by Hilary Green
The following day Ranulph and Marc rode into camp at the head of a wagon train loaded with bread and oil and followed by a small herd of sheep and goats, all protected by a strong escort of Tatikios’s troops. As soon as he had delivered the goods Ranulph hurried to Bohemond’s tent.
‘I have news, sire. Tatikios has intelligence that Sultan Kilij Arslan, believing our force to be but weak, has left the city with most of his army to fight the Danishmends.’
Bohemond sat up sharply. ‘Left the city? Then it is only weakly defended?’
‘Tatikios believes that must be so.’
The Count rose. ‘Then a sudden assault may give us the victory without too many losses. We could be inside the walls before Arslan learns of his mistake and comes back. Ride over to the Count of Bouillon’s camp and tell him I am calling a council of war for first thing tomorrow.’
Next day, Bohemond came straight to the point. ‘We have heard that the Sultan has left the city with most of his army. I propose that we make a determined assault as soon as possible, before he has time to get back.’
‘I would point out,’ Godfrey said, ‘that we still await the arrival of Count Raymond with his powers. Surely we can do nothing until he gets here.’
‘And lose the element of surprise? If Raymond chooses to linger in the comfort of Alexios’s court, plotting who knows what, why should he share in the glory of our conquest? Think! If we can take the city before he gets here, we shall share the spoils between us.’
The argument went on for some time, but Bohemond would brook no opposition. He concluded it finally, saying, ‘If you are too careful of your own skins, my men and I will attack alone; and then Nicaea and all it contains will be ours.’
All that day and the next the camp was loud with the sound of axes and hammers as the carpenters made scaling ladders and battering rams and improvised bridges to span the moat. On the third day the two armies assembled, Godfrey’s facing the eastern wall and Bohemond’s the north. Ranulph was with his lord and the other knights, a knot of armed and mounted men facing the main gate on their side. The infantry were strung out along the length of the wall, waiting for the signal to advance.
Bohemond summoned his herald and turned to Ranulph. ‘We will give them one chance. Tell them that if they yield now they will be treated with mercy, but if they defy us …. well, you know what to say.’
Ranulph rode forward, the herald at his side. When they were within hailing distance the herald blew a summons on his trumpet and a man’s head appeared above the parapet. Ranulph shouted in Turkish, ‘My lord Bohemond offers you mercy. Your city is but weakly defended, your master the sultan has left you to your own resources. You cannot withstand us. Yield, therefore, and you have my master’s word that you will be well treated. If you refuse, think what destruction you will bring upon yourselves and your people. Consider the fate of your women and children, if the city is taken by force. You have this one chance. If once we begin the assault there will be no more opportunity to parley.’
The answer came clear and defiant. ‘We will not yield. Our walls are strong and we have men enough to defend them. Tell your master to do his worst. We do not fear him.’
Ranulph rode back and conveyed the message. Bohemond grinned. ‘Very well. They have sealed their fate. Sound the attack!’
The trumpets blew and with a roar the massed ranks of the men at arms flung themselves forwards, to be greeted with a hail of arrows. Many fell, but the rest surged on until they were too close under the walls for the archers to take aim. Scaling ladders were thrown up and men swarmed up them, but if they had hoped to find the ramparts only weakly defended they were soon shown otherwise. As soon as each man reached the parapet he was cut down by the hacking blade of a Turkish scimitar. Rocks crashed down onto the heads of the men on the ladder behind. Suddenly, to his left along the wall, Ranulph heard screams of men in extreme agony, and saw them falling to earth blackened and smouldering. The smell of burning pitch came to his nostrils and he saw men on the battlements struggling to raise another boiling cauldron. Ranulph was suddenly, painfully, aware that this was the first real battle he had been involved in since he fought the Normans outside the walls of Rome, twelve years earlier. He could only pray that neither his skill, nor his courage, had deserted him.
