by Peter Darman
He may have had two hundred horsemen but the majority marched on foot with the Almogavars, Bernat having no money to purchase enough horses. He made sure he himself was mounted, on a magnificent black stallion, and his standard bearer behind him was also riding a horse. That standard showed the arms of his native Catalonia: four red vertical bands on a gold background, the same device worn on his surcoat.
The son of Ricardo de Rocafort, the infant was born some ten months after his father’s death in battle, leading to rumours that Bernat was in fact a bastard sired by a French knight who was the lover of Lady Rocafort. So strong were the rumours that both his mother and his relatives were eager for him to depart Catalonia, to save his own and his family’s honour. It was fortunate that the War of the Sicilian Vespers was raging, in which ‘The Bastard’ proved himself an accomplished knight, rising to command the Catalan’s Company horsemen and earning the respect of his peers for his battlefield prowess. But the rumours of his parentage followed him to Sicily, resulting in him becoming extremely defensive when it came to any slights, both real and imaginary, against his honour.
‘It would appear our world is getting smaller and smaller,’ reflected Roger, he and the other commanders sat round the table in his plush Turkish tent, which had crimson carpets on the floor.
Luca was again a servant, pouring wine into cups along with Jordi.
‘We are destitute,’ stated Sancho bluntly.
Bernat was amazed. ‘I thought the Roman emperor had promised to pay the company for the duration of the campaign.’
‘The emperor is proving tardy when it comes to paying those hired to serve him,’ complained Roger. ‘We would have been forced to plunder the land to survive had it not been for this well-stocked camp we captured.’
‘We left what monies we had with our dependents in Artake,’ Sancho told Bernat, ‘to ensure they would be safe until we returned.’
‘But when we return,’ said Roger, ‘both we and they will be in a perilous position. We are owed half a year’s wages and I do not believe we will get them.’
Bernat looked at Roger, who was related to the imperial family. But the downcast look on his face spoke volumes.
‘Then what is to be done?’ asked Bernat.
Bernat looked at Luca and pointed to his cup, the former shepherd coming forward to refill it. The Catalan noble noticed the beautiful dagger attached to Luca’s belt and pointed at it.
‘A fine dagger. How is it a poor Almogavar has such a valuable weapon? May I take a peek at your blade, Almogavar?’
Luca put down the wine jug and drew the dagger from its ornate sheath, holding out the handle to Bernat. The noble was impressed.
‘A Damascus blade, no less. I think you are deceiving us, Sancho, by letting us believe that you and the Almogavars are paupers.’
Sancho chuckled. ‘This is Luca Baldi, nicknamed the Black Sheep on account of an unfortunate incident in Sicily. He and my son rescued Princess Maria in Constantinople and were richly rewarded by the emperor.’
Bernat handed the dagger back to Luca and looked at Jordi, noticing a similar weapon attached to his belt.
‘Perhaps we should send them back to Constantinople to beg the emperor for more money,’ suggested Bernat, ‘seeing as they are so high in his favour.’
Sancho glanced at Luca and Jordi before smiling.
‘It is good to have you back, Bernat. You have given me an idea.’
Chapter 16
Two groups of mercenaries left the liberated city of Philadelphia, their aim to alleviate the dire state of the Catalan Company’s finances. Immediately prior to their departure, Melek’s request was approved, if for the only reason that Bernat was intrigued by the idea of horse archers fighting alongside his own horsemen, who used lances in the charge and swords in the mêlée. After fighting fellow Catholics for years in Sicily, he had no qualms about fighting alongside Muslims, as long as their prayer times did not interrupt his battle plans. Melek and his three hundred volunteers were separated from the other slaves, along with those who had been ‘adopted’ by the Almogavars, such as Ertan due to his culinary skills. The rest were herded west on Sancho’s orders and with Grand Duke Roger’s blessing, beginning their journey on a bright August day, a contingent of Bernat’s horsemen providing an escort. Herding tethered slaves was far beneath his dignity, but he was prepared to temporarily ‘debase’ himself for the sake of the company.
