Tancred had gathered a titbit of news.
“Today some Christians rode into camp from the east. Armenians they call themselves, and they accuse the Greeks of heresy. So they must be decent Christians like ourselves. The man I spoke to said he was quite willing to submit to the Pope, though until he met us he had never heard of him. They look like warriors—light horse only, but tough. They speak a language of their own, which none of the local peasants understand.”
“Then how did you speak with them?”
“Because this man had learned Arabic as a hostage among the infidels. That’s the same tongue the infidels use in Sicily, where I learned it. These Armenians are subject to the Turks; that is, they pay tribute. Otherwise they manage their own affairs. The men who have come here would prefer Frankish lords, though they are also in rebellion against their Armenian ruler.”
“They sound a rebellious lot. I have heard of Armenia, though I don’t know whether Armenians are good warriors. Still, it’s worth bearing in mind. Christians who don’t like Greeks and are willing to join up with Franks. We might make something of it, if ever we get so far.’’
That was one of the questions he was going to put to Taticius.
The eminent Greek general did not keep much state. His tent was a humble affair with a single ridge, amid a group of tents of the standard Greek pattern which presumably housed his corps of guides. The doorkeeper was a mere servant, though he carried a short sword. He announced Bohemond.
Inside the tent Taticius squatted on a little square of carpet laid on the bare ground. One of those excellent Greek lamps stood beside him; he was studying a map unfolded on his knees. He sprang to his feet and came forward, bustling with hospitality.
“Ah, the famous Count Bohemond who speaks Greek. No need for an interpreter. I am honoured. Have a carpet? Oh no, you Franks like to sit on something high. What about that box? I’m afraid there’s no chair. Will you take a cup of wine? Supper will be ready in an hour or so.”
Taticius was a wiry little man, grey and bent with age. Baggy woollen breeches covered his legs to the knee; his shins and feet were bare but a fine silken tunic hid his torso. His hair was clipped short, as was his scanty beard. Obviously an active old boy, at present in casual undress. All this Bohemond took in at a glance. But even good manners could not stop him exclaiming at the other’s face. .
“Good God, what is that on your nose?”
“This is my nose, a very fine nose, made of pure gold. I wear it always, for I look very horrible without it. Our steel caps have no noseguard, such as you Franks so sensibly employ. An infidel sabre cut off the nose I was born with, so a goldsmith in the city made this substitute. It had to be gold, the surgeon told me; for any lesser metal would rust, and the rust might poison me. I think it looks very handsome, but people do stare when they see it for the first time. Will you warn the other Counts, so they are prepared for it? But you didn’t come here, after a long ride, to discuss my appearance. Is there anything I can tell you? My orders are to give the pilgrims any assistance in my power.”
“You are most gracious, general. Forgive the astonishment which overcame my courtesy. I must explain that I come of my own accord. I do not represent the council of leaders. But I should like to be able to say, at the council meeting tomorrow, how much military help you can give us, and what you can tell about Turkish methods of warfare.”
“Military help? I suppose the honest answer is none at all.” Taticius opened his mouth in a gap-toothed grin. “I command about a hundred men, experienced scouts who know the country to the eastward. They are mounted, and they carry bows as well as swords, just like Turks. We call them Turcopoles, ‘Turk-fighters’. But their job is to tell you the way to Jerusalem, and what lies behind every ridge you pass on the road. I wouldn’t trust them to stand firm in a line of battle. On the other hand I know all about Turkish warfare, for I was trained in it. Do you know that I am myself a Turk?”
Seeing Bohemond frown he explained further.
“No, I’m not a renegade. I didn’t change my religion to escape from captivity. I was carried to baptism in my mother’s arms. We Turks are divided into different hordes, and in the old days we worshipped nothing more impressive than a few magic rags stuck on a pole. When we rode west we wanted to be civilized, so we all joined a civilized faith. My father heard that the Seljouks had turned Moslem; since they were his most bitter enemies he commanded his horde to turn Christian. That was before I was bom. Then the Seljouks proved too strong for us, so we all took refuge in the Empire. It’s more than twenty years since I joined the imperial army, but I was already a trained Turkish warrior.”
