God's Warrior

by Hilary Green

  When they reached their own ranks again Bohemond lifted his voice. ‘The enemy has fled! God has given us the victory.’ While the men were still cheering he turned to his followers. ‘Collect the bodies of the Turkish dead. Strike off their heads and impale them on your lances. We’ll show these Nicaeans what to expect if they continue to defy us.’

  It sickened Ranulph, but he understood the purpose of it. If the inhabitants of the city could be made to believe that no help was going to come from outside, they might be more inclined to give up, shortening the siege and ultimately saving lives on both sides. They rode back with their grisly trophies and galloped round the walls holding them above their heads. The response was rapid. In the first assault one of Robert of Normandy’s knights had ventured too close to the walls and been struck down. Under covering fire from their archers the defenders had lowered a grappling iron and hauled his body up. Now, they hung it naked from the battlements in a signal of defiance.

  Walking back to his tent Ranulph was waylaid by one of Tancred’s men.

  ‘I have a message for you, Englishman, from my lord.’

  ‘And your message is ..?’

  ‘My lord bids me say that his uncle may use you as his messenger boy, but you should not imagine that will protect you.’

  Ranulph raised an eyebrow. ‘Protect me from what?’

  ‘From the consequences of your own impudence. You do not give orders to those above you.’

  Ranulph’s hand itched to reach for his sword but he restrained the impulse and said mildly, ‘If to carry the orders of my lord Bohemond, who is liege lord to your master, is impudence, then I must plead guilty. But, as you say, I am only the messenger.’

  The man stared at him for a long moment. Then he shrugged. ‘You have been warned,’ he said, and walked away.

  The siege continued. The mangonels were brought into service and the regular thud of missiles against the walls punctuated the days. Under cover of darkness men laboured to fill in the moat so that the way to the city gate was open. The heat increased and by midday men lay supine and exhausted. The diet of bread and meat palled and left a longing for something green, but the countryside had been stripped of every edible plant. Water was more vital than food and had to be drawn from the lake, where those seeking it were in danger from the archers on the city walls unless they made a wide detour. Hastily scooped from the reed beds fringing the lake it was not always clean and Ranulph was not surprised when the first rumours of disease began to circulate. Men were stricken with the flux, or with bleeding gums and ulcers on their legs.

  On Sicily Ranulph had spent many hours in conversation with the Arab physicians, who had studied the works of Greeks like Galen and others and added their own observations. In his chest he had a small coffer of dried herbs. He opened it and took out packets containing the dried root of marshmallow and of agrimony. Dino, following his instructions, steeped both in clean water and Ranulph offered the resulting decoction to those among Bohemond’s knights who were suffering most acutely. He did not have enough to treat more of them but news of its efficacy soon spread to the physicians in the Frankish host and he found his advice was sought and valued. After the gruesome business of battle he took solace in the ability to heal.

  One morning he discovered that Brand had cast a shoe and went in search of one the travelling smiths who had attached themselves to the war host. The man had set up his equipment under an awning projecting from the side of his wagon, but Ranulph was disconcerted to find that the forge was cold. He went to the back of the wagon and called. After a moment the canvas covering the rear was lifted back and a tear-stained face appeared. From previous dealings with the smith he recognised his daughter, a girl of around fifteen or sixteen years old, as near as he could guess.

  ‘Phryne? What’s the matter?’

  She swallowed and clearly made an effort to control herself. ‘I’m sorry, sir. If you need a horse shod you will have to find another smith. My father is ill.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it. Is it the flux?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He’s terrible bad. I’m afraid … I’m afraid he may …’ She gave up, unable to compete the sentence.

  Ranulph reached out and gave her his hand to step down from the wagon. ‘Don’t despair. He may yet pull through.’

  ‘I pray so, sir. I have prayed to Our Lady to save him but he grows weaker by the hour. If he dies, I don’t know what will become of me.’

  ‘If that should happen,’ he said gently, ‘you must come to me. I will find some good people who will take you in. But first I will fetch you a draft of medicine to give him. Take heart. We may yet save him.’

