Siege

by Richard Foreman

  10.

  Raymond of Toulouse insisted that the meeting of the Council of the Princes take place at a venue of his choosing. If the other princes could not assent to his request, then he would not attend.

  “As he knows that he will never be King of Antioch, Raymond is pitching for the slightly less prestigious role of Lord of Pettiness,” Bohemond remarked to Adhemar, after hearing the news. His first instinct was to defy and frustrate his fellow noblemen. But the meeting had to happen as soon as possible. They needed to attack the city now, or never. Adhemar only told Bohemond what he already knew, when he argued to permit that Raymond have his way.

  “I am not yet fully apprised of your plan, but I suspect that you will still need his army to capture the city. I would recommend that you allow Raymond this small victory, in the pursuit of fulfilling your larger triumph.”

  Bohemond pretended to be torn in his decision, to stress his sense of compromise and sacrifice, but he finally gave his assent. He also duly flattered Adhemar, on his powers of diplomacy: “And I thought God moved in mysterious ways.”

  The Council of Princes had gathered regularly, since leaving Constantinople. The noblemen would come together to resolve military issues, the perennial topic of feeding their armies and other logistical conundrums. There were always plenty of problems – and far fewer solutions – to address between the armies of God. Thankfully Adhemar, who led the Council, was a voice of calm and conciliation, in the face of the often fractious and vain-glorious noblemen, who could squabble like children and take offence quicker than a whore could drop her dress. The bishop had lost count of the amount of times he had healed rifts and soothed someone’s wounded pride. His tactic was to speak to each prince with a grievance individually – and try to engineer a compromise whereby both parties believed they had won the dispute, or at the very least had not lost it. Adhemar was also conscious of representing and championing the pilgrims on their campaign who were non-combatants. Bohemond would often call them “parasites” or “holy fools” but the bishop referred to them as “souls.”

  Next to Adhemar, Raymond had often steered and dominated the Council of Princes during the first half of their campaign. He was fond of reminding the other princes, subtly or otherwise, that he possessed the largest army and treasury out of the group. But the Count of Toulouse no longer commanded the respect of the group as he had once done. The princes increasingly looked to Bohemond for leadership. He had proved himself in battle – and now he was the only one proposing a plan to take the city they had been besieging, bootlessly, for over six months. It hadn’t happened overnight, that Bohemond had usurped Raymond’s authority – but it had happened.

  “A small victory is still a victory,” Raymond remarked to Adhemar, after the bishop had given him the news that Bohemond and others would defer to his decision to host the meeting in the main chamber of his billet. He was less pleased however with the Norman keeping him waiting, when the rest of the participants had assembled.

  Adhemar, Robert of Flanders, Godfrey of Bouillon, Tancred de Hauteville and Robert of Normandy were already present, waiting with a mixture of anticipation and impatience for Bohemond to arrive. Incense infused the room. Stubs of candles flickered on the walls.

  Bohemond sent Hugh, Edward and Thomas ahead. He instructed his knights to assess the mood of the chamber and, once the meeting commenced, to note the reactions and interactions between the attendees.

  “Keep an eye on Raymond and my nephew. The two have been courting one another - or may have even consummated their alliance. We de Hauteville’s are not to be trusted. Raymond may purchase his loyalty, if he hasn’t already done so. Tancred is keen to make a name for himself and fulfil his ambitions, even if he has to ruin mine to do so… But I also want you to note Godfrey. I warrant that I can sway Robert of Normandy – and Robert of Flanders will be up for the battle ahead. I still do not know if Godfrey will support my proposal, however. Is he deeply devout, or does he just want to appear so? Antioch is of secondary importance to him. He is keen to march on to Jerusalem, like a fly attracted to shit. I worry that he may be a man of his word and desire to deliver up the city to our munificent emperor… I need to know who’s for me or against me.”

