Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER SIX

The outer wall of Constantinople was so extensive it seemed to take the entire contents of a glass of sand to ride to the point of entry, which meant darkest night had come by the time Manuel Boutoumites and his charge arrived outside the Blachernae Gate, a pair of great doors studded with iron bolts and some silver-topped to denote the imperial device. This was flanked by two massive crenellated towers, the whole area illuminated by the same array of lit torches that lined the city parapet all the way to the southern stretch of water known as the Propontis.

Unlike the many previous gates they had passed, closed for the night, these were wide open, yet it was testament to the nervousness of the garrison that a strong body of archers stood guard, so fearful were they of the reputation of the man coming to visit their ruler. Looking backwards at that line of flickering and diminishing points, which, due to the arc of the walls, disappeared halfway, brought home to Bohemund, more than daylight had done, just how immense was the Byzantine capital and what kind of force would be required to invest it.

To overcome the outer defences was only the first part of the battle, as his observations on his tour of the inner city had underlined. Even with a whole crusading army and adding a powerful fleet, which they did not have, it would be more like the fabled siege of Troy than anything he had experienced previously in his years of fighting, a decade in duration and likely requiring some kind of ruse to bring about success.

Such conclusions had played upon his thinking over the time of waiting and they were still present now as they approached the entrance to the Blachernae Palace, a residence that had become the favoured accommodation for Alexius Comnenus. He rarely entered the Great Palace at the heart of the city, Bohemund suspected because too many of his predecessors had been murdered there. The second reason for the shift to the Blachernae was comfort: it occupied a hill to the very north of the city in an area well away from the crowded stink of the old urban heart and the elevation gave the occupant good views in all directions, it also being high enough to benefit from any available and cooling breeze.

There was a third compelling purpose to such a place of residence: Constantinople was a city much given to riot, at times when food was short and prices rose to levels the lowest could not afford, at others when some event set the population at loggerheads with whoever wore the imperial crown — excessive taxation, some perceived insult to the Orthodox religion, to which the populace was much attached — or just a long-lasting heatwave in an overcrowded city. Being at the north-eastern tip of the city a threatened emperor could make a quick and easy escape till things settled down.

Again it was only torchlit illumination that gave a clue to the massive dimensions and gilded magnificence of what was now the administrative centre of the empire. Diminished that polity might be, but the palace reeked of a wealth almost impossible to quantify, while within the walls were the men, and they were numbered in the several hundreds, who carried out the business of government, most of them eunuchs.

Thinking on such a body, Bohemund could not but help reflect on their reputation for intrigue, jealousies and in-fighting; to him such leanings seemed to seep from the shadows thrown onto the walls by torchlight. Every time an emperor fell, there was always some powerful eunuch at the centre of the conspiracy to topple him.

The Varangian Guard lined the corridors through which he and Boutoumites passed, each with breastplate, helmet and axe; they were trusted to be armed in the imperial presence yet it was also true, and had been since the days of Ancient Rome, that any Praetorian Guard were the first to be seduced, which made them as much a threat as a safeguard. If these men sought to appear indifferent, every eye flicked a little in Bohemund’s direction, for passing them was not just a fellow warrior and one who well overbore them in height, but also a near legendary one; if some looks carried a glare of hate it would be from an Anglo-Saxon.

Finally they entered the same large chamber, which unbeknown to Bohemund had so recently witnessed the deference of Godfrey de Bouillon and his captains. There were no courtiers present now, just the guards and, sat on his dais, the Emperor Alexius dressed not in purple, but in what looked like workaday garments, a smock edged with embroidery of an almost archaic Greek design, albeit made of very fine linen. When he got up to greet Bohemund, the thought arose in the mind of his visitor that it might be because only by standing on his elevated platform could he look him in the eye.

