Soldier of Crusade

CHAPTER ONE

‘One of the piquet boats approaches, Your Honour, and she is flying an alarm pennant.’

Comnenus was confused and it showed both on his face and in his reply to the messenger from the battlements. ‘If we are not overburdened with friends, I cannot think who would be an enemy so threatening as to cause a piquet boat to hoist an alarm pennant?’

‘The Norman devils?’

That answer had about it the air of, ‘Who in the name of the Lord else, you fool?’

Comnenus carried the burden of having his place by family connection rather than experience and that showed in an occasional lack of due respect from those whom he commanded.

‘They are supposed to be coming in peace, fellow — and even if they are not, how would ill intent show while they are still afloat? I fear our sailor has overplayed what he might have seen. Still, we cannot ignore what it says. Send to the captain of the garrison to man the walls.’

‘It was he who sent me to you, Your Honour, and he has already ordered that done.’

The thought for the titular commander could not be avoided: such a precaution had been carried out without the courtesy of informing him, just as the message regarding the approaching piquet boat had first gone to his second in command. Was it that which induced a knot in his gut or the notion that there may well be an approaching threat? Durazzo was a prize after which many lusted and one any man who held it for the empire feared to lose.

Enemies outside of Apulians he could easily conjure up: the Venetians or the Genoese with their great fleets, Saracens from North Africa or any of those in alliance with Bohemund. For the nephew of the Emperor, Durazzo was an even heavier burden, so an impatient John Comnenus was at the quayside when the fast-sailing sandalion, having unseated its mast and laid it along the thwarts, slid through under the water gate portcullis, the man in the prow shouting his message.

‘The demons have landed at Avona.’

‘Have landed?’

‘The whole Apulian host is ashore, My Lord, and the first companies are already marching inland.’

‘Headed to where?’

‘I did not hang around to find out — some of their galleys came to seek me out and I ran.’

Aware that all eyes were upon him Comnenus was quick to respond. ‘Then that we must find out first.’

Horses were quickly saddled and a party of lances gathered to escort the topoterites as he rode out to locate what might be an army more intent on conquest and one which would find scant force to contest its passage. On a coast dotted with smaller ports, deep bays and open beaches there were many places to land but Bohemund had chosen well, for too many of those led nowhere but into a barren hinterland of impassable mountains. Comnenus did not know the topography as well as many of those he led; he was soon made aware that Avona provided a route, albeit a hard one, through the high coastal hills to a point where the Apulians could join the road to Constantinople at a point well inland.

As he rode he was cursing himself, even if he lacked sufficient force, for not providing the numerous places with the kind of protection that would have at least alerted him prior to them getting ashore, a landing he could have then rendered more of a risk, while being acutely aware that such an opinion probably existed among his subordinates. Now he was working to catch up with events, not, as he wanted to be, in control of them.

Forced to push their horses beyond what was wise it was a weary and dusty party of riders that overlooked the newly set up encampment, a mass of smoking campfires, tents, horses and fighting men that filled the well-watered plain and soon made any attempt to count their numbers futile. John Comnenus felt less than stately as he made his way, with only two attendants, one an interpreter, through the Apulian lines to approach the great pavilion above which flew the banner of the Count of Taranto.

Blood-red, it was crossed with the blue and white chequer of his de Hauteville family and there was no doubt, even if he had never clapped eyes on the man, who was waiting at the entrance to greet him; he had not, since he arrived to command at Durazzo, been left short of descriptions but, even so, the dimensions of the man shocked him and Bohemund was not alone in that.

Not himself small, Comnenus was aware of being in the presence of not one giant but two, though there was a small margin of difference between Bohemund and the very much younger fellow at his side, he being the shorter by three finger widths. If they overawed in size while he was astride his weary horse, that was made more manifest when Comnenus dismounted to find he had to tilt his head well back to engage the eye of either. Both were bareheaded, the youthful fellow’s skin a deep bronze from exposure to the sun, his hair blond above a handsome face.

