by Peter Darman
‘That’s true,’ agreed Marc.
Corberan pointed at Luca and Jordi.
‘If they do, we will send these two to hunt them down and kill them. Princess Maria asked me to convey her eternal gratitude and love to both of you, by the way.’
The Almogavars banged their fists on the table, Sancho shaking his head in despair. The door opened and Grand Duke Roger swept in, sitting himself at the table opposite Sancho.
‘We march in two days,’ he told them. ‘I have just come from Count Michael’s mansion. I left him unhappy.’
Jordi placed a cup before Roger and Luca filled it with wine. The grand duke smiled at them.
‘Unhappy, why?’ asked Sancho.
‘I told him his foot soldiers must remain here. They would only slow us down, and in the forthcoming campaign speed will be our greatest ally.’
‘Not the Alans?’ asked Angel sarcastically.
Roger ignored him. ‘Our aim will be to relieve the besieged cities of Philadelphia and Magnesia and the town of Tire, which all lie a hundred miles south of Artake and deep in hostile territory.’
‘How do we know they did not fall to the enemy during the winter?’ asked Sancho.
‘We don’t,’ conceded Roger. ‘But from what Count Michael has told me, I believe they are still under imperial control.’
‘What did he tell you?’ said Hector.
Roger took a swig of wine. ‘That they all have strong walls, the Muslims have no siege engines, and no army could have maintained a siege during the winter just passed.’
Marc was troubled. ‘Once we have relieved those places, and destroyed whatever the enemy places in our path, what happens then? Does the emperor expect us to garrison them as well?’
‘We are mercenaries, not night watchmen,’ growled Hector.
‘Count Michael will decide what happens after we have concluded our mission,’ said Roger. ‘But whatever he decides, we will be undertaking no further service for the emperor after the campaign until we are paid.’
He looked at Corberan.
‘The fact you returned from Constantinople with no gold from the sale of the slaves we took last year, indicates to me that the money has been retained by the eunuch treasurer, on the orders of the emperor, since no man who has lost his balls would have the courage to treat the Catalan Company so basely on his own volition.’
‘Perhaps we should march on Constantinople,’ suggested Hector.
‘No,’ said Roger firmly. ‘We have entered into a contract with the emperor and will honour it. The time for settling grievances will be after the campaign has been concluded. Besides, we are leaving our women and children in the care of Count Michael’s soldiers here in Artake. We must not take any action that places them in danger.’
Roger’s ability to weigh up arguments and see all sides of a problem was why he was the leader of the Catalans, that and his skill at diplomacy, a profession the Almogavars had to time for.
‘We still need to eat,’ said Sancho.
Roger nodded. ‘We will live off the land during the campaign. We will, after all, be moving through enemy territory. The emperor will have no objection to us taking food from the mouths of Muslims.’
Luca said goodbye to Ayna outside Sancho’s house, the Almogavar commander embracing his wife and Jordi standing in full war gear beside him, having already bid his mother farewell. He held his beloved tenderly, staring into her brown eyes.
‘When I return, we are to be married,’ he told her.
‘Make sure you do return,’ she said softly, her eyes moist with tears.
Her Italian had come on leaps and bounds, though he could not speak a word of her language, much to his regret. Then again, the fact she was mastering his language meant he had no need to master hers.
‘You never told me about your family,’ he said.
‘You did not ask.’
‘Time to go, soldier,’ barked Sancho.
Luca kissed her on the lips one last time, embraced Carla and followed Sancho and Jordi to the great muster at the wall.
Nearly seven thousand soldiers gathered at the site of the battle the previous year, only two hundred of whom – all horsemen – were imperial soldiers. Superbly attired in mail and lamellar armour and helmets, they made the Catalan horseman look poor and inadequate. But all of Corberan’s horsemen were kitted out in mail hauberks and helmets and were equipped with lances and swords. Only a tiny proportion of his riders were knights, but all were veterans of the war in Sicily where they had enjoyed an unbroken run of victories. In contrast, the count’s horsemen had tasted nothing but defeat at the hands of the Muslims.
