Jack Ludlow - Soldier of Crusade

‘They are a mob, even the cavalry,’ he insisted. ‘Look how they acted at Nicaea. Let us commit them to battle and then shock them.’

‘Mounts,’ Vermandois said, and for once it was treated as a valid interjection.

‘Most of our knights will have to fight on foot, Count Hugh,’ Godfrey de Bouillon stated. ‘That we have already established.’

‘We must use our horses to good effect, and no one is more adept at that than we Normans.’

Even saintly Godfrey was put out by that comment from the Duke of Normandy, it being so crass, which was nothing as to the reaction of Raymond, who positively bristled; he had yet to forgive Bohemund and Robert of Flanders for the loss of his Provencal milities .

‘It would be fitting if certain people were to accept that we are equals in combat.’

‘Except in one regard, Count Raymond,’ Bohemund interrupted, albeit softly. ‘We Apulians have more fit horses than anyone else, the Duke of Normandy included.’

Two spectres were raised by that: the Count of Taranto had sent many of his horses away at the approach of winter where others had declined to do so and, if they had not all fared as well as he hoped, the number that came back battle-ready, some two hundred mounts, was significant. The second point did not have to be stated: there was no chance whatever that the Normans of South Italy would hand these horses over to anyone else. If there were to be a use of mounts in the coming encounter it would be led by Bohemund.

‘My Lords,’ he continued, ‘even on foot, we knights mailed are a match for the Turks, as you, Count Raymond proved at Nicaea, which I again take leave to mention.’

‘And there,’ Godfrey added, ‘we chose where to fight.’

‘That is our best hope,’ Raymond agreed, his high mood assuaged slightly by Bohemund’s reference to his previous success. ‘So we now must spend time in the choosing.’

This time they were poring over maps that had been drawn by their own scribes; anything Roman after the desertion of Tacitus was seen as tainted. The obvious tactical need was a valley and one high sided enough to make it difficult for Ridwan to get over the slopes to outflank them, though given the numbers they could deploy it was hoped he would not even consider such a stratagem. The use of a false retreat was examined and discarded; the Turks employed that manoeuvre themselves and might not fall for it when used against them.

‘Fighting on foot, cohesion is all,’ declared Raymond. ‘If we try to back away we will lose that and will struggle to re-form our line if they decline to follow. No, if we fall back, it must be pace by pace and decided by a single banner.’

‘And once they are committed,’ concluded Ademar, ‘it is down to you, Count Bohemund.’

‘Might I suggest the Count of Toulouse to command the knights on foot?’

Florid Toulouse was obviously taken with that notion and he glared at everyone present, Bohemund apart, daring them to decline him the honour.

‘I am happy for you to lead,’ Godfrey said, that backed by Hugh of Vermandois, who had lost some of his ambition since the start of this siege. Only the Duke of Normandy looked reluctant as he agreed.

In the event it was classic in its execution; Ridwan was so sure of his numerical superiority he came on as if he had already triumphed, to meet a line of mailed knights on foot, with shields and weapons at the ready, men who stood and suffered the attack by mounted archers and did not flinch. Then came the mass of Turkish foot, shoulder to shoulder and in deep and multiple lines that stretched across the valley floor, their kettledrums beating a loud tattoo and their cries to the Prophet rending the air.

At first the Crusaders were immovable, until Ridwan sent in several supporting waves so that the battle area became a crowded mass. The Crusaders took their first backward step, only one and in unison, each man eyeing the banner of Raymond so as to be sure that what order had been given was just that — one step and no more. Encouraged, Ridwan sent in more men and again, after a fierce fight the Crusader line went backwards, not much, but heartening to the Turkish general. Sure that one final push would break the Crusaders’ spirit he committed all of his men and backed them up with his mounted archers. The whole milled about in the rear, ready for the pursuit, which was bound to follow.

Bohemund did not show restraint as he entered the fray; cresting the right-hand slope, he and his lances came over as a body and for once he let the slope dictate the pace of his attack, which was made at the full gallop over what was a short distance. To hold a line on such an incline was impossible, just as unlikely as that a force of a mere two hundred knights could put to flight an army numbered in the tens of thousands. Yet shock and astonishment are potent weapons and that was what fell upon the Turks now, and if the sight of these charging horsemen was not enough to dent their confidence, the sudden reversal of the actions of the mailed knights to their front was.

Raymond, Godfrey, Robert of Normandy and Hugh of Vermandois could not have acted in more unison and it was a miracle of coordination. Every one of their banners were dipped forward, following the command from Raymond, telling their knights to take back what ground they had surrendered, the aim not just to kill, but to pin their foes and make them stay and fight. Pressed into a confined space by the eagerness of Ridwan, what Bohemund and his knights careered into, the mounted archers, was such a solid mass there was no chance for anyone, man or beast, to escape and that they tried sent a ripple of panic through their entire host.

It was that, rather than slaughter, which determined the next phase, as men who felt themselves betrayed began to seek a way to save their skins and in doing so those archers ran down their own foot soldiers, trampling them under their horses’ hooves and even swiping with their swords to clear a path. At the front killing zone, fighters who had thought they were winning were now dying in droves, for they had no notion of security to their rear, which took the passion that had so far sustained them out of their efforts.

A stronger general would have sought to rally his troops; Ridwan of Aleppo was far from that — he owed his position to his bloodline and was more concerned with his own life than that of the host he led. As soon as it appeared they might be checked, not defeated, the son of the Sultan called for his banner and fled the field, the effect on those who saw this disastrous. The non-engaged foot soldiers went after their mounted archers, leaving those at the front and the many others who stood their ground exposed to Bohemund’s knights who were engaged in butchery at the rear. They began to die in even greater numbers or to fall to their knees and plead for mercy as they sensed they had been abandoned.

Now the shortage of mounts truly told; the Crusaders lacked the means to pursue their running foes — the horses were past their peak and too valuable to risk, while mailed men would struggle to walk at pace never mind run. They had won the day in this Syrian valley but did not yet know if they had prevailed in the contest, so they dare not let up, dare not let Ridwan regroup. It was a weary and dusty march towards the fortress of Harim, prayers being mouthed through cracked dry lips that they would not have to fight take it.

The joy when they saw the place in flames was unalloyed, that even deeper when they espied what Turks remained were hurrying east to safety. Raymond called a halt and Godfrey de Bouillon immediately beckoned forward Bishop Ademar, who had insisted he must share their fate if not their fight, and begged him to say Mass there and then for their deliverance. If any Turks of Ridwan’s now crushed army did look back, it would have been to see the men who had driven them from the field of battle, both mounted and on foot, now on their knees in deep prayer.