by Tony Roberts
It was a difference of opinion that would never be solved, and ultimately the Crusade had split. While most of the leaders agreed to follow Tatikus north-east and then south-east into the anti-Taurus, two nobles refused to have anything to do with the Greeks, believing that they were being led into a trap to be slaughtered. So Tancred, Bohemond’s nephew, and Godfrey’s brother Baldwin took their men and departed, leaving the Crusader army to continue without them.
It was then that the weather changed, and the roads became awash with rainwater, sliding away in floods. Mud coated everything. The endless torrents of rain soaked man and beast and all became miserable as they tramped along roads that sometimes were no longer there. The path up to the mountains was a glutinous horror and many animals plunged to their deaths into the ravines that the road zig-zagged up the sides of. Men, too, vanished over the sides with screams of terror, and Casca kept a very close eye on Giselle, making sure she was always on the hillside of him. If he fell, he’d survive, no matter how many bones may be shattered. They would repair and he would rise once again from the dead. Not so Giselle. Behind them, head bowed, rain dripping off his newly acquired Norman-style helmet, came Mehmet, muttering to himself under his breath.
Casca wondered what he was saying, and once he managed to catch a few words. They were the suras from the Koran. He was praying to Allah to keep him safe. Casca spat rainwater out of his mouth. It constantly dribbled into it from his face as he panted for breath, hauling himself up another few feet of height as the road climbed crazily towards the pass that mocked them, half hidden behind the angry, racing clouds of grey and black.
Thunder rolled and lightning lit up the scene. It was unreal. Casca took a breath and stood aside at a point where the road was wide enough. The rain was pelting down at a forty-five degree angle, cold, heavy, and unrelenting. The wind shrieked and threw the downpour at the men and animals that defied it, slowly, painfully crawling up to the summit of the climb. It was like a huge creature that writhed and rolled along in the rain, like some immense millipede. The pain and misery etched on the people’s faces was something that stayed with Casca for a long time.
Men, women, children. Poor, rich. Knights, peasants. All were equally exposed to the elements with nowhere to hide. Many knights were on foot, their horses having died, and their faces were as if carved from stone.
The sound that came to his ears above the song of the wind was unforgettable too. The tramp-tramp-tramp of feet, almost hypnotic in its pitch, was complimented with the wet sucking squelch of mud being squashed and lifted by those very same feet. The harsh rasping of breath from people almost spent with exhaustion reached him as they passed, looking down at the ground, not wishing to tread on loose soil or a stone and be pitched over the edge of the precipice to join the broken bodies of those already strewn below.
The smell, too, could not be washed away by the weather. Sweating bodies, the odor of sodden clothing. The heat of summer had gone but people were still sweating with the effort of the climb and the body’s efforts to keep itself dry. The clouds of steam that rose above each and every living soul added a spectral cloud that floated above the writhing snake of beings that trudged up that accursed route. Some tried to sell their weapons and armor to those without. Some turned around and went back the way they had come, no longer prepared to tackle the obstacles that God threw at them. Whether they managed to get back to Constantinople or not was questionable, for it was likely that the Turks reoccupied those places behind them that hadn’t been garrisoned.
The nights were worse. There was not much shelter and they huddled as best they could in the lee of the wind. Tents were torn from their anchors and sent hurling across the rocks and down into the abyss, and sometimes the unwary and unlucky were sent with them to their deaths. Nobody said much; nobody did much. To merely survive was all they could do.
Soaked, cold and miserable, they finally crested the pass and staggered down the other side, finding with amazement a fertile valley with tended crops, pastures and a town nestled in the middle, straddling a very swollen-looking river.
Giselle stood open-mouthed, staring at the valley. “What is this place? It looks like Eden!”
Casca chuckled, despite his discomfort. “Germanicea. It’s been in imperial hands for a little while now. I think the locals here are Armenians.”
“We call it Marash,” Mehmet said, wiping the rainwater off his helmet and flicking some more off his hair. “Truly a beautiful sight.”
