Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

In battle the Normans never charged, for to do so was to lose cohesion, but this was not a contest of their choosing and the everyday riding horses they were on lacked the steadiness of destriers. Also they were up against another mounted force, not that which they more often faced, a line of shields in the hands of men fighting on foot. What gave their attack the power it unleashed were the opponents against whom they came up; lightly armed Turks, carrying bows, on fleet but small ponies untrained to withstand a galloping herd of bigger horses bearing down on them.

The enemy was thrown into confusion as much by the need to seek to control their mounts as by what hit them, a not quite perfect line of sharp pointed lances in the hands of men who knew how to wield them. Few missed their first target, none their second, the Turks lifted bodily into thin air off their saddles, where they would have remained if the knight that had pinioned them had held on to the shaft. The lances were quickly abandoned, replaced by swishing broadswords and eviscerating axes as each Norman took on every enemy within the arc of his range.

Trying to fight back, the Turks were once more up against a men of vastly superior body weight, with skills honed over years and the protection provided to the knights by chain mail. An arrow fired point-blank might have the strength to penetrate but it had to strike true; the slightest deviation and it would fly harmlessly off the tight metal ringlets, while those who had given up bows for swords had nothing like the reach of their Norman counterparts. What they did have was numbers.

In the midst of what was now a disordered melee were Robert and Bohemund, each with the standard bearer and in the company of their familia knights so that they fought as a compact body. One task for those body knights was to allow time for their liege lords to break off fighting for a short time and assess the state of the battle, which both men did, and it came as no surprise that without any communication they reached the same conclusion.

Too many Turks had got round their flanks and now filled the plain between them and the milling host. The time was coming when that number would be insurmountable and might cut them off. In truth, they had achieved what they set out to do, no more than check the initial Turkish storm. Swords waving in the air and without a horn to blow it came down to shouted commands to attend to their leader’s banner and come together in two groups to fight their way out as a tightly bound unit and rejoin the main body.

That took time; the screaming mass of Turks, at least ten to their one, were determined they should not pass and they might have succeeded against lesser quality commanders. On this field they were up against two men who were not only doughty fighters, even within their own kind, but knights who shared a knowledge of battlefield tactics honed by their forbears over two centuries, both in their training manege and the field.

Little in the way of instruction was required to have their remaining knights adopt an arrow formation, their leaders, Bohemund and Duke Robert to the fore, their huge and heavy swords cutting a swathe through the Turks who got in their way, while on their flanks their companions sliced outwards to prise open a gap, leaving behind them a trail of broken and bleeding bodies as well as riderless ponies. It took time for this mass to thin, which revealed that a large number of the enemy had got in amongst the main pilgrim host and were engaged in fruitful slaughter.

Tancred had ridden forward as soon as the alarm was sounded; from his position at the rear he could see little or nothing, but was soon made well aware that panic was going to make what needed to be done a difficult task. It was not just the unarmed pilgrims who had lost all sense of order, some of the milities had allowed the surprise appearance of the Turks to crush their discipline, which was never of the highest order, a part of one body actually seeking to run for the hills, madness given they were full of the enemy, only to be cut down and butchered.

‘Robert,’ he called to his cousin, by his side. ‘Take a conroy and ride hard for Ademar and Raymond. Tell them what we face and to come at once.’

That did not have to be spelt out; if they could not get some unity of purpose they risked being wiped out. As Robert rode off, aware he would have to fight his way clear, Tancred took command of every man he could muster and ordered most of them to form an outer rim on the edge of the host and drive everyone, fighters and pilgrims, towards the marshland that lined the nearby river.

‘And do not be gentle. Kill anyone who disputes with you too hard.’

Now that Tancred could see ahead, one question was paramount: should he support his uncle and Duke Robert and gather a force to attack the Turks that ringed them, cutting a path for them to escape, for as of now, Duke Robert’s senior captains having ridden into battle with him, he seemed to have the power of decision for the whole body? Momentarily, looking around him at what was a teeming half-fleeing rabble, he doubted if he had what was needed to exercise command, but that soon evaporated; he had men around him waiting to be told what to do.

‘Form up on the edge of that marsh, seek to let through our people and stop the Turks and do not just let them charge you. Use your brains, get our milities into some form of defensive line and anyone of you that can take command of them and get them into fighting formation do so.’