  Edward was only too glad to oblige his prince when he saw the food, wine and ales their host laid out on a banquet table. His assignment was a damn sight less arduous – and perilous – than his previous mission, he reasoned. Edward was keen to attend the gathering as he rightly judged that Henri of Bayeux would be present. The Englishman wanted to confidently look the Norman in the eye. Challenge him. Whether Henri appeared innocent or guilty Edward would consider him guilty, in relation to being behind the attack yester night. Earlier in the afternoon Edward had tracked down one of the men posted on the camp’s cordon – and he reported how Henri had left the camp the night before with Girard of Mortain and a force of twenty or so soldiers.

  In contrast to his countryman, Thomas appeared ill at ease as he stood in the corner and watched as the room began to fill up with princes, each accompanied by a few senior knights. Intimidating and imposing. The tension in the room would have been palpable to a blind man. It was as if they were all standing in a pool of naphtha, each of them holding a taper that might drop at any moment. Thomas bit his nails and chewed the skin on the inside of his mouth, worried that Bohemond might call upon him to address the whole council. He gulped, imagining the likes of Raymond barking orders at him, to clarify a point or speak up.

  “Do you know why Bohemond has bid us to attend?” Thomas asked Edward, as they walked towards Raymond’s camp.

  “I find it best not to ask too many questions, lad, as I often don’t like the answers.”

  Thomas was temporarily distracted from his anxious thoughts however, as he overheard part of a conversation between Tancred de Hauteville and Robert of Flanders, who were standing close by. Thomas didn’t need to consult the Delphic Oracle to know that the two princes were discussing Stephen of Blois.

  “It was his wife who ordered him off to go on campaign – and his wife who ordered him back. His is more wife-fearing than God-fearing,” Tancred asserted, as if he were sucking on a lemon. The two princes were among the youngest taking part of the crusade, yet the campaign had aged them and hardened their hearts, like a date drying out in the sun. “If the shrew asked him to thrust his sword up his arse, he would reply “How far?” We are no worse off without the caitiff – the sheep in wolf’s clothing - but we would be better placed if he hadn’t taken others in his army with him. There will be a special alcove in hell for him when he dies – and hopefully he’ll only have his wife for company during eternity.”

  Robert of Flanders motioned to reply, no doubt wishing to heap further opprobrium on the dishonourable nobleman, but out of the corner of his eye he spotted Bohemond enter the chamber.

  Questions would now be answered.

  Herleva pursed her lips and let out a sigh, or un-lady-like snort, of frustration. The young whore had all but run out of the kohl she used to line her almond eyes. The lack of make-up was a further sign that they should return home.

  Emma sat in the tent with her most profitable girl. Even without make-up Herleva would have been considered twice as desirable as the other girls in her stable, the madam fancied. She could wear a miller’s sack for a dress, but punters would still discern the quality of her figure and assets. Even if her regulars discovered that she might have the pox, they would still want to be with her. Herleva had left home and her drunken, abusive father after her mother died, when she was fifteen. She took to the trade like a duck to water, knowing when to dominate or subjugate herself, depending on the demands of different clients. She rightly derived more pleasure from making money than having sex. No matter how much Emma kept putting up her prices, her regulars – knights, noblemen and priests - remained loyal, enamoured.

  The madam continued to go through the list of clients who owed her money, for services rendered by her girls. Edwa
rd had recently helped her collect her debts, as the no-nonsense Englishman threatened to cut off fingers, or other parts of their anatomy, if they refused pay their dues.

  “It must be time to leave this godforsaken place,” Herleva suggested to her friend, not for the first time in the past fortnight or so. The enemy were coming. She had heard rumours of how the Turks mistreated women. She could be raped or sold into slavery. Or both. “Bohemond has bigger things to worry about. He hopefully won’t notice or care we’ve left. We could go back to Constantinople on our way home. We could spend the day shopping and nights working. What’s keeping you here?”

