Soldier of Crusade

by Jack Ludlow

  That got a sneer from Boutoumites, who took pleasure in informing them that such negotiations were not carried out in the barbaric fashion common in Europe; offers had to be advanced, but with great subtlety, never anything like a definite statement – Tancred suspected that meant bribes of money and offices to this Acip Bey to betray Kilij Arslan. These inducements had to be given careful consideration and the full meaning and value explored. Could there be more and what was best for those in receipt; was it wiser to accept or reject? All this carried out in the midst of much ceremony and endless flattery.

  ‘And?’ the Count of Flanders demanded.

  ‘They said no.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Encamped on a well-watered and fertile plain, the force that set up camp outside Nicaea was in no danger of either deprivation or, it seemed, physical attack, though it had to be acknowledged that the inhabitants of the city existed in even more comfort, which no doubt excused their reluctance to attempt an exit and drive the Crusaders away. The air of unreality lasted until Bohemund arrived on the just visible shore with ships full of supplies, curious at first, displeased second and then furious when he fully understood the situation. Not only was the partial force outnumbered and completely exposed, but they had no idea when the rest of the main forces, both Crusaders and Byzantines, would join them.

  Tancred had felt the lash of Bohemund’s tongue many times in his life, but not since he had been a callow and easily tempted squire. As a boy he had been both handsome and wayward, inclined to go off on what he thought of as escapades and his seniors saw as outrageously risky adventures. Very often there was a wench attached to his disappearances and if his uncle was no prude – he enjoyed the company of women as much as the next knight, albeit he preferred them refined – he became heartily sick of the way Tancred seemed incapable of passing up on an opportunity, regardless of how much he put himself at risk by partaking of it.

  Many times his squire had been told that one day he would wake up from laying with a woman in what was enemy territory to find his coxcomb sliced off, that was if the knife was not used to slit his throat. They were dalliances; the situation now was worse and the only concession to the younger man was that his uncle took him to a private place to berate him.

  ‘Where are the Turks?’

  ‘In Nicaea.’

  Bohemund was good at concealing his anger if he needed to; he did not now. His frown was deep and the look in his eye incensed and for once, though there was not much between them in actual height, Tancred felt small.

  ‘I do not mean them and you know it!’

  Aware he was under a cloud Tancred was determined not to show it; he was, in his own mind, just as much of a de Hauteville as his uncle and with that went the family pride. ‘If you mean Kilij Arslan he is well to the east.’

  ‘You know that for certain?’

  ‘The Byzantines have assured us it is so.’

  ‘Was so, Tancred!’

  ‘We would have been told if he had moved west.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The rest of the host or the Byzantine army.’

  ‘And where are they?’

  ‘On the way to here, I presume.’

  ‘You presume? Close are they? Days away? A week?’

  Failing a response it was superfluous to point out that Tancred did not know, and neither did Vermandois or the Count of Flanders when the same question was put to them. Nor was it necessary to point out that had the Sultan of Rüm appeared with even part of his army – the fast-riding mounted archers, for instance – and aided by the garrison of Nicaea, Bohemund would have arrived to find the bones of the entire force littering the ground, a point he made with some force, if less obvious fury, to Tancred’s fellow commanders.

  For once the problem of the Crusade was not men hankering after authority but the lack of anyone willing to assume it; seeing each other as at least equals – if anything, Tancred stood slightly lower in the firmament – none of the trio, even the haughty Vermandois, had taken the responsibility for the whole.

  ‘Gather up your men and what supplies you can easily move. We will find a position we can defend and one from which we can hastily depart if the enemy shows. Send the fastest messenger you can back north and find out where the rest of the army is.’

  The gravity of their error had struck home to Tancred and it was scant excuse to say he had only acquiesced in what was a common point of view. Determined to re-establish himself in his own estimation as well as that of Bohemund, he spoke up loudly.

  ‘A retreat through mountains puts us at risk, especially those on foot.’

  That gave Bohemund obvious pause and after a second he nodded. ‘I have ships full of supplies offshore. Those of us mounted can get clear and outrun any pursuit. Designate their captains to lead the milities to the shore and we will embark them.’

  ‘What about the supplies?’ asked Vermandois. ‘You will not have space for both.’

  ‘Those we will tip overboard, Count Hugh, for it must be plain, even to you, that if we are driven away from Nicaea we will not need them.’

  It took several beats of his French heart to take cognisance of the implied insult in the remark ‘even to you’. He swelled up to protest and to demand an apology, only to deflate when the obvious occurred to him: he could not openly challenge a giant like Bohemund of Taranto to anything that might end up as a test of arms.

  ‘Do as I say and do it now!’

  ‘They were preparing to break camp when I arrived, My Lord, with Godfrey de Bouillon and his attendant priests leading the way. When they depart the camp the forces of Raymond of Toulouse will come on from Constantinople to join him.’

  ‘Preparing?’ Bohemund sighed; if the returned messenger was telling him what he had feared it was not what he had hoped.

  ‘I was told that they were waiting for the Emperor, and were only going to move when he did so.’

  ‘And has he?’

  ‘There is a Byzantine force based in a separate camp at Pelekanum and Bishop Adémar is assured they are about to march.’

