by Jack Ludlow
For all his concerns Bohemund knew that Kerbogha would suffer from the same difficulties that had faced the Crusaders on coming to Antioch: those steep walls that ran up the side of and around the mountains north and south of the city were impervious to assault, as much for the loose screed that covered the ground as the sheer degree of the slope itself.
On the east bank of the Orontes the spit of land between the western wall and the river was too narrow to safely camp men in any number and this left them vulnerable to sorties from within, as the Latins had found many times to their cost. That same stretch of water cut off any main body of fighters from the men who must invest the southernmost entry to Antioch, named by the Crusaders as the gate of St George, while to get across in force, lacking a pontoon of boats, required a long detour south to the next proper bridge.
Past La Mahomerie, the convoy was in plain sight of the Bridge Gate and that bright red and gold Occitan banner. If the Apulians were bringing welcome supplies, there was no air of gratitude in the men designated to guard it: they were surly, no doubt taking their cue from their lord and master. Just before he went under the barbican and through the gates Bohemund, still thinking on what was coming, looked up to the one huge advantage gifted to Kerbogha that had not been granted to the Crusade.
Any lookout from the high citadel could tell him where the walls of Antioch were well manned or weak. Men could be brought in from the rear through the mountains, less steep on their eastern flank, for part of that citadel formed the outer defence of the high part of the city and it had an exterior gate. From within they could debouch in strength which meant that would have to be contained, thus diminishing the numbers that could man the other points of danger; holding the city was going to be much harder for the Crusaders than it had been for the Turks.
If cogitating on this troubled Bohemund, or even Tancred – seventeen years the younger and much less experienced than his uncle – it would not have brought on dread; they were men born to fight and that brought with it the ever-present possibility of death. If God willed that Antioch was the place where they gave up life so be it, but that would not be sold cheaply by men who valued that their deeds be recounted to a listening world, long after they were gone, as the acts of paragons.
CHAPTER TWO
Nearly every available horse was being used in foraging, yet good sense dictated that a small body of cavalry be kept by each of the city gates ready to sortie out in case of need – not to necessarily do battle but to put a check on any sudden appearance by any advance party of Turks.
That duly came to pass: a body of some two hundred mounted archers was spotted to the south of the city and their presence, if left unchallenged, might cut off the Crusaders from the fertile Ruj Valley, one place where if food was not plentiful – the locals had taken to hiding it in cellars and pits – such locations could at least be tortured out of them.
Thus the horns blew and everyone not occupied rushed to the walls to watch their champions ride out to drive off the infidel. In command on the St George’s Gate was Roger de Barneville, one of Bohemund’s most experienced captains, a man of high reputation and one the Apulian leaders trusted to show good sense. That seemed initially to be well placed, for his furious charge, along with fifteen other knights, had the more lightly armed Turks, in their hundreds, wheel away and retire in seeming panic.
De Barneville should have then called a halt; close to Antioch he could count on support, the further off he rode the less effective that could be until, at distance, it became impossible to provide succour. Still in plain but faint view from the battlements, the Turks, who had sensed this, wheeled to attack and on faster, smaller mounts they soon closed with their pursuit. Those watching saw their men enveloped by numbers that would have taken many more lances to contain.
That Roger and his men would fight valiantly was never in doubt; he was famous for his valour throughout the whole host, but the next sight was of those fifteen knights in full retreat, seeking sanctuary as a hail of arrows followed in their wake. Roger’s banner marked him out as the man in command and that attracted the most attention, which at least allowed half of his men to escape unscathed or with wounds so light as to not threaten their lives.
He was pierced several times, his horse too, and that slowed him enough to make the rest of the arrow flights, fired at very close quarters, deadly enough to negate the protection afforded by his chain mail. In slow and unfolding horror those watching saw him slide sideways on his saddle, his mount slowing, until both were overtaken. Knocked to the ground the still living but grievously wounded knight was hauled closer to the walls by the triumphant Turks who threw him to his knees and, to a wail from those watching, promptly cut off his head before sticking it on his own captured lance.
An even greater blow followed quickly: that Turkish party was naught but a precursor of a multitude yet to arrive, and as Godfrey de Bouillon had predicted and Bohemund had seconded, the party of men Vermandois had left to hold the Iron Bridge could not do so against such overwhelming numbers.
Their fate, to be massacred, was no secret: the local Armenians passed on to the Crusaders everything that happened in the countryside. Only the man in command had survived to occupy the oft-flooded dungeon, no doubt to be offered for a ransom that would not be forthcoming.
Yet having crossed the river Kerbogha halted and began to form up his camp.
‘Why does he not come on?’
Bohemund asked this as he stood looking out from one of the towers of the St Paul’s Gate, which faced the direction by which the Atabeg must march, really a question to himself rather than any of his nearby knights. He had expected to see Kerbogha’s banners closing in on the city walls, yet there was no sign of anything other than more light forces skirmishing ahead of the main body, many swirling around the La Mahomerie siege fort, though not actually attacking.
‘Perhaps he fears us,’ suggested Robert of Salerno with a braying laugh, making an inappropriate jest for what was a very serious situation.
