Stewart Binns - Anarchy

What we heard was a very chastening account.

Of the men who had ridden out of Antioch on 28 June – a force just less than 4,000 strong – fewer than 150 had made it back alive. Foolishly, Roger of Salerno had decided not to wait for the arrival of King Baldwin’s army from Jerusalem, but chose to confront the Muslims with only his Antiochene forces. Prince Roger’s camp was in an area called the Belus Hills, close to a settlement called Sarmada. His scouts had told him that the valley he had chosen would conceal them from Il-Ghazi’s Artuqid army and that from there he would be able to launch a surprise attack. However, the Artuqids had infiltrated Prince Roger’s corps of scouts and he had been led into a trap. By first light, the Muslim army was poised to attack from three sides.

Prince Roger tried to muster his army and called on his priests to carry aloft the relic he always carried into battle, the True Cross of Christ, discovered by Arnulf of Chocques in Jerusalem on the Great Crusade. Although the defenders tried to form into defensive formations, the position was hopeless. They attempted to create a line commanded by Robert of Saint Lo, Prince Roger himself, Guy de Frenelle, Geoffrey the Monk and Renaud Mansoer.

With the Muslim army poised, a fabled qaadi, Abu al-Fadl Ibn al-Khashshab, wearing his lawyer’s turban but brandishing a lance, rode out in front of the troopers and gave a passionate evocation of the duties of a jihadi warrior. Il-Ghazi’s men were in a frenzy by the time he had finished and rode into battle baying for Christian blood. It had the reverse effect on Prince Roger’s army: already doomed, they knew they faced men bent on merciless revenge for a generation of Christian occupation of their land and desecration of their holy places.

The crusader army fought for their lives with some success on the right flank from the men of Geoffrey the Monk. Guy de Frenelle also held some ground, but the battle was soon decided on the left flank. Robert of Saint Lo and the Turcopoles were driven back into Roger’s division, disrupting it. A north wind blew dust in the faces of the Antiochene knights and footmen, confusing them further. Soon, Il-Ghazi’s forces enveloped the crusaders.

As most of Roger’s senior knights fell around him, he was soon left isolated amidst the mayhem. Standing next to the priests carrying the jewel-encrusted True Cross, he fought off several assailants before he was killed instantly by the point of a sword which entered through his eye socket and exited through the back of his skull. The priests were cut down and the holy relic was desecrated in a mock crucifixion as the Artuqids tied Prince Roger’s body to the cross and hoisted it high in the air to symbolize their victory over the infidels.

Walter the Chancellor, who was the only senior knight to escape the slaughter, said the earth could not be seen for the bodies of men and horses, so densely impaled with arrows that they resembled hedgehogs. He said that the battlefield was an Ager Sanguinis , a Field of Blood.

Fortunately for Antioch itself, Il-Ghazi had since indulged in a mammoth drunken celebration, following which he had turned for home, pursued by King Baldwin’s army from Jerusalem, bent on revenge. I decided to use this good fortune to get Livia out of the city and back to the ship at Seleucia Pieria, planning a return to Venice as quickly as possible.

We retrieved Livia’s dowry and jewels from the Treasury and, once again, the journey to the sea passed quickly. We made preparations to sail on the next tide and tried to make Livia as comfortable as possible in her cabin. I tried several times to comfort her – but for the time being, at least, she was lost to the world.

As we had only a handful of marines for the return journey, I made it clear to the Captain that he was to avoid the Anatolian coast and make the more difficult crossing via Cyprus and Crete, where Byzantium had much more control. My intention was to follow the coastline once we had passed the Greek mainland. Soon we were in the open sea, and for the first time in many months I started to relax. As soon as I did so, I started to reflect on what had happened on our tragic adventure to the Holy Land.

Apart from my personal regrets about my aborted relationship with Livia, my professional failure in not protecting her preyed on my mind more and more. Facing the Doge would not be easy. As for Livia, I felt powerless. She felt she had no future and was clearly living a private hell from which recovery would be difficult. I was determined to help her, no matter what it took – even if it involved taking her away from Venice. Perhaps then we could eventually start a new life together. This resolve helped me cope with the melancholy of the voyage.

The third night of the journey was cool and fresh. It was the middle of July, and the day had been hot, but the night sky was clear and the scorching heat had subsided. It was the dark of the moon and the stars glistened against the black of the night. I began to fall asleep listening to the ship creak and groan in the choppy waters, enjoying the sensation of drifting into a peaceful oblivion.

I was woken abruptly by a woman’s shriek. It had Constance’s unmistakable pitch. I rushed to the ladies’ cabin, where I was met by an appalling sight.

Constance was distraught, drenched in spray and pulling at the helmsman’s arm, imploring him to bring the ship about. When she saw me, she started to shout hysterically.

‘Livia’s gone! I can’t find her!’

We were soon joined by Eadmer and the Captain. All hands were called on deck to scour the horizon, as the ship began to turn back in a big arc. Lanterns were lit and a search party was organized to scour every inch of the ship. I grasped Constance and tried to calm her down.

‘When did you last see her?’

Constance gasped out her answer between racking sobs.

‘I’m not sure… it was late… she was in her bunk, with her back to me. I’m not sure if she was asleep… I fell asleep and woke with a fright… Livia wasn’t there any more.’

‘You’ve no idea how long?’

‘It could have been a while… I think I was asleep for some time.’

She was now sobbing uncontrollably, and I asked one of the stewards to put her in her cabin.

When I joined Eadmer and the Captain, they both looked forlorn and shook their heads. There was no sign of Livia on board. Clouds had come in and the sea was an infinity of inky black waves.

It was Eadmer who said what everyone was thinking.

‘She could have gone overboard more than an hour ago.’

I asked the Captain if the helmsman had seen anything, or if the men on watch had been aware of a disturbance.

‘If she left her cabin at the stern, she would have been behind the helmsman. With the noises on board from the fresh winds, it would have been difficult to hear her.’

I sat on the deck and put my head on my hands. It was the lowest point in my life. Not only had I not been able to protect her from Roger of Salerno, I had now failed to prevent Livia from throwing herself to her doom. I supposed that she had waited for the familiarity of the sea – an environment that had always been part of her life – and chose to end her agony in the anonymity of the deep, rather than face the public shame of returning to Venice.

So many things could have been different, and I vowed there and then never to make the same mistakes again.

We continued to search for several hours after dawn, but daylight only served to add to the desolation of the vast and empty sea.

Livia was lost to me, consigned to a watery grave.

Eadmer and I had long conversations on the remainder of the journey to Cyprus. Most of our discussions focused on whether to return to Venice, or to find a ship in Cyprus that would take us back to the Holy Land.