Prince of Legend (18 page)

News came that dearth was rapidly descending into crisis and predictions of an impending catastrophe. The tale arrived at both Antioch and to Raymond at Rugia and told of a riot in which the sparse market had been pillaged by hungry pilgrims, the traders, those who were not killed, being driven off in terror, yet so numerous were the needy that only a few gained enough sustenance to stave off hunger from their depredations.

It was what followed next that caused many to cross themselves, for with even the limited trade cut off by fear, no food was to be had in Ma’arrat at all and the entire polity, it seemed, had begun to resort to eating the human remains of the Turks so recently slaughtered when the city had fallen.

The bodies of the infidels had been dragged out of the streets to be dumped in a nearby swamp. Now, after weeks of both water and weather, their rotting cadavers were being dredged out for the softer parts to be cut up then cooked. If it had been only one or two at first, the last reports told of an entire mass of people engaged in the same heinous crime, which had those still at Antioch – there were vessels arriving daily bringing yet more pilgrims from Europe – loud in their lamentations.

With a quickly gathered oxen train, Raymond rushed food to the city, there, when he followed in person, to be received with less of the acclaim to which he had become so accustomed. The faithful were loud in their condemnation of the lack of crusading progress, and if Bohemund was equally damned he was not present to have it assail his ears. Holding aloft the Holy Lance no longer brought genuflection, more a furious growl and that turned to open dissent when he stated his intention to march only once the walls of Ma’arrat had been rebuilt.

That such an aim acted as a red rag to the already discontented pilgrims could not be foreseen; to them such an intention spoke of territorial ambition not zeal in the cause of Christ. Led by their angry preachers the lay folk attacked the walls of Ma’arrat intent on tearing them to the ground, for such a place was of no account against their devotion and, if such a task was beyond them, the message was plain to Raymond of Toulouse.

To regain his place in their hearts, it was he who ordered that the said walls be destroyed, the stones being smashed by hammers then thrown down to fill that dry moat, the news of which flew back to Antioch. That was sent by Tancred who had so recently joined Raymond and found his men required to aid the Provençals in Ma’arrat’s destruction – the remaining Apulians declined to do so, but were happy, on Tancred’s orders, to rejoin Bohemund.

The day came to depart, and so that their endeavour should be reconsecrated, it was decided that the whole host – clerical, military and pilgrim – in order that there should be no doubt as to their devotion to their Christian God, that no hint of pride should sully their enterprise, must march out of the city walking and barefoot. Raymond, shoeless like the meanest servant, was at the front holding aloft the Holy Lance, alongside Peter of Narbonne, his so recently appointed bishop, who with his priests, intoned prayers seeking the blessing of Christ and the intercession of the saints.

At the rear came Tancred and his Apulians, no less loud in their devotions but with torches in their hands, these used to set light to every structure they passed, be it the splendid residences of the one-time city merchants, a tradesman’s shop, hovels lived in by the poor, a sty or a stable. The Crusade marched south, vigour renewed, and
behind them the city they had just left turned to a smoking inferno which would, very quickly, consume everything that could burn. Ma’arrat an-Numan would be no more.

From the citadel of Antioch, Bohemund observed the Occitan banners of the Count of Toulouse that still flew from the Governor’s Palace and the Bridge Gate, a sign that whatever else he was willing to surrender it was not these. Yet he was content: they were few and he was many, while their liege lord was marching further and further away.

Antioch was his to control, though not without concerns: Toulouse had left Albara strongly garrisoned, which meant he still held the strategic key to the plateau of Jabal as-Summaq and the harvest it would produce in the coming year. Then there was the Emperor, Alexius Comnenus, whose intentions were as yet a mystery.

I
t was clear that in his slow march to the south, Raymond of Toulouse was looking in two directions at once, that in which he was headed and the difficulties that lay before him, another over his shoulder to the actions of Godfrey de Bouillon and Robert of Flanders, without whose aid he could not hope to succeed in even marching to and investing Jerusalem – he could discount any help from Bohemund.

