Ten thousand bodies lay on the ground, both Christian and Muslim. Robert ordered that all be buried with dignity and that imams be brought from Nicaea to read over the graves of the Turks. Some among Bohemond’s contingent objected, preferring that they be left to rot like wild beasts where they had fallen, but such had been the quality of Robert’s leadership in the battle that he got his way.
For the Christian dead, eternal salvation beckoned. Prompted by the speeches of zealots such as Count Raymond, the notion that death on the Crusade would bring God’s forgiveness for all sins and a place at his side in Heaven had become accepted as gospel by the Crusaders.
Hereward went over to Robert and Bohemond to congratulate them on the way they had held the army together and inspired their men.
‘My Lord Duke, Count Bohemond, my congratulations on an outstanding example of leadership under the most demanding of circumstances.’
Bohemond responded with only a perfunctory nod and a very pointed question.
‘Captain, I hear that you served as a housecarl for King Harold of England and fought at Senlac Ridge.’
‘That is correct, my Lord.’
‘Did you ever know a man called Hereward of Bourne? He also fought at Senlac Ridge and before that was in service with my father, Robert Guiscard, and my uncle, Roger.’
‘All Englishmen have heard of Hereward of Bourne, sire.’
‘In his service to my family he was called Sir Hereward Great Axe. He carried a double-headed axe like yours – so formidable, I was told, that no other man could wield it. I was a very small boy when he and his companions left Apulia for Normandy, but the stories about him lingered and are still told to this day. My hazy memory is of a man who bore a strong resemblance to you; indeed, you would be about the same age.’
It was obvious that Bohemond strongly suspected that Hereward and Alexius’s retired Captain of the Varangians, Godwin of Ely, were one and the same.
Nevertheless, Hereward kept up the pretence.
‘My Lord, I am flattered to be likened to one as noble as Hereward of Bourne. But that’s all it is – a likeness.’
‘May I try your axe? It intrigues me.’
‘Of course, sire.’
Bohemond stood almost six inches taller than Hereward – both dwarfing me, and especially the diminutive Robert – and had the same substantial frame, but he lacked the strength that Hereward had in his tree-like limbs and he struggled to keep swinging the axe freely.
Hereward grasped the axe from the Norman’s faltering grip.
‘It has killed many foes, some even as big as you.’
He took the Great Axe of Göteborg and, with an easy, single-handed swing, rested the haft of the axe over his shoulder, then walked away. As he did so, he winked at Robert and me.
How many times in his life had the gargantuan Bohemond, a colossal figure from a legendary family, been made to look feeble?
28. Wastes of Anatolia
Invigorated by our victory, we set a course south-east, across the arid plains of central Anatolia. For those of us who had survived so far, there was much envy of our dead comrades who basked in Heaven, for we endured a living Hell.
All the locals we passed, cowering in their dark hovels and cool caves, looked at us in amazement as we staggered and stumbled in the scorching heat. They thought us mad, and so we were. Qilich Arslan had destroyed every village, killed every beast and poisoned every well on our route and for miles around. We had gone beyond the reach of the Emperor’s supply lines. We were on our own.
Our progress became slower by the day, the death toll escalated, and hunger and thirst killed many, especially the old and young. Disease spread, and many turned around in a vain attempt to find their way back to Constantinople, their will broken. Some just walked off to find the shade of a tree, where they curled up to await the comfort of death.
The huge destriers, the Normans’ legendary war horses so critical in battle, were unable to cope with the conditions; most died, leaving many of our knights to walk like infantry. Our beasts of burden died too, and everything that we could not carry ourselves had to be discarded. Basic campaign discipline started to be ignored. Animals and people were not kept apart, latrines were not dug, and disease and infection spread. What had once been a mighty, well-disciplined army now resembled a ragged stream of hapless humanity.
The Princes tried hard to keep up morale, but they too were wilting.
