Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER SEVEN

The camp to which Tancred led the army was as well ordered as the sea crossing that got them to the shores of Asia Minor, ample open barges for horses that made easier the loading and unloading, given they never lost sight of the sky or the Bosphorus shore; not that it was simple, transporting horses over water was a skill that the Normans had learnt in Calabria. They could not have conquered Sicily without it and much of the lesson came from how to sedate the most awkward and skittish animals with potion provided by Basilian monks. Such tricks had been passed by to their fellow Normans at home and the Guiscard had always claimed that, without his aid, the man they called the Conqueror would never have got his mounted knights to the battlefield of Senlac.

Assembled on the Galata side it was a full day’s march to the camp at which Alexius had decreed the Crusaders should assemble. Aware of their coming the Byzantine officials who controlled the province had already designated an area in which they could pitch their tents and set up horse lines in close proximity to running water, this from specially dug shallow canals, and to get there the Apulians were obliged to pass through what was, in many respects, very like a Roman legionary encampment of ancient times.

A main roadway ran through the centre with an oration platform in front of a series of large pavilions on one side and a parade space opposite, while the tents, cooking and latrine pits of the previous arrivals lay beyond. The sight of their fellow Christians, especially the fabled Norman warriors, engendered much curiosity amongst the men of Lotharingia and Central France, bringing them to stare, and being soldiers the new arrivals were the subject of much diminishing ribaldry, which had the commander and his captains needing to enforce restraint on men who took badly to insults regarding their manhood.

Within an hour Tancred had raised a de Hauteville pennant above one of the central pavilions to join those on the adjoining tents of Godfrey de Bouillon and Hugh of Vermandois. But he did not linger to seek their company; before the flag raising he had set his knights to constructing a manege in which he and his lances could properly exercise, the kind of facility with which they had honed their skills, first in Normandy and then in Italy. If there had been training on the Via Egnatia it could not compare with what they undertook now, which was designed to get them back to the peak of those abilities which struck so much fear into their enemies.

The task was to create a large area of soft ground, sandy if possible, big enough to work their mounts, into which thick poles were driven for sword practice, others to bear sacks and shields to be attacked with lances at saddle height as well as a false shield wall behind which the Apulian foot soldiers would gathered to create as much of a cacophony of noise as they could so that the destriers approaching such a defensive line got accustomed to the din and were able to ignore it. Working in conroys of ten, the standard Norman fighting unit, they practised wheeling and manoeuvring their destriers, these then combining into larger groups so that everyone understood and responded to the same commands.

When not yelling for their mounted confreres, Bohemund’s Apulian milities were also engaged in training, albeit of a simple repetitive variety: when to move forward or back, to left and to right on which call of the horn, the recognition of certain banners that would presage an attack, a retreat or a warning of incoming flights of arrows, which required them to kneel and cover their heads with their shields. If the other Crusaders trained for battle too, none did so with the application of the men from Italy.

‘So when do we get a sight of your giant Bohemund?’ asked Godfrey de Bouillon when, a few days later, Tancred finally dined with them. ‘Our cousin of France assures me I will be astounded.’

Vermandois, himself tall, but gangly rather than sturdy, was nodding, which did nothing to disturb his carefully barbered golden locks, nor show any hint of intelligence in his pale-blue eyes; having met the Count of Taranto in Bari he had, no doubt, been vocal in his impression. The contrast between the two northern magnates was striking: Godfrey had a barrel chest and seemed near as broad as he was tall due to the shortness of his treetrunk-like legs. Tancred had an amusing vision of him bestowing a kiss of peace on Bohemund’s knee instead of his cheek, but even holding such a thought he also had to acknowledge that de Bouillon appeared to be no fool.

‘He promises to come when he has ensured that when we advance we are fully supplied with goods already purchased.’

‘A task for one of the Emperor’s minions,’ Vermandois snapped, his eyes flashing for once. ‘Not for one of our rank.’

Behind him, his brother’s constable raised his eyes as Tancred responded.

‘He is spending imperial funds and I think when we are outside the walls of Nicaea, you will be grateful that his efforts are no charge on your purse.’

‘An attack on Nicaea is yet to be decided,’ Vermandois snorted.

That had Godfrey’s eyebrows twitching — Walo adopted a bland expression — for it was a comment from a fool: if it had not been yet discussed, this due to the absence of the leaders of major components of the army, it had to be the primary aim. There was no way to move south and leave such a powerful fortress untouched and sitting on their line of communication to Constantinople. Besides, Alexius would insist upon it being recaptured as part of his bargain with the Crusade, not least so as to protect his own capital.

