by Hilary Green
When he finally tore himself away he saw from the position of the sun that he had been much longer than he intended. He was hurrying back to his quarters, hoping that Bohemond had not required him during his absence, when he was waylaid by Leofric.
‘Come with me. Someone wants to talk to you.’
‘He’ll have to wait I’m afraid,’ Ranulph replied. ‘I have to get back to Lord Bohemond.’
‘Never mind Bohemond,’ was the response. ‘Someone much more important wants you.’
Ranulph followed the Varangian into the palace and soon realised that they were in the royal apartments. Was it possible that the emperor himself had sent for him, he wondered. If so, to what purpose?
Leofric stopped, opened a door and announced, ‘Sir Ranulph, Your Highness.’
Ranulph found himself in a large, airy room decorated with the same simplicity as the one where the emperor had first received them; but the emperor himself was not present. Instead, there were five or six women. Some of them were stitching at a tapestry, but three were standing at writing desks copying manuscripts. The one in the centre looked up from her work and laid aside her quill.
‘Thank you, ladies. You may leave us.’
With a shock Ranulph realised he was in the presence of Anna Comnena. The ladies glided out, whispering among themselves, and Anna moved to sit on a large stool that reminded him of the backless throne on which the Virgin sat in the mosaics. She was no longer dressed in the elaborate court robes she had worn at dinner but wore a simple tunic of deep midnight blue. She looked very young. Ranulph felt a stab of something close to panic. He knew from bitter experience that Byzantine princesses had no qualms about inviting attractive men to their beds. But then, he reminded himself, he had been a fresh-faced youth and the lady in question a married woman who took pleasure in introducing an inexperienced young man to what she called ‘the arts of love’ – until, that was, she discovered that she could not bend him to her will as easily as she had expected. After that, her far-reaching spite had had consequences he preferred not to remember. He dragged his mind back to the present. He was no longer the ‘young Achilles’ Viviana had named him; and this girl in her simple dress did not look as if she was bent upon seduction – but he could not help recalling the moment when their eyes had met at that first dinner.
‘Please sit, Sir Ranulph.’ Her voice was low and musical. She was regarding him with lively curiosity but with no hint of flirtatiousness. ‘I am told you are a scholar as well as a soldier.’
‘I can read and write both Latin and Greek, Highness,’ he said. ‘But I would not count myself a scholar.’
‘But you have studied the work of the Fathers of the Church?’
‘I was brought up in a monastery in England. I have some acquaintance with the writing of St Augustine, among others. But the teachings of my church differ from yours in many ways.’
‘I am aware of that. I am told you also read Arabic.’
How did she know so much about him? He floundered in uncertainty. ‘That is so, Highness.’
‘I am told there is much wisdom to be gained from some of the Arab scholars. I would like to learn their language. Will you teach me?’
‘I should be glad to, Highness,’ he stammered, ‘but I fear I shall not be in Constantinople long enough for that.’
‘But you could begin, teach me the rudiments? I learn quickly. You might spend an hour or so each day with me until you leave.’
His brain was racing. Was it likely that this highly intelligent young woman really thought she could learn enough in a few days to be of any use? Or was it an excuse, a cover under which he could visit her? He felt himself beginning to blush at the possible explanation.
She was watching him and he sensed that she understood his embarrassment; but she made no effort to relieve it. Instead she said, ‘You serve the Lord Bohemond, do you not?’
Ah! So perhaps Bohemond was the object of her interest, not himself. ‘I do, Highness.’
‘What manner of man is he?’
‘He is ...’he sought for words, ‘he is a knight, skilled in all the arts of war – and a great leader.’
‘A man of honour?’
‘Of course.’
‘He has taken the oath of fealty to my father. Will he honour that?’
‘Yes, Highness. He is oath-bound. He will not renege on that.’
‘Other are still refusing.’
‘Only Raymond of Toulouse now.’
‘I am told Bohemond has great influence with the other Frankish lords. Can he not persuade him?’
