The iron lance cc-1

by Stephen Lawhead

  'And the other army?' the drungarius wondered.

  'It is under the command of a man called Raymond, Count of Toulouse. They landed at Dyrrachium on the Ides of March, and John moved them quickly on. They could arrive at any time.'

  Dalassenus fought down his growing rancour. 'I will alert the Pecheneg theme to watch the roads and bring word as soon as they are sighted. That should give us warning enough -'

  'Better still,' suggested Alexius, 'instruct them to escort the Count and his troops to the capital at once. I do not want these marauding pilgrims pillaging any more towns along the way.'

  'It will be done, Basileus,' the young commander replied. 'Does the exarch indicate how many we can expect to -

  Before he could say more, the Captain of the Excubitori appeared at the door. He coughed politely, and when Alexius beckoned him to approach, he said, 'Forgive the intrusion, Basileus, but there may be a problem,' Nicetas announced. 'A riot has broken out in one of the markets outside the walls. The city scholae are dealing with it, but I thought you should know. Also, it appears the Romans are moving their camps further up the Golden Horn. They may be preparing an attack on the city.'

  The emperor's frown deepened; he rubbed a hand over his face.

  'What can they be thinking?' said Dalassenus, his brow lowering with exasperation.

  Alexius drew a steadying breath and said, 'It may come to nothing. Nevertheless, we will be ready. Call out the archers, and have the Varangi man the walls.' To Dalassenus he said, 'Summon the Immortals.'

  'Do you wish us to engage the pilgrims, Basileus?' asked Nicetas.

  'No,' he decided, 'at least not yet. If they approach the gates, tell the archers to shoot over their heads. Go now, both of you. We will join you on the wall.'

  The emperor rose and left the chapel, hastening to the royal apartments where he called Gerontius to summon his armour bearers. 'We will show these quarrelsome lords the folly of making war on their emperor.'

  While his servants dressed him for battle, he instructed the magister to send for the Logothete of the Symponus. The elderly official came puffing into his presence, clutching the document the emperor had requested. Alexius relieved him of the parchment and, buckling on his sword, made his way quickly to the wall. He was met on the steps by Nicetas.

  'Eleven dead, Basileus,' the commander reported. 'Twenty-seven wounded and injured.'

  'Among the citizens-how many?'

  'Eighteen, Basileus,' the commander replied. 'Three merchants, six market traders and one or two artisans; the rest were women and children.'

  Dismissing his commander to his duties, the emperor proceeded up the last of the long series of steps to the top of the wall where Dalassenus was waiting for him.

  'The fighting continues, Basileus. The Romans have pillaged the markets closest to their camps,' the Grand Drungarius informed him. 'They appear to be readying an attack on the gate.'

  'Where are their commanders?' wondered Alexius, gazing down into the swirling mass of armoured men swarming the bridge before the gate. Like so many barbarian hordes before them, these mad Latins believed they could conquer the empire by beating down the gates of Constantinople.

  'It does not appear to be an organized assault, Basileus,' the young general informed him. 'Indeed, the main body of the force seems to be retreating.' He pointed to the river where the crusaders were moving along the southern bank. Across the waste ground, whole districts of the crusader tent city had been removed, and more were going. The pilgrim army was on the march.

  'It may be they will try to establish siege points,' Dalassenus suggested. 'Or, perhaps they think to ford the river upstream and attack the city from the east.'

  'Across the river?' Alexius shook his head. 'It makes no sense.'

  'Nevertheless,' Dalassenus replied, 'we could defeat the force at the gate before the others knew of the attack.'

  Just then a strategus approached on the run. 'The archers are ready, Basileus,' he said. 'They await your command.'

  The emperor turned away from the gate and looked out over the site of the affray. A dull haze of smoke hung low over the market square where the conflict had broken out. The market-what was left of it-stood in disarray; the traders' ramshackle wooden stalls had been smashed, broken up, and the pieces scattered over the empty square; ruined produce and wasted merchandise had been trampled into the dust; there were walking wounded hobbling, dazed, over the destruction, and two or three bodies still lay unattended, although several others had been collected in carts which were now hastening towards a nearby church.

