“Indeed, that is quite a simple explanation,” said Father Yves with a smile. “Though I am sorry to hear you so bitter against the Greeks and their ancestors, for they were not always heretics, you know. But really it is impossible to argue about miracles; they defy the laws of reason, and therefore reasoning is a waste of time. Yet you must remember that it is a dubious relic at best, and don’t relax your efforts to beat the infidels just because you think you have a miracle to help you. Now I must get back to the city; I go on watch at midnight. God bless you, and fight as hard as you can.”
When he was alone, Roger went up on the fighting-stage to think things out by himself. It would be comforting if God sent a miracle every time the Christian army was in a tight place, but he had to admit that it had not happened in the past. It was their own courage that had taken them so far into Asia. Yet in fact God’s Providence had, in a sense, watched over them, and twice they had been saved from what looked like certain disaster; once when the Norman column had been at its last gasp at Dorylaeum, and the Provençals had arrived in the nick of time to rescue them; once when it seemed that they must be crushed between the relieving army and the walls of the city, and Bohemund had discovered a timely traitor literally on the last possible day. He thought again of how the pilgrimage had appeared to him at home in Sussex; he had expected a long march, for the journey to Jerusalem always took at least a year; he had looked for one or two fierce battles on the borders of the infidel; what he had not expected were these time-wasting sieges, the months of hunger, the great stone walls round every town and village, the innumerable hosts of Turks who kept out of sword-reach and shot their arrows by night as well as by day, and the sullen hostility or guarded neutrality of the native Christians they had come to rescue.
That night the Turks were bolder, and one of the knights on the fighting-stage was killed by an arrow that hit him in the mouth and penetrated to the spine. The enemy shouted and screamed, and came very close to the wall, but they never actually launched an assault. Next day for dinner there was nothing but a small piece of donkey-meat for each man, and the servant who brought it told them that Bohemund’s Castle, outside the Gate of Saint Paul, had been evacuated by its garrison in the darkness of the previous night. The official explanation was that the wall of unmortared stone was weak, and that the Turks had started a mine nearby, but rumour said that the defenders had refused to stay there any longer, and had marched back into the city without orders. In any case, it was the first fortification that the pilgrims had lost to the enemy, though the Aleppo road which it blocked had no more importance now the city was taken. It might be the beginning of the turn of the tide, and the knights in Cemetery Castle went about with long faces, swearing, too emphatically to carry conviction, that they at least would hold their post to the last man.
Fortunately, the Turks were reluctant to face armoured men at close quarters in the streets, otherwise they could easily have entered the citadel by the southern wall, and charged down the hillside; they did not attempt this, but many pilgrims had to stand to, night and day, on the improvised barricades that walled off the citadel from the rest of the town. It was obvious that things could not go on like this for much longer, and every day the number of desertions increased.
VI. Christian Antioch 1098.
On the 27th of June the defenders of Cemetery Castle looked in vain for their dinner. Every day the meals had grown smaller, but up to now they had at least been fed twice a day. In mid-afternoon hope was revived when they saw a man cautiously picking his way across the rubbish-strewn Bridge, keeping a sharp look-out for stray arrows. At last he entered the southern door, amid ironical cheers from the hungry onlookers, and was seen to be one of the Duke’s clerks. He conferred with the commander of the castle, and then mounted to the safest part of the southern fighting-stage; a trumpet blew for silence, and the discontented, idle, bored, and hungry men gathered in a crowd below him. They were muttering angrily, but after he had given the preliminary cough of the experienced preacher, and made the sign of the Cross as though he were in a pulpit, his first words caught their attention.
“Pilgrims of Normandy, I bring important news. To-morrow we shall all march out of the city, to deliver battle on the plain north of the river. Every knight who can get hold of a horse of any kind must come mounted; the others will serve with the foot, wherever the leaders direct. To-night this castle will be handed over to the followers of the Count of Toulouse, who is unable through sickness to take part in the battle, and therefore is undertaking the defence of the town.” This brought an outburst of groans, for though the Count of Toulouse was an elderly man, and seldom in good health, his sickness did seem to incapacitate him whenever danger was to be faced. The clerk continued:
“The dismounted knights will be arrayed among the common foot. The Turks will attack us as soon as we cross the Bridge, therefore we must cross it in good order, formed up to fight. For this reason the Duke commands that all fighting-men come back into the city as soon as they are relieved by the Provençals; then the army can be arrayed by the leaders before daybreak, in the street. I know you have had no dinner to-day, the food just isn’t there, but the Duke has arranged a good supper for you to-night; in fact, all the food that is left. The Holy Lance will lead us, and God will defend the right. Now get what sleep you can, and don’t warn the enemy by cheering and shouting.”
As a matter of fact his speech was received in dead silence, for the tired and hungry men were in no mood to cheer; but they revived at the prospect of action. Roger, like most of the others, was glad to get into his blankets and rest on the shady side of the courtyard. His last thought before he fell asleep was that in another day it would all be over, and that by to-morrow night he would indeed be at rest; either victorious or with the jackals mauling his carcass.
