The iron lance

FOURTEEN

'By order of Alexius, Supreme Ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, Elect of Heaven, Equal of the Apostles, it is decreed that you shall not enter the city with your armies, but you shall establish your camp in this place and here you shall wait until the Basileus receives you.' Nicetas paused, looking up from the rolled parchment in his hand. 'Do you understand what has been read to you?'

Godfrey, Duke of Bouillon, inclined his head slowly, but his brother Prince Baldwin made bold to reply. 'How long must we wait?'

'You will wait,' explained the commander patiently, 'until the Basileus summons you.'

'Do you hear, brother?' Baldwin said, his voice thick with indignation. 'We are to be made to wait here outside the walls like a pack of lepers!'

'Wait however you like,' replied Nicetas placidly, 'but wait you will – until the Basileus desires your company.'

'It is intolerable!' sneered Baldwin.

'It is so decreed,' concluded the young commander. He passed the document to the elder of the two brothers, turned and mounted his horse. The emperor's Varangi looked on without expression, as equally prepared to fight as to withdraw.

'After all we have endured on our journey,' Baldwin fumed, 'to be confined to our camps like a beggar band-it is an insult!'

'Perhaps the Christian citizens of Selymbria would have preferred such an insult,' replied Nicetas sharply.

'That was a mistake,' sniffed Godfrey, 'which we deeply regret.'

'I am certain Selymbria will rejoice to hear it,' Nicetas intoned. 'No doubt the survivors will feast in your honour. Would that your contrition extended to more material expression, however; the orphans and widows may find it difficult to feed themselves on word of your regret.'

'Come down off that horse, you impudent ass,' Baldwin roared. 'We command an army of forty thousand! We will not be -'

'Oh, we have seen what your glorious army can do,' Nicetas informed him coldly, 'when attacking the innocent and defenceless. If you find the emperor's greeting too harsh, I can only suggest that you might have considered whether slaughtering his subjects was likely to increase his joy at your arrival.'

Baldwin made a strangled cry and started forward. The Varangi spears swung level as they prepared to attack.

'Peace!' Godfrey said, putting out a hand to hold off his brother. To the commander of the palace guard, he said, 'We will abide. You will please convey our promise to the emperor, along with our highest regards.'

Nicetas lifted the reins, turned his mount, and rode away, followed by the excubitori. Upon reaching the military gate, the riders passed quickly through and the gate was sealed once more behind them. The commander returned to Blachernae Palace and was admitted directly into Alexius' private audience chamber, where the Basileus was waiting to receive him.

'Well?' demanded the emperor. 'Tell me, Nicetas, what did you make of them?'

'They are Franks, Basileus,' the commander replied with a shrug. 'They are arrogant hot-heads without the slightest intelligence.'

'Did they deny the attack?'

'They said it was a deeply regretted mistake.'

Alexius nodded thoughtfully. 'That is something, at least. Even so, we will send the Varangi to search out the stragglers and escort them at once to Constantinople. We will not suffer further attacks on people and properties under imperial protection. See to it, Nicetas.'

'It shall be done, Basileus.' The commander of the palace troops acknowledged the order with a bow. 'Regarding those already arrived, they have been ordered to confine themselves to the camps outside the walls as you have decreed. Do you wish me to arrange an audience with their leaders?'

'Soon, Nicetas, but not yet,' answered Alexius. 'Perhaps once their hot heads have cooled sufficiently, they will recover some part of their sanity. A season of sober reflection is in order. Therefore, we will let them wait.'

'And the provisions, Basileus?'

'We will grant the newcomers the same supplies we have extended to Count Hugh,' the emperor replied impatiently. 'Nothing more.'

Nicetas acknowledged the plan, but questioned the efficacy. 'Is it enough, Basileus?'

'It is more than they gave the people of Selymbria,' replied Alexius tartly.

'Forgive me, Basileus, but there are a great many of them.'

'How many, Nicetas?'

'The scouts say-'

'We know what the scouts say,' the emperor told him. 'We are asking you, Nicetas. You have seen them, what do you make it?'

