Jack Ludlow: Prince of Legend

By the right of conquest, previously agreed, the Count of Taranto had a valid claim to the city, albeit he was bound by oath, sworn on the bones of martyrs in front of the Emperor Alexius in the imperial palace, to hold it for Byzantium. Yet Bohemund and his late father, as well as his numerous de Hauteville uncles, had fought that polity and a succession of emperors all their lives, first in South Italy, now under their control and then in the lands of Romania, which in the previous decade the Apulians had twice invaded.

Should he be given sole possession would Bohemund keep to his word and hand Antioch back to his old enemy Alexius Comnenus, who should, at this very moment, be marching with all his might to their aid? Would a man like Bohemund even hold it for Byzantium with the Emperor as his acknowledged suzerain? If he did not, he would not only break his own oath but the given undertaking of everyone present.

‘I would suggest,’ Bohemund said, ‘that such a discussion, given what we face, is a distraction.’

‘Better discussed now than left to fester on an altar of greed,’ Raymond responded, making no attempt to soften his tone.

‘My Lords!’

That loud interruption focused all eyes on Godfrey de Bouillon, a man respected by all present for there could be no accusation of ambition related to him, if you excluded the recapture of Jerusalem.

‘The army of this Kerbogha is on its way to us and we have yet to have news that Byzantium is likewise marching, and even if it is, Kerbogha will get here long before the Emperor. How we deal with such a threat carries more weight than talk of personal ambition, in whosoever breast it may reside. What hopes and stratagems do we have to deal with — that should be paramount.’

‘Quite,’ Ademar concurred. ‘Let us put aside all discussion of the possession of Antioch …’

‘We have yet to discuss it at all!’ Raymond cried.

‘And we will in time, My Lord,’ the Bishop replied with unaccustomed firmness, he and Toulouse being close. ‘But we face a threat to our very existence, and with that we must take issue first.’

Vermandois was quick to respond. ‘We must hold the walls with the same spirit as those we have just overcome.’

Godfrey de Bouillon was quick to pounce on that. ‘Then I suggest, Count Hugh, that you withdraw your men stationed at the Iron Bridge to help man them.’

‘They are there for a purpose, as is my banner.’

That induced an uncomfortable silence; the standard and the man to whom it belonged were well separated, for he had not assumed personal command at the Iron Bridge but devolved it to an inferior captain. Crossing that viaduct provided the main route an army must take to invest the city — the Crusaders had done so eight months previously, finding it undefended by Yaghi Siyan.

Now French knights and milities in some numbers had garrisoned it. No one but Vermandois saw what he had done as a sensible move, suspecting he had only made it to assert his independence and to have the fleur-de-lis flying over something.

‘If what we are told of his numbers is accurate,’ Godfrey continued, ‘to meet this Kerbogha in the open would not serve. That we have agreed and I cannot see that the Iron Bridge falls outside that.’

That got what was an almost childlike pout from the royal brat. ‘The bridge is fortified and the river flows too strong for easy fording above and below. I have no doubt my men will hold it long enough to delay Kerbogha.’

‘How far off is he?’ Ademar asked, which deflected any more discussion, it being the business of Vermandois alone how he disposed of his lances. He had never been inclined to heed the advice of others better qualified in warfare, for he would not admit to the notion. To press him would only have him dig in his heels.

‘Days away,’ Robert of Flanders replied, for it was his scouts who were out to the east and had provided the latest intelligence. ‘He stopped to invest Edessa, but raised it after only a week to come on to Antioch, which does not much aid us.’

That had everyone looking at Godfrey de Bouillon again: Baldwin, who held Edessa, was his wayward brother and a man over whom hung certain questions, one his actions in leaving the Crusade without warning and another regarding a massacre of a body of Norman knights outside Tarsus the previous year. If the Duke of Lower Lorraine was seen as something of a saint, then Baldwin of Boulogne, or as he now preferred to be called, of Edessa, was the obverse side of the family coin.

Bohemund spoke speedily to spare the blushes of a fellow magnate he esteemed; of all men he knew that no one could be held accountable for their relatives, given he had troublesome de Hauteville cousins in abundance, as well as a half-brother he loathed.

‘Abandoning a siege of Edessa can only have come about because of the news sent to him from here. Yaghi Siyan must have intimated Antioch was in such grave danger of falling that for Kerbogha to delay outside Edessa would be to risk the city.’

‘A look at the grain stores confirms his concerns were well founded.’

That interjection came from the Duke of Normandy, in times past, albeit decades, the de Hauteville family suzerain, one to whom Bohemund responded with no hint of servility; what had pertained in the old homelands did not do so here.

‘Then we had best get foraging to seek to get those storerooms filled again, for without food we will not hold the Atabeg of Mosul at bay for the time we need, which is to allow Byzantium to affect the issue.’

Ademar was quick to concur — anything to delay discussion of Antiochene possession, the solution to which, he thought, rested with the personal presence of Alexius Comnenus. Once he was here and with soldiers to support him, the Emperor could decide if he wanted an old enemy in control of such an important fief, or someone in whom he could repose more trust.

‘We must send messengers to tell the Emperor Alexius that Antioch is ours and to make all speed with every man he can muster. Combined, we will outnumber this Kerbogha and drive him back from whence he came.’

As he spoke the words Ademar could not avoid a look at Bohemund, to see how such a notion, the idea of Alexius being present in person, was being received; all he observed was bland indifference.

‘Kerbogha must thread the bulk of his army across the Iron Bridge, is that not so?’

Tancred received an affirmative reply to that. The so-called Iron Bridge, which spanned the River Orontes north of Antioch, in reality made of arched stone, had tall, fortified towers at either end and lay a shade over two leagues distant to the north of the city. How it had come by its designation as ‘iron’ was a mystery no one had bothered to seek to solve.

‘Then why does Duke Godfrey so vehemently disagree with Count Hugh that we should deny him that crossing, or at the very least impose a check on his advance? Time, after all, is our ally.’

Not wishing to give an immediate reply, Bohemund cast an eye over the shoulder to look at the convoy of wagons they were escorting, supplies they were fetching from a pair of Genoese ships that had berthed the day before at the nearby port of St Simeon, bringing with them a welcome cargo. What they carried looked impressive: dozens of ox-drawn and fully laden carts, the contents of the ships’ holds, impressive until you counted the mouths such a cargo must feed.

Provisions had to be found for twenty thousand fighting men, both knights and milities , many weakened by various disorders brought on by siege warfare and needing to be brought back to full health and strength, as well as the same number of camp followers and pilgrims, so it would scarce last for a week. A clearing of his throat from Tancred brought his mind back to his nephew’s question.