Soldier of Crusade (7 page)

Alexius was just as good at masking his true feelings, yet to a sharp eye a sudden need to blink was as good as a shout, even if, in revealing he had reacted when he should not have, the Emperor kept his eyes closed; that response had taken him off guard. He took his time to open them once more and fix his visitor with a firm look.

‘You have come prepared to swear?’

‘I will do so now, if you wish, Alexius, and to you alone.’

The reply was slow and soft. ‘No, Count Bohemund, let it be done with due ceremony and in the presence of witnesses. I would have you swear too on the holy relics kissed by the others so that you know you are risking eternal damnation if you betray the pledge you make.’

‘Anyone would suspect you did not trust me.’

Alexius was too shrewd to respond to that direct challenge, even if it came with an amused smile. He stood and indicated the door. ‘I will send my
Curopalates
to you on the morrow.’

Bohemund was escorted back to his encampment by a squadron of cavalry to find Tancred pacing back and forth, worried that his uncle had walked into some form of trap. If many of the tales of Byzantine intrigue were lurid they were not without some basis in fact; over the centuries people had been regularly killed in cold blood and the methods were the stuff of nightmares. Pick a pear from a tree and it might have been filled with a fatal toxin, accept an imperial gift of, say, a gold casket and there might be a famished and venomous snake waiting for you to lift the lid. It was rumoured that they had even perfected such a thing as a poisoned cloak, for that was a common imperial gift and a mark of respect.

‘I daresay Alexius would like to see me dead, but it’s not something he can at present afford.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘You can make your own mind up, Tancred; we go to the Blachernae tomorrow to take the same oath as Godfrey of Bouillon and Vermandois.’

Tancred could not hide his surprise. ‘You intend to swear?’

‘If we are to proceed I have little choice.’

‘The risk—’

‘What risk – swearing on the relics of saints?’ Bohemund snapped.

‘That would give me pause; it would give most men pause.’

‘If you go to Santa Sophia the divines there will show you many things, including two heads of John the Baptist. I have heard it said that men with such a feature exist, but they do not do so as biblical prophets. One of those heads must be a fake and that throws doubt on any others, so how do I know what I am being asked to swear on is a true relic or some fanciful object dug up by some dreamer or fraud?’

‘An oath is an oath, made to God even if the relics are dubious.’

‘Which I will keep as long as Alexius keeps his, and think on this, nephew! Alexius Comnenus was once given the military title of
nobilissimus
, the first to be so termed with the highest rank the Emperor could bestow, and that was for his service to his predecessor, to whom I think you will agree, he must have made an oath of loyalty both before he was granted the title and at the ceremony of investiture?’

‘Of course,’ Tancred replied, for he knew what was coming.

‘Where is the one-time Emperor Nikephoros now? In a monastery praying that the man who swore that oath does not suddenly see cause to have him strangled. I will make the pledge that Alexius demands and I will hold to it as long as he does the same. That is the warning I sent him in that letter to Bouillon, which, to ease your curiosity, he had plainly read.’

Bohemund knew his nephew was troubled and he was aware why: the younger man had more fear of divine retribution than he but it was not just that. If his own motives in coming on Crusade were mixed, those of Tancred were less so. He could recall only too clearly the way his nephew had sought to persuade him to take up the Crusade outside the walls of Amalfi, talking of the opportunities for wealth and plunder, never stating the other possibility: that a young warrior with
a strong arm and a small inheritance, the fiefs of Lecce and Monteroni, might carve out for himself in the recovered territories possessions of his own to rank with those of his de Hauteville forbearers.

‘I cannot swear, Uncle.’

‘You do not have to, I will swear for myself and the forces I command.’

‘That includes me.’

‘It might not always be so, Tancred.’ Their eyes locked for a long time, until the young man nodded to say he understood: one day he would strike out on his own behalf and with his uncle’s blessing. ‘Go back to Heboomon and prepare to lead the army across to the Gulf of Nicomedia, I will deal with the Emperor Alexius.’