The to easy-to-recognise Bohemund was fair too, but with the reddened countenance of his northern race. They were a match in style and dress, both in chain mail hauberks, wearing over that the white surplice dominated by a single red cross that Pope Urban had designated as the device to be worn by the men he had called to Crusade, this to underline that they were Christian warriors who, if they came from different locations, were dedicated to the same holy cause.

‘Does the topoterites of Durazzo address the Count of Taranto?’ the interpreter asked, in the Frankish tongue.

Bohemund looked at the speaker before lazily letting his eyes turn back to Comnenus, it being an act designed to underline his authority as well as his indifference. ‘You may speak in Greek if you wish, I was born and grew up among those who used to be your subjects.’ He turned to introduce his younger associate as the eyes of the topoterites flicked in that direction. ‘As was my nephew, Tancred, Lord of Lecce and Monteroni.’

That caused the Greek leader’s eyes to linger on the younger fellow, for he had heard of Tancred, son of the late Marquis of Monteroni, known as ‘the Good’, a Lombard loyal to the Norman cause who had married Bohemund’s sister, Emma. The tale told of Tancred spoke of a similar fidelity to his uncle, as well as a fighting ability and sharp mind that underlined his maternal bloodline.

‘Then you will know that when you land unannounced on the shores of Romania that I see it as a hostile act.’

Bohemund let a smile play about his lips. ‘Hostile or unfriendly?’

‘Is there a difference?’

‘There is, topoterites, for if I were hostile you would be still inside yours walls of Durazzo and I would be encamped without them.’

‘To no purpose but death and starvation.’

It was Tancred who replied, his tone a lot less civil. ‘My uncle has been inside those walls before, topoterites, and has slept many nights in the chamber you now occupy. Do not doubt he has the means to do so again.’

Comnenus looked around him at the men gathered to listen to what should be a private exchange, foot soldiers, not lances, and by their colouring Lombards, all of whom would speak Greek. ‘Am I to conduct a negotiation in public?’

‘What negotiation?’ Bohemund enquired.

‘Regarding the conventions you must obey if you are to cross Western Romania to meet up with your confreres in the capital.’

‘I have an army and a route, why do I need conventions?’

‘The Emperor commands it, just as he commands that you take an oath of allegiance to him before you can march.’

Bohemund made great play of looking around, and his men close by, knowing he was preparing a jest, began to chuckle. ‘I see no emperor, so where have you hidden him?’

‘You cannot expect such an eminent person to come to you.’

‘No, topoterites, I cannot and neither can he ask of me that I swear to anything when he is not present.’

‘Then I must forbid your passage.’

‘With what?’ Tancred snapped.

Comnenus felt safe enough to reply with open disdain. ‘I hold the key to the supplies you need to progress and they will not be released to you if I do not permit it to be so. It is a long way to Constantinople and you might find all that awaits you in the mountains is hunger.’

‘Supplies?’ Bohemund said, his hand going to the point of his chin. ‘I will tell you this, we come on the call of Pope Urban to aid your Emperor to push back the Turks, a request he sent to the synod held last year at Piacenca.’

‘The cross you wear on your breast speaks of another purpose.’

Bohemund responded with a distinct growl and short points accompanied by a fist slapping into a huge hand. ‘The infidels stand between us and Palestine. The Pope has tasked us to aid the empire on the way to Jerusalem. If we respond to that it is only justice that in such an act Alexius Comnenus, your uncle, I know, should feed us. The supplies are there, so we will take what we need and I promise you we will take no more.’

‘And if I contest that?’

‘Then prepare to spill blood.’

There was silence then, for there was an unspoken truth known to all: Comnenus did not have the power to impede this Apulian host and Bohemund was as aware of the fact as he. Even to try to sting them he would have to denude Durazzo of any protection, which, given it must remain defended, would be a deep dereliction of his duty to his uncle. He had the option of making the progress of Bohemund and his host a difficult one, or as easy as such an inherently fraught enterprise could be.