“No argument, Mehmet. Come on, let’s go see if there’s a welcome for us down there.”
The army had picked up its pace, everyone was cheered by the sight of the town and surrounding fields. They could see people in the distance who had stopped and were pointing at them. The sight of an army entering their valley would cause alarm and no doubt they would soon be approached by a scouting party from Germanicea.
The army was allowed to pitch its tents in fields close to the town and the leaders all summoned to a banquet by the local leader, a man called Thatoul. Thatoul was anxious to wish the Crusaders on their way, but at the same time glad to see them as their presence would deter the Turks who had been making inroads into his territory in recent years. Casca, one of those called to the banquet, sat and listened keenly to Thatoul’s assessment of the political situation.
After the imperial defeat at Manzikert twenty-five years previously, the imperial garrisons had been slowly isolated as the countryside slipped away from their control, and either starved or bullied into surrendering the towns and cities. Only where the Christian forces could control the countryside was there any lingering resistance.
The mountains surrounding the Armenian principalities helped keep the Turks at bay, and the recent military successes of the Crusaders had pushed them away and allowed those places threatened to breathe once more.
Tatikus informed Thatoul that the emperor was pleased with him and confirmed his position as ruler of the town and valley. Thatoul was relieved; this gave him legitimacy and helped cement his position. He did express his concerns about Antioch, just a few days march down the valley. It was, as Casca had known all along, to be impregnable and massive, and Thatoul questioned how the Crusaders were going to capture it, as he’d heard that the Turks had been pouring in reinforcements with the approach of the Christian army.
Raymond, Bohemond, Robert and Godfrey reassured the Armenian that their army, together with God’s will, would prevail.
“But it is such a huge city,” Thatoul protested, his arms wide. “Even with your numbers, you cannot possibly break its walls or take its citadel. Have any of you ever seen its defenses?”
“Yes,” Casca nodded. “I have. They are formidable, as you say.”
The other Crusader lords were all looking at Casca intently. Even Tatikus looked surprised. “When was this, Baron Stokeham?” Godfrey asked.
“A few years back. The walls were built by the Greek emperors. They knew how to build walls. The citadel is high up a mountain; the city is built on its slopes. You’ll be hard-pressed to effectively besiege Antioch.”
Bohemond, draining another goblet of wine, thumped it on the table and sneered. “If the Greeks built it, then they can knock it down. Your engineers have their task set out, Greek,” he said to Tatikus. “Do not disappoint us.”
Tatikus rolled his eyes. “Building defenses is a different art than trying to destroy them. It is built on rock, yes?”
Casca nodded.
“Then tunneling is not an option. Do we have war machines? Not at present but they can be built, but they can only hurl rocks against the walls, and as you know big strong walls take a lot of rocks to knock them down. If you can arrange for the defenders not to rebuild them it’ll make my task that much easier.”
“Hah!” Bohemond said, slapping the table. “As I suspected. You do not wish us to succeed.” His speech was sounding slightly slurred.
“Shut up, Norman,” Casca snapped. “Your dislike of the Empire is getti
ng on my nerves. If you haven’t anything decent to say then don’t speak.”
Bohemond’s chair crashed backwards as the giant got to his feet, his face flushed with wine and anger. “And I am tired of your suckling of the emperor. You say you’re a Baron of England; so start acting like one and not a milk-sop of a degenerate and effeminate ruler of a corrupt and dying empire.”
Casca smiled. “One that has repeatedly beaten you in battle. Speaks volumes of your ability as a war leader, does it not?”
“That does it!” Bohemond roared, flailing his arms about. “This dog dies here today!”
“Enough!” Raymond yelled, shooting to his feet, fists on the tabletop. “Sit down, Sicily! And you shut up, Stokeham! We must maintain a unity; have we not just endured the most trying of journeys, testing our resolve and our intention of doing God’s work? Hasn’t He seen that we can overcome the most hideous of conditions? Then why should we now fall out like children over something we have not yet seen? Lord Tatikus here must see these walls first and decide then whether they can be undermined, or broken by siege engine.”
