every sinew of our strength if we are to survive.’
The threat in his words silenced them, and they retreated glowering to their benches. Adhemar offered a prayer, then turned to Duke Godfrey.
‘The Duke of Lorraine brings news.’
‘From my brother Baldwin,’ said Godfrey. The jewelled cross he wore swung from his neck as he stood. ‘He has sent a messenger from Edessa.’
When we were halfway across Anatolia, the Duke’s landless brother Baldwin had broken away from the army and ridden east, hoping to seize Armenian lands for himself. In a progression of violence, cunning and murder, he had – according to reports – first been adopted heir of the local ruler, then bloodily deposed him, and now ruled the far-flung lands of Edessa as tyrant. Having had some dealings with Baldwin at Constantinople, I could well believe the story.
‘Baldwin sends word that, even now, Kerbogha the Terrible, Atabeg of Mosul, marches his army towards Antioch.’ A babble of panicked chatter burst across the room. ‘From every province of the Turkish empire, from Mesopotamia, Persia and distant Khorasan, he has assembled ar army to drive us from Asia. Already when Baldwin wrote they neared Edessa – within a month, or even within weeks, they will be here.’
The tumult in the room stopped as Adhemar banged his staff on the ground. In an instant the sallow-skinned Count Hugh was on his feet.
‘We must retreat immediately,’ he announced, his tongue flapping to keep pace with his terror. ‘There is no glory in a rout. We must fall back on Heraklea, or Iconium, and join with the Emperor’s forces. Remember that we are but the vanguard of Christendom, and even as we speak fresh armies of the pious are pouring out of the west to aid us. After we have reinforced ourselves, then we can battle this Turk as he deserves.’
‘Retreat?’ Raymond bored his single-eyed glare into the hapless Hugh. ‘Have you forgotten the torments that brought us here – the passes so steep that even crows could not get into them to feast on our dead, and the salt deserts where we withered? If we journey north, rocks and thorns will rip our ragged army apart long before the Turks come. Besides, Jerusalem is to the south – and I will not turn my course until I have fulfilled my vow to walk in the footsteps of Christ.’
His outburst drew approving nods and murmurs, though there was little conviction in them. I saw Adhemar whisper something in his ear, but before the bishop could speak to the council Bohemond had risen. As ever, there was something in his presence which commanded attention, and the company fell silent.
‘Count Raymond speaks the truth. We cannot go back: the road will destroy us.’
He paused, allowing others to mutter their assent. Looking at the Count of Saint-Gilles, I saw his head crooked to one side, the eye half-closed, almost as if he were falling asleep.
Bohemond hooked his thumb on his belt. ‘But the Count of Vermandois speaks the truth also. There is no glory in a rout.’
‘Then what would you have us do?’ snapped Godfrey. ‘We cannot fight; we cannot flee: shall we sit in our tents until Kerbogha burns us alive in them?’
Bohemond showed no concern. ‘The Duke of Lorraine asks what I would have us do. I will tell you. Kerbogha the Terrible rushes on us like a bull. If we fight, we are gored on one horn. If we run, we are gored on the other. If we do nothing, we are trampled under the hooves. What, then, do we do?’
‘Exactly.’
‘We strike it clean between the eyes.’ As if from the air itself, a bone-handled knife appeared in Bohemond’s hand. He rolled the hilt in his palm. ‘In the scant time remaining, we take the city and make it a bulwark to withstand everything the Turks may throw at us. For six months we have sat out here like women, hoping that the Lord would send some miracle to break open the city. Now we have His sign. If we cannot force the city, we are unworthy of our quest. When I hear that Kerbogha is coming, I am not afraid.’ His restless gaze dropped a moment on Hugh, and moved on. ‘I rejoice that now, when the fire is hottest, we may prove ourselves true before God. Every alternative is death. What does the council say?’
‘It says we meet in the peace of Christ, and all weapons are to be left outside,’ observed Adhemar mildly.
‘And I say that famine has starved Bohemond’s mind,’ said Hugh. ‘“Take the city”, he says. Shall we knock on the gates? For six months we have tried to take the city, and—’
‘No!’ Bohemond thumped a fist into his palm. ‘For six months we have tried
‘No.’ Old though he was, Adhemar’s voice rang above the clamour that Bohemond’s words had sparked. ‘The city belongs to no man.’
‘Except the Pope?’ Robert of Normandy did not bother to stand but stabbed a fat finger at the bishop. ‘We know that Rome allows no kings but her vassals, that she would extend her domain over realms temporal as well as spiritual. Will your master not be satisfied, I wonder, until his fiefdoms stretch from Rome to Jerusalem?’
‘Have a care,’ Raymond warned. ‘Do not rekindle long-forgotten feuds.’
‘My master the Pope does not covet this city.’ Adhemar’s sharp-eyed gaze swept across the room. ‘One city alone is in his heart, and we are still far from reaching it. As for Antioch, none shall have it outright, because none shall take it outright. We fight in the name and service of the Lord: only through Him shall we find victory. We march as the Army of God, and as the Army of God we shall claim the spoils. If Kerbogha does not destroy us first.’
‘You are also bound by oath to return it to the Emperor,’ Sigurd muttered. No one seemed to hear him.
‘I disagree with Bishop Adhemar.’ Still Bohemond would not yield. ‘We fight in the name of God, and with His aid, but we fight also as Normans and Lotharingians and Frisians – even, sometimes, Provencals. I demand to know the will of the council as to whether the worthiest of these should take the city.’
Adhemar thumped his staff three times on the ground. ‘There is only one issue before the council: whether we fight or flee in the face of Kerbogha’s advance. We will know the will of the council on that alone. Who favours flight?’
There was silence. Looking around, I could see the searching expressions on many men’s faces each trying to guess his neighbour’s intent. Some arms wavered in uncertainty, but none was raised.
‘Who favours battle?’
Immediately, and in unison, Raymond and Bohemond showed their hands. With greater or lesser enthusiasm, every other man around the square followed their example.
Adhemar nodded. ‘It is decided. We will face Kerbogha here.’
‘Nothing is decided – nor will be until you acknowledge the truth. Unless one man is assured of the city, none will hazard the risks needed to take it.’ Bohemond pushed through the corner between two benches and stormed out of the tent. Several of his lieutenants followed.
‘Bohemond does not care to be frustrated,’ said a voice. I turned and saw Count Raymond at my side. ‘He has seen off your emperor’s general, but still Adhemar checks his ambitions. For how long, I wonder?’
‘For as long as the Franks stand by their oath to the Emperor, and their God.’
Raymond gave a rasping chuckle. ‘Their God will tell them that they honour Him best by preserving the lives that He has gifted them. As for their oath, who is now here to hold them to it? A company of Englishmen and a scribe? Do you feel safe, Demetrios?’
‘I put my trust in the Lord,’ I said instinctively.
‘I put my trust in stout armour and a sharp blade. You are isolated in your camp, I think – on the fringes of the siege and with none but Normans nearby. When Kerbogha comes, it will be from the north. Are you read to stand in the first line of defence?’
‘Would you rather have me flee like Tatikios?’
‘I would rather have you surrounded by the Emperor and ten thousand of his legions, but that will not happen. Thus, I offer you my protection. Move your tents within my encampment and I will assure your safety.’
‘Tatikios believed that we should not commit to any Frankish faction lest the Emperor lose the allegiance of the others.’
