by Peter Darman
Romanus had elected to stay with the Almogavars, and so Luca and Jordi began teaching him the rudiments of using a spear and throwing a javelin. He was an eager recruit, albeit one handicapped by the language barrier. Nevertheless, each day he learned a little Italian and Catalan as he practised with the weapons of the Almogavars.
Count Michael sent his scouts out every day to reconnoitre the route, preferring to ride with Grand Duke Roger and Bernat de Rocafort rather than mix with the Almogavars. Not that it bothered Sancho and his captains. They and their men had full bellies, coin in their pouches and had acquired both servants, horses and tents courtesy of the enemy. The servants, individuals such as Ertan, had in reality swapped one set of masters for another, though the Almogavars were fairly lenient owners, having few material possessions or desire to achieve high social status. They insisted on keeping to their low-born status as shepherds and forest dwellers, believing an adherence to a simple creed made them more effective, more ruthless soldiers.
Luca and Jordi had purchased Ertan and were determined to free him, just as Luca had done with Ayna. But Sancho pointed out that if they did then the Turk would be free to leave camp and go where he wanted, meaning they would no longer have anyone to cook the delicious meals they had been feasting on. They therefore agreed between them to free Ertan when they reached Artake. Despite the Almogavars maintaining a leisurely pace, Ertan soon found walking too taxing, and so the overweight cook was allowed to ride the packhorse carrying his cooking utensils and spices. He had begun to learn the language of the Catalans, as indeed had Luca, though conversation between the two was reduced to one-word sentences and much pointing and gestures. It was with the help of Melek and his gift for languages that the story of Ertan could be told.
He was in fact not a Turk but a Syrian, being a renowned cook in the house of a wealthy citizen in the city of Aleppo. But Ertan was a notorious gambler as well as a skilled cook, and when his wages had all been wasted on bets, he stole from his master. Under Islamic Sharia law, the punishment for theft was to lose a hand, but his master, charitable individual that he was, decided the world should not lose a talented cook, and so had Ertan reduced to a slave and sold him to a Turkish lord who was visiting the city and who had been staying in his mansion. Ertan had begged to be allowed to stay in the house of his master, to no avail. For once trust has been abused, it can never be regained.
‘Ertan’s master was killed when the brave Almogavars stormed the camp of those besieging Philadelphia,’ reported Melek, walking on foot beside Luca and leading his horse by the reins.
‘He liked his master?’ asked Luca.
Melek spoke a few words to Ertan on the packhorse, who promptly spat on the ground and spat out a stream of invective.
Melek shook his head. ‘His master was a cruel man who beat him often.’
‘Then why was he crying like a baby when we cremated his master’s body?’ asked Jordi.
‘It is a great sin in Islam to cremate the dead,’ Melek answered for the cook. ‘When a Muslim dies, his body should be washed, wrapped in a white cloth and prayers said over it before it is interred. What you did outside Philadelphia was a great desecration.’
Sancho ahead of Luca and Jordi turned his head to speak to Melek.
‘We had neither the time nor the inclination to dig a mass grave and seeing as there was a forest of stakes available, it made sense to light a great pyre.’
‘I hope Allah will forgive you, lord,’ said Melek, ‘and all the Almogavars.’
‘Will he forgive you for fighting beside infidels, Melek?’ asked Sancho.
Melek flashed a smile. ‘There is no god but Allah, but he is generous and forgiving, lord. Besides, are we not leaving Anatolia now you have fulfilled your contract with the Roman emperor? Allah will be delighted if I am in foreign lands killing Christians. You yourself have killed Christians, lord?’
‘I have lost count of the number,’ said Sancho.
‘And your god will forgive you for doing so?’
‘I am like every soldier,’ replied Sancho, smiling. ‘I have God on my side.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a group of riders galloping past them, all wearing mail armour, helmets and lances, a great red banner emblazoned with a yellow cross billowing in their midst. They ignored the Almogavars to gallop to where Grand Duke Roger was riding with Count Michael, their respective banners fluttering behind them. Sancho thought nothing of it, presuming it was a letter written by Count Ioannes addressed to the emperor complaining of the behaviour of the Catalan Company. Grand Duke Roger, who was after all now related to the imperial family, could deal with all matters pertaining to diplomacy and politics.
