by Tony Roberts
The door opened and in swept Irene, complete with ceremonial crown and gold dress, her face painted and enhanced with kohl and henna. The servant bowed and was allowed to leave, dismissed by Irene with a lazy flick of her hand. She looked at Casca for a long moment, the two of them standing facing each other at a distance of a foot, then suddenly they were kissing ardently and running their hands over each others’ bodies. Casca needed to blow off steam and he let himself go, knocking the empress’ crown onto the floor, dragging her to the rug and pulling her expensive clothes off, then pinning her to the floor and riding her hard.
They lay with each other afterwards, Casca in a somewhat more mellow mood, Irene lying in his arms, maintaining a thoughtful silence. They hadn’t said a word to each other during the entire act, and Casca decided he would have to speak first. “Why?”
Irene stirred. “Why?”
“Why come to me now?”
“I needed you. You needed me.”
Casca grunted. She was talking round the subject. “Why avoid me all this time? Why the hell has Alexius moved those Franks?”
“Oh,” Irene snuggled into him deeply. “The Frankish leaders have yet to swear fealty to my husband. He won’t let them go until they do. He’s going to cut off their food supply to force them into complying.”
“That’s dumb,” Casca replied. “That’ll just get them to riot. They’ll smash Pera up.”
“The army will contain them.”
“Have you seen how those maniacs fight? They’re not Turks, standing off and shooting stupid arrows at you; they get in close and hack huge chunks off your body, laughing as they do! Full-on in-your-face slaughtering bastards, they are.”
Irene shook her head. “The army is trained to deal with that, surely.”
“They’ve not faced that recently. They’ll have to change tactics.”
Irene looked at him, her eyes wide and deep. Casca had to fight to avoid falling into them. “You’ll teach them, won’t you?”
“I’ll try, but it depends on your husband letting me.”
“He’ll do it if I ask him, Caska.”
“Like most things,” Casca said, his mind racing.
“Oh, don’t ask me to get him to change his mind on that!”
Casca looked at her. “Irene, you heard him. I’m not to leave the Empire. I must leave, and soon.” Casca knew his time with the Comnenus-run Empire was coming to an end; he’d known and fought with Alexius for twenty-odd years, and had known Irene since she was fifteen. His non-ageing would soon cause questions, and that was to be avoided at all costs. People were so superstitious. “I have no wish to be thrown into a prison, not after the service I’ve given the Empire. I must be allowed to leave my way, and if I go with the crusaders, I can still serve your husband as a liaison officer. Look, the first place they’ll get to is Nicaea, and they’ll most likely smash it up. Do you want that? If I’m there I could well stop that.”
“But don’t you want to remain here and see your son grow up?”
So there it was. Irene had finally come out with it. “John is not my son, Irene. I know he isn’t. I’m not able to sire children. I had – an incident when I was younger and since then I’ve been unable to. I’ve been to those who know about these things and they all told me there is nothing that can be done. I’m sorry.”
Irene looked closely at Casca, into his eyes, to see if he were speaking the truth. She saw no deception, no lies in him. She fell onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “You speak what you feel is the truth; all this time I believed it was you.” She looked at him. “Then I must think on who it must be.”
“Alexius, surely?”
Irene shook her head. “At the time I conceived he was away on campaign and when he got back he was unwell for a few weeks. You know the campaign.”
Casca nodded. He had been stationed in Constantinople. So if Irene had been having an affair with someone other than Alexius and Casca, it must have been at that time. “Who else could it have been?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Caska! Use your brain.”
Casca chuckled. Politics. Knowledge was power. Knowing of someone else who was cuckolding the emperor could be a powerful weapon in the right – or wrong – hands. “Sure, I understand. So, Irene, can I count on you using your influence to persuade Alexius to allow me to accompany the crusaders on their journey?”