Tancred was not alone in suspecting he was torn, loath to leave behind the territory he had captured and controlled: what he possessed was unlikely to be respected while he was not there to defend it, hence the unhurried progress. That being so, he also had an excuse, which was the parlous fitness of those he led, especially his fighting men, still not recovered from the lack of victuals that had troubled them at Ma’arrat.

At first they passed through country that had been extensively foraged to sustain that siege, so there was little surplus to fill
strained bellies, but there was hope too, for the land that lay ahead and into which he would soon lead his host was extremely fertile and dotted with wealthy cities. It was also, and this was a deep concern, densely populated with Arabs who yielded nothing in the depth of their Islamic faith to the Turk, while the final destination was a place as well defended and formidably walled as Antioch.

News of what the Count of Toulouse had done previously proved his most telling aid: reports of the massacres at Albara and Ma’arrat sped before him, so that the first obstacle to progress, the city of Shaizar straddling the lower Orontes, sent envoys from the Emir to talk peace long before the Crusaders caught sight of their walls. Along with their supplications came gifts for the expedition leaders, a trio of fine horses, caparisoned in gorgeous harness. To Raymond went vessels of gold, for his senior captains elaborate sweetmeats as well as offers of ample food to eat for the entire host as they made their way through the Emir’s territory.

The Arab rulers of Shaizar had, it transpired, no love for the Turks and had manoeuvred successfully over decades to stay independent of their control by the payment of a large annual tribute. They had no desire to either fight their battles or to see their city razed to the ground, their lands ravaged and their subjects slain or sold into slavery by fighting an army that had defeated a mighty general like Kerbogha.

The best way to avoid that was to divert the Turkish tribute to this new power in the land and to make their passage as agreeable as possible, as well as speeding on to the lands of the next satrap. Let others do battle for the Prophet; they would be content to pay the price necessary to avoid conflict.

‘All My Emir asks, Great Lord, is that none of those you lead are
left free to take more than we are prepared to openly give.’

Tancred observed the way Raymond’s chest swelled to be so addressed by the Latin-speaking envoy sent from Shaizar, added to the way he looked around the assembly of his captains, his confessors and his fellow peers to ensure it had been noted. That reprised the feelings that had surfaced in his mind over the past week: how different it was to be under the orders of such a man.

That the Count of Toulouse was excessively proud meant little; that he had been aware of for over a year. Yet previously it had been a distant impression, whereas now it was before him as a constant as well as an irritant, and as a way of behaving it did not stand comparison with his uncle, who if he would not surrender an inch in pride to Toulouse, was not a man to allow sycophancy to affect his judgement or even to show that he was moved by it.

‘As a ruler himself, My Emir knows that control of such a host is something only a man of true eminence can achieve. Yet he knows you to be that, has heard of your deeds, Count Raymond, which have sped to the four corners of the earth to make mere mortals wonder at them. Mighty Kerbogha fell before your sword, did he not?’

There was a moment when Raymond was slightly flustered and had a chance to indicate the other men present who had actually fought the Atabeg, though there was no chance he would deny the praise he was receiving for something he was singular in not doing; he could hardly say he had taken to his bed in a fit of pique.

‘He’s going to flatter Raymond till he bursts,’ whispered an irritated Normandy.

Tancred replied by leaning to talk softly into the Duke’s ear. ‘Is there such an amount?’

Raymond noted the exchange, if not the words they employed,
and irritation flashed in his eyes. Toulouse was seated on a chair while they were obliged to stand and observe, this to underline that regardless of rank he was the leader. In his hand, as always, he held the shard of the Holy Lance, to which the eye of the envoy had flicked more than once, for news of that discovery, as well as the power it exerted, had been disseminated throughout the land as quickly as the deeds of the Crusade.

‘If all the needs of my people are met, what need have they to disturb the country?’