The second group was spearheaded by Romanus who once again led the Almogavars through the hills, the second journey being less fraught than the first, being carried out in daylight. The Almogavars, now numbering nearly five thousand men, were in high spirits. They had won a string of victories for little loss, excepting Corberan, and they were no longer half-starving, having feasted on Turkish hospitality. What’s more, soon they would be travelling back to Artake to be reunited with their families. Luca wore a permanent smile as he anticipated wrapping himself around the lithe body of Ayna once more.
The march was more like an afternoon stroll, men chatting to each other in a nonchalant fashion with spears rested on their shoulders, though scouts on the flanks and in the vanguard kept a watchful eye on the hills and rocky outcrops the Almogavars were tramping through. The pace was deliberately slow because the slaves being marshalled by Bernat de Rocafort would take at least two days to reach the city of Magnesia.
The summer nights were cooler in the hills, a brisk wind making men wrap cloaks around themselves, especially as Sancho had forbidden the lighting of any campfires. But the Almogavars had plenty of freshly baked bread and cheese to feast on, along with apples and apricots plucked that very morning.
Luca paced up and down on guard duty, stopping at regular intervals to stare at the black ridges that were the hills framed against the slightly lighter night sky, the moon once again obliging the Almogavars in their mission. He did not know what that mission was but did not care. He loved being a member of the Catalan Company and found it difficult to believe he was once a poor shepherd in far-off Sicily. And yet, an Almogavar was not so far removed from those armed only with crooks who guarded and watched over flocks of sheep the world over. They lived an austere life, covered great distances on their feet and subsisted on a simple diet. Sometimes no diet at all! His zamarra, his sheepskin coat, was an item of clothing worn by Spanish shepherds, as was his footwear. He gripped his eight-foot spear and smiled. But these shepherds were lethal and fought not wild dogs and wolves, but noble knights on horseback and heavily armed foot soldiers. He was now a wolf and the enemy were his prey.
The next day the march continued, Romanus leading the Almogavars into the trees that covered the hills behind the glittering white walls of Magnesia. Then they halted to await the arrival of Bernat and his mob of slaves.
‘What did you notice about the ruler of Magnesia?’ Sancho asked him as they both peered out from the trees to study the valley below.
The sun was again shining to give an uninterrupted view of the area around Magnesia, a patchwork of fields, orchards and vineyards filling the lush valley.
‘He has an unnatural interest in young men,’ said Luca.
Sancho laughed. ‘Yes, he does, but I was thinking more of the clothes he was wearing when he granted me an audience.’
‘They looked expensive,’ offered Luca, being no expert on the apparel of lords and ladies.
‘They did indeed, because they were expensive. Two things struck me about our friend Arcadius Drogon, Luca. When you have been a soldier for as long as I have, you can sense when there is fear in the air. The first thing I noticed about the governor and his court was the carefree atmosphere around him. He did not have a care in the world, which is odd seeing as his city is supposed to be ringed by enemies.’
‘We defeated those enemies,’ said Luca with pride.
Sancho nodded. ‘We did, but he did not know that, and frankly, given his attitude, he did not care one way or another. This suggests to me he has come to some sort of agree
ment with the emirs who rule the lands around him.’
‘The emperor will have his head for such treachery,’ said Luca.
‘The emperor? A man who can barely control the city he lives in? Who has to hire mercenaries to save what’s left of his empire in Anatolia? No, Luca, the emperor is a broken reed who has no real power. He and his eunuch treasurer have not paid the company, which is why we are here, and which brings me to my second point.’
‘I do not understand lord.’
Sancho tipped his head at the city nestled at the foot of the mountain.
‘Counts Ioannes and Michael are honest men, in as much as nobles can be truthful. They are also worried men. Worried about the long-term prospects of their themes, and worried what is left of the cities they still rule will be captured and sacked by the Turks. They have no money, but Magnesia has money, which is why we are here.’
