by Jack Ludlow
Any siege tower had to be tall enough to overreach the battlements against which it was employed. It was faced at the top with a hinged platform, sharp-spiked at the base, that would be dropped to allow the first party of knights to cross and engage, hopefully killing some of the defenders who had taken up too forward a position, while above their heads was another level containing the newly arrived crossbowmen who would be tasked to force enough of a gap to get the knights over the top of the walls and onto the parapet that ran along the inner side.
In the tower, a series of internal ladders ran from the ground, up through the various floors, to the fighting platform, and once it had been rolled into place the reinforcements would rush to ascend and back up the leading knights. There was no lack of guesswork as to how the defenders would react; fire was a potent weapon, if one that would take time to get a hold on main timbers that were freshly cut and thick.
The problem was the tinder-like brushwork panels protecting the floors from arrows, both flamed and unlit, so there would follow in the wake of the mailed men milities bearing tubs of water with which to douse any blaze, this thrown onto the tight-bound reeds to prevent them flaring up, because that alone could ignite the main beams. Others, and this was a dangerous task, would have to move out to each side, where they would be exposed, to put in place the long outriggers that would anchor the tower and stop the Turks from toppling the finely balanced structure with ropes and grappling irons.
Raymond, given the tower had been constructed with his lines, claimed the right to man it with his men, for to partake in a fight from such a construct was seen as one of the highest points of honour for a knight, second only to single combat with a mounted foe. But carefully worded questioning established that the Count of Toulouse had never led an assault using such a weapon, whereas both the Apulian leaders had. For once, Bohemund, who usually kept a tight control of his counsel at the meetings of the princes, spoke with boldness and insisted it should be put, like the dawn assaults, to a ballot.
It was unfortunate, given the person who proposed it, that the Apulians once more drew the marked spill of paper. There was a moment when the florid-faced Provençal Count seemed set to vocally object against a policy mutually agreed – his high colour deepened remarkably – but a look from Adémar, who had been, after all, in his company all the way from his homeland and had his respect, stilled his protest.
‘It would please me, Count Raymond,’ Bohemund said, seeking to sweeten his disappointment, ‘if my Normans occupied only the fighting platform. We would be more than content that any second wave should come from Toulouse.’
Godfrey de Bouillon cut in. ‘As well as some from my Duchy of Lorraine.’
‘France must have the honour also,’ cried Vermandois.
That had all eyes on the Duke of Normandy; surely he too would protest that his knights must take part and they waited for his outburst, only to receive a dispassionate response, which had about it a reference to the fact that he held himself as titular suzerain to the Apulian Norman knights.
‘Someone must plan for success. I suggest that with our cousins to the fore, that will serve well to represent my duchy. For my own knights, they will be mounted and ready to seize any opportunity that is presented.’
Was that the indolence for which Robert of Normandy had already been noted, or was it good sense? The object of the assault, made close to one of the gates, was to seize the nearest stone tower, each of which contained a stairwell, then fight a way down to the ground and drive off the defenders from the rear of the gate. If that could then be opened, a force of mounted knights charging through that could do great execution in the narrow streets of Nicaea, even more when backed by the crusading milities who would follow them on foot.
Not that it would be easy, as Bohemund was keen to point out; several siege towers might achieve such a result because they split a defence who had no idea where the main blow would fall, but experience indicated that with only one, and the Turks packed at the point of attack, all a single engine could hope to do was to deplete the numbers – a decisive victory could only come from a stroke of luck or a collapse of the defenders’ morale. The best outcome to hope for was partial success, which might point a way to a solution to the taking of the city, for in truth no other avenue showed any promise.
With honour at stake, the others fell to bargaining for their place, which required much intervention from Bishop Adémar to prevent any of the point-making from descending into an open quarrel. Observing this, Bohemund was made even more conscious of what he had already surmised and imparted to Tancred: there could not yet be a single commander. Perhaps in the future a set of circumstances would change that, but that could only be, he thought, when failure of the entire Crusade was a risk.
Right of this moment there was a chance for glory, of the kind that every knight craved, an emotion to which neither of the men with de Hauteville blood in their veins were immune and, as the uncle pointed out, such a laurel could only enhance any later claims for leadership; if it was a distant prospect, it was one to keep in mind.
‘Which,’ Bohemund imparted to Tancred when they were alone, ‘makes it worthwhile we try ourselves.’
‘You and I both?’
‘I cannot deny you what I will not refuse myself and, in truth, I have become heartily sick of watching others fight and not doing anything myself.’
‘Our papal legate will not be pleased if he learns that we intend to carry out the assault in person.’
‘Then, nephew, he must not find out.’
The Norman practice of training extended to the use of siege towers and if what they contrived was gimcrack it served to allow for mock preparation – a roughly hewn platform with a flat screen of canvas and wood that when dropped allowed the Apulian leader to set the pace of advance, for that could not just be a Gadarene rush, but had to be made in an unbroken line, while those following the first wave must be prepared for any number of eventualities. It also allowed Bohemund to think about innovation, a small addition to the normal tactics that might discomfit the defence, this carried on over several days until the morning dawned when the attack would take place.
