Stewart Binns - Crusade

Estrith brought us all together in a circle, while Hereward took the oath of the Brethren of the Blood. She then spoke for all of us.

‘Now we are seven and united as a family at last. Let us pray for those no longer with us: Torfida, who met her end in the wildwood from whence she came; Martin, Einar and Alphonso in the heroic struggle at Ely; Gunnhild in the terrible pain she bore so bravely; and, in the tragedy of the putrid fever, our beloved sisters, Emma and Edgiva, Gwyneth and Wulfhild, Maria and Ingigerd. Let us also pray that Cristina is alive and well in Oviedo and enjoying a long retirement.’

Hereward said ‘Amen’ with the rest of us before adding his own reflections.

‘It is strange to think that those we remember so clearly as young and strong are now lying in the ground or are old and frail. My darling Torfida and our daughter Gunnhild, and so many loyal friends who became our family. Dearest Cristina was the oldest of all of us; she would be almost seventy now. I will send a messenger to Oviedo with our greetings and news. It will make an old lady happy to know we’re all together again.’

Hereward then turned to me. I saw his mischievous grin before he spoke again.

‘My Lord Prince, Hereward of Bourne at your service. May I accompany you tomorrow on your expedition to Jerusalem?’

I grabbed him and embraced his mighty frame.

‘As long as you don’t start ordering me around!’

‘Perhaps I would have done once, but you were a boy then. Now you are our leader and I will be proud to serve you. You have kept my family together for me and brought them to Constantinople. More than that, your Brethren have kept alive what the Brotherhood fought for at Ely. For all those things, I will always be grateful.’

I was moved by the great man’s words.

They made me feel humble, but very proud.

The vast army of Pope Urban’s Holy Crusade began to march east only a few days after it had been ferried across the Bosphorus. It was already mid-May and as hot as Hell. I had experienced the heat of Sicily, but few of the Crusaders had been that far south. What was even more disconcerting was to be told that beyond Anatolia, where we would turn south to Palestine, the heat of the day would be unbearable from spring until autumn. God help our men and horses.

Nevertheless, we were a fine sight – a rich tapestry woven from the many shades of bay, black and grey of our horses, the shimmering silver of our armour and the vivid crimson of our emblem, Christ’s crucifix. The seamstresses would be put to work to record scenes like these as soon as the Princes returned to Europe. At the front of the column, the crest of every hill provided an opportunity to look back and admire the spectacle.

In the far distance a rising veil of dust threatened to obscure the sun. The air around us was filled with sounds – from the piercing clamour of armour and weapons and the soft hum of more than two dozen languages, to the deep rumble of carts and the relentless thunder of horses. Mingled together it was sufficient to make the ground shake and the birds flee.

At no vantage point was it possible to see the back of the mass of soldiers and all the paraphernalia of war that accompanied them. There were few cities that came close in number to even a third of the size of our massed ranks, yet we were on the move.

Every time I saw our long tail of humanity stretching into the distance, I revised my calculations, until, at over 75,000, I gave up and decided our multitude was too big to be counted. There can have been no force of its size to have left Europe since the days of Rome’s legions. We were a holy behemoth, woken from its long slumber and now making the world tremble.

The fortress at Nicaea was not far from the narrow strip of Byzantine territory on the Anatolian side of the Bosphorus, but it was a formidable obstacle. Its lord, Qilich Arslan, the Seljuk Sultan of Rum, was taken by surprise at the appearance of another Christian army so soon after the destruction of the army of Peter the Hermit. He was away with his army, far to the east, settling a small local dispute. A brave and resourceful leader, he had made a grave error of judgement, letting our vast army surround his city unopposed.

Scaling ladders, platforms, mangonels and springalds were prepared for the assault and, true to his word, the Emperor supervised the supply route from a base at Pelekanum on the coast. He also committed 2,000 of his elite soldiers under the command of Tacitius, one of the most renowned leaders of his army.

The first major encounter of the Holy War initially went well. The Council of War functioned as intended; the siege of Nicaea was well planned and the attacks efficiently coordinated. Both traditional siege tactics were employed simultaneously: a complete encirclement of the city to enforce a slow strangulation of all life’s necessities and to break the will of the defenders; and an all-out, frontal attack by siege engines, battering rams and manned assaults of the walls to bludgeon the beleaguered inhabitants into submission. But the Seljuks did not lack mettle, and the siege continued for several weeks.

Then, just when we thought we were unassailable, the tenacity and organization of the Christian army were put to the test. A lone spy was discovered in the Christian camp – a wily Seljuk soldier, speaking Greek and passing himself off as one of Tacitius’s men. Under some painful interrogation and the threat of yet more hideous torture, he revealed that Qilich Arslan had just returned from the east with a huge army and was poised to strike. He was camped only a few miles away, and final preparations had begun.

The Council of War met that night to plan the response. Under orders to prepare in total silence, the army began to get into position from 2 a.m. By first light that morning, we were in position to ambush our ambusher.

The contingents of Raymond of Toulouse and Baldwin of Boulogne were to hold their ground in the north, at what was anticipated would be the centre of the Seljuk attack, while Bohemond of Taranto and Godfrey of Bouillon were to lay in wait to the east, ready to spring the trap. Robert’s contingent was to keep up the pressure on the city, while my small group was assigned the role of battlefield reconnaissance, reporting directly to Bohemond of Taranto.

The Seljuks appeared within an hour of the time we had calculated, swarming down from the hills like marauding ants. Their strategy was awe-inspiring, but predictable. Surge upon surge of closely grouped mounted archers cascaded down the slopes, loosing rapid volleys at speed from their small, highly manoeuvrable Steppes horses. Normally an onslaught that proved deadly to its opponents, it was a futile assault against a force of our magnitude with the resolve of its Norman and Frankish backbone.

Raymond and Baldwin’s position held firm. As soon as the entirety of the Seljuks’ attack had floundered against the Christian bulwark, Bohemond and Godfrey launched their heavy cavalry against the now static Seljuk army. Mayhem ensued and, realizing that his position was hopeless and his elite regiments were being carved into disparate and increasingly vulnerable groups, Qilich Arslan ordered an immediate withdrawal, prudently saving his army from complete annihilation.

Sweyn and Adela were riding to Robert’s position with news that the battle had turned in our favour when a large column of Seljuks wheeled round towards them in a desperate search for an escape route from the battlefield. A group of about ten saw the two isolated Christian knights and bore down on them. Sweyn and Adela turned and rode back towards us at a gallop, but their attackers had too much momentum and would soon overhaul them. I immediately ordered our force to go to their aid, but knew we had little chance of reaching them before they were overwhelmed.