“They needed that truce to raise their fighting-tops,” grunted the shipmaster. “They have cross-bows in those platforms high on their masts, and heavy stones to drop on our decks. They couldn’t sail the open sea with all that clutter aloft. Dirty work, as you say, my lord, but effective.”
“Where are our fighting-tops? Why haven’t we got them?” Bohemond demanded.
“We also are ready to voyage in the open sea. Nobody told me we were to fight this afternoon. We’ve been caught napping,” was the angry answer.
“Never mind, we have swords. We don’t need more to deal with Italian burgesses,” said Sigelgaita gaily. In addition she carried a cross-bow, which she could wind as well as any man.
The Venetians came on steadily, their carracks under sail, their dromonds rowed slowly not to get out of line.
From the start the fight went badly for the Apulians. Venetian ships were bigger and faster, and their crews very much more expert. They could sail with the wind abeam and shift from place to place in the line, while Apulians could only keep station while they remained still. Three Venetian dromonds singled out Guiscard’s carrack. Each hit it a mighty whack with its bronze-shod prow and passed on to make way for a tall carrack, which grappled.
In the rolling swell the two great ships bumped together. As the fighting-top of the Venetian loomed over the Apulian deck a great lump of iron hurtled down. It landed amidships, where there was no upper deck above the hull; the jagged metal smashed the bottom timbers and continued into the sea. Of the leaders only Bohemond saw this, as he took cover behind a tall mantlet from the cross-bows. His father and his stepmother were scrambling over the bulwarks at the head of a boarding party.
Of course Normans and Apulians fought better when it was a question of fighting hand-to-hand. When the flagship seemed likely to founder Bohemond joined the rest of the family. After a short struggle the Venetians gave way, but there was no opportunity to take prisoners or massacre unresisting fugitives. At the right moment a Venetian dromond came up on the other rail, and the beaten defenders jumped neatly to safety. Unhandy Norman knights and scared Apulian fishermen managed to beach the captured ship.
By sunset the Venetians had pierced the Apulian line and most of their ships were within the harbour of Durazzo. But the Apulians, beaten by superior technical skill, were not disheartened. Their battered ships still watched the harbour mouth, and the Venetians would face another stiff fight if they tried to come out again.
Wrapped in warm cloaks the wet and weary Hautevilles huddled round a fire outside the headquarters pavilion.
“Never again will I fight on the sea,” said Guiscard. “You can’t stand up, and any miserable rascal can kill you at any time just by dropping a heavy stone. Those Venetians gave value for the money Alexius paid them. I wonder what they charge for the hire of their fleet?”
“More than we can afford,” Bohemond answered him. “Anyway, mercenaries who are willing to change sides are not worth hiring. I still don’t know who won. They sank some of our ships but we sank some of theirs. They got into Durazzo but they can’t get out again.”
“On balance they won,” Guiscard grumbled. “They will take over the defence of Durazzo, and if they fight as they fought today the place won’t fall for a long time. They broke a truce to do it, though. We must remind all Italy of that. Those confounded fighting-tops. Now Alexius has plenty of time to reach here with his army of relief.”
“All the better. We must fight him one day, and now we shall fight him far from his own city. It was a nasty business, but now it’s over. We are not really any worse off.”
“It was the greatest fun,” put in Sigelgaita. “I’m pretty sure I killed a Venetian with my cross-bow, and that time when I fell in the water was warm and I hadn’t forgotten how to swim. I like fighting at sea, with your bed and your dinner handy and none of that bumping about on a hard saddle.”
For another two months the siege of Durazzo continued.
“Of course Alexius leads a great army, as big as ours. I know that. What kind of army? Who are his troops? I suppose this wretched yokel can’t tell us anything so useful as that.” Bohemond fingered his dagger, as though tempted to murder the peasant then and there.
