Prince of Legend

CHAPTER TWELVE

Subtlety was required to deal with Raymond of Toulouse, but Tancred was also aware of the lack of time which, given it was not a secret, became a weapon not an impediment. If Ma’arrat an-Numan could not compare with other places they had besieged, the defences had enough about them, as well as bodies to man them, to provide an obstacle that could keep the combined forces at bay for many weeks, too long for any sense of comfort.

Bohemund’s conclusion, after another day of Provencal inactivity, was stark and at total odds with his previous angry contention after they had ridden through the Provencal camp. It was brought on by an examination of his own level of supply and stood as testimony to the tactical flexibility that made him a first-rate commander of men.

‘As soon as I deem it impossible to take this place in the time we have I will depart and ahead of Raymond and his pilgrims. What is left in the countryside between here and Antioch is too sparse to feed us all.’

‘What if it then falls to him alone?’

‘It won’t!’

Bohemund insisted this was the case with such doggedness that his nephew did not bother to seek an explanation, given a possible answer as to how Ma’arrat could be taken had occurred to him.

‘So, nephew, what is your plan?’

‘I have no notion, as yet,’ Tancred lied, ‘but I am sure something will occur.’

That got him a hard look; devious himself Bohemund was ever on guard for the same trait in others and perhaps Tancred had been too breezy in his response. To the young man on the receiving end, being less than open was justified both by his de Hauteville blood, as well as the number of times his uncle had been less than frank with him. Then, added to that, was the notion his idea might not work.

To approach Raymond directly would be useless and that also applied to making any move to contact those Apulian knights who had been bribed by the Count of Toulouse to desert his uncle’s banner. Instead, Tancred approached a Provencal knight called Bardel, with whom he had formed a bond. For all the various contingents usually did battle in contained units there had been many times where they had combined to forage together, and in that friendships had been shaped that transcended territorial boundaries and the enmities of the higher nobles.

Knowing Bardel, and sure he would be welcome, enabled Tancred to enter the lines of Raymond’s lances where, round a blazing fire, lay within them the seeds of his idea. These must, he was certain, feed back to their liege lord, for men like Bardel would have an appreciation of the parlous nature of the enterprise. They could calculate as well as anyone the dwindling level of supplies, just as they would see the low quantity of the same being fetched in by foraging parties that were forced to travel in a wider and wider arc, as well as in greater numbers, to secure anything at all. Given the time of year, that included growing supplies of wood to provide warmth in the increasingly cold nights, which sapped the will, as well as the dispiriting days when the skies clouded over and the rains that made fertile this high plateau fell to drench men with only canvas to provide shelter. Bardel was quick to allude to the way such conditions led to increasing sickness.

‘And that weakens us more than the need to forage when it comes to the fighting.’

If it was both obvious and a commonplace it did not diminish its significance, every siege faced the same dilemma: the more men a leader detached to forage, which tended to increase in direct proportion to the length of the endeavour, the less he could commit to battle. The longer a siege lasted in poor weather — and it was getting worse here as winter came upon them — the more men were exposed to agues and fevers, and there was always the risk of the more deadly plagues that could sweep through and decimate an army in a matter of days.

A log cast onto the fire around which they were sat sent up a shower of sparks into the cold, damp air and one of Bardel’s cohort, shivering for effect, aired a complaint that got many a nod.

‘May the Good Lord forgive me for saying so, but I would welcome a bit of that baking heat we had in summer.’

‘I heard you curse that, my friend,’ Bardel laughed, ‘as heartily as you now curse the cold.’

‘My prayers fell on stony ground then, Bardel, but we need the sun to shine on us now, when we can bear it.’

‘They say it snows deep here sometimes,’ interjected another to increase feelings of gloom, present anyway under a grey sky.

The moaning went the rounds, but that was not anything to remark upon: soldiers, when not fighting, always grumbled, cursing heat if it was hot as heartily as they damned the misery of being cold and the food they were given whatever the weather.

Only talk of plunder could render them cheerful, the dream that one day they would uncover a treasure so great and on their own that they could look forward to a life of ease and comfort. This tended to be in a manor house of their own choosing, with a plump, willing and fecund wife, fertile land and villeins to plough it, with a church and a priest endowed by them within the confines of their demesne, where Masses would be said daily for his soul to secure entry to heaven.