Irene began putting her clothes on. When she was dressed she stood above him. “You clearly see no future in our relationship.” Her voice was cool. “And you would appear not to be the father of my son. There is nothing in that case that I can see of value in you remaining here. You also have intimate knowledge of me which I am uncomfortable with. Please understand that if you do say anything to anyone of this, I shall arrange to have your eyes put out and your tongue torn from its roots. I shall certainly insist to Alexius that you go. Good day.”
Casca lay for a moment alone, then grunted and began dressing. Not a good thing upsetting the empress, but at least it had made him less useful to her and she would use everything in her arsenal to get rid of him. In that respect, he’d achieved what he’d wanted.
And he also had a good idea as to who was the father of Prince John.
CHAPTER NINE
The winter passed. The crusaders caused no end of difficulties, as Casca had anticipated. Alexius tried to get their leaders to swear fealty to him but they refused, and when he cut their food supplies off they took it by force from the helpless citizens of Pera. Worse still they turned on the Pechenegs and killed those who were unfortunate enough to fall into their hands. Casca raged at the lack of response from the Palace and had a good mind to call his remaining men off but knew since his cooling in relations with the empress he no longer had imperial favor, and his every move would be watched carefully. You quickly lost your job if your face no longer fitted.
With the other crusader armies approaching, Alexius became desperate. He ordered all the supplies cut. Bohemond would arrive in a week and if his forces joined those of Godfrey, then they could together overwhelm any imperial force the emperor had at his disposal.
Godfrey was furious. He saw Alexius’ actions as evidence of his collusion with the forces of the anti-Christ and moved his men forward to attack the city. They crossed the Golden Horn by means of a bridge near the headwaters and approached the walls. Casca and the other generals were alerted and manned the walls.
Casca watched as the crusaders arrayed themselves in battle formation. How they were to scale the walls was anyone’s guess since they had no ladders, siege towers or war machines. “I think they’ll try to starve us out,” Casca commented to his fellow officers.
“That’ll take a long time,” a general by the name of Tatikus, a converted Turk, replied, looking down at the gaily colored banners and flags of the knights. “They will exhaust their supplies long before we run short.”
“The emperor won’t wish to wait,” Casca said, “since the next army is a week away. Those are the Normans. They wouldn’t take much persuading to join in on an attack on us. Want them down there, too?”
Tatikus shook his head. “So what is the emperor to do?”
Alexius, standing a few feet away, came closer. “Scare them into submission. Shoot your arrows over their heads.”
“Sire,” Casca snapped to attention. He waved at his Pechenegs, standing along the walls, bows ready. “Give them a demonstration of your archery. Shoot as far as you can over their heads.”
The rough, unkempt looking soldiers all pulled back hard on their laminated composite short bows and aimed over the ranks of soldiers beneath them, and loosed off a volley of missiles that arced through the sky to fall well beyond the crusaders. Roars of outrage broke out from the throats of the men standing before the walls. How dare the treacherous Greeks shoot at them!
Alexius tapped his fingers on the stonework of the battlements and watched as the crusader commanders conferred hastily. Casca eyed the ranks of soldiers, seein
g spearmen, men-at-arms, knights, crossbowmen and archers. A mixed group but capable of tackling most opposition that came their way. He saw Baldwin make a curt downwards gesture and Godfrey nodding in agreement. “Sire, take cover,” Casca advised hurriedly.
“What?” Alexius swung round.
“They’re going to shoot back, and I don’t think they’ll seek to miss.”
Even as the emperor swung back to see for himself, everyone could see Baldwin running to his missile troop captains, shouting out orders. The archers and crossbowmen all began fitting arrows and bolts to their weapons. Alexius stepped away from the battlements and his bodyguard ushered him to the nearest tower, standing twenty yards away. Casca filled his lungs. “Take cover!”
His Pechenegs all ducked, and most of the Greeks did likewise. A few hesitated, and they paid the price as a hail of missiles clattered into the walls, towers and battlements. Some flew over into the city, and a few hit those too slow in getting into cover. Cries of pain rang out and men toppled to the stonework.
