by Tony Roberts
“Oh, but Strategos Longios does, is that not true, Lord Bohemond?” Alexius smiled.
Bohemond scowled but nodded.
Godfrey looked surprised. “Indeed? What title?”
Casca cleared his throat. “Baron Stokeham, England. Bestowed by the hand of the now dead King William.”
Godfrey, Baldwin and even Raymond – whom Casca hadn’t told about his title before – stared in surprise at the scarred general. Alexius smiled and stroked his beard. “Does that not alter things, gentlemen?”
“Yes,” Raymond said, piqued that Casca hadn’t told him.
Godfrey scowled but nodded, while Baldwin looked thoughtfully at Casca.
“And the Turk?” Bohemond jabbed a disrespectful thumb in the direction of Tatikus.
“The ‘Turk’ is an imperial officer under my jurisdiction and is to command the regiment of troops that will march with your men, so it would be polite to address him as befits his rank, Lord Bohemond.”
Tatikus glowered darkly at the Norman nobleman, but said nothing.
“Count Raymond, I stand by my request of you,” Alexius said.
“And I, Lord, cannot alter mine.”
“Then your men shall not be ferried across to join the others’, I regret to say.”
Raymond thumped the table in annoyance. “My men’s mood will not be good, given their treatment at the hands of your men already. There may be bloodshed.”
“If you attack the Emperor’s men, I shall stand at his side against you, Toulouse,” Bohemond promised, smiling evilly at Raymond.
Raymond’s nostrils flared. “You opportunist; who are you to take sides? You and your family have opposed anyone when it’s suited you, even the Pope!”
“You fool, Toulouse,” Bohemond snapped, “your vanity and pride endangers this Crusade! What will the Pope think when he is informed that the very Crusade he called was destroyed by your petty ego? I think your lands would be confiscated and you and your family excommunicated!”
“How dare you, Sicily!” Raymond stood, fists balled.
The rest stood, alarmed. Casca stepped between the two furious nobles. “Alright, enough,” he said. “We’re supposed to be fighting on the same side. Let’s go and calm down somewhere. A recess, shall we say for an hour?”
Alexius concurred. “A reasonable suggestion, Strategos. I shall retire to my chambers for that time and we shall reconvene in one hour.”
The emperor left. Tatikus followed, but Casca remained, leaning against the tabletop, still separating Bohemond and Raymond. He didn’t have any real worries from Raymond, but Bohemond was another matter. The giant Norman needed watching. “Sit down, Lord Bohemond,” he said, “all this posturing isn’t doing our unity any good.”
“I meant what I said,” Bohemond said, looking down at Casca. “My men will side with the emperor in any conflict with Toulouse’s men – and it shouldn’t be a difficult fight, seeing that his men were whipped by the imperial troops.”
Casca sensed the outrage emanating from the man behind him. “Cut the crap, Bohemond; save the fighting for the Turks.”
“On that subject,” Godfrey stirred from across the tabletop, “why has the emperor employed a Turk to command his troops? Surely he’ll betray us all the first opportunity he gets?”
“Rubbish.” Casca faced Godfrey, leaning towards him over the table. “Tatikus has served the Empire faithfully for decades. I’ve fought alongside him against the Normans and Pechenegs and he’s been nothing but loyal. One thing you’ve got to learn about the Turks, they’re not one unified people. They’ve got tribes and rivalries, just as we appear to have. The guy you’re going to have to fight first is Kilich Arslan, a local warlord who thinks he’s top dog amongst the Turks, but who’s pissed off the other emirs. He’s only top dog at present because he’s got the biggest army, and if we whip his ass it’ll encourage the others to throw off his suzerainty and declare independence, and that’ll fall right into our hands.”
The Crusader leaders thought on that one. Bohemond smiled in a way Casca didn’t care for. “Of course our men will be fighting for a cause that benefits the Empire and not ourselves.”
“You’ll be getting advice and support from the emperor, you heard him. Most of you won’t ever have faced the Turks in battle before so you’re going to need plenty of tactical advice from Tatikus and me.”
