Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘We did well,’ Bohemund insisted, to nods from his nephew, standing half to his rear. ‘The Turks suffered more than us and if we had a trio of such towers I am sure, by splitting the defence, we could overcome and get inside the walls. Certainly we would inflict losses on the defenders they could not sustain and that, My Lords, may well bring about the fall of Nicaea.’

He had already outlined the minor modifications that would make the siege towers immune to the threat from those grappling irons, namely proper seating for the stabilising outriggers so they could not be so easily pulled away. Some of the ‘princes’ were nodding, but not all — Vermandois looked as if he was sucking a lemon and had already referred to the way his knights had been sent away without having had a chance to fight. De Bouillon then regretted that his men had never even got to ascend the tower.

Vermandois then changed tack in a bid to censure a Norman he clearly saw as some kind of rival, making it plain he still hankered after the leadership. ‘You did not adhere to the agreement not to risk our persons, which we did.’

‘No I did not, Count Hugh, but let me tell you this, there are occasions, and there will be more, when that cannot apply and is in fact unwise.’

That got a clerical frown from the Bishop; it had been the papal legate’s suggestion, in fact his injunction, so Bohemund addressed him directly.

‘I do not say, Your Grace, that if I had been absent that disaster would have followed, that the siege tower would have been tipped over, but I put forward the possibility it might.’

‘Anyone could have seen the danger,’ Vermandois insisted.

‘But, Count Hugh, would everyone have acted on it?’

His nostrils flared then. ‘Why would they not?’

‘For fear that they might be thought of as overcautious.’

Try as he might, Bohemund, and he did by speaking softly, could not keep out of his response the implications of that: for all his vainglorious boasting, the brother of the French King lacked experience. He had never been engaged in a conflict where a siege tower was employed, while the man who disobeyed that injunction was close to being the most famous knight in Christendom.

‘I judged that we had done as much as we could and were at risk. I have explained to you how this came about and if I have, in your eyes failed somehow, I am man enough to hear it from your lips.’

Ademar was quick, lest Vermandois say something stupid. ‘No one of sense would express such a thing. If I admit to being irritated when I saw you on the tower, less so that your nephew was with you, I am now willing to say without equivocation that it was to our benefit that you were.’

‘I am sure I would have done the same had it been I on the tower,’ stated Godfrey emphatically.

‘While I question your conclusions, Count Bohemund.’ Raymond of Toulouse said and that had the two men lock eyes. ‘To build two more towers will take much time and we have been about this business long enough, given our purpose. We must think of Palestine in all this and if we batter ourselves against Nicaea that must impact on our fortunes.’

‘Lord Raymond, should you contrive a better method I am with you. All I have put forward is a personal view, which is the right of every one of us gathered.’

‘More bombardment screens and mining would be quicker.’

‘Even when the Turks merely rebuild what we destroy?’ asked Robert of Normandy.

‘Count Bohemund advances the notion that more siege towers will do the thing, but I say more mining will make it impossible for them to repair all the breeches we make and if one is left undone, that will be our opportunity.’

The Bishop spoke up, as usual his face showing the kind of concern meant to imply he took in all views and gave them equal credence, yet it was obvious to all he generally gave more weight to the man with whom he travelled and the magnate in which his bishopric lay than the others.

‘I see merit in what the Count of Toulouse says.’

‘I side with Count Bohemund,’ said de Bouillon.

Vermandois spoke immediately. ‘And I am with my cousin of Toulouse.’

‘While I,’ Normandy said, ‘wonder what our titular commander thinks?’

All eyes turned to Tacitus, who had been silent throughout, not that anyone noticed; he was a man not of few words but going on none and when he did speak it was through an interpreter, even Greek speakers struggling to comprehend him, while with those who only knew Latin and the Frankish tongue it was essential. What followed seemed to consist of more words employed than he had ever uttered before and watching the face of the interpreter it was obvious that the opinion being advanced was not studded with optimism; the face was a positive picture of impending doom.

‘The Prostrator wishes to remind you of how many times the forces of the empire have come to these walls in vain. He has watched your efforts with interest-’

That brought a growling interruption from Baldwin of Boulogne. ‘He was supposed to stop us making the same errors as he had previously, not just watch.’