Without warning, the gate was suddenly thrown open and a mass of mounted soldiers surged through it, screaming defiance. There was no time for Ranulph and the other knights to form themselves into the tight defensive line with which they would normally have met such an attack. It was hand-to-hand fighting of a ferocity he could scarcely remember experiencing before. A man rode at him, scimitar whirling. Ranulph urged Brand forward, and his upraised shield caught his assailant in the chest with the full weight of horse and man behind it. The Turk went down under the trampling hooves.
‘Ranulph, to your left!’ He heard Marc shout and wheeled his horse to meet a new adversary. Brand, well trained for war, reared up and struck out with his forefeet and as the attacker’s horse turned aside Ranulph drove the tip of his lance into the rider’s side. He wrenched it free as the man went down and swung Brand round to search for the next threat. Ahead of him, Bohemond was being attacked on three sides. Ranulph saw him dispatch one adversary with a slash of his sword that took the man’s head clean off his shoulders but the second man was more skilful and the two of them engaged in a flurry of stroke and counter stroke. The third man, seeing his opportunity, urged his horse forward to take Bohemond in the rear, but Brand was already galloping towards him. Ranulph couched his lance and drove it into the attacker’s back with such force that the head of it came out through his chest. The dead weight dragged it out of Ranulph’s hand and he drew his sword instead, but looking round him he saw no new adversary. The screams of defiance had changed to shouts of despair and the Turks who survived were galloping as fast as they could for the safety of their own walls.
‘After them!’ Bohemond roared; but before they could reach them the gates were slammed shut.
A rider galloped up. ‘My lord Bohemond! My master Count Godfrey says he is losing too many men. He is going to withdraw and he begs you to do the same.’
Bohemond wheeled his horse to one side and then the other, taking in the situation. For a moment Ranulph thought he was going to persist, but then he nodded and growled his assent.
‘Sound the retreat!’
The trumpets blew again and the men grabbed up their wounded and ran with them for the safety of the camp, pursued by another rain of arrows. Surveying the field Bohemond said, ‘Who said the city was only lightly defended?’
‘That was Tatikios’s opinion.’
‘I shan’t trust his judgement in future. Well, they won’t risk another sally like that. From now on they are going to stay shut up behind their walls, and judging by today we are not going to get in by a direct assault.’
Back in their tent as they disarmed Marc said, ‘Now what?’
‘ I suppose we must prepare for a long siege.’
Marc groaned. ‘I loathe sitting out a siege. How long would you guess they can hold out?’
Ranulph sank down on his bed. ‘If the city is well supplied, as I think it probably is, it could be months. And with the lake at their backs there is no way we can stop them bringing in fresh supplies. We could suffer more from a siege than they do. It’s hot now, and will get hotter.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I hate sieges, too. But what is worse is what happens afterwards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve seen what happens to the inhabitants of a besieged city when the walls are finally breached. The longer they have resisted, the more determined the attackers are to punish them.’
‘But that, surely, is to deter others. When they see what happened to those who resisted they will be more inclined to surrender quickly.’
Ranulph looked at him and smiled sadly. He was so young still, in many ways. So innocent.
‘I wish it were like that,
but experience has taught me otherwise.’
Over the next days the carpenters and engineers were set to work again, this time to build mangonels, which would fling rocks against the walls in the hope of breaching them. Bohemond strode about the camp like a lion baulked of its prey and even those closest to him thought carefully before they opened their mouths. Ranulph and the other knights practised cavalry manoeuvres and rode against each other with blunted lances.
They had just returned from one such exercise when one of the men Bohemond had set as watchers on the nearby hilltop galloped into the camp.
‘My lord, Count Raymond is approaching with his army, but they are under attack. A Turkish force has taken them by surprise.’
Bohemond swung round. ‘My armour! My horse! To horse, all of you! As fast as you can!’