But a few minutes later, Bernat was beside Sancho requesting the Almogavar leader attend Roger and Count Michael.
‘Tell them to come here,’ snapped Sancho. ‘They have horses; I do not. What is so urgent, anyway?’
‘A huge Muslim army is gathering to the south of Philadelphia,’ said Bernat, glancing at Melek. ‘Count Komnenos requests we turn around and join him in the defence of his city.’
Luca nodded at Jordi and jabbed him in the stomach. His friend grinned. They were both thinking of new victories and more glory. Sancho poured cold water on their dreams.
‘We have fulfilled our contractual obligations, Bernat, and now we are going home.’
‘We have no home,’ said Bernat pathetically. ‘We are wanderers in this land and our dependents live in Artake at the behest of Count Michael. Roger has told me about your plans to stay in Anatolia…’
‘That has yet to be put to the men,’ interrupted Sancho. ‘And is a topic for another day.’
Sancho turned to Jordi and Luca.
‘Make use of your legs and inform the captains I request their presence.’
Grand Duke Roger commanded the Catalan Company but he knew that without the Almogavars he ruled over only Bernat and his horsemen. He also knew that the Almogavars would not take any action without the consent of their elected council. Count Michael had never heard of such a thing, but then he had never seen a group of poor shepherds from northern Spain destroy the empire’s foes so quickly.
The Almogavars halted and made camp, Luca and Jordi joining other details in digging a ditch around the tents being erected in the valley through which ran a fast-flowing stream filled with ice-cold water. Other groups were sent into the trees on the hillsides to collect firewood, and soon the smell of wood smoke was drifting through the early evening air. Horsemen were removing saddles from their mounts, rubbing down the beasts and checking for lameness and nails missing from shoes. Crossbowmen were posted around the ditch along with spearmen, for as well as game the trees could easily hide an enemy raiding party.
As they had begun the campaign with no tents, the Catalan Company had requisitioned large numbers of captured Turkish tents, which were infinitely more comfortable and practical than the meagre structures they had lived in during the Sicilian campaign. Even the reserved, austere Sancho Rey had to admit that his own rigid, domed wooden frame, over which was placed a heavy waterproof felt exterior with a red linen or silk inner layer, with rugs and cushions on the floors, was far better.
When the Almogavar captains reported to Sancho’s tent, they were served a delicious hot stew called chorba by Ertan, a simple dish made from onions, garlic, pepper, crushed wheat, tomatoes, parsley, coriander and mint leaves. But one requiring a skilled cook to achieve the correct blend of ingredients to maximise taste. Once again, Luca and Jordi waited on the captains with wine.
Marc nodded at the Syrian. ‘He may be a godless heathen but he can cook.’
‘He’s the slave of Jordi and the Black Sheep,’ said Angel, spooning the stew into his mouth.
‘He takes a Muslim woman to his bed,’ Hector grinned at Luca, ‘has a Muslim cook and is a friend of that infidel horseman who has recently joined us. Father Ramon thinks all these things are signs of the Black Sheep’s heresy, and you know the punishm
ent for heresy.’
‘Father Ramon should stick to religion and keep his nose out of Almogavar business,’ growled Sancho.
Luca smiled.
‘So, the governor of Philadelphia wants us to save his arse for a second time,’ said Marc.
‘Is he going to pay us for doing so?’ asked Hector, finishing his stew and handing his bowl to a loitering Ertan. ‘More.’
‘Effendi,’ smiled Ertan, taking the bowl.
‘Let the Romans fend for themselves,’ said Angel, ‘they defaulted on their payment to us once; they will do so again.’
‘He has a point,’ agreed Hector, licking his bowl.
‘What if Count Komnenos guarantees to pay us, and I confirm he has the gold to honour his pledge?’ said Sancho.
Angel shrugged. ‘The men will take your word as guarantee of payment, Sancho.’
‘Make sure we get a substantial bonus, though,’ said Hector.