He was aroused at sundown, as the cheerful, chattering, impudent Provençal crossbowmen filed in through the narrow door. There were one or two sick knights with them, who exaggerated their weakness to extenuate the position they had taken up in the rear, but most of the sick who were able to stand were left to block any sallies from the citadel. The Normans plodded silently across the Bridge, and sat down on the cobblestones inside the gate; none of them felt particularly warlike. Roger’s feet were tender and inflamed, from long standing under the weight of his armour, and his whole body felt stiff and clumsy, caked with grime and sweat. He had not undressed for the last ten days, or put on clean clothes for a month; his hauberk had chafed his jaw into a line of sores, as he continually turned his head to watch for Turkish arrows, and his right shoulder was deeply calloused and stiff from the weight of his shieldstrap; he felt dizzy from hunger, and, of course, constipated from lack of exercise. No one else was in any better shape, and many suffered from dysentery as well. On the whole they were none of them really fit for battle, and the entire army was not one-tenth as efficient as it had been a year ago at Dorylaeum … and they had been nearly beaten there. He consoled himself with the thought that his armour was sound, his shield whole, and his sword sharp; but there could be no retreating from a lost field with his feet in their present condition.
Presently great kettles of hot stew were brought round, and everyone could for once eat his fill of the soaked biscuit and the strange joints of miscellaneous baggage-animals of which it was composed. At midnight the Duke himself rode up, and ordered the dismounted men to an open space higher up the hill. There he joined them, and the pitifully few cavalry who stood by their horses a little to one side. All the Normans of Normandy could only muster about a hundred knights on European warhorses or Turkish ponies, with about the same number on baggage-animals, a few even on donkeys, to form a second line; the foot, and dismounted knights, were altogether about two thousand. The Normans of Normandy were usually reckoned one-tenth of the whole army, which at this rate would only muster about twenty thousand strong; and rumour said that the Turks were a hundred and fifty thousand.
The Duke and his companions
began to array the detachment; the men, of course, had never been drilled, and their low morale made them slack and unco-operative. All down the long sloping street other contingents were getting into order, sullenly and in silence. Immediately downhill were the Flemings, and near the Gate the French followers of the Count of Vermandois, while up the street a corps of Lotharingians shuffled and grumbled. The Duke and his great barons had dismounted, and were pulling their men by the arm to get them in their places; they were forming a column of six files, with crossbowmen on the right and the less efficient spearmen and half-armed but able-bodied grooms and servants on the left; evidently the column was to perform a right turn before fighting.
The Duke saw that Roger was a knight, and told him quite politely to take his place between two crossbowmen in the right-hand file; other dismounted knights were scattered singly all along the line, but there were not as many of them as there should have been, for most knights had some money, and therefore it had been easier for them to desert. When at last they were in position the Duke mounted again, to be seen by all, and gave them his final instructions.
“Pilgrims of Normandy, at sunrise we shall march out across the Bridge. The French are commanded by the brother of the King of France, and naturally they must lead the array; as soon as they have all passed Cemetery Castle they will turn to the right, and stand fast. The Flemings will march behind them, also turn right when they have gained enough ground, and continue the line on their left. We follow the Flemings, and come into line when we have passed them. The Lotharingians are behind us, and will take post on our left. No one is to move forward until the army is complete, which will not be until Count Conan of Brittany has brought the last contingent into line on the extreme left. The mounted knights will form up behind the foot; I shall be with them, and can see from my horse when the line has been formed. Then I shall give the order to advance; so remember, footmen, stand fast until you hear me behind you giving the command. Now you can sit or lie down in your ranks until it is time to move off.”
His speech was received with dead silence, and all the footmen flopped down where they stood. Roger was between two veteran crossbowmen, who were evidently old friends, and talked rudely across him as though he wasn’t there.
“What a tricky way of getting into battle, Tom,” said one. “Why don’t we all march out in one column, and do our right turn when the last man is across the river. This way the people at the back have farthest to go, and we shall be all day waiting for them to come up. That isn’t how the old Duke, his father, would have planned things.”
“You’re right there,” said the other. “Taranto, or whoever is the leader, must expect the Turks to stand still while he gets all his men into line. All this waiting about may be the right thing for Italians, but I am accustomed to going straight at the enemy, and putting in a few arrows before the knights charge. We should all march out together.”
“Oh well,” answered Tom, “we have done a lot for the pilgrimage, and those Provençal cuckolds can watch from the castle while we are being cut down by the Turks. I never expected to end up a holy martyr when I took my vow for this espedition, but we will get one or two before they kill us; you can be sure of that!”
