Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER FOUR

The Apulians knew they were being trailed by part of the garrison of Durazzo and if their presence was an irritant it could be no more than that. Previously invisible, the pursuit had only come into view because of the time it took to make a difficult crossing of the River Vardar, so swollen that even at the point at which it could be forded it was flowing fast. For mounted men that presented little difficulty, for those on foot the rigging of manropes strung between driven-in stakes acted as an aid. But getting the carts and livestock across would take time, so Bohemund led his main body away so as not to churn up and make impassable the eastern riverbank, though he left a small rearguard on the western side lest the men sent by John Comnenus be tempted by the sight of so much easy plunder.

If the aim was to hurry them on their way, in that they failed utterly, as much from the acts of their own commander as any other factor. Thanks to John Comnenus and the time given to act upon his instructions, supplies had ceased to be plentiful and that meant no haste was possible; the army was required to forage and buy, which slowed progress, none of which much troubled the man in command. He moved at his own pace and went out of his way to be pleasant and courteous to those Byzantine officials and traders with whom he was obliged to do business, which aided him in building up a picture of the present state of the imperial domains.

The empire was stronger than the times in which he had campaigned previously; if Alexius had been a brand-new emperor in the days when the Apulians had first encountered him in battle he had not only survived invasion but had also taken a firmer grip on the imperial possessions than his recent predecessors, most notably in terms of tax collection, reputed to be ferocious. This revenue, for centuries, had served as the bedrock of imperial power, the Eastern Roman Empire being fabulously wealthy if properly administered.

It lay at the hub of the trade route between East and West and with the customs duties that brought in, Byzantium could gather so much gold and treasure to its coffers and had accumulated so much over the eight hundred years of its existence, that even after a great defeat like Manzikert, a degree of safety could be bought by the hiring of mercenaries, usually from the very enemies the empire had been fighting.

That was the kind of force Alexius now mustered. Led by Greek generals his army consisted of few natives, more of mercenary Pechenegs and Bulgars, even a contingent of Turkish archers, while at the peak stood the Varangians, the personal guardians of the Emperor. At one time made up exclusively of formidable axemen from Kiev Rus, it was now more likely to contain fighters from the old Viking heartlands of Norway and Denmark, as well as embittered Anglo-Saxon warriors who had departed a Norman England where they had little chance to prosper.

‘Not an army I would choose to lead.’

This opinion was advanced by Robert of Salerno, another relative of the de Hauteville family through too many connections to easily enumerate and one of Bohemund’s senior conroy leaders. In the mix of marriages between Normans and the leading Lombard princely families over sixty years, there existed a web of cousinage in various degrees that it would need a learned monk to untangle. This Robert was black-haired and saturnine of complexion, though he did have dancing eyes.

‘It was one that put up a good fight at Durazzo,’ Bohemund replied. ‘And remember, under Alexius I was bested by that same combination more than once.’

‘Only in defence, Uncle,’ Tancred insisted, ‘they never attacked and drove you from the field.’

Bohemund acknowledged that with a nod, for, if memory made him uncomfortable, the conversation had started with that very proposition while waiting for the baggage train to cross the Vardar, the prospects of offensive aid from the Byzantine armies should they and the Crusaders ever get to grips with the Turks, the shared opinion being that, the Varangian Guard apart, little reliance should be placed on them.

‘And that has its own dangers, for there is no love lost between we Normans and the Anglo-Saxons as was proved at Durazzo, where we first encountered them.’

Robert and Tancred had heard the tale of the battle outside the walls many times before, yet Bohemund was obliged to tell the story again, of how the Guiscard had met and defeated Alexius Comnenus for the first time and shortly after he had assumed the purple. The men of the then Varangian Guard, many of whom served the usurper Harold of England at Senlac Field, had come into Byzantine service after the Norman Conquest.

Tall, blond and wielding huge axes, they had advanced and thrown the Apulian battle lines into disarray. It was the Guiscard’s second wife, Robert of Salerno’s Aunt Sichelgaita, who had rallied the broken force and saved the day. If Bohemund had hated her with a passion — she being mother to Borsa and had ensured his elevation to the duchy — he was obliged to acknowledge her ability. The Varangians died to a man rather than withdraw.