“Then you are indeed just the man to help me.”
Bohemond liked this tough little savage; who so neatly gave the information, without appearing to boast, that his father had been a great chieftain of the Turks.
“To put it as frankly as possible,” he went on, “do you think that the pilgrims stand any chance by themselves? Can we cross Anatolia without help from the Emperor’s Turcopoles? Or ought we to stay here until the Emperor is at leisure to march with us?”
“You might have a long wait, though perhaps I shouldn’t say so. Why not give up the whole enterprise and go back home? Those who have no homes can serve the Emperor for wages, as I do. On the other hand, it’s not exactly suicide to go on. The Turks will hover out of reach and pester you with arrows; but that heavy mail of yours is proof against their arrows. Sooner or later they must go away, or charge. In the open country they will go away, but in the end you will reach some place they want to defend. Then they will charge, and at close quarters you may beat them. What I don’t know is how steadily Franks stand up to skirmishing. Keep in line. Hide your horse behind the foot. Don’t charge. Get your cross-bows to the front. That’s a new weapon, which will puzzle the infidels. I can’t say more.”
“You have said enough. I see you are an honest man and a friend to the pilgrimage. Unfortunately what you advise is just what Franks won’t do. My knights never keep in line, they charge without orders, and nothing would induce them to hide their horses on the battlefield. So I suppose we shall be beaten. Will you still come with us?”
“Those are the Emperor’s orders. But I am not under the orders of any Frank, so I may choose my own post when the battle comes. It may be well to the rear, if things look unpromising. I have not been ordered to defend your banner with the last drop of my blood, and I shan’t do it. I am well mounted, and so are my Turcopoles. If there are any survivors I shall be among them.”
“You have made the position perfectly clear. When next you report to the Emperor please include my congratulations. He has arranged matters so that whatever happens he will win. By autumn he will once more rule Anatolia, or he will be rid of this intrusive Frankish army. You might add best wishes from my nephew Tancred as well. I am sure the dear boy would like me to send them. What an elegant little carpet you sit on. Is it one of those infidel praying-mats?’
They chatted together for another half-hour. Taticius allowed Bohemond to inspect his golden nose, and described vividly the fight in which he had lost its predecessor. He admired the strength of Bohemond’s mail, but thought his great sword too heavy for close combat. They understood one another perfectly. Bohemond was sure that Taticius would give the pilgrimage all the help in his power. He was equally sure that the Emperor would not.
Next day’s meeting of the council was stormy. Count Raymond took the chair, by the simple method of getting there first. So Duke Godfrey when he arrived went quietly to a place on the extreme right of the semi-circle. “Sorry if I’m late,” he said in careful south French. “That legate of yours must be a good man, St. Gilles. I saw him begin his Mass only twenty minutes ago, so I thought there would be no hurry. He must read even faster than my own chaplain. I hope you ate a good breakfast.”
Count Raymond, who had cut breakfast to be sure of being early, grinned an embarrassed smile. The smile changed to a frown when he
saw the two giant Hautevilles, Bohemond and Tancred, moving into humble places on the extreme left, but with the Duke of Normandy between them. He rose to speak.