First the siege tower had to be hauled by ropes to a point just out of arrow range, held to be two furrow-lengths, but that was not the only weapon they faced. The point of attack being obvious, the Turks had brought to bear their rock-firing ballistae and they had a surprise in store for the Crusaders, for these were used not to spew forth boulders but tightly bound balls of flaming straw wrapped around shavings, soaked with the same pitch and grease previously dropped on the attackers’ heads, these fired at the near unmissable tower in the hope of setting it alight.
Too eager to see the effect, they began to employ them when the men dragging the ropes were in range, causing mayhem as the cables were abandoned and the lightly clad milities fled in all directions. That imposed only a temporary halt; over the last area of ground the tower had to be pushed anyway, Raymond’s bombardment screen having been once more pressed into service to protect those both labouring and following, the bowmen and the mail-clad knights who would wait until the last possible moment to ascend so their weight would not make the task of moving it harder.
Bohemund and Tancred were under that, hidden from view, ostensibly along to provide encouragement, only wearing mail because it was wise to do so, their weapons carried by others. Hard as the Crusaders had toiled to make a smooth surface, the tower, because of its height related to its girth, was inherently unstable and top-heavy. It swayed alarmingly on what was far from even ground and that was more troubling when they came to crossing the filled-in ditches.
Finally, once it reached the point that would be covered by dropping the hinged platform a halt was called and the fighting men began to ascend, the Genoese crossbowmen leading the way to their upper platform, this fronted with a solid screen carved with slits through which they could fire in relative safety. They were the first of Bohemund’s planned surpris
es, the second being his own presence and the Turks were not the only ones to experience that, given that a man of his height, once he emerged onto the fighting platform, towering over all around him, was startlingly obvious even amongst a race tall by nature.
The other leaders watching were split between a degree of envy and a less charitable emotion, Raymond of Toulouse being downright angry, Vermandois affronted and from de Bouillon a sense of admiration mixed with natural ire, while the Duke of Normandy pointed out that the family from which Bohemund sprung had ever been both rebellious and devious, which had obliged them to flee his father’s wrath. Bishop Adémar was furious, yet obliged to hold in check any criticism lest it get to the ears of the Count of Taranto after the action was concluded.
On the fighting platform, two lines of a dozen knights each, Bohemund’s doughtiest fighters were waiting, each with a javelin in their hand, while on the floor beside them were half a dozen more. It was a guess on behalf of their leader but he reasoned, from what he had seen of the garrison of Nicaea as well as their leader Acip Bey, they would not wait to be attacked, but would come onto the platform and seek to dominate the killing sector. The task of the crossbowmen above their heads was to create an area in which the Normans could fight on decent terms, initially outnumbered, obviously, but not so much as to render any advance impossible. Bohemund wanted to lower the odds even more.
The release of the platform was a case of simply slipping two knots, added to several kicks so that it moved at speed on its woven-rope hinges, crashing down on the battlements where it would crush anyone foolish enough to be standing upright. But instead of an immediate advance the Normans held their place, this as a group of Turks, presumably the best fighters, leapt onto the platform to stop their enemies prior to their being able to move. The javelins, thrown at short range by powerful arms, were lethal and three more groups followed the first salvo in what seemed no more than a blink.
With the area in front now full of the writhing, wounded and the odd dead Turk, Bohemund called for his men to pick up their fighting lances and step forward and that they did, one pace at a time and with no precipitate rush. Cohesion was the key to Norman warfare and that was the element they practised whether on foot or mounted. Stand shoulder to shoulder; present no gaps, always cover the flank of the man on your right as well as doing battle with what lay to your front, and trust the left-hand knight to do his task equally well.
The Turks had weapons suited to their general size and weight; the problem for the defence was that that applied equally to the Normans, who overreached massively what could be deployed against them. Their heavy fighting lances were longer, their swords the same and in a confined space, in essence a melee, manoeuvre was impossible; it was one man facing another, at best with a couple extra and that was not enough to overcome the inherent disadvantage faced by the defenders. Slowly, despite their best efforts and greater numbers they were pushed back, some of the men falling in the front doing so because their own people, eager to kill, were pressing them so hard on the back they could not fight properly.
Those bodies littering the platform became a problem for the attack as well, for to keep going they were required to step over recumbent bodies and not all of them were still, while the platform was now awash too with blood, making it slippery; a foot in the wrong place would bring a Norman fighter down and that, by creating a dog-leg, could jeopardise the whole if those in the second line failed to rapidly fill the vacated space. Also, some fires had taken hold below and the burning reeds were sending up clouds of acrid smoke, which hampered easy breathing for men who were exerting themselves to the maximum.