Sweyn seemed to find strength when it had deserted everyone else. With Adela always at his side, he rode up and down the long meandering lines of Crusaders, encouraging them to keep their discipline and commitment. He won many admirers, including Hereward.
‘When we found him in the forest at Bourne, he was all but dead. Now he is an example to us all, with such determination – he reminds me of my old friend Martin Lightfoot, built like a hunting dog and with the stamina to match. He and Adela make a fascinating couple, more like brother and sister than man and wife. Why have they never had children?’
As Hereward was a fellow member of our Brethren, I was tempted to reveal the true nature of Sweyn and Adela’s marriage, but thought it better that they should tell him in the course of time if they wanted him to know.
‘I’m not sure, but I suspect they’re both much more interested in living the life of a warrior – and emulating a certain Hereward of Bourne – than in having children.’
Robert asked the Brethren to gather in his tent one night after supper – which consisted of a few pieces of dried goat’s meat and one swig of wine that the heat had turned to vinegar – in order to discuss the dilemma. He had been doing some arithmetic.
‘We are dying in droves. By the time we cross Anatolia our numbers will have halved, our horses will be all but gone, and there will be no pack animals left to pull our baggage train.’
Hereward offered the wisdom of his years of service in conditions such as the ones we were now facing.
‘Qilich Arslan is your biggest enemy, not this godforsaken place. He is making you pay for Nicaea and Dorylaeum by laying waste to everything in your path. But he could also be your salvation. He must still be close by, waiting until you are weak enough for him to strike again.’
‘You make our prospects sound worse, not better.’
Sweyn suddenly got to his feet.
‘But he’s got what we need.’
Hereward looked elated; Sweyn had understood his intention.
Robert was still unsure.
‘And?’
‘We take it from him.’
‘How?’
‘A small force attacks as a diversion.’
Adela was quick to see the possibilities.
‘An even smaller force spirits away his baggage train, horses, goats and whatever else we can plunder.’
‘Exactly.’
There were smiles all round as spirits lifted for the first time in several weeks.
Robert then threw in some words of caution.
‘Everyone is in a bad way. We have to be careful; if the others hear that food and water and horses are just over the next hill, there will be a mass exodus within the hour. The Crusade will be over.’
Hereward suggested a plan.
‘For obvious reasons, Robert must stay with the army to continue his duties. Estrith will stay with the sick and wounded. The attacking feint should be undertaken by the English contingent, led by Edgar and Edwin. I will pick a hundred or so of Tacitius’s Byzantines – he can be trusted, and I know his men – and Sweyn and Adela will lead them to capture Sultan Arslan’s baggage train from under his nose.’
‘And what will you do?’ asked Adela.
‘I’ll be right behind you two, keeping an eye on you. But first, we have to find Arslan. At first light tomorrow, Adela, Sweyn and I will slip out of camp with a dozen or so Byzantines who know this land and go in search of a Seljuk sultan.’
Three days later, the hunting party returned.
At what I suspected was Hereward
’s prompting, Sweyn gave the news and repeated the detail of the feint.
‘Arslan is about thirty miles away to the north-east. It looks like he’s poised to strike. Men are arriving from the east all the time. Edgar, when can you be ready to leave?’
‘This evening, under cover of darkness; we don’t want to alert too many curious eyes. I’ll tell Robert. Estrith, will you carry on with your duties with the sick?’
‘No, where my family goes, I go. Besides, I don’t want to have to answer all the questions in the morning about where the English have gone!’
Robert gave us as many of the skinny Arabic horses and surviving pack animals as he could spare to carry away our ill-gotten gains. He also granted us extra rations of food and water and provender for the animals.
By dawn the next morning, our small band had made excellent progress.
We found some shade and rested during the day, before travelling again at night. Nobody slept much in the heat of the day, but it was a time for reflection. Sweyn did most of the talking, usually in the form of questions and always aimed at Hereward.
‘How long did it take you to overcome the fear of battle?’
‘I never did, it is always there. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a liar or a fool.’
