The ceremony of fealty followed exactly the Frankish custom. Bohemond bowed his right knee to the ground and placed his folded hands within the hands of the standing Alexius. In Italian he swore to be loyal to the Emperor so long as he was within the realm of Romania. Of course the interpreter who put it into Greek omitted the qualifying clause; Bohemond had expected as much, and did not greatly care. His fellow-Counts were witnesses to what he had said, not to what the interpreter repeated; what bound his conscience was the oath he had sworn in his own tongue, not the version of it altered to please the Emperor.
The other Counts approved; it seemed they had taken more or less the same oath. But Bohemond had no chance to talk things over with them. As soon as he had sworn a chamberlain indicated that the audience was at an end, and the foreigners were ushered to the door. As they turned at the entry for one last bow Alexius broke through all the rules of etiquette. "Come and see me tomorrow morning, Count Bohemond,’ he called. "Come an hour before midday. I shall be in my cabinet. The sentry will take you straight there. No need for further ceremony. Don’t be late. I want to discuss this campaign with you.’
Overwhelmed by this public mark of favour, Bohemond bowed again. Not until he was half-way back to his lodging did he realise that he had made public the fact that he understood Greek.
The Emperor’s cabinet was a large room on the first floor of the palace, lit by tall windows. Chairs and stools stood round the walls in no particular order, and the centre was filled by a long table. When Bohemond entered Alexius was standing at this table, bent over a large sheet of paper. There was no one else in the room.
Bohemond halted in astonishment. He had not imagined that an Emperor could be alone. No Frankish Count, no baron of any standing, was ever alone. A few servants or guards or clerks were always loitering about, to run errands or fetch him anything he wanted. Perhaps this was just another queer Greek custom. Alexius seemed to take it for granted.
"Your Imperial Majesty,’ Bohemond began, taking pains with his pronunciation.
"In here we drop titles,’ the Emperor interrupted. "This is where I work. You couldn’t manage the correct titles, anyway. It takes my courtiers years to learn them. Just say what you mean, and don’t bother about how you say it. I ought to have known that you understand Greek. You can’t rule the Greeks of Apulia without picking up some of their language. Now come here and look at this map. Have you ever seen a map?’
"In Brindisi there is a map of the way to Rome, engraved on marble by the mighty men of old. I know what a map looks like. But this is the first I’ve seen that’s new, and drawn on paper.’
"It’s new, as you say, but it represents an old state of affairs. This has been copied specially from an old map of Anatolia, as it was before the Turks ravaged it. It’s twenty-five years since a Christian travelled some of those roads, those lines marked in red.’
"I see. This is the coast, I suppose. I can’t read the names, though I can read Latin. One of your clerks must explain them to me.’
"I shall explain them. You and I will plan this campaign together. See, here near the edge is Manzikert, where the great battle was fought. Jerusalem is beyond this other edge, for it was not then part of the Empire. But here is the road leading to it. Those broad lines are mountains, and the crosses mark passes. Our frontier was pretty strong in those days, before the Turks broke in.’
"Indeed it was, sir. This bit seems to stick out beyond the mountains. Was it an outlying fief, perhaps paying tribute but not directly under your rule?’
"No, this was all in the Empire, as directly subject to the Emperor as the city itself. That bit was the Duchy of Antioch. Beyond the mountains, certainly; but a very strong town, quite easy to defend. It has a Patriarch of its own, who is just as much the successor of St Peter as your Pope in Rome. Would you like to be the next Duke, when it is Christian again?’
Bohemond’s eyes gleamed with simple avarice. "How big is the Duchy?’
"About fifteen days’ march by eight broad, I suppose. It used to be very rich, though I don’t know how much the Turks have left of it. Such a fortress needs a good commander, and you are the best soldier among the Franks. We should have to make various arrangements. In the old days the Duke always left a hostage at court, just to make sure he stayed loyal to the Emperor. Let me see, what family have you?’