Minutes later a close knit band of cavalry thundered out of the camp. As they rounded the shoulder of the hill the situation was clear. Raymond and his men were strung out along the road, guarding the line of supply wagons, and they had had no time to come together in a defensive formation. Mounted Turkish archers were galloping backwards and forwards along the line, screaming at the tops of their voices and firing arrows into the ranks. Raymond and his knights, who had been riding at ease without their armour, were exchanging their palfreys for their destriers and attempting to pull on helmets and grab shields. Bohemond looked round and raised his lance.
‘Form the line! Charge!’
Stirrup to stirrup, lances couched, the cavalry bore down on the circling archers and broke through their ranks as a river in full spate bursts through a dam. Then, wheeling to right and left, they rode down the lightly armed Turks until those that were left turned and fled. The Franks pursued them to the crest of the nearest hill but there Bohemond called a halt.
‘It could be a ruse to draw us into an ambush. They won’t catch me that easily!’
They turned back to where Raymond and his men were collecting their dead and wounded and restoring order to the column. The two leaders met and Raymond raised his sword in salute.
‘I thank you, my lord. But for your swift intervention we should have suffered far more losses than we have. Your knights are to be congratulated.’
Bohemond bowed in return. ‘We have had plenty of time to practise, my lord, while we awaited your arrival. I trust you left the emperor in good health?’
If Raymond heard the barb in that remark he chose to ignore it. ‘I fancy that was only a skirmishing party. We may have to contend with a greater force before long.’
The next morning the watchers on the hills dragged two ragged men into Bohemond’s tent.
‘We caught them trying to spy out the land, sire. They were hiding among the rocks.’
Bohemond glared down at the two kneeling figures. ‘Who are you? Where are you from?’ he asked in Greek.
They shook their heads uncomprehending.
‘Ranulph?’
‘Here, sire.’
‘See if you can get any sense out of them.’
‘Who are you?’ Ranulph repeated, in Turkish. ‘What country are you from?’
‘We are Armenians, lord. Christians, like yourselves. Just two poor pilgrims trying to reach the Holy City.’
Ranulph dug deep into memories he had not explored for years and came up with words in the language of Armenia. ‘Coming from where?’
The two looked at each other, rolling their eyes in terror. Ranulph repeated the question in Turkish.
‘From Prusa,’ one of them blurted.
‘Prusa is west and south of here,’ Ranulph said grimly. ‘If you were heading for Jerusalem you would not have needed to pass this way. Why were you hiding?’
‘We saw the great host encamped here and we were afraid.’
‘You say you are Christians of the Armenian persuasion. Who is the founder of your church?’
‘Why, Jesus Christ!’
‘But who brought the word of Christ to the Armenians?’
Once again the two men stared at each other, dumbstruck.
Ranulph turned to Bohemond. ‘They are lying, sire. The Armenians have their own language, which they seem not to understand. I believe they are spies.’
Bohemond shouted for one of the men-at-arms who stood sentry outside the tent.. ‘Take them away and put them to the question. Find out who they are spying for.’ As the two were dragged out he turned back to Ranulph. ‘As a matter of interest, who was the founder of their church?’
‘They normally attribute it to Saint Bartholomew and Saint Thaddeus, sire.’
‘And how do you come to know all this?’
Ranulph chose his words carefully. ‘I have travelled much in this part of the world, sire.’
The sentry returned in less than an hour. ‘They have confessed, sire. They are spies from the army of Kirij Arslan. He is close at hand and expects to reach the city by tomorrow.’
‘Does he?’ Bohemond said grimly. ‘Well, we shall have to prepare a suitable welcome for him.’
By dawn next morning the Frankish army was drawn up in battle formation. Stretching across the plain the foot soldiers formed an unbroken line. The front rank knelt, pike hilts stuck into the soil so that they presented a phalanx of sharp points facing the enemy advance. The second rank stood behind them, pikes at the ready, and behind them were the archers. The cavalry was drawn up on either wing. Chain mail glittered in the sun and banners with a dozen different devices fluttered above them. Looking along the line Ranulph wondered what impression they would make on the sultan’s army when they crested the far hill.
