Ma’arrat had suffered greatly but in truth the majority of the population survived, even some Muslims of both sexes, but more tellingly a high number of Armenians. For every body in the streets or blocking the doorway to a dwelling there were another three citizens still drawing breath, albeit they kept out of sight in their cellars and attics until the murderous instincts of their enemies had run their course and exhaustion added to full bellies brought an end to the killing.
Still, the place smelt of death and it was sound policy to begin to clear away the already rotting cadavers, as well as ensure that any buildings still smouldering were doused to prevent a spreading conflagration that could consume half the city. Corpses were piled on carts by the survivors of Ma’arrat and taken out of the city to be burnt in a huge human bonfire that sent pungent clouds of stinking black smoke into the air, the sticky ash falling to cover the clothing of those who had been engaged in the destruction.
The Crusaders were sated, both by blood and plunder, for they had been given a free hand to take for themselves that which they wished, while their lords and masters had a care to see that they got a share in the spoils that had been haggled over in the Governor’s Palace. Raymond had insisted that it was his labours, most notably in expending a great amount of silver on his siege tower, as well as the blood expended in its employment, that had led to the fall of Ma’arrat. That being so, he and his Provençals, as well as the men under Robert of Flanders, should have the lion’s share of the booty.
Bohemund was equally adamant that the Apulians, in drawing off men from the main assault, had contributed just as much to success and that both he and his lances deserved an equal share. Besides, it was he who had made the arrangements that had seen such treasure assembled in one place, for had it not been, given the mayhem of the sack of the city, with the pilgrims matching the soldiers in their avarice, the high nobles might have been lucky to see a single coin.
In the end, after much bluster and negotiation, the promises Bohemund had made to the governor and the wealthy citizens of Ma’arrat cost him dear: stripped as they were of everything they possessed, and in terror, these people still had their lives. Raymond made it obvious that unless he was satisfied in his demands they would suffer the same fate as that of the men who had been guarding them – those retainers who were now at best twitching carcasses laid out on a tiled floor swimming in bright red blood. It took a part payment of what Bohemund should have got for the Apulians to get them safely out of the city and on the road to Aleppo.
Such arrangements saw no more favour in the Provençal ranks than it did with their liege lord: to their mind Bohemund’s men were latecomers who had done little to deserve even that which they had, which caused their leaders to withdraw their contingents to those areas of the city under their control, the southern towers for Bohemund and the rest of Ma’arrat for Toulouse and Flanders.
‘Flanders,’ Tancred announced from the doorway, receiving in reply a nod that the man should enter.
He stood aside to let Count Robert of that province enter the small chamber where his uncle had set up his quarters, the very one he had occupied on the previous night. It was one of eight held by the Apulians, fully a third of the towers of Ma’arrat an-Numan and, being the outer defences, of greater value than any city dwellings.
Standing to greet his visitor, Bohemund noticed that Robert’s eyes, before engaging his, took in at a glance the chests of treasure that lined the walls, making cramped what was already a room much lacking in space. A servant was sent to fetch refreshments – bread, grapes and dates as well – while the host indicated that his visitor should occupy the lid of one of those very chests.
‘Will you sit, My Lord?’
‘I have come as an emissary of Count Raymond.’
Robert had replied as if such a thing precluded comfort and he did not move to accept the offer, which led to a silence that he clearly found awkward. Before responding to what he held to be obvious – he had been waiting for some kind of emissary – Bohemund took a short time to reprise his relationship with this handsome man, nearer Tancred’s age than his own, well built and with a full head of brown hair, worn long, and with steady eyes of the same colour.
Brother-in-law to the Duke of Normandy, Robert had come on the Crusade under his banner, which made him better disposed to the Norman Apulians than would be the case with the knights who served Toulouse. In common with most of his fellow magnates that relationship had fluctuated, sometimes good and on other occasions fraught with bile and recrimination – it very much depended on the circumstances of the crusading endeavour.
Like all the crusading princes Flanders had been wary when they first met, again in common with his noble peers, unwilling to quite believe and accept the reputation for successful soldiering that hung like a corona around the Count of Taranto. Yet as his brother-in-law mellowed towards Bohemund, so it seemed had Flanders until, if they were not quite friends, there was no open antagonism.