The cry from dozens of throats had him spinning round, to see both Bohemund and Robert, in twin phalanxes, emerge from the dense mass of the Turkish forces, still fighting, still slaying but with more open and less crowded plain across which they could escape, intent on getting their mounts to the gallop. The cry ‘to me’ was hardly necessary as Tancred spurred his mount; there was not a mailed knight close to him who did not know what to do and as a body they rode into the rear of the Turks still trying to impede their confreres and scattered them like chaff. They then formed a body with the two Norman leaders to make good the escape of the whole, a breathless exchange following as he tried to impart to Bohemund what orders he had issued.

In their part of the field there was a temporary lull; a check had been placed on Kilij Arslan’s initial attack and even a force as fluid as the Turks needed to regroup before they could recommence their assault. Yet it was clear that a large section of the enemy, those that had got round the flanks, were not only doing their killing in the open, they were busy penetrating the marsh and slaughtering the innocents there too.

‘We must clear them out of there,’ Robert shouted and without waiting led his men off to carry out that task.

All around him Bohemund could see knots of knights, it mattered not from which body, trying to herd pilgrims and foot soldiers in the right direction, while at the same time attempting to keep at bay the Turks seeking to break through to carry out a massacre. What aided their cause was stupidity brought on by sheer terror, men and women bringing on certain death because they knew they faced a possible one, breaking out into the open and seeking to flee, which drew off some of the Turkish strength who saw and pursued an easy kill.

All over the plain the ground was dotted with bodies and not just human, for the infidels were just as quick to cut down an ass as the pilgrim who had sought to get clear on its back. Even less cheering were the cadavers in the leather jerkins of the Apulian milities who seemed to have abandoned, in their flight, their swords and shields, leaving them utterly defenceless, as if being away from the collective was not dangerous enough.

Less heartening still were the hordes of the enemy now crowded on the nearby hills, a seething mass in numbers impossible to calculate, but certainly too numerous to take on in open battle within the area that they had chosen as the best place for them to fight. Looking behind them he could see Turks driving off the spare horses, yet more herding anything edible, oxen, sheep and goats, towards their camp.

Viewing such a depressing panorama of loss and death and problems to come took only seconds, and knowing Robert of Normandy was right Bohemund set off, not to aid him in clearing the marsh, Robert had enough men with him to achieve that, but to do what must come next, mount a form of defence that could withstand what was coming, and a clue was given as he felt his horse struggle to get its hooves out of the soft marsh ground.

Bohemund dismounted and ordered those that could hear him to do likewise, a command that rippled down the line as horses were gathered and tethered close by, the knights then forming a line on command. Behind him, yet at a distance, he could hear the screams of victims as the Turks still in the marsh cut down anyone who crossed their path, that mixed with the wailing of those wounded but not killed, added to the many who expected to be. Just in view also were Robert’s avenging knights, taking on the enemy in a myriad of single combats that, if no more infidels got through, would secure the rear.

Had the Turks regrouped quickly it might have presaged disaster but that attack he and Robert had mounted did just enough to require them to assess their next move and organise their men to carry it out. Well out on the plain he could hear horns blowing and the odd trumpet as Arslan and his fellow leaders sought to get their milling masses of men into place for a concerted assault.

Fortunately, the captains who had control of the milities had got them into some form of order. They were on their way back to being a fighting force and despite the mayhem still going on in their rear Bohemund ordered them back, deeper into the marsh, until their feet began to sink in the soft earth above their ankles, his knights and those of Robert’s who were not with him taking up station just in front, with a belt of marshy ground to their fore that would slow any charge by the Turkish cavalry, though nothing could be done to create enough of a buffer to render useless their arrows. There he had his standard driven into the ground; as long as that stood so did he.

Slowly, and it seemed an age, the killing diminished inside the depths of the marsh and soon Bohemund was joined by a dismounted Robert who never, even by a look, questioned the decisions he had made; in fact he made no comment on them at all, which told his confrere he would have come to the same conclusion. Robert took station close enough to stay in touch, where he too had his standard raised to flutter in a slight breeze, both banners an indication of just how personal was leadership.

There they would stay; they were up against a foe they would struggle too hard to beat in open mounted fighting and even if successful the bill would be disastrous in the number of casualties they would suffer; best to stand on the defensive and let the Turks break themselves in seeking to rupture their line, added to which they had another force, one greater in numbers, coming their way and quickly if they could be alerted to the danger.