Just then the door opened and a couple of imperial officials appeared along with Tatikus. Tatikus was carrying a scroll, which it appeared he’d only just received. One of the two newcomers bowed, and retreated. The other remained and as he stepped forward into the light of the lamps Casca could see it was an armored officer, dressed for battle.
“What is it? Is there an attack?” Casca asked. He sensed the tension in the chamber.
Tatikus read the scroll and looked up at the officer standing close to him. “No, this is Manuel Butumites who’ll be joining the expedition. He’s in charge of our siege engineers who’ll be coming along as far as Nicaea to help retake the city.”
Casca gave Butumites a careful appraisal. Stocky, dark haired, smooth olive skin. He had the look of intelligent competence about him, which for an engineer was fairly important. “Welcome, Butumites. I’m Longios, liaison officer for the Crusaders.”
“Sir,” Butumites saluted. “We’re crossing over to Pelekanon this afternoon. We’re to get used to the conditions over there and to scout out materials to build the siege engines. I’ve got a message for you and the noble gentlemen with you.” He produced a second scroll and passed it to Casca. He saluted again and left.
Casca turned to the waiting westerners and translated. They all came closer, curious. Casca broke the seal and scanned the document. It was in Greek and it took a little time for him to translate in his head. He raised his eyebrows, then looked up at the Crusaders. “It seems there’s another army on its way to join us, from Normandy. Robert of Normandy, Stephen of Blois and Robert of Flanders are leading it.”
“I know Normandy, Blois and Flanders,” Godfrey nodded. “They will be welcome.”
Baldwin agreed, then frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought Blois would have come; he’s not the type to endure this sort of hardship.”
“He’s married to William the Bastard’s daughter – she probably told him to come! He’s probably grateful to be away from her!” Godfrey said and roared with laughter. The others, except Raymond, joined in.
Casca knew of Robert of Normandy. Son of William the Bastard, or as he’d known him, King William of England. He also knew of William’s daughter, Adela, but hadn’t known she’d married, having been away for quite some time. He’d never met either son or daughter, and they had been mere children when he had been in England. Of Robert of Flanders, he knew nothing. “Robert of Flanders has just arrived with his contingent,” Casca continued. “The rest are still in Italy but will be on their way shortly.”
“Will we meet Flanders, then?” Bohemond asked.
“No doubt. I suspect the emperor will wish to meet him first.”
Bohemond grunted. Tatikus excused himself and left, followed by the animatedly chatting Baldwin and Godfrey. Raymond sat down and scowled at Bohemond. “I dislike you sucking up to the Greeks, Sicily. I know what you’re about.”
“And mind telling me what that is, Toulouse?”
“You want leadership of this Crusade. I will oppose that with all my might.”
Bohemond laughed nastily. “With what? Your men can’t even stand up to these effete fools here. They’d have no chance against real men like mine.”
Casca stepped forward. “Cut the crap, Bohemond. We’ve beaten you, too, in the past, so don’t go thinking you’re unbeatable.”
“Nobody can stand up to me,” Bohemond said, facing Casca and striking up an aggressive pose, chest thrusting out towards Casca.
“Oh you think so?” Casca countered, facing the Norman.
“A test of strength?” Bohemond smiled. He sat and put an arm on the table, ha
nd open and facing upwards.
Casca eyed Raymond who sighed and looked away. Smiling wearily Casca sat next to the giant and placed his left arm on the table. “If you insist. I’ll use my weaker arm to give you a half chance.”
“You arrogant fool, I’ll wipe the floor with you.”
“Try it, muscle head.” Casca grasped Bohemond’s hand and took a firm grip. The Norman bared his teeth and mashed his fingers together. Casca took the flash of pain with a slight wince, then mashed back. Bohemond growled and pushed hard, trying to slam Casca’s hand and arm flat on the tabletop. Casca took the push and held it, shaking. He had spent years in a Roman galley as a slave, being whipped while he was chained to the oarsman bench, and it had given him a grip unparalleled. Bohemond pushed hard but could make little headway. He gritted his teeth, pushed again and strained with all his might, veins standing out, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Casca grunted deeply and focused on his hand, drawing his strength from his abdomen. His arm was shaking but so was Bohemond’s. Slowly, imperceptibly, Bohemond’s arm was moving back to the fully upright position. Raymond, despite himself, watched in fascination as Casca’s brute strength began to force the giant Norman’s over. Both men were grunting and going red-faced. Neither was prepared to give way.