Count Michael’s standard was a huge yellow banner emblazoned with a red double-headed eagle – the symbol of the Palaiologos dynasty, to which Emperor Andronicus belonged – selected because it proclaimed the dynasty bestrode both Europe and Asia, even though most of the emperor’s Asian territories had been lost to Islam. Among his horsemen there were also a number of banners showing a red cross on a white background and a yellow cross on a red background. Among the Catalan horsemen were a profusion of banners showing red horizontal stripes on a golden background – the sacred Senyera.
*****
The Christian murals and frescoes had all been painted over now, though the intricate mosaics on the floor of the palace had been retained, much to the disgust of Izzeddin Arslan. Many had thought the Sufi zealot had perished during the harsh winter, the holy man having left Bergama after marching what was left of his army back to the bey’s capital in the aftermath of the crushing defeat at the wall of Artake. The remnants of his army had been housed in the city, which saved them from certain death when the great freeze began. Karesi Bey was still determined to keep the ghazis at arm’s length, not least because they were impossible to control. But the holy man’s élite guard were a different proposition. Well-armed, equipped and subject to rigorous discipline, they would be a valuable addition to his army. Or at least would have been had not Izzeddin Arslan returned from the dead. Not only that, but with reinforcements – more ghazi warriors.
A gentle wind ruffled the white silk drapes at the entrance to the suite to the rear of the throne room. Karesi Bey and Mahmud of Caesarea stretched out on plush couches as Izzeddin Arslan paced the terrace. Below was the lush valley extending east towards the town of Soma, and west towards the glittering Aegean Sea, the hills on either side filled with olive orchards and vineyards, which had suffered so cruelly during the winter. Bergama was usually blessed with mild winters and warm summers, which made olive and grape growing so easy, and lucrative.
‘We thought you had perished in the severe cold,’ said Karesi, extending an arm to a third couch to indicate the holy man should take the weight off his dirty feet.
‘I was praying,’ sniffed Izzeddin, raising an eyebrow when slaves appeared with golden goblets and jugs of wine. Others brought water and fruit juice for the holy man, Izzeddin selecting the former.
He frowned when Karesi and Mahmud were served wine and toasted each other. The Prophet himself declared alcohol to be haraam – unlawful – though many wealthy, powerful Muslims did imbibe to show their moneyed, cultured status. They also believed that their consumption of alcohol was a decision reached between themselves and Allah, and was nothing to do with low-born holy men.
Izzeddin smiled. ‘During my time of prayer, it was revealed to me why the faithful failed at the broken wall.’
‘Poor tactics and even poorer soldiers?’ offered Mahmud offishly.
Izzeddin glared at him. ‘The kafir Count Opsikion and his infidel allies will succumb to the true faith, of that I have no doubt. But the great loss of life at the wall, added to the cleansing of this city when it fell to my ghazis, was all part of Allah’s great scheme.’
‘Which was?’ enquired Karesi.
‘To ensure your rule continued uninterrupted, lord emir. For did not you have enough room in this city to accommodate all your soldiers and my ghazis, and have foo
d to feed them during the great trial?’
‘We still had to purchase grain,’ the emir reminded him.
‘But Allah provided you with a gold mine to make such purchases painless, lord,’ retorted Izzeddin, referring to the gold mine in the hills near to the city.
There was also a copper mine on the other side of the valley, both being closely guarded and worked by a small army of slaves. The mined gold allowed Karesi to maintain a large, formidable army, which included Mahmud’s Christian horsemen, as well as a small fleet of merchant ships operating out of the port of Dikili immediately to the west.
‘Please seat yourself,’ Karesi implored the holy man, ‘you are making me nervous with your pacing.’
