Prince of Legend (11 page)

These deeply theological questions were also muddied by disagreements over priestly celibacy: Rome insisted upon it and was driving it forward in the lands where it held sway, while Constantinople denied the need and held that priests should live as did their flock. Added to that was a matter as arcane as the correct form of bread to be used in the Mass. Such divergences, Pope Urban knew, would not be overcome by aggressive attempts to bring the Creed of Rome to Asia Minor.

Applying papal policy, for once Bishop Adémar could be adamant and had Bohemund observed the cleric once he had departed in disappointment he would have wondered at the quiet smile the divine allowed himself, perhaps one that would have been tempered if he could have seen into the Count of Taranto’s mind: Bohemund was a man accustomed to setbacks and he was also, given his de Hauteville bloodline, very adept at thinking of ways round them.

It was hard to be sure what it was that turned most of his fellow magnates against Raymond of Toulouse, but turn they did, each one hauling down the banners of the sections of the city they had occupied and allowing the Apulians to raise that of their Count, a sure sign that they were willing to cede to him the title to Antioch.

Was it that he had not fought alongside them in the battle? Or was it that, with the deepest chests of money in his possession, he was still seeking – and often succeeding – to seduce their knights from their primary allegiance to them and have them move over to serve under his banner?

The Duke of Normandy was furious and made no attempt to hide it when any of his knights succumbed to Provençal blandishments and money, while the saintly Godfrey de Bouillon took the view that who served whom mattered less than that all turned up outside the walls of Jerusalem to deliver the city into the hands of the True Faith. Most
success was achieved with the now leaderless French, Vermandois having set out for Constantinople, yet even the Apulians were not immune, especially those of deep religious feeling.

At the centre of Raymond’s influence lay the Holy Lance, of which he maintained sole possession, and now he was using it to allude to a success in which he had taken no part. The Great Battle of Antioch had been such an overwhelming victory against such stupendous odds that no one of faith could seriously doubt that it had been brought about by divine intervention and that was easy to attribute to the discovery of the lance.

As he had before, wherever he went, Raymond was keen to display the relic, and simpler minds than those of his peers easily forgot that he had been abed during the event he was seeking to exploit with his shard of rusty metal. Aiding him in this he had Peter Bartholomew, no longer a mere peasant with visions but seen as an oracle, in fine garments, with a line of contact through the saints to Christ himself.

His one-time humble gait and diffident manner had been transformed into strutting arrogance and he had taken to preaching from outside the citadel, the hillsides below him black with those eager to hear his every word, in what the likes of Adémar saw, and this troubled him greatly, as a parody of the Sermon on the Mount.

Faced with this the Bishop hurriedly brought forward, and in the face of opposition from such seemingly disparate voices as Bohemund of Taranto and Peter Bartholomew, the re-enthronement of the Patriarch of Antioch. John the Oxite had held the office previously, until removed by the Turkish governor at the beginning of the Crusader siege, and he had suffered much during the subsequent weeks, often hung from the walls by his feet to be humiliated as a method of infuriating the besiegers, who could not but feel sympathy for an old and venerable man.

That he was an already installed bishop made the ceremony a demonstration more than a true investiture; Adémar was determined that any notion of forcing the Latin Mass on the Armenian population should be laid to rest for good and in that he was able to show just how strong was the faith among the Antiochenes themselves. They had been denied much to celebrate over so many years that they turned out en masse – thousands of men, women and children, even those still at the breast – to celebrate the placing of John the Oxite back on his patriarchal throne.

Looking at him, old, white-haired and scarce able to move in his heavy episcopal garments, Bohemund was not alone in thinking that age and ill-treatment by the Turks had left him frail. As the prayers and chants rose around him the old man, blinking and seeming confused, gave the appearance of one not long for this life, which indicated that the argument would soon be revisited and that he would be wise to prepare his ground.

Naturally, it was incumbent upon the Crusaders to tell the Pontiff of the success in taking Antioch, which Adémar did in a long and fawning epistle in which as much ink was expended praising Urban’s acumen and his titles as was used to describing how the city had fallen and the great battle by which victory had finally been achieved.

His real purpose in the main part of his submission was concerned, even if it was not stated, with the increasingly febrile relationship between Bohemund and Raymond that ended in a plea that Pope Urban come to Antioch himself and lead the onward journey to, as well as the capture of, Jerusalem.

