair awnings also sprang up. Most of the Seljuk animals were herded away for the scant grazing that remained. By night, the defenders could hear the music in the Seljuk camp as dancers, singers, storytellers and poets entertained the host. Within a day of the siege train arriving, the investment of the fortress took on a different feel. The sporadic, costly attacks by unsupported troops ceased. The engines, eight powerful ballistae and four mangonels, were positioned forward of the Seljuk encampment opposite the west and north-west sections of the wall. Engineers gradually pushed them forward until the rocks they heaved could batter away at the walls with repeated, mortar cracking thuds. These reverberated sickeningly through the stonework, causing pockmarks on the surface as the facing stones fell away exposing the mortared rubble beneath and lashing the defenders with vicious flying chips. Lines of slaves bore heavy stones to the machines while others laboured with the baskets of soil, or cotton bales they found in a warehouse, to build protective works around the Seljuk engines. The relentless toil went on day and night.
The swirling, unpredictable assaults assumed a more frightening order, being preceded and supported by a heavy rain of rocks, darts and arrows. With the Daylamis came a special corps of naffatin, fire troops, armed with bronze flame projectors and pottery grenades for the naphtha. The sticky, inflammable liquid was set alight by fire arrows, though Guy saw instances of the clay pots being ignited by a wick on bursting. Although the defenders retained the advantage of height and stone defences, the naffatin brought a frightening new threat. Barrels of vinegar soaked earth and buckets of sand in which men urinated, were used to smother the foul smelling flames. When they ran out of urine, the pungent runoff from the stables was collected by townspeople and carried in pails to the walls.
The soldiers defending Manzikert hung the heavy felt awnings they had hitherto used for shelter over the front of the walls to protect the stonework. Suspended a pace from the walls by heavy beams, the felt dulled the impact of the rocks. Ballistae-men and archers harassed the Persian engineers, keeping them at the greatest range possible, forcing them to protect the siege works with mantelets. By day archers moved forward, occupying the castellated stone scarp breastworks above the ditch, to better harass the Seljuk siege engineers. At night, they with
drew behind the security of the fore-wall. Workmen daubed with white paint the interior outline of the fore-wall merlons so the defenders on the main wall could better see at night the line of battlements over which they had to shoot. Thus the heavy, heartbreaking work of war continued, accompanied by sudden death or maiming. Some were driven mad by the unbearable tension from which there was no escape, except in the constant, mind-numbing fatigues or recourse to faith.
Bryennius, with Doukas, Branas and some of the scouts, came often to look out over the hostile encampment, to observe the changes to the layout and activity, or sense any variation in the temper of the besiegers. Then they would move on in their ceaseless vigil. The strategos, usually accompanied by Count Branas, also visited the western wall twice a day, for it faced the greatest concentration of the Seljuk encampment. Basil Apocapes always encouraged the men and women on the walls and offered prayers for the salvation of the city.
Irene had come with other women to the wall. When not bearing baskets of rocks or bundles of bolts, the women brought water and wine, bread, cold meats, vegetables, fruit while it lasted and in the evenings, urns of gruel. When she came with a group, Irene would favour Guy with a smile and some personal delicacy. Guy savoured those occasional moments when she visited, wearing a Frankish helmet over her scarf-bound hair and with her weapons belted on over a mail corselet. How clean and fresh she seemed, like a playful spirit with the sun or moon behind her, while he, unwashed and unshaven, might be checking every detail of his duties, or taking a moment’s respite, sitting with his back to the parapet.
Guy had twice been to check on his mare, relying on Taticus Phocas and the scouts of the Sixth Schola for her everyday care. He enjoyed Sira’s welcoming whinny, her sniffing the strange smells on him and licking his hand after the treat he gave her. She remained sound in wind and legs after the flight from Archēsh and he allowed himself the sin of pride, for Sira’s great gallop had been run in the shoes he had tacked onto her. On his second visit, he reshod her, chiding himself for not finding time earlier.
Guarding the precious warhorses was a constant task. Desperate refugees and black marketeers tried to steal the animals for meat, or so they would be mounted and perhaps able to flee should the defences be breached. Several unwanted visitors to the stables had been severely beaten; one almost to death.
There was something consoling about the military stables. David, Togol and many of the cataphracts, knights and irregulars came and went, caring for their own and their friends’ horses. It was from them Guy learned of the many killed and their burial in pits. It seemed incomprehensible that people he had known would never more laugh, drink or seek love.
Fear pervaded the city. The bells tolled often and a constant stream of people visited the churches, begging not to be forgotten and their sins forgiven. Often the anxiety was unspoken: a haunted look in the eyes, eating each frugal meal as if it were the last, fretting at the noise of an attack or a sudden ringing silence. The bright new star, sometimes still visible during the day, was much discussed. Most feared it as ill-omened, its arrival coinciding with that of the nomads. Others tried to portray the star as a benevolent sign, proof that the city was forewarned of the attack and had not fallen while it shone above. Under Basil’s direction and example, most townspeople threw themselves into their work with commendable fortitude.