‘Which, I hope,’ Bohemund concluded, ‘neither of you will ever be foolish enough to do.’

‘They were brave,’ Robert replied, those eyes alight.

‘They were stupid,’ came the snapped response, as some kind of commotion broke out to the rear, Bohemund standing to see what was afoot. ‘Never be afraid to retreat and live to fight another day.’

The shouts came from a fast-riding messenger and, indistinct at first, they soon assumed more clarity, not least because many of the Apulian knights were grabbing their weapons and heading to remount their horses. It took a mighty shout from their leader to stop them and still they remained until the message was relayed to him, that the Durazzo soldiers were attacking his baggage and there were insufficient men left behind to drive them off.

‘Robert, take two conroys back and force them to withdraw, but no more than that.’

‘They are stealing our possessions.’

There was no doubt the conclusion that induced: such men were required to die.

‘They are a pinprick, no more, and I do not want to arrive at the court of the Emperor with the blood of a massacre on my hands. I require him to think we are come in peace.’

‘But-’

The interruption was harsh; Robert of Salerno had too much Lombard blood for Bohemund to indulge him in the same way as he did his nephew. ‘Do not dispute with me, do as I say and quickly.’

‘Do we come merely in peace?’

Tancred posed this enquiry as Robert of Salerno, shouting out commands, rushed to mount his horse, a question answered after a lengthy pause to the sound of thudding and departing hooves, a subject never satisfactorily established since the day they set out to join the Crusade, abandoning the siege of rebellious Amalfi in the process, much to the chagrin of its titular suzerain, Roger Borsa. It followed from a very public dispute about the policy being pursued by the increasingly unpredictable Borsa, an argument in which he had insulted Bohemund and even managed to alienate the more equable Roger of Sicily.

In essence it came down to which of the Guiscard’s sons the Normans would follow, which only a fool like Borsa would put to the test, especially with news of the papal crusade circulating throughout the whole of Italy and knights like Tancred extolling what might be gained by participation. Even the Great Count, though unwilling to take part himself, had seen the possibilities — to no avail; Bohemund would not be moved and without him there was little chance of raising the forces necessary.

If Borsa had provided the proverbial straw that broke his half-brother’s back, the younger man was still curious about the precise nature of Bohemund’s motives in taking up the Crusade; what were his immediate aims and more importantly what did he envisage in the longer term? He might be a good son of the Church but he was not and never had been the kind of religious zealot like Borsa, who wore hair shirts and allowed his thinking to be swayed by the intercession of priests.

Nor was it a mystery that he chafed at being a vassal to such a weakling. He had taken to the field immediately upon his father’s death in an attempt to gain his inheritance and if it had not been for Roger of Sicily, Bohemund would have been successful. That formidable power stood between him and success, always on hand to aid his weaker nephew if the stronger one looked like achieving his aim, while never so backing Borsa as to utterly cement his power. The balance, of course, gave Roger more security in Sicily than the prospect that either one should triumph.

If it needed Western aid to free Byzantine territory from the Turks it would require that same aid to hold it and prevent its recapture. The only way Alexius Comnenus could achieve security and keep that military presence in place would be to grant control of possessions to the leading Crusaders, but did they want that? It was impossible to know if those making their way east were intent on the capture of Jerusalem and personal salvation or were seeking to gain a slice of that fabled eastern wealth for themselves.

‘I have no mind to do for Byzantium that which it cannot do on its own merely for gratitude.’

‘Remission of sins once we free the Holy Places?’

That got Tancred a long look before any reply came; his nephew knew him too well to think that his primary reason for coming east. Bohemund, if he made obeisance to God, as all men must, did so with reservations brought on by too many remembrances of the times when divine intervention had been seriously lacking when it came to his life and good fortune. He had never seen a fiery cross in the sky as he went into battle, nor heard a heavenly shout of encouragement from on high as armies clashed, and if God was a doubtful champion his servants on earth were less to be admired. Had not a reigning pope, for his own cynical ends and several talents of gold, helped his father annul the marriage to Bohemund’s mother, thus rendering him and his sister as bastards?

‘There is a hard road between here and Jerusalem.’