  He took the medicine to her himself and helped her to persuade her father to swallow it. The wagon stank of shit and he impressed on her the importance of keeping the patient clean and making sure that he drank plenty of clean water. Two days later she came to find him, pale and with dark rings under her eyes, but smiling. Her father was recovering and she was convinced it was Ranulph’s potion that had saved him.

  ‘Tell me,’ Ranulph said to her, ‘what possessed your father to bring you with him? Most of the women who follow the army are drabs and whores. This is no place for an innocent girl.’

  ‘Not so, sir,’ she replied. ‘There are good women too. Some are the wives of the fighting men, others are here to follow their trade as cooks or seamstresses or to care for the wounded. My father brought me because I have neither mother nor brothers to care for me if he left me behind. Beside, I should far rather be here with him than sat at home not knowing if he lived or died.’

  Days passed and the mangonels were making no impression on the walls. The battering ram was also in action. Made from a whole gigantic tree trunk it was set on wheels so that it could be crashed into the gate. Again and again it thudded home, making the earth shake with the impact, until a cauldron of burning pitch was emptied over it from the battlements. The men driving it fell back, howling in agony, and the ram itself began to smoulder. The attempt had to be suspended until the carpenters built a framework which supported a canopy of fresh animal skins, which gave the men some protection and could be dowsed with water to prevent the ram catching fire.

  Raymond called a council of war.

  ‘We can’t starve them out. Supplies are coming in by boat across the lake and we have no way of stopping them.’

  ‘It’s time Alexios helped out,’ Bohemond said. ‘He has a navy.’

  ‘He can’t be expected to bring galleys overland. That is just not feasible.’

  ‘No, but he must have boat builders. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility for them to knock up some small craft. Put a few archers in them and we can intercept any supplies and have them for our own use.’

  ‘I’ll send messengers to him and see what he can offer,’ Raymond agreed. ‘Meanwhile, I suggest we send sappers to undermine the walls. I’ve noticed one of the towers, the one they call Gonatas, is definitely leaning. If we can undermine that we might bring the whole thing down.’

  Protected from arrows fired from the walls by a framework covered in wet hides the sappers set to work. Ranulph watched from a rise in the ground with Dino at his side.

  ‘Why doesn’t it fall in on them as they dig?’ the boy asked.

  ‘They will shore the tunnel up with baulks of timber as they go. Then, when they think they have dug far enough, they will fill the tunnel with dried grass and set fire to it. That will burn away the timber supports and the tower will collapse. At least, that is the theory. Sometimes it works.’

  The test was not long in coming. A message arrived from Count Raymond.

  ‘The sappers have done their work and set fire to the straw. If all goes well, the tower should collapse within hours. I shall have my men drawn up ready to storm the breach and, God willing, once we are in we will fight our way through to the city gates and open them for you. Be ready to ride in and the city will be ours.’

  So they armed themselves and saddled up and by
mid-morning they were sitting their horses outside the north gate. The foot soldiers were ranged behind them, well out of range of the Nicaean archers. As the sun reached its zenith the tension rose with it. Ranulph strained his ears for the sound of falling masonry, but nothing disturbed the quiet except the chink of armour and the restless stamping of hooves. Above them on the walls the defenders called insults and asked what they were waiting for. At last, the sun went behind the mountains and there was some relief from the heat but Bohemond ground his teeth in frustration.

  ‘It will be nightfall soon. We cannot attack in the dark.’

  Then, at last, there came a sound like distant thunder. Ranulph could see bobbing heads above the crenellations of the battlements as the defenders ran towards the sound of the noise. But still the gate did not open. Bohemond had stationed a man on the vantage point from which Ranulph had watched the digging of the tunnel and now he came galloping down towards them.

  ‘It’s failed! Count Raymond is pulling his men back.’

  Bohemond rode round to the other side of the walls, and his knights followed. From here they could see that the top few courses of masonry next to the tower had collapsed and the tower was leaning at a drunken angle but the wall had not been breached. Raymond was sitting his horse in the middle of his men, and saluted them with a look of determined optimism.