Tancred could guess what made Vermandois so waspish; if he did not know that his aim of overall command was never going to be fulfilled, he must have sensed it by the way he had been treated in Constantinople. He would have heard of the rewards Godfrey received set against his own meagre ring and both would be smarting if they knew of the largesse showered on Bohemund. Thus the name of whoever did acquire the position was of much import to Vermandois. He suspected, and so probably did Godfrey of Bouillon, that Bohemund had remained in the capital to make his case to Alexius and to also be the first to impress upon the likes of the Duke of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse his fitness for the role.

How simple it would be if such concerns had any basis in fact; command of the host was going to be a chalice charged with a fair degree of poison, given that Pope Urban had signally failed to anoint anyone with the responsibility. The list of names provided too many candidates and Godfrey, a reigning duke who had been forced to fight hard to maintain his position in his domains, had at least a claim to be one of them. He was also by repute a staunch Christian utterly dedicated to the cause; you did not have to be long in the camp to hear how much he had sacrificed of those lands and titles to get here, especially from men who were loyal to his brother.

If Raymond of Toulouse could advance a right to the command, being the first to pledge his service to Pope Urban, so too could Robert, Duke of Normandy, an assertion that would be backed by his powerful brothers-in-law, Stephen of Blois and the Count of Flanders. The fact that none could match Bohemund in the experience of leading large forces on campaign meant little; he had concluded that without either papal or imperial input the command would remain diffuse. If it were to prosper, the Crusade would become a meeting of minds rather than under the direction of one single intelligence. Any attempt to issue orders by one of the individual leaders would only result in dissension.

Messengers streamed back and forwards from Constantinople on a daily basis, Tancred keeping his uncle informed of what was happening on the shores of the Gulf of Nicomedia, he likewise kept abreast of events in the capital, this while others, such as the contingent from Normandy and Flanders, crossed the Bosphorus to join them. When Raymond and his Provencal army finally arrived to camp outside the capital, the largest contingent so far, no one was left in doubt as to how angry he was at the troubles he had encountered, which sometimes descended into pitched battles, in crossing Macedonia and Thessaly.

He and Alexius had not enjoyed a happy meeting, for proud Raymond had point-blank refused to swear any kind of oath to the Emperor, promising nothing more than that he would do no harm to any present or former possessions of Byzantium. Then he and some of his leading nobles came on to the Gulf of Nicomedia ahead of his army, not willing, given his previous troubles, that they should move until he had seen and approved of the encampment.

In the collection of pavilions the largest had been set aside for a place in which to meet and it was there that Tancred took his place as the acting head of one of the crusading contingents, with Robert of Salerno as a sole supporter. That his youth attracted looks he was aware, just as he was conscious that in standing in for Bohemund his voice would carry nothing like his uncle’s weight.

A glance around the room showed him now familiar faces, including the sad countenance of the much diminished Peter the Hermit, as well as those of the fresh arrivals. Raymond of Toulouse was a man who repaid close study, for he had about him an air that impressed Tancred. Of medium height he had a high colour, set off by golden hair and a stern brow made more so by thick eyebrows, this over a much broken nose. It was not just that he looked like a warrior — the leaders all had that air, even in some ways Vermandois, and it certainly resided in the Constable of France. It was more a cast in the eye that marked him out, for it had about it something of the confidence exuded by Bohemund.

The one non-warrior, if you discounted servants there to supply food and wine, was Bishop Ademar of Puy. He had come with Raymond, trailing a reputation for being of clever mind as well as a calm one. The personal representative of Urban he had been tasked with overseeing the papal enterprise, though not in a military sense, something from which he maintained his office and priestly vows debarred him. Tancred guessed that was so much stuff; de Puy knew that these men would no more obey a divine than any other one of their number. Having led the assembly in prayer and asked God that their efforts be blessed he took a seat along with everyone else and opened the gathering, looking straight at Tancred.

‘We are saddened that your uncle is not with us.’ The voice, if it was soft, was not weak, nor was there any blinking when Tancred returned his questioning stare, looking into a round, smooth face set in a substantial head, in which the eyes seemed large and the nose and mouth seemed unnaturally small. ‘However, we are sure that it is only duty that detains him.’

Was that a barbed comment or a priest speaking the truth to assuage the concerns of others? It was impossible to tell, but Ademar did not hold his gaze on Tancred, he let it roam around the room, to rest on each of the powerful magnates in turn, naming them and all of their titles, as if such a thing were necessary. That done, his smooth face took on a look of gloom, albeit without the production of one single wrinkle.

‘It is a sadness with which we must live that a man’s intentions can always be called into question, even if he is blameless. As I look at this assembly, so puissant and remarkable, I see much justified pride yet I am forced to have you recall that pride is a sin. The endeavour upon which we are about to embark will be both difficult and hazardous. If we have God to sustain us we also have the means through base human motives to put many obstacles in our path.’

That brought forth various ways of denying possession of such a thing as pride; throats cleared, the odd bark and one outright vocal dismissal from Vermandois, which brought from Ademar a slow and engaging smile.

