by Jack Ludlow
Happily, soldiers were leaving too, many on horseback, evidenced by their jingling accoutrements and in such a way, singly or in pairs, that hinted at individual endeavour, not an organised evacuation; the garrison would be smaller at dawn than it had been previously, yet Tancred sensed the same bold fellow might be in charge.
The messenger came with the rising sun, an invitation to the leader of the invaders to parley with the governor of Tarsus under a flag of truce. Gathering up that which he hoped he would need, Tancred, in the company of Anastas and his own body of personal followers, made for the main gate, to be greeted from one of the main towers by a fellow who went by the name of Gökham Bey, he issuing a guarantee that if the Lord Knight would enter in peace and leave his lances outside, all things were possible.
‘They might string you up and hang you over the walls,’ Robert said.
‘Go back, cousin,’ Tancred replied, as the gates creaked open, ‘and do as you should. Take command till I return.’
With that Tancred rode through into the dark, shaded interior of Tarsus, carrying his own banner, and on through narrow, crowded streets full of the curious and fearful Armenians, eventually to enter the Governor’s Palace. This stood inside a citadel of a different age and looked to the Apulian very like those of Roman vintage he had seen at home, an impression enhanced on entry to find fountain-filled courtyards, with cooling ponds and many shading trees and mosaic-tiled floors with designs of animals and birds.
The interior was Turkish in its decoration and there waiting for him was Gökham Bey, sitting on a pile of cushions nearly the height of a chair. The formalities of titles had to be exchanged, before Anastas took to the interpreting task he had been brought along to perform: what were the terms by which Gökham would surrender Tarsus? The demands were not unusual; for a Western mind it was the time taken which stood out.
‘Tell him yes, all his men may depart with their weapons, but I must insist they take a route due east.’
The Bey understood that; the Crusade did not want them heading south towards Antioch. The delicate matter of his own family and possessions took longer and Tancred, by guesswork, tried to discern what was personal and what was gubernatorial – the latter he was determined to extract as booty and his bargaining position was wives. Gökham had dozens and many children; Tancred was only allowing him his one main spouse, and pressing home that no Christian could so condone polygamy as to agree to him taking a harem.
The Governor understood perfectly what this infidel was about but like his race he saw the bargaining as an essential to the ultimate trade. Slowly he surrendered goods of value to Tancred in return for things of value to him, giving up the Tarsus treasury, full of tax monies levied from the town and surrounding countryside, as well as the artefacts that he had inherited with his office.
For that he extracted a promise that he could keep his personal belongings, wives included. He would be able to take them with him when he left and time had to be granted to him for that departure, he being a man with much to carry. Also he wished for the Crusaders to stay out of the city till he was ready to leave, so that his dignity would not be offended and there would be no chance of conflict between his soldiers and those of the Christian Lord.
‘Finally,’ Tancred said to Anastas, ‘I have one more demand to make and it is a painless one to the Bey. I wish for my banner, not the crescent, to fly above the citadel from this day forth, so that all should know that I am the suzerain.’
That took another glass of sand to negotiate, but it was agreed both banners should fly side by side on one of the outer towers until the crescent was lowered, that a signal that Gökham Bey was ready to take his leave.
The cheers rose from the Norman-Apulian throats as they saw the de Hauteville banner flutter up the flagstaff, and that was doubled when their leader rode out to tell them that within a short time they would be masters of Tarsus and their individual wealth enhanced with it, so it was time to prepare a celebratory feast, the means to make it memorable to be provided by the Armenian citizens of a city of which they would soon occupy.
That fluttering banner, as well as the fiery roasting pits, was the sight that greeted Baldwin of Boulogne, who arrived as the sun was setting. Tancred was not alone in counting their increased numbers and now it was plain why he was so far behind them: he had been obliged to wait to rendezvous with these additional knights. The attitude of their leader was not altered by being too late for the capitulation – he had the same blustering overconfidence that Tancred had observed in the council pavilion, his assumption that being present he was so very obviously in command, an idea the young Apulian scotched right away.