A short period of silence ensued as two men who had only ever seen each other on a battlefield and at a distance carried out a mutual examination. Alexius was of medium height and had the chest and shoulders of a fighting man while his legs, where they were visible, showed strong and muscular support for that upper body. His skin was olive-coloured yet pale and spoke of an indoor life, made to look more luminous by the many oil lamps, the nose prominent and slightly hooked, the lips full and sensuous, while the gaze from his dark-brown eyes was steady and unblinking. The voice, when he spoke, was deep and composed, strong enough to create an echo in what was a near empty and high-ceilinged chamber.

‘Count Bohemund.’

That got a slight dip of the Norman head. ‘Face-to-face, Alexius.’

‘Highness!’ whispered an irritated Manuel Boutoumites. ‘Show respect.’

That got a low chuckle. ‘I have shown enough respect by the time of waiting, then coming when summoned.’

‘A proud Norman, then,’ Alexius said, with a ghost of a smile. ‘Not much given to bending the knee?’

‘I do so when I am seated.’

That brought a full smile to the lips of the Emperor and a sharp intake of breath from Manuel Boutoumites, for it was a clear demand for a chair; few were the people allowed to sit in the imperial presence outside the immediate family, and even they required permission. It was plain from the ensuing pause that Alexius knew he was being challenged, that Bohemund was demanding to be treated as an equal not a subject. It was also obvious he was thinking through the ramifications of either agreeing or a refusal.

‘Let’s you and I retire,’ he said finally, looking around the large chamber, ‘to somewhere more informal.’

‘To where we can speak in private.’

‘You may wish to say things others will not take kindly to hear.’

‘Highness?’ Manuel Boutoumites asked, who realised that he was not to be included.

‘Please wait here, Curopalates, to escort Count Bohemund back to his camp.’ The hesitation of his advisor was palpable and the reason obvious. ‘Do not fear for my person, the Count is unarmed, and if he seeks to use those great hams of his to break my neck, one of my guards will chop them off.’

There was a moment, when Alexius descended from his dais to ground level, when he registered his comparative height and it was not one that spoke of ease. Accustomed to respect for his title this was a not a man to be easily overawed; imperial splendour — and the Blachernae Palace, even near empty, had that in abundance — would not impress this particular Norman, with his steady gaze and a body stillness that spoke of a high degree of self-control. For a second Alexius felt discomfort, before abruptly spinning round to walk away, his mind full of thoughts over which he had mulled many times.

Of all the Frankish knights supposedly coming to the aid of Byzantium — and many of them were a mystery in terms of their personal aspirations — Bohemund was likely to be the most dangerous and the most difficult to control, for he had no respect for an empire which he and his family had fought both for and against. Nor could he easily believe in Bohemund’s piety; if faith had brought the likes of Godfrey de Bouillon to his city and might be bringing on those who followed, Alexius could not believe that such a cause had prompted this man to take part.

His ambitions in Southern Italy were far from secret, nor was the frustration he felt at the need to acknowledge his half-brother as both Duke of Apulia and his suzerain, or that this was a compromise forced upon him by his Uncle Roger, who, instead of supporting his right to the lands he had conquered, would have taken the field against him had he refused to settle for what he occupied. Set against that, also to be proved when all were present, he was probably the most accomplished leader in battle, a fact to which Alexius could personally attest.

In the latter stages of his father’s invasion of Romania, with the Guiscard obliged to take the bulk of his lances back to crush rebellion in Apulia, Bohemund had been massively outnumbered at every turn, and if he had lost a battle or two, many more times he had inflicted defeat upon the armies Alexius had led by the employment of superior tactics, the sheer physical force of his Norman lances or by some act of individual courage that had rallied his men to mount what would appear to be a futile assault.

Added to that prowess was the trouble he could cause, if disgruntled, by stirring up resentments with his fellow Crusaders. In the formulation of imperial policy Alexius had quite fixed aims: to throw back from his borders the Turks who, if left in peace, would threaten the city of Constantinople itself, something he lacked the means to achieve. Three times he had sought to retake Nicaea, each attempt ending in failure; perhaps with these Western knights that could be brought about and the infidels defeated to create a true buffer between them and the capital. If they moved on south, every step taken towards Jerusalem was one that would provide enhanced security for Byzantium.