"There are dozens of Hautevilles, if not scores by now. The trouble is that most of them are my foes. I am the only child of my mother, and my half-brother would not stand surety for me. My nephews on this pilgrimage are all good knights, too good to be wasted as hostages. I have no wife, and no children.’
"That’s an obstacle. Not married, at your age? Perhaps I can find you a bride. What would you say to the daughter of a Greek nobleman, with a good dowry of course?’
"I’m not the marrying kind, my lord. I’m just not interested in women. I am a pilgrim, with no ties anywhere. In my young days they were always pestering me to marry, and I swore a great oath that I wouldn’t marry anyone except a daughter of the King of all the Franks. Of course the King of the Franks will not give his daughter to a Hauteville, so I shall never marry.’
"I gather that plenty of ladies are interested in you. My own daughter saw you from a window last night, and wants to meet you. She can’t believe that anyone so tall is really human. I should add that she is already married, and she hates Franks. So I can’t offer you an imperial princess. If you don’t want a noble Greek lady we must think again. But there will be a lot of fighting before the Christian army gets anywhere near Antioch. At present the King of the Turks holds his court in Nicaea, right on this side of the map. But just keep that Duchy of Antioch in mind, and serve me faithfully. If we get so far it will be yours.’
Bohemond straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and asked an important question.
"My lord, in your heart of hearts do you really believe that we can liberate Jerusalem? Since the Turks have triumphed over your mighty army, why should the Franks drive them back?’
"I don’t think you Franks stand a chance - by yourselves. I have seen your terrible charge, and run away from it myself. The Turks also will run away, but they will shoot behind them as they run. In the end they will shoot down all your horses. You know my Patzinaks? They can be a nuisance, can’t they? Their trouble is that at bottom they are cowards, so you generally chased them right off the field. Turks fight just like Patzinaks, except that they are very brave. Brave horsemen, who carry sharp swords as well as bows. At the beginning they shoot from a distance, but when the right time comes they will charge home. How do you deal with them?’
“With your Patzinaks, of course, sir. The Patzinaks won’t panic if they know they have Frankish knights behind them. They skirmish with the Turks, and draw them on until they are close enough for our charge to catch them. A genuine Greek type of battle, which all your officers will understand. But I see what you mean. We must act in concert with your army. That means we must carry out your orders. I shall, for one, and so will all the other Counts who have sworn fealty. Some pilgrims may make trouble. They aren’t used to obeying orders even from their own natural lords.”
“I am glad you see it so clearly, my friend. Do what you can to convince the other Counts. It’s our only chance of success, and it’s what your Pope had in mind when he got up to speak at Clermont. I had asked him to send me Frankish knights, to take my wages and serve in my army. But the plan was such a good one, such a holy one I may say, that the whole west volunteered. Even I can’t pay, in gold or silver, all the pilgrims who are making their way to the city. But if all goes well I shall win plenty of land, to provide rich fiefs for my vassals. Then there’s Jerusalem, and all Syria. I don’t claim to rule beyond Antioch, you know.. Any Franks who care to defend the Holy Places on the border of the infidel may rule in complete independence. They will lead hard and dangerous lives.”
“Antioch is enough for me. I am not worthy to rule Jerusalem, and as you say it will b
e very dangerous. When do we start?”
“As soon as you have all taken your oaths of fealty. This campaign begins to look promising. I was disappointed, I confess, when the first pilgrimage arrived, that rabble led by Peter the Hermit. Hardly any knights, and more women and priests than fighting men. They wouldn’t heed my advice; they wanted to cross into Asia and begin to fight the infidel. Since I could not hold them I sent them on their way, and of course most of them were killed by the Turks. I saved as many as I could. Peter the Hermit is here in the city, and will tell you all about it. Now look at the map. Here’s what we do.”
They stood side by side, leaning over the table.
“The Turks have no ships, so we go by water as far as we can. The first lot, Peter’s, landed at Civetot here, but you would do better to go to the head of the gulf, to Nicomedia. It’s a strong fortress with a Greek garrison, so you can camp near it in safety. When you are all gathered into one army you march south to Nicaea, here. I shall send guides, and engineers, and of course plenty of provisions. But for the moment I can’t leave the city. When Nicaea has fallen I shall meet the pilgrim army, and we can decide what to do next.”