He was a man much given to what he called his humour and others saw as mockery, which many put down to his bloodline. Robert was the grandson of Gisulf, the one-time prince of the wealthy city state of Salerno. He had been a tyrannical fool, a military incompetent and an endemic conspirator until Bohemund’s father, Robert de Hauteville, the first Duke of Apulia and the prince’s brother-in-law, had unceremoniously deposed him.
The possession of Salerno had devolved to the man who had a claim to be Robert’s heir, Roger Borsa, the present Duke of Apulia, a man with whom Bohemund was in permanent dispute, given he was his father’s firstborn and had only been deprived of his inheritance by a marital annulment made for the sole purpose of political gain, an act which had rendered both Bohemund and his sister Emma illegitimate.
If Bohemund hankered after what his father had bequeathed, Robert must wish for his part of that estate. At one time wary of the youngster and still vigilant given his love of risk, this scion of Salerno had become second only to Tancred in terms of trust. If he did harbour any resentment as to how his inheritance had been stolen from him by the de Hauteville family he kept it well hidden, never ever raising with Bohemund the actions of his sire.
‘I think it is more he has another plan, Robert, but still …’
That musing was left unfinished for it set off a train of contemplation in the Count of Taranto’s mind on which action could be based: the thought that before he attacked the main walls Kerbogha would employ access to the citadel to both strengthen the garrison as well as to use it as a sally port, if only to split the defence, the other obvious conclusion being little could be done to hinder that.
The Crusaders could not fight outside the walls on the eastern slopes of the mountains to destroy any men seeking to reinforce the citadel: the only gate from which to issue onto that ground in numbers, and one through which they would have to retire if faced with overwhelming force, was at the end of a narrow gorge which the Turks could take c
ontrol of with ease. To sortie out was to risk being trapped, so it came down to the finding of a method of containment.
‘Robert, gather up any able-bodied citizens and take them up to your cousin outside the citadel. Tancred must build some kind of wall across the path down to the city and quickly, far enough off from the fortress to be safe from archery but close enough to stop anyone emerging from the gate having all the advantage, for they will be attacking downhill. A wall will break their charge.’
‘We could demolish the nearest mosque and use the stones from that.’
Sensing another jest Bohemund replied with good humour. ‘If you do, Robert, demolish a church as well, otherwise we will have every Muslim left inside Antioch seeking our downfall.’
‘They do that already.’
‘If they do in their hearts, let us not provide a means to excite their passions so they are tempted to riot.’
It took little time to find out the entire disposition and make-up of the Turkish host; many of the Armenians crowding into the city were only too willing to tell them. Thus the various tribes, faiths and sects were identified and added to that was a true figure of their number, which even if it turned out to be half of what had been rumoured was still in the order of fifty thousand and frightening, yet it was the mere fact of the combination that caused the greatest alarm.
It had always been known to the Crusaders that success depended on the factions of Islam maintaining their mutual distrust. The most powerful of the two main groups, and they truly loathed each other, were the Abbasids of Asia Minor and much of Persia, who had as their titular head the Sultan of Baghdad.
Opposition to them came from the Fatimids of Egypt, led from distant Cairo, yet even inside those polities rivalries were rife. The authority of the Abbasid Sultan of Baghdad appeared to be weak – few seemed to obey his directives or gather to fight for his cause – and that had done much to aid the penetration of the Crusade; how this Kerbogha had managed to get these fractious elements to put aside their differences mattered less than that they were now camped as a body not far from Antioch.
The one hope the besieged had, that such a massive host would fall apart or could not be supplied, was dashed early; Kerbogha was a good general who knew the value of keeping his army contented and fed. When it came to cohesion he was so feared for his cruelties throughout the land that dread provided glue where loyalty did not, just as such terror as he projected went far to explain how he had achieved his combination of force.
Added to that and for the same reason, food was being brought in from far and wide, much of it by those who had previously supplied the Crusade, given that to even show reluctance – and most would have preferred Kerbogha gone – was enough to bring on his murderous wrath.
The Atabeg set up his main camp a whole league away from the northern walls, this being a disposition all of the Crusade leaders struggled to comprehend when success surely depended on pressing the siege close. Not that such a distance allowed them much freedom of movement; to cross the short distance from the Bridge Gate to La Mahomerie siege fort still required careful observation, and that was ten times more hazardous when sending men to the port of St Simeon, where some ships, unaware of the changed circumstances in Antioch, continued to arrive.
Most of their cargoes ended up stacked on shore for the lack of the means to get them safely to the city. Before either excursion could be attempted it was necessary to see what forces of the enemy were close by enough to interfere, while those holding La Mahomerie were in no doubt that an attack would soon be launched in enough strength to take it from them and cut the route to the coast completely.
High up behind the city the men Tancred had set to constructing a wall toiled away in the tremendous daytime heat, the means to build supplied by an endless stream of reluctant and dragooned citizens, often bearing up the steep hill the stones of their own destroyed dwellings, churches and mosques having been left alone for fear of disturbance.