The envoy used the flat palm of his hand, in a slow and unthreatening gesture, to indicate the Holy Lance. ‘Perhaps if they saw what you hold as a divine requirement, Great Lord, they would see the need to obey Allah as well as their leader.’

Peter Bartholomew, stood to Raymond’s left, cut in without seeking permission, so much had he grown in arrogance. ‘There are many who would demand you and your kind pray to the same God and acknowledge his disciples.’

‘There is but one God,’ the envoy replied, in a soft, non-threatening voice. ‘Allah is his name and Muhammad is his prophet.’

‘We are not here to dispute the path to salvation,’ Raymond snapped, in French and in a clear rebuke to his personal prophet, one that would not be understood by the Emir’s envoy. His eyes then swivelled to Tancred and Robert of Normandy, who were speaking in hushed tones again, and his voice was firm. ‘And no good is served by whispered conversations in the offing, either.’

‘I had a tutor who addressed me so once,’ Normandy replied, also in French, his tone, Tancred thought, deliberately even and non-threatening. ‘When I was old enough to do so I boxed his ears.’

If the envoy and his attendants were confused, they were alone in
that; everyone else present understood perfectly that Raymond had overstepped the mark of respect due to a man who held a noble rank greater than his own. If they had harboured any doubts about the effect of his being checked that would have been dispelled by the way the florid face of the Count went a deeper shade of red.

‘We are engaged upon important matters here,’ he protested, ‘and I know you would agree that any sign of dissension will not aid our progress. We are being offered free passage through the Emir’s lands, are we not, but that is because we are united. If this fellow returns to tell him we are divided, what then?’

‘You have the command, My Lord,’ Normandy replied, ‘but if my father was here he would tell you, mighty warrior that he was, that dissension comes very easily from a lack of respect.’

Raymond clearly thought no response was possible without a loss of face so he turned his attention back to the envoy, who had made strenuous efforts to keep his mask of diplomatic indifference in place throughout an exchange, which if he did not understand in words, was plainly fractious in mood.

‘I will let it be known that it would be seen as a sin against God to take from your people anything that is theirs, as long as we are, on our march, not in want.’

With those words spoken, the Holy Lance was raised slightly, which caused the envoy to bow low, while the priests present, led by Narbonne, and joined by the ever-present Peter Bartholomew, crossed themselves.

The Emir of Shaizar was as good as his word: wherever the Crusade set up camp there was food in abundance, fresh-baked bread, roasting meats and fruit, enough for pilgrims and soldiers alike. Disseminated
through his priests Raymond had made it known that any depredations against the Emir’s subjects would be severely punished, the truth of that driven home by a couple of his own
milities
being burnt at the stake in full view of the men sent by the local ruler as escorts, this for the rape of a Muslim woman.

If the Emir wished to speed his passage he found that Raymond was in no rush to clear his lands, for, with such provisions, daily the effect on the army was visible and remarkable. Men who had struggled along head down when they set out from Ma’arrat now marched with heads lifted, the horses they still had likewise filling out until their rib bones no longer showed with alarming prominence.

How obvious it was when they passed into the territory of another ruler. There was no food awaiting them as they camped, although that mattered less now, for they were reduced in need and also in a terrain as yet untouched by warfare. If there was no food in the fields or fruit on the trees there were peasant storerooms full of the harvest of the previous year and, now that the promise Raymond had made no longer constrained them, those he led could indulge in all the acts that had previously been denied to them.

Never had the reputation of the Crusade been so forcibly established as when they came to the city of Raphania, the next on their line of march, set on a slight elevation overlooking a wide plain full of productive fields and orchards that ran close to the defences, with distant hills to feed the streams that irrigated the soil.

At long sight the high walls, bright cream stone shining bright in the sun, looked formidable enough to promise a siege of some duration. Raymond, Robert of Normandy and Tancred donned their mail and rode forward with their personal retainers, having ordered that camp be set up, anticipating perhaps that emissaries would
emerge from the gate towards which they were headed to meet them in the open and discuss the same kind of peace they had just had from the Emir of Shaizar. They even halted well short of that gate to allow such messengers to make their way, but none appeared, so Raymond spun his own horse to talk to his fellow leaders.

