God's Warrior

by Hilary Green

  ‘Those are the Emperor’s banners,’ confirmed Bohemond’s nephew, Tancred, who was standing beside him. ‘What’s he playing at?’

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ his uncle remarked grimly. He threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘I want six of the best archers up here – now!’

  The order was passed back and six men scrambled forwards, stringing their bows as they went. The approaching ship slowed a couple of boat’s lengths away, the rowers backing water to hold it in position, and a figure in a herald’s tabard stood up in the bows. He had clearly been chosen for the power of his voice, for his words carried clearly across the water, but the language was Greek.

  ‘Welcome, illustrious Lord Bohemond. My master the Emperor bids you welcome and has sent soldiers to escort you safely through his domains so that you may reach his presence with all possible speed.’

  There was no doubt that Bohemond understood. He snorted derisively. ‘Escort us, is it? Keep watch on us, more like. He hasn’t forgotten there was a time when I could have called all this land my domain. He doesn’t trust us. Well, the feeling’s mutual. But we may as well play along for the time being. Ranulph!’

  ‘Sire?’ Ranulph edged forward past his fellow knights to stand by Bohemond’s side.

  ‘I want you with me as interpreter. Stay close.’

  ‘But, sire, you speak Greek, or so I am told.’

  ‘There’s no need for them to know that. Sometimes it can be useful for them to think I don’t know what they are saying to each other. Respond appropriately, if you would.’

  Ranulph stepped up onto the prow, steadying himself with a hand on the rigging. ‘My lord thanks the Emperor for his consideration. He is eager to meet him face to face once again.’

  The small galley went about and led the way into the harbour and the fleet followed. Apart from Bohemond himself the first ship carried his closest associates: Tancred, already known as a brave warrior, who had brought his own followers with him ; Bohemond’s cousin, Richard of Salerno, and his standard bearer, Robert Fitzgerald. With them were Bohemond’s household knights, amongst whom Ranulph and Marc d’Ambray now counted themselves; plus pages and squires and servants and a contingent of archers. Behind them was a string of ships carrying other Norman lords with their followers, companies of men-at-arms, horses, wagons, and all the impedimenta of an army on the move – some three and half thousand men, as near as Ranulph could reckon it.

  As they disembarked it became clear that the force sent to greet them, though well-equipped, was not as numerous as they had first thought. Ranulph saw Bohemond look them over with a sardonic smile, but when their commander stepped forward he assumed an expression of bland courtesy.

  ‘Welcome, my lord, on behalf of the mighty Emperor Alexios. My name is Niketas Karides. I am here to see that you have everything you require on your journey to Constantinople. A camp has been prepared for your men and food supplies are on hand. Suitable accommodation is ready for you and your knights. If you will follow me …?’

  Ranulph conveyed the information to Bohemond and then translated his fulsome thanks and within a few minutes he found himself following the two generals, plus Tancred, Richard and Robert, into a splendidly equipped pavilion where a table was spread with a lavish selection of delicacies. Bohemond was obviously determined to keep up the illusion that he did not speak Greek, so Ranulph was kept busy translating the various pleasantries exchanged between the two men as they ate and drank. Then, when the meal was over, Karides got down to business.

  ‘Let me explain the arrangements the Emperor has ordered to be made to expedite your arrival in Constantinople. All along the route you will take, plentiful stores of food have been commandeered and at each town you will find a market set up to supply all your needs. I will give you a licence permitting you and your men to buy in these markets, which will be open to no one else. And you need have no fear that you will be charged exorbitant prices. The price of everything has been set by order of the Emperor and the penalties for exceeding those limits are draconian. I shall escort you, with my own troops, so that you need have no fear of attack by any of the lawless elements that still exist in remote areas. In this way, there should be nothing to delay you on your journey and you will be able to make all speed to meet with the mighty Alexios.’

  When this was translated for him, Bohemond nodded and expressed his thanks. But when Karides had excused himself and left them to rest he turned to his companions with a sarcastic grin.