Luca was totally confused.
‘The emperor and his servants think the Almogavars are coarse, illiterate peasants. Mostly, they are right, Luca. But some of us use our eyes and ears. For example, did you know that a hundred years ago Latin crusaders captured Constantinople?’
‘Latins, lord?’
‘Catholics who were journeying to the Holy Land but decided Constantinople would be easier to take than Jerusalem,’ said Sancho. ‘Anyway, the Romans who were not slaughtered in Constantinople fled the city and established two new empires. One, the Despotate of Epiros, we have already encountered. The second was called the Empire of Nicaea. And do you know where the imperial treasury of Nicaea was based?’
‘No, lord.’
Sancho pointed at the city. ‘Magnesia. Now, some forty years ago the Latins were ejected from Constantinople and the Romans moved back in. But they obviously left a lot of gold behind in Magnesia in their rush to reclaim their city. Gold that I believe Arcadius Drogon is using to bribe the emirs to leave his city alone. And gold that he won’t mind sharing with the Catalan Company.’
‘He might object to parting with any of his wealth, lord.’
Sancho chuckled. ‘I’m sure he will. But five thousand Almogavars will beg to differ.’
Sancho slapped him on the shoulder.
‘You have done well, Luca, notwithstanding your inauspicious beginning. You must be looking forward to seeing the Muslim woman you purchased.’
‘Ayna. Yes, lord.’
‘Carla told me that she is no longer a slave.’
‘No, lord.’
‘What is she, then?’
Luca pondered the question. He was unsure of the answer. He loved Ayna but he had given her status no thought.
‘Probably best if you marry her. Father Ramon has been bending my ear about the inadvisability of the Almogavars keeping Muslim whores.’
Luca felt anger flow throw his body.
‘Ayna is not a whore, and I will have words with any who say she is, even priests.’
‘Easy, Black Sheep, save your fury for the enemy, whether they follow God or Allah.’
Bernat and around two hundred of his horsemen arrived just after midday, herding the slaves towards the city’s eastern entrance. Bernat himself and half a dozen of his horsemen rode into Magnesia, the huge red and gold banner fluttering behind them. Watching from the trees above the city, Sancho gave the order for the Almogavars to prepare to move. There was open ground between the city and the forest of pine and aspen on the hill behind Magnesia, perhaps half a mile in length. Sentries manning the walls would spot the Almogavars emerging from the treeline and would be able to alert those manning the gates to close all entrances to the city. But only if those entrances were clear of obstructions.
The slaves shuffled towards the eastern gates, horsemen from the city riding out to meet with those escorting the Catalan Company’s great gift to Arcadius Drogon. Once he had sifted out those young, attractive males from among the captives, the rest would either be sold to rich households in the city, or sold to the city of Izmir, where no doubt they would be freed and enlisted in the army of Mehmed Bey.
Arcadius Drogon was an attractive, powerful man, but he was also vain. And so, when an over-dressed officer of his palace guard informed him that a Spanish knight was at the eastern gates with a great gift from the Catalan Company, and that gift was hundreds of slaves, he could not resist the temptation to see the sight for himself. It was only fitting that the Catalan Company should recompense him for the inconvenience of dealing with its Almogavars, a rude, brutish group of commoners who sullied his beautiful palace with their presence. But how gratifying it was to now see his social inferiors grovel at his feet.
The governor, riding a white horse to match his brilliant white gold-edged coat, white leggings and white cloak, road out of the city to view the large group of slaves, behind him his immaculately attired and equipped bodyguard. Bernat rode out with him, the Catalan horsemen slowly leaving their positions as guards of the slaves to circle the governor and his entourage. And all the while, Bernat de Rocafort flattered and humoured Arcadius Drogon.
‘Now!’ shouted Sancho, bounding from the trees and down the grassy, rock-littered slope.