Bohemund did not wait for Boutoumites to come to him; he was outside the Blachernae Gate at first light with his
familia
knights, helmeted, in chain mail, wearing his great sword, his snow-white surplice with the bold red cross and loudly demanding entry, which was granted but not to the audience chamber. Knowing that they must wait until all was made ready they did so in the Church of St Mary, on their knees before the shrine to her memory, like knights at vigil over a dead leader. Bohemund was aware as he stayed still in his devotions that a stream of the curious came in to cast eyes on this epitome of the Norman warrior until eventually the messenger came.

The ceremony was the same as that attended by Godfrey de Bouillon and his captains, the same clutch of courtiers, the same guards at the pillars and Alexius on his dais in full regalia. Called upon to come before the Emperor he and his followers, still wearing spurs, made a noisy entry to the airy and spacious chamber to kneel before Alexius, swords acting as crosses, where the same oath was required and given, the relics brought forward to Bohemund to be kissed in turn.

‘It pleases me that we are at peace, Count Bohemund.’

‘I too,
Imperator
.’ Alexius could not help but smile; if Bohemund was not about to address him as ‘Highness’ he had found a way to show his respect with the ancient Roman title. What followed was not so pleasing. ‘And I ask that to seal such a peace you swear, on these same holy relics, that you shall give to our Crusade all the aid that is at your disposal to provide.’

If that set up a buzz amongst the eunuchs, it infuriated Alexius and he made no attempt to hide his anger. ‘You doubt that I will do so?’

‘No, but it would ease my soul if I knew that you were as committed to me as I am now committed to you.’

The gesture that fetched to the dais the thigh bone of St Peter was a sharp one and, with a glare at Bohemund, Alexius bent to kiss it, but he did so in silence, no words were spoken. Unbidden Bohemund stood and his men followed.

‘My army is ready to march, all they require is to be told where to embark. I would beg to be allowed to stay in the city to ensure that the supplies we need with which to campaign are bought and stored, also that ships are available to carry them to where they need to go, which I will be right in assuming is Nicaea.’

‘That must be the first objective,’ Alexius replied, still seething. ‘But I would wish your senior captains to swear the oath too.’

‘When I pledge it is on behalf of them all.’

The silence was long, for here again was a problem about which it had to be considered if it was worth making a stand. Eventually Alexius nodded, having decided it was not, stood himself and descended to ground level, where he removed the heavy diadem and handed it to a grovelling eunuch.

‘There is something I wish to show you.’

Alexius turned and left the chamber, Bohemund alone following to a door through which the Emperor had disappeared. On entry the Norman was dazzled by the light of hundreds of candles, but it was not their illumination that hurt the eyes so much as the way that reflected off what was stacked in the room, objects of gold and silver in a quantity Bohemund had never seen assembled in one place, bolts of the finest silk dyed in a multitude of colours, trays which on closer examination were covered in precious stones. Try as he might to maintain his composure, it could not be done; Bohemund actually gasped, for all the revenues of his domains, which were substantial, would not add up to this is in a decade.

‘You will have heard that I rewarded Hugh of Vermandois and Godfrey of Bouillon for their oath of loyalty to me.’ That got a cautious nod, for it had been used to tell both men how they stood in imperial regard, the Frenchman with his derisory ring and de Bouillon with his casket of coins. ‘So that you will know how highly I regard your acceding to the same, I wish that you will accept the contents of this small chamber as a reward for the services I know you will render to me in the future.’

‘This is all for me?’

‘It is,’ Alexius replied. ‘And may it let you consider what you might gain by keeping to the oath you just took.’

Bohemund nodded, but he was thinking, as well as securing supplies he must find a ship and a trusted captain to take this treasure back to Bari. There was too much to transport over the terrain they were about to cover and its value in his homeland vault would be much greater than it would be in Constantinople.