After passing through endless corridors, Alexius led Bohemund into a private and much smaller chamber, where two servants awaited him, as did food and wine, the latter poured on command. Both he gestured should leave and when they obeyed, though they left the door ajar, he indicated that his guest should occupy a capacious divan, before personally handing him a jewel-encrusted goblet, he sitting down opposite in a curule chair. The goblet Bohemund took, but he did not drink from it until Alexius had done so first, which did not go unnoticed.

‘You think I might poison you?’

‘More I think that someone might seek to poison you, Alexius, and that I would suffer by inadvertence.’

‘Did you not see I am well protected?’

‘As well protected as many of those who preceded you, such as Nikephoros.’

Alexius smiled; he suspected Bohemund was trying to needle him by mentioning the previous emperor. ‘He was a weak man, I am not.’

‘Was it not a mistake to spare his eyes, in fact his life?’

‘I did not invite you here to discuss the events of the past, Count Bohemund. I wear the diadem now and it is with me that men must deal. Why have you come here?’

The sudden change was designed to throw Bohemund off guard; it failed because he had been waiting for it. ‘I answered the call of Pope Urban.’

‘So you are bound for Jerusalem?’

‘I have had to point out to many of those who follow me that such a goal is a very long way off and much stands between what the Pope might desire and what can actually be achieved.’

‘Are you saying you do not think the Crusade will succeed?’

‘You know what I am saying.’

‘It concerns me that you may have other things in mind.’

‘Like an attack on the city?’ Alexius nodded as Bohemund took a deep drink. ‘That is ambition long since put aside. I do not have the strength to attempt such a thing.’

‘Yet you do not deny that such a possibility excites you?’

‘No, any more than that you would like to regain from we Normans the provinces of Langobardia and Calabria. Like me, Alexius, you lack the ability to make that dream become a reality.’

‘And what of your fellow Crusaders?’

‘Since I do not know them I do not know their minds.’

‘So you did not seek to garner support from Godfrey de Bouillon?’ Answered with a look of bewilderment Alexius continued. ‘You did write to him, did you not?’

‘Only to see if his views on what we might face coincided with my own.’

‘And the others yet to arrive, have you communicated with them?’

‘Why should I when I suspect that their gaze is fixed on the Holy Land, as is mine?’

Bohemund interpreted the following silence as a lack of belief, which was hardly surprising. But if Alexius knew that he could not send the Apulians packing for the effect it would have on other Western knights, so did the man who commanded them.

‘It is vital that all of you cooperate with Byzantium.’

‘We will not get far, Alexius, if we do not, nor will we get far if we do not cooperate with each other.’

Alexius was quick to discern the meaning of that. ‘You see trouble ahead?’

‘I hope for the opposite but I would be a fool, and so would you, not to count it as a possibility. A divided command is a dangerous one.’

‘Why did you stop your progress at Heboomon, why is your army camped there?’

The change of tack was a deliberate attempt to fend Bohemund off from where he was obviously headed — the answer to a divided command was a unified one and who better to head that, with imperial support, than a Norman whose worth he knew? Aware that Alexius was not going to allow himself to be dragged into a discussion of that, Bohemund answered the question with a pre-prepared and wholly specious answer.

‘To ease your concerns, given I had no idea that Vermandois and Bouillon had departed and crossed to Bithynia. I thought that the addition of my Apulians to their forces, sitting outside your walls, might cause you anxiety.’

Alexius allowed himself a ghost of a smile. ‘And if I requested that you do likewise?’

‘If that is your wish I am happy to meet it, as long as my men and my mounts are fed and watered.’

‘You have heard of the oath taken by Vermandois and Bouillon?’

‘I have.’

‘Then I am bound to enquire if you will make the same pledge.’