  ‘It’s as I thought. Alexios is terrified that I might decide to settle myself here and take back the lands I conquered from him last time. He wants me in Constantinople where he can keep an eye on me. ‘Make all speed’, eh? I’ll go at my own pace, whether Karides likes it or not. I’ve got a few scores to settle on the way.’

  An icy wind from the Rhodope Mountains flung a handful of hail into Ranulph’s face, but on either side of the road the level plain was studded with spring flowers. The sight of them gave him no pleasure. They were a reminder of wasted months. It had been autumn when Bohemond and his army landed on the coast of Illyria. For almost six months they had dawdled along the Via Egnatia, the ancient road that joined Rome to Constantinople, the second city of the empire. In spite of the urgings of Kerides, Bohemond had refused to be hurried. Days were spent in camp while he and his knights indulged their passion for hunting. They halted for weeks outside the city of Ohrid, by its great lake, which had once been the capital of Bohemond’s conquests until he was driven out by Alexios. While his leader was entertained by the archbishop, Ranulph had found solace in examining the beautifully illuminated manuscripts produced by the monks and contemplating the brilliant frescoes in the cathedral church of St Sophia. At Bitola, where they should have turned south for Thessalonika, they were caught by the first storms of winter and forced to wait until the thaw cleared the mountain passes. Now they had reached the borders of Thrace and at last the way seemed clear for them to reach Constantinople within a few day’s march.

  Ranulph turned in his saddle to look behind him. He had brought Dino along as his page and the boy was following, mounted on a mule and leading Brand. Ranulph himself rode a sturdy palfrey. Destriers like Brand were far too valuable to be used for transport and had to be kept fresh in case of need. Marc, similarly mounted, rode alongside, followed by his squire, Aymar. Ranulph, having no well-born relations who could aspire to that rank, had entrusted a squire’s duties to Dino, but Marc had sent for a cousin who had almost completed his training at the court of Duke Roger and was eager for an opportunity to earn his spurs. Following them both was a thick-set Sicilian, Fernando, whom Ranulph had taken on as a cook, leading two pack horses carrying their armour, a tent and essential supplies. Stretching back beyond this little group Ranulph could see an apparently endless stream of men, horses and vehicles. Mounted knights, with their personal servants, often far more numerous than Ranulph’s; men at arms on foot; wagons loaded with axes, saws, cooking pots, spare wagon wheels and other necessary objects; the essential trades with their equipment – smiths, armourers, bakers, cobblers and the hangers-on and camp followers, hoping to gather up the meagre pickings left behind by the main army. The line stretched back out of sight.

  Ahead of them now Ranulph could see a small town, set on the far bank of a fast flowing river. The approach to it was over a bridge, which was guarded by a wooden fort, and on the near bank were the temporary, make-shift structures sheltering one of the markets Alexios had ordered to be set up to provide for the army’s needs.

  Marc shifted in his saddle. ‘Praise be! This must be were we camp for the night. I’m so cold I can’t feel my feet. I’m looking forward to a fire and a beaker of warmed wine.’

  ‘Do you think we shall be allowed to enjoy that in peace?’ Ranulph asked sourly. ‘There’s been trouble of some sort at every town we’ve passed.’

  ‘You can’t expect to move an army this big across hundreds of leagues without a bit of trouble with the locals,’ Marc said
.

  ‘A bit of trouble!’ Ranulph exclaimed bitterly. ‘We have left behind us a trail of looted villages, fields stripped bare and forests where not a creature survives. And these are Christian lands! I joined to fight the infidel, not to terrorise my fellow Christians.’

  Soon the land along the river bank was a scene of hectic activity as squires and servants erected tents for the nobles and the knights. The wagons were drawn up in a rough circle, horses were lead down to the river to drink and foraging parties went out to collect wood for camp fires. Some of the rank and file, the lucky ones, would find sleeping space in or under the wagons. The rest would curl up in the open around the fires. The quartermasters for each company headed for the market and soon men were trudging back to camp with sacks of flour and flagons of oil, some leading goats or lambs or carrying chickens by the legs.