T
he camp to which Tancred led the army was as well ordered as the sea crossing that got them to the shores of Asia Minor, ample open barges for horses that made easier the loading and unloading, given they never lost sight of the sky or the Bosphorus shore; not that it was simple, transporting horses over water was a skill that the Normans had learnt in Calabria. They could not have conquered Sicily without it and much of the lesson came from how to sedate the most awkward and skittish animals with potion provided by Basilian monks. Such tricks had been passed by to their fellow Normans at home and the
Guiscard
had always claimed that, without his aid, the man they called the Conqueror would never have got his mounted knights to the battlefield of Senlac.

Assembled on the Galata side it was a full day’s march to the camp at which Alexius had decreed the Crusaders should assemble. Aware of their coming the Byzantine officials who controlled the
province had already designated an area in which they could pitch their tents and set up horse lines in close proximity to running water, this from specially dug shallow canals, and to get there the Apulians were obliged to pass through what was, in many respects, very like a Roman legionary encampment of ancient times.

A main roadway ran through the centre with an oration platform in front of a series of large pavilions on one side and a parade space opposite, while the tents, cooking and latrine pits of the previous arrivals lay beyond. The sight of their fellow Christians, especially the fabled Norman warriors, engendered much curiosity amongst the men of Lotharingia and Central France, bringing them to stare, and being soldiers the new arrivals were the subject of much diminishing ribaldry, which had the commander and his captains needing to enforce restraint on men who took badly to insults regarding their manhood.

Within an hour Tancred had raised a de Hauteville pennant above one of the central pavilions to join those on the adjoining tents of Godfrey de Bouillon and Hugh of Vermandois. But he did not linger to seek their company; before the flag raising he had set his knights to constructing a manège in which he and his lances could properly exercise, the kind of facility with which they had honed their skills, first in Normandy and then in Italy. If there had been training on the Via Egnatia it could not compare with what they undertook now, which was designed to get them back to the peak of those abilities which struck so much fear into their enemies.

The task was to create a large area of soft ground, sandy if possible, big enough to work their mounts, into which thick poles were driven for sword practice, others to bear sacks and shields to be attacked with lances at saddle height as well as a false shield wall behind which the Apulian foot soldiers would gathered to create as much of
a cacophony of noise as they could so that the destriers approaching such a defensive line got accustomed to the din and were able to ignore it. Working in conroys of ten, the standard Norman fighting unit, they practised wheeling and manoeuvring their destriers, these then combining into larger groups so that everyone understood and responded to the same commands.

When not yelling for their mounted confrères, Bohemund’s Apulian
milities
were also engaged in training, albeit of a simple repetitive variety: when to move forward or back, to left and to right on which call of the horn, the recognition of certain banners that would presage an attack, a retreat or a warning of incoming flights of arrows, which required them to kneel and cover their heads with their shields. If the other Crusaders trained for battle too, none did so with the application of the men from Italy.

‘So when do we get a sight of your giant Bohemund?’ asked Godfrey de Bouillon when, a few days later, Tancred finally dined with them. ‘Our cousin of France assures me I will be astounded.’

Vermandois, himself tall, but gangly rather than sturdy, was nodding, which did nothing to disturb his carefully barbered golden locks, nor show any hint of intelligence in his pale-blue eyes; having met the Count of Taranto in Bari he had, no doubt, been vocal in his impression. The contrast between the two northern magnates was striking: Godfrey had a barrel chest and seemed near as broad as he was tall due to the shortness of his treetrunk-like legs. Tancred had an amusing vision of him bestowing a kiss of peace on Bohemund’s knee instead of his cheek, but even holding such a thought he also had to acknowledge that de Bouillon appeared to be no fool.

‘He promises to come when he has ensured that when we advance we are fully supplied with goods already purchased.’

‘A task for one of the Emperor’s minions,’ Vermandois snapped, his eyes flashing for once. ‘Not for one of our rank.’

Behind him, his brother’s constable raised his eyes as Tancred responded.