‘Be assured that priests are not immune, and an elevation to a bishopric does not much alter things. You here assembled represent the very best of Christendom. You have given up lives of ease and comfort to come here, I know.’

That too got various reactions, for not all had abandoned ease and comfort, though Vermandois was nodding as he picked at a bowl of grapes. Those serving under Godfrey de Bouillon and his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, came from a patrimony in constant turmoil, while Robert of Normandy, known as Curthose for his shortness of leg, had left behind a duchy at constant threat from his brother.

William Rufus, the eldest son of the Conqueror and now King of England was determined to unite the twin parts of the paternal domains, an aim that was only frustrated by too many difficulties at home, yet he caused endless trouble in Normandy. It was maliciously rumoured that Curthose had come east for peace and quiet, not more conflict. There was one truth that had emerged through loose talk by his men: he had mortgaged his duchy to William Rufus for the fabulous sum of one hundred thousand crowns, which, if he had not already spent it all made him one of the richest of the assembly.

‘Yet,’ Ademar carried on, ‘if we are all poor sinners there is wisdom here too, enough of that to allow for the putting aside of arrogance so that the common good may be served. I, as you know, am not at home on the field of battle but I have made it my business, since tasked by Pope Urban, to put my mind to a study of the art of war. While I will openly admit to being a novice in such a gathering I do have, I think, sound judgement and, I hope and pray, divine guidance.’

That got another slow study of the room, as though Ademar was seeking to discern where each man stood. Tancred thought it a clever ploy; if the Bishop could not lead by experience of combat he could act as the honest broker between those who were knowledgeable, the next words from his mouth cementing the notion.

‘Yet we are bound to be beset by differing views so I propose that what we have here gathered be the norm. Let us call ourselves the Council of Princes and set as our task to act always as honest and open in matters of policy, as well as men who can accept that when a majority favours a course with which they might disagree, that is the one which should be adopted.’

If Bohemund had been present, Tancred was sure all eyes would have turned on him to see if he would accept such an arrangement. As it was they were laid upon Raymond of Toulouse, including those of Ademar, which obliged the Count to react. The answer was not long in coming, showing that he had a clear sight of what was attainable as well as that which needed to be done.

‘As of this moment we are not obliged to engage in speculation. Our first goal stands four-square on our path. If we are to have any discussion, it would have to be plans of how we are to take a fortified town that has thrice sent Byzantium packing.’

‘Then let us make haste to be outside the walls,’ cried Vermandois, with brio.

‘Tancred,’ Raymond said, ignoring him. ‘Your uncle will have spoken to you of this.’

‘He has, My Lord.’

There was real discomfort in becoming the centre of this much attention and as he replied he wondered if the tremor he could feel in his voice was obvious. Had he been standing he was sure his knees would have been shaking.

‘Then it would serve us,’ Ademar asked, ‘if you would share his thinking with the council?’

‘The observations he made to me concern the old Roman Road, which provides the route we must follow to Nicaea, and he asked that I reconnoitre it. It does exist but is so overgrown in places as to disappear. In the mountains there are the usual problems of mudslides and falling boulders, but at least it is defined. Where it is visible on open ground it is in poor repair and it would thus be easy for our forces to wander off it. The Emperor Alexius stressed when discussing tactics with my uncle that when we march it must be as a compact body, for the Turks are adept at forcing battle on dispersed forces. He cites the fate of the pilgrims led by Peter the Hermit.’

That had the old man’s lips moving in silent prayer as the others present used gestures to underline that they were very different from that rabble.

‘Then,’ Raymond declared, ‘that must be our first task. To clear the road and mark it clearly.’

‘Which requires,’ Ademar interjected, ‘that one of you here present accept the duty.’

‘We are not mere villeins,’ cried Baldwin of Boulogne, his act of speaking getting him a glare from his elder brother; supporters at such gatherings whispered to their leader, they did not take the floor themselves unless invited to do so.

‘Let the Byzantines repair their road,’ said Vermandois, agreeing with him. ‘Is it not to their advantage to have it in good order?’

‘Which means,’ Tancred insisted, ‘sending back to the Emperor a request for the bodies needed to carry out the task.’

Raymond cut in again, his voice strong and commanding. ‘There is no time for that. Let each host provide a contingent.’

‘Well said, Count Raymond,’ cried Ademar, ‘for it is only by joint effort that our enterprise will succeed.’

This took no account of the fact that Raymond’s army was still on the other side of the Bosphorus, but it was nevertheless agreed, as was the opinion, again advanced to Tancred by Bohemund, that even on a clear road the Crusaders would need to move in groups, given the ability to supply the men along a roadway was constrained, while what pasture existed for the mounts would be destroyed if overgrazed. Things would be much improved if it were given the means and time to recover.