Bohemond nodded, absorbed in the map. He was beginning to get the hang of it; he must remember all he could, for he was unlikely to see it again. After a few civil nothings he took leave of the Emperor, who was evidently very busy.
All afternoon he sat in his lodging, thinking over the plans he had agreed with the Emperor. It was not going to be quite so straightforward as he had supposed. He had volunteered to serve Alexius, and the offer had been accepted. Now some instinct warned him to be wary. Alexius had planned a sensible and prudent opening to the campaign, and then at the last minute slipped in a hint that he might be unable to march with them. He had prophesied quite openly that Franks without Greeks could not beat Turks in the open field, and in the next breath assumed that they could liberate Nicaea. Did he suppose that by gracious compliments he could hoodwink Bohemond son of Duke Robert, the most wily of the wily Normans of Apulia?
No, that wasn’t quite fair. Alexius had said that in open country Franks might not be able to catch Turks; but if the infidels stood to defend a walled town Frankish swords could reach them. It was not really a contradiction. In fact it was a compliment, for the Emperor judged Bohemond capable of working that out as soon as he heard the plan. Very well, they were to take Nicaea and then the Greek army would join them. There was justification for that. The siege might drag on a long time, while the Emperor sat at home and amassed money and provisions for the march. Nicaea, only a short distance from the sea, stood at the head of the great road to Syria. With that as their base they would all advance together, as fast as their horses could carry them. The Turks must assemble to bar the way. That would bring on just the kind of great battle the pilgrims wanted. After that had been won the road would lie open, the road which led to the Duchy of Antioch.
These Greeks were always reading and writing papers; that was how Romania was governed. Even the Emperor looked at papers on a fine hunting morning, and at night discussed important business by lamplight. No Frankish lord ever worked after dinner, unless immediate danger threatened. The Emperor was genuinely a very busy man, who could be excused from attending the boring routine of a siege. So far there was no ground for suspecting him to be a deceitful ally—except for that busy guardian angel in Bohemond’s mind who warned him to be very careful.
He sent orders to Tancred, bidding him bring up the army as soon as convenient. Even though there was no danger that the Duke of Normandy would catch up with them it would be well to reach Nicomedia before Count Raymond of Toulouse.
Bohemond did not try to penetrate further into the city than the Palace of Blachernae just within the gate. Probably no guard would stop a great lord who had spoken familiarly with the Emperor; but it might happen, and it would be most humiliating. He managed to do a little shopping, since various merchants came to wait on him. He bought his golden spurs, and several silk tunics in different colours; also a light campaigning cloak alleged to be woven from the hair of camels. The Greek majordomo attached to his villa advised him what price to offer, and he did not think he had been cheated more than was proper to any visiting foreigner.
On the third evening he was commanded to supper in the palace. It was a formal banquet, and except for the honour of the invitation rather a bore. The food and wine were excellent, the dishes all of gold; but there were as many ladies present as men. He spoke little, for he was afraid of saying something uncouth in his poor Greek, picked up from grooms and common soldiers. Before the meal began he was formally presented to the Emperor’s daughter, the Princess Anna; and he sat between two of her waiting ladies. But all the females were so amazed at his size that they did little but stare; he felt that he was on show as a dangerous animal, not welcome as an eminent pilgrim. He was expected to eat with a fork, which made matters worse; though once or twice he had seen forks used by wealthy Greek merchants in Bari. The Boulogne brothers were at the table, Count Godfrey and Count Baldwin, but he had no private conversation with them. Their interpreters were always beside them, and would presumably repeat to the Greeks anything he said in Frankish. He felt rather disgruntled when he came back to his villa outside the walls.
It was late at night, but he found waiting for him his nephews Richard of the Principate and Tancred. They were both in a towering rage. They shouted and boomed at him, though the heat of the banqueting hall had given him a headache.