  Leaving Dino and Aymar to attend to the horses and light a fire Ranulph and Marc set off for the market with Fernando following to see what delicacies were on offer. It was obvious that Alexios’s orders had been obeyed to the letter and the stalls were loaded with everything that was needful. Fernando bought loaves of flat bread, olive oil, eggs, a chicken and a handful of herbs. Ranulph picked out a flask of red wine and Marc seized with delight on a jar of honey. There were other things, too. Embroidered leather gloves, colourful woven sashes and scarves, locally brewed spirit which made Marc choke when he tried the sample urged on him by an old woman. They wandered among the stalls for a while, happy to stretch their legs after a day in the saddle; but watching the men around him Ranulph could see that some were far from contented with what they found. Here and there disputes broke out as they tried to haggle over prices, but these had been set by order of the Emperor and the sellers were not prepared to be intimidated. Ranulph ground his teeth at the sight of knights wealthy enough to support considerable households threatening simple peasants over the price of a leather belt or an enamelled brooch.

  Before long a small group of malcontents gathered on the edge of the market. Wine had been freely available and it was clear many of them had been drinking. The numbers rapidly swelled and then the whole lot moved off towards the bridge leading into the town.

  Ranulph groaned. ‘What did I tell you? It’s bound to lead to trouble with the citizens if they start throwing their weight about.’

  ‘Well, let’s keep out of it,’ Marc said. ‘Come on. Let’s get back to camp. I’m ravenous.’

  They made their way back to their tent and found a good fire burning and Aymar ready with beakers of warm wine. Fernando had killed the chicken and it was already simmering in a stock infused with the herbs. Ranulph’s stomach growled.

  ‘How long, Fernando?’

  ‘A while yet, unless you want to spend half the night chewing it. That was a tough old bird – but she’ll melt in your mouth if you give me a chance.’

  Ranulph smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I know what a good cook you are. I can be patient. Aymar, another cup of wine!’

  The young man stepped forward with the jug but as he did so they were all arrested in mid sentence by the sound of shouting and the clash of weapons.

  ‘Now what?’ Ranulph demanded. ‘Dino, my sword!’

  The boy scrambled to fetch it. Marc had run round the tent to see where the noise was coming from.

  ‘Quick! It’s our boys. They are being attacked by men from the fort by the bridge.’

  Ranulph joined him. It was easy to see what was going on. The occupants of the fort had taken a stand on the bridge and refused to allow Bohemond’s men to cross. A fight had broken out and men from both sides were rushing to join the mêlèe.

  ‘Come on!’ Marc said, grabbing his sword from Aymar.

  Ranulph shrugged. ‘Let them sort it out. They asked for it. I don’t see why we need to get involved.’

  Marc stared at him. ‘We can’t leave our own men to be slaughtered by these … these barbarians. I’m going, even if you’re too worried about saving your own skin.’

  He set off at a run and Ranulph, swearing under his breath, ran after him. The knot of fighting men, confined by the width of the bridge and the proximity of the fort, was so dense that it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. Ranulph weighed in, using the flat of his sword as far as possible. He had no desire to kill one of the men who were, he understood, only trying to protect their town from the depredations of this unruly force. His main concern was to keep Marc in sight. He had learned from experience that the younger man was impetuous and often reckless of his own safety. Suddenly there was a thunder of hooves and Kerides charged into the middle of the throng, with half a dozen mounted warriors at his heels. Shouting in a language Ranulph did not understand he drove the opposing forces apart and, as he did so, a group of Bohemond’s men seized their chance and raced across the bridge, whooping with triumph. Only then did Bohemond himself ride up, relaxed in the saddle and gnawing on a chicken leg.

  Kerides rode across to him, waving his sword and protesting furiously; and Ranulph pushed his way through the crowd of panting men to his side.

  ‘It is enough!’ Kerides was shouting. ‘You have gone too far! All your needs are provided for. Why can you not contain your men within the camp?’