They did not have long to wait. From beyond the rise came the sound of voices raised in an ululating battle cry and seconds later the first mounted warriors came into sight. If they had expected to take the Franks by surprise the sight of the massed ranks in front of them must have come as a shock, but they did not hesitate. On they came, firing arrows at the gallop, then, when they were almost upon the first ranks, they veered off, riding along the line and firing into the mass of soldiers. The Frankish archers fired back, but it was hard to hit a target that moved so fast. Bohemond gave the order to charge and the knights thundered into the whirling tumult and drove them back, but at the top of the hill they turned and came galloping down again.
The sun rose higher and Ranulph felt the sweat soaking into the padded jerkin he wore under his chainmail. His helmet was like a vice clamped around his brow and when he took off his glove to mop the sweat out of his eyes he winced at the touch of the hot metal. The desire for water raged through his body and he was thankful when his servant Dino pushed through the ranks with a leather water bottle. Again and again the Turks galloped down the hill, screaming, showering arrows into the lines, but the foot soldiers held firm and the Turkish horses would not charge the deadly line of pikes. Again and again the knights rode forward and drove the attackers back, but Bohemond would not let them be drawn into a pursuit.
In a brief pause a page came panting to Bohemond’s stirrup. ‘My lord, Sir Tancred sends me to ask why we are not pursuing the infidels until they are destroyed. He begs permission to lead his knights to the attack.’
Bohemond glared at him. ‘Tell Sir Tancred that if he has a mind to offer himself to the Turks as a sacrifice I will not stop him. But I will not let him lead his men into the same trap.’ He turned to Ranulph. ‘You can take him my message. It will come better from you than from this boy.’
Ranulph turned his horse round and rode behind the lines until he reached the right wing where Tancred was stationed.
‘My lord Bohemond fears that an ambush may be prepared for us on the far side of the hill. He begs you not to lead your men into a trap.’
Tancred’s lips drew back in a snarl of fury. ‘My lord fears! Well, I do not. Let him seek safety and I will finish the fight on my own.’
He set his heels to his horse so that it started forward but Ranulph reached out and caught his reins.
‘Stop, sir! It is Lord Bohemond’s orde
r that you stay in the line. His commands must be obeyed.’
Tancred’s hand went to his sword. ‘Let go before I strike your hand off!’
Ranulph kept his grip. ‘I act on my lord’s orders, sir, and out of concern for your safety.’
For a moment Tancred continued to glare at him. Then he rammed his sword back into its sheath.’Tell my uncle I will do as he asks – for now. But I cannot hold back indefinitely. My men are eager to taste victory.’
Ranulph rode back and relayed the message. Bohemond grunted. ‘Taste victory? Taste death, more likely.’
He had hardly spoken before the Turkish archers came galloping over the brow of the hill to renew their attack, but as before they were driven back with minimum losses on the Frankish side. Ranulph’s respect for Bohemond as a commander grew.
At last the sun began to sink. The Turks staged one final attack and then withdrew beyond the hill and as darkness fell Ranulph slid from Brand’s back and let Dino lead him away to water. Servants brought bread and cold meat and flasks of wine and water and they ate and then rolled themselves in their cloaks and slept where they were, those of them that could sleep. When dawn came Ranulph rose, stiff and chilled as they all were, and pulled on his armour with grim endurance. Next to him Marc’s squire was bandaging a cut where an arrow had glanced off his gauntlet and ploughed a furrow in his forearm. Looking along the lines, Ranulph could see Turkish bodies, left to lie where they fell. He scanned the Frankish ranks. There had been casualties, but they had been replaced. The lines were as solid as ever. He mounted Brand and waited.
They all waited, while the sun rose higher. Eventually Bohemond turned in his saddle.
‘Six of you, with me. The rest stand steady.’
They rode slowly to the crest of the hill and there Bohemond drew rein. The ground before them was empty. Arslan and his men had disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.