By the eighth day of the siege, the stench of bodies decaying in the hot sun, and the increasing numbers of rats, had become unbearable. Daniel Branas rode alone from the city to parley. Guy watched him ride out, unarmoured except for a shield. He felt ashamed at the sting of his envy for the courage and ability of the man. Riveted to the parapet, scarcely able to breathe, Guy saw a knot of richly dressed and mounted Seljuks gather around the messenger. With his knuckles pressed to his mouth, Guy wondered if Branas would be struck down or taken. He returned, however, a Seljuk officer accompanying him to the wooden bridge over the ditch. They had paused, gesturing left and right as though discussing the conditions under which the grisly work might be done.
The truce lasted a day, with soldiers and workmen from the town clearing the many dead from the ditch, under cover of the task affecting a few repairs to the scarp as well. Grieving Seljuks buried their nobles—those not carted home by rich relatives—in funeral mounds. They burned the unnamed poor in great pyres. Guy knew he would never forget that peculiar stench of Manzikert, the combination of roasting flesh and naphtha. He prayed for the fires to burn out and a clean breeze to blow from the snow-capped mountains far to the north.
Now, at mid-morning on the tenth day of the siege, Guy and his men were relieved on the walls. He was sure of the days because he had scratched a mark for each. The relief—Varangians, peasants and townsmen—filed onto the ramparts and placed down their weapons and personal bundles, looking from the red-bearded Rus from Kiev who commanded them, towards Guy and his men.
The newcomers eyed those who had been on the fore-wall with awe. To those who had come from inside the safety of the main wall, Guy’s men seemed like immortals: gaunt, red-eyed, bandaged, unshaven in their reeking clothes and unburnished armour. As their physical selves had shrunk from the strain, a presence had grown in them. Guy thought back to when these men had trembled at the approach of the nomad host. Now there was an indefinable quality about them, a quiet self-knowledge that they had withstood that test of courage and could do so again. Guy understood with sudden insight that his group had passed a rite of passage in life, bearing him along with them. He knew the newcomers could see it and envied it, impatient for their own test as they feared its coming.
After the introductions, Guy explained the layout of the defences and the procedures for taking up arms, repelling attacks and resting and feeding the men. He indicated the salient features of the Seljuk camp: where the Sultan’s pavilion stood empty for the moment, the lines of the ghulams around it, the shops and stalls and the great ring of tribal camps, that were now quiet. The Rus asked after the siege engines and Guy indicated their positions. Finally, he pointed to the horse lines and adjacent area where the Seljuks were stockpiling fodder hauled in from afar.
“Quite a cosy little city they’ve built,” the Rus observed before asking about the party of cataphracts posted around the tower to their right and the Roman centarch who had just arrived and was looking over the plain.
Guy, seeing Bessas and knowing these men were placed to collect any message from Derar in the Seljuk camp, lied that he did not know, but supposed it had to do with the sally-port next to the tower. He showed the Rus the scratch marks where he had been keeping count of the days and asked him to continue the practice, to which the fellow readily agreed.
Last off the ramparts, Guy followed his men back through the western gate of the main wall. A small group of wives, lovers, children and friends gasped when they saw the shadows of people they had known. Gasparian lined up the little band for orders. Suddenly shy in front of the spectators, Guy stiffly thanked them for their efforts and dismissed them for a day, telling them to assemble with their arms at the small chapel near the soldiers’ quarters at the same time the following day, or immediately if there was a general alarm.
Priests and nuns stepped forward to care for the souls and wounds of those who had no one with whom to walk away. The gate-guard silently witnessed the scene and returned to their routine duties. The crowd cleared and Guy, Jacques and Charles were left there.
Joaninna Magistros threw her arms around Jacques while Charles embraced his attractive, auburn-haired Flora Asadian. Guy thought she was one of the Rus camp followers, perhaps the daughter of some passing Varangian, for she spoke fluent Armenian and Rus, communicating with Charles in the smattering of Greek and Armenian he had picked up. Flora smiled at Guy.
Joaninna had become a legend on the walls. She was one of those who, unnoticed in ordinary life, rise above others in a crisis. She was always where the fighting was thickest, carrying supplies to the
walls, tending the wounded and comforting the dying. Through all this, she had worn the felt jerkin of an archer over her brown dress and set a cooking pot on her head, until Jacques found her a helmet. Everyone knew and loved her as much as the abbess, who was equally engaged in the defence of the city and the welfare of the casualties. Guy was surprised at the affection for each other that Joaninna and Jacques displayed. The groom stood with his arms around the woman while she nestled her cheek into the crook of his neck. Neither spoke.
Guy felt suddenly alone, more so when Joaninna noticed him glance around.
“Irene may have been called away,” she said. “There were many injured on the northern wall again last night.”
“Do you wish to sup with us?” Flora Asadian asked.
Charles added his own entreaties.
“Thank you, but I’ve things I must do.” So saying, Guy heaved his load higher on his shoulder and walked, weary in body and soul, to his quarters.
Bryennius found him there before Guy had time to remove his armour. The Roman was several days unshaven and looked as tired as Guy felt.
“Guy, I have something to tell you. I wondered whether to, and it doesn’t change anything, but you should know.”
Why would Bryennius seek him out? Guy felt a vague sense of alarm. Suddenly he was glad of the way fatigue dulled the senses.
“You know the Sultan demanded a bride?” said Bryennius.
“Irene?”
“In a way. I received a message from … our friend … last night. It seems some in the Seljuk court are keen to see old Tughrul sire an heir and they have an interest in the woman who escaped from Archēsh and the one who rode with her.”
A Dowry for the Sultan Page 45