‘You do not lead here, Baldwin, but I have sent to Tarsus to request more food so your men may eat as well as my own.’
‘We must do more than just eat, Tancred.’
‘Must we?’
‘There are serious matters to discuss.’
There was no doubt what Baldwin was driving at, the look in his eyes being almost palpable, and when he spoke it was proved a correct assumption – greed masked as a desire for equity, that any spoils from Tarsus should be divided equally between the Lotharingians and the Normans, including him and Baldwin.
‘We are, after all, joint leaders.’
‘But we are not jointly successful. Perhaps if you had not taken steps to enhance your numbers you might have got to Tarsus before me, and I have no doubt that you are not behind me in the skills to get to where I am now. But share? Am I to say to my men, who did fight for this place, that they must not only divide it with the Lorraine knights but in a proportion never envisaged when we set out?’
‘That I will forgo,’ Baldwin replied, his manner suggesting he was being overly generous.
‘You and your men will receive what I see fit to give.’
‘If you are generous they will not be offended.’
He meant himself, which riled Tancred. ‘Then stand by to deal with their displeasure, Baldwin.’
‘What can I say? Your banner flies above Tarsus, so let us eat and I will seek, like Gökham Bey, this Turk you tell me of, to soften your position by long negotiation.’
Tancred ameliorated that by inviting his senior captains as well as those of Baldwin to eat with them and by seating himself as far away from the man as possible. Yet he was aware of the looks he was receiving, coming from a set of eyes naked in their calculation. Baldwin had not given up the contest and he was obviously busy thinking of ways to counter the arguments that would follow the next day.
He was sharper than that; when the sun rose Tancred was called out to look at Tarsus and there he saw flying from the tower not his de Hauteville standard but that of Baldwin, bright yellow with a triangle of red balls. The entire force of Lotharingians was up and fully clad in mail, clearly ready for a fight, and when he rode to the gate it was kept closed against him on the orders of the same man, who eventually came to the tower to tell him what he already knew.
‘I command now, as it should have been ceded to me when I arrived. Had you deemed it wise to share we might have both our banners flying. As it is, by your miserliness you have forfeited everything.’
‘It is your avarice that has brought this about. I invite you to exit with your weapons, Baldwin, and we will see this settled between us.’
That got a slow shake of the head; Baldwin was a doughty fighter, but he was not about to put his gains in jeopardy by engaging in single combat, especially with a fellow with the build and prowess of his de Hauteville blood.
‘What did you offer Gökham Bey?’
‘More than did you, and do not enquire as to what. Enough to say that as part of our bargain I will soon rule in the citadel, not you or he.’
‘Without your soldiers.’
‘Look behind you, Tancred.’
It was tempting to ignore that but not possible. A glance over his shoulder let him see what he suspected. Baldwin’s men were mounted and heading for the gate, all four hundred
of them, while his own Normans watched in silent fury.
The laugh was loud and very false. ‘You may wish to offer them the same choice of combat you gave to me, Norman. If you do not I suggest you stand aside.’
There was no option but to do so; he could not fight that number and nor would he have done even if he had with him his men and them armed. They were outnumbered two to one and by Franks who, if they were generally in equal numbers no match for the Normans, were too numerous to favour the usual outcome. Back at his own camp he stood for an age watching the flag flying about the city, with his men waiting for instructions on what to do.
‘Break camp and get ready your mounts,’ he said finally.
‘You are giving in to him?’ Robert of Salerno asked, softly.
‘I am doing so because we have no choice, Robert. If Tarsus was impossible to capture by force of arms before, it has not improved with a Lotharingian garrison. No, Baldwin is slimy enough to have outwitted me …’
‘Which is to your credit, cousin.’
‘Is it, Robert? Legend will tell all that I was made to look a fool.’