  ‘Has the Emperor departed Constantinople?’

  ‘They have had no news of such a departure.’

  Bohemund spun on his heel and called for Manuel Boutoumites to be fetched to his presence. Waiting for the summons to be obeyed he eyed the state of the defences he had set up on the steep slope that had at its back an entry into the higher northern hills, which included a second circuitous pathway to the shoreline. Large boulders had been dislodged and rolled down to the level ground, where they would break up the cohesion of any formations seeking to advance towards the Crusaders, especially mounted.

  Between those the ground had been cleared of stones so that the horsed portion of his force could descend rapidly and safely to engage the disorganised enemy, the Apulian Normans held in reserve for a disciplined final charge to cover a retreat; they were, quite simply, much more effective than the men led by Flanders or Vermandois. On the highest peak within plain sight a piquet had been set to keep a watch to the east for any telltale dust cloud, which would herald the approach of the Sultan.

  Boutoumites was slow in responding, making the very obvious point that if the Count of Taranto could order the other leaders about he was not to be told what to do. A good-looking fellow, with full lips and a flaring set of nostrils, Manuel Boutoumites found it easy to display arrogance and he was doing so now, not least in the flaunting of the silks with which the governor of Nicaea had rewarded him. Putting aside the temptation to fetch him a buffet round the ears, Bohemund forced himself to smile.

  ‘I require you to counsel me, Curopalates.’ That changed the man’s expression; no one had used his honorific title since he had left the Byzantine court. ‘And I am sure you will do so freely and honestly.’

  ‘I cannot think of a reason why I should lie,’ Boutoumites replied, his original arch expression quickly reimposed. If size forced him to look up, his countenance implied he was doing the op
posite.

  ‘No, I did not mean that. Forgive me for being so clumsy.’

  That got a firm nod; Boutoumites, despite any dealings he had had with this giant, was sure he was dealing with an ill-educated barbarian and one he expected to be maladroit with words; had he been able to see into the mind of the man to whom he was being so condescending he would have shuddered. Bohemund was thinking that all he would get was lies, that he could easily get the answer to the question he was about to pose by tying this swine to a stake and sticking a heated sword point up his arse. Tempting as such an act might be, it would not sit well with Alexius or probably his fellow Crusaders, so he continued in his emollient tone.

  ‘I merely wish to enquire as to what level of force the Emperor will send to Nicaea?’

  ‘He will despatch whatever force he thinks is necessary, Count Bohemund.’

  ‘Not his entire army?’

  ‘He will not denude the city, he dare not.’

  ‘But the numbers will be what?’ That got a shake of the head that implied ignorance. ‘You were not told?’

  ‘I did not enquire.’

  In a career of much fighting, there had also been in Bohemund’s life a high degree of negotiation; results were not always achieved by force of arms so he was well versed in the arts required. He had dealt with his fellow Normans, who were devious enough but as nought compared to the wily Greeks of Italy and the slippery Lombards who had once ruled over them. Boutoumites was lying; he did know, but he was never going to say.

  Being the son of the Guiscard had many more advantages than just those physical, his father’s sobriquet derived from the old Norman word for a fox; others less well disposed said it meant a weasel. Bohemund had not only inherited the parental sword arm, he had also inherited much of his sire’s natural guile.

  ‘Such a pity he has no intention of coming to Nicaea himself.’

  That made Boutoumites stiffen and when he spoke his voice lacked any degree of sincerity. ‘Who said this was so?’

  ‘You just did, or rather you omitted to say he would lead here whatever force has been assembled, and be assured I can smoke his game. If my nephew cannot fathom why you spent three days within the walls of Nicaea, I can.’

  It was in the dark and well away from Flanders and Vermandois that Bohemund apprised his nephew of his thinking. Below them, at the foot of the slope, large fires burned between those great boulders, illuminating the ground on both sides to deter any kind of sneak attack.

  ‘Are you saying Alexius will not support us?’

  ‘He will, but it will be nothing but a token force.’

  Sensing incomprehension, Bohemund reprised points he had made previously about the primary aim of any Byzantine ruler: the preservation of a much-threatened empire came first, second and last.

  ‘Alexius must take account of the notion that we will fail. He must also consider that now we are fully assembled we might turn on him, so he will not expose himself in person.’

  ‘Which is a foolish idea now we are on the wrong side of the Bosphorus. The supplies in those ships of yours will not last for ever.’

  ‘Now you are showing good sense but let us take the first point. Look at what we are: Christian knights far from home, seemingly held together by faith and with no fighting man in command. It is not hard to see the whole host falling apart, and if it did so where would that leave Alexius? Facing an angry Sultan of Rüm, for we could not have got to the gates of Nicaea without Byzantine aid.’

  ‘So Boutoumites spent three days discussing failure, not success?’

  ‘I suspect he spent three days explaining to the Turkish commander that his master was powerless to stand in our way, while hinting that should we be forced back Kilij Arslan would be compensated with gold for any losses he felt he had suffered. Given such a hint the demands of the Turks would have been outrageous. Boutoumites took all that time to get them to agree to something Alexius would be comfortable with.’