“Uncle, what’s this I hear?” Tancred began. “Have you already betrayed our sacred pilgrimage? Is it true that you have offered to become the paid servant of that miserable heretic, the King of the Greeks? Do you command your followers to swear allegiance to the tyrant? Richard and I will do nothing of the kind. Both of us are willing to prove on your body that what you did was wrong.”
“Quiet, you silly boy,” Bohemond answered with a groan. “It’s been a hard day, and I want to go to bed. If you are trying to challenge me to a fight may I remind you that all private quarrels are suspended until the finish of the pilgrimage. Which of us is breaking the vow, you or me? To turn to something more important, what have you done with my army? I put you in command. Then I sent orders for you all to march here. If you have left our men leaderless in a foreign land you aren’t fit to command a patrol of light horse. What are you doing here?”
Tancred was so full of righteous indignation that the counterattack silenced him for the moment. But he soon collected his thoughts.
“I have carried out your orders, in so far as any honourable knight can fulfil them. All your men are encamped within a mile of this house. They are safe and well lodged, and I saw their dinners cooking before I left them. But your orders for tomorrow are more than I can bear. All knights to assemble, on foot, to swear fealty to the Emperor when he visits them. After that he will graciously ship them to Anatolia, where they will fight for him. Richard and I came here as pilgrims, not to serve heretics for pay. We can reach the field of battle without help from any Emperor. We have got hold of a Greek ship’s master, a smuggler by trade. He knows how to dodge the Emperor’s guardships, and he will land us in Anatolia tonight, before sunrise.”
“We came only to tell you where we are going, so that you should not look for us tomorrow when we are missing,” broke in Richard, speaking more peaceably. “In these matters of fealty and oath-swearing every good knight must judge for himself. I guard my own honour, just as you guard yours. I suppose you had private reasons for what you have done. I do not condemn such a famous warrior. Surely we may part in peace? It’s just that we don’t want to swear fealty to this Greek.”
“If you go in peace I shan’t try to stop you. I must stay behind for a few days, to arrange with the Emperor about provisions. Whose bread have you been eating all this year, since we landed at Durazzo? Whose bread will you eat while we besiege the Turks in Nicaea? Don’t you think we owe Alexius some return for his help?”
�
�On the whole I think we owe him nothing,” said Tancred. He had recovered his temper and was willing to argue. “It is the duty of every Christian to a pilgrim help on his way. Alexius, who is very rich, can afford to feed an army of pilgrims. But I suppose, uncle, you have not heard of the latest crime committed by these Greeks? You tell him, Richard. If I begin to speak my tongue may run away with me.”
“Well, my lord,” began Richard, looking down at his shoes and choosing his words with care. “Yesterday morning Count Raymond and his south Frenchmen caught up with us. They are not in very good shape. It seems they had a hard time on the march. We knew that the Pope’s legate in charge of the whole pilgrimage, the Bishop of Le Puy, was travelling with Count Raymond’s army, so some of us rode over to ask for his blessing. We couldn’t see him. He travels in a litter because he has been gravely wounded. Near Salonica a heathen Patzinak shot an arrow into him, and it is not certain that he will recover. When they heard of it your men grew very angry.”
“That’s not the half of it,” Tancred was shouting again. “While Count Raymond’s men rode through the mountains they were repeatedly attacked. The savages rolled down rocks on them as they struggled through the passes. But the Greek soldiers in Durazzo were afraid of them. They received them in peace, and gave them food. Then we get this attempted murder of a holy Bishop, appointed by the Pope to lead us. Count Raymond won’t bring his army any closer to the city. He fears that if his men see the Emperor they will snatch him from his bodyguard and hang him from the nearest tree. If I saw them doing it I would join in. Can’t you see, Uncle? The Greeks plan to murder our leaders. Then they think it will be easy to massacre the leaderless remainder. They are heretics. You can’t really call them Christians. I suppose the Turks have bribed them.”
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