‘Which would be a waste, topoterites,’ Bohemund added, ‘given we have come to coat the earth with the blood of your uncle’s enemies, not that of his own men and certainly not that of his family.’

‘I am minded to provide an escort.’

‘Something,’ Tancred replied, ‘given to those in need of succour, like pilgrims. We are not pilgrims.’

‘We move out on the morrow, topoterites,’ Bohemund pronounced, ‘our aim to join the Via Egnatia at Vedona, and be assured I know the terrain well. I will give no trouble to those who do not trouble me. Now, allow me to offer you some refreshment in my tent.’

After, Comnenus thought, you have humiliated me in front of your Greek-speaking army.

‘I must decline,’ he said, ‘for I have the command of Durazzo and that I must protect.’

‘No doubt you will send to Alexius to tell of our arrival.’

‘I shall.’

Bohemund could not keep the wry tone out of his voice. ‘News to delight him, I’m sure.’

The despatch John Comnenus sent off to his uncle that night was full of foreboding about the intentions of the Apulians and while he was careful in his recommendations — he did not ask for troops with which to contest their passage for the very sound reason they did not exist — he did ask for gold with which to bribe Bohemund’s half-brother and primary enemy, the reigning Duke of Apulia, Roger de Hauteville, known as Borsa.

Rendered a bastard by the papal annulment of his father’s first marriage on the grounds of consanguinity, Bohemund saw himself as the rightful heir to his father’s domains; Borsa, first son of the second wedding to Sichelgaita of Salerno, had claimed his rights as the legitimate successor and his formidable mother had secured that for him. The two sons of Robert had contested that right over many years and Bohemund had wrested much of the Apulian domains from his half-sibling, who was, militarily, no match for him in the field or in the loyalty he could command from his subjects. Thus he would be easily tempted to stir up trouble.

If Borsa could be bribed to take up arms, that might force Bohemund to look to save his Italian possessions; in short it might oblige him to hurry home with his army, a repeat of the well-funded upheavals that had saved the empire in the past. This he did on the grounds that such an army and such a presence on the soil of Romania, regardless of the stated cause, was too dangerous for imperial security.

He also felt obliged to send ahead messengers to deny the Apulians easy access to supplies and, for all the weakness of the forces he commanded and the responsibilities thereof, Comnenus despatched in his wake a strongly armed party to ensure that they continued to progress east and did not succumb to the temptation to set down in any one place. That it was no more than a gesture Comnenus knew, but he thought it one worth making.

The despatch from Durazzo reached a ruler who had enough troubles without worrying about Bohemund of Taranto, though his arrival, as well as the method of it, underlined a difficulty that would be the devil to deal with. In calling for help from the Christian powers of the West, Emperor Alexius Comnenus had already got a great deal more than he had bargained for and the primary part of that was standing before him now, a charismatic preacher called Peter the Hermit.

On his own Peter was not a problem; he was a holy man with the simple tastes of his title, ascetic enough to fast regularly, humble in his person, a man happy to live wholly by the tenets of his Lord Jesus Christ and who even looked — tall and thin, with his great beard and the way he leant on his full-length crook — like an Old Testament prophet.

The problem was the nature of the multitude he had inspired with his sermons, for, if there was a body of knights amongst those he had led to the East, the mass was an unruly mob containing, amongst the pious majority, some of the dregs of Europe. This host had come to the capital of Byzantium in their onward search for absolution for the entirety of their sins, this to be granted to them when Jerusalem was once more a Christian city.

From what Alexius Comnenus knew — he would admit his knowledge was incomplete and would remain so until a papal legate arrived — Pope Urban had talked only of the remission of past sins for those who took part in his Crusade. Peter, in his enthusiasm for the cause, had elevated that promise to a guarantee of entry to paradise for any who took up the challenge, which, if it had enthused many thousands of the genuinely devout, had also gathered to him those with a great deal to gain from such a pledge, a mass of ne’er-do-wells with crimes against their name from which they needed pardon if they were not to burn for eternity in the pits of Hell.