‘But it must get easier to deal with?’
‘In a way, but the fear doesn’t go away, you just learn how to turn it to your advantage. Do you fear what we are about to do?’
‘Yes, I do, but I would only confess it to the Brethren.’
‘It’s a wise man who admits to his fears and anxieties – and also a strong one. Your fear will keep you alert and, when the time comes, you will turn it into the strength you need to do what you have to do.’
Edwin and I sat and watched as the great man bestowed his wisdom. Estrith was coiled around him in a loving embrace, while Sweyn and Adela sat at his feet, hanging on every word.
It brought back some fond memories from England, as well as many sad ones.
We launched our attack on Qilich Arslan’s camp in the dead of night.
After locating the baggage train and leaving Sweyn and Adela’s team in position, we attacked from the opposite side; fortunately, it was the dark of the moon. A group of junior knights found a hidden position in a dry river bed. They acted as a platoon of archers and loosed a storm of fire arrows into the black night. There was soon chaos as the fires took hold and thick smoke swirled around. We then rode through the Seljuk camp, making the kind of commotion worthy of several thousand horsemen rather than several dozen.
All in all, we made three sorties through the camp before the Turks got themselves organized sufficiently to inflict on us increasing numbers of casualties. We then withdrew and took up positions that would enable us to cover the escape of our bounty hunters.
Sweyn and Adela’s party worked by stealth; their mode was the way of the silent assassin. Sentries were attacked from behind, their throats cut by an English seax or the life strangled out of them by a Byzantine garrotte, picket lines were cut, corralled animals let loose, and our strings of horses loaded with as much food and water as they could carry.
Then, on Adela’s signal – a single fire-arrow shot horizontally into the air – Sweyn led his band away into the night, first at a trot, in the hope of not giving away their direction of escape, then at a canter, and finally at full gallop. I split my English group into three; we each let off several volleys of covering arrows before riding off as loudly as we could in different directions to confuse the Seljuks as much as possible.
Our agreed rendezvous point was the site of our last camp. We reached it as dawn was breaking and, with it, the warm light of day brought a wonderful sight. There were dozens of swift Steppes ponies laden with all sorts of provisions – not enough to feed an army for long, but sufficient to gladden the hearts of our demoralized companions for many days.
We knew Qilich Arslan’s cavalry would be fanning out all around us, so we did a head count and moved off at speed. We had lost more than a dozen noble Englishmen, who had sacrificed their lives for their fellow Crusaders. It was yet another paradox to ponder: the vast majority of the Crusaders were Normans or Franks – the very same people who had conquered their English homeland and ruled it so ruthlessly – but such was the Crusader ideal, they had given of themselves willingly.
One of them was Algar, a righteous 31-year-old son of a thegn who had fought and died at Senlac Ridge, who slumbered in his mother’s womb at the time. Another was Storolf of Nottingham, a daunting man in his fifties, who had been with the Mercians who ambushed the Normans at the Malfosse on the night of the Battle of Senlac Ridge. He then joined King Harold’s exiled sons in Ireland but was disillusioned by their capricious behaviour and became a soldier for hire, wherever he could get paid. When he heard of the English contingent to the Holy Land, he joined in the hope that it would cleanse him of the sins of a lifetime of killing by day and debauchery by night.
We estimated that we were about three hours away from the Crusader column when a large group of Seljuks, perhaps 200 of them, crested the hill behind us.
Sweyn immediately swung his mount round and bellowed an order to the captain of Tacitius’s Byzantines.
‘Captain, take half the men and take our bounty on to the column. Everyone else, dismount.’
I looked at Hereward, who was already dismounting; he nodded his approval, so I issued my own order.
‘Edwin, take the horses on. I’ll stay.’
Sweyn had assumed command.
‘We must make a stand here to save the supplies. Form up as a phalanx of archers; keep the reins of your horses secure. Adela, give us the range. We shoot on her signal.’