The nadir had come when foraging on this very plateau of Jabal as-Summaq in the spring, for it was there they, in joint command, had been obliged to abandon the mass of food they had gathered to take back to Antioch, as well as the bulk of the men who had done the collecting, caught unawares because no piquets had been set overnight to warn of any approaching threat, common practice when camped overnight in strange and enemy territory.
Had it been the responsibility of Robert or Bohemund to set those guards? That had never been established and neither had ever accepted that they were to blame, which had naturally led to their being cold in each other’s company. Yet for Bohemund there was much to admire about the man: he was a doughty fighter, the leader who had held off Kerbogha for days at the fort of La Mahomerie, which, given the odds, should not have survived one.
Added to that, in the Battle of Antioch, if there had been any residual resentment, it had never surfaced; he had stoutly obeyed the man and later had shown him, in the glow of such a stunning victory, some regard that laid to rest the events in the disaster that befell them both on that foraging fiasco.
Where matters lay now was a mystery, but it was Robert who had whispered to Raymond to get Toulouse to modify his stance. At the moment his features were rigid, so when he did speak, Bohemund’s reply was gentle and delivered, if not with a smile, at least with a sympathetic look for a fellow noble on a thankless mission.
‘That I guessed, just as I surmised Count Raymond would not see it as fitting to come himself.’
The tone had a definite effect: Robert’s face softened and his response had something of a weary air. ‘I had to dissuade him from commanding that you attend upon him.’
‘Now that he occupies the Governor’s Palace our Count of Toulouse no doubt feels he has that right.’
‘You can guess, Count Bohemund, why I have come.’
‘As an emissary to demand that I surrender the towers I hold?’
‘Ma’arrat is Raymond’s by right.’
‘An opinion he firmly holds to, Count Robert, but one, I suspect, which you know is nonsense.’
‘So you reject his demand?’
‘As would you, My Lord, were you in the same position. There is, however, one act of his that will persuade me to accede. Let Raymond surrender to me the Bridge Gate and what he holds in Antioch and he can have these towers of Ma’arrat.’
‘Which is why you came to this place?’
‘Hardly a furtive act, indeed an obvious one, which you guessed when I first arrived, and if what I offer is accepted it still leaves Count Raymond the man best off.’
‘And I will not then surrender my towers, which means that as we jointly hold Antioch, so we jointly hold Ma’arrat an-Numan.’
The servant had entered with the sent-for refreshments, but Flanders declined to partake of them. ‘Count Raymond will be eager to hear your answer.’
‘Please, My Lord, he would have known my answer before he sent you on what is a fool’s errand and one that is an insult to your dignity.’
For the first time since arriving, the face of Robert of Flanders showed genuine anger. ‘Allow me to be the man to measure my dignity.’
Then he spun round and left, Tancred filling the doorway as he departed.
‘You heard?’
‘Everything, and I wonder at it,’ Tancred replied. ‘Giving him Ma’arrat does not entirely secure Antioch.’
‘Would you have me offer nothing?’
‘You could offer to join in the march on Jerusalem.’
‘Tancred, there is no such march.’
‘And nor will there be, Uncle, while you continue to dispute with Toulouse.’
The reply was scathing. ‘If you are looking for someone to soften their stance, try him, not me!’
‘Perhaps I will,’ Tancred replied, in an equally intemperate manner, before he too was gone.
Word soon spread of the impasse between the two princes and if the attitude to it was an increase in exasperation it was not for want of land and cities, but for the fact that such a dispute caused even more delay in the Crusade to which all these people, knights, milities and pilgrims at Ma’arrat were committed. Men already disgruntled at the lack of progress became even more vocal, their ire not dented by the plunder they had gathered by their own hands or the largesse showered on them by their leaders.
If Bohemund’s standing sank in both camps – a goodly number of his Apulians were as angry as any – so did that of Raymond of Toulouse. Demands began to be heard that if he was not going to use the Holy Lance for the purpose to which it was best suited, namely as an icon to lead the faithful to Jerusalem, then he should hand it over to his troops and let them march on without the benefit of his presence.