The greatest execution was being carried out by the pair of swordsmen with the longest reach, Bohemund and Tancred, with the former, his throat dry and hoarse, calling at intervals for the line to take a forward step, never more than that. As well as fighting to the front there were two other problems to deal with: the need to despatch or make still those Turks who had fallen but could still use their weapons achieved with a swift downward jab of a blade followed by a hefty foot being used to tip them, if they were close to the edge of the platform, over the edge. The fate of those they were obliged to step over was taken care of by their confrères, two of whom had been obliged to move up into the front line to replace wounded Normans.
The whole siege tower was rocking slightly as the support knights, the men of Provence, hurried up to await the point where they could get to the battlements and spread out, those rendered invisible because of what lay before them. In their eagerness they pressed upon Bohemund’s second line, driving it forward until the space within which they could swing their weapons, should a thing be needed, was severely constrained, which had some of Bohemund’s men turning to threaten to use those same instruments on their allies.
Bohemund shouted and that was the signal to push forward regardless; weight of numbers would get them off the platform and onto the stonework, for, in front, attack and defence were now so compressed as to have rendered the assault a pushing match, with a line of Norman shields now the most effective weapon. The Turks were obliged to balance on the thickness of their own wall, a precarious place from which to fight an opponent of greater weight and reach. No doubt on a command they dropped back onto the wooden parapet and in another directive fell back a little to allow pikes to be used by those supporting them, one of which caught an unwary Norman; a hefty jab sent him spinning off the platform into thin air.
Bohemund and Tancred had split apart, creating space for the support to move up and broaden the fighting line, the men on the outer rim, supported by crossbows, required to keep extending it so that the Provençal knights could get into the fray. Conscious of the need for command, Bohemund called to Tancred to take control and eased himself back onto the platform, with some difficulty pushing through the crush of mailed knights. He hurried up to the very top level, from where he could see how the attack was faring and as of that moment it looked good.
It was the commander of the Genoese crossbowmen who pointed out where the hazard lay. Again Acip Bey had shown cunning in seeking to thwart the attack. No doubt assessing that a siege tower with outriggers set and jammed into the ground could not be toppled, he had set his grappling hooks to take away that support. In what must have been dozens of attempts he had been successful in removing one of the long steadying poles on the south side, then he had used massed archers and hot pitch and oil to stop it being replaced.
That left on that side of the siege tower only the one outrigger, with Bohemund able to clearly see the men recasting the grappling hook and trying to snare the remaining pole. That obliged him to withdraw the crossbowmen from supporting his knights to impeding those efforts; take away that pole and those same hooks, if they got a purchase on any of the main beams of the tower itself, in a place where they could not be dislodged or their ropes cut, could haul the whole thing over, which would cause havoc and much death to those on it and still inside. Certainly the men on the very top, bowmen and knights, would be lucky to survive, while the men who had made the walls would be stranded and no doubt die where they stood.
It was another testimony to the courage of the defenders that even under a hail of crossbow bolts they continued to try and sling their grappling irons and that brought admiration for the ability to offer oneself up regardless of the risk, the very quality that leaders like Bohemund looked for in his own ranks, and he judged it only a matter of time before they succeeded.
Below and in front the attack had stalled, not through any lack of courage or effort but because the fighting was more evenly matched, numerous pikes as well as swordsmen against knights who had a lesser reach than the former and were, as had the Turks been before them, vulnerable to being pitched off the battlements. It was also obvious the Provençal knights lacked the fighting discipline of the Normans – they let gaps appear in their ranks and were suffering because of it, which was diminishing the power of the attack.
The judgement of whe
ther a battle is heading towards success or failure is a fine one and, if asked in repose, Bohemund would have replied it was instinctive, a feeling rather than a certain knowledge. At this moment it was very finely poised; the men for whom he was responsible were not falling back but neither were they advancing at a speed which presaged an imminent collapse, in truth they were inching forward into a situation in which the odds, man for man, would increase; the Turks could bring more men to bear than could he.
Even if he knew nothing of the Genoese tongue, he knew a curse when he heard one and he followed the pointing finger of the leading crossbowman to a see grappling hook round that second outrigging pole and hauling hard. Merely jammed against the siege tower it soon went, to be followed by a hail of small stones fired from Acip’s ballistae, added to a hail of arrows, which precluded any attempt to set it back in place.
When he turned to look back at his fighters, he found himself staring into a very worried Genoese face. Fearing to be misunderstood he gestured that the crossbows should withdraw, which they did with alacrity, just as the first of those grappling hooks, now being thrown with impunity, thudded into the tower, though it failed to take a grip. But there was one other salient fact to take into consideration: get a grip on one side, then pull, and, even if it initially failed, it would dislodge the poles on the other side by the mere release of pressure, which would double the jeopardy.
The hope of an outright victory had always been slim to non-existent, wishful thinking, in fact, if you took into consideration Turkish tenacity. It aided Bohemund’s thinking that he had the reputation he did, which precluded any judgement against his own bravery or experience. They had done enough for this day, learnt a great deal and were now faced with no possibility as he saw it of outright success. Indeed there was a chance of ignominious failure, with not only the men maimed or killed but also the weapon that they were employing destroyed as well.
