by Jack Ludlow
Bohemund, having been born in Italy, knew from whence the family came and he saw it as a loss to have no actual knowledge of the Contentin, given he felt an umbilical connection to his heritage. To satisfy his curiosity Robert, who had been in those parts, was happy to describe the sea-battered shore and the rainwashed landscape of small fields and parlous demesnes of the region, perhaps the poorest part of his domains, yet fertile nevertheless. It had to be – Bohemund’s grandfather on one such property had brought up a family of twelve sons and two daughters.
‘They still talk of old Tancred in those parts,’ Robert chuckled, with a nod to his young namesake, ‘for he led those who saw themselves as his superiors a merry dance.’
‘I was told he was minded to give them a drubbing from time to time.’
‘That too.’
Over days they went from being guarded to find such commonality as to become, if not friends, at ease in each other’s company. They had much in common being Normans and little to separate them that was not geographical, added to which they had both been sired by men not only potent but remarkable. Robert was as curious about the Guiscard as was Bohemund about the Conqueror and each of those had tales attached to their names that would keep talk going for a month.
‘God forbid they should ever have met,’ Robert said, with an accompanying laugh, his eyes raised to the clear, blue afternoon sky – it had been that way the whole day’s march. ‘Something tells me they would not have loved one another.’
‘I cannot see my father bending the knee, even if he ever insisted that he was a true Norman.’
‘And you, Bohemund, are you that too?’
‘On both sides, Duke Robert, but I am as proud as my father when it comes to acknowledging a superior.’
‘Never fear, Count Bohemund, I am not inclined to put such a thing to the test.’
A stirring to the rear of the host took their attention and both knew it came from the herd of spare mounts, these their shared property, part of their obligation as leaders. It was their responsibility, if one of their knights lost a horse in battle, to provide him with a replacement mount and right now the drovers in control of them were experiencing difficulties, which meant that over the horizon ahead and not very far there was another flowing river, something an equine could sense well before a human.
‘A good place to camp,’ Robert suggested, the sun being well past the meridian.
As a courtesy, Tacitus was consulted, Bohemund using Greek, and he grunted his agreement.
Almost as soon as they crossed the river next morning a horseman of the screening cavalry, sent out predawn, came back to report the presence of Turks, though not in any great numbers. There was no need to enquire what possibly lay behind that sighting. But these knights would carry out the task they were given and properly, so if the host was threatened they would be forewarned. This did not seem to qualify as that; it did, however, have to be thought on and, given the triple leadership, discussed.
‘A raiding party,’ Robert suggested, ‘come to steal from our column.’
His interpreter dragged, ‘Most likely,’ out of Tacitus and Bohemund agreed.
Looking back to where they had crossed the river, less than half the host was on this side, the remainder patiently crowding the opposite bank, while ahead of them was open plain, a dangerous place to be, given there was no way to create a protected flank. Against that, stopping to fully assess any risk seemed an overreaction. Yet if there were raiders in the vicinity, this host and what they carried had to be the objective, which meant lightning raids, probably by archers, which would need to be rebuffed.
Another quick consultation with Tacitus followed and then orders went out for the knights, hitherto travelling in leather jerkins, some in only linen given that it was a hot day, to don their mail and Bohemund and Robert did likewise. If it would be uncomfortable it would render the lances near impervious to arrows, and they were also told to spread out through the entire host in order to provide protection.
‘Do we alert Adémar?’ Robert asked, then answered his own question. ‘We would need more of a threat, I think.’
‘We should move on?’ Bohemund said, looking at his co-leader and receiving a nod, then he gave orders to the scout, who was Apulian. ‘Go back to your task.’
Nothing occurred that day or the next to disturb their progress and no alarms came from the cavalry screen so spirits remained high; they would reach the old Byzantine camp before the sun went down if the march went well, the only obstacles the endless small rivers, which imposed a check as everyone and every beast took in water. The animals did this downriver of the humans and strict instructions were relayed to the non-combatants – the soldiers knew better – not to use the river as a latrine. For that, on what they hoped was the last crossing, there was a marsh nearby.
Having just resumed progress, the trio of leaders saw the cavalry screen coming in at full gallop, which could only mean one thing: real danger threatened. Ahead of them, bounded by sloping hills, there was a junction to two valleys, seemingly empty when they first looked. They did not long stay that way; with what seemed no more than a blink the ground was filled with mounted men who could only be Turks and more began to cover the hillsides, which meant the leading elements were not alone in catching sight of this mass of warriors.
News rippled back through the host and when it came to the attention of the pilgrims it caused panic, understandable from people who feared another massacre like the one visited upon the People’s Crusade, and if they needed reminding, there, at the head of their multitude, was Peter the Hermit. Men, women, children and their animals began to mill about in confusion, this while Bohemund and Robert watched as what had been a substantial force before them became a multitude and one coming on without anyone seeming to be in control, seeking, by sheer speed and pressure to crush what lay before them.
