Soldier of Crusade

by Jack Ludlow

  The gate that opened onto the western road, which led to the Antiochene port of St Simeon as well as its southernmost companion, lay right up against the east side of the wide Orontes River, with the only means to cross three leagues downriver. The southern gate was on the other side of the river as well, so any besiegers on the far bank would be isolated and exposed, while the remainder would not be able to offer quick support in case of any difficulties.

  The most secure Turkish gate lay on the far side of the two mountains that dominated Antioch and was only approachable by a high and narrow pass between the twin peaks, while the Armenians who had been questioned indicated that to close that off was next to impossible. So half the entry and exit points could only be cut off by mobile troops and they had to be able in the event of danger to make a rapid withdrawal.

  If these obstacles prompted sober reflection they did not deter, merely being taken into consideration, with each leader choosing one of the three sections of the defences where they could be effective, with the rest being a shared responsibility. Bohemund elected to take the northern gate that led to Bagras, the site of an old Byzantine fortress. Close to the hillside of Mount Staurin and therefore a place of danger, it presented the only part of the walls with an extent of flat ground on the approach, where it might be possible, should they ever have the means, to mount an assault with a man-made tower. This implied to the others present that while he accepted it was likely to be a siege of attrition, the Count of Taranto had not given up hope of a coup de main.

  The northern Normans, as well as Vermandois, were next on his right between Bohemund and Raymond of Toulouse, the joint of their forces meeting at the next gate south. The last of the trio and potentially as dangerous as any, given the narrow amount of land at his back, went to Godfrey de Bouillon. Tacitus was asked where he wanted to be based and once he was clear as to the nature of the question he pointed to a place well to the rear of Bohemund and his Apulians. That it was safe was obvious; that it led back to Constantinople in the case of flight did not escape notice either.

  With all agreed, Raymond of Toulouse had one more statement he wished to make and it was clearly, to him, an important one. He pointed out that whatever happened, the siege of Antioch was likely to be of longer duration than that of Nicaea; he wished each leader to swear, as he was willing to do himself, not to abandon the effort, however difficult it became, on pain of eternal damnation, leaving Bohemund certainly, and probably the others, wondering what had prompted such a request.

  ‘Every man present has sworn already,’ Adémar insisted. ‘What need have we of more pledges?’

  ‘It concerns me that many have fallen by the wayside already and gone home. Then, when things are hard, there is the temptation to seek an easier route to satisfy …’

  Raymond could not finish that, could not say the word ‘ambitions’ or refer to the absent Baldwin and the example he had set.

  ‘We are jointly here and jointly we will stay,’ Bohemund said, speaking before Godfrey could respond.

  Robert of Normandy spoke up just as forcefully, knowing he was suspected of being a less-than-wholehearted Crusader and Raymond’s request might be aimed at him and his brothers-in-law, Stephen of Blois and Robert of Flanders.

  ‘If it aids our cause, let us make the pledge. If we are all acting in good faith it makes no difference, if we are not then God will be the judge.’

  ‘I will swear and gladly,’ Godfrey exclaimed.

  This was close to comical – if anyone did not need to restate his commitment it was the pious Duke of Lower Lorraine; he was doing it because of the actions of Baldwin, who had quite obviously gone in search of personal profit, lest anyone ascribe the same motives to him. It did, however, because he was held in such high regard, oblige the others to agree and Adémar called for his priests and his missal to make it as formal as Raymond felt it should be.

  Back in his section of the encampment Bohemund called his captains together and ordered an immediate move, his lances to travel fast and the milities to follow; he wanted the first thing that Yaghi Sayan spied from his citadel to be his banner.

  Robert, Count of Flanders, was deputed to take a strong party of a thousand knights on a detour to capture the town of Artah, which controlled the road north-east and due east to Marash, Aleppo and Edessa. He arrived to find the town in Armenian hands, the locals having revolted and chased out a Turkish garrison that was reluctant to remain in any case, having heard that the Crusade was coming their way. The Armenians happily accepted a garrison of crusading knights and were equally pleased to have a banner of the County of Flanders fly from their citadel.

  For the rest, with the Apulians in the lead, the only place to safely cross the Orontes was at a spot called the Iron Bridge, an odd appellation for an arched edifice made of stone that dated from Roman times or even earlier. No doubt there was some local legend of an ancient action to account for the name but it was not anything to trouble the host enough to enquire. They were pleased the bridge was unguarded and even more delighted, indeed surprised, when having crossed it they entered a flat plain in the full glory of its flowering, fed with water by a river in strong flow.

  Yaghi Sayan, who should have sown the whole area with salt to deny them forage, had destroyed nothing. There was grain in plentiful supply, fruit on the trees and vegetables, the second harvest, growing in the fields while the fruits of the first harvest of the year were yet to be consumed. Livestock was plentiful and the population, being Armenian, was only too pleased to both greet and trade with these strange creatures from beyond their shores, while in the distance rising into a midday haze, they could see the massive twin hills that formed a backdrop to the city they were about to besiege.