‘But are we here as friends or, as John Comnenus feared, as enemies? You are being given free passage over territories you fought for previously but he and his uncle obviously suspect your aim to be the same as it was a decade past.’

‘He would be a fool not to consider the possibility that I have come for Constantinople but he will also reason that alone it is nought but a dream. It would take the combined might of every Crusader to even think of taking the city and even then it would need trickery too. I have not seen the defences but I have heard enough of them to know they are formidable.’

‘Could such a combination be assembled?’

‘That depends on Alexius and the trust he can create. What is being asked of us is a great endeavour. I have no desire to march several hundred leagues to the south without I know that my lines of communication are secure and cannot but believe that others will think the same.’

‘There is no advantage to Alexius in not providing full support.’

‘True, and I think he will do so as long as it suits his purpose. But what if that changes, and even worse, what if he were to be replaced?’

‘He is a strong emperor, the best for a century.’

‘Strong emperors have fallen before, to a deadly potion or the secret knife, but all these things you have raised are in the future and unknown even to God.’

A stirring of recumbent warriors and an outbreak of cheering killed off any further discussion and had Bohemund and Tancred looking to observe the return of Robert of Salerno, the most obvious sight and easy to see at a distance the severed head dripping blood at the top of his lance. Bohemund’s anger rose in line with the increased roars from his knights, who saw only the fruits of a successful encounter and nothing of what it might lead to. By the time Robert was ready to dismount the cries of praise were raining down on him from all sides so that the man in command, even if he had wanted to publicly berate him for disobedience, knew how badly it would play with the men he led. A wise leader knew when to hold his tongue, so he had little choice but to confine his disapproval to a glare, while speaking softly to Tancred.

‘Tell him, in private, that if he ever disobeys me again, and so openly, it will be his head that adorns my lance tip.’ In a louder voice, which he had to work to keep under control, Bohemund asked Robert, ‘How many did you kill?’

‘Half at least, the rest fled, but they killed many beforehand. They were mainly archers who saw our drovers as an easy target and had no stomach to face the lance.’

‘And the crossing is secure?’ Tancred enquired.

‘All our baggage and livestock will be on this side before the sun begins to dip, cousin.’

The system of imperial messengers, fast riders and a ready supply of change horses, so important to the expansion of the old Roman Empire, generally failed to function properly when the wearer of the diadem was weak or ruled for a short time. Alexius had restored it to something akin to its legendary efficiency and he required the service to function more now than he had ever needed it in the past. Thus he knew what had happened at the Vardar ford within a week, the news followed within days by a messenger from Bohemund explaining it as a mistake by an overzealous subordinate.

Of more interest to Bohemund was the news, when his messenger returned, that one of the main crusading groups several thousand strong, led by the Lotharingian Godfrey de Bouillon, had arrived and what had transpired when the Duke of Lower Lorraine met to talk with Alexius. He sent for his nephew and together they set out to walk the encampment heads close in conversation.

‘I suspect Alexius is demanding from him the same pledge his nephew wanted from us, but neither de Bouillon or his leading captains are prepared to freely give it.’

‘And the nature of the oath?’

‘Acknowledge Alexius as suzerain, hand back to him any possessions taken back from the Turks and rely on his generosity when it comes to the rewards for success.’

‘A wise ruler rewards his own people, not strangers.’

‘A thought that will have occurred to Duke Godfrey.’

Bohemund had several traits he shared with his late father, one a gleam that came into his eye when some ploy or stratagem had just occurred to him. With the Guiscard it had often turned out to be some telling notion of how to break down a stubborn defence by subterfuge rather than force but it was not always so. Even as a young squire Tancred had observed his grandsire in his dealings with his fellow Normans as well as subject Lombards and Greeks. That curious twinkle was an indication that he could see into their souls and find the right words — or would it be bribes? — to hold them to him.

‘I sense you have a plan.’

Bohemund smiled. ‘Not a plan.’

‘Yet it must involve this Godfrey de Bouillon.’

‘Bouillon has already declined to accept that which Alexius demands, but for what reason and how strong are his objections? If he is a good leader he will know what we know, that to advance into Asia Minor puts us at the mercy of Alexius, and that increases the deeper we travel.’