The interpreter stopped, and seeing the leaders react to yet another unwarranted interruption from a person not supposed to speak unless invited to, brought what amounted to an admonishment from Bishop Ademar, though it was voiced in a way that might have indicated the need of prayers for penance to a recalcitrant child.

‘We must, My Lords, abide by the conventions we have set.’

‘What he means, brother,’ de Bouillon snapped, less the diplomat, ‘is you speak through me!’

‘If you spoke enough, I would not have to.’

‘Leave the pavilion.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me, brother,’ Godfrey hissed. ‘Do as I say or by the faith I will send you home.’

That led to a silent stand-off lasting several seconds, but it could have only one outcome. When it came to arguing with his elder sibling Baldwin had no dice to throw. With as much huff as he could muster he strode out through the opening, leaving his brother to apologise for what had occurred.

‘Be assured, My Lords, that Baldwin only acts as he does from an excess of zeal.’

‘You see, Uncle,’ Tancred whispered, ‘being full-blooded brothers does not make for better bedfellows.’

‘Quiet,’ Bohemund insisted, as Ademar indicated the interpreter should continue, though his shaking shoulders showed evidence of amusement.

‘My Lord Prostrator would point you towards the one wall, for all your strength, you cannot seal.’

‘We are not blind,’ Vermandois scoffed, ‘and we have tried.’

That conveyed to Tacitus, he waved his hand dismissively. The Crusaders had set mangonels on the bank of the lake aimed at the entrance to the watergate. It was a poor weapon to employ because of its inaccuracy, every cast stone being of a different weight and the tension required to create the force to eject it a constant variable, which ensured that so far none had found a floating target.

‘I do believe, My Lords,’ the Bishop said, with a weary expression, ‘that if we wish to hear the views of General Tacitus we should let this fellow convey them.’

‘Prostrator means stable master does it not?’

Tancred once more hissed this softly, only to get an elbow in the ribs from his uncle, a sign that he should be as silent as Baldwin should have been, a correction following swiftly in a voice kept at the same whispered level as that of his nephew.

‘Try Master of the Imperial Horse.’

The interpreter took up the translation once more. ‘If you observe the lake, and examine the boats destined for the watergate, you will see that they arrive not only with food but also with men. Later they depart without them, which means, as we of Byzantium found out before you, that you cannot cut the number of the garrison by killing them, for the city will support a certain number of fighters and that will be maintained by the introduction of constant reinforcements.’

‘We have greater numbers than they,’ Raymond asserted. ‘The problem we have is to employ those men in a way that has the desired effect.’

Vermandois was quickly on to that. ‘Man for man, the Turks are no match for us.’

These responses were conveyed to Tacitus, who listened and nodded slowly, before speaking softly, the words following from his mouthpiece.

‘Unless you can walk on water, the Prostrator says, and you would require the powers of Our Lord Jesus Christ to do so, you will not take Nicaea, for that opening sustains them.’

‘Then we must have boats,’ Tancred said in yet another whisper.

Bohemund spoke out loud, addressing the room. ‘A valid point has just been advanced by my nephew. If we need to stop the flow of supplies to Nicaea and they are coming in on boats, then we have to employ the same means to prevent it.’

‘Boats?’ Vermandois asked, making a great point of looking all around him as though they might be hidden somewhere, which had Bohemund visibly stiffen; he was not to be the butt of any man’s humour.

‘We do not have any boats, Count Bohemund,’ de Bouillon interjected, ‘and even if we have timber we do not have the means, by which I mean the shipwrights, to construct them.’

‘And how long would that take?’ Raymond asked with a shake of his head.

‘Heavenly chariots would be more likely,’ said Normandy.

Feeling that he was being made to look like a fool — even de Bouillon, the man he considered closest to him in thinking, was looking at him askance — Bohemund searched for a solution and only one presented itself.

‘Then the Emperor must provide them.’

The interpreter was conveying what he had said to Tacitus, and soon the Prostrator’s shoulders, even if he tried to contain it, were shaking so much he felt the need to drop his head to hide his mirth.

