Jack Ludlow - Soldier of Crusade

‘In order that you should know that you have our favour, and as some recompense for the sacrifices you have already made, not least in loss of land to fund your endeavour, I wish you to accept from our hand this small token of our imperial regard.’

A sharp command brought up the lid of the box, to reveal that it was full to near bursting with gold coins. If the Lotharingian knights strained to see, there was scant curiosity from the assembled courtiers; to them such as was being gifted was but a token, enough to impress a barbarian, scarce a quantity of treasure to raise a Greek eyebrow.

This was the second such ceremony in a few days; there had been another for Count Hugh of Vermandois accompanied by Walo Lord of Chaumont. The brother of the King of France stood so low in the mind of the Emperor that he had been given no more than a single gold ring, personally placed on his finger by Alexius and followed by a kiss on the cheek, and when they had fallen to talking about campaigning it was to the experienced Constable Walo that Alexius addressed more of his thoughts.

Alexius called forward Manuel Boutoumites, his favourite soldier and closest advisor, to tell Godfrey de Bouillon what he already knew, for Vermandois had been given the same instruction at his swearing.

‘His Highness wishes that you break your present camp outside the city walls and, along with the body of men led by the Count of Vermandois, cross to the southern side of the Bosphorus. There wec have prepared lines for you to move into and in which His Imperial Highness desires you remain until the rest of your confreres arrive, keeping the peace until it is time for a united advance.’

That had been a stumbling block in negotiations, for there was not a man present who had failed to mark the fate of the People’s Crusade. The combined forces of de Bouillon and Vermandois were not sufficient to stand against the leader of the Sultanate of Rum should he seek to likewise dislodge them. Protocol demanded that Boutoumites make in public the assurances that had previously been made in private.

‘Be assured that the infidel Kilij Arslan is elsewhere, far to the east doing battle with his fellow Turks, the Danishmends. They are mortal enemies, thank the Lord.’

Which meant that only their separation, mutual hatred and rivalry kept Byzantium safe, but again the fate of the People’s Crusade hung in the air; that easy victory had convinced the Sultan he had naught to fear from an army of Western knights, leaving him free to pursue other territorial aims.

‘Should he break off his attacks and move back west we would know as soon as he marched and we have the means to forewarn you and withdraw you back to the outskirts of the city.’

‘This is my wish,’ Alexius added, slapping the axes and fasces into his palm.

Diplomacy, of which he was a master, precluded him from explaining his real reason: he wanted as much of a separation as could be achieved between these men and those yet to arrive. As for the need to recross the Bosphorus, should they seek to effect a combination, that they could not do without his aid and assistance for only Byzantium had the means to transport them.

Separation would severely diminish the numbers that could pose a threat to the city itself, while at the same time imposing restrictions on any chance of them intriguing together against his position. The strictures on good behaviour would only be proved by their actions but only a fool would make the same mistake as Peter the Hermit’s rabble and provoke the Turks.

For all that, one observation would have stood out: while Godfrey might be unsure if it was a wise move to make a binding promise, his brother Baldwin was certain it was not, no doubt the reason he had absented himself and declined to join in the taking of the oath. In essence, for Alexius, this was a test of both Godfrey’s intentions and his control over all of his vassals, especially Baldwin, for it was no mystery to Alexius that he relied on his younger brother for advice.

If Godfrey declined to hold to his word, or could not control his own men, then the oath just taken was meaningless. If he did and could then that would ease the fears of Alexius for the future, given he discounted Vermandois as militarily useless, even if the men he led were of good quality and had Walo of Chaumont to temper their titular leader’s follies. He would know that at least one of the more worthy Western leaders would oblige him by obedience and that had to set an example for the others to follow.

For the Duke of Lower Lorraine the reason to comply and cross the Bosphorus had little to do with the wishes of Alexius Comnenus, more to do with the temptations to which his men were exposed by proximity to the city and the effect upon both their martial spirits and their souls. If his soldiers were barred from easy entry to Constantinople — only six were allowed inside the walls at any one time to gawp and pray, which he endlessly encouraged them to do — that did nothing to stop the devilish enticements coming out to his encampment.

Loose women, traders of shoddy goods, sellers of cures and questionable relics, even Orthodox divines seeking to detach them from the Roman Creed. Better they were in a camp far from such inducements and one in which they could recover, with the help of his priests and his captains, the true purpose of this endeavour.

‘Good,’ the Emperor concluded, adding a gesture to indicate they were dismissed. ‘I will have our imperial gift brought to you before you depart.’

Alexius was satisfied; Bohemund would find it much harder to engage Godfrey de Bouillon in any conspiracy against the city as long as the Bosphorus separated their forces, while the Apulians were not strong enough, alone, to pose a threat if he took reasonable precautions against some clever trick. They would arrive soon and that would create another test of his diplomatic skills; could he shift them too away from the city before the other contingents appeared?

Such considerations were thrown into confusion when word came that Bohemund had called a halt and was preparing to spend Easter at Hebdomon, several days march west of the city, raising the fear that he might be waiting for the Duke of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse, who must approach along the same Via Egnatia, creating a dangerous combination. A message to say he would come on himself did nothing to allay these anxieties, for to many at the imperial court the Count of Taranto was the spawn of Satan.

‘No,’ Alexius responded, when he heard that said. ‘He is of the seed of his father. If the Guiscard was famed for anything it was never to do that which was expected of him.’

The forces of de Bouillon and Vermandois were gone by the time Bohemund arrived at the head of his familia knights, a body of twenty lances who acted to protect his person in battle. Tancred, once one of their number, had been left behind with the army, which would only come on to Constantinople once the terms by which they would ally themselves to Byzantium had been agreed.

The first thing to notice was the lack of any forces camped outside the city, the next the outer walls themselves, fifteen or more cubits in height and reputed to be half that thick, with dozens of towers so spaced and protruding as to allow archers to pin down anyone trying to assault them. Bohemund, having heard them described many times, had suspected exaggeration, but not even with that information could he be prepared for the actual sight.

More than seven Roman mille passum in length, they ran from the southern arm of the so-called Golden Horn to circle round the northern edge, there to join the sea wall which enclosed the entire city. A great chain barred access to the Bosphorus, which would have to be overcome before that flank could be threatened. To overcome what he could see was not enough, for behind that obstacle stood three more sets of fortifications all kept in decent repair, the last, the Servian Wall, protecting the very core of ancient Constantinople: the Great Palace, the Hippodrome and the greatest church in all Christendom, the mighty Basilica of Santa Sophia.