Count Bohemond

by Alfred Duggan

  Dirty Crown laid an enormous finger beside an enormous nose. “I understand, my lord. Every pilgrim will know what’s expected of him, and if anyone queries your authority I may not be able to hear him.”

  That afternoon most pilgrims ate the last of their stores. They would fight better after a meal, and there was no future to provide for. At sunset they mustered in arms. No one lagged behind, no one asked by what authority Bohemond led them.

  In gathering darkness they marched east. Count Raymond took the rear and followed where the column led; Godfrey sought out Bohemond to ask where they were going. “I’m sorry, my lord, I can’t tell you,” said Bohemond apologetically. “It’s a secret I have sworn to keep. When the time comes I may give you an hour’s warning, no more. I assure you that we have a chance of victory.”

  “Treachery, is it? Then I shan’t ask more. By God we need a traitor. Pardon me, Count Bohemond, but I never supposed you were leading us to perish with honour but without hope. Now if Tancred had suggested it I would be more cautious.”

  “So far it’s all going according to plan. The sentries on the castle have seen us march out against Curbaram. Can they see us now, do you think? Perhaps it’s time to turn south and get round to the west of the town.”

  All night they stumbled over rough slopes and loose stones; it was hard on the horses, but they would not be needed in the fighting. An hour before dawn Bohemond told Tancred the whole plan, and asked him to pass it on without noise or cheering.

  Dawn was pink in the eastern sky when the van reached the Tower of the Three Sisters. A party of trusted foot had carried a ladder all the way, under Bohemond’s eye. Now he told them to rear it against the tower, from which a dim lamp glowed. The first man began to climb.

  After the long stumbling journey Bohemond did not feel like climbing ladders. He moved aside, staring towards the south. Far off in that darkness lay the Holy Sepulchre; in a few minutes they would know whether it was to be liberated. For a moment he wanted to see the campaign as a whole. He did not fear that Pyrrhus had laid a trap; but Pyrrhus might have been discovered, the Turks might even now be stealing up in the open. This was a dangerous time, a good time to meditate on the Four Last Things.

  An Apulian sergeant plucked at his shoulder. “My lord, you must climb into the tower. This man Pyrrhus is very much afraid. He says, as far as we can gather, that there are not enough Franks, and that the mighty Bohemond must lead them. Come up at once, my lord.”

  With a weary sigh he set himself to climb the ladder. In the little tower room Pyrrhus beat his breast in a frenzy, as he groaned: “So few Franks.” But there were already enough knights on the wall to capture any strong place.

  As Bohemond stepped off the ladder it broke, too late to wreck the enterprise. Men set off down the stairway inside the tower, to open a postern from within. Bohemond led the rest uphill along the wall towards the castle.

  The door into the next tower stood open, for Pyrrhus had commanded it. The circuit was so long that on a quiet night the garrison did not hold every tower. But soon they came to a barred door, made of thick oak planks. A sergeant had a hatchet, but Bohemond did not want to make a noise. They waited outside it.

  At that moment the alarm was given in the town below. Drums beat, trumpets sounded, Turks set up their gobbling warcry as they rushed into the street. All the way down to the Bridge Gate pilgrims outside the wall shouted Deus Vult. Bohemond snatched the hatchet to beat on the door.

  That tower was soon overrun; but there were four hundred towers on the walls of Antioch, each barred off from the rampart walk. As Bohemond led his men uphill resistance became continually stiffer. In the streets below the pilgrims were getting the better of the fighting; the Bridge Gate had been thrown open so that knights might ride in, and some of the native Christians were helping them. Turks who could not make head against their enemies took refuge on the ramparts. There they might retreat to the strong castle on Mount Silpius, or at the worst escape into open country. As the pilgrims took over more of the town more Turks appeared on the wall.

  Bohemond plodded on. His legs were weary, but this was his town that the infidels were trying to keep from him. Unless he held the whole wall Count Raymond might steal part of his town from him. Here was another tower—Turks shooting arrows—the door barred. With bent head he shuffled towards it, swinging the hatchet instead of his sword. His shield kept out the arrows, and as the door came down the Turks fled uphill.