As the talk moved on it was natural to speculate on what of value might lie within Ma’arrat al-Numan, a city full of rich merchants at the crossroads of two major trade routes, and this in turn led, as it was bound to do, on to the prospects of ever getting inside. This was commonly held to be sparse, given they had tried and been so resoundingly repulsed by folk who were not proper soldiers, but mere citizens, which disheartened them even more.

‘Perhaps the mighty Bohemund, now that he has joined us, has a way to get us over yonder walls?’

The tone of that comment, made from beyond the flames, was not friendly; indeed, it was downright acerbic. If Bardel and Tancred, in the time they had spent in each other’s company, had formed a bond of companionship, that did not apply to everyone present. Several members of Bardel’s cohort had looked distinctly piqued when he invited Tancred, wandering around inside their encampment, to warm his hams and drink some hot wine.

‘Perhaps,’ opined another, ‘he can tell us why we are outside Ma’arrat at all?’

The remark set up a murmur of agreement, showing that the sentiment was shared, while further interjections made it clear where the complaint lay. These men had come on Crusade to free Jerusalem from Islam, albeit they expected to prosper both on the way and once they arrived. Ma’arrat an-Numan was not in the direction of that goal, so why were they here if it was not for lordly pride? It was a grievance that had surfaced at Antioch when progress south was delayed by the infighting of Bohemund and Raymond, yet it seemed to be of a deeper hue on this high windswept plateau.

Listening carefully and taking no part, lest his view be seen as tarnished by his bloodline, Tancred heard many a curse directed at his uncle — they were eager to damn the Count of Taranto for his ambition and inflexibility — but more telling was the way Raymond’s own lances were prepared to castigate him too, and wonder if his head had been turned by the discovery of the Holy Lance.

Men like Bardel did not lack for piety and were strong in their Christian faith: if they saw the spiritual value of the relic and were prepared to openly ascribe the victory outside the walls of Antioch to its influence, they failed to see why it was not now leading them to their stated destination.

The way their liege lord tended to posture with the holy relic, always carrying it with him and eager to show it to the pilgrims, who would fall to their knees at the sight of such a marvel, patently fed his pride, of which the Count of Toulouse had never been in short supply. For all he kept his silence it was a grievance that Tancred shared and for the same reasons: he too was frustrated at the way the dispute had tempered the true purpose of the Crusade, which had his loyalty to his uncle at loggerheads with his faith.

He only spoke again when that complaint had run its course. ‘My uncle had a notion that with so few real soldiers the way to overcome the walls is with a siege tower.’

That was received with nods, for it made some sense, such a weapon being difficult to defend against even for trained fighters, until a sour voice pointed out, again to general approval, that they were naught but lances and lacked the skills to construct one.

‘He is minded to send back to Antioch for the English carpenters who are still there to have them build it.’

‘Waiting, like us, to fulfil their vow,’ came the sharp response from the other side of the flames. ‘They want to employ their skill outside Jerusalem, not here.’

‘Here would be better as of now,’ Bardel countered. ‘They might aid us in getting over yonder walls.’

‘The English devils work for pay, not faith,’ called another.

‘Worse than Normans, they are!’

‘The only thing worse than a Norman,’ Bardel shouted angrily, ‘is a man who ignores the law of hospitality.’

‘How would you have them behave, friend?’ Tancred enquired, for the barb about Normans was aimed at him, even if he was the son of a Lombard. ‘Such men must eat, and since no lord will feed them and they cannot fight, how are they to live?’

‘Let them spend your uncle’s gold, perhaps when they have left his coffers bare it will dent his pride.’

‘And what if they do, by building him a siege tower?’ Tancred asked. ‘Who then will have the plundering of Ma’arrat?’

That brought silence: any tower built for Apulians would not be gifted as a weapon to the Provencals, which set up another bout of murmuring, though this time it had a deeper and more irate tone that made Tancred think of a disturbed beehive. They had so recently been talking about what they could each gain if Ma’arrat fell; his claim had got them to consider the unpalatable fact that they might secure nothing.