Even standing still in the heat of what was now full day, clad in mail and wearing a metal helmet, could render a fighter near to useless and permission was passed along to remove the latter when not actually under attack. Someone had the sense to get the womenfolk coming round with water to assuage their thirst, the priests likewise, and they added their blessings to the skins they carried, while reminding the fighters of what awaited them should the Lord see fit to take them into his bosom.

‘Where is Tacitus?’ Bohemund demanded, searching the nearby marsh for any sign of him.

Robert nearly sighed. ‘He has formed up his Byzantines right in the deepest part of the marsh in a ring defence.’

‘We need him here.’

‘You can try, Bohemund, but I think he is determined that we should take any wounds coming our way.’

‘While he will offer to surrender if we fail and promise gold, and perhaps even the return of Nicaea, for his release.’

‘You cannot think him that low?’

‘When we have fought off these Turks, Robert, I will tell you of Byzantium and why it is never safe to repose trust in any of them.’

That got a shake of the head; what was being said clearly posited a notion too difficult for Robert to comprehend, even if he was no stranger to treachery.

The men who would control the sections of the now formed line were called together and quickly, given what was happening out on the plain did not appear to provide much time. The instructions, imparted by both leaders in combination, were plain. Hold your ground; do not advance whatever the prospects appear to promise. Let the Turks attack over the soggy ground before you that will dent the force of their assault. All, milities and knights, use your shields to provide protection from arrows. Knots of reserves were created; if a man fell they were to fill the gap.

‘They are coming!’ Tancred cried.

There was no need to say ‘to your places’; each man crossed himself as, before them, with screams audible even at such a distance, the Turks were moving.

Robert of Salerno had halted briefly as soon as he was sure he and his conroy were clear of danger and were not being pursued, but the thinking of what to do next had been undertaken mounted. At a best guess the host under Ademar, Raymond and de Bouillon was a day’s march to the north, but that was a distance for the mass, including pilgrims — they were moving as slowly as had Robert and Bohemund.

The distance for mounted and hard-riding knights was hours not a day, and it was a requirement that horses be pushed to the limit if need be and that had to begin now. Hard by a narrow defile he ordered half his men to seek shelter in there and stay out of sight if they valued their lives. For the rest they would ride and lead a spare horse till the point where the loaded mount became winded. That would then be switched for the fresher horse so that speed could be maintained.

Riding flat out, Robert and his half conroy had the advantage of the vast open spaces and cultivated ground, which they stuck to, that being flat, easy on the horses’ hooves and free from impediments like rocks and sudden dips, or worse, holes in the ground made by burrowing vermin. As they passed those working in their fields they were cursed for the damage they caused but paid them no heed, not least because these were the same peasants who the previous day had charged them outrageously for what they sold to those who had no choice but to buy.

It took less time to make contact than even Robert anticipated, for they encountered the forward screen Raymond and his confreres had set out as protection, and he demanded their mounts to continue, while warning them to stay on the alert. Like Bohemund and Robert, the other leaders were out front, and seeing the riders coming on furiously they deduced the same message.

If Robert’s new horse was breathing heavily so was he, and it took time for him to summon up the breath to explain what had happened, yet he was unable to answer the one question paramount in the council’s mind: how were the Normans dealing with the Turkish attack and could they hold?

Alexius had given the Crusaders several old Roman maps of their route and no empire had ever been better served by its surveyors, so Robert was able to point out the field of battle in detail and every one of the Crusade leaders could see the salient features of the surrounding country and the possible avenues from which to attack. While orders rang out to get the majority of the mounted fighting men ready for an immediate move, the commanders of the foot-bound levies were instructed to set up a defensible camp into which they could herd the human and animal flotsam that was their tail, while more knights were instructed to throw out a screen to protect it.

Keen as they were to move, these were no tyro generals and that demanded a certain amount of deliberation. To just dash off and seek to engage the Turks might relieve the Normans, but the sight of such a mighty mounted force approaching would drive Kilij Arslan off, and if that would solve a problem it would not provide an ultimate solution, for it was the view of Raymond of Toulouse and Godfrey de Bouillon that the Turk had given them a chance to destroy him.

‘I say we move out as a body but that a strong party of scouts be sent ahead to tell how our brothers are faring. If they are so pressed we must attack at once, so be it, but if they are holding them we can manoeuvre to get round Kilij’s forces and annihilate them.’

‘Which means we will no more be troubled by them,’ Godfrey added unnecessarily.

‘Robert of Salerno, you must lead that scouting force.’ That got for Raymond a weary response from a tired man, but there was no doubt it was a mission he was keen to accept — he had blood relatives and friends in that field near Dorylaeum. ‘We will be close on your heels, my title upon it.’