'Perhaps twenty thousand, and more are arriving all the time.' He paused, as if unwilling to impart the bad news. 'The lords boast twice that number.'

'Forty thousand,' groaned Alexius, calculating how much it would take to feed so many mouths.

'That is just the soldiers,' Nicetas said. 'There are women and children with them, too.'

'God help us,' sighed Alexius. What madmen these crusaders were: bringing women and children into war. What possessed them? That they should arrive wholly unprepared for the rigours ahead-that was folly enough; that they should inflict such horror on their wives and offspring passed all understanding.

Alas, he reflected ruefully, they paid the highest price for their folly: the hermit Peter of Amiens and his peasant army had been cut down by the Seljuqs outside Antioch. Of the sixty thousand that left Constantinople, seven thousand were spared and taken into slavery; all the rest were slaughtered. On a single afternoon, fifty-three thousand misguided Christians sacrificed themselves to the folly of the Bishop of Rome. Indeed, it passed all understanding.

'God help us all,' sighed Alexius. He ended the audience then, dismissing the commander to his duties. When Nicetas had gone, the Basileus called for the magister of the chamber. 'Gerontius!' he said as the man appeared. 'Bring us our riding cloak and cap. When we have gone, you may inform the magister officiorum that we have left the palace.'

'Certainly, Basileus,' replied the elderly servant. 'Shall I summon the drungarius to attend the Basileus?'

'No,' Alexius replied, 'we wish to ride alone today.'

The request for his cloak and cap had long been the emperor's coded way of saying he wished to go out into the capital unattended by his retinue of imperial bodyguards and advisors-something he often did, especially when he wished to learn the true humour of the people. Alexius wore no other disguise, having learned long ago that, without the elaborate pomp and ceremony that normally accompanied his slightest movements, he could easily go among the citizenry without attracting the least attention. Alexius, with his compact stature and bald, unassuming appearance, was not much remarked upon; dressed in rustic homespun, he could easily pass for one of his own subjects.

When he had put off his imperial robes, and donned the common cloak and drab cap of a stablehand, the Elect of Heaven, Co-Regent of God, walked quickly from the palace, using one of the hidden gates. Unlocking the low, narrow door, he ducked out quickly, passing between two high walls and into a close, winding street which backed onto a jumbled row of market stalls. He could hear the hubbub of the market in the street beyond. Stepping into the street, he looked to see if there was anyone about, but saw only two skinny dogs nosing in a garbage heap.

Pulling the cap down further, he hurried off along the backstreet, turned the nearest corner and passed unobserved into the market and melted into the crowd. He walked along for a time, taking in the sights and sounds of the market; he paused to buy a bag of dates from an elderly merchant, and then directed his steps towards the Wall of Theodosius.

Alexius moved easily among his subjects, eating dates and plotting recompense for the witless destruction of Selymbria. These arrogant princes must be brought to heel, and he would see justice satisfied before any of them returned home. First, however, he must get the measure of these petty potentates who dared ride roughshod through his realm in the name of God.

Upon reaching the wall, he turned and walked along the wide, busy street which ran the length of the western defences. Between the street and the wall, crude huts of cast-off wood and cloth had been erected by the poor-little more than lean-to dwellings to keep off the rain. Like so much within the capital, the Basileus saw in this circumstance a symbol of the empire, where the massive wall was the strong rule of imperial law and civilizing faith, and the mean hovels were the fragile lives of the citizens which leaned in pitiable dependence upon the empire's great strength for their ever-tenuous survival.

Now and then, a wretch would hobble from a hovel to beg, and Alexius always obliged, giving a coin and a blessing to any who asked. When he ran out of coins, he gave away his dates.

He came to a crossroads which formed a wide square before the massive Charisius Gate, last of the old gates. Later emperors had constructed further defences just beyond the Wall of Theodosius, but in this part of the city, the older walls towered above the newer, -forever proclaiming the glory that had been. Passing quickly through the entrances, he found himself in a quarter of smiths and artisans of innumerable variety, each practising his particular trade in a rough wooden stall behind which the craftsman lived in a few small rooms with his family. Judging strictly from the sound, every last smith was toiling away with utmost industry amidst the drifting smoke from their foundry fires. The clatter of hammer on metal, wood, and stone, the clamour of men shouting to one another for tools and materials, rose to a cacophony, not unlike that of battle.