‘My friends,’ he called, getting to his feet, ‘I thank you for the hot wine and the talk.’

Standing at the same time, Bardel clasped Tancred’s hand. ‘Drop by as you please, for you are ever welcome.’

The sound then emitted from some of the others gave a lie to his words.

‘And I invite you to join us in our lines, perhaps in the manege we have set up by the Aleppo road.’

‘Do you Normans never cease to test each other?’

‘No, Bardel, and in truth, if it hones our skills it also eases the boredom. You would be well to take up my offer, for I fear you will be sitting round your fires for so long your skills will rust along with your weapons.’

The message came to Bohemund the next day, given to him as he and his knights emerged from their daily session of practice, each still heaving from their exertions. There had been fighting on foot with sword and shield in the manege, but no lance work; as yet the Apulians had been unable to replace their fighting destriers, horses trained to be fearless in battle in the very same kind of sand-filled enclosure in which they had just been exercising their combat skills.

Even if they could have found mounts of the right kind, a breed common in Normandy and now Apulia, while being unknown in Asia Minor, they took years to train to the pitch where they would be steady in battle. Such horses had been sent for and at great expense, the beginnings of a breeding herd, but until they arrived, mated, foaled and their offspring then grew to full strength, it would be several years before they could be employed. Not that such a thing mattered here: you could not ride any horse into battle in a siege.

‘Raymond has sent messengers back to Antioch, nephew, to fetch the English carpenters, as well as a large sum of money to ensure they come in haste, which is something you did not discover in your meanderings.’

Tancred was careful not to smirk; if he was not surprised at the speed with which his lie about Bohemund doing the same had reached the pavilion of the Count of Toulouse, the way it had been acted upon was astonishing.

‘He will have them build a siege tower.’

‘It is a clever notion, Tancred, but not one that favours us if it comes to pass.’

Feeling slighted, Tancred was sharp. ‘Yet it is not a course you would have adopted.’

‘I have sent to Apulia for destriers, which you know very well, just as you can guess from that I lack the depth of Raymond’s purse. Added to that, these carpenters are Anglo-Saxons, even if they came at the behest of King William Rufus. How much more would I have to disburse to get them to work for a Norman who is not their overlord?’

‘Of which I was aware, and others were not, when I threw the stone onto the water.’

‘You?’

There was no need to respond, the truth was in the expression of Tancred’s face, nor was there any requirement to outline the fact that Raymond would no more permit the Apulians to use any siege tower he built, always assuming he could do so, than would be gifted if the positions were inverted; it would be reserved for his own men.

‘So now, Uncle, we must put our minds to how we might take advantage of a weapon of which we will be given no use.’

‘I have a feeling you have thought of that too.’

‘I have.’

‘Let me see if I can guess. Raymond, if he has a siege tower, will draw the defence to the part of the walls at which he sets it …’

‘Leaving gaps elsewhere that we will be able to exploit. I have talked to those who tried the assault before we arrived and failed to overcome the walls.’

‘As did we, nephew.’

‘Even if they lost many of their confreres in the attempt, I was told the defenders seemed not so numerous that they can cover every part of their walls at the same time.’

‘Yet you have in mind to repeat their failure?’ Bohemund responded.

‘I had in mind to do so with a set of sturdy frames, not single ladders.’

That got a slow nod; if it was a rare tactic it was one that had been known to work against a stretched defence. A long climbing frame allowed the attackers to spread out, as well as to ascend in numbers, the effect of that being to also extend the defence. As a tactic singly employed it was less than perfect, but if the Provencals drew the best of the defenders, the small knot of the governor’s retainers, it might get the Apulians over the walls and onto the parapet before Raymond’s men could debouch from their siege tower.

‘I daresay Toulouse had already sent out cutting parties to find suitable timber; I suggest, Uncle, we would be advised to do the same.’

The haste with which those Anglo-Saxon carpenters came from Antioch testified to the fact that Raymond had dug deep into his purse, for they were known to be an avaricious bunch who demanded and received high fees and they had not been idle in a recently captured city in which much required to be rebuilt, not least those mosques reconsecrated as Christian churches, places where their skill at carving was in high demand.