  ‘Do not be downcast! Tomorrow we shall put the mangonels to work. The wall is weakened. It cannot stand much longer.’

  Ranulph and Marc were up at first light, anticipating another day at readiness for the final assault. They were eating breakfast when Aymar put his head into the tent.

  ‘Bad news! They are saying the wall has been repaired over night.’

  They went up to the vantage point on the hill and saw that it was true. Somehow, under cover of darkness, the damage had been repaired and the wall looked as strong as ever.

  Better news came the next day. The watchers on the hills rode into camp to inform Bohemond that a large force flying the banners of the emperor was heading towards them. Soon the column came into sight, and in the middle of it, amazingly, were wagons drawn by sweating oxen, each one carrying a flat-bottomed boat.

  ‘Is there nothing the emperor cannot achieve?’ Marc asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Ranulph responded dryly. ‘But I notice he is not here in person. He still needs us to shed our blood for him.’

  The boats were taken to the edge of the lake, well beyond arrow shot, and Tatikios, who was in charge of the column, called a new council of war.

  ‘Now we can stop supplies reaching the city over the lake. That should shorten the siege,’ Raymond said.

  ‘I think we can do better than that,’ Tatikios said. ‘This is Manuel Boutoumites. He will take charge of operations from the lake. We shall launch the boats tonight, loaded with well-armed men. Each will carry many banners so that the defenders in the city will think we are a far greater force. I believe if we make a concerted attack from all sides we can gain the victory. I have brought with me a large contingent of archers. They will provide covering fire for your assault.’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ Raymond demurred. ‘We have already sustained heavy losses from a direct attack. I prefer to sit it out and let them starve.’

  ‘You may not have that option,’ Tatikios said. ‘I have intelligence that a large force is being assembled to take you in the rear.’

  ‘Then, in God’s name, let us make the attempt,’ Bohemond exclaimed. ‘I have no wish to be caught between two armies.’

  ‘Good!’ Boutomites said. ‘As soon as the ships are in place I shall sound horns and trumpets. The Turks will not be expecting an attack from that quarter. Wait till you hear the sound and then launch your own assault.’

  There was little sleep for anyone that night. They all sensed that there would be no pulling back tomorrow. This would be conflict a l’outrance. They must fight with every ounce of their strength, to the death if necessary. Men sat around their camp fires, talking in low tones and sharpening their weapons. Priests moved among them, offering to hear confessions and administer the sacraments. Ranulph wandered away until he found a spot where he had only the stars for company and knelt to pray.

  ‘Lord, you have set down in the Commandments ‘thou shalt not kill’; yet tomorrow I must kill or be killed to defend Your holy places from the heathen. I beg you to absolve me from the guilt I must incur and if I am to die, let it be as a martyr in your cause. Yet, I beseech you, Lord, preserve me from death until I have seen the place where Your Son gave his life for the remission of our sins. But in all things not my will be done, but Thine. Amen.’

  Once again, as dawn broke, Ranulph and the other knights assembled opposite the city gate. To either side of them the ranks of the footsoldiers were drawn up in close array and behind them Tatikios’s archers stood ready. The sound of the trumpets from the lake came sooner than he expected, cutting across the tense silence, and was answered by a cheer from the soldiers and the braying of Bohemond’s own trumpet, sounding the attack. As before, the scaling ladders were run up against the walls, but this time the heavy covering fire from the Byzantine archers forced the defenders to keep their heads down and prevented them from deploying the cauldrons of pitch which they had used so effectively before. Ranulph saw many men cut down as they reached the battlements but others pressed up behind them and soon the fighting was hand to hand along the top of the wall.

  The battering ram had been brought into use again and this time, with less resistance from above, it was making an impression. The massive doors creaked and shuddered under the blows and finally split open. Bohemond raised his lance and bellowed, ‘Charge!’