  Even to a warrior who had seen Palermo and had mighty Bari as a fief, it was sobering for Bohemund to examine Antioch when they got close enough to see the details of the fortifications, especially at the gate he had chosen to act against. Above them lay the top of Mount Silpius, while adjacent to that and only marginally smaller, Mount Staurin had set upon it Yaghi Sayan’s citadel, itself a hard place to assault and capture should they ever get close, even more so given it was fronted by a steep escarpment.

  From the flat ground on which the Apulians made camp the walls ran very quickly up a scrub-covered incline that would defy any man to walk upright – it was one for a scrabbling ascent at best made even more so by the loose screed of small stones underfoot – while all the way up there was a stout and near unassailable wall interspersed with dozens of towers. That crested the high summit of Mount Staurin and continued across a high valley lying just below the peaks of both mountains in which was set, as part of the main defensive walls, the formidable citadel; it was sobering to reflect that if it was like this on the northern approach, it was even steeper and more taxing to the south.

  ‘As you can observe, Uncle,’ Tancred said, pointing to the citadel, ‘we can do nothing in preparation without that the Turk will see it.’

  That was true; the whole plain would be laid out like a panorama from that high elevation. ‘Let him first see we are determined.’

  ‘Do you have a thought as to why he left all this food unspoilt?’

  ‘I sense you are asking me a question, Tancred, to which you have your own answer.’

  The two men exchanged grins, for it was no less than the truth, as the younger man replied, ‘I think he hoped we would pass on and leave him in peace.’

  ‘I think the same, but it was a foolish gambit. Only a madman would leave such a potent city untouched at his back.’

  ‘Or is it that he does not fear us, and hopes to see our bones from his citadel when the food runs out?’

  ‘One day, nephew, I hope you and I get to ask him the answer.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  In taking up their area of responsibility every crusading contingent took precautions to prepare for an immediate sortie by the garrison, indeed they did not expect to make their dispositions unmolest
ed. Yet nothing happened for days; they were left to settle in, to eat well, drink wine, sleep soundly and celebrate their daily Mass with the numerous priests that accompanied the host. Camp wives, who were plentiful, settled in to look after their menfolk, which, much to the disgust of Peter the Hermit and Godfrey de Bouillon, included the more elevated divines, though not Bishop Adémar.

  The whole turned into more of a settlement than a military camp and this lasted for one surprising week, then another. This left the princes with many questions but no answers, though it provided ample time to reconnoitre those areas not occupied as well as assess just how difficult it would be to shut off the city from resupply, very necessary if attrition was to work. Some wit, part of a party of horsemen reconnoitring the narrow track on the eastern flank of Antioch, having heard the inappropriate name of the Iron Bridge, decided that the equally stone-built point of entry and egress at the end of the valley should be called the Iron Gate as a measure of the kind of resolve that would be needed to invest and close it.

  Not to be outdone, the Apulians named their gate after St Paul of Tarsus, where they had lost so many men murdered in their sleep. A dead dog cast over the walls where the Duke of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse were camped gave the next one south its name while the third gate was more prosaically termed the Gate of the Duke after Godfrey de Bouillon’s title.

  The Bridge Gate was obvious but no one was quite sure how the last of these edifices got to be called the St George’s Gate, probably more a patron saint of someone than for any other reason.

  Mobile patrols were kept active, especially on the far side of the river, even if it was a long slog to the nearest crossing. Armenians and Syrians continued to be expelled or flee from the city, the suspicion that they were not all they seemed impossible not to consider after Nicaea, which, if true, meant that Yaghi Siyan knew much more about them than they did about him or his intentions; did he wish them gone or was he content to lull them into a false sense of security?

  That period of peace broke on the garrison’s first sortie, something they could do with impunity given half their gates were able to open and close at will, with nothing outside to impede them that could not be seen from the high citadel. It was to Bohemund’s St Paul’s Gate that they directed their first attack, using the western slope of Mount Staurin to assemble in plain view on a relatively flat ledge, then rain down arrows on the Apulian lines. Caught unawares and without mail or shields several knights were wounded, while one woman, the camp wife of a foot soldier, was killed outright.

  To fight off such an attack was difficult; the men on duty and properly clad for battle sought, under Robert of Salerno, to advance up the steep slope of loose stones and scrub bushes under a hail of missiles that made the assent doubly hazardous since it was near impossible for them to both climb and protect themselves. They also faced the added danger of larger rocks deliberately set in motion to roll down the hillside and maim them, and they did not manage to even make contact. The Turks withdrew when their supply of arrows ran out, jeering as they retired, with Bohemund making a swift move to counter the threat.

  ‘We will need to make up screens behind which we can shelter, for this will not be their last attempt using that tactic.’

  Soon the whole Apulian host was hacking out and joining up frames while others cut and fashioned reeds in bundles thick enough to stop, or at the very least take the sting out of, a speeding arrow. Once erected the tents were moved into their shade, which had a double benefit of keeping out the sun for part of the day while a watch was kept on the hillside for a repeat, which was bound to come, it being so seemingly risk-free for the garrison. They had reckoned without the son of the Guiscard.