  'Shall I give the order to attack?'

  'Send a few flights over their heads,' Alexius said. 'Drive them away from the gate.' Turning to one of the excubitori behind him, he said, 'We will need a horse, and one for the drungarius. Bring word when the Immortals have arrived.'

  'Basileus?' wondered the drungarius. 'The Immortals can take them with ease. There is no need to put yourself in danger. Allow me to send word when we have secured the Romans' surrender.'

  'No, Dalassenus, I want the Romans to see me leading the charge so that they will know who demands their allegiance. We will defeat them in their own camp, and they will sign the oath of loyalty,' he said, placing the parchment into his kinsman's hands. Turning his eyes once more towards the river, he looked at the long lines of crusaders moving along the banks, shaking his head in bewilderment. 'This is troublesome. I wish I knew what it meant.'

  A few moments later, word came that the Immortals had arrived and were waiting at the gate below. Alexius and Dalassenus descended to join the elite scholae. Taking his place at the head of the troops, the emperor delivered final orders; then, turning to the wall, he signalled to the strategus, who gave the order to let fly the arrows. 'Open the gates!' commanded Alexius. The gatemen began plying the winches and there came a groaning sound as the huge doors ground open slowly.

  Accompanied by his commander and a hundred mounted Immortals, and seventy-five Varangi on foot, Alexius charged into the fray. The pilgrims, having been forced away from the gate by the archers, were massed together at the end of the bridge over the dry ditch before the outer wall. The instant the gate was opened, they all surged forward, only to be thrown back upon themselves by the sudden appearance of the mounted soldiers.

  As the horses thundered onto the bridge, the crusaders halted. Angry battle-cries turned instantly to screams of terror as the fore-ranks, squeezed by the multitude pressing in from behind, found themselves unable to escape. The fortunate few on the outer sides threw themselves off the bridge and into the ditch below to avoid the imperial lances. The rest were ridden down as the riders swept out into the chaotic mass of crusaders.

  Alexius struck and struck again, using the butt of his spear as often as the blade. Even as the weapon rose and fell in his hand, he scanned the battleground for any sign that their attack would be met and matched by a sudden surge of knights. But he saw no sign of mounted resistance, and so carried the charge forward.

  The pilgrims, disoriented and dismayed, fled in droves before the imperial assault. Although the emperor had given orders that his own troops were not to pursue opportunities for combat with individuals, the pilgrim ranks were in such disarray that the scholae could not help cutting them down as they ran. Even so, far more died in the crush, trampled to death by their own comrades desperate to flee the onrushing horses.

  The imperial scholae cut a wide swathe through the scattering crusaders and proceeded swiftly towards the river, and the exposed flank of the crusader army as it moved along the bank. As they drew near, they were met by a body of defenders-perhaps a hundred hastily-ordered knights, and several hundred footmen-who formed a rough battle line between the emperor's force and their own directly behind them. Poised to fight, yet waiting for the Byzantines to make the first move, they appeared irresolute and uncertain.

  'Halt!' Alexius cried, pulling hard on the reins. His horse reared and plunged to a stop within a dozen paces of the front
rank of knights. Instantly, his bodyguard reined up beside him while the Immortals ranged themselves in two long wings of double ranks on either side, forming an intimidating wall before the reluctant knights.

  Staring down the length of his spear, Alexius brought its point to the throat of the foremost knight. 'I am Alexius, Supreme Sovereign of the Holy Roman Empire. Do you understand what I am saying to you?' he asked, speaking in unadorned Latin so that there should be no mistaking his meaning.

  'I understand,' replied the truculent soldier. The man's age and the scar on the side of his neck signified him to be a veteran of battle. Wisely, he made no move to raise his sword.

  'Where are your lords?' Alexius demanded.

  The pilgrim jerked his head sideways, indicating that they were up ahead, leading the march. 'Go and find them,' the emperor ordered. 'We will await them here.'

  Seeing that the Greeks did not appear interested in offering battle, the knight nodded to the man beside him. The second warrior put spurs to his mount and rode quickly away. There followed a long, tense interval as the two opposing forces waited for the arrival of the crusader lords, eyeing one another across the short distance separating them.