Perhaps because of his increasing frailty, possibly because he could not see the import or the potential consequences, he allowed Bohemund to add a rider regarding the behaviour of Alexius Comnenus, which alluded more to his failures than any support he had provided in
the previous two years, which was at the very least ungracious and at worst a betrayal. So strongly worded was this addendum and so powerfully did it condemn the Emperor as well as the Eastern Church of which he was secular head, that it was tantamount to identifying Byzantium as an enemy of equal potency to the Turks.

Bohemund was looking to his own advantage, so he sought to drive home that the hopes held by Rome were misplaced. The forty-year schism between the western and eastern branches of Christendom would never be healed and nor would the Pope ever be acclaimed as the fount of Christian doctrine. Constantinople would never accept celibacy or give way on the form of bread used in the Eucharist. There was no genuine desire on the part of Constantinople to move to reconciliation on such matters, yet the possibility would be dangled before the Papacy as a means of extracting military support. Alexius Comnenus was playing Rome for a dupe, this to help bolster his own power and to secure the Empire for his heirs.

The reference to his Uncle Roger and what he had achieved in Sicily was a subtle reminder of how the Great Count had furthered the cause of Roman Catholicism in that one-time Saracen-ruled island – and had it not been Greek prior to that? Had Count Roger not also pushed back the Orthodox divines and replaced them with priests who celebrated Mass as it should be, in the Roman rite? Had he not endowed and built monasteries to rival anything that pre-existed with the Basilian monks who looked east for spiritual guidance?

His father Robert
Guiscard
had done the same in Apulia and Calabria, even while at loggerheads, indeed at war, with the fiery Pope Gregory VII, installing Latin bishops and enforcing the celibacy so desired by the Vatican. He, Bohemund de Hauteville, was as committed to the same policy and would pursue it wherever he had the means to do so.

‘T
hese people,’ Bohemund insisted, ‘are no longer there to be plundered by us. Just as we cannot starve, neither can they.’

If food had ceased to be scarce it had not become so plentiful that it could both feed the local Armenians as well as the warriors and pilgrims of the Crusade. Now that Antioch and the whole of Northern Syria was effectively in Latin hands, the people they had previously exploited to survive had been transformed into a future source of tax revenue and so a responsibility for which they had to care, notwithstanding that who would benefit was still in dispute.

Shortage imposed the burden of payment for expensive supplies brought in from distant territories, while any early local harvesting had been severely curtailed by both the presence and needs of Kerbogha and his host. After such an extended period of military occupation by two armies, the whole region was suffering.

In the first months the Crusaders had quickly consumed the kind
of surplus that grew over years of peaceful agriculture, then thanks to their own self-indulgence they had lived, or was it survived, a winter of dearth that had not spared the people who lived there. Fertile the Antiochene plain might be but to keep the army fed prior to the harvest would impose too much of a burden, and to forage in the old manner – to take what they wanted without payment – was no longer fitting.

‘What do you suggest, Count Bohemund?’ Raymond asked, his smile one of scorn. ‘That we all move away and leave you behind?’

‘No. I think that our good Bishop, with enough men, can hold Antioch and control both the city and the immediate countryside with a few hundred lances, for there is no threat to speak of. For the rest, we should disperse and maintain our forces in lands that have suffered less deprivation, which will also go some way to asserting our right to rule over the littoral.’

‘Which,’ Godfrey de Bouillon added in a deeply serious tone, ‘will also help to keep our lances from mischief.’

To the pious Duke of Lower Lorraine that meant temptations of the flesh as much as anything else – he was strong against debauchery and forceful in imposing piety – yet it was a sound notion without those activities: if they were not going to march on to Jerusalem for near to four months, then to leave their men idle in the region was asking for trouble, an inactive army being a unmanageable one.

The longer they were not employed in fighting the more harm they would do and not just by waywardness. Morale would plummet, inter-nationality rivalry would increase and what were now minor grievances would grow in the telling to become a collective difficulty.

‘I am happy to accept my part of the Count of Taranto’s proposition,’ said Adémar.

‘My nephew, Tancred, had some success in Cilicia and holds title to the city of Mamistra. Good sense dictates, given that the Emperor has abandoned and scorched the region to the north of his possessions, that such an area be made secure for us all, not just my own flesh and blood.’

If Bohemund’s expression was one of bland unconcern, that fooled no one. The intentions of Alexius Comnenus were unknown: yes, he had retired to Nicaea but that was bound to be before he heard the news that Antioch had been secured. This would not be long in reaching his ears, with Vermandois, accompanied by the Lord of Hainault, well on the way to conveying information of their astounding victory.