Bohemund feigned surprise, but he did it well. ‘Is not that the reason you have called me to your palace?’

Alexius was just as good at masking his true feelings, yet to a sharp eye a sudden need to blink was as good as a shout, even if, in revealing he had reacted when he should not have, the Emperor kept his eyes closed; that response had taken him off guard. He took his time to open them once more and fix his visitor with a firm look.

‘You have come prepared to swear?’

‘I will do so now, if you wish, Alexius, and to you alone.’

The reply was slow and soft. ‘No, Count Bohemund, let it be done with due ceremony and in the presence of witnesses. I would have you swear too on the holy relics kissed by the others so that you know you are risking eternal damnation if you betray the pledge you make.’

‘Anyone would suspect you did not trust me.’

Alexius was too shrewd to respond to that direct challenge, even if it came with an amused smile. He stood and indicated the door. ‘I will send my Curopalates to you on the morrow.’

Bohemund was escorted back to his encampment by a squadron of cavalry to find Tancred pacing back and forth, worried that his uncle had walked into some form of trap. If many of the tales of Byzantine intrigue were lurid they were not without some basis in fact; over the centuries people had been regularly killed in cold blood and the methods were the stuff of nightmares. Pick a pear from a tree and it might have been filled with a fatal toxin, accept an imperial gift of, say, a gold casket and there might be a famished and venomous snake waiting for you to lift the lid. It was rumoured that they had even perfected such a thing as a poisoned cloak, for that was a common imperial gift and a mark of respect.

‘I daresay Alexius would like to see me dead, but it’s not something he can at present afford.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘You can make your own mind up, Tancred; we go to the Blachernae tomorrow to take the same oath as Godfrey of Bouillon and Vermandois.’

Tancred could not hide his surprise. ‘You intend to swear?’

‘If we are to proceed I have little choice.’

‘The risk-’

‘What risk — swearing on the relics of saints?’ Bohemund snapped.

‘That would give me pause; it would give most men pause.’

‘If you go to Santa Sophia the divines there will show you many things, including two heads of John the Baptist. I have heard it said that men with such a feature exist, but they do not do so as biblical prophets. One of those heads must be a fake and that throws doubt on any others, so how do I know what I am being asked to swear on is a true relic or some fanciful object dug up by some dreamer or fraud?’

‘An oath is an oath, made to God even if the relics are dubious.’

‘Which I will keep as long as Alexius keeps his, and think on this, nephew! Alexius Comnenus was once given the military title of nobilissimus, the first to be so termed with the highest rank the Emperor could bestow, and that was for his service to his predecessor, to whom I think you will agree, he must have made an oath of loyalty both before he was granted the title and at the ceremony of investiture?’

‘Of course,’ Tancred replied, for he knew what was coming.

‘Where is the one-time Emperor Nikephoros now? In a monastery praying that the man who swore that oath does not suddenly see cause to have him strangled. I will make the pledge that Alexius demands and I will hold to it as long as he does the same. That is the warning I sent him in that letter to Bouillon, which, to ease your curiosity, he had plainly read.’

Bohemund knew his nephew was troubled and he was aware why: the younger man had more fear of divine retribution than he but it was not just that. If his own motives in coming on Crusade were mixed, those of Tancred were less so. He could recall only too clearly the way his nephew had sought to persuade him to take up the Crusade outside the walls of Amalfi, talking of the opportunities for wealth and plunder, never stating the other possibility: that a young warrior with a strong arm and a small inheritance, the fiefs of Lecce and Monteroni, might carve out for himself in the recovered territories possessions of his own to rank with those of his de Hauteville forbearers.

‘I cannot swear, Uncle.’

‘You do not have to, I will swear for myself and the forces I command.’

‘That includes me.’

‘It might not always be so, Tancred.’ Their eyes locked for a long time, until the young man nodded to say he understood: one day he would strike out on his own behalf and with his uncle’s blessing. ‘Go back to Heboomon and prepare to lead the army across to the Gulf of Nicomedia, I will deal with the Emperor Alexius.’