Alexius liked the noise and commotion; he appreciated men who could make a living with the skill of their own two hands. He paused often to praise the finer examples of one craftsman or another, but did not allow himself to become involved in conversations which would, he knew, lead to bargaining for the wares he had just admired.

He pressed on to his destination, and came to the end of the Artisans' Quarter where he stopped for his first view of the pilgrim camp which lay on the other side of a wide expanse of waste ground part of an old salt marsh that had long since been drained. The low dark tents sprawled across the land like an untidy flood, stretching back and back into the distance, rising up to overflow the banks of the Golden Horn. The smoke of their cooking fires hung in a dull haze above, making it seem to Alexius as if he were gazing upon a range of diminutive dark mountains wrapped in dirty clouds. What is more, this strange mountain range seemed to spread out north and west as far as the eye could see. There were thousands of them… tens of thousands! And, according to the scouts and spies working back and forth along the coasts and roads of western borders, these were but the first of several groups on the move across the empire, and all of them were headed for the capital.

Alexius moved closer. At the outer perimeter of the camp, he could just make out the long lines of the horse pickets as a thin brown line snaking off into the heat haze. Indeed, even though he could not see the animals, he could smell them-even at this remove, the pungent aroma of horse manure was unmistakable. Closer, the stink would be almost suffocating. Nevertheless, the emperor steeled himself for a closer look and started across the waste land; he wanted to see these mad Romans in the flesh.

Not that he was a stranger to the sight: as a young man, his first battles as emperor had been fought against just these sorts of men. In fact, he had traded victories with the wily Robert Guiscard for several years before the stubborn king had at last given up the fight and died following a brief struggle with typhoid. With the old king's death, his sons had fallen to squabbling among themselves for supremacy, thus leaving the empire free to concentrate on the defence of its northern borders, as well as the new and growing threat posed by the latest Arab terror, the Seljuq Turks.

Now the Romans, as they styled themselves, were back-and the fact that this time they were here to help him win back the Holy Land did not cheer him as much as they might have expected. He had seen in Robert Guiscard the naked face of the West, and he had good reason to fear and despise it. For the welfare of the empire, however, he would not allow personal rancour to dictate his conduct towards the pilgrim lords. He would receive them; he would even welcome them, but he would not believe them, and he would never trust them.

As Alexius neared the first ranks of tents that formed the perimeter, he noticed a fair number of merchants had gathered to offer their goods to the pilgrims-everything from precious gems, and rolls of the brilliant silken cloth for which the weavers of Byzantium were justly famous, to cabbages, boiled eggs, and flat bread. Closer, he heard in the bickering tones of trade a somewhat strident note, and quickly discerned that the bargaining was not flowing with the usual harmony of purpose. Seeing several disgruntled merchants-their handcarts filled with unsold produce-leaving the proceedings, the emperor hailed one of the men and asked what ailed him.

'Agh!' The merchant rolled his eyes. 'By the Pure Light of Heaven, these Romans are worse than barbarians! They want everything but will not pay. There is no talking to them. I am finished.'

Before the emperor could reply, the man demanded, 'Do they think us fools, that we should give away our wares? Look at these melons!' He plucked a round ripe melon from the neatly-arranged stack. 'Did you ever see such beautiful melons? And these apricots! Here, try one. Did you ever taste such an apricot?'

No, the emperor said, he had certainly never tasted such a wonderful apricot.

'Of course not!' cried the merchant. 'I grow all this with my own two hands! Food fit for the Basileus himself! And what do they do? They blow their noses at me!' Taking up the handles of his cart once more, the man continued on his way. 'Theotokis is finished with them! Let them remember that when they are starving! Agh!'