Hours had passed with repeated assaults on the Norman line, the Turks hurling themselves forward on horseback, releasing huge salvoes of arrows — and they did maim and kill — but too few to rupture the defence. Denied fortune by such tactics they tried a naked cavalry charge that got so bogged down they were hardly moving when they reached the Norman line. If they then expected a move out to cut them down they were frustrated; not a single defender took a step. An assault on foot followed and now it was men struggling in muddy and churned-up ground in what came down to single combat in which Norman discipline and steadfastness was set against Seljuk fury.

Constantly, eyes looked to the banners of Bohemund and Robert of Normandy, both red and both proudly flying in defiance of anything the infidel could throw at them, occasionally left behind by the men they identified as they rushed to a part of the line that seemed threatened to shore it up by personal endeavour. There they took place alongside their men to keep their line intact, doing the kind of slaughter that raised the spirits of everyone engaged. At other points of crisis the milities were led forward by their captains to impose a check on a dent in the line, but as soon as that was restored they were halted and ordered to withdraw, knights reforming to present to their enemies the extent of their failure.

Appraised that their confreres were holding, Raymond and Godfrey planned their attack — Vermandois was barely consulted, which irritated Walo of Chaumont. Ademar, surprisingly, put himself forward to lead a strong band of knights around the Turkish flank, ready to come on when the main attack was launched, for it was becoming plain that that would need to be a charge across the open country. No time was wasted in creating tight formations for as soon as they came into view the horns blew for the gallop.

The mere sight of these new foes checked the Turks and panic rippled down their ranks; the potency of the attack on the marsh line began to diminish and soon the defenders had sight of why, a horde of Frankish horsemen riding at speed in their own cloud of dust. Sensing that their enemies were seeking to go onto the defensive both Robert and Bohemund ordered the horses brought forward, their knights to mount, and, as Raymond and Godfrey at the head of thousands of lances crossed the river to their right, they broke out from the marsh to join in the attack.

Kilij Arslan could not stand against the combined might of the Crusader armies and he knew it, but he was determined to mount a defence that would allow him to withdraw in good order. At that point Bishop Ademar, in a breastplate and helmet he had surreptitiously purchased in Constantinople, appeared on his flanking hill leading five hundred more knights who, if they got across the Turkish rear, would spell doom.

The whole mass of Turks broke and ran, but not before the Crusaders got in amongst them and now it was their turn to engage in slaughter. No quarter was given, this was the People’s Crusade in reverse, and nor was the pursuit ended when the Turks had quit the field. They were chased down the valleys and over the crest of the surrounding hills and far beyond that, the lead elements eventually seeing ahead of them the tented encampment from which they had sprung.

That put a check on the pursuit in the main, but not the flight. The Turks kept moving east and the leaders who had come to the aid of Kilij Arslan — Hasan of Cappadocia and Gabid ibn Danishmend it later transpired — abandoned their gold and silver, as well as some of their wives and all of their servants, horses, oxen, asses, camels and sheep. This provided, so rich were they, a proper set of feasts as well as sufficient treasure to make every fighting man feel as if, even without salvation, coming east had been worthwhile. Added to that, the Crusaders gathered back in what had been stolen from them.

Yet there was a bitter aftermath as they returned to the field of conflict, carpeted with the dead, too many of them Christians and too high a proportion of those fighting men. If panic had cost many of the pilgrims their lives, seeking to get them to safety had exposed knights to the need to fight alone against insuperable odds and it was a testimony to their prowess that not one lay alone; every Norman was surrounded by the corpses of those he had slain before succumbing himself.

Then there were the forces of Byzantium, who had taken no part. They had emerged from the swamp, and faced with men they had failed to aid they demonstrated no shame whatsoever, which had the Franks and Normans treating them as pariahs. Tacitus, insufferably, behaved as if nothing untoward had occurred and still expected to be consulted before any course of action was agreed.

It took three days to clear the battlefield and when they departed it was dotted with close to four thousand crosses, many without names for the Turks had so mutilated them as to render them unrecognisable even to their friends. A special Mass was said for their souls and a plea made to the Almighty to cosset the knights who had fallen, for they were truly soldiers of Christ.

The bodies of the slain Turks, which ran from the field of battle to and well beyond their one-time encampment, were left to the carrion, but even as they left them to rot, it was held that they had been a more than worthy foe.