Bohemond slowly sat down, shaking with rage. “I will not forget this insult, Stokeham. Your days are numbered.”
“Try it, you moron. Best to keep quiet and be thought of as an idiot, rather than opening your mouth and removing all doubt.” Casca’s hand was on his sword hilt.
“Stop it!” Raymond hissed, his hand on Casca’s wrist. He glared down at the eternal mercenary. “Like it or not the Norman, as you call him, is part of this campaign and your antagonism of him is not helping us all.”
“Then use your influence to stop his sniping of other members of this campaign. He should not sling mud and not expect it to come flying back at him.”
Bohemond was being restrained by Robert and Godfrey. He was mouthing obscenities and uttering all sorts of threats against Casca. Thatoul was looking aghast at the tableau unfolding in front of him. Raymond signaled for the two to release Bohemond. “Sicily, I’d appreciate you not trying to insult our friends, especially as they are trying to help us.”
Bohemond angrily straightened his tunic. His cheeks were stained red and his eyes flashed angrily. “Nobody tells me how to deal with Greeks, Toulouse. In time you will come to learn that they are not our allies. They act only in their own best interests and when that differs from ours then they will stab us in the back. See if I’m not proved right in the end!”
“You speak of things which you yourself are the master of,” Casca said, standing up.
Raymond whirled on him in fury. “Stop this now!”
“With all due respect, Count Raymond, you should realize that this man is not interested in furthering the cause of Christendom. All he cares about is securing his own domain here in the east, and he’ll do that on the bones of all of you if it serves his interests.”
Bohemond snarled and dragged his sword from his sheath, brandishing it drunkenly. Casca stepped away from the hands of Raymond and walked round the end of the table to face the Norman. “I think it time we sorted this argument out, you ape,” Casca said.
Bohemond screamed and came at Casca, sword raised high. As it plunged down Casca moved. The two-handed sword struck the stone floor, sending sparks flying. Casca pivoted, one leg planted on the floor. The other foot took Bohemond in the chest. The Norman was sent staggering backwards. The others stood back, watching in fascination. Tatikus was protesting but nobody was listening. Thatoul’s guards were being held back by the Armenian; he wished to see the outcome of this duel.
The Sicilian roared in outrage. Nobody had ever kicked him in that manner. He would rip this man’s arms off and stuff them up his ass. He came forward, sword whirling. Casca feinted left, moved right. Another wild cut came nowhere near Casca. The scarred warrior had lived so long he knew many methods of fighting, not just the art of cutting someone up with a sword. Much of his unarmed skills had been taught him by an old Chinese sage centuries ago and Casca had never forgotten them, or the sage. He missed old Shiu.
Casca hardly bothered with the sword. It was there merely to swat aside Bohemond’s drunken swipes. Getting a firm balance on his feet, Casca deflected the Norman’s next attack. The giant Sicilian stumbled, the weight of his sword pulling him to the right. Casca sent a short vicious snap kick up into his guts. The wind was knocked out of him. As Bohemond leaned over, Casca’s sword edge pressed against his throat. “Now, you huge hunk of bone and muscle,” Casca said. “No more of this sneering. Do your job. We’ll do ours. Got it?”
Bohemond snarled, his mouth working. He fought for breath. “I’ll get my revenge. You’ll be sorry for this, Greek.”
Casca pushed Bohemond away. He sheathed his sword and returned to his seat. Baldwin, who had returned to the main army to be with his dying wife, looked at him with awe. “What was that skill you used on Sicily?”
“Open Hand,” Casca replied, sitting down. “From the east.”
Baldwin looked confused. To him the east meant Germany. “The east?”
“Chin. The land beyond the Silk Road.”
Baldwin’s confusion deepened.
Casca clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, my lord. A land far away.”
Thatoul clapped his hands. “Now we are all seated again,” he waited until a red-faced Bohemond was in his seat, “I propose a toast to victory.”