Like all men of their trade — only cathedral-building stonemasons were worse — they had arrogance too, which came from the knowledge that for all their fighting ability the mail-clad knights often required their skills to overcome a stout defence. Antioch had tempered that somewhat, there being only one small section of wall at which a siege tower could be used, so they had been employed in fortress building, bastions that shut access to the gates of a city near impossible to assault.

Ma’arrat an-Numan was not simple either because no tower could get close to the walls due to that deep ditch, added to which, aware of the shortage of time, Raymond was asking for a rough-hewn edifice, not some smooth example of the carpenter’s art. If they were disgruntled to be rushed they were even happier to be well paid and they demanded to be properly fed, which caused resentment in an encampment where food was now being rationed. No fool, Raymond was disbursing his money in stages to ensure he had oversight of their work, while always present in person demanding haste.

The Apulians were busy too, though eager to keep their heavy frames out of sight, buried, once constructed, under piles of brushwood. Any Provencal knight approaching their lines would see the ladders they had built of a standard size and weight, which led to amusement as they contemplated these rivals for plunder enduring the same fate as had been visited on them. Not that their liege lord of Toulouse, or his captains, gifted them much time to gloat, for a roadway had to be made and the dry moat had to be filled in.

The place chosen was adjacent to one of the towers, which, if it told the defenders precisely where the attack would come and by what means — they could hardly avoid observing what was being constructed just out of the range of their archery — also served as a sign of the determination of the attackers to overcome them. The Muslim garrison dare not essay out to disrupt the effort: standing by was a strong force of knights to kill anyone who tried.

Just like the construction of the siege tower, the filling in of the dry moat had to be done with haste: there was no time to construct a bombardment screen as well, so Raymond’s men were obliged to cram it by running towards the wall with a shield over their head and a large stone in their one free hand, that cast at the base of the wall before they could beat a hasty retreat. It was a run for safety that some did not make, either felled by a rock themselves or caught by the burning pitch and oil the defenders cast down on their heads.

‘At least with what they are casting down,’ Bohemund said, his tone mordant, ‘the infidel are contributing to their own downfall.’

Rocks on their own did not suffice to create a crossing over which the wheels of a siege tower could move forward. Once the ditch was filled to a certain point it had to be topped by a combination of pebbles and earth. Day after day the Apulians watched as their Provencal counterparts risked being killed or maimed to make good that pathway, sometimes seeing their efforts washed away by rain, while all the time the siege tower rose behind them, until after ten days the Count of Toulouse pronounced himself satisfied and proper preparations could be made for an assault.

Bohemund sent a message to Raymond offering to act in concert with his men and to attack any point of the walls he chose to allot to them. The reply that came back was uncivil in the extreme: he would prefer Bohemund’s men to stand and observe, but since he could not stop them if they wished to make an assault, it was a matter of indifference to him where they chose to do so.

‘I have had many occasion to regret that we are on Crusade, Tancred, and this is just another one of them. In any other place, on any other purpose and at any time, Raymond and I would have settled this dispute by a contest of arms. Bishop Ademar kept us from that while he was alive.’

‘And now his spirit does the same.’

‘Partly. But who could so throw their reputation to the wolves by engaging in battle with a fellow Crusader?’

Tempted to say that his uncle was equally at fault, Tancred, as he had done these many months, held his tongue. All around him were the sounds of men making ready for battle, swords being honed on stone wheels, mail and the straps that held it tight being checked, as well as the murmured prayers of those who would do battle in the morning, going into action immediately after they had been shriven by the accompanying priests.

It was at these times that men wondered at being in such a place at such a time, thought fondly of home and hearth, perhaps of wives and children, which was a rosy glow not tempered by the knowledge of reality. In their lives they rarely sat by a home-built fire, for they were a caste of warriors who made their way in the world by fighting, not by tending sheep, cattle or hauling a plough along behind the fat arse of an ox.

They would attend and say Mass in the knowledge, while indifferent to the fact, that death might await them. Each man would swallow the Eucharist and the wine, which represented the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and commend his soul to God before setting out to kill any fellow man with whom he fought, and once the battle was over, to then take, in the form of anything of value, what he could from those who survived.