‘Have we not put in repairs to his road, so that it is near as good as it was in ancient times?’ Slow nods were the response to that — they were unsure where he was headed, and the road was somewhat less smooth than he was implying. ‘We do not require galleys or even trading vessels, we need small boats of the kind that could be loaded onto a wagon drawn by oxen.’

Toulouse was quick with an observation. ‘The lake boats the Turks employ are larger than that.’

‘And we are, as the Count of Vermandois just said, more than a match for the Turks in one-to-one combat. We do not need to equal their numbers, we merely, as you said, Count Raymond, need to find a way to set our swords against theirs.’

That left the Vermandois in a bind; he was not sure whether to be glad that his words had been quoted or angry with the man who had used them.

‘We would fight them on the water?’ That was a question and one delivered with suitable doubt by Ademar.

‘We would bar them from Nicaea,’ Bohemund insisted, ‘and if they chose to fight I will back my Normans to keep them from ever getting in that which they carry.’

That engendered a jaundiced look from everyone except the Duke Robert and de Bouillon; they were somewhat sick of being told of the fighting qualities of the Normans.

‘No more is required,’ Bohemund added, then he turned to Tacitus and spoke in Greek. ‘A message must be sent to Alexius, your master, at once, demanding he provide boats, the largest he can get on an ox cart, by which we can cut off Nicaea.’

The interpreter replied after his principle had spoken. ‘It cannot be done.’

Bohemund actually laughed out loud, which did not please the Byzantine General, aware that he was being paid back in kind for his earlier mirth. ‘You never met my father, Prostrator. Those were words of which he did not know the meaning. I will go in person and demand from your master that he accede to our request.’

‘Is it our request, Count Bohemund?’ Robert of Normandy stated, his tone high-handed. ‘I have yet to hear it even discussed, never mind agreed upon.’

The tone of the reply was cold. ‘I await from the son of the Conqueror a better suggestion.’

‘You dare to mention my father?’

‘My Lords,’ Ademar called, soothingly.

He was aware that a dispute was about to break out — the two were looking daggers at each other. The cleric also suspected that what he had heard was true: no Norman willingly bowed the knee to another, whatever his bloodline. Looking at him Bohemund wondered what he would say if he knew the truth. The same blood ran through de Hauteville veins that ran through those of Robert of Normandy although not Bohemund’s own, for he was descended from his grandfather’s second wife. But the elder Tancred’s first bride had been an illegitimate daughter of Robert’s grandsire and it ill behove the son of William, known in the Duchy as the Bastard of Falaise, to come it high with his family.

‘Forgive me,’ Bohemund responded, suppressing the anger that threatened to break out into open dispute, which took a great deal of effort. ‘I was thinking of my father when I used those words.’

‘An admirable sentiment,’ cried Ademar, with too high a dose of enthusiasm. ‘Who could fault such a sentiment?’

If it did not serve to heal the breech, it was enough to throw a cloak over it.

‘I do believe,’ Vermandois said, ‘that it falls to the man Alexius sent to aid us to ask for that which you propose.’

‘Count Hugh, I have no interest in who asks, only in that the request is met.’

‘The Prostrator can provide a messenger,’ said Ademar. ‘Perhaps, Count Bohemund, you may add a letter outlining your thinking.’

‘Are they mad, these Westerners?’ asked Manuel Boutoumites, when the Emperor imparted the request from Tacitus to him. ‘Boats?’

‘There is a communication from Bohemund as well.’

‘Which I trust Your Highness will ignore.’

For once Alexius was sharp with a man he held in high esteem. ‘Do not let your hatred blind you to his ability. He is a fine general and a mighty fighter and he is born from a stock that has beaten us at every turn.’

‘Forgive me, Highness,’ Boutoumites replied, his voice humble.

High in favour he might be but the Curopalates knew that could be withdrawn at the click of a finger. The monastic poorhouses were not full of those who had fallen from imperial favour, but there were enough inmates, many of them lacking eyes, to induce caution in even the highest-placed courtier.

‘Which I do,’ Alexius replied, well aware of the effect of his admonishment, this while pulling a paper from the pocket of his gown. ‘In this Bohemund says, and I see it as a mark of the man, that the notion was advanced first by his nephew, not him.’

‘He seeks to elevate Tancred?’ Boutoumites asked, cloaking an opinion in a question.