What would he then do, march south at once to stake his claim to what they had captured? If he did, Bohemund would be in a strong position to both take control of events and either prevent further progress or negotiate; he could block the narrow pass known as the Cilician Gates and, if he lacked the strength to hold it, extract from the Emperor personal concessions to allow him through so that the Byzantines would avoid a lengthy circular detour.

‘Count Raymond, you controlled the Ruj Valley before we besieged Antioch and in that region you have interests which you might see the need to enforce.’

‘I see many things that need to be enforced, Count Bohemund.’

‘The pity being, My Lord, that what a man wants he does not always get, even if he feels he has a special blessing from God.’

That was a reference to the way Raymond was exploiting the Holy Lance to his own ends, the effect of which, among the superstitious elements of the soldiery, would be diminished by dispersal.

‘I could take the road to Edessa,’ Godfrey interjected quickly.

This was done as much to prevent the insults flying as to agree the wisdom of a move to the north-east, yet he too was being disingenuous. His younger brother held Edessa and his power and influence had grown by first defying a siege by Kerbogha, added to his tightening grip of the surroundings, for if Baldwin was a man of doubtful morals – many said none – he was a good fighter, had a sharp brain and he knew how to exploit a thriving region; if there was luck in his prosperity there was also ability. For the Crusade, Godfrey moving into his lands would secure the whole north-eastern flank.

The discussion was not brief, it could not be with so many competing interests, made more telling by the mutual dislike of Raymond and Bohemund, but eventually it was resolved. Robert of Flanders would join with Raymond, taking with him the bulk of his brother-in-law’s Normans. The Duke himself would stay with the small garrison and aid Adémar in the administration of a city much ravaged by recent events, albeit the Apulians would garrison the citadel and Toulouse would continue to hold those parts of the city and outside he had seized after Bohemund’s victory. Thus the lines of their dispute remained unresolved.

To get away from Antioch and the rest of the crusading army, riding north into a country unravaged by war, where food was plentiful for a sizeable but not massive force, was in itself a blessing. It was not just the magnates who had quarrels: petty many of them might be amongst knights, but they were prevalent and would fester if the men were not kept apart. Shared blood did not soothe Norman rivalry and the men from Apulia were wont to tease their northern brethren about being backward, the Lombard levies of foot soldiers assuming airs with both.

The high-and-mighty French hated any who bordered on their lands, for they had been fighting them all their days, and were quick to condescend to everyone, Normans, Angevins, Provençals and the Lotharingians, while no contingent could ever be content that others had fought as hard in the Great Battle of Antioch as they. Naturally, each wanted to lay claim to the victory and sometimes it went as far as accusations of some folk being shy of a real contest.

This slight was mostly aimed at the Apulians who had formed their leader’s reserve; with their fiery blood that was not an accusation to be taken lying down. Distance was the best remedy to prevent a war of words descending to a contest with weapons and that went higher than the ordinary lance; several captains had nearly come to a contest, the tale of one such being related to Bohemund now.

‘It started as a jest,’ Tancred exclaimed. ‘But it did not stay that way and Reinhard of Toul has come to be near insufferable since he did your bidding. I was sore tempted to beat my sword about his swollen head.’

‘Then may the good Lord send him a reverse to dent his pride,’ Bohemund replied in a soothing tone, well aware that his nephew was upset, having fought as hard as anyone in that desperate battle and with many a cut and bruise to prove it. ‘There is nothing like it to bring a man down to earth. The Greek word is “hubris”, as I know to my cost.’

No man likes to recall his failures and Bohemund was no exception, but the word left him no option. He lapsed into silence with his nephew who, knowing him well, was sure he had fallen, as he did sometimes, to reviewing every one of his reverses, some of them imposed on him by his own uncle, Roger of Sicily, which if they had never been bloody routs had been disappointments. More often
the occasion of uncomfortable parley, they had led to him having to give up lands he had conquered.

Worse in memory were those occasions when Alexius Comnenus had bested him in the previous decade, during the two Apulian invasions of Byzantine territory set in motion by his father. If Alexius had never driven the Apulians from his soil by military ability, the Emperor, with his bottomless chests of gold, had managed to fend off his enemies. Twice gold was sent to the Duke of Apulia’s contentious subjects to encourage them to rebel, thus forcing the
Guiscard
to depart the campaign to control his own rebellious barons.

On the second invasion Bohemund had been left in command and had pushed forward through Macedonia and on to the borders of Thessaly, inflicting several defeats on the Byzantines. Yet the deeper he forced his way into the lands of Romania the greater his problems became: supply, losses to fighting and disease, not to mention the odd desertion from a host that was fighting for personal gain, not loyalty to the cause of the de Hautevilles.