‘Otherwise we will go back to Magnesia and hang its deviant governor after first emptying his treasury,’ threatened Marc.
Sancho nodded. ‘It is agreed, then. I will inform Roger of our decision.’
Chapter 18
Anatolia in August is hot and sweat was coursing off Luca’s face as he and thousands of others fast-paced back to Philadelphia, retracing the route they had taken after leaving the city. Sancho had put the Almogavar proposal to Grand Duke Roger, who had in turn relayed it to Count Michael. The Roman aristocrat had bitten his tongue and agreed to stand surety himself for the amount the Catalan Company wished to charge for their services. Better that than waiting for days until the demand was received by Count Ioannes and he sent a reply. The ways of the Catalans were strange to him, as was the way they conducted warfare. But he had seen with his own eyes how effective they were, and at the current juncture they were the best hope of saving what was left of the emperor’s possessions in Anatolia. No, they were the only hope.
Ertan had never a ridden a horse until his capture by the Almogavars and he clearly did not enjoy the experience of having to stay in the saddle as the packhorse cantered along the uneven track. But as he was too overweight to keep up with Luca and Jordi on foot, riding was his only alternative, as it was for the other servants with the company. It had been Grand Duke Roger’s intention to sell the horses captured at Philadelphia. But the need for remounts, packhorses to carry the captured Turkish tents, other supplies and servants, plus the requirement to mount those horsemen that arrived with Bernat de Rocafort, meant the plan fell through.
‘The Bastard’ had taken a keen interest in Melek and his horse archers, seizing every opportunity to conduct joint training exercises involving his own riders and the Muslim volunteers. Father Ramon and his priests raged at the presence of disbelievers in the company, but after being denounced as heretics, devil worshippers and blasphemers by their French enemies during the Sicilian war, the company and the Almogavars in particular took a more pragmatic approach to the recruitment of Muslim horsemen. Most viewed them as a welcome addition to the company, albeit as yet untested in battle.
Ertan was complaining under his breath, giving the appearance he was about to topple from the saddle any second.
‘Keep your feet in the stirrups,’ Luca said to him, watching the track for any large stones he might trip over.
‘He does not understand your words,’ said Jordi beside him.
‘He falls from the saddle, we leave him,’ Sancho ahead of them called, as usual out in front of all the Almogavars.
But the portly Turk did not fall off his horse and by the end of the day, the sun gently dipping on the western horizon to turn the white walls and buildings of Philadelphia molten gold, the Catalan Company arrived before the city once more. It had covered nearly thirty miles to try once again to save Emperor Andronicus’ fast-shrinking empire.
The next day, Grand Duke Roger, Count Michael and Bernat rode into the city, their banner men behind them. Sancho, who commanded the largest contingent of the Catalan Company, walked into Philadelphia, taking Luca and Jordi with him. He had invited the other captains to accompany him, but they had told him in no uncertain terms they had no time for court politics. Sancho took long strides as he paced towards the palace, magnificently equipped guards wearing yellow cloaks patrolling the streets, eyeing the trio with disdain as they passed. This did nothing to sweeten Sancho’s humour.
He jerked a thumb at a pair of garrison soldiers they had just passed on the main road leading from the northern gatehouse to the palace.
‘I wonder how many of them will be joining us on the battlefield?’
‘We do not need them, father,’ said Jordi.
‘Just as well,’ sneered Sancho.
They all stopped when they turned a corner to enter a small square, in the centre of which were two white stone columns close together, at the top of which was a stunning sculpture of an angry lion on the back of a bull. It was as if the two beasts had been turned to stone during their life-or-death battle by some divine power, to preserve their titanic struggle for all eternity. It was a magnificent work of art and its silent power stood in stark contrast to the noise and bustle in the square, which had shops around its sides and was filled with citizens going about their everyday business.
Sancho pointed up at the sculpture.
‘That is the only lion left in Philadelphia.’
Luca thought the judgement harsh, and when he and Jordi stood against the wall of the meeting room in which he council of war took place in the palace, the blue eyes of Ioannes Komnenos were burning with enthusiasm. He may have had grey hair and a weather-beaten face, but his hoarse voice spoke with determination and authority. He pounded the table around which Sancho, Bernat, Count Michael, Roger and himself stood.