‘So he may consider it prudent to secure that before setting a foot on the other side of the Bosphorus?’

‘Are you with my thinking or ahead of it?’

‘You will write to him with observations that might lead him to the conclusion you seek.’

That got a smile from Bohemund, this time a sly one. ‘And how do you think he will respond?’ The response was a shrug of ignorance from the younger man. ‘He will not, if he has any sense. De Bouillon does not know me and Alexius will seek to ensure that any message coming from me or any of the other leaders are his to read.’

That was the way of the Byzantine court: a secret was only that in terms of its value and any emperor would pay high for access to anything received by Duke Godfrey. Yet if Bohemund was serious all he would do, even if he was careful, was alert the Emperor to a potential threat.

‘It is one of which he is already aware, Tancred,’ Bohemund replied, when his nephew voiced those concerns. ‘Alexius sees me as a hazard, witnessed by his instructions to his nephew not to let us land without a pledge of loyalty.’

‘And you see value in increasing the knowledge of that threat?’

‘I will have to deal with him when we get to the city and it may be that I cannot avoid making the promises he requires, but an emperor with concerns is one more to my liking than a man free of worry. I am seeking to remind him that any such undertaking as a pledge of loyalty runs both ways.’

‘So it is a ploy to get him to keep his word?’

‘It is a means of reminding him what risk he takes if he breaks it.’

‘You cannot be certain he will get to know the contents of what you write.’

‘I suspect that de Bouillon cannot emit a quiet fart that Alexius will not know about within the hour. This might take longer but I have no doubt the contents will be gossiped about by someone.’

‘And if you’re wrong?’

‘Then no harm will be done and de Bouillon will know what I would hint to him if we were talking together face-to-face.’

The letter, when it reached Godfrey de Bouillon, came as a surprise merely by the name and seal of the sender — why would a stranger write to him and have it delivered by a messenger who refused to give his own name? He had heard of the Count of Taranto, of course, who had not, for his deeds were the stuff of travellers’ tales. Nonsense mostly, Bouillon thought; no one was as gigantic as the fellow was reputed to be and no one could have carried out the actions in battle ascribed to him. Bohemund was of the same mystical cut as his father. Tales of the activities of the Guiscard had travelled the length and breadth of Europe and the way he was spoken of was just as foolish as the gossip told of his bastard son.

The letter was, in any case, strange, talking of security of supply being paramount before the Crusaders ever crossed into Asia Minor, that to do so without concrete assurances would be folly of the highest order. Read one way it was just that, a set of concerns, but it seemed when perused more than once it had another meaning, only a hint, but there, that the best way to secure the necessary line of communication was to have firm control of it.

‘Is it truly from Bohemund?’ asked his brother, Baldwin, with whom he had discussed the contents at length and to no real avail; it was still ambiguous. ‘They are famed for their trickery in these parts and it may be this has been forged to test you.’

‘The messenger was a Norman, or at least he spoke with their nonsensical twang.’

Baldwin had to look away then to hide his expression; he saw his elder brother as a bit slow and too pious for his own good, albeit he was a doughty fighter and a talented commander in the field. But he was also the barrier to security and opportunity for an impoverished younger son who stood to succeed to his title; Godfrey was childless and given his attachment to chastity likely to remain so. He had sold off great swathes of territory to the Church to fund his Crusade, eager to gain absolution for sins no one but him thought he had committed, and he had thus severely depleted what could be inherited. If nothing could be found on this venture Baldwin would be left with his small demesne and a straitened purse to add to the slight comfort of sibling goodwill.

‘There are Normans in Byzantine service, brother.’

‘I do not like this much,’ Godfrey responded, waving the letter.

‘Then best not reply; let Bohemund stew if it is from him and wonder at your thoughts.’

‘I have no wish to make an enemy of him by seeming arrogant.’

That, to Baldwin, was typical of his elder brother: he always saw his own faults before those of others. ‘Better him a foe than Alexius.’

Godfrey dithered, but Baldwin pressed home that as the best course of action and eventually persuaded his brother to give the letter to him for safekeeping. He also made sure, for a fee and in a very short time, that the contents were copied and made known to the imperial palace. Let the Emperor decide if each phrase written had a double meaning.