‘He is trying.’
She was silent for a moment, then it seemed she had decided to pursue a different line of thought. ‘You are a pious man, are you not?’
‘I try to follow the teachings of the church in all things.’
‘Why have you taken up arms to fight for my father?’
‘I have come to fight for Christendom, Highness. So that the Holy Places are in Christian hands and pilgrims can visit them without fear or danger. Restoring your father’s dominion over his lands in Syria is a necessary step in that direction.’
‘And Lord Bohemond – does he also fight for Christendom?’
‘Why else would he be here?’
‘I have heard it said that some of those who have answered my father’s call are seeking not the freedom of the Holy Places but land. They hope to take the cities they free from the Turks for themselves. You believe that your lord has no such ambitions?’
Ranulph remembered Bohemond’s request for the overlordship of Antioch, and his own misgivings. It seemed likely that Anna had heard of it somehow. It was a moment before he replied.
‘My lord Bohemond has given his oath to return all he conquers to your father’s authority. He will not forswear himself. But your father in his turn has promised that he will be well rewarded if he proves faithful.’
She regarded him in silence for a moment. Then she got up and went to the writing desk and took a parchment from among the others. She held it out to him.
‘Will you translate this for me and return tomorrow with it? Then we can talk further. You will be well rewarded for your trouble.’
He looked at the manuscript. It was a medical treatise by the Arab doctor al-Majusi, with which he was already familiar. It would take very little time to translate; but he understood that Anna Comnena’s principal concern was not academic. This was a cover, under which she could pump him for information, about Bohemond in particular and relations among the leaders of the Latin forces. He was being asked to act as her spy.
Ranulph bowed low. ‘I will make the translation as you request, Highness. But I do not seek reward. My first loyalty is to my liege lord and any reward I may merit will come from him.’
The following morning they took ship to cross the Bosphorus for a council of war with the other commanders. It was clear from the start that there was only one item on the agenda – Count Raymond’s refusal to take the oath of allegiance. For an hour the arguments raged back and forth. Some were in favour of bypassing the question and setting out immediately without waiting for Alexios to join them. Others pointed out that they relied on the emperor to supply them with food and other necessities while they were on the march. Some wanted to leave Raymond behind to settle his dispute with Alexios while the rest marched south; but he was too powerful a leader to be sidelined in that way.
Finally Bohemond lost patience. He jumped up from his seat and advanced on Raymond.
‘In the name of God, can you not see what you are doing? This whole enterprise is like to founder on the rock of your pride. I swear by all that’s holy, if you do not at once go to Alexios and tell him you are ready to take the oath, I will challenge you to single combat and when you are defeated I will take command of your men as well as my own and lead them to Jerusalem.’
As he spoke he seized the Count by the throat and for a moment it looked as though he might despatch him on the spot. Stephen of Blois and
Tancred leapt forward to restrain him but before they reached him he let go and stood back. Raymond struggled for breath for a moment, then rose to his feet with as much dignity as was left to him. ‘I will go to Alexios. I will not become his liegeman, but I will swear not to harm him and to return to him all conquered land and cities. If that will suffice, very good. If it will not I will take my men and return to Toulouse.’
The next day they were all called to the emperor’s council chamber and found Raymond seated at Alexios’s left hand. It was apparent that the matter of the oath had been resolved, though in what form exactly they were not told. Maps were spread and Alexios pointed.
‘This is your first objective. The city of Nicaea.’
‘Why?’ Stephen of Blois asked truculently. ‘It is not on the direct route to Jerusalem.’
‘Agreed,’ Alexios said, ‘but it is in Turkish hands and too close to Constantinople for comfort. It must be returned to Byzantine control.
‘But …’ Stephen began, but Raymond cut across him.
‘Peace! We have given our oaths to return to the emperor the lands and cities taken from him by the infidel. We must keep our promises.’