‘No, legend will say that Baldwin of Boulogne was a deceiver and a cheat, who put his own need to gain against his service to God and our purpose.’
Tancred responded with a bitter smile; Robert was no stranger to his own motives. ‘Then let us hope they do not examine my conscience as well.’
Mounted, Tancred rode under the walls at the head of his men, calling out to the watching Baldwin. ‘You bested me in this, but one day you will pay for what you did here with your blood.’
‘Boast away, Norman,’ Baldwin replied with a sneer, dropping the de Hauteville banner over the walls, clearly with a stone inside to drive it into the dust. ‘I piss on you.’
Heading north-east Tancred knew that another possible capture lay ahead of him, the town of Adana, not as ancient or as prosperous as Tarsus but a place that might fall to the same threats issued there; go now while you can or face the whole host of Christendom. Baldwin was left not in control of Tarsus as he had implied – he and his men had taken possession only of the two towers that fronted the main gate – but still in negotiation with Gökham Bey about the final terms of surrender, talks which he was called away from in late evening because a force of around one hundred and fifty lances had been seen approaching from the north, eventually identified as Normans. Their leader, Roger de Liverot, he addressed from the walls and quietly refused them either entry or food.
‘Make camp as did we on arrival and perhaps on the morrow we will grant you the means to ride on in pursuit of Lord Tancred.’
‘Night is near upon us and we have ridden hard to catch him. We are in need of proper rest.’
‘Hard ground never troubled a Norman, though grumbling is a trait.’
That made the Lotharingians on the walls with him laugh out loud, for what had occurred in taking Tarsus had opened up the kind of rivalry that had hitherto been kept under control in the host. The responses from the Normans, blasphemously crude, got like in reaction, the whole episode watched by the remains of the Turkish garrison.
Eventually Roger led his men away to occupy the same riverside ground as had Tancred, his men grumbling and weary from having ridden hard to catch him. Hungry, if not thirsty, they tended to their mounts and began to settle down for the night, Roger eschewing the need for sentinels to keep watch on the grounds that there was no threat nearby about which they need be concerned.
He could not be expected to know the effect on the Turks of the exchange of insults that had taken place earlier; if they had not understood much of what had been said the sense was obvious: these Crusaders were not as united as they had first appeared, and added to that there was no sign of this fabled host. There was one man who reasoned that he might not, after all, have to surrender his governorship, but wisdom first dictated that he reduce the number of his enemies.
Half of Roger de Liverot’s men, their leader included, died soundlessly, their throats cut by Turks who made not a sound as they approached the snoring Normans. A few awoke to see their fate just before it was visited upon them, the only sound to emerge the gurgling of blood spilling from a sliced open windpipe and main artery. Few, a very few, woke in time to get a weapon into play and fight off their assailants for a while before succumbing to superior numbers, and the very lucky, no more than a dozen in total, fought hard enough to get clear and head at a desperate run for the walls of Tarsus.
There they called to their Lotharingian confrères for succour, all insults forgotten, and had enough time to tell Baldwin’s men what had happened before they were set upon and slain in sight of the ground lit by torchlight, the last men to die naming the person clearly responsible for their fate, none other than Baldwin of Boulogne in concert with Gökham Bey. The horrified Lotharingians were not stupid; they knew who would be next if they did not defend themselves, albeit some of their number were so incensed they set off to slay Baldwin for his crime, so that he was obliged to lock his door against them.
The rest set about seeing to the remains of the Turkish garrison, first closing the postern gate by which the murderous party had exited and hoped to re-enter, no doubt to continue the slaughter, they fleeing in the knowledge of what might exit from the gates any time soon, mounted warriors who would cut them down to a man. Emerging from the towers they occupied, the Lotharingians rampaged through the city cutting down every Turk they found, and quite a few Armenians mistaken for infidel, until they reached the gubernatorial palace where they found Gökham Bey, pleading through an interpreter that he had had no knowledge of what had occurred and offering gold to spare his life.