‘I myself will toil on repairing the road,’ said Godfrey de Bouillon, unaware of the sibling glare that produced behind his back. ‘No man can stand idle when the work of the Lord needs to be done.’

‘Well said,’ was the chorus, but none of the other magnates volunteered to work with him.

It took thousands of men and two weeks to clear and make usable the ancient road that led through the mountains to Nicaea, work which was carried out undisturbed by the garrison of that city, men who could not fail to be aware of the strength of the approaching host or the intended target of their labouring efforts, the common opinion being that they felt so safe behind their walls that the prospect of investiture was one they did not fear.

Tancred, in company with Vermandois and Robert, Count of Flanders, led the first major component south, Walo of Chaumont coming on later with Godfrey de Bouillon and Robert of Normandy, then finally Raymond in company with the forces of the Emperor Alexius. Several thousand men strong, on horse and foot followed by carts, oxen and a number of camp followers, such a body presented a tempting target on a highway now cleared and lined with white crosses, one that led across open country and on through mountainous defiles. A screen of cavalry was strung out to the east as well as ahead to ensure they could not be caught unawares.

With them came Manuel Boutoumites, as the personal envoy of the Emperor and a man who had attended a previous siege of Nicaea, his task, which he was plain seemed a thankless one, to offer the Turks an opportunity for honourable submission. Tancred tried to be affable but it was not readily reciprocated; he suspected the Byzantine soldier saw the Westerners as barbarians and that coloured his manner. It seemed, too, he had limited faith in the notion that they could succeed where his hero Alexius had failed, and he had just cause.

The first sight of Nicaea from the high hills, lying as it did on a fertile and open plain bounded on one side by a huge lake, brought enough pause on its own. The massive walls as well as their extent brought forth some appreciation of the task they faced as a whole army, never mind a partial one. Not quite as forbidding as Constantinople, they were a full three mille passum in length, twenty cubits in height, surrounding the city on three sides, interspersed with close to a hundred towers, which rendered any assault on the base deadly and that took no account of the deep double ditches that would have to be crossed to even get close.

Debouching onto the plain, the Crusaders made no attempt to approach the walls or to cut off entry and exit by the roads that led out of the landward gates. That would have been futile anyway; the city sat on the western edge of the mighty Askanian Lake, ten leagues in length, that came right up to its walls and was reached by an indented watergate. On a midsummer day the still blue waters seemed endless as they disappeared into the haze made by the late spring sunshine acting on water still cold from winter.

‘Now you can see why we failed,’ Boutoumites growled, as he and the other commanders rode closer to the walls to reconnoitre. ‘It must be taken by assault for they cannot be starved out nor deprived of water.’

Tancred, ensuring with the pressure of his knees that his horse stayed out of longbow shot, replied with an insouciance he did not feel. ‘You have not seen the walls of Bari. They were just as high and they too were supplied by sea.’

‘My forbears built the walls of Bari,’ Boutoumites snapped, angry, for the loss of that great Byzantine port had sounded the death knell of imperial hopes in Southern Italy.

‘And my grandfather,’ Tancred replied, in a deliberately cold tone that matched the other man’s ire, ‘took it from you when everyone, including those he led to the walls, believed it was impossible.’

Boutoumites produced a sneer. ‘You would summon up the ghost of the Guiscard?’

‘Why would we need to,’ Tancred replied gaily, ‘when we have Bohemund, his son?’

‘Do you not mean his bastard?’

‘Advice, Curopalates: never use that word in the presence of my uncle, for if you do he will smite you so hard you will need two coffins in which to be buried.’

‘I require a truce flag and an escort to the main gate.’

In time-honoured fashion the defenders had to be given a chance to surrender, that was the way of things in Asia Minor as well as Europe. Matters differed somewhat, for, instead of merely delivering an ultimatum from his saddle, Boutoumites required that the gates be opened and that he be allowed to enter. Nor did he emerge as the sun went down, which had Vermandois at first, and subsequently Flanders and Tancred, wondering if he had decided he was safer with the Turks than with them.

He stayed inside for three whole days and that had them thinking he had been killed and they awaited the sight of his head on the walls, but he emerged looking hale and unmarked, dressed in fine silks which could only be gifts from his hosts, to tell his eager companions about his attempts to broker a surrender of the city with the governor Acip Bey.

‘Three days to establish what?’ was the unified response.

That got a sneer from Boutoumites, who took pleasure in informing them that such negotiations were not carried out in the barbaric fashion common in Europe; offers had to be advanced, but with great subtlety, never anything like a definite statement — Tancred suspected that meant bribes of money and offices to this Acip Bey to betray Kilij Arslan. These inducements had to be given careful consideration and the full meaning and value explored. Could there be more and what was best for those in receipt; was it wiser to accept or reject? All this carried out in the midst of much ceremony and endless flattery.

‘And?’ the Count of Flanders demanded.

‘They said no.’