‘He is spending imperial funds and I think when we are outside the walls of Nicaea, you will be grateful that his efforts are no charge on your purse.’

‘An attack on Nicaea is yet to be decided,’ Vermandois snorted.

That had Godfrey’s eyebrows twitching – Walo adopted a bland expression – for it was a comment from a fool: if it had not been yet discussed, this due to the absence of the leaders of major components of the army, it had to be the primary aim. There was no way to move south and leave such a powerful fortress untouched and sitting on their line of communication to Constantinople. Besides, Alexius would insist upon it being recaptured as part of his bargain with the Crusade, not least so as to protect his own capital.

Tancred could guess what made Vermandois so waspish; if he did not know that his aim of overall command was never going to be fulfilled, he must have sensed it by the way he had been treated in Constantinople. He would have heard of the rewards Godfrey received set against his own meagre ring and both would be smarting if they knew of the largesse showered on Bohemund. Thus the name of whoever did acquire the position was of much import to Vermandois. He suspected, and so probably did Godfrey of Bouillon, that Bohemund had remained in the capital to make his case to Alexius and to also be the first to impress upon the likes of the Duke of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse his fitness for the role.

How simple it would be if such concerns had any basis in fact; command of the host was going to be a chalice charged with a fair
degree of poison, given that Pope Urban had signally failed to anoint anyone with the responsibility. The list of names provided too many candidates and Godfrey, a reigning duke who had been forced to fight hard to maintain his position in his domains, had at least a claim to be one of them. He was also by repute a staunch Christian utterly dedicated to the cause; you did not have to be long in the camp to hear how much he had sacrificed of those lands and titles to get here, especially from men who were loyal to his brother.

If Raymond of Toulouse could advance a right to the command, being the first to pledge his service to Pope Urban, so too could Robert, Duke of Normandy, an assertion that would be backed by his powerful brothers-in-law, Stephen of Blois and the Count of Flanders. The fact that none could match Bohemund in the experience of leading large forces on campaign meant little; he had concluded that without either papal or imperial input the command would remain diffuse. If it were to prosper, the Crusade would become a meeting of minds rather than under the direction of one single intelligence. Any attempt to issue orders by one of the individual leaders would only result in dissension.

Messengers streamed back and forwards from Constantinople on a daily basis, Tancred keeping his uncle informed of what was happening on the shores of the Gulf of Nicomedia, he likewise kept abreast of events in the capital, this while others, such as the contingent from Normandy and Flanders, crossed the Bosphorus to join them. When Raymond and his Provençal army finally arrived to camp outside the capital, the largest contingent so far, no one was left in doubt as to how angry he was at the troubles he had encountered, which sometimes descended into pitched battles, in crossing Macedonia and Thessaly.

He and Alexius had not enjoyed a happy meeting, for proud Raymond had point-blank refused to swear any kind of oath to the Emperor, promising nothing more than that he would do no harm to any present or former possessions of Byzantium. Then he and some of his leading nobles came on to the Gulf of Nicomedia ahead of his army, not willing, given his previous troubles, that they should move until he had seen and approved of the encampment.

In the collection of pavilions the largest had been set aside for a place in which to meet and it was there that Tancred took his place as the acting head of one of the crusading contingents, with Robert of Salerno as a sole supporter. That his youth attracted looks he was aware, just as he was conscious that in standing in for Bohemund his voice would carry nothing like his uncle’s weight.

A glance around the room showed him now familiar faces, including the sad countenance of the much diminished Peter the Hermit, as well as those of the fresh arrivals. Raymond of Toulouse was a man who repaid close study, for he had about him an air that impressed Tancred. Of medium height he had a high colour, set off by golden hair and a stern brow made more so by thick eyebrows, this over a much broken nose. It was not just that he looked like a warrior – the leaders all had that air, even in some ways Vermandois, and it certainly resided in the Constable of France. It was more a cast in the eye that marked him out, for it had about it something of the confidence exuded by Bohemund.