  At the next tower they waited for him, which seemed unusual. He knew that he must look very frightening, a head taller than most men, covered in steel, waving a bloody hatchet. Turks ought to run away when a knight of Apulia walked up to them.

  It was quieter than it had been. He looked round. Good Heavens, there wasn’t another pilgrim in sight. He was trying to capture Antioch single-handed. Was he the last Christian left alive?

  As he dodged back into the shelter of the tower behind him he understood. On his left, now a little behind him, one of the wealthiest towns in the world was being sacked; even the knights of Apulia, those warriors, could not resist such a temptation. All his men had faded away from the bloody and unrewarding battle on the ramparts to help pillage the great warehouses by the river.

  He could not go any farther by himself. But he had climbed well above the town, to within a quarter of a mile of the castle. He would not abandon any of the wall he had won. The doors of this tower were stove in, of course; but if he stood in an angle of the masonry he would be sheltered from arrows. Stand here, put the hatchet on this ledge, draw sword. A Turk could get in only by this door. Here he was, the brave man, scouting ahead of his comrades. Bohemond’s sword made a bloody mess of the infidel head. Don’t move the corpse. It lay just in the right place, a warning to other infidels that this tower was in Christian hands.

  Bohemond settled down to wait. The light was growing; in a few minutes the sun would rise. He heard steps behind him, and shrank against the wall. If the infidels should attack him from behind he would be in a tight place. But he had been in tight places before; you wore hot and uncomfortable mail so that you could get out of a tight place. He felt sure that he would not be killed on the wall of his own predestined fortress. He looked quickly behind him. An Apulian cross-bow shuffled gingerly along the rampart.

  “This is as far as we’ve got,” Bohemond called. “Don’t come any farther until I give the word. But if we want to keep Antioch we must win the whole wall. You’d better go down among the houses and fetch up some of my men. What’s it like down there?”

  “I can’t describe it, my lord, and you can’t imagine it. Pilgrims and native Christians are killing the last of the Turks. All those great houses, full of women and children, it’s nasty. There was wine. It’s mostly in the gutters now. Oxen too, though so far no one has found a pig. Gold and silver and silk and velvet, and wine and beef and bread. I had a good feed and filled my wallet with silver. It’s a funny thing, but I have never enjoyed rape, especially with a crowd looking on. So when I had all I could carry I came up again on the wall.”

  “Silly fools, that’s all the food in these parts. If they waste what they can’t eat they will be hungry the day after tomorrow. Besides, it’s mine by rights, and I never said they could take it. You are a good man to come back to the fight so soon. I shan’t forget you. Now take this ring to prove you speak in my name, and get as many knights and cross-bows up here as you can. For the last twelve hours we have been marching or fighting, but we must win that castle before sunset or see Antioch a permanent battlefield. Bring that ring back, by the way. It’s valuable.”

  Bohemond felt very sleepy and very thirsty; he was hungry also, but he had been hungry for so long that he had grown used to the sensation. He stood up to make sure he stayed awake, and waited for reinforcements.

  Presently a score of cross-bows and a dozen knights arrived, led by his banner-bearer. Most of them were drunk, and all were exhausted; but then the Turks must feel pretty frightened.
Bohemond waved his sword as he trotted along in front, and the others raised a wavering warcry.

  This upper wall ran over a rocky slope, far from any house. It was almost as steep as a stair, pointing to the castle on Mount Silpius. All the way along were towers, each within a short bowshot of the next; but that was chiefly because the mighty men of old, who fortified Antioch, had wished to complete the pattern of defence. There were no Turks in the towers, and no litter of occupation; throughout the siege they must have stood empty. But Turks withdrawing to the castle must have come this way. Bohemond followed slowly, giving time for his men to get their wind.