‘There is another, very cogent reason, why you cannot afford to leave Nicaea in enemy hands,’ Alexios went on. ‘If you do, the Sultan Kirij Arslan will be able to harry your rear all the way to Antioch. You will have heard, of course, of the fate of the army led here by the man they call Peter the Hermit last year.’
‘Army?’ Raymond snorted. ‘A rabble, from what I hear.’
‘Quite. Undisciplined, unprepared and lacking weapons or training. They called themselves an armed pilgrimage, but they would brook no advice from me. They attacked Nicaea and the Turks slaughtered them in their hundreds. Afterwards, any young men left alive were forced to convert to Islam and undergo circumcision; the young women – for there were women among them – were sold into slavery and the bones of the dead were ground up to make mortar to repair the city walls.’
‘By God!’ Bohemond exclaimed. ‘That must be revenged!’ And a roar of agreement confirmed his sentiment.
‘To Nicaea, then,’ Alexios said. ‘Now let me advise you about the Turkish tactics in battle …’
There was, however, a delay. Since the Turks had taken control of Nicea, communication between it and Constantinople had been virtually non-existent, and the road had become so overgrown that it was impassable. Three thousand men were sent ahead with axes to clear it and to mark the route with wooden crosses and it was impossible to move the army until that work was completed. So it was the beginning of May before they set out. In the interval Ranulph continued to visit Anna Comnena, as she had ordered. Each time she handed him a new manuscript to translate and in their discussions he found a keen intelligence and a genuine love of learning; but she never lost an opportunity to probe him about Bohemond and the other leaders, enquiries which he answered as neutrally as possible.
Two days before they were due to leave a rumour swept the camp. Alexios was not going to take command of the host as expected. He was remaining in Constantinople and sending his general Tatikios to command the Byzantine army.
‘Is it true?’ Ranulph asked Bohemond.
‘It is. The emperor does not feel secure enough on his throne to leave the city. There are many there dissatisfied with his rule, in particular those who lost lands and wealth when Syria was overrun by the Turks. They blame Alexios and would gladly foment a rebellion if he was not there to prevent it.’
‘But Tatikios is not a Byzantine, is he?’
‘He of mixed birth, half Greek, half Arab, but brought up from childhood with Alexios. They are closer than brothers, I am told. Also, he is a eunuch, so no danger to the succession.’
‘So, if Alexios is not to be supreme commander, who will take charge?’
Bohemond lifted an eyebrow. ‘Who indeed?’
5.
‘Jesus have mercy on us! The place looks impregnable!’
It was Marc d’Ambray, who sat his horse alongside Ranulph at the crest of a hill and looked down on the city of Nicaea. Below them on the plain was a large lake and built along its shore was a city encompassed by strong walls and encircled on the landward side by a moat.
The two friends had been reunited when the armies marched out from Kibotos. It had been a more emotional occasion than Ranulph had expected. Marc had hugged him hard and exclaimed, ‘Praise be to God. We had begun to think the emperor had kept you for himself.’
‘As a prisoner you mean?
‘Or as his trusted adviser. We couldn’t decide which!’
Dino had fallen to his knees and grabbed his hand and kissed it, with tears in his eyes. Ranulph was unused to such displays of affection and found himself unexpectedly moved. For his own part, he was glad to be away from the oppressive atmosphere of Constantinople, with its undercurrents of suspicion and conspiracy. At last they were heading for the true objective of their quest and he preferred the simple life of camp to the luxuries of Alexios’s court. Not that this life was without its complications. Bohemond’s Norman knights had never completely accepted him. Marc’s friendship was constant, and hitherto the others had treated him for the most part with distant tolerance. They called him ‘the Englishman’ – sometimes to his face – and clearly regarded him as an outsider. But since he had been chosen as one of the small group to accompany the Count to Constantinople their attitudes had changed. Some obviously saw him as an upstart, worming his way into Bohemond’s confidence, and made no secret of their hostility. The most powerful of these was the Count’s nephew, Tancred, who made his resentment of Ranulph’s favoured position very clear. Others recognised that he had some influence and wished to enlist it in their own interest by dint of flattery. Ranulph held himself aloof from both factions.