Casca shrugged. Why not? There were worse toasts to call. His concern was that Antioch would take months and months to capture, and he couldn’t see the Turks merely sitting there waiting for the Crusaders to get bored. They would gather an army to confront them, and unless the Crusaders had some success in their siege, he couldn’t see how they could face the might of the Seljuks. It was, after all, much closer to their center of power.
From now on they would be moving out of Christian held territory into Seljuk territory.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Antioch was one of the great cities of the east. It lay in the shadow of an immense mountain, Mount Silpius, and this had been incorporated into the defenses of the city. The citadel stood high up, close to the summit, and the eastern walls of Antioch wound their way up the slopes of Silpius and stood defiantly high above the plains to the north and west.
The city itself was nestled in the shadow of the mountain, clustered on the low ground close to the River Orontes that came from the north and ran alongside the western wall before winding its way off to the west and the sea.
The Crusaders had been awed at the sight of the city when they had approached. The defenses on the mountain towered a thousand feet above them, and hundreds upon hundreds of towers reinforced the walls. Six gates allowed entry or exit, and all were heavily guarded and barred. The initial attack had failed, inevitably, but they had managed to capture a whole load of animals that had been in the process of being herded into Antioch by their ruler, a Turk named Yagi-Siyan.
Raymond’s group had set themselves up opposite the Gate of the Dog, the second gate the army reached after arriving. The immense distance around the walls meant that there was no chance of every route in and out of the city being blockaded, so starving out the inhabitants was not an option. The imperial corps sat astride the road back towards Germanicea and the nearest gate was blockaded by both Bohemond’s and Robert of Normandy’s forces. Godfrey’s force was beyond Raymond’s, blockading the Gate of the Duke, just along from Raymond. The other gates further along to the south were left alone.
Casca had attended the first meeting of the leaders and had been quizzed quite forcefully by the nobles. Tatikus stood alongside Casca, as much to give him moral support as anything. Now the Crusaders had seen the size of the fortifications, they were filled with doubt.
“How did the city fall to the Turks?” Robert of Normandy demanded, waving an arm at the walls. They seemed to mock him, and everyone else. “If they could take it, then surely we can – but I must know how they did it.”
“Treachery,” Casca said. “They could not have s
tormed the walls. I heard that someone within the city was bribed and let the gates open. I would say that is your best chance of taking Antioch, gentlemen. You won’t be able to take it by storm.”
“God has protected us this far,” Raymond argued, “so surely He will guide us to victory now?”
“I’m not attacking that,” Godfrey countered. “My men are exhausted, we are tired. If we wait, I believe we’ll get reinforcements. Is Tancred not close by, clearing out the Turks to the south?”
Bohemond nodded. “He isn’t interested in this venture, however,” the giant Norman said. He’d recovered from his bout with the grape and Casca, but was sullen and a glowering cloud on Casca’s horizon. “Tancred has plans elsewhere. As does Baldwin.”
Godfrey paused for a moment. “My brother is mourning the loss of his wife and children. Leave him out of this.”
“What about the emperor?” Stephen of Blois asked. “Can he provide any assistance?”
They all looked at Tatikus. The imperial soldier shrugged. “He is busy clearing the Turks from the west. Hopefully he will re-establish communications via the sea. My last contact with him was that this is what he hoped to do. We may shortly receive supplies from the navy.”
“We’ll need plenty of food, that is certain,” Raymond said. “This valley is fertile but it won’t supply us for long. We had best send out riders to find further supplies. I also don’t want to be caught sleeping if the Turks do come at us with reinforcements. Any chance of that, Stokeham? You seem to be the expert on them.”
Casca pondered on that for a moment. He wasn’t sure whether Raymond had been intending anything with his comment. He let it pass. “The Turks are jealous of one another. If one seems to be getting too powerful, the others conspire to defeat him. All the big towns and cities have their own emir; it depends who is tributary to whom. I don’t know the full story, but maybe my retainer does. He is up on the latest pecking order, after all. It may be useful to know who is who amongst our enemies.”