  At night, in a thick heat haze that obscured both moon and stars, they could move without being observed and Bohemund led a party of his men in a wide arc and up the hill as silently as was possible, well away from the hearing of the sentinels on the walls. The aim was to find a bush behind which to conceal themselves, using their cloaks for added camouflage, the command to stay still and not move pressed home many times. The same band of Turks, at first light, no doubt using as an exit the Iron Gate, came over the brow of the mountain and began to slither down to that ledge from which they had launched their previous attack, making no attempt at subterfuge.

  With the sun in the east and not yet fully risen, and the peak of Mount Staurin so high, the whole of the western slope was in deep shade, which helped to keep the knights hidden. Bohemund waited till he heard orders being issued, indicating they were getting ready to attack, before he stood up and called for his men to do likewise, immediately rushing forward and yelling like a banshee. At this elevation and given the incline it was not easy, running with one foot so much lower than the other, but it was possible and the Normans had surprise on their side.

  The startled Turks, with their bows still on the shoulders, panicked instead of acting as they should and they were not aided by the fellow obviously in command shouting orders that seemed to be causing more confusion rather than less. Now it was the turn of the Turks to seek to scrabble to safety and quite a few, some dozen in number, did not get clear, falling to great swipes by flashing Norman swords as well as a pair of well-aimed axes; there was no jeering now, just screaming and much of that was coming from those fleeing.

  Bohemund knew he dare not linger; the battlements were not far off and his party was in range of archery from there. It would not take long to muster the men needed to turn his attack into an untidy and potentially fatal retreat. His command to move came with an instruction to kick the dead Turks so they rolled down the slope ahead of them, and if the knights descending appeared inelegant, sometimes failing to keep their feet, they came back to ground level with the cheers of their confrères ringing in their ears.

  ‘Now, we need a permanent piquet at the brow of the slope,’ Bohemund gasped. ‘One that will stop them ever attempting that again.’

  If such a tactic was easily advanced it was far from easily carried out and nor was it safe; it required the building of a drystone enclosure high enough to stop anyone just leaping over to slit the throats of those who were sent to man it. Every night it had to be resupplied with food, water and men, those left to hold it rotated from what was an isolated and extremely dangerous duty. But it worked; the Turks knew they would have to fight first to get into position and such attacks as had happened originally diminished, if they did not entirely cease.

  Having begun to act the Turks expanded their efforts over the following weeks, employing mounted archers to inflict casualties on the Crusaders, small highly mobile squadrons who knew exactly the dispositions of their enemies and could see when certain groups were too remote from the main host to benefit from quick support, and such raids happened around the whole perimeter. Any companies caught outside the St George’s Gate were obliged to flee for the distant river crossing, while those knights caught to the east of the mountains seeking to stop up the Iron Gate were being attacked by flying columns from a force based outside and to the east of the city.

  But such actions happened right in front of the western walls too, for there was only a narrow strip of land between the Gate of the Duke and the Orontes in which to operate and too many times men were being trapped there and decimated, either killed by arrows and swords or else they drowned in the river trying to get clear. A frustrated Godfrey de Bouillon, whose knights were suffering the most, decided to build a pontoon bridge over the river using boats, so that the main body of men from his camp, of necessity on the far bank, could get across to aid their hard-pressed confrères.

  This was only a partial solution given that aid came best from mounted and mailed knights; to ride a horse across an unstable platform was difficult and that imposed a strict limit on how many could use the pontoon at the same time – the greater the number who tried simultaneously, the greater the movement under the horses’ hooves – which led to crowding on the west bank as frustrated warriors sought to get at t
heir rampaging enemies.

  Henry of Esch, he one of the pair who came up with the ridiculous bombardment screen which fell apart at Nicaea, became so frustrated he rode into the river, sinking ever more until his head was under the water and he was despaired of. God was with him, it was later claimed, as he emerged, still mounted and dripping water, to urge his mount up onto the far bank. Still soaked he went straight into action and did good service.

  Of greater concern, as time went on, was the diminution of supplies; such a huge number of mouths – fighting men and pilgrims – required feeding on a scale that even the fertile plains to the west of the Orontes could not support, while bringing in food and fodder from the well-disposed Armenians was slow and difficult given it all had to be carried by oxen or donkeys and was subjected to raids by bands of Turkish warriors.

  Those same bands made foraging difficult to near impossible, so from being a place of plenty the region in which they were encamped soon looked to be on the way to becoming a wasteland, and that was before the weather, hitherto benign, turned for the worse. Lashed by heavy rain and battered by strong winds the siege lines turned into an area of hard-to-negotiate mud and made everyone’s life a misery, the Turks quick to take advantage of that by sending out short sharp raids to further lower the spirits of those they faced.

  After days of such downpours the sky cleared, the wind dropped and news came from St Simeon that a fleet of Genoese ships had arrived in the harbour with supplies, and not just provender: there were new Crusaders too, if in no great number, but more importantly the Great Count Roger had responded to his nephew’s request and sent from Sicily his most experienced artisans, men who had campaigned with him on the island and helped to take many a Saracen fortress.