The one non-warrior, if you discounted servants there to supply food and wine, was Bishop Adémar of Puy. He had come with Raymond, trailing a reputation for being of clever mind as well as a calm one. The personal representative of Urban he had been tasked with overseeing the papal enterprise, though not in a military sense,
something from which he maintained his office and priestly vows debarred him. Tancred guessed that was so much stuff; de Puy knew that these men would no more obey a divine than any other one of their number. Having led the assembly in prayer and asked God that their efforts be blessed he took a seat along with everyone else and opened the gathering, looking straight at Tancred.

‘We are saddened that your uncle is not with us.’ The voice, if it was soft, was not weak, nor was there any blinking when Tancred returned his questioning stare, looking into a round, smooth face set in a substantial head, in which the eyes seemed large and the nose and mouth seemed unnaturally small. ‘However, we are sure that it is only duty that detains him.’

Was that a barbed comment or a priest speaking the truth to assuage the concerns of others? It was impossible to tell, but Adémar did not hold his gaze on Tancred, he let it roam around the room, to rest on each of the powerful magnates in turn, naming them and all of their titles, as if such a thing were necessary. That done, his smooth face took on a look of gloom, albeit without the production of one single wrinkle.

‘It is a sadness with which we must live that a man’s intentions can always be called into question, even if he is blameless. As I look at this assembly, so puissant and remarkable, I see much justified pride yet I am forced to have you recall that pride is a sin. The endeavour upon which we are about to embark will be both difficult and hazardous. If we have God to sustain us we also have the means through base human motives to put many obstacles in our path.’

That brought forth various ways of denying possession of such a thing as pride; throats cleared, the odd bark and one outright vocal dismissal from Vermandois, which brought from Adémar a slow and engaging smile.

‘Be assured that priests are not immune, and an elevation to a bishopric does not much alter things. You here assembled represent the very best of Christendom. You have given up lives of ease and comfort to come here, I know.’

That too got various reactions, for not all had abandoned ease and comfort, though Vermandois was nodding as he picked at a bowl of grapes. Those serving under Godfrey de Bouillon and his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, came from a patrimony in constant turmoil, while Robert of Normandy, known as
Curthose
for his shortness of leg, had left behind a duchy at constant threat from his brother.

William Rufus, the eldest son of the Conqueror and now King of England was determined to unite the twin parts of the paternal domains, an aim that was only frustrated by too many difficulties at home, yet he caused endless trouble in Normandy. It was maliciously rumoured that
Curthose
had come east for peace and quiet, not more conflict. There was one truth that had emerged through loose talk by his men: he had mortgaged his duchy to William Rufus for the fabulous sum of one hundred thousand crowns, which, if he had not already spent it all made him one of the richest of the assembly.

‘Yet,’ Adémar carried on, ‘if we are all poor sinners there is wisdom here too, enough of that to allow for the putting aside of arrogance so that the common good may be served. I, as you know, am not at home on the field of battle but I have made it my business, since tasked by Pope Urban, to put my mind to a study of the art of war. While I will openly admit to being a novice in such a gathering I do have, I think, sound judgement and, I hope and pray, divine guidance.’

That got another slow study of the room, as though Adémar was seeking to discern where each man stood. Tancred thought it a clever ploy; if the Bishop could not lead by experience of combat he could
act as the honest broker between those who were knowledgeable, the next words from his mouth cementing the notion.

‘Yet we are bound to be beset by differing views so I propose that what we have here gathered be the norm. Let us call ourselves the Council of Princes and set as our task to act always as honest and open in matters of policy, as well as men who can accept that when a majority favours a course with which they might disagree, that is the one which should be adopted.’

If Bohemund had been present, Tancred was sure all eyes would have turned on him to see if he would accept such an arrangement. As it was they were laid upon Raymond of Toulouse, including those of Adémar, which obliged the Count to react. The answer was not long in coming, showing that he had a clear sight of what was attainable as well as that which needed to be done.