Bohemund did not wait for Boutoumites to come to him; he was outside the Blachernae Gate at first light with his familia knights, helmeted, in chain mail, wearing his great sword, his snow-white surplice with the bold red cross and loudly demanding entry, which was granted but not to the audience chamber. Knowing that they must wait until all was made ready they did so in the Church of St Mary, on their knees before the shrine to her memory, like knights at vigil over a dead leader. Bohemund was aware as he stayed still in his devotions that a stream of the curious came in to cast eyes on this epitome of the Norman warrior until eventually the messenger came.

The ceremony was the same as that attended by Godfrey de Bouillon and his captains, the same clutch of courtiers, the same guards at the pillars and Alexius on his dais in full regalia. Called upon to come before the Emperor he and his followers, still wearing spurs, made a noisy entry to the airy and spacious chamber to kneel before Alexius, swords acting as crosses, where the same oath was required and given, the relics brought forward to Bohemund to be kissed in turn.

‘It pleases me that we are at peace, Count Bohemund.’

‘I too, Imperator.’ Alexius could not help but smile; if Bohemund was not about to address him as ‘Highness’ he had found a way to show his respect with the ancient Roman title. What followed was not so pleasing. ‘And I ask that to seal such a peace you swear, on these same holy relics, that you shall give to our Crusade all the aid that is at your disposal to provide.’

If that set up a buzz amongst the eunuchs, it infuriated Alexius and he made no attempt to hide his anger. ‘You doubt that I will do so?’

‘No, but it would ease my soul if I knew that you were as committed to me as I am now committed to you.’

The gesture that fetched to the dais the thigh bone of St Peter was a sharp one and, with a glare at Bohemund, Alexius bent to kiss it, but he did so in silence, no words were spoken. Unbidden Bohemund stood and his men followed.

‘My army is ready to march, all they require is to be told where to embark. I would beg to be allowed to stay in the city to ensure that the supplies we need with which to campaign are bought and stored, also that ships are available to carry them to where they need to go, which I will be right in assuming is Nicaea.’

‘That must be the first objective,’ Alexius replied, still seething. ‘But I would wish your senior captains to swear the oath too.’

‘When I pledge it is on behalf of them all.’

The silence was long, for here again was a problem about which it had to be considered if it was worth making a stand. Eventually Alexius nodded, having decided it was not, stood himself and descended to ground level, where he removed the heavy diadem and handed it to a grovelling eunuch.

‘There is something I wish to show you.’

Alexius turned and left the chamber, Bohemund alone following to a door through which the Emperor had disappeared. On entry the Norman was dazzled by the light of hundreds of candles, but it was not their illumination that hurt the eyes so much as the way that reflected off what was stacked in the room, objects of gold and silver in a quantity Bohemund had never seen assembled in one place, bolts of the finest silk dyed in a multitude of colours, trays which on closer examination were covered in precious stones. Try as he might to maintain his composure, it could not be done; Bohemund actually gasped, for all the revenues of his domains, which were substantial, would not add up to this is in a decade.

‘You will have heard that I rewarded Hugh of Vermandois and Godfrey of Bouillon for their oath of loyalty to me.’ That got a cautious nod, for it had been used to tell both men how they stood in imperial regard, the Frenchman with his derisory ring and de Bouillon with his casket of coins. ‘So that you will know how highly I regard your acceding to the same, I wish that you will accept the contents of this small chamber as a reward for the services I know you will render to me in the future.’

‘This is all for me?’

‘It is,’ Alexius replied. ‘And may it let you consider what you might gain by keeping to the oath you just took.’

Bohemund nodded, but he was thinking, as well as securing supplies he must find a ship and a trusted captain to take this treasure back to Bari. There was too much to transport over the terrain they were about to cover and its value in his homeland vault would be much greater than it would be in Constantinople.