  He had a clear view over the barren slopes of the mountain. On the left he could see two or three steep tracks, dotted with wounded Turks who could climb no higher. Those who had escaped from the town unhurt would be already within the castle; the pilgrims, more specifically the pilgrims of Apulia, must hold that castle before they could say that the fortifications of Antioch were within their control. Ahead and to the right he could see a track winding down the southern slope of the mountain; on it were a few Turkish horsemen, though the going was really too steep for horses. He hoped they would get down safely, and thus encourage the rest of the garrison to escape into open country. There was no need to kill more Turks; what mattered was secure possession of the castle.

  They were nearly there. For a hundred yards or so the wall ran level through the ground did not. The ancients had carried the battlements over a narrow gulley, the headwaters of a torrent now dry which in winter must flow south. The gully was spanned by an arch; the wall ran above the arch, which was closed by a metal grille. There must also be a hidden postern, for he could see the beginning of the southward track. This was the last tower before the castle; he paused to inspect the obstacle ahead.

  It was a nasty place to carry in a single rush, without battery or scaling-ladders. But now was the time to try, while the infidels were shaken and disorganized. He saw a stout oak gate in a twenty-foot wall, peppered with arrow-slits. Somewhere there must be a bigger gate for horses, since there were stables in the castle; probably it was round a corner. Anyway, he could not look for it now. If he was to get another charge out of his weary followers he must not let them stop to tell him how tired they felt.

  His hatchet would make no impression on that door. He must scale the wall, and it would be better to plan his route before the arrows began to fly. If only he were feeling fresh he could jump and get a knee on that boss, catch that arrow-slit with his right hand, and then with another jump balance his belly on the parapet; one of his men would give a shove from behind and he would be standing on the gatehouse. Against an active foe it would be suicide; but probably the Turks would flinch from the wall, and cross-bows would cover him at the critical moment.

  The first jump would be the trouble. His shield had never felt so heavy, and he had been wearing mail for more than twelve hours. As he sheltered behind the tower he called to his bannerbearer. “Sir Robert, undo my leggings and tie the skirts of my mail round my waist. We must climb over that gateway before Antioch is truly ours. Come on, gentlemen. This is the last charge in this long siege.”

  The other knights stripped off their mail leggings, and tucked up the skirts of their mail shirts. They were true Normans of Apulia, who would follow their lord into any danger; but their lord must go first.

  The whole party dashed out together from the shelter of the tower. As always, Bohemond was the most conspicuous, taller by a head and obviously in command. He saw several Turkish arrows coming straight at his face, too many for him to dodge. He raised his shield high; and as they thudded into it another Turkish arrow transfixed his left thigh.

  Since his leg would no longer bear him he sat down with a bump. He felt no pain until a cross-bow seized him under the arms to pull him to shelter. As the arrow-head scraped along the stone rampart-walk he felt a great deal of pain. His knights protected him with their shields and no other arrow hit him. Safe within the tower he examined the damage.

  “The vein isn’t torn. No need yet for a priest. Sir Robert, you know what to do. Push the arrow-head through and then cut it off. Pull the shaft out backwards. There, it’s not bleeding too badly. I’m afraid we must leave the Turks their castle. We’ve done enough for today and all the other pilgrims will be drunk. Fly my banner from this tower and put a guard on it. The infidels won’t be feeling like a counter-attack but this wall is ours and we don’t want other pilgrims to steal it. Let’s see if I can stand. No, indeed. You must carry me on my shield. Don’t take me back to my pavilion. Antioch is ours and we may as well use it. Listen, take me to the house of the Turkish emir. Drive out anyone else who tries to lodge there. I won this town with my own sword and now it belongs to me. Ask Duke Godfrey. . . .”

  He fainted from pain and shock.

  It was nightfall when Bohemond came to his senses. He was lying on a comfortable bed in a cool room walled with white marble. Water tinkled nearby, and a servant stood beside him with a bowl of snow-cooled fruit. For a few moments he lay luxuriating, though his leg throbbed. This was his own house in his good town of Antioch. He had accomplished all he had wished for when he set out on this long pilgrimage.

  “Count Tancred wished to speak with you, my lord, as soon as you are awake,’’ said the servant. “Duke Godfrey also wishes to see you when you are recovered. Are you strong enough to talk?”