  Ranulph touched his spurs to Brand’s sides and the big horse sprang forward. Marc galloped on his left hand side, Robert, the standard bearer on his right. Lances couched they thundered across the bridge and through the gate. A few strides later he was hauling on the reins, dragging Brand to a halt. The road ahead of them was narrow and bounded on both sides by the towers that guarded the gate, and ranged across it was a solid phalanx of men armed with pikes. Bohemond’s horse reared and neighed in terror and the others swerved and collided with each other. The defenders on the towers seized their opportunity. Here they were out of range of the archers and they had the cauldrons of boiling pitch ready. A horse screamed and went down, taking its rider with it. Ranulph, riding in the middle, was further from the walls and escaped the deluge but Brand was rearing and struggling against the bit. Unable to manoeuvre in the confined space, there was no defence and it was useless the ask the horses to charge the line of pikes.

  ‘Look out!’ Ranulph yelled and Marc yanked his horse sideways, but not quickly enough to completely escape the contents of the next cauldron. His horse plunged to its knees and Ranulph reached out and grabbed his arm just in time to stop him going down with it. ‘Get up behind me!’ he shouted and with a struggle Marc hauled himself onto Brand’s back. As he did so Ranulph heard Bohemond shout, ‘Back! Get back!’

  Marc’s horse was on its feet again and Ranulph grabbed the reins. Somehow, guiding Brand by the pressure of his knees, Ranulph managed to turn them both and keep them under control as they galloped back over the moat. He did not stop until he reached the small rise in the ground that told him he was out of range of the archers on the walls. Bohemond and most of the others were close behind him, but a quick glance showed him that two of the knights were missing. Men assigned to care for the wounded were already beside them and Dino ran up to take Brand’s reins. Ranulph lowered Marc carefully into waiting hands and looked at Bohemond, waiting to see if he would order another assault. The big man’s eyes were raking the scene below him.

  ‘We must have control over those two towers before we attack again. What in the name of God are our men doing up there? They should have cleared the walls by now.’

  Men were swarming up the scaling ladders but it was obvious that the defenders were still putting up a determined resistance. Suddenly, t
here seemed to be a hush, a pause in the fighting, and then from somewhere a cheer.

  ‘My lord, look!’ Robert Fitzgerald exclaimed. ‘They are raising a banner on top of the citadel.’ Ranulph followed his pointing finger and saw that a great flag was indeed being unfurled. ‘It’s the emperor’s standard! Boutoumites and his men must have taken the city.’

  A growl of fury erupted from Bohemond’s throat. ‘By God, we’ve been betrayed! While we have been fighting for our lives those treacherous Greeks have gone behind our backs and persuaded the Turks to surrender.’

  There was a mutter of agreement. It seemed the only explanation for the sudden capitulation.

  ‘Well, come on, men!’ Bohemond said. ‘Let’s get in there and claim our share of the spoils, while there is any left to claim.’

  He set spurs to his horse and cantered back towards the gate. Ranulph followed with the rest. They clattered through the gateway they had so recently been forced to evacuate and this time there were no missiles from the battlements above. Instead, their way was blocked by men in the uniform of the emperor.

  ‘Stand aside!’ Bohemond commanded. ‘The city is ours, so let me pass.’

  A lean, dark man stepped through the opposing ranks and Ranulph recognised Manuel Boutoumites.

  ‘My lord Bohemond, as you say the city is now under the control of our illustrious emperor, as represented by Lord Tatikios. He bid me say that the inhabitants have been promised merciful treatment, and their leaders have been given safe conduct and are even now on their way to pay homage to the emperor. He begs that you will return to your camp and there he will meet with you and the other Frankish lords, to express the emperor’s gratitude.’

  ‘Express his gratitude!’ Bohemond exploded. ‘Will gratitude fill my men’s bellies, or recompense them for the wounds they have suffered?’

  ‘I assure you,’ Boutoumites’s tone was emollient, ‘it will be shown in very concrete form. The emperor is generous to those who serve him. Pray you, return now to your tents and let us thank the God we all worship for this great victory.’