shadows against the glare.
The sound became deafening as the chilling war cries of the Turks added a piercing shrill to the ever- deepening thunder of thousands of galloping horses. I had never seen anything like it and estimated we were facing an army at least twice the size of ours, perhaps as many as 60,000, not counting the ones who had yet to come into view.
In an extraordinary illustration of Norman military discipline, Robert and Bohemond and all their senior knights rode around the defensive ring, appealing for courage and calm. Robert issued a command to help morale, which was repeated by every Crusader present: ‘Stand fast together, trusting in Christ and the victory of the Holy Cross!’
There was sheer terror in the centre, where the monks and nuns said prayers and heard the confessions of the non-combatants. Volley after volley of arrows, like showers of heavy rain, fell from the clear-blue sky, killing hundreds, especially the civilians without armour. Javelins and spears flew through the air, hurled from horseback by the Turks with great force and deadly accuracy, killing anyone in their path, with or without armour. But they were only the pinpricks of the battle; the real pain was inflicted by a whirlwind of slashing sabres as the Turkish cavalry tried to hack its way through our defensive ring.
As one wave of attackers exhausted itself, Sultan Arslan withdrew it to regroup and sent in fresh replacements. There was no such respite for our defensive wall, which, with the sun rising ever higher in the sky, had to endure the onslaught without rest. Squads were organized to clear the dead and wounded, and young boys hurried forward with pails and ladles to allow the men to slake their thirst.
As our numbers dwindled, Edwin and I had been filling gaps in our defences for some time, until eventually Robert, Bohemond and Tacitius were also in the thick of the fray. The time for issuing orders had passed; even the most senior of us had to fight for our lives.
We had held our ground for over five hours. Old men, boys and the injured began to pick up weapons and join the defensive wall, while Estrith and Hereward led the women to clear the bodies and help the wounded. I looked along our lines; we were at breaking point. I wanted our Brethren to be together at the end and was trying to decide when would be the best time to send Edwin to bring Estrith and Hereward to stand with us in a final redoubt, when I saw a cloud of dust to the north.
Moments later, thousands of crimson Christian crosses painted the distant horizon the colour of the setting sun. As soon as the Turks realized that the advancing phalanx was the balance of the Christian army, they fled as rapidly as they had appeared.
Ten thousand bodies lay on the ground, both Christian and Muslim. Robert ordered that all be buried with dignity and that imams be brought from Nicaea to read over the graves of the Turks. Some among Bohemond’s contingent objected, preferring that they be left to rot like wild beasts where they had fallen, but such had been the quality of Robert’s leadership in the battle that he got his way.
For the Christian dead, eternal salvation beckoned. Prompted by the speeches of zealots such as Count Raymond, the notion that death on the Crusade would bring God’s forgiveness for all sins and a place at his side in Heaven had become accepted as gospel by the Crusaders.
Hereward went over to Robert and Bohemond to congratulate them on the way they had held the army together and inspired their men.
‘My Lord Duke, Count Bohemond, my congratulations on an outstanding example of leadership under the most demanding of circumstances.’
Bohemond responded with only a perfunctory nod and a very pointed question.
‘Captain, I hear that you served as a housecarl for King Harold of England and fought at Senlac Ridge.’
‘That is correct, my Lord.’
‘Did you ever know a man called Hereward of Bourne? He also fought at Senlac Ridge and before that was in service with my father, Robert Guiscard, and my uncle, Roger.’
‘All Englishmen have heard of Hereward of Bourne, sire.’
‘In his service to my family he was called Sir Hereward Great Axe. He carried a double-headed axe like yours — so formidable, I was told, that no other man could wield it. I was a very small boy when he and his companions left Apulia for Normandy, but the stories about him lingered and are still told to this day. My hazy memory is of a man who bore a strong resemblance to you; indeed, you would be about the same age.’
It was obvious that Bohemond strongly suspected that Hereward and Alexius’s retired Captain of the Varangians, Godwin of Ely, were one and the same.
Nevertheless, Hereward kept up the pretence.
‘My Lord, I am flattered to be likened to one as noble as Hereward of Bourne. But that’s all it is — a likeness.’
‘May I try your axe? It intrigues me.’
‘Of course, sire.’
Bohemond stood almost six inches taller than Hereward — both dwarfing me, and especially the diminutive Robert — and had the same substantial frame, but he lacked the strength that Hereward had in his tree-like limbs and he struggled to keep swinging the axe freely.
Hereward grasped the axe from the Norman’s faltering grip.
‘It has killed many foes, some even as big as you.’
He took the Great Axe of Goteborg and, with an easy, single-handed swing, rested the haft of the axe over his shoulder, then walked away. As he did so, he winked at Robert and me.
How many times in his life had the gargantuan Bohemond, a colossal figure from a legendary family, been made to look feeble?
28. Wastes of Anatolia
Invigorated by our victory, we set a course south-east, across the arid plains of central Anatolia. For those of us who had survived so far, there was much envy of our dead comrades who basked in Heaven, for we endured a living Hell.
All the locals we passed, cowering in their dark hovels and cool caves, looked at us in amazement as we staggered and stumbled in the scorching heat. They thought us mad, and so we were. Qilich Arslan had destroyed every village, killed every beast and poisoned every well on our route and for miles around. We had gone beyond the reach of the Emperor’s supply lines. We were on our own.
Our progress became slower by the day, the death toll escalated, and hunger and thirst killed many, especially the old and young. Disease spread, and many turned around in a vain attempt to find their way back to Constantinople, their will broken. Some just walked off to find the shade of a tree, where they curled up to await the comfort of death.
The huge destriers, the Normans’ legendary war horses so critical in battle, were unable to cope with the conditions; most died, leaving many of our knights to walk like infantry. Our beasts of burden died too, and everything that we could not carry ourselves had to be discarded. Basic campaign discipline started to be ignored. Animals and people were not kept apart, latrines were not dug, and disease and infection spread. What had once been a mighty, well-disciplined army now resembled a ragged stream of hapless humanity.
The Princes tried hard to keep up morale, but they too were wilting.
Sweyn seemed to find strength when it had deserted everyone else. With Adela always at his side, he rode up and down the long meandering lines of Crusaders, encouraging them to keep their discipline and commitment. He won many admirers, including Hereward.
‘When we found him in the forest at Bourne, he was all but dead. Now he is an example to us all, with such determination — he reminds me of my old friend Martin Lightfoot, built like a hunting dog and with the stamina to match. He and Adela make a fascinating couple, more like brother and sister than man and wife. Why have they never had children?’
As Hereward was a fellow member of our Brethren, I was tempted to reveal the true nature of Sweyn and Adela’s marriage, but thought it better that they should tell him in the course of time if they wanted him to know.