  Emma was going to answer “Edward,” but she didn’t want to admit to her friend how much the Englishman meant to her – or admit to herself how much she liked the knight. The madam had always cautioned her girls against falling for any of their clients. She felt a slight professional embarrassment at failing to follow her own advice.

  “We will leave soon. We will not stay too long,” Emma stated, vaguely.

  “We may already have stayed too long. We’ve squeezed what we can out of the commoners and nobles. There’s no money or food left. The well has run dry. I must have slept with everyone in the camp,” Herleva argued.

  “Not everyone, of course,” the madam replied, playfully, arching an eyebrow. “Young Thomas still seems immune to your charms. He may as well be a eunuch. I have seen you talking to him on more than one occasion. He still hasn’t put his hand in his pocket for you though, so to speak. There must be something wrong with him,” the madam said, amused by the situation.

  “He’s different to others here, which means there may be something right about him. Don’t laugh, but I like him. He’s decent. He looks me in the eye, instead of looking at just my tits, when he talks to me. But I am not going to let you change the subject that easily. We need to discuss when we are going to leave,” Herleva insisted, hoping that if they did so they would be accompanied by Edward – and Thomas.

  “It’s not safe to leave right now.”

  “But it must be even less safe to stay.”

  Raymond had modified the chamber, in light of the important gathering. Banners were hung from walls, along with portraits of the host. A Bible lay open on a lectern, close to the count’s great, iron chair. A tapestry, charting the history of his family – and his own triumphs – was mounted behind the mock throne. Various knights and attendants stood against the walls, their backs arrow straight. The prince aimed to project a sense of power, wealth and religious observance.

  Adhemar and Raymond sat at either end, joint heads of the table. The other princes sat on long benches, facing one another, wine cups in front of them. Adhemar had taken the serving staff aside beforehand and instructed them to dilute the measures. The bishop didn’t want the wine to pour oil onto the fire of any heated discussions.

  Bohemond had confidently and cordially greeted his fellow princes when entering. He had prepared a few opening lines and uncontentious topics of conversation for each nobleman, aside from Raymond. The two men frequently glanced at one another, yet also acted as if they didn’t exist.

  As per his routine, before giving a sermon, Adhemar took a sip of wine to wet his lips – and then took a breath whilst briefly closing his eyes to centre himself. Bohemond was impressed by the way that the bishop always came off as seeming serene rather than sanctimonious. The clergyman thanked the table for attending the meeting at such short notice. He proceeded to update the princes on recent intelligence reports and information about supplies of provisions, as dire as the news was.

  “You may have sent out your own scouts, but my agents have advised me that the enemy will be upon us in three days. And that Kerbogha’s army is three times the size of ours. We should not underestimate the quality and quantity of the enemy forces. Although Baldwin was successful in resisting Kerbogha, he was able to do so behind formidable city walls. We are on the wrong side of Antioch’s defences at the moment, but we could be on the right side of them by the time our foes arrive. As you may already know, Bohemond has liaised with an ally in the city. I will allow him to explain.”

  Adhemar nodded towards the imperious prince and sat down. Bohemond stood up, towering above everyone, brushing some non-existent crumbs from his purple surcoat. He was accustomed to giving speeches and being the centre of attention. Rather than address his audience at the table he walked a few paces and stood at an invisible pulpit. He consciously positioned himself behind his host. At first Raymond craned his neck - but he then submitted to turning his chair and facing his rival, grunting as he did so.

  Bohemond explained how he intended to lead a sizeable detachment of knights and infantryman away from the city, in sight of the enemy, tomorrow afternoon. The garrison would hopefully be fooled into believing that the crusaders were finally retreating, in response to the threat of Kerbogha’s arrival. The force however would double-back under the cover of darkness. A vanguard of knights would rendezvous at the part of the wall entrusted to their Armenian contact. A rope would be lowered and attached to a ladder, for the knights to scale and enter the city. The soldiers would secure a couple of watchtowers and then open the Gate of St George, for reinforcements to enter the city.