“Patience,” his father said soothingly. “This fellow is a peasant, but he says he was a trooper in a Greek band until he deserted after Manzikert. He knows what an army ought to look like, and he has seen this one. We shall keep him in chains for a bit, in case he’s a liar. But if what he says turns out to be true I shall make him a rich man for life.”
The shaggy countryman twisted his sheepskin cap, but he went on talking to the interpreter. He could not understand Italian, but he guessed that these two foreign lords were deciding whether to kill him or reward him.
When the interpreter had finished Guiscard summed up. “Two or three bands of regular Greek horse, successors I suppose of the bands that missed Manzikert. Household cavalry. They will be gallant young nobles, eager to show off before the Emperor. A great many Patzinaks, light horse who skirmish with bows. A few German knights, but he may not trust them to fight other Franks. No one there who can face a Norman charge. I just can’t guess whether his foot will be any use. The Varangians, the axe-bearers - they have a great reputation.”
“Palace guards,” Bohemond answered scornfully. “Lackeys who stand in ante-rooms. Gentlemen of good birth, naturally, because they wander through his public apartments. But they fight on foot, which proves they are only for show. I don’t care how strong their armour is, how sharp they keep their axes. If they can’t charge on horseback they are obsolete in modern warfare.”
“It proves that Alexius is hard up for soldiers. Those palace guards don’t normally leave the city. All the same, they are famous. I wish I could imagine how brave infantry fight. After all, there used to be brave infantry. Our forefathers fought on foot, when as heathen they pillaged all Christendom. So did those ancient Romans who left such remarkable buildings all over Italy. Quite part from these Varangians, how do we deal with mounted archers?” Guiscard was obstinately determined to take Alexius seriously.
“We shall find out when the time comes. What’s the use, anyway? Our men know how to charge with the lance, and it’s too late to teach them any other way of fighting. I shall charge those Patzinaks and start them running away. If they run fast enough they won’t stop to shoot arrows.”
Of course Bohemond was right, Guiscard reflected. There was only one way in which Normans could fight, and when they met the Emperor Alexius they must try it. If it turned out to be not good enough, well, they were near their ships. That gave him an idea.
Next day the Apulian army was drawn up on the shore, to witness the burning of their transports. All the baggage was stacked in camp, and the sailors were transferred to fill gaps in the crews of the warships. Guiscard did not deliver a formal speech, though of course all later chroniclers of the campaign supplied him with one. He spoke casually to his leading knights. “Alexius is over there. We can’t get away from him. We must beat him, or lie here until the Resurrection. Remind your men of that before the battle.”
On 17th October 1081 the Apulian army was drawn up for battle. Guiscard had attempted nothing fancy. His men were in their conventional formation: three squadrons of horse in the front line; cross-bows immediately behind, as close as they could get; in the rear a crowd of grooms and servants and sailors, who looked to the casual eye like a reserve and might help to defend the palisaded camp if the worst came to the worst.
Bohemond commanded on the left flank. Guiscard himself led both right wing and centre. Sigelgaita had insisted on riding beside her husband, in mail and fully armed.
They waited, for there was nothing more to be done until the enemy should appear. But it seemed that Alexius did not know the etiquette that governed the fighting of a decisive battle. The Greek army did not appear.
Presently a few Patzinaks trotted out from the wood half a mile in front. They had learne
d by experience in the first brushes of the campaign that a cross-bow carried farther and hit harder than a short horseman’s bow, and they kept out of range. Dutifully they spread out and found the Apulian flanks. The Greeks would have a clear picture of the numbers and position of the invading army.
Bohemond was fretting with impatience. He knew that he ought to do something, not sit still until the enemy were ready to attack; but he could not think of anything to do. It would be rash to charge blindly into that thick wood against unknown numbers. All the veterans advised waiting to receive the first attack, so that you could see the hostile force you were up against.