I looked at Hereward again; he nodded, this time with a smile.
‘Now!’ was Adela’s shrill signal as we launched our first volley at a range of 300 yards.
We got two more away before the Turks were on top of us. Now we had to suffer their incoming volleys as they surrounded us.
‘Mount! Fight your way out! Follow Hereward’s lead!’
Sweyn beckoned to Hereward to clear a path for us. For the first time in many years, we saw the Great Axe of Göteborg wielded to murderous effect, cutting a swathe through the Turkish cavalry and leading the English contingent away. Sweyn was almost the last to mount, courageously ensuring that everyone got to their horse. It was then that Estrith was struck, taking a Seljuk arrow to her upper back. She was wearing mail, but the arrow cut through it. She squealed in pain, lost control of her mount and fell to the ground.
Adela used her eastern close-quarters bow with venom, wounding two Seljuks with successive arrows and giving Sweyn time to leap from his horse, pull the stricken Estrith from the ground and lift her over his shoulder. She let out another shriek of pain. Adela then grabbed the reins of Sweyn’s horse and wheeled it round so that he could throw Estrith across its shoulders, remount and make his escape.
With his horse pirouetting in panic amidst the confusion of the moment and with the weight of two people on its back, Sweyn kicked his mount towards the north-east, the wrong direction, galloping back from whence we had come. Several Turks were between Adela and the route Sweyn had taken, leaving her isolated.
Thinking she was behind him, Sweyn continued his rapid exit.
Adela, realizing that several of the Seljuks were about to ride off in pursuit of Sweyn and Estrith, stood high in her stirrups, threw back her helmet to reveal feminine features and yelled at the Turks in Arabic, ‘It is I, Adela of Bourne, Knight of Islam!’, and charged at them, swinging her sword in wide arcs.
She was immediately surrounded by a circle of Seljuks. Some hesitated and blessed themselves, but the majority did not falter.
Hereward swung our horses round. We were over 500 yards away as a dozen or so Turks closed in on Adela, dragging her from her horse.
I looked to the horizon and could see Sweyn about to disappear into the safety of higher ground, oblivious to Adela’s predicame
nt. More and more Seljuks were cresting the horizon all the time. Hereward looked at me and then turned to our comrades.
We all signalled our approval as Hereward hoisted the Great Axe above his head and issued the order.
‘Charge!’
The Turks saw us coming at about 100 yards and began to form a defensive wall of horsemen. They loosed a hail of arrows towards us but our momentum was prodigious, and Hereward’s awesome presence – his Great Axe glinting in the sun, his crimson cloak as a Captain of the Varangians flowing behind him – put them to flight.
Adela was safe, but had suffered a trauma all too reminiscent of the horror of her adolescence. Her armour had been pulled off her back, her shirt torn from her; she was rigid with terror, naked from the waist up. Hereward leant from his horse to offer her his arm. At that moment, he and Sweyn were the only men in the world for whom she would have moved. Without looking up, she stretched out her hand and Hereward swept her up behind him on to his horse’s flanks, covering her in his cloak.
Even then, she cared nothing for herself and kept repeating the same anguished questions: ‘Where’s Sweyn? Is Estrith safe?’
Our escape was a close call; only the speed of our horses saved us as we took flight through clusters of arrows launched high into the air, aimed to fall on to our path to safety.
As we neared the Crusader column, the Turks gave up the chase, but not before loosing one last cascade of arrows.
The projectile that killed Edwin was one of the last to land. It came out of the sky, almost at a right angle to the ground, and caught him close to his spine at the nape of the neck. He rode on for a while, not uttering a sound, with a fixed stare on his face, but pain and failing consciousness soon combined to loosen his grip on his reins. He fell to the ground with a sickening crash, tumbling randomly like someone already dead. After coming to a stop, he did not move again. I was certain his wound was fatal; regardless, we could not stop to help him, but I made a mental note of his position in the hope of being able to retrieve his body later.
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