It did not serve him at all; two sturdy knights of Lower Lorraine took their swords and, with a series of blows, hacked him into half a dozen pieces, his blood running over an elaborately tiled mosaic floor, of a design that might have once been walked on by Roman feet. Others set about his wives and numerous children until there was none left alive. If many later claimed this was done to avenge their Norman confrères that was a lie; they did it for fear of their own lives.
It took Baldwin, from behind his locked, heavy, wooden door, an age to convince his followers that he had not conspired to commit the crime, and it was an indication of the man he was that they did not initially believe him. Some remained unconvinced even when he was allowed out, but without him they were leaderless in a strange land, and added to that, as a free man, he had the ability to offer them now that which he had intended they should receive once his talks with Gökham Bey were concluded.
Gifts of gold and silver, the right to loot the homes and places of worship of the Turks, a blind eye turned to those who extended that to Christian Armenians to fill their pouches and rape their women, this took any desire away to even chastise their leader. Added to that was the prospect to a senior captain of the position of governor of Tarsus, who could choose his own men to form the garrison, a duty of much comfort and little risk now the Turks were all slain or fled.
For the rest there were other cities ahead to plunder, and even leaving a garrison of an eighth of his strength, they still outnumbered the Normans Baldwin knew were ahead of them. Leaving the citizens of Tarsus to bury the Norman dead and cast the Turks into an open pit, Baldwin set off the next day to chase the man he now saw as the main rival to his ambitions.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was impossible to ignore the discontent that began to surface in the ranks of Tancred’s men; they felt cheated, and not having responsibility to the whole of the mission they also felt free to be angry with him for not either outwitting Baldwin or fighting him for possession of Tarsus. All he could do was to refuse to respond to their misery and talk confidently of what was to come – other rich places and the booty they would provide – with the added assurance that if he had been outwitted once it would not happen again.
The sight, after two days’ riding, of a medium-sized walled town on the horizon raised all their spirits, only dented
when, in coming close they saw a strange banner flying from the highest tower, deep blue and bearing heraldic symbols that were unrecognisable to Western eyes.
‘Armenian,’ Anastas said in Greek, aware that the identification did not bring a smile to Tancred’s lips.
Naturally their approach had been spotted and as they came close to the town they saw the gates open. Soon a substantial force of mixed cavalry and foot soldiers exited to draw up on the plain in battle order and under that same blue banner, clearly intent on defending the town. A small party detached themselves and rode forward to a point well ahead of the battle line and stopped, clearly inviting a parley, and Tancred, ordering his men to prepare for a fight, rode to meet them. The leader, tall, handsome and dark-skinned, was out in front, mounted with his standard-bearer at his side and he disarmed Tancred immediately by bowing in greeting and welcoming him to Adana in fluent Greek, giving his name as Oshin and getting that of Tancred in return.
‘As you will see, My Lord, the town is no longer in the hands of the infidel. We Christians have taken it from them.’ There was no choice but to look pleased. ‘But I must add that they were ready to depart for they had heard of the coming of this great host from Europe. If we rose up and drove them out it was with your aid, even if you were not present.’
‘So Adana is now Armenian.’
‘It is,’ Oshin replied, his chest swelling. ‘And soon all of our lands will throw off the yoke of the Seljuks, for we Christians combined will drive them away, back to the East. Now, My Lord Tancred, I invite you and your lances to enter our town as guests, to pray with us in our churches and to eat and drink all that we can provide.’
There was no choice but to accept, and also no alternative to sending back a messenger to tell his knights to take off the chain mail they had just donned, for there would be no fighting – they would be feted as liberators, yet Tancred knew that would not still the moaning. His men had not come all this way for wine and provender, and the fact that Adana was in Armenian hands, a race he knew the Crusade leaders saw as potential allies, meant the people and the property would have to be respected.