Casca cursed and scuttled sideways towards the tower. “Stay down!” he snapped to a few who were getting back to their feet. He made his way to the tower and plunged into the dark safety of the circular room therein. Alexius was standing there, looking shocked. “Sire, time to negotiate is over. We’ve two options. Concede or attack.”
Tatikus banged his fist into the table top. “Attack!”
Other generals present nodded in agreement. Alexius nodded heavily. “Very well, call out the Guard and the imperial regiments. Caska, lead the way with the Pechenegs; screen the infantry.”
Casca saluted and returned warily to the battlements. Arrows were still flying up at them, and Casca had to keep low. Because of the angle of the missiles, the rear of the walkway was safer than the front. “Down to the horses,” he ordered his men, “we ride!”
The Pechenegs smiled with anticipation. They preferred to fight on horseback. They used the stone staircases at the rear of the wall. At this point, on the extreme northern tip of the land walls close to the Blachernae Palace, there was only one wall, whereas to the south and running down to the Golden Gate at the other end, there were two plus a great ditch. This was the weak point which was why the Crusaders had probably chosen that spot to make their demonstration.
Mounted up, Casca got his two hundred men to gather by the gate, a double-door exit, guarded by militia guardsmen. Tramping up behind them came the elite imperial troops, all itching to get into the fight. As they came close, Casca nodded to the guards to open the gates, and the Pechenegs raced out, arrows already nocked. Casca followed the first group, sword bared, and the rest came thundering out behind him. Arrows flew at the Crusaders and the soldiers, alarmed, raised their shield in a reflex action.
The mounted archers split left and right, racing along the entire front of the Franks, shooting into their packed ranks. Their commanders raced to their positions to issue orders, but missiles now came down from the battlements, adding to the discomfort of the westerners. The foot soldiers marched out and began to form up close to the wall, and Casca ordered his men to retreat behind them if they were threatened.
He kept an eye on Godfrey, mounted on his charger, calling out commands to his subordinates. They were trying to adjust to the shower of arrows coming at them from above and ahead. The footsoldiers braced themselves behind their shields, waiting for the order to attack. Spearmen pointed their weapons forward, expecting the Pechenegs to charge, but they hadn’t faced eastern horsemen before, and the missiles kept on coming but the expected charge did not.
Casca nodded to himself. The Crusaders were still thinking in terms of warfare in their homeland. That would cost them. The cavalry were massing behind the infantry but they had little space to maneuver. The Pechenegs were shooting at them now, pinning them back. There was a half-hearted charge from Baldwin’s heavy cavalry but the Pechenegs, mounted on swifter, lighter horses, galloped away from the danger and, frustrated, Baldwin rode back with his men.
By this time the imperial regiments were ready. Casca signaled his men to retreat and the Pechenegs rode wide and then round behind their infantry comrades, sweating but pleased. There came a blast on the horns carried by the imperial signalers and the foot soldiers advanced, determined looks on their faces. The Crusaders packed their ranks and braced themselves, and the crash as the two sides came together could be heard for over a mile.
“Pechenegs, ride wide!” Casca ordered, waving. The mounted archers rode out once more, shooting into the Crusader flanks. Then the Varangian Guard came wading in with their two-handed battleaxes glinting in the sunlight. The Crusaders backed off, desperation on their faces. Their body count was increasing and finally Godfrey saw sense. He shouted commands to his men to break off combat and he raised a white banner, signifying his willingness to talk.
Casca, as senior commander on the spot, rode forward, his two officers with him. The Pechenegs withdrew to a safe distance but watched warily in case of treachery. The walls were silent, manned by expectant men armed with bows, their emperor standing amongst them, watching intently.
The Franks peeled aside as Casca and his small entourage walked their horses into their ranks. Casca eyed the soldiers, not entirely trusting them. Godfrey and his brothers met them a short distance into the Crusader ranks, frustration and shame written across their faces. They had been bested and they knew it.