Luca and Jordi followed closely on his heels, and either side of them hundreds of Almogavars flooded from the forest. The sentries on the walls would have spotted them at once and even though the Almogavars could cover the half mile in around five minutes, the gates would have been slammed shut before then. But not with the governor outside the walls, a governor who was swiftly apprehended and his bodyguard disarmed. More of Bernat’s riders galloped into the city to secure the gatehouse, cutting down anyone who got in their way.
Sancho was remarkably agile for a man in his forties, bounding down the hill, spear and shield in hand. Arrows came flying through the air from the battlements, but the Almogavar leader swerved right to lead his men away from the walls, increasing his pace without losing his footing and tumbling down the hillside. Luca, Jordi and those following moved silently, thousands of feet pounding the earth producing a sound resembling a herd of stampeding cattle.
The slaves, now unguarded, instinctively began to move away from the horde of Almogavars flooding down the hillside into the valley and towards the open gates.
All the gates into the city were reached by way of wooden drawbridges over a moat fed by the nearby river, the gates themselves being flanked by towers and bastions.
Sancho led the charge on to the drawbridge, arrows shot from the towers and walls thudding into the planks. Almogavar crossbowmen flanked the drawbridge and began shooting up at the walls to keep the enemy archers’ heads down. Luca, his shield held above his head, followed Sancho under the gatehouse and into the city. Some of Bernat’s horsemen had dismounted and were guarding the entrance, though keeping out of sight of archers on the walls inside the city.
Five divisions of Almogavars swept into the city, the one leading under Sancho heading for the palace in the centre of the city. Hector’s division would secure the eastern gates when it had traversed the drawbridge, the other three would follow Sancho’s formation into the city to seize the palace.
Alarm bells were being sounded throughout Magnesia and citizens were scattering like rats when they spotted the Almogavars, leaving their shops, market stalls and conversations as they sought sanctuary in the many churches in the city. The mercenaries fast-paced along well-maintained paved streets towards the centre of Magnesia, Sancho remembering the route he had taken when he had recently visited the city.
Luca also remembered the white stone buildings, fountains and colonnades and hoped there would be no violence that would spill blood on the neat and tidy streets of Magnesia. The Almogavars slowed as they neared the palace, which was surrounded by ornate marble churches with statues of Christ and the saints before them. Centuries before they had been pagan temples dedicated to Zeus, Artemis and Athena, but after being destroyed by an earthquake and rebuilt by the Romans, they had been re-dedicated to the Christian god.
The walls of the palace were high,
thick and slightly sloped, made up of well-dressed stone blocks, at the top of which were battlements where archers and spearmen waited for the Almogavar attack. Small round towers giving archers a bird’s eye view of the area around the palace were evenly spaced along the extent of the walls, though Sancho had no intention of giving those archers an easy kill.
‘What now, father?’ asked Jordi.
‘Now we wait for Bernat to bring the governor here.’
Keeping out of range of the archers, the Almogavars rapidly surrounded the palace in a show of force intended to intimidate the defenders. The Catalans had no way of crossing the water-filled moat surrounding the palace, much less scaling the walls in the face of arrows, spears and rocks hurled at them from the defenders. Not that Sancho intended to assault the palace.
Angel and Marc reported to their commander.
‘All the entrances into the palace are secure, as are the surrounding streets,’ said Marc.
The sound of hymns being sung reached their ears and everyone turned to stare at the nearest church, a great rectangular structure with a red-tiled roof surrounded by thick columns.
‘Place guards on all the churches near the palace,’ Sancho instructed Angel. ‘Make sure no one leaves, but do not interfere with the congregations.’
Angel and Marc departed for their commands, the mournful sound of the hymns adding to the ominous atmosphere that was building. Almogavars stood in their ranks in silence, staring at the palace walls, the garrison staring back at them. Luca felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck. He suddenly realised it was very warm in the city, the sun roasting the buildings of Magnesia and anyone still roaming its streets. The tension was palpable.