No great genius was required to calculate they were outnumbered; Kilij Arslan had made peace with someone, probably the Danishmends, yet it mattered not who they were, more important was the sheer size of their combined force. Tacitus immediately swung his mount and made his way back to take command of his own men, who were somewhere in the midst of the host. Robert and Bohemund simultaneously grabbed their weapons, lances and swords from their packhorses, jammed on their helmets, then called for the knights nearest to them, who were doing the same, to form up.
This would have to be done at the canter and on the wrong kind of horse; there was too little time to do anything else, certainly not enough to saddle the destriers, nor was there any opportunity to issue orders regarding the rest of their forces. They would have to hope that those in authority behind them had the sense to do what was necessary, which was to stop the pilgrims panicking and fleeing, for that could only end in death, while simultaneously setting up some kind of defence.
To do that would take time and the only way to buy that was to impose a check on these Turks charging towards them. Lances couched they advanced, the line straightening with each spread of their horses hooves. Across the floor of the valley the line extended, perhaps a hundred men in number, who knew they might well be riding to their death, there being space to pass round on each flank. It swelled Bohemund’s Norman heart to be amongst them and he looked to Robert Duke of Normandy, thinking how fine it was to be going into battle alongside such a man and such a title.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In battle the Normans never charged, for to do so was to lose cohesion, but this was not a contest of their choosing and the everyday riding horses they were on lacked the steadiness of destriers. Also they were up against another mounted force, not that which they more often faced, a line of shields in the hands of men fighting on foot. What gave their attack the power it unleashed were the opponents against whom they came up; lightly armed Turks, carrying bows, on fleet but small ponies untrained to withstand a galloping herd of bigger horses bearing down on them.
The enemy was thrown into confusion as much by t
he need to seek to control their mounts as by what hit them, a not quite perfect line of sharp pointed lances in the hands of men who knew how to wield them. Few missed their first target, none their second, the Turks lifted bodily into thin air off their saddles, where they would have remained if the knight that had pinioned them had held on to the shaft. The lances were quickly abandoned, replaced by swishing broadswords and eviscerating axes as each Norman took on every enemy within the arc of his range.
Trying to fight back, the Turks were once more up against a men of vastly superior body weight, with skills honed over years and the protection provided to the knights by chain mail. An arrow fired point-blank might have the strength to penetrate but it had to strike true; the slightest deviation and it would fly harmlessly off the tight metal ringlets, while those who had given up bows for swords had nothing like the reach of their Norman counterparts. What they did have was numbers.
In the midst of what was now a disordered melee were Robert and Bohemund, each with the standard bearer and in the company of their familia knights so that they fought as a compact body. One task for those body knights was to allow time for their liege lords to break off fighting for a short time and assess the state of the battle, which both men did, and it came as no surprise that without any communication they reached the same conclusion.
Too many Turks had got round their flanks and now filled the plain between them and the milling host. The time was coming when that number would be insurmountable and might cut them off. In truth, they had achieved what they set out to do, no more than check the initial Turkish storm. Swords waving in the air and without a horn to blow it came down to shouted commands to attend to their leader’s banner and come together in two groups to fight their way out as a tightly bound unit and rejoin the main body.
That took time; the screaming mass of Turks, at least ten to their one, were determined they should not pass and they might have succeeded against lesser quality commanders. On this field they were up against two men who were not only doughty fighters, even within their own kind, but knights who shared a knowledge of battlefield tactics honed by their forbears over two centuries, both in their training manège and the field.
Little in the way of instruction was required to have their remaining knights adopt an arrow formation, their leaders, Bohemund and Duke Robert to the fore, their huge and heavy swords cutting a swathe through the Turks who got in their way, while on their flanks their companions sliced outwards to prise open a gap, leaving behind them a trail of broken and bleeding bodies as well as riderless ponies. It took time for this mass to thin, which revealed that a large number of the enemy had got in amongst the main pilgrim host and were engaged in fruitful slaughter.
Tancred had ridden forward as soon as the alarm was sounded; from his position at the rear he could see little or nothing, but was soon made well aware that panic was going to make what needed to be done a difficult task. It was not just the unarmed pilgrims who had lost all sense of order, some of the milities had allowed the surprise appearance of the Turks to crush their discipline, which was never of the highest order, a part of one body actually seeking to run for the hills, madness given they were full of the enemy, only to be cut down and butchered.
‘Robert,’ he called to his cousin, by his side. ‘Take a conroy and ride hard for Adémar and Raymond. Tell them what we face and to come at once.’
That did not have to be spelt out; if they could not get some unity of purpose they risked being wiped out. As Robert rode off, aware he would have to fight his way clear, Tancred took command of every man he could muster and ordered most of them to form an outer rim on the edge of the host and drive everyone, fighters and pilgrims, towards the marshland that lined the nearby river.
‘And do not be gentle. Kill anyone who disputes with you too hard.’