Running across the face of the hillside all the way to the point where it adjoined the outer curtain wall, there was no mortar to fix the pieces in place; it was drystone at best and flimsy because of that, so much so that, even with buttresses, it might well collapse from the weight of attackers pushing against it.
If days went by without activity, they did not pass without increasing anxiety. Despite strict control of the food supply and a diet ill-equipped to feed the fighting men – the pilgrims and citizens were left to fend for themselves – the storerooms were emptying at a rate that indicated they would struggle to hold out for weeks.
A month, without relief, was impossible, so much time was spent with an eye to the northern horizon for some sight of the armies of Byzantium, though messages getting through – smugglers by trade knew how to circumvent any restrictions by either cunning or bribery – brought no news of any such prospect, which left the besieged nothing to do but wait; all the dice were in the hands of the Turks.
The expected attack of La Mahomerie came first, a furious assault that those not in the siege fort could only watch helplessly from the battlements. The Turks surged around, probing hard and sometimes seeming about to overwhelm the defence. With a courage born of desperation the men led by Robert of Flanders somehow managed to drive them back till the pile of bodies on the perimeter rose to make it increasingly hard for those following to exchange blows and inflict injury.
If the first day was difficult it did not ease in those that followed. Overnight the Turks came to remove their dead and as soon as the light was strong enough the attack was renewed with the same ferocity. It was inevitable that Robert’s men, however stalwart they were, must suffer wounds and losses, added to which the sheer physical effort of maintaining the fight without any chance of being reinforced was debilitating in itself.
That he held out for four days was a feat of brilliance but unsupported it could not go on. As darkness fell on the fourth night, having once more been in combat all day, Robert dipped his banner three times, the signal that he was about to abandon the siege fort and retire through the Bridge Gate. A strong body of Provençal knights had to stand by to provide assistance and they waited until the Turks came for the bodies of their freshly fallen comrades, who by religious decree had to be buried within a day.
Emerging in near silence they slaughtered the gatherers, allowing Robert of Flanders to evacuate his remaining men – those who had died remained within, their souls commended to God – and to set the wooden structure alight, it going up like a torch given the inside of the walls had been soaked from barrels of oil kept for the purpose.
That it burnt bright enough to illuminate the slaughter so recently carried out was not a thing to bring cheer: if holding the siege fort had put a check on the enemy it was not much of one, and for all the Turkish losses they were in affordable numbers. Likewise, if the road to the coast was not actually cut to individuals, nothing more could be brought in from there, even by donkey.
With little left to distract him, Kerbogha finally began to act. He fed men up the eastern slopes of the mountains to crowd into the citadel, which naturally brought crusading reinforcements from Flanders and Normandy to the temporary wall. That it had taken him days to do so surprised Bohemund, but the possible answer to that curious behaviour came when he saw Shams ad-Daulah’s banner being lowered.
The flag of the Atabeg of Mosul soon replaced it. Clearly there had been negotiations: Kerbogha was not prepared to aid the man who held the citadel until he was sure that when Antioch fell his right to it would not be disputed.
‘It seems, Tancred, that I am not the only lord who is wishing for possession of the title of Prince of Antioch.’
Delivered with wry humour, it was a dig at his nephew, who had acclaimed him as that when they had only just breached the walls, it being the designation of the last satrap to hold it for Byzantium. The reply was swift and with no mirth in it at all, for at that very moment the gates of the citadel swung open and with wild cries, trumpet
s and thumping drums, a whole horde of fighters, Turks by their dress, began to emerge and deploy for an assault.
‘Then let us hope that those who wish to deny you that put as much effort into stopping Kerbogha.’
On command the knights present couched and lowered their lances to set up a frieze of points at the rim of the wall onto which the lead attackers must be impaled. Whatever words of faith had inspired them before the attack required more to sustain them and it was clear that the sight of those sharp metal lances brought a palpable amount of hesitation, yet the Turks were doughty fighters and had proved it many times and not just against this Crusade.
Over a century they had fought and repeatedly defeated Byzantium and the Arabs in their progress west to take and hold the lands they had conquered. So they came on, either through love of battle, a belief in Allah, fear of shame, perhaps Kerbogha, or the sheer pressure of those at their backs, swinging their swords to lop off the lance points while their fellows fired arrows over their heads to disrupt the defence.
Some attackers died from those falling short, others were impaled, this while Bohemund, Tancred, the two noble Roberts and their defenders held their shields over their heads as protection from the falling bolts, where that failed their chain mail deflecting arrows that were losing their velocity. Within a blink it was sword against sword, axe against spear and bloody combat to hold and deny the attackers the way down into the city.
Kerbogha had numbers in abundance; if his losses were high they were a price he was willing to pay for success, no doubt with promises of paradise for those who succumbed and gold for the survivors. That first charge was not repeated in weight, though the assault, if it ebbed and flowed, never let up throughout the whole of the day, the main action taking place across a small depression where the Turks sought to dislodge the defenders from the place where their two points of defence adjoined – the permanent city curtain wall and the drystone and makeshift one.