His enemies’ suspicions were exacerbated by the fact that he was admitted to meetings of the council of princes. His services were required because the Franks often had difficulty even understanding each other. Those from the north of France, like Godfrey of Bouillon and Stephen of Blois, spoke the langue d’oeil while the Provençals in Raymond’s party spoke the harsher langue d’oc. Added to this were the contingents of Greeks and Calabrians and other nationalities, making council meetings resemble the Tower of Babel. It required all Ranulph’s tact, as well as his skill with languages, to interpret them to each other.
As the army prepared to set out, the council, always fractious at the best of times, had exchanged angry words when it came to deciding the order of the advance.
‘It is obvious,’ Raymond of Toulouse had stated at the beginning of the meeting, ‘that an army as vast as this cannot move as one body. There will be no markets set up for us, as there were on the way to Constantinople. We rely on foraging for supplies as we go, and the countryside we are to pass through will not support such huge numbers.’
‘So then,’ Bohemond had said, ‘we must divide our forces.’
‘Exactly, and I have agreed with the emperor how it should be done. My men make up the largest group. He will make ships available for us. You can set off overland and we will follow by sea and join you at Nicaea.’
‘Oh, very good!’ Bohemond exclaimed. ‘We endure the privations of a long march, while you lie on silken couches aboard the emperor’s ship!’ His next words were drowned out by a cacophony of voices, objecting, suggesting, making demands and counter-demands,but Ranulph heard him mutter, ‘Yes, and while we fight, you and Alexios will be able to conspire uninterrupted.’
When they were alone he asked, ‘Do you really believe Count Raymond is conspiring with the Emperor?’
Bohemond glowered. ‘You’ve seen them. Ever since he finally agreed to take the oath Alexios treats him like the Prodigal Son. But if Raymond imagines he is going to rule Syria as the emperor’s regent, he will find he has me to reckon with!’
Eventually it was agreed that Raymond’s suggestion was the only practical solution and Godfrey of Bouillon offered to lead the
overland march, with Bohemond and his men following. So now, looking down from the hilltop, Ranulph watched Godfrey’s army deploying over the plain in front of the city walls. Then he touched his heels to his horse’s sides and followed Bohemond down the track.
As they reached the bottom of the hill a knight from the army of Bouillon came cantering up to Bohemond. ‘A message from Count Godfrey, sire. He will encamp on the east side of the city. Will you take the north?’
Bohemond scanned the terrain ahead of him and nodded. ‘Very well. Tell your lord I am content with that.’
The sun was dipping by the time the two armies had deployed themselves and camp had been set up. As usual, foraging parties were sent out to collect food and fuel, but they returned at nightfall almost empty handed. The land around the city was fertile, but it was too early in the year for harvest and what supplies the peasants had managed to hoard over the winter had either been consumed or, more probably, requisitioned by the inhabitants of the town in preparation for the coming siege.
Bohemond sent for Ranulph. ‘Tatikios should be at Kios, on the coast, by now. Alexios promised us supplies. Tomorrow at first light I want you to ride over there and tell him we need food and fuel urgently. Take another knight with you and a dozen men at arms.’
Accompanied by Marc, Ranulph reached the port late the next day and asked to be taken to the general’s tent. Tatikios was in conference with two of his officers but came out to meet them. At the sight of him Ranulph caught his breath. Behind him Marc suppressed an oath. Sometime in the past Tatikios’s nose had been sliced off and he now wore a solid gold prosthesis in its place. Ranulph forced himself to lower his eyes and bow respectfully.
Tatikios listened to his request and replied at once. ‘The emperor has ordered that everything shall be done to assist your lord in his endeavour. Tomorrow you shall have whatever I can give you to take back to him and I will send messages back to Constantinople for new supplies to be sent by sea.’