  All at once there came a commotion from the rearward ranks. A way parted and Alexius saw a number of riders making their way towards the front line. He waited until they had come within the sound of his voice, and then said, 'So! Tell me, how stood the fearsome merchants before your mighty swords? Did the children and their mothers offer stout resistance to your massed attack? The victory is yours-how well the glory sits upon your valiant shoulders!'

  Duke Godfrey, a puzzled look on his face, drew himself up to speak, but Alexius continued, 'Why do you repay the empire's generosity with treachery? Not even wild dogs bite the hand that feeds them.'

  Alexius glowered at the assembled knights, who shifted uneasily, looking to their leaders to defend their honour against the emperor's inexplicable wrath. 'Shame!' he cried. 'The blood of the defenceless demands justice. We charge you to make reparation out of your own treasuries to the families of those you have slain.'

  'Lord Emperor,' said Godfrey defensively, 'I profess before God and all gathered here, I know nothing of what you speak.'

  'Ignorance ill becomes you, lord,' Alexius replied tartly. 'Heed then, we will enlighten you.' He then told the disgraced nobleman about the riot and attack on the marketplace, and demanded, 'Where were you when your troops violated the peace and friendship between our peoples?'

  'Our supplies have run out,' answered the duke, evading the question. 'The people are hungry-they starve. They have had nothing but stale bread for weeks.'

  'Fresh provisions await your people-as you well know,' the emperor told him. 'It only requires your oath of fealty to secure all the food you need.' Having vented his anger, Alexius pressed on to secure his primary purpose. 'This day,' he said, assuming a more conciliatory tone, 'is the day appointed for the signing of the oath of loyalty. We will have your answer. What is it to be?'

  Godfrey looked upon the imperial troops ranged before him, and hesitated. There came a movement from the rear, and Baldwin burst suddenly into the front line. 'This demand is an insult!' he shouted, thrusting himself forward. 'I say we will not sign!'

  Alexius gazed on him without expression. 'Give us your pledge, or give us your life. The choice is yours, friend, but we will have one or the other before this day is run.'

  'The Devil take your oath!' Baldwin said, drawing his blade. Several of the knights looking on shouted support for this sentiment. The air tingled with the sound of swords sliding from scabbards.

  'Peace, Baldwin!' his brother roared. 'Put up your sword. We will abide the emperor's request.' To Alexius, he said, 'The attack on the marketplace was ill-judged. On my honour, those who led the raid will be punished.' His eyes shifted unhappily from Baldwin to several of the leading knights, who had gone very quiet. To the emperor he said, 'We deeply regret the destruction and loss, and will make suitable reparation as you command.'

  'We urge you to be generous,' Alexius told him. 'For the measure you use for others will be used for you.'

  'It will be done,' Godfrey replied. 'Moreover, we stand ready to sign the pledge of loyalty at the time and place of your choosing.'

  'So be it,' declared the emperor. 'We will see it signed here and now.' He held out his hand to Dalassenus, who promptly delivered into the emperor's outstretched palm the parchment square, which Alexius unfolded. 'Come here,' he commanded the brother lords; they dismounted and stood before him.

  'Read it out,' instructed the emperor.

  Reluctantly, Godfrey read out the oath, promising to keep faith with the emperor and recognizing his sovereign authority in all matters pertaining to the governance of the empire and its citizens, and further, to return to imperial rule all lands or cities-and any concomitant treasures, relics, or holy objects-formerly belonging to the empire which might fall to the crusaders' advance.

  Having read the oath, Godfrey owned the vow, whereupon Dalassenus produced a quill and a vial of red ink which he proffered to Godfrey.

  Dour and unsmiling, the lord dipped the point of the quill into the vial and signed his name with a defiant flourish. Handing the document and quill to his brother, he said, 'Affix your name beneath mine, dear brother, and let us remember we have come to fight the infidel, not to make war on friends.'

  Baldwin sneered at the last word, but signed the document in scribbled haste and passed it contemptuously to the emperor, who looked at the signatures, and then delivered the document into the hands of the Grand Drungarius for safe-keeping.