He clapped his hands as Izzeddin did so, perching himself on the edge of the couch like a bird on a rock ledge. More slaves arrived with trays heaped with figs, basbousa sweet cake, crunchy and creamy kanafeh dessert, sweet baklava pastry, and a delightful Egyptian pastry called feteer made up of many thin layers of dough and ghee with sweet fillings. They were delicacies fit for kings and princes, which is what Karesi and Mahmud were. But while they consumed the fare with gusto, Izzeddin waved away the slaves, his weathered brow creasing with disapproval at the decadence on show. Karesi swallowed his pastry.
‘My agents in Alexandria inform me that the Count of Opsikion also purchased grain, which was shipped to Artake in vessels belonging to a mercenary called Roger de Flor, who leads a band named the Catalan Company. It was he and they who defeated your ghazis last year.’
‘Another kafir?’ scoffed Izzeddin. ‘He will fail just like all the Emperor of Constantinople’s generals.’
‘I have heard this Catalan Company is formidable,’ said Mahmud. ‘We should not underestimate it.’
‘Nor will we,’ promised Karesi. ‘To which end, I have decided to avoid any battle with this Roger de Flor and his mercenaries until we have the measure of them.’
Izzeddin sprang from the couch. ‘God is on our side, lord, and with such an ally we cannot fail.’
‘God is on our side,’ agreed Karesi, ‘but He would want us to be both cautious and pragmatic to ensure our great task comes to fruition.’
He rose from the couch and walked to the balcony’s marble balustrade and rested his hands on the cool stone. Below was the sprawling city of Bergama nestled in the fertile valley between the Bakircay and Kestel rivers.
‘Our rivals to the north and south are preoccupied with their own difficulties. Osman Bey in the north faces the main Christian army. To the south, our rivals are fully engaged in the sieges of the city of Philadelphia and the town of Tire.
‘Only we are free from distractions, which allows us to focus on our immediate priorities.’
‘Which are, lord?’ asked Mahmud, still devouring the tasty pastries.
‘To profit from our enemies and rivals fighting each other, and hopefully weakening each other fatally so we may profit from their subsequent frailties.’
‘You have forgotten one thing, lord,’ said Izzeddin. ‘To get to grips with your rivals, the enemy will have to pass through your territory. Surely you will not allow infidels to pollute the soil of your emirate?’
‘Have you considered, Izzeddin, that it is Allah’s will that they should do so?’ asked Karesi.
‘He has you there,’ joked Mahmud.
The holy man turned his piercing eyes on the dashing commander of the emir’s horsemen, barely being able to contain his wrath.
‘Your kafir horsemen insult Allah,’ he shouted, veins bulging in his neck. ‘They should be banished at least, though execution would be preferable.’
‘Enough!’ commanded Karesi. ‘It is for me to decide our strategy, and I will hear no talk of atrocities against our Christian allies.’
Izzeddin’s eyes appeared to be on the verge of bulging from their sockets, but the emir matched his stare with an iron glower.
‘For hundreds of years, this was a Christian land, and I have no intention of turning it into a wasteland for the sake of religious fanaticism. I have assured the Christians still resident in my emirate that their property and religious rights will be respected. I have also assured Mahmud’s armoured horsemen that they are a valued and integral part of the army, which they are.’
Mahmud looked very smug as he waited for another outburst from the Sufi zealot. But instead the holy man bowed his head to the emir.
‘As ever, lord, your wisdom calms the waters of conflict, which is why Allah chose you for the great task in hand. And now, if you will forgive me, I have religious matters to attend to.’
He walked from the terrace, stopping when the emir spoke to him.
‘I meant what I said about respecting the Christians, Izzeddin. Any atrocities committed by the ghazis in my lands will be severely punished.’
The holy man turned, smiled and bowed once more.
‘It shall be as you command, lord.’
Mahmud sighed and took a large gulp of wine.
‘His followers are a liability, lord, a dangerous rabble who are under the control of a madman.’
‘You should not goad him, Mahmud,’ said Karesi, not disagreeing that Izzeddin was unhinged. ‘Besides, were it not for him and his followers, we would not be sitting in this great city.’
‘I remember that day, lord, and not with affection. It was shameful the way the ghazis acted against the civilian population and contrary to what I was brought up to believe about the teaching of Islam.’
