Stewart Binns - Crusade

‘Cavalry!’ shouted Hereward. ‘Thousands of them!’

With the formidable Bohemond acting as his mouthpiece, bellowing orders up and down the column, Robert coolly and calmly took control. Our entire force was corralled into a tight circle, with the baggage train, women, children and clerics in the middle, surrounded by a solid ring of knights and foot soldiers.

‘Like an English shield wall!’ cried Bohemond.

The order was repeated like an echo by every captain and sergeant.

Hereward rode up to Sweyn.

‘I hear you were the best horseman in Duke Robert’s service. Ride to Count Raymond’s army. Tell them to hurry.’

With that, Hereward slapped the flank of Sweyn’s horse to send him away at a gallop. Adela saw him go and was in his wake in seconds.

Hereward then signalled to me and Edwin. We rode over to Robert, who was still calmly marshalling his forces.

Hereward spoke first.

‘Robert, I have sent Sweyn and Adela off to alert Count Raymond.’

‘I have already sent riders.’

‘I’m sure you have, but I wanted at least two of my rapidly diminishing family to see out the day. What’s about to come over those hills is a horde the like of which would make God quake.’

Hereward then addressed the three of us.

‘You have troops to command. With your permission, I’d like to stay with Estrith, who is with the civilians, trying to calm them. I abandoned her and her sister once before on the cusp of a battle. I don’t want to do it again.’

Robert turned to me as we watched the great man ride away. ‘Was he as fearsome as the storytellers would have us believe?’

‘No, much more so. And, I suspect, he still is.’

Hereward was right about the impending onslaught. The sun was still low in the east, so what crested the ridge and poured over the hills beneath appeared like a wall of water in silhouette. Like the flow of hot pitch, it filled the gullies and valleys first, then spread out over the flatter ground until the whole perspective of our eastern quadrant was made black with men and horses. Even the green of their Islamic war banners became menacing dark shadows against the glare.

The sound became deafening as the chilling war cries of the Turks added a piercing shrill to the ever-deepening thunder of thousands of galloping horses. I had never seen anything like it and estimated we were facing an army at least twice the size of ours, perhaps as many as 60,000, not counting the ones who had yet to come into view.

In an extraordinary illustration of Norman military discipline, Robert and Bohemond and all their senior knights rode around the defensive ring, appealing for courage and calm. Robert issued a command to help morale, which was repeated by every Crusader present: ‘Stand fast together, trusting in Christ and the victory of the Holy Cross!’

There was sheer terror in the centre, where the monks and nuns said prayers and heard the confessions of the non-combatants. Volley after volley of arrows, like showers of heavy rain, fell from the clear-blue sky, killing hundreds, especially the civilians without armour. Javelins and spears flew through the air, hurled from horseback by the Turks with great force and deadly accuracy, killing anyone in their path, with or without armour. But they were only the pinpricks of the battle; the real pain was inflicted by a whirlwind of slashing sabres as the Turkish cavalry tried to hack its way through our defensive ring.

As one wave of attackers exhausted itself, Sultan Arslan withdrew it to regroup and sent in fresh replacements. There was no such respite for our defensive wall, which, with the sun rising ever higher in the sky, had to endure the onslaught without rest. Squads were organized to clear the dead and wounded, and young boys hurried forward with pails and ladles to allow the men to slake their thirst.

As our numbers dwindled, Edwin and I had been filling gaps in our defences for some time, until eventually Robert, Bohemond and Tacitius were also in the thick of the fray. The time for issuing orders had passed; even the most senior of us had to fight for our lives.

We had held our ground for over five hours. Old men, boys and the injured began to pick up weapons and join the defensive wall, while Estrith and Hereward led the women to clear the bodies and help the wounded. I looked along our lines; we were at breaking point. I wanted our Brethren to be together at the end and was trying to decide when would be the best time to send Edwin to bring Estrith and Hereward to stand with us in a final redoubt, when I saw a cloud of dust to the north.

Moments later, thousands of crimson Christian crosses painted the distant horizon the colour of the setting sun. As soon as the Turks realized that the advancing phalanx was the balance of the Christian army, they fled as rapidly as they had appeared.

Ten thousand bodies lay on the ground, both Christian and Muslim. Robert ordered that all be buried with dignity and that imams be brought from Nicaea to read over the graves of the Turks. Some among Bohemond’s contingent objected, preferring that they be left to rot like wild beasts where they had fallen, but such had been the quality of Robert’s leadership in the battle that he got his way.

For the Christian dead, eternal salvation beckoned. Prompted by the speeches of zealots such as Count Raymond, the notion that death on the Crusade would bring God’s forgiveness for all sins and a place at his side in Heaven had become accepted as gospel by the Crusaders.

Hereward went over to Robert and Bohemond to congratulate them on the way they had held the army together and inspired their men.

‘My Lord Duke, Count Bohemond, my congratulations on an outstanding example of leadership under the most demanding of circumstances.’

Bohemond responded with only a perfunctory nod and a very pointed question.

‘Captain, I hear that you served as a housecarl for King Harold of England and fought at Senlac Ridge.’

‘That is correct, my Lord.’

‘Did you ever know a man called Hereward of Bourne? He also fought at Senlac Ridge and before that was in service with my father, Robert Guiscard, and my uncle, Roger.’

‘All Englishmen have heard of Hereward of Bourne, sire.’

‘In his service to my family he was called Sir Hereward Great Axe. He carried a double-headed axe like yours – so formidable, I was told, that no other man could wield it. I was a very small boy when he and his companions left Apulia for Normandy, but the stories about him lingered and are still told to this day. My hazy memory is of a man who bore a strong resemblance to you; indeed, you would be about the same age.’

It was obvious that Bohemond strongly suspected that Hereward and Alexius’s retired Captain of the Varangians, Godwin of Ely, were one and the same.

Nevertheless, Hereward kept up the pretence.

‘My Lord, I am flattered to be likened to one as noble as Hereward of Bourne. But that’s all it is – a likeness.’

‘May I try your axe? It intrigues me.’

‘Of course, sire.’

Bohemond stood almost six inches taller than Hereward – both dwarfing me, and especially the diminutive Robert – and had the same substantial frame, but he lacked the strength that Hereward had in his tree-like limbs and he struggled to keep swinging the axe freely.

Hereward grasped the axe from the Norman’s faltering grip.

‘It has killed many foes, some even as big as you.’

He took the Great Axe of Göteborg and, with an easy, single-handed swing, rested the haft of the axe over his shoulder, then walked away. As he did so, he winked at Robert and me.

How many times in his life had the gargantuan Bohemond, a colossal figure from a legendary family, been made to look feeble?