  ‘Which leads me to wonder why we carry on.’

  That got Tancred a gentle slap and even in the dark he could sense the wry smile. ‘We are on God’s business, nephew, not that of Byzantium.’

  For all Bohemund’s anxieties no threat appeared, either from the east or from the city and as soon as the forward elements of the forces led by Godfrey and Robert of Normandy arrived he rode back to meet up with his fellow leaders and a truncated Council of Princes was held in the open air – Raymond was absent ferrying his Provençal army across the Propontis. This took place on a rocky outcrop hard to surreptitiously approach, the only place in which they could discuss matters without being overheard.

  The Bishop of Puy introduced Bohemund to the gathering as if that were necessary and while the Count of Taranto was greeted by a nod from each of these magnates there was little overt cordiality in the act. Adémar had met him before, if briefly, in Constantinople and if their conversation had been amiable it had also been non-committal, so he felt the need to establish what had been arrived at previously.

  ‘It was agreed, Count Bohemund, that we would put aside our conceits and act collectively in our decisions and our actions.’

  There was a certain amount of tension in the pause that followed what was obviously a question, and Bohemund took some pleasure in letting that last for several seconds; but in truth there was only one way to reply. Appraised by Tancred of what had happened at the first council, his uncle was well prepared, for he too had formed the impression that Adémar intended to exert some form of control, using his papal appointment and apparent independence as a lever. The leader of the Apulians would have a voice and a strong one in any proposal advanced and as to the capabilities of his peers when it came to battle tactics that would only be established in combat.

  ‘My Lord Bishop, I cannot conceive of any other way to proceed.’

  The response came with the blessing of a handmade cross. ‘You gladden my soul, my son.’

  Looking into that smooth, round face, so capable of dissimulation, Bohemund wondered what the cleric was really thinking, apart from feeling the satisfaction at still being in full control of the council. For example, what had he been told by Pope Urban, for Bohemund had met the Pontiff? Barred from Rome by a German-supported antipope, Urban had called a synod for the South Italian bishops in Bari, which made him a guest of the man who held the great port city.

  At various meetings Bohemund had gently but forcefully denied a papal request to surrender and hand back some of the lands he had taken from his half-brother and to cease making raids into the territory Borsa presently controlled. The other hint was that they should, as a Christian and a family duty, for the de Hautevilles were papal vassals, join forces to help Urban gain his rightful place in Rome.

  The threat of excommunication had hovered over the request to surrender both territory and aggression, only for it to be made obvious that it was not a sanction that bothered the man who might labour under it, any more than it had constrained his sire – the Guiscard had been excommunicated three times. When it came to attacking Rome to unseat an antipope and his German backers, Bohemund could see no advantage for himself; Borsa might do the bidding of a pope, so in thrall to priests was he, Bohemund would not, which if it did not make him an enemy certainly underlined he was no ally. It was passed back to him by others that his refusal was attributed by Urban to arrogance and that was an impression the Pope would have passed on to his legate.

  ‘I am obliged to ask, however, if the Emperor is marching to our aid.’

  ‘I thought he was, Count Bohemund,’ snapped Robert of Normandy. ‘We delayed our own departure in anticipation, to no avail.’

  Tempted to state how stupid that was, Bohemund held his tongue and smiled; he had to allow for the fact that these knights from the far reaches of Europe did not know the Byzantines as did he, so their mistake in reposing trust could be described as understandable.

  ‘But when no evidence came of any movement from his camp at Pelekanum, I …’ Ad�
�mar coughed rather loudly and Robert took the hint of the need to be inclusive. ‘We could delay no longer.’

  ‘Then it would give me pleasure to ride with you to Nicaea, Duke Robert, and you can tell me of the homeland from which my forbears came and a place I hope one day to visit.’

  If it was an offer genuinely made, it was not taken so and that was plain on his face. The Duke of Normandy obviously held himself above the grandson of a mere petty baron, regardless of how the family had prospered since they left his domains.

  Setting up a siege had about it a formula and part of the threat must be a demonstration of the strength of the besiegers, so the march that brought them into full view of the garrison was delayed until the host as assembled was in proper order and able to debouch onto the plain with pennants flying. Having done that, they proceeded to approach the walls, following the papal banner of the Crusade behind Bishop Adémar and his incense-swinging clerics, several archdeacons and a bevy of priests.

  It was not merely religious; they sought to drive home their numerical advantage and would do so again when Raymond and his Provençal forces arrived to further drive home the point. If the hope was to instil fear in the Turkish defenders all they got for their trouble was jeers to assail their ears and many a bared arse from Turks standing on the battlements to assault their eyes.

  When the leaders gathered once more to discuss their options, it was very obvious that the city was not going to fall to demonstrations; it would have to be overcome by force and Bohemund, the most experienced at siege warfare, made the point that such a thing would depend on time and numbers. These were not yet sufficient to entirely cut off Nicaea from succour by land and would not be so until Raymond arrived, so another attempt must be made to persuade the Turks their situation was hopeless, in order to avoid what would transpire, for it would come down to attrition.

  ‘In which, my Lords, we might lose as much as those defending.’