In the end that was how Alexius vanquished his enemies: the Apulian captains, weary of campaigning for a whole year without much in the way of plunder and while their leader was absent from the camp seeking reinforcements, accepted bribes to abandon the campaign and go home.

Bohemund had never made any secret to Tancred that he thought of Alexius as an enemy with whom he had a score to settle, a man who had dented the lustre of a reputation of which he was proud. Although not a victim of vanity, it could not be anything but pleasing to know that your fame as a warrior had spread well beyond the confines of Southern Italy. Maybe it was something to do with his outstanding physical dimensions as well as his fighting skill, but
the name of Bohemund of Taranto was spoken of with awe across Christendom.

‘Do you intend to fight him again?’

‘Who?’ Bohemund asked, though he could hardly fail to be aware of what Tancred was driving at.

‘Or is the task to get from Alexius more than he wants to give? Title to Antioch, for instance.’

‘Do you never tire of probing?’

‘No,’ came the reply, ‘and if you wonder at it, I am curious to know how far you will go to secure possession of the city. And I would be obliged if you did not, as you usually do, take defence in an unknown future or our shared blood.’

Being close-mouthed, never showing your hand unless it was absolutely necessary, was a de Hauteville trait, which some called deceitful – usually those who were the losers in any dispute with the family. Yet it had even been termed that by those who had loyally supported and fought with them. Bohemund’s father had often given the impression of not knowing his own mind on the very good grounds that if you appeared to be confused, that surely must apply to your enemy, while all those who supported you had to do was follow your directives.

‘Am I being challenged?’

‘I think I have the right, if not to challenge, to seek to be informed.’

The time was long past when Bohemund could reply to that with severity. Tancred was grown to full and puissant manhood now, was a fine and competent commander of men who had stature; he had fought too many battles, both with his uncle and independently, to just be dismissed. At the heart of his enquiry was his own future: if his uncle was planning to stay in Antioch, whatever his status and
regardless of who was suzerain, what did that mean for a nephew needing to make his own way in the world?

‘The truth?’

‘Nothing less would please me.’

That led to another silence and a backward look at the long line of mounted men and
milities
in their wake. Bohemund dismounted – it was time to walk the horses to ease fatigue and his lances did likewise – so it was at a steady walking gait that the reply finally came.

‘I will seek to hold Antioch under my own title …’

‘It is not just Alexius who will dispute that.’

‘No.’ There was no need to name Raymond. ‘But that is my aim.’

‘And if the Emperor denies it?’

‘Toulouse must be dealt with first, but even with what he holds, not having the citadel puts me in a better position than he.’

Tancred listened as his uncle outlined, in what was for him an uncharacteristically detailed way, both the problems and advantages of the prevailing situation in terms of supply, the possibility of having to fight Raymond’s Provençal knights for possession of the Bridge Gate and Mahomerie – to be avoided unless impossible – and most importantly the value of time.

‘Toulouse has alienated all my peers by his high-handedness and I think even Adémar is sick of his pretensions with the Holy Lance.’

‘You do not mention Jerusalem,’ Tancred said in a deliberate way; he felt he was being fobbed off with discussion about matters of which he already knew.

Getting his innermost feelings out of Bohemund was like drawing blood from a stone; it went against his whole nature to be utterly open and it took some time and a certain amount of rumination to conclude that only a straight answer would satisfy.

‘You must have realised by now, Tancred, that Jerusalem holds no attraction for me. I would want it to be wrested from Islam for the glory of our faith but …’

‘Without your efforts?’

‘We spoke of this before, nephew, do you not recall, and I advanced the notion that there would be as much dispute over the title to Jerusalem as we are now having regarding Antioch.’

‘And you favour de Bouillon, I know.’

‘I do, for the very good reason that he has only the restoration of Christianity as his purpose. There are no other ambitions to distract him.’

‘Raymond will claim it, despite your partiality for Godfrey, and he will use the Holy Lance to further his cause.’

‘You mean the Holy Fraud,’ Bohemund replied bitterly, ‘and if that offends you, I do not care.’

‘Fraud or real, the mass of our charges believe in it.’

That got a snapped response. ‘Without knowing the truth of how it was found!’

‘Jerusalem?’

‘Let others have the glory of rescuing the Holy City. I will be content to guard their rear and give what assistance I can. You once asked me if I had Antioch marked as a prize before we ever set out from home. The answer is no, but I did tell you that I had no intention to do for Alexius or Byzantium that which they could not do on their own. Antioch is the richest prize in this part of the world and one Alexius forfeited by failing to come to our aid when he had sworn to do so.’