Ah, here was something, a little knot of enemy horse. But when they were clear of the wood he knew them for Alexius and his personal staff. He could see the purple housing on the Emperor’s horse, and on the spare horse led beside him. It would be stupid to charge the enemy commander. That was just what they wanted him to do. There would be an ambush concealed in the wood.
His squadron could deliver only one real charge, though that one would be very deadly. After he got them galloping the well-armed knights would stretch out to the front while the common troopers lay back. The knights would go on charging after the trumpet signalled the recall; for no knight would draw rein until he saw another knight had pulled up. The common troopers would stop dead at the first toot. If he ever did get his men halted they would assume that the battle was over, and leave their ranks to plunder. He must not start them until the right moment.
From the rear came sounds of alarm. Looking over his shoulder Bohemond saw that a party of horse had sallied out from the main gate of Durazzo. He sent a few troopers to protect the Apulian camp, but did nothing otherwise to impede the sortie. From the banner in their midst they seemed to be led by the eminent George Palaeologus; probably all the Greek cavaliers in the garrison had come out to help their Emperor. As they rode round the left flank of the Apulian host and disappeared into the forest Bohemond saw it as one up to the besiegers. Their best course, their obvious course, would have been to wait until the crisis of the battle and then attack the Apulian rear. The strange tactics of Alexius, who hung about behind the trees instead of advancing, had puzzled his own side as much as it puzzled his adversaries. Now what might have been a dangerous diversion had become a trifling reinforcement.
At last the Greeks were on the move. A column of horse emerged from the wood, opposite his father. At first they advanced rather slowly; then, just when they were near enough to begin the charge, they halted and dismounted. The Apulians stared in amazement. What incredible behaviour, to ride to the battle and then fight on foot!
“Those must be the Varangians,” said an elderly knight who rode behind him. “I was with Duke William in that English battle, though afterwards there was so much law and order in England that I came on to Apulia. Harold’s men rode to the battle and then dismounted. They need both hands to swing their great axes, so they can’t control a horse or carry a shield.”
As the Varangians marched steadily nearer, Bohemond saw that they wore long mail shirts under gilded helms. Short swords hung from their belts, but each man’s main weapon was the axe he carried resting on his shoulder. They marched in a broad column, very close together; evidently they thought it nothing extraordinary that infantry should attack horse.
But they were going to attack Guiscard’s wing, and Bohemond must hold himself ready to meet the rest of the Greek army. As yet there was no sign of them. Even the Emperor and his staff had vanished into the trees.
At the last minute, of course, Guiscard led his men in a charge. Horsemen should never stand halted to receive attack. There was still no sign of the rest of the Greeks. Something must have gone wrong; either the Varangians had advanced too soon or the right wing had not been ready when expected.
It was astonishing. The Varangians were winning. Horse were giving ground before foot. Bohemond tried to make out what was happening. Horses, it seemed, would not gallop into men who stood firm; normal foot were always turning to break at the moment of impact. He could see his father prancing cautiously just out of reach of the axes. Some common troopers were pulling their mounts right round and getting ready to ride off the field. This was absurd. Why didn’t the cross-bows shoot? . . . Then he saw that they dared not shoot, while Guiscard and his knights were so close to the enemy. The Varangians advanced steadily. Soon they would break through the right wing.
He would have to wheel his own men in a right-handed charge, though it would break the line and uncover the camp. Why didn’t the rest of the Greeks come up and keep him busy? There must be a trap somewhere, though he could not see how it would work. He would have to charge. He could not sit still while his father and the right wing were defeated* before his eyes.
Then he saw Sigelgaita. Her fair hair, escaping from its coif, streamed down her back; the wide skirt which should have hidden her legs was hitched above her knees; she had dropped her reins to wave a sword in one hand and a banner in the other; her spurs were plunged into the bloody sides of her maddened horse; the polished rings of her mail gleamed in the sun. The middle-aged mother of so many bouncing children might have been a Battle-Maiden out of the old heathen songs.