“Gentlemen, our work in Nicaea is finished, and the Emperor has rewarded us generously. It is time to move on, and again our next step has been made clear by the prudent foresight of the Emperor. I have been talking with the lord Taticius, who has been sent to advise us on our route. He has maps, you know, and I can read them. When most of you were too young to bear arms I was using a map to find my way through Moorish Spain. We can go due east, by the great road which leads ultimately to Armenia. It’s the best road, and it runs through fertile country; but Armenia lies a long way north of Jerusalem. The shortest road to Jerusalem heads a little more to the south; but it runs through a desert, beside a great lake of foul salt water. Our guides say it is unsuitable for an army. A third road, even farther south, goes by Tarsus and Antioch to Jerusalem; a little bit out of our way, but the country is fertile and inhabited by Christian peasants. Of course these Christian peasants are now ruled by Turks, but our Greek guides can slip on ahead and warn them to collect provisions for us. So I have arranged that we march by this southern road, at sunrise tomorrow. Warn all your men, and see that they get their baggage packed today. It would be a good idea to try out the pack-saddles this afternoon, to avoid sore backs. Now are there any questions?” “Not questions, exactly, but I propose to make a few observations.” Bohemond slowly unfolded to his enormous height, his hands tucked in his swordbelt. “In the first place, all these roads diverge at what used to be the town of Dorylaeum until the Turks destroyed it. I also can read maps, Count Raymond. Dorylaeum lies several days’ march to the eastward, so we need not choose our route until we get there. In the second place, Count Raymond seems in some unexplained way to have become your leader. He isn’t mine. I have never taken oath to him. If the majority of this council of equal leaders decides to march tomorrow the Normans of Apulia will march with them. If not, not.”
As he took his seat again Tancred reached an enormous hand across to pat him on the shoulder; but what really mattered was that Duke Robert, sitting between the two giants, smiled approval.
Half a dozen angry south Frenchmen were on their feet to shout at the Normans, who shouted back. Though Yes in south France was Oc and in the north French Oui there was no language barrier; for all were shouting No.
Duke Godfrey restored peace. He had no home, and might be described as an adventurer seeking a fief in the east, but he was a dedicated pilgrim whose only aim was to free Jerusalem, and everyone knew it. Besides, as he pointed out, there was very little in dispute. If they were to continue the war they must march to Dorylaeum. Only if they decided to wait for the Emperor could they stay outside Nicaea, and then if the Greeks chose to cut off supplies they would have to move somewhere. Sitting at the extreme edge of the council, he first announced that he would march with Count Raymond and then asked his neighbour. By the time the question reached Bohemond, on the farther edge, the council was nearly unanimous and he would be foolish to object. With few courtesies the meeting broke up and the leaders separated to arrange the march.
The Duke of Normandy still walked between the two Hautevilles. “Is it true that Alexius believes that we shall all be killed by the Turks?” he asked doubtfully. “How wicked, to send so many fellow-Christians to their doom. But everyone says now that he is a very wicked man. On the other hand, I remember that sometimes my father would repeat what someone else had said, and what he repeated sounded much worse than what the other fellow had intended. There was that tangled business about Count Harold and some oath. Nobody will ever know the rights of it. Of course you would never lie, Count Bohemond. But did the Emperor mean exactly what you have told us?”
“I think it is his genuine opinion,” Bohemond answered gravely. “But his opinion may be mistaken. When he spoke he was trying to persuade the pilgrims to march under his command. Now he wants us to go off on our own. Perhaps that will make him change his mind.”
“He has changed his mind about our value as allies, that’s all,” said Tancred savagely. “He knew that we could take Nicaea for him. Now he hopes that we shall starve in the wilderness. Can’t you see, Duke Robert, that whatever happens he stands to gain? Already we have given him a strong town and a rich province. What have we got out of it? Enough biscuit and salt meat to keep us alive.”
“And a good many sacks of gold,” answered the Duke. “Though that didn’t make me any richer, because it all went straight to my creditors. But he has done as much as you can expect from a Greek. Anyway, he would not be so base as to send his friend Taticius to certain disaster.”
“No wonder his brother took England from him,” Bohemond muttered to Tancred. “My lord, Greeks and especially Greek Emperors, have been known to sacrifice their friends in return for some great advantage. Taticius hopes to get home safely, by running away in good time. I’ve spoken to him, and he let me see as much. Alexius expects the Turks to win. Well, let’s prove him wrong. Together we shall all set out on this great road to the eastward. But I won’t take orders from Count Raymond. He may be the oldest leader in the pilgrimage, but I am a better knight and a better warleader.”