  Ranulph had seen Kerides struggling to contain his temper and maintain a diplomatic front before but it was clear that this time he has lost all patience. He translated and Bohemond raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Please tell the general that his anger is misplaced. As I understand it, it was the occupants of this fort who attacked my men, who merely wished to explore the town. Are the people here so inhospitable that they fall upon visitors without provocation?’

  Before Ranulph could translate a cry went up from behind him.

  ‘Fire! The fort is on fire!’

  A curl of smoke was rising above the roof of the building and even as they watched a flame licked out of one of the arrow slits in the walls. The local men dropped their weapons and ran for buckets to scoop water from the river, but there were few to be found and those who tried to get back into the fort for more were driven back by the heat. The gates of the town opened and the inhabitants streamed across the bridge with buckets and barrels but it was too late. Within minutes the whole building was ablaze.

  Kerides turned to Bohemond. ‘You see? You see what destruction your men leave behind them?’

  Bohemond shrugged. ‘A cooking fire left unattended? A scullion distracted by the noise outside? You cannot blame my men for this.’

  Kerides glared at him in baffled fury. Then he wheeled his horse and cantered over to the men still struggling to extinguish the blaze. Ranulph turned to Bohemond, who was watching the chaos with a faint, sardonic grin.

  ‘Sire, why do you permit this?’ He knew that to question his lord’s authority was to invite a severe reprimand, if nothing worse; but the words forced themselves from his lips.

  ‘Permit?’ Bohemond queried. ‘Have I permitted anyone to fire the fort?’

  ‘No, not directly.’ Ranulph bit back the anger and frustration which boiled up inside him and made himself speak reasonably. ‘But you know, you must know, what our men intend once they reach the town. Our reputation as lawless looters has gone before us. Is it any wonder that the defenders in the fort sought to prevent our men from crossing the bridge?’

  ‘That is how you think we are seen – as lawless looters?’

  ‘Is it surprising? Hardly a village has been left unscathed in our progress.’

  Bohemond swung down out of his saddle. ‘You would have me forbid any looting?’

  ‘I would, sire! We are an army of God, bound for a Holy War. We should not stain our high purpose with such behaviour.’

  Bohemond studied him through narrowed eyes. Ranulph held his gaze, anticipating a furious response, but instead the Count nodded. ‘Harken, my friend. You have been a soldier, a mercenary. Am I right?’

  ‘I have, my lord, but in a very different cause.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but t
ell me this. Were you so well rewarded that you had no need for booty?’

  Ranulph lowered his eyes. ‘It is true. Many of us saw it as a legitimate, indeed a necessary, part of our income.’ He looked up and met Bohemond’s gaze. ‘But that was taken from enemies. These people, in the lands we have travelled through, are our fellow Christians.’

  ‘And when you fought my father, the Guiscard, as I know you did, in his dispute with the Pope, you were not fighting fellow Christians?’

  ‘I fought as my masters ordered,’ Ranulph mumbled, seeing his argument crumbling.

  ‘As a good soldier must,’ Bohemond said cheerfully. ‘Now, think about this. How many of the men who have joined this army have done so out of pure desire to fight for God? Most of them are no different from the mercenaries you served with. They have joined in the hope of booty.’

  ‘But surely that will come when we fight the infidel,’ Ranulph said.

  ‘Indeed it will. But that is all in the future. If I forbade any looting before we reach the Holy Land, how many men would I be left with by the time we got there? I tell you, the army would melt away like the snow on those mountains there, long before we reached Constantinople.’ He clapped Ranulph on the shoulder. ‘Come! Walk back with me to my tent. I warrant I can offer you better wine than the horse piss you can buy in this apology for a market! And there are things I want to discuss with you.’

  Surprised, and in spite of himself flattered, Ranulph yielded and allowed the hand on his shoulder to propel him away from the scene of the fighting and back to the camp.

  They were met by Robert, Bohemond’s standard bearer, his face tense with anxiety.

  ‘My lord! Praise God you are unhurt! You wrong your loyal servants by going off alone into such an affray.’

  Bohemond made a dismissive noise. ‘It was nothing. A minor scuffle. There was no danger.’

  ‘But the fort …’ Robert stammered.