Casca’s stopped moving. Bohemond’s eyes threatened to pop out as he put everything into pushing back and incredibly he began to prevail. Casca sucked in one deep breath and clenched his gut muscles. The movement stopped. Both were immobile.
“Gentlemen,” Raymond said, “I think honor is satisfied. Neither of you has vanquished the other. I declare this contest a draw. An honorable one.”
Both men stared deep into the other’s eyes. Casca saw nothing but a deep hatred there, a hatred and determination. Casca returned it, his light blue eyes boring into Bohemond’s.
Raymond slapped the tabletop. “Enough! Save your strength for other matters.”
Casca and Bohemond pushed one last time, then exchanged a knowing look and each broke the grip simultaneously. Casca flexed his left arm. It would ache for a short while. His muscles were probably strained or pulled, but unlike Bohemond, his would heal in a matter of minutes or maybe an hour or two. If he’d been using his right arm and Bohemond his left, he was in no doubt he would have defeated the Sicilian nobleman. “I’ll go freshen up,” Casca said, standing up. “Then I’ll see the emperor and find out what he’s going to do. I would suggest, Count Raymond, you seriously rethink about not giving your Oath. With the arrival of the Normandy group it’s not that essential for your army to be part of the Crusade. They’ll have enough to go into Turkish territory.”
“You may as well turn around and return to Toulouse,” Bohemond said, gritting his teeth. His right arm hurt. “Then we can get on with things, rather than be held up here through your vanity.”
“Your opinion matters not to me, Sicily,” Raymond countered. “I shall speak to Flanders and give my answer after that. Now let’s go eat. I’m famished.”
Casca allowed the two Crusader lords to precede him out of the hall. He was in no doubt that Raymond would concede, if only to counter Bohemond’s bid to become leader of the Crusade.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicaea. Formerly an imperial city, walled and turreted. Now the capital of the Turkish emir Kilich Arslan. The city was shaped in a roughly rectangular shape, but at the western edge it sat on the shore of a lake which meant no besieging army could camp beneath its walls there.
The Crusaders were therefore before the northern, eastern and southern walls. They had divided up the responsibility of different sections to the various armies; Godfrey and his Lorrainers were to the north, Bohemond’s army was to the east while Raymond, with Casca, was to the south.
The Normandy detachment was still to cross and was assembling outside Constantinople, but Alexius had crossed over to the camp at Pelekanon and arranged for supplies to be ferried to the besiegers. The Turks were not too alarmed, having been under the impression the Crusaders were weak, following their easy victory over Peter’s army, and they also believed there was too much discord between the different commanders.
Raymond had submitted to Alexius, just as Casca had suspected, although the agreement was modified. It was sufficient for Alexius, however. Raymond still believed he ought to lead the entire expedition, something the other leaders opposed. Instead, they set up a Council where all attended and a general consensus was thrashed out.
Casca had brought Giselle with him. She was happy now they were on their way, and expected, like many Crusaders, to be in Jerusalem in a matter of weeks. Casca knew better, but kept silent. Better they didn’t know, for it may put them off.
Nicaea was a tough nut. It had over two hundred towers and was well garrisoned. The emir was away with the majority of his army, seeking to subdue another Turkish amir, and hadn’t fully realized the strength and determination of the Christians. Now he was hurrying back, so captured messages informed the Crusaders, and would be back outside Nicaea shortly.
Casca stood outside his tent in the Toulouse army camp, surveying the high walls. The city could feasibly hold out for months, time they simply didn’t have. It would have to fall swiftly, both to give them a boost to their morale, and to provide them with a big enough supply depot and garrison behind them. To move on with such a large hostile fortress in their rear was very risky indeed. Nicaea had to fall.
Giselle stretched as she emerged from the tent, basking in the warm May sunshine. “Ahh, I feel good this morning.”
Casca grinned at her. She was half dressed. The memories of her breasts and long legs were fresh in his mind. It had been a very enjoyable night. “I take it you slept well?”