The whole pilgrimage did not march out together, which emphasized once again Bohemond’s efficiency. Before midday he issued orders that his men should march at sunrise, and it was so. The other leaders gave the same orders, and some of their armies took three days to get on the move. The Normans of Apulia felt smugly superior as they waited for their comrades. They were camped by a bridge over a small stream. On the far side of the stream could be seen Turkish scouts. The war had woken again.
The final breach came at the council of leaders that evening. Duke Godfrey brought it on, lest worse befall. He explained that he had heard from Taticius that beyond the river were only a few rare springs, which filled slowly. They would find it difficult to water all their horses in one evening. Therefore the army should divide, the second division marching one day behind the first. Let Count Bohemond, who got his men on the move so quickly, lead the first division. Count Raymond would lead the second, and Duke Godfrey would march with him.
That worked out in practice as a division between Normans and the rest. Of course Count Hugh chose to march with the second party, since the Normans of Normandy were the most dangerous enemies of the King of France. Duke Robert, with the Count of Flanders and the Count of Blois who had accompanied him across Christendom, marched with the Normans of Apulia. Taticius and his little band must also march with the Normans, since as pathfinders they must go first. The many little independent contingents of Frenchmen were almost equally divided.
“We Hautevilles are still coming up in the world,” said Richard of the Principate to Tancred. “Uncle Bohemond is not yet supreme commander of the pilgrimage; but Duke Godfrey’s order of march has made him leader of about half of it.”
“It’s going to be frightfully hot in the middle of the day,” Duke Robert grumbled. “Must we ride in full mail?”
“It would be prudent,” answered Bohemond, “except perhaps for young Tancred, who likes to charge in his tunic. Yesterday evening those scouts seemed confident, as though there were a lot of other Turks behind them. If I were a mounted archer this is the sort of country I would choose to fight in. Open grass, where a horse can go anywhere; and yet so broken with hills that they can hide within half a mile of us. I smell danger—though before such experienced warriors it seems presumptuous to say so. The foot are already taking down our tents. Could we explain to them that it would be better to wait a bit? There’s water here, and a good many thirsty miles before we find more. Can the Turks ride over grass without raising a betraying cloud of dust? May I ask Taticius what he thinks?”
When asked Taticius shrugged his shoulders. But Bohemond noted that he was riding his fastest horse, and carried a bag of money tied to his belt.
Pictures were forming in Bohemond’s mind, pictures so vivid
that it was hard to grasp that they were not memories of something that had already happened. He saw knights, charging across the boundless rolling plain until their sobbing horses came to a stand and Turks shot them down at leisure. He saw the wretched foot and non-combatants, separated from their natural protectors, scurrying in aimless panic as the Turks rode in to sabre them. That was what Alexius had prophesied. That was what would happen before sunset of this very day.
Just as clearly he saw the way out. Cross-bows shot harder and straighter than any horseman’s arrows. But the man with a crossbow must feel safe while he wound his cumbersome machine. The guy-ropes of a tent ought to halt any charging horse. Western mail, especially with a shield before it, was proof against Turkish arrows. If the knights would consent to fight on foot their vulnerable horses might be hidden.
If only he were in command of disciplined soldiers, as a Greek general in the old days commanded obedient troops. But these pilgrims were volunteers, not even vassals doing their feudal duty; and he was only one among a group of equal Counts who advised rather than commanded them.
Urgently he caught Duke Robert by the arm. “If the Turks attack today we shall be in for a stiff fight. But I know what we ought to do. It’s not what we do usually. Follow my advice and your men will follow you. Let’s try to get the whole army to act as one unit. Today I shall command, but that’s only because I have already made up my mind. Next time it may be you, and I shall obey you. But there must be a supreme commander. Will you order your men to leave the tents standing as a barrier against Turkish horse?”
“If you say so, my dear fellow,” the Duke answered easily. “Since you have views and I have none let’s do as you say. I came here to fight the infidel and I don’t much mind how I do it. When I can get hold of a messenger I shall tell my boys to leave their tents standing.”
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