  “It is the best plan we have, because it is the only plan we have,” Bohemond concluded.

  “How do we know that we will not be led into a trap? How can we trust this Firuz?” Robert of Flanders asked.

  “You will have to trust me,” Bohemond said, assuredly.

  A few of the princes and knights in the room shared a look, as if they were waiting for one another to offer up a satirical or cynical comment. But it didn’t come.

  “I am going to put my faith in Firuz, so you will not have to,” Bohemond added. “I will personally volunteer myself and my men to scale the ladder and enter the city. If God favours us, Antioch will be given into our hands.”

  “Our hands?” Raymond exclaimed, scoffing. “You say that Antioch will be ours, but what you really mean is that Antioch would be yours, according to the terms of the agreement you proposed during our last council. I must protest again and remind everyone of the oaths they gave to the Emperor. I believe you to be honest men – and that you do not wish to throwaway your honour, like a drab throwing away her virtue. God will not favour us if we act as faithless as heathens and we break our contract with our ally.”

  “Our ally broke his contract with us. It has already been annulled. Alexios promised he would resupply and reinforce us. But where is he? He is probably still back in Constantinople, sodomising some eunuch with the traitor Tatikios looking on. And have you forgotten Nicaea? We spilled our blood and guts during the siege, only for him to sweep in at the end like a harpy, negotiate the surrender and steal our prize. We are not the ones who lack a sense of honour or courage. We all realise how we have been fooled and exploited by the Byzantines. We fight for them rather than with them. Instead of princes, Alexios regards us as mere sell-swords. We have more than earned any baubles he gifted us in Constantinople. We owe him nothing now. Alexios has abandoned us. We should duly abandon him,” Bohemond contested, as though the argument had already been won. He was also keen to sow seeds of division against the Emperor, which would hopefully bear fruit at a later date – in the form of a crusade to capture the Byzantine capital. Bohemond had already whispered into the ears of some of his fellow princes that Alexios’ ultimate aim might be to travel west instead of east, whilst their lands remained undefended.

  Edward noted that there was more nodding than shaking, of heads

  Among the other princes – although the Englishman sensed that their minds had been made-up even before Bohemond had opened his mouth.

  “Are you so sure that Alexios has forsaken us?” Raymond asked, pouncing. The count saw a chink in his rival’s armour, a trap he could fall into. One of Raymond’s agents had assured him that morning that Alexios was leading a relief army. Although the agent would not commit to saying that the Byzantines would arr
ive before Kerbogha’s forces, they were on their way. Alexios hadn’t abandoned them.

  “I am sure,” the stolidly built Norman replied. Resolute. “You have more chance of seeing Alexios turn up on a unicorn, with the Golden Fleece draped over his shoulders, clasping the Shield of Achilles, than you have of seeing him turn up on time.”

  “Then you will not be averse to agreeing to taking stewardship, rather than ownership, of Antioch should Alexios keep his word? As we must not then break our oaths with him. We swore our fealty before God,” Raymond remarked, citing an authority that even Bohemond would not dare to openly defy. “Should you be so sure of our ally betraying us then you should have no qualms about submitting to such an arrangement.”

  “I agree,” Robert of Normandy asserted his voice as clear as his position.

  “I agree too,” Godfrey echoed, although there was a catch in his throat as he spoke. The Christian felt ill at ease, thinking that he might somehow break a sacred oath. God would punish him, in this world or the next.

  Bohemond forced a smile and paused. He narrowed his eyes, calculating the odds. For once, did Raymond know something he didn’t? He could not now waver or delay. The plan was set for tomorrow evening. It was do or die. If Raymond withdrew his support, then others might follow. He did not have the numbers to overall capture the entire city. Even Tancred might side with his rival – but at least that might reveal where his nephew’s loyalties resided. Curse them all he thought to himself, whilst craving their blessing.