Luckily her horse would not carry her into the ranks of the close-set Varangians. But no knight could shrink from the onset when a lady set such an example, and the common troopers took heart when they saw the knights charge again. Sigelgaita had restored a dangerous situation. Guiscard had got his men in hand. The Varangian attack was held.
At that moment masses of Patzinaks issued from the wood, directly before the Apulian left wing. This must be the main attack, which should have been synchronized with the advance of the Varangians. Yes, the Emperor was leading them. Bohemond settled his long shield before his chin so that his body was covered from neck to left ankle. He trotted forward. His men followed in good order.
Patzinaks would not meet the Norman charge, though that was what the Emperor had intended. Alexius waved his sword, his great banner of the Labarum snapped in the wind, trumpeters on either side of him blew the battle-call. But the Patzinaks wheeled their horses with their knees as they shot arrows at the charging Apulians. Those men were already beaten, Bohemond knew it; as many other foreigners had been beaten when first they encountered the knightly charge. Must he gallop into the wood, following a beaten foe until his men were scattered on blown horses? Or could he do something more useful while his men were still behind him and obedient to his commands? With knee and rein he forced his horse to the right, waving his lance to direct his men.
Of course more than half of them galloped straight on. When a charge of that kind had started some riders were too busy keeping in the saddle to notice anything else. But some followed him towards the flank of the Varangian column.
His horse stopped so abruptly that he nearly went over its head. It just would not gallop into that line of immovable men. He poked with his lance, until a great axe cut off its point. It seemed that a knight could do very little harm to Varangians who stood firm.
But while the knights were so close the Varangians could not move. They were beginning to retire towards the rest of the Greek army; but with Guiscard pressing on their front and his son on their flank they must halt to dress their line. Bohemond called to a knight beside him.
“Bring up the cross-bows. Tell their captain that both Hautevilles and most of their knights are here to protect him, and that the battle is going well. Here, take this ring to prove you come from me. I know cross-bows hate to move after close fighting has started, but it’s really quite safe for them. Tell them that these people are the imperial bodyguard, all hung with gold chains and gold collars. Any cross-bow who shoots a Varangian may keep the plunder from the corpse.”
Presently the cross-bows arrived, looking round them timidly for fear Greek horse might charge. But they were encouraged when they saw knights ready to protect them, and they settled down to their shooting.
It was a grim, re
lentless slaughter. Whenever the Varangians tried to move the knights charged; while they stood in rank the cross-bows shot at an easy mark. The column of steel-clad foot grew smaller, but it did not waver. Towards the end the remnant of them sought shelter in a chapel close by. Stone walls kept out the arrows but the tiled roof was supported on wooden rafters; when those had been set alight the defenders must come out. By sunset the last Varangian was dead. There were no prisoners, either wounded or whole.
Before the massacre was quite finished the rest of the Apulian horse dropped in, on their way back to camp where supper should be cooking by now. Their charge through the wood had been wholly successful. They had ridden into a Patzinak ambush, of course; every Greek commander hid Patzinaks in ambush. But unless their first flight of arrows brought victory those lightly armed skirmishers always fled from charging Franks.
On the far side of the wood they had come on the Emperor Alexius trying to rally his men. But they were too shaken to face another attack. Soon Alexius had retired eastward along the great road, with no escort save his regular Greek horse; while his mercenaries streamed north to get over the Danube and away from this war. It had been a most famous victory and they had pillaged the imperial camp before any baggage could be removed.
The dead Varangians were piled thickly, tall long-haired men with bloody wounds in front. Their naked bodies glimmered white in the dusk. Their mail and their clothes had been stripped from them before they were cold, sometimes before they had ceased to bleed. That was one reason why there were no wounded prisoners. Cross-bows, already dismounted, are quicker at this sort of work than troopers or knights. In a day or two those naked bodies would look very nasty. They must be burned, or shovelled underground, as soon as possible.
Count Bohemond Page 4