“It seems we must yield,” Godfrey said with a hard edge in his voice. “We have been left with no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Casca countered, “you could fight on for your honor and be slaughtered to a man. Then your Crusade to the Holy Land would end here before you even set foot in Turkish territory.”
The three brothers stiffened at the mocking tone in Casca’s voice. “You act as if you were in league with the infidel!” Baldwin snapped angrily.
“Then stop seeing us as the enemy and start understanding that we are your allies and your best chance of succeeding in your campaign! You will have to fight the Turks all the way to Jerusalem, and adding another powerful enemy to your list at this point is senseless. The emperor asks merely for your agreement to hand over what you conquer in Anatolia to him, as he is the rightful Lord of those lands. What use would cities like Nicaea, Iconium and Antioch be to you anyway? Every place you garrison would reduce the men available to you on your journey, and who else but us knows of warfare in this region? We know the roads, weather, conditions, people. You know nothing of these.”
Godfrey’s mouth worked silently for a few moments. As a proud noble he resented having to back down to those he saw as his inferiors. “I have no choice. Tell your emperor that I shall accede to his request. My brothers will also.”
Baldwin and Eustace looked at their brother, then nodded curtly. Casca grunted. “Very well; stand your men down and we will do the same. Prepare to be called to the palace, and then your men will be shipped over to the far shore. You will be best advised to make a good defensible camp, but we will supply you with provisions from the sea.”
With that Casca wheeled about and led Asem and Mav back towards the walls. The two Greeks, who spoke no Frankish, asked what had been said and Casca filled them in. By the time he’d finished they were at the gates. The soldiers were already beginning to return to the city, flanked and protected by the Pechenegs, while the Crusaders grumbled and stood down. They would have to bury their slain comrades outside the city.
Alexius was pleased with Casca and asked him to attend the ceremony at which the three Frankish leaders would swear allegiance to Alexius, promising to retake Turkish land for the Empire. Casca donned his best ceremonial outfit and stood as a witness when Godfrey, Eustace and Baldwin knelt before the emperor and swore to honor their word and hand over the towns, cities and lands their forces took from the Turk to him.
Alexius beamed and embraced the three men, handing them expensive and beautiful gifts, promising to give them help in the form of supplies and a corps
of engineers, for towns would be walled and hard to take unless the right equipment was on hand. The roads and bridges may be in poor condition too, and the engineers would repair both. Finally he promised them a detachment of his own army to help in the journey through hostile land. They would assist in giving advice on the land and people, and offer suggestions as to which route to take.
Godfrey was pleased. In return for his word he had suddenly been given more help than he could have possibly hoped for. Eustace smiled in agreement but he was less enthusiastic about the whole thing, and Baldwin kept the most quiet of all. Casca wondered what was going through his mind.
Alexius took Casca aside during the after ceremonial celebrations. The westerners were getting quite rowdy at the table, quaffing wine in huge quantities. “Tell me, Caska, does your blood run similar to these people? You have always maintained you are of their world rather than ours.”
“They are northern Franks; my blood is similar to southerners. I hear Count Raymond is on the way with his Provencal troops. My blood is closer to them.”
“In that case you may be of use if you are attached to Count Raymond’s army as an advisor.”
Casca looked at his liege. “You mean I’m free to accompany them on their Crusade?”
Alexius nodded heavily. “I do not wish to lose you, but I see in your face the need to go. Tell me, old friend, what is it that pulls you on this journey?”
“The wish to see Jerusalem, Lord. It has a special call to me.”
“Yes, I understand. The Holy City has a special place in all of our hearts. You will be missed but I cannot keep you here forever. You came to me in my hour of need many years ago, and once again now. It may well be that once these Crusaders have crossed over, the need for you to remain here will not be so great. And I believe you may be the best man to have amongst their ranks to promote our interests. You will do that, won’t you?”