Alexius was not fooled. ‘He too is a de Hauteville, and if he is half the man his grandsire was I would fear him as much as I do his uncle. But, and this is the nub, Bohemund insists that what is required is not large vessels, but ones of a size enough to perhaps carry a dozen fighters, and that tends toward the most capacious fishing boats.’

‘Heavily armed knights fighting on water in fishing boats?’

Boutoumites waved and extended an upright hand, indicating the obvious risk of capsize, not improbable given anyone fighting afloat would have to stand to do so.

‘I think the Turks will fear to drown as much as a Christian and they may well do so, Manuel, and what is that to us in either case? But it might be a key to unlock Nicaea, so I say it must be attempted.’

‘Am I to commandeer the boats?’

‘Yes, but take a strong escort, the fishermen of Constantinople are feisty fellows and will not give them up easily.’

Other functionaries were despatched to get hold of the largest ox carts and the animals to pull them, which left Alexius musing on the possibilities. He sought to conjure up the scene on Lake Askanian, a body of water he knew well, having been a besieger of Nicaea himself and a failed one. This led him to wonder as to why he had not thought of the idea himself when he had been in command. It was the state of the old Roman-built road, of course, which had been in desperate repair every time he had marched an army to the Turkish stronghold.

The Crusaders had repaired it — was that too a de Hauteville suggestion? He did not know but it did alter matters. To transport the boats he had in mind would not be easy, but it was possible and there was a bonus if it did the trick. With Nicaea fallen the Western knights could be sent on their way to Palestine and that would remove them from any proximity to his capital, which he saw as being in danger as long as they were close by. Yet in his musings he thought he saw a way to improve the effect of these boats, one that would only be communicated to the likes of Bohemund when they arrived.

‘For you see, you Norman devil, the Byzantine Emperor does not lack wits to match yours.’

The boats had to be loaded on the Galatea side of the Bosphorus and that meant breaking up the biggest crane from the capital’s docks and shipping it across, a demand from Manuel Boutoumites that mightily upset the traders who used it to load their merchant vessels. Mollified with gold — the fishermen had needed to be bribed as well to prevent a riot — it was barely strong enough to bear a boat fresh out of the water and threatened to break, so days were wasted with them drawn up on the shore to dry out their timbers.

Once loaded and before they could be moved, the reverse had to occur: the innards had to be filled with water to reseal the planking and then that had to be bailed out so the oxen could move their specially strengthened carts, the cargo covered with canvas to hide them from the kind of prying eyes that would send a warning to Kilij Arslan, lurking somewhere to the east and licking his wounds, for he would certainly alert Acip Bey.

The road had been repaired but not for such wagons as these. Men had to work ahead, filling in depressions and clearing stones, and when it came to an incline double teams had to be harnessed together to get them up the slope, and to that was added sweating and straining human endeavour. This was made worse when they reached the passes through the mountains, where they could only ascend one at a time, with every beast and man employed and stakes used to secure the rear of the wheels at each small turn. The only one spared this was Manuel Boutoumites, sat on his magnificent horse, who earned much hatred and many whispered insults for his continual shouted exhortations to put in greater effort.

Descent was not without its hazards either, the need to keep the carts in line with the oxen paramount, for if they slipped to the side the whole would topple, which would certainly smash the boats and probably break the backs of the still harnessed animals. Up ahead were the impatient Crusader leaders, who knew the boats were coming and now were far from sceptical, quite the reverse — they were now seen as a salvation that would rid them of the need to assault the walls.

When they were close, the ‘princes’ rode out to meet the Curopalates, Bohemund in particular eager that such a weapon should not appear at a time when the garrison could observe their arrival. They stopped on the reverse side of the final hill and it was there that the Norman was apprised of the addition Alexius had made, four times as many banners as the vessels would have carried normally, all in the colours of the various lords who led the Crusade.

‘His Highness believes that, at a distance, the Turks will see them and think the boats to be of a greater beam than in truth they are, thus carrying more men.’

‘Clever,’ Bohemund acknowledged, but he had a sting to administer as well. ‘What a pity he did not see fit to take part in the siege and give us the benefit of his intelligence earlier.’