Other merchants voiced similar complaints: the Romans had gold enough, but refused to part with it. They seemed to believe that, along with the grain and water the emperor provided, anything else they wanted should be given to them, too. For the merchants, that was bad enough; worse, however, was the Romans' inexplicable disdain. The abuse pouring out of the mouths of the visitors first embarrassed the emperor, then bewildered him. To a man, the Latin knights appeared to hold their Byzantine brothers in lowest contempt, reviling them, cursing them, even as they clamoured and cajoled for their goods.

'Pig! Over here!' they called, making sounds like hogs snuffling. 'Here, pig! You call this bread, pig? I would not give you a turd for it.'

Or, again: 'What! Think you I would touch this cloth after you've had your filthy hands all over it? Get it away from me, you shit-eating dog!'

This litany of crude abuse was repeated wherever the merchants clustered. And if it was worrying to the tradesmen, Alexius found it alarming. Encamped before him was a vast army of fighting men who did not recognize the simple unity of their common faith and brotherhood, who considered themselves superior to their eastern kinsmen, and moreover exempt from the obligations of ordinary human decency and goodwill.

What the produce merchant had said was true: these Romans were worse than barbarians. The benighted barbarian only wanted whatever valuables he might carry away. These men wanted the world-and, indeed, saw themselves ruling it. That notion, Alexius determined, would be soundly squelched at first opportunity. Yes, but it must be defeated subtly, quietly, and without overt antagonism.

He strolled along the perimeter of the immense camp, watching the knights and footmen. They were, almost without exception, big men: tall, long-limbed, heavy of shoulder, belly, and thigh, hard-handed and thick-muscled; when they walked, their heels struck the earth with solid purpose, their movements ponderous rather than lithe. Their skin was pale, without natural colour, resembling raw dough in both texture and consistency. Alexius entertained the notion that his slightest touch would leave a lingering impression on such pasty flesh.

Their faces were broad, with thick lips and large noses; their eyes wide-set, but small beneath heavy brows. Alexius could not imagine any woman finding such horse-like features attractive. Worst of all, they wore their hair long-like maidens' hair-and like that of young women, it hung loosely about their necks in desultory curls; curiously, however, except for the occasional broad moustache, they kept themselves clean-shaven. The combination of long hair and smooth chins and jowls appeared odd to the Byzantine eye; it struck Alexius as somewhat obscene-as if the foreigners perversely insisted on covering that which should be revealed, and revealing that which should be covered.

Their garments were coarse and heavy, sombre coloured. Most wore an outer coat over a knee-length tunic cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt from which hung their knives. Some few, he noticed, did possess an outer cloak of better fabric, sewn with bright squares or stripes of contrasting colours-red and green, yellow and blue, black and white. But, whether cloak or mantle, tunic, or leggings, all were made for a clime much colder and more changeable than that to which they had come, and, God help them, far colder still than that to which they were going.

Their feet were covered with tall leather boots, or shoes of the old Roman style with tough soles and thick uppers which laced up the leg with stout leather thongs. In this, at least, they showed a little wisdom; the ground of the Holy Land was rough and arid, more rock than soil, and a soldier who could not walk or run could not fight. Too many good men died because their shoes could not take the strain of the march, let alone the fight, Alexius reflected; the emperor set great store by a soldier's footwear.

In manner, the westerners were much as he expected: haughty, insolent, and rude. They swaggered insufferably as they walked, hailing one another with uncouth gestures, their talk broken by coarse and raucous laughter. Loud in speech, brash in action, they were, in a word, crude; on the whole, they behaved as if they had neither a grain of civility in their souls, nor a redeeming thought in their heads. They were uninvited guests in a land far from home; for the love of Christ, did that mean nothing to them?

The arrogance and ambition of their leaders might be expected, but the casual cruelty of the average fighting man was definitely a startling and nasty surprise. Alexius saw in it the ugly shape of a malignant wickedness-a vile sinfulness which proceeded from a core of hate and ignorance and greed.

Having seen enough, the emperor turned away in disgust and hastened back to the palace to call his advisors and prepare for the battle to come. By the time he slipped once again through the hidden gate, Alexius had devised the first strike. It would come, he decided, in the form of a gift-or, better still, many gifts-the more gaudy and expensive the better.