Stewart Binns - Crusade

‘My Lords, I have made contact with a man called Firuz. He was born an Armenian Christian, but converted to Islam some years ago. He is an armourer by trade, but in the siege he defends one of the isolated towers on the south-eastern side of the city. He is not disillusioned with his faith, but he is greedy. His terms are simple: he wants safe passage for himself and his family within an hour of the deed being done, a large estate in Sicily, one hundred pounds of silver and a knighthood conferred by Count Roger of Sicily. In return, on a night of the dark of the moon, he will leave a section of wall unguarded next to his tower, so that a small assault party can scale the walls. He will then lead us to the Gate of St George so that we can overwhelm the guards, open it and let in our army.’

Bohemond of Taranto asked the most important question: ‘Can we trust him?’

‘He’s prepared to offer his son as a hostage, my Lord.’

There was a stunned silence for a few moments as the Princes came to terms with the audacity and simplicity of Sweyn’s solution to their dilemma. Count Raymond got to his feet.

‘Sweyn of Bourne, you and I had a serious disagreement in Toulouse, after which I vowed that, when the time was right, I would teach you a lesson about how a knight should behave. Well, boy, if you pull this off, that incident will be forgotten and you will receive a significant reward of your own.’

Bohemond of Taranto then spoke. ‘I will pay the geld of silver and, as Roger of Sicily is my uncle, the lands and the title will not be a problem. When is the dark of the moon?’

‘Three days, my Lord.’

‘Then we’ll be ready. By the way, how did you find this man, Firuz?’

‘It’s not difficult to find greedy men, my Lord. There isn’t much food in the city and many are hungry. I went to the brothels, where people are usually discreet, and said that I had a bag of silver to buy a leg of mutton for a family feast and asked where I might find one. I was eventually sent to Firuz. Hidden beneath his forge, he had food and wine sufficient to feed a prince’s court for a month. I knew I had found the right man.’

Bohemond slapped Sweyn on the back with his huge hand and hurried off to begin preparing for the assault on the city. Robert and I rushed over to congratulate Sweyn on his remarkable coup.

‘It was Hereward’s idea.’

‘I couldn’t pass as an Arab, so Sweyn had to take all the risks. We weren’t hiding anything from you; I just wanted Sweyn to have his moment and for it to be as big a surprise for you as it was for everybody else.’

Just as Hereward finished speaking, Bohemond reappeared. Hereward stood up to greet him.

‘My Lord?’

Bohemond did not reply, but stared at Hereward intently.

‘I know who you are, Hereward of Bourne. It is too much of a coincidence that Sweyn is a son of Bourne and that he came to the Holy Land with Prince Edgar.’

Hereward did not respond. His expression impassive, he just stared back at the giant Norman. Bohemond’s craggy face then creased into a smile.

‘Do not worry, Godwin of Ely, your true identity is safe with me, especially after the service given to us today by Sir Sweyn.’

Bohemond then offered his hand and Hereward shook it firmly.

Sweyn was given the honour of leading the scaling party.

The plan worked perfectly; within twenty minutes of the grappling hooks landing on the battlements, St George’s Gate was open and a great tide of Crusaders rushed in. Antioch, the last major obstacle on the road to Jerusalem, was at the mercy of the Christians.

From that moment onwards, events did not unfold as Sweyn had hoped.

Robert had persuaded the Council of War to agree that civilians would not be harmed, but it was an empty promise. The Christian army showed no mercy.

Eight months of privation and the bloodlust of the Crusaders combined to create a frenzy of killing that lasted all night. By dawn, the streets flowed with rivers of blood and piles of bodies made them impassable.

Blinded by their indiscriminate savagery and the blackness of a moonless night, the marauding Crusaders put to the sword Syrian Orthodox Christians, Armenians, Jews and Greeks, who all perished with their Muslim neighbours.

In what should have been a moment of great elation for Sweyn, he stood on the battlements of the city and, instead of hailing the victory, let out an anguished cry.

‘ Why? ’

Sweyn’s achievement had saved the Crusade, but only just in time. Kerbogha’s vast army appeared on the horizon in the middle of the afternoon. The entire Crusader army and all its civilian entourage hurried into Antioch and the gates were closed behind them.

We took stock of our position. It was grim; we had the city’s strong walls around us, but it had been under siege for nearly nine months and its granaries and storerooms were empty. Our supply line to the coast was gone and Kerbogha’s army was big enough to completely enclose us and gradually tighten the noose. Worst of all, the city was full of bodies and we faced a fight against time to burn them before they contaminated the wells.

Having spent nine months in Purgatory outside the walls, we now faced a living Hell within them.

The Muslim army was so huge it seemed to occupy every foot of ground around the entire city. Their war drums boomed incessantly and their cries for vengeance filled the air day and night. There were soon many desertions from our ranks, including the previously faithful Ives and Aubrey of Grandmesnil, who lowered themselves down ropes and made a cowardly dash for the ships at St Symeon.

We were already feeble and demoralized, but conditions for our army soon got worse. The only foodstuff we had found in any quantity was a store of spices. Ingenious, if hardly appetizing, methods were devised to put it to use. One of them was to make a soup of spices from leaves plus a few thin slices of animal hide and enliven it with blood bled from our precious horses. It did little for the well-being of our horses, and probably did us more harm than good.

Kerbogha’s army attacked constantly, using a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of men. They always attacked more than one wall at a time, wearing us down in an ever downward spiral of despair. Often the Turks attacked in such great numbers that they reached the top of the battlements, where the hand-to-hand fighting was ferocious. Bohemond created small groups of his best men to act as elite squads and close any breaches in our defences.

Sleep was all but impossible, except in brief respites of no more than two hours twice a day. We were fortunate that the men still standing were the elite survivors of countless battles, deprivations and diseases and thus made of the sternest stuff. Bohemond was the strongest of all and relied more and more on Hereward’s experience and military acumen. They became very close, with Sweyn acting as their main aide-de-camp, delivering orders to the other princes and senior commanders.

Raymond of Toulouse became ill and was unable to lead the Council of War, so Robert took on the role. Hereward and Sweyn had devised an astonishingly daring plan, which they had shared with Bohemond, Robert and me. Bohemond was so impressed that he wanted to present it to the Council himself – and, of course, in doing so, take all the credit.

The Council, shocked at first, soon realized the merits of the plan and readily agreed. In fact, we had little choice; another week of the onslaught we were facing would have seen our resistance collapse.

On the 28th of June 1098, the great Battle of Antioch began.

Sweyn and Hereward’s strategy was based on careful observation of the way in which the Seljuks attacked, combined with simple battlefield psychology. Kerbogha kept the greater part of his army out of harm’s way at his main camp about five miles from the city, from where small units were despatched in waves to attack the walls, before retreating for rest and rearming.