Now that Tancred could see ahead, one question was paramount: should he support his uncle and Duke Robert and gather a force to attack the Turks that ringed them, cutting a path for them to escape, for as of now, Duke Robert’s senior captains having ridden into battle with him, he seemed to have the power of decision for the whole body? Momentarily, looking around him at what was a teeming half-fleeing rabble, he doubted if he had what was needed to exercise command, but that soon evaporated; he had men around him waiting to be told what to do.
‘Form up on the edge of that marsh, seek to let through our people and stop the Turks and do not just let them charge you. Use your brains, get our milities into some form of defensive line and anyone of you that can take command of them and get them into fighting formation do so.’
The cry from dozens of throats had him spinning round, to see both Bohemund and Robert, in twin phalanxes, emerge from the dense mass of the Turkish forces, still fighting, still slaying but with more open and less crowded plain across which they could escape, intent on getting their mounts to the gallop. The cry ‘to me’ was hardly necessary as Tancred spurred his mount; there was not a mailed knight close to him who did not know what to do and as a body they rode into the rear of the Turks still trying to impede their confrères and scattered them like chaff. They then formed a body with the two Norman leaders to make good the escape of the whole, a breathless exchange following as he tried to impart to Bohemund what orders he had issued.
In their part of the field there was a temporary lull; a check had been placed on Kilij Arslan’s initial attack and even a force as fluid as the Turks needed to regroup before they could recommence their assault. Yet it was clear that a large section of the enemy, those that had got round the flanks, were not only doing their killing in the open, they were busy penetrating the marsh and slaughtering the innocents there too.
‘We must clear them out of there,’ Robert shouted and without waiting led his men off to carry out that task.
All around him Bohemund could see knots of knights, it mattered not from which body, trying to herd pilgrims and foot soldiers in the right direction, while at the same time attempting to keep at bay the Turks seeking to break through to carry out a massacre. What aided their cause was stupidity brought on by sheer terror, men and women bringing on certain death because they knew they faced a possible one, breaking out into the open and seeking to flee, which drew off some of the Turkish strength who saw and pursued an easy kill.
All over the plain the ground was dotted with bodies and not just human, for the infidels were just as quick to cut down an ass as the pilgrim who had sought to get clear on its back. Even less cheering were the cadavers in the leather jerkins of the Apulian milities who seemed to have abandoned, in their flight, their swords and shields, leaving them utterly defenceless, as if being away from the collective was not dangerous enough.
Less heartening still were the hordes of the enemy now crowded on the nearby hills, a seething mass in numbers impossible to calculate, but certainly too numerous to take on in open battle within the area that they had chosen as the best place for them to fight. Looking behind them he could see Turks driving off the spare horses, yet more herding anything edible, oxen, sheep and goats, towards their camp.
Viewing such a depressing panorama of loss and death and problems to come took only seconds, and knowing Robert of Normandy was right Bohemund set off, not to aid him in clearing the marsh, Robert had enough men with him to achieve that, but to do what must come next, mount a form of defence that could withstand what was coming, and a clue was given as he felt his horse struggle to get its hooves out of the soft marsh ground.
Bohemund dismounted and ordered those that could hear him to do likewise, a command that rippled down the line as horses were gathered and tethered close by, the knights then forming a line on command. Behind him, yet at a distance, he could hear the screams of victims as the Turks still in the marsh cut down anyone who crossed their path, that mixed with the wailing of those wounded but not killed, added to the many who expected to be. Just in view also were Robert’s avenging knights, taking on the enemy in a myriad of single combats that, if
no more infidels got through, would secure the rear.
Had the Turks regrouped quickly it might have presaged disaster but that attack he and Robert had mounted did just enough to require them to assess their next move and organise their men to carry it out. Well out on the plain he could hear horns blowing and the odd trumpet as Arslan and his fellow leaders sought to get their milling masses of men into place for a concerted assault.
Fortunately, the captains who had control of the milities had got them into some form of order. They were on their way back to being a fighting force and despite the mayhem still going on in their rear Bohemund ordered them back, deeper into the marsh, until their feet began to sink in the soft earth above their ankles, his knights and those of Robert’s who were not with him taking up station just in front, with a belt of marshy ground to their fore that would slow any charge by the Turkish cavalry, though nothing could be done to create enough of a buffer to render useless their arrows. There he had his standard driven into the ground; as long as that stood so did he.
Slowly, and it seemed an age, the killing diminished inside the depths of the marsh and soon Bohemund was joined by a dismounted Robert who never, even by a look, questioned the decisions he had made; in fact he made no comment on them at all, which told his confrère he would have come to the same conclusion. Robert took station close enough to stay in touch, where he too had his standard raised to flutter in a slight breeze, both banners an indication of just how personal was leadership.
There they would stay; they were up against a foe they would struggle too hard to beat in open mounted fighting and even if successful the bill would be disastrous in the number of casualties they would suffer; best to stand on the defensive and let the Turks break themselves in seeking to rupture their line, added to which they had another force, one greater in numbers, coming their way and quickly if they could be alerted to the danger.