‘My people are good simple folk, Your Eminence, easily led astray.’

They are not all that, Alexius thought, though he was too much the diplomat to say so. There are murders, rapists, thieves of every sort included in your rabble and they are beyond control even by a saintly fellow such as yourself. That was not a criticism of Peter, who saw only good where other men saw a less palatable truth, and the evidence of his error had reached imperial ears long before his followers saw the walls of the city.

Peter’s so-called ‘People’s Crusade’ had left a swathe of destruction all across the lands of middle Europe — the Jews in their path had suffered most, with much slaughter of those who refused to convert added to the burning of synagogues. It had even led to armed conflict once they were inside the boundaries of the empire as they ravaged the countryside through which they passed. On coming to Constantinople they had posed a threat to the city itself and even more to the public peace, added to which Alexius had been required to feed them while they committed arson as a cover for their manifest transgressions.

He was still doing so but now at a pleasing distance; recognising that matters would not improve he had them shipped across to the town of Civetot, on the southern shores of the Gulf of Nicomedia where their depredations were out of his sight as well as those of the inhabitants of his capital. Yet it was far from being without concern given their continued dismal behaviour; he felt a responsibility, if not for their well-being at least for their survival, and the reports he had told him that their conduct had not changed — they were doing to northern Bithynia what they had been stopped from doing within the walls of Constantinople.

Having made his statement in support of the masses he had led here, Peter was obliged to wait for a spoken response — that was the way it should be: no man, however saintly, had the right to hurry a Roman emperor in his musings.

‘It concerns me,’ Alexius said finally, ‘that your people do not confine themselves to the area around Civetot that I have granted to them and in which they may reside till the crusading armies arrive. They raid out from the lands around the port and risk, in their foraging and, dare I say it, plundering, to upset the Turks of Nicaea, who will not sit idly by and let the lands they control be ravaged.’

‘Your lands, Eminence, Christian lands.’

Tempted to underline the nature of possession, Alexius demurred; Peter held a simple view that all lands were the property of his Christian God, while the Emperor knew that the sword of Islam held greater sway.

‘While the supplies you send us are adequate,’ Peter continued, ‘and you are to be thanked for your Christian charity in providing such, there are those who have come to expect, given they are set upon God’s work, that they deserve more.’

‘What is it you require, Peter?’ Alexius asked suppressing a sigh. Tempted to tell Peter to go to the devil he knew that bribery was so much easier than condemnation.

‘More grain, a better supply of meats and also wine.’ Peter was about to go on, when the noisy arrival of a high Byzantine official obliged him stop; the fellow, a much trusted aide and close imperial advisor called Manuel Boutoumites was obviously intent on speaking to the Emperor without delay, which he did when signalled to speak.

‘Majesty, news has come from Xerigordos. A party of knights has attacked the town and taken the fortress there. It is reported they intend to use it as a base to raid deeper into the Sultanate of Rum.’

If Peter the Hermit was astonished at the language such news produced and from a man said to be as pious as Alexius, it was a measure of the shock and anger the Emperor felt, even if this had been something he feared. Xerigordos was well beyond the range of any previous raid, and worse, it was a Turkish fortress, if not a very important one. Such an act was both premature and dangerous: the last thing Alexius wanted was to stir up trouble on his borders when he was too weak to easily contain it and the military aid he expected from Europe was yet to arrive. He did not count the knights who had come with the People’s Crusade to be that, a fact Alexius made plain to the Hermit once he had established the size of the force engaged, a mere five hundred men in all, the majority foot soldiers.

‘The Turks will not let that stand.’

Peter was taken aback and it was plain on his face. ‘Can you not support them, Eminence?’

‘No I cannot, so it falls to you, good man, or a messenger sent by you, to tell them to withdraw at once.’