‘The Turks are massing here, at Anaia.’
He was pointing to a point on a hastily made sketch map of the area around Philadelphia. To the west was Magnesia, to the south Tire and southwest of that place, Anaia, which appeared to be a short distance inland from the coast. Sancho saw another place marked on the map and pointed to it.
‘What is this city?’
The fire in Count Ioannes’ eyes burned low.
‘Nearly thirty years ago, the emperor led a great army through Anatolia, during which he visited the ruins of the ancient city of Tralles, which he ordered should be rebuilt and its defences strengthened. It was subsequently renamed Andronikopolis.’
‘What is the size of its garrison?’ asked Roger.
The count’s head dropped.
‘Alas, it is now a ruin once again following its sacking by the Turks twenty years ago. It was never rebuilt.’
Bernat shifted uncomfortably on his feet and Count Michael stared into space. The fire returned to the governor’s eyes.
‘If we do not destroy this Turkish horde gathering at Anaia, the same fate will befall Philadelphia, Tire and Magnesia. But if we prevail, it will set back the Muslim advance for years.’
The room fell silent. No one said it, but they were all thinking the same thing: the advance may be slowed but it could not be reversed. Luca looked around the frescoed walls and felt sad. For such beauty and elegance to vanish from the world would be a tragedy. He gripped the ornate handle of his Damascus dagger and his heart hardened. Just as it had been his destiny to join the Almogavars, so was it the destiny of the Catalan Company to save a great empire.
‘Well,’ said Roger to break the air of gloom that hung over them all, ‘let us take the fight to the enemy forthwith.’
The quickest route to Anaia was directly south through the hills, though Count Ioannes wanted to take his horsemen and those of Count Michael southeast along the old Roman road until it reached the Maeander Valley. Sancho wanted to take his Almogavars directly south, but Count Ioannes persuaded him it would be folly to divide their forces. The Germiyanids, through whose territory they would be marching, would have scouts watching all the roads and valleys, thus it made no sense to give the enemy the opportunit
y to engage an army that had been separated into two separate and widely spaced parts.
Once again, only horsemen would ride with the two counts, the garrison of Philadelphia being left in the city to protect its citizens, though if the Catalan Company and its allies were defeated then it would fall to the enemy anyway. The threat of a renewal of a siege meant the company’s servants would also be lodged in the city until the company returned. If it returned.
Luca tried to explain to Ertan what was happening, failing completely until the swaggering Melek arrive to enlighten the cook. Ertan was unhappy.
‘He says he should accompany you and Jordi, to make sure you eat well.’
‘Tell him he will be safer here, in the city.’
Melek translated Luca’s words, prompting a resigned shrug from the cook. Ertan then began babbling to the Turk and pointing at the white walls of Philadelphia.
‘He says the Romans do not like Turks, and he fears they may kill him while you are away.’
Without waiting for a reply, Melek replied to Ertan, his words appearing the soothe the agitated cook.
‘What did you tell him?’ asked Luca.
‘I told him the Romans were very particular when it came to respecting the property of others, and since he is your slave, they would not dare harm him.’
Ertan smiled and nodded at Luca, who smiled back.
‘I do not hold with slavery,’ he told Melek. ‘As soon as we reach Artake, I am going to free him.’
Melek laughed. ‘A freed Muslim slave roaming in a Christian land? He will be in greater peril than if you left him alone in this camp outside the city.’
Once more Turkish tents were pitched outside Philadelphia, though they were now occupied by the Catalan Company. They would be left standing empty while the company was away.
Despite the threat hanging over the city, there was no shortage of food to fill Almogavar bellies. The largest concentration of arable land lay northwest of the city, on both sides of the River Cogamus. The estates in the area were criss-crossed with a system of canals and irrigation ditches to increase crop yields. Some had been abandoned when the Turks had approached the city, though the Germiyanids had been careful not to damage any of the economic infrastructure they themselves desired to possess.