  'The promised food supplies will be delivered at once,' the emperor informed the lords. 'In a few days' time we expect to receive Count Bohemond of Taranto, who will also sign the oath of loyalty. When that formality has been accomplished, we will meet together to lay plans for shipping your people, horses, and supplies across the Bosphorus.' He paused to allow the significance of his words to penetrate their understanding, and then said, 'As your time in Constantinople grows short, we would have you enjoy something of the city's treasures and delights. Therefore, we have arranged for you and your men to visit the principal sights of the capital.'

  'You are very kind, Lord Emperor,' Godfrey said, accepting the invitation by way of a peace offering. 'We would enjoy nothing more.'

  Baldwin frowned, but held his tongue for once.

  'So that you should not come to grief in a city so large and unknown to you, we will provide an escort of our own bodyguard to serve as guides. Thus, you need have no fear of becoming lost, or falling into harm.'

  'Again,' said Godfrey, 'your thoughtfulness is laudable. We thank you, and will anticipate with all eagerness the council you propose.'

  The lord made a small bow, whereupon the emperor bade them farewell, and detailed the Grand Drungarius, two strategi, and fifty Varangian guardsmen to see to the reparation settlement and conduct the lords and the noblemen of their company on a tour of the city. He then returned to Blachernae Palace to prepare to meet his old enemy's bellicose son, Bohemond of Taranto.

  SIXTEEN

  The settlement at Inbhir Ness was much larger than Murdo expected, and far more squalid. Tight clusters of low huts with high-peaked roofs of coarse thatch huddled close together over narrow footpaths that seamed through the town in every direction, like a bare earth web. Smoke from a multitude of hearthfires hung over the place so that even in the bright sun, Inbhir Ness appeared dark and uninviting.

  The river mouth itself was wide enough, but only a handful of small boats, and three or four ships, were moored along the muddy banks. Aside from a large monastery on the hill high above the firth, the place seemed old, derelict, and forlorn, which surprised Murdo. Even sleepy Kirkjuvagr boasted more bustle and commerce. When he mentioned this fact to Peder, the elder seaman simply told him to wait and see. They proceeded through a pinched and narrow channel, and into another, smaller firth, which continued inland a fair distance t
o the mouth of the Ness which formed a wide and shallow harbour so full of craft of various sizes that it took all Peder's skill to manoeuvre their own small boat to shore. 'Put in!' Murdo called from the prow. 'Put in!' 'Aye,' Peder agreed. 'We will-when I see a good place.' The voyage had been good, the winds favourable and the seas calm. But after the better part of three days and two nights on the water, Murdo was in no mood to wait: any place would do. 'There! See it?' He pointed to a narrow berth between two stout, high-sided cogs. 'Put in there!'

  Peder eyed the place and frowned at the look of it, but did as he was told and nosed the boat towards the place. 'Strike the sail,' he called, 'and pick up the oars. Row us in.'

  Murdo hopped to his chores and soon they were gliding into the space between the ships. No sooner had the keel bumped against the earthen bank, than Murdo leapt out onto dry land. Peder threw him a rope, which Murdo secured to a stump atop the raised-earth bank.

  'You run on, Master Murdo, and see can you find Orin's ship,' the old seaman said, clambering onto dry land. 'I shall keep with the boat.'

  Murdo did not hesitate, but hurried off along the bank. He worked his way around the inlet, looking at the ships and trying to determine if this one or that might belong to Lord Orin. He eventually arrived at a wide place at the farthest end of the anchorage, a square of sorts, where the harbour and main settlement met. Here the wagons and carts of the provisioners called to deliver their goods, and here the sailors met to drink ale and talk.

  An inn – the first Murdo had ever seen-fronted this muddy square: a low, dark, rambling house with a small mountain of wooden casks, kegs, and tuns stacked high outside the entrance. Upon reaching the inn, he paused and savoured the toothsome aroma of roasting meat wafting out the wide and open door; the smell brought the water to his mouth and made his empty stomach squirm in anticipation. While he was yet surveying the square, a man in a leather apron emerged from the inn behind him and took up one of the kegs from the heap a few paces from where Murdo stood.