Giselle nodded and sighed deeply. She had finally decided to sleep with Casca now he had lived up to his promise to take her on the Crusade, and that the trauma of losing her husband had faded with the passing of the months. The fact that Peter and the remnants of that failed Crusade had attached themselves to the new armies bothered her not. She was now a part of Raymond’s group and that was how she saw it. Best to keep well away from both the armies of Godfrey, her overlord, and the Normandy contingent, who were too close to home for comfort. The fears of being seen as a heretic were too great and she wanted to be as far away from those groups as possible, especially as she was carrying the relic with her.
Casca resumed his survey of the city’s walls. He sipped a glass of water. Supplies were still coming in and for the moment things were a little basic, but they would do. The Turks stood on the battlements, defying the army surrounding them on three sides. Sometimes an insult would be shouted down to them or an arrow shot out half-heartedly, but most of the time they were content to stare back at the infidels, may Allah curse them forevermore.
It was clear they were holding out for the return of the main Turkish army under their emir. Casca spat into the dirt and wandered along the edge of the encampment, one eye on the fortifications, one eye on the ground lest he trip up on something or tread in something less pleasant. Nicaea wouldn’t fall without one hell of a fight, even with the imperial engineers to help. It would cost a lot of lives, too.
He noticed Butumites standing close to the western edge of the camp, close to the lake. The Greek engineer was also studying the battlements and walls, a long expression on his face. Casca threw away the remains of his drink and joined the engineer on a slight rise in the ground. “Thoughts on taking the city by storm, Manuel?”
Butumites pulled a sour face. “Our forebears knew how to build properly, didn’t they?”
Casca nodded. “Back in the days when they had money available to build such things. So, a direct attack is out. Can’t tunnel underneath it, I presume?”
“Not here; ground’s too wet. Anyway, the emperor wants the city intact.”
Casca grunted. He looked across the lake. Here, the city walls turned north and ran along the edge of the water, rising sheer from the shore. There was no chance of s
neaking up on that side, except by boat. Casca rubbed a bristly chin. Boat.
“Manuel, do we have any boats?”
“Not with us but I can get hold of some. Why?”
“If we can’t take it by storm, then perhaps we can persuade the garrison to piss off.”
Butumites smiled briefly. “How? There must be a thousand of them there.”
“But the citizens are all Greek Christians. If the garrison goes it’s once again an imperial city. They’ll be feeling isolated now, garrisoning a Christian town with a Christian army waiting outside to slaughter them all. Their only chance is to be relieved by their emir, and what if he can’t break through? The Crusaders will attack any attempt to get through to the city. If the Turks are beaten, then the garrison will have no chance for survival. If I know these people here at all, they’ll kill every last one of them. You see how fanatical their rank and file are? And their priests – they whip up religious fervor at every opportunity. Kill the hated Muslims. You know the sort.”
“Sir,” Butumites nodded. “So we negotiate. But won’t the Crusaders object? They’ll want to plunder the city.”
“That’s one thing on my mind. The emperor, as you say, wants this city intact. That means to prevent it from being pillaged by these ignorant soldiers. We’ve got to sneakily open a dialogue with the defenders, and if we’re to do it without the Crusaders knowing, it’ll have to be from the lakeside, where there are no Crusader lines.”
Butumites regarded the flat surface of the lake thoughtfully. “I’ll go speak to Tatikus. He’s in direct communications with the emperor at Pelekanon. I’ll bring you any orders he gives you, sir.”
Casca nodded. “Good. Don’t let anyone else get a sniff of this. If the Crusaders find out they’ll do whatever they can to stop it, and it may jeopardize our fragile alliance, too. We’ve got to walk a careful path here, Butumites.”
The engineer officer saluted and walked away along the lakeside. Casca turned about and returned to his tent, noting the dispositions of the Crusaders. They weren’t too happy at being stuck outside the city; they wanted to get into the action. That was mostly why they were here. Anyone given Papal approval with God’s blessing to kill loads of infidels would jump at the chance of coming along, and standing here besieging a large garrison shut inside an Eastern Orthodox city wasn’t their idea of action. They wanted to kill Muslims.