  “With Count Tancred, yes. He can tell me the news. Send a knight, not a servant, to ask the Duke to wait until tomorrow. I am strong enough to hear what happened, but not yet strong enough to make decisions.”

  Tancred hurried in. He was very clean, dressed in a brown silk gown with his hair and beard carefully combed. It was so long since Bohemond had seen his nephew unarmed that he must look twice to recognize him.

  “Ah, Uncle, you are awake. I’ve looked at that leg, and it won’t keep you in bed for long. Within three days you can stand on it, and after a week you will be riding. I suppose you want to know what is happening in Antioch? Some good news, some less good. I shall tell you the good news first, to encourage a sick man.”

  “Before you begin, what has happened to Pyrrhus? He is on my conscience. He is a renegade and a double traitor; but I owe him a debt and I like to pay my debts.”

  “He went off before midday, with his son and the box of gold you meant him to have. I offered him land also, because I knew that was what you intended. But he wasn’t having any. He wants to disappear, and I think he is sensible. He was glad to learn that his wife had been killed in the sack but sorry when I told him his brother was dead also. Apparently he wanted to save his brother, though he was too frightened to warn him beforehand. He will settle down under a new name in some part of Armenia where no one need know he has served the Turks. You will never see Pyrrhus again, or if you do see him don’t recognize him. It’s all for the best. You could never trust a man with that record, anyway.”

  “No more Pyrrhus. I’m glad to hear it. I don’t like traitors, though they should always be paid promptly. He was wise to disappear. Any pilgrim would guess he had money, and kill him for it. What’s the good news?”

  “An Armenian peasant outside, waiting to show you the head of the emir of Antioch. A goatherd who lives in a hovel on the southern slope of Mount Silpius. The emir panicked and tried to gallop down the track. His horse fell with him and he went into this cottage to recover. The goatherd recognized him and cut off his head with his own sword. The man won’t go away until you have seen the head, though I have already paid him his reward: the weight of the emir’s head in silver, because after all he murdered his own guest. If he had killed him under the open sky I would have given him gold instead of silver. He hasn’t done badly anyway. Someone bought the emir’s sword for sixty gold pieces. The point is that he wants to show the head to you, the mighty Bohemond. All the native Christians take it for granted that you alone captured Antioch, and that you command the whole army of the pilgrimage.”

  “I did c
apture it alone, or with only Pyrrhus to help me. The point is, do I hold it now? Is this the emir’s palace?”

  “Well, no, it isn’t. When you were wounded you didn’t know the situation in the lower town, so I took it upon myself to change your plans. Count Raymond is in the emir’s palace. His men hold part of the wall facing the river, and Duke Godfrey holds another stretch to the eastward. The Turks are still in the castle. I have collected all the Apulians, and persuaded some of Duke Robert’s Normans to come in with us. We lie right across the upper town, facing the castle. The Turks won’t stay there long. When they leave we can walk in, or at least no one else can walk in without your permission. We aren’t strong enough to hold everything, and since we must choose I thought it better to keep the castle and Mount Silpius, even if Raymond holds the Bridge Gate. Oh, and there’s one more thing. The Genoese in St. Simeon have sent an envoy. He wants a big defensible warehouse, under the Genoese banner, held by a Genoese garrison. I said you would be happy to grant it, provided the Genoese recognise you as lord of Antioch. It’s a sound deal that will benefit both parties. You can still go back on it—nothing has been sworn. But you ought to ratify it.”

  “You have done splendidly. Soon I shall have Antioch.” Bohemond slept.

  Chapter XV - Curbaram

  By the time Duke Godfrey called in the morning Bohemond was feeling much better. The thoughtful and efficient Tancred had found among the captives a skilled bath-attendant; his massage had started Bohemond’s wound bleeding again, but the leg was no longer stiff. Within a week he would be able to sit a horse. He was clean, he wore a cool silk gown, there was a good meal of beef and wine inside him. He wanted to rest for one more day on this comfortable bed, but he was quite ready to discuss high politics.