Jack Ludlow: Soldier of Crusade

Once they had fully encircled the Crusaders their general entered, surrounded by men with drawn swords, and Reinald, dragging Argyrus with him, walked forwards to execute a low bow. A hand signal from the Turk brought forward a man bearing a skin of water from which, much to the chagrin of their watching followers, the two men greedily drank. There was no sympathy in the act; Elchanes wanted them to be able to speak clearly.

‘He wants to know why we have come to this place, Reinald,’ Argyrus said, when the first words were spoken.

Reinald was looking at Elchanes, without his metal and leather helmet now, so his dark eyes, being unshaded, were visible. There was not much of an expression in either those or on his round and dark-skinned face, with skin heavily marked by pox. The lips were close to being as black as those eyes, thin and unsmiling.

‘He must know that already.’

‘I suggest,’ Argyrus replied, ‘that it would be wise to humour him.’

‘Tell him that we came to save our souls from eternal damnation.’

That was twice translated and the reply came back. ‘Such a wish is a simple matter, all you have to do is acknowledge the Prophet.’

‘We are Christians.’

That needed no translation and by saying it Reinald got a clear reaction, a look of real hate crossing that cratered Turkish face. The shout that came from Elchanes had every bow up and pointing, each archer picking a target, and Argyrus was obliged to tell Reinald that the order had come to lay down their weapons on the ground.

‘Weapons with which we have offered to serve the Sultan.’

Those words had no effect; the reply came back to do as they were commanded or die. While most complied, a goodly number declined only to suffer immediately as each took at least one arrow in the upper body and many of them several, which hastened those who had hesitated. The Turkish general then yelled a command accompanied by a huge sweep of the arm for the Christians to move out through the gate that rendered translation superfluous.

Bereft now of swords, daggers and shields, Reinald led his men out of the gate to where the main body of the Turkish force, weapons at the ready, was stretched out facing the curtain wall, against which the captured Christians were obliged to line up, the archers from within the fortress taking station on the parapet above their heads. Elchanes rode though the gate and yelled out another order, which had Argyrus, once it was given to him in Greek, crossing himself as he spoke.

‘We have a choice, Reinald, to convert to Islam or to die where we stand.’

‘He accepted our terms.’

‘Look at his eyes, Reinald. If he ever did, he does not do so now.’

What followed was horrible to observe. One at a time men were dragged forward and asked to forswear the religion into which they had been born. Those who accepted were spared, had their hands tied and were led away, those who refused immediately had their throats cut to the neck bone with a dying prayer on their lips, their bodies dragged away to be thrown onto a rising mound of dead flesh. Reinald and Argyrus, when their turn came, took the same course as the majority and forswore.

‘Ask what is to become of us, Argyrus, now that we have converted to Islam?’

The reply came back, once translated, with an accompanying laugh, to tell the survivors that the Sultanate of Rum always had need of slaves.

Word reached Civetot within two days, and if the fact that men had died was enough to enrage the multitude, the forced conversions to Islam were even more maddening to the more vocal priests and the deeply religious amongst the host, preachers every bit as inspiring as Peter the Hermit. A council was immediately called with the general opinion, much pushed by the divines, being that such an infamy could not be allowed to pass. The whole of the People’s Crusade in their thousands should shoulder their weapons and move out to attack the city of Nicaea, many loudly acclaiming that they had stayed passive long enough.

A few voices demurred, but they were wiser than the mob or the priests, for they tended to be the men who knew about warfare, mounted knights, amongst whom the most vocal and respected was the Frenchman, Walter Sansavoir. He pointed out that the city they were proposing to assault had repelled several attempts by the armies of Byzantium to overcome its formidable walls. Those who disagreed with him, and some of them shared his fighting experience, argued that by moving they would oblige those very same Byzantine forces to come to their aid and the combination must overwhelm the defences.

In the end it was the prospect of plunder that swung the vote towards action, indeed the very nature of many of the people that made up the People’s Crusade. Stark indeed was the truth when set against what had gone before, which was in too many cases no more than rank religious hypocrisy designed to mask naked greed, this from adventurers who had thought of nothing since setting out from their European hovels and manor houses other than the fabled riches of the East. The more honest pilgrims were souls with no fear of death; had not Peter the Hermit promised that if they perished on this venture their entry to heaven was assured? So overwhelming was the sentiment to march that those who disagreed could not stand against it.

The host that set out next day was indeed formidable if seen from a distance and spread across the landscape: three hundred plus mounted knights trained in the art of war, at least the same number who at some time in their lives had borne arms in battle as milities , able to use pikes for defence and axes as well as sharp daggers in close combat. The remainder, and they were several thousand in number, were stave- and pitchfork-carrying peasants so fired by their faith to be sure that when they came to the walls of Nicaea, they would, like those of Jericho, tumble to the sound of their combined prayers.

In such a ragged army there was scant discipline and if Walter Sansavoir had agreed to take the lead, he did not have anything like overarching control; what he had was dispute if he even attempted to issue an order, so that midway through the second day, as much due to heat as disorderliness, the host utterly lacked any kind of cohesion and that was exposed when before them they could observe, on an open plain with no protection from a flank assault, a large force of disciplined Turks advancing to meet them and one of which they had gained no prior warning.

‘We should have tried to withdraw,’ reported a Lombard knight called Sigibuld, his torn, cross-bearing surplice still covered in his own blood, mixed with those with whom he had fought, the whole overlain with dirt of a battlefield and a long and dangerous flight. ‘Many suggested it but Walter Sansavoir asked how it could be done with a rabble over which we had little control when advancing.’

‘The enterprise was foolish,’ Alexius replied, his voice weary. ‘You should never have gone beyond Civetot.’

‘We did not expect to meet Kilij Arslan in open battle,’ Sigibuld protested.

‘The Sultan led them in person?’

‘They cried out his name when they attacked.’

‘What a price to pay for a lesson known to every soldier,’ said Manuel Boutoumites, titled Curopalates and thus high enough in rank as a trusted advisor to speak unbidden in the presence of his Emperor. ‘Never underestimate your enemy.’

Alexius nodded and a lifted finger was a signal for Sigibuld to continue, which he did in a voice devoid of emotion.

‘We tried to form up as best we could. Walter had we knights take up position to the front, mixed with the men who knew how to use weapons so that we could present a defence, the aim to let the Turks know that any attack would cost them dear. The rest we sought to keep to the rear but they would not listen, so convinced were they, egged on by the priests, that God would surely smite their enemies before they even came within longbow shot. I think they expected bolts of lightning to come from the sky.’