‘I would hope that they accept terms.’

‘Can we bypass them?’ asked Normandy. ‘A siege could mightily weaken us.’

That sent Raymond’s head onto his chest, for it was not a ridiculous suggestion. Besieging both Albara and Ma’arrat had taken time, led to losses in men, and at the latter resulted in an even more telling wound to morale, and if there was food now in peasant holdings, to stay in the area would soon see it stripped as bare as any terrain supporting a winter siege.

Nothing they had heard indicated that the Emir of Raphania was a warlike individual, indeed he was akin to his compatriot in Shaizar, a tribute-paying Turkish satrap whose main desire, it was likely, was to be left in peace. To have such a ruler on the line of communication with Antioch and the other contingents might not pose too much of a threat.

Tancred spoke up, as was his right. ‘We would have to leave behind some men to mask the city, which would perhaps weaken us more than fighting. If they are not inclined to a stubborn resistance we may overcome the walls with a quick assault.’

‘That is so,’ Raymond said, more to himself than to Tancred. ‘But my Lord of Normandy is nearer to being right, I think: better we progress on our way, perhaps, than linger here.’

Aware that the younger man did not wholeheartedly agree, Raymond added, ‘We will give them terms and then judge from their
response. If it is pure defiance, then we must overcome them, for that means they will seek to raid our rear once we pass. If they seek naught but to be left untroubled then …’

There was no finishing that, for it was unnecessary. Raymond spun his mount once more and led the way to a point close enough to the walls where his voice could carry, and there he demanded to speak with someone who would both understand him and pass on his words to the ruler of the city. The call floated upwards, but no head appeared at the battlements to even acknowledge their presence and that was repeated on the second call.

‘Go forward,’ Raymond said, to a pair of his familia knights, ‘and see if your being close tempts them to react.’

Up till now the whole party had been bareheaded; the men ordered to move were quick to don their hauberks and helmets, as well as ensure they had a good grip on the shields they would need to raise quickly should any arrows, the first line of any defence, come their way. They advanced one step at a time, their mounts under stern control, in an eerie silence, waiting for the yell that would bring up the Arabs from behind their walls to rain missiles in their direction.

No bolts came their way, nor when they moved closer did a single lance fly over the walls, even when they were in easy range. It was with due trepidation that they approached the gate, heads stretched back to keep a sharp eye on the high twin towers that enclosed it, and still there was nothing. One knight spun his lance and used the haft to bang upon the wood of the high door, the thuds echoing back to his confused leaders.

When that too got no response he spurred his horse slightly forward until both it and he were up against the gate and pressing. Even if it was heavy and studded with iron bolts, it swung a fraction,
which had both knights pushing in a blink. The gate swung open enough to create a gap, which had both men immediately spur their mounts away, for there had to be danger behind that.

‘If it is a trap to ensnare us, it is a cunning one,’ Normandy said.

‘Every one of you forward,’ Raymond ordered.

He did not mean the leaders, so the knights led by Normandy and Tancred looked to their own masters for permission to obey, which was quickly forthcoming. It was now a strong party of thirty mailed and helmeted men that went for the gate, there to join the pair already present. With still no reaction, two of Tancred’s Apulians dismounted and put their shoulders to the wood and with a creak of unoiled hinges it swung wide open until it hit the interior walls.

‘Plague,’ Duke Robert hissed, crossing himself.

‘Do you see any dead?’ Raymond shouted, getting a negative response.

Now the knights had both gates open and before the leaders, once their men had stood aside so they could see, lay a deserted and long cobbled avenue, lined with buildings, of the kind that formed a main route into many a city they had seen on the Crusade. Raymond spurred his own mount, followed in a blink by his confrères, and they rode through their own knights, under the gate barbican, their hooves echoing on the stones of the pavé.