Karesi nodded solemnly. ‘You are not wrong in what you say. But we are where we are and must use our privileged position to ensure the like does not happen again.’
Mahmud grinned. ‘You will really allow the Christian army to march through your territory unmolested?’
Karesi nibbled on a pastry. ‘I will. Why should I do the work of other emirs who have shown no inclination to support me? Time is on our side, Mahmud. If the Christian emperor has been reduced to hiring mercenaries to save his throne rather than trusting his own army, then truly his power is on the wane.’
‘This Catalan Company is very good, lord,’ reported Mahmud. ‘My commander of horse archers informed me they cut the ghazis to pieces at Artake.’
Karesi pondered his subordinate’s words.
‘I wonder how they will fare against real soldiers?’
Chapter 11
The Catalan Company and Count Michael’s horsemen left Artake on a warm May morning. The bishop and his priests had come from the city with crosses and icons to bless the soldiers and fortify their spirits, though Luca found their incessant chanting annoying, swinging incense burners hilarious and the bishop’s rich attire ridiculous. He knew he was an Orthodox bishop, which he had been told was radically different from an equivalent position in the Catholic Church, but he had little interest in religious doctrine and, after his experience at Rometta, even less in the witterings of priests. He was torn between wanting to stay with Ayna and thirsting for more battle against the enemy.
He felt like a mule, with his javelin quiver on his back, the shafts protruding over his right shoulder for ease of plucking. His shield, or buckler to be more accurate, was strapped over his left shoulder. Used to parry or block blows, it was light enough and the metal boss could be used as a weapon in its own right. At his left hip was his short sword, while on his right side was a large textile bag carried by a strap going over his left shoulder, which contained small pies, bread and biscuits. He also carried a water bottle and his Damascus dagger attached to his belt.
The Almogavars had no baggage train to slow them down, and Corberan’s horsemen used mules to transport their tents, spare weapons and other supplies. Luca and the thousands of other Almogavars would sleep out in the open, the winter now long passed and the nights pleasant enough. Besides, there would be plenty of firewood to be had because western Anatolia was covered in pine, juniper, oak and fig trees, as well as large expanses of vineyards around towns and cities. Anatolia had a central massif, from which flowe
d an abundance of water to fill streams and rivers to quench the thirsts of men and beasts alike.
The Catalan Company set a cruel pace, initially striking east rather than south, following the Roman road that had been laid two hundred years before the birth of Christ. The Imperial Highways Department had long ceased to exist as the power of subsequent emperors of Constantinople had waned, but the roads that had been constructed throughout Anatolia were still extant. Their main objective had been to link cities often hundreds of miles apart to facilitate trade, but they were also excellent for the rapid movement of armies. The road network had been a huge engineering undertaking that was beyond the resources of the current Roman emperor, or indeed the Muslim settlers who were now threatening to conquer what was left of his Asian territories.
As Luca fast-paced over the large polygonal stone slabs, he would not have realised the immense effort required to construct the road that was as straight as an arrow. The curb stones had been laid first, after which a ditch between them – a fossa – was dug, which became the width of the road. This depression was filled with a large amount of rubble, earth and stone, which was covered with gravel and tampered down, a process the Romans called pavimentare. Then came a layer of flat stones set in cement, on top of which was laid a layer of coarse concrete. Finally, the road was topped by polygonal paving stones, the gaps between them filled with concrete to give a smooth, even surface. As the miles passed by, Luca might have noticed the road was slightly cambered for drainage purposes. Resistant to floods and frosts and requiring little maintenance, the road network was still one of the jewels in the Anatolian landscape.
The Alans were a law unto themselves, leaving the main column to ride far and wide, ostensibly to scout but in reality to plunder farms and villages. They found little to fill their saddlebags as many had perished during the winter or had taken themselves off to the towns and cities to beg for relief. Farmlands were abandoned, vineyards and orchards were overgrown and barren, and the land had an empty feel about it, notwithstanding its lush greenery.