Roger thought it his duty to encourage these veterans, who must be depressing the spirits of their comrades sitting near, so he spoke out loudly. “I never drew sword till I came on this pilgrimage, and I don’t know how things were in the old Duke’s time, but I can see that this is the only possible plan. In Europe you never fought in an army made up of a dozen different contingents, each under its own leader, and some of them speaking unknown and barbarous languages. If all these men came out in one column, who would give the order to turn to the right, and how could he get us all to obey him at the same time? As to the Turks attacking us before the others have come out of the city, you know they always hover round and shoot their arrows for a long time before they can pluck up their courage to charge home. With this plan we shall win, and remember that we are led by the Holy Lance.” The two crossbowmen were silent, rather sulky that their interesting technical conversation had been interrupted by a knight, whom it was unwise and insubordinate to contradict. Roger felt that perhaps he had encouraged some of his hearers, though it might be unwise to bring up the doubtful and untrustworthy Holy Lance.
At length the moon set, and boys came round with wine-skins and baskets containing small fragments of biscuit. Each man had a swallow and a mouthful; a few, exceptionally lucky, fell out to relieve themselves in the gutter, but the majority were still constipated from lack of food and irregular hours. Then grooms were to be seen tightening the girths of the bony warhorses, and Roger got an obliging crossbowman to run over the fastenings of his mail shirt and hauberk. As the light grew the chaplains appeared at every street corner and muttered through a short Mass; then, as the sun rose, the great Bridge Gate was thrown wide open with a loud creaking of hinges and the army began to march down the street.
Roger limped along on his inflamed and aching feet, hoping that exercise and excitement would soon make them more active; he found that if he carried his shield correctly on his left arm the point of it banged irritatingly against his scabbard, and threatened to trip him; so he slung it on his back until he should arrive within range of the enemy’s arrows. It was the first time he had marched on foot, fully armed, in the midst of a dense column, and even though he was in the right-hand file he found it awkward and enraging; those in front were always too fast or too slow, and he could not see the rough places in the street in time to avoid them. But very soon he was through the Gate and on the Bridge; here a breeze was blowing, and though it brought the stench from all the refuse of the long-occupied pilgrim camp it was reviving after the foetid and stagnant air of the city. He was in the centre of the Norman column, and if they had got so far the French of the Ile-de-France must be already across and formed up on the northern bank. They all moved more briskly as they crossed the Bridge, and the breeze blew away their early morning headaches and sleepiness; one or two men began to sing marching-songs, and everyone laughed when a donkey ridden by a lame knight behind them brayed fiercely. Perhaps they would go into battle in better spirits than had seemed possible during the long night in the stuffy town.
They marched past Cemetery Castle, and filed behind the little body of mounted knights of the French contingent, who were drawn up facing to the right in rear of their own foot; they could see no enemy, and hear no sound of fighting. Then they were abreast of the Flemings who had also taken post unopposed, and the spirits of the whole Norman contingent rose higher every moment that passed; so far this tricky manoeuvre had not been opposed by the enemy, but Roger hitched his shield round, and put his arm through the handles, for they would be within reach of the infidels in a few moments. The head of the column made an S bend to get into line with the troops already formed up, and Roger could see the Duke’s banner halted on his left front. As he passed the last of the Flemings he looked eagerly to his right, where lay the Turkish camp; but he could not see so far, since the whole plain between the river and the hills was filled with dense masses of infidel horsemen, and towering clouds of dust rose to obscure the sun. Yet the enemy, though not at all taken by surprise, were not ready to charge, or even to come within range and shoot their arrows. They were scampering about, collecting into solid bodies and then scattering again, and did nothing worse than shout their warcries, and wave their bows, to intimidate the pilgrims. Suddenly there was an outburst of shouts and trumpet-calls from the head of the column, and the Norman contingent came to a halt; immediately every man turned to his right, as it had been explained to them in the town that they should do. Roger looked down the ranks, and saw that they were abreast of the Flemings. He gave a sigh of relief; the awkward manoeuvre, so difficult for undrilled troops, had been safely accomplished, and they were in line of battle, ready to receive the enemy’s attack.
Now came a long and unnerving wait, while the other detachments cros
sed the Bridge to take post. He drew his sword and his hand sweated in the hilt as he gazed at the infidels three hundred yards away; he felt very naked and helpless, standing in the front rank on his own feet, and he trembled with nerves and excitement as he had done a year ago before his first battle. The trampling and neighing of the horses behind him made him apprehensive of being ridden down by his own side from the rear, and the swiftly moving Turks in front seemed hopelessly out of his reach; he appreciated why footmen were so panicky and unreliable in battle. When the Lotharingians, with the Burgundians and a detachment of miscellaneous French who preferred not to serve under the brother of their King, had prolonged the line to the left, the Turks at last made a move. A great mass of horsemen came forward from the foot of the hills, and ranged themselves across the end of the pilgrims’ line, facing towards the river. Tom the crossbowman was keenly interested in all that went on, and he grunted to Roger on his right:
“They should have done that in the first place. Then we would never have got across the Bridge. I suppose they thought they could outflank the whole army whenever they wanted to, but if our rear column fight their way into line we shall stretch from the hills to the riverbank, and they will only be able to attack us in front. Could you tell me, sir, what nation is in the rear-battle? Now it all depends on them.”
Knight with Armour Page 23