The relic, from being a massive benefit to Raymond’s standing, was now working in the opposite direction: he was being seen as undeserving of possession. Acutely attuned to the mood of the faithful, Raymond sought a way to shift the blame squarely onto the Count of Taranto. He initiated a public assembly, using the pretext of an open-air Mass to celebrate the taking of the city.
This was a setting he knew Bohemund would not be able to avoid. He knew just as well as anyone how he was being perceived, even amongst his own followers. Held in the square before the Governor’s Palace, not long after first light, the press of bodies was so great that many were stuck in the adjoining streets and needed to be dealt with by suffragan divines and satellite altars. The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky and if it was cold on the cusp of December, it seemed that the heavens had decided to bless the celebration.
Kneeling at the front of the assembly, Raymond had with him the Holy Lance and he ensured it was highly visible. Not far off from that knelt Bohemund, with Tancred and Flanders in between. That the two leaders did not talk to each other as they took their places was obvious enough to set up a murmur of disapproval, which rippled through the crowd.
That faded as the archdeacon saying Mass began his litany, aided by his clerical supporters as they blessed the body and blood of Christ, the paramount vessels for both brought before the relic in Raymond’s hand as if to underline not just its own importance but his.
No one but the archdeacon and his acolytes saw how Raymond reacted to the catcalls that surfaced then from hundreds of throats, few comprehensible. Yet a few transcended the mass of noise by being shouted, questioning why he had the Holy Lance and what he intended to do with it.
A glare from the archdeacon was enough to quell that disturbance, unbecoming at such a time and in such a ceremony, so the giving of Holy Communion went on throughout the square without further interruption, though given the numbers seeking to be shriven, the sun was well past its zenith before the Mass ended, at which point Raymond took up a position to address the crowd.
‘I call on the Count of Taranto,’ he shouted, holding up his lance, ‘in the presence of all and this lance which once pierced the body of Christ, to renounce what he holds here in Ma’arrat and hand it over to those who took it by their brave endeavours.’
The approval of that was far from universal; if the Provençals cheered, many of the Apulians did not, added to which if he had hoped to embarrass his rival it failed utterly as Bohemund gave to the assembly the same reply he had given to Robert of Flanders: Give me Antioch.
‘A plague on both, I say.’
Whoever shouted that, and it seemed to echo off the very sky, was, in such a dense crowd, too well hidden to be identified, but he was secure anyway, given the cry was taken up by many, soon to be joined by openly vocal demands to Raymond of what had hitherto been just murmuring. The demand that the lance be surrendered became a cacophony, and with the relic still in his hand, it was a chastened Count of Toulouse who retired to what was now his palace.
Bohemund was no less affected, receiving as much abuse as his rival, and he began to issue his orders to Tancred as soon as the square appeared clear. Try as he did, there was no missing the hateful glares thrown in his direction as the crowds dispersed; he was in the same steep tub of opinion as Toulouse, for if there had been any doubt about his intention to claim Antioch for himself, that had been laid to rest by his declaration.
‘We return to Antioch on the morrow.’
‘The towers?’ Tancred asked.
‘Will be garrisoned,’ his uncle replied, in what was near to a shout; he wanted them all to know.
The year had turned before the princes gathered at a town called Rugia, in the Ruj Valley south of Antioch, called there by a request from Raymond of Toulouse, who had spent the month of December at Ma’arrat an-Numan, despite the fact that Bohemund’s men still held a large section of the walls. The garrison could now worship, like the mass of pilgrims still there, in churches that had once been mosques, as they waited with open impatience for the march on Jerusalem to recommence.
All the magnates complied with Raymond, for what was obviously going to be an attempt to broker some kind of agreement. Bohemund was aware, if the others were in ignorance, that the Count of Toulouse had not just sought to turn Ma’arrat into a Christian enclave. His men had ridden out from there to take a firm grip on the surrounding countryside, he being eager to continue in his quest to isolate Antioch from the regions to the south.
Expecting Raymond to use that to again insist that Antioch should be held for Byzantium, what he did offer, once he had finished boasting of his exploits and laid strongly the case for a march on Jerusalem, came as a surprise.
‘My Lords, such an endeavour we cannot undertake in a like manner that has got us this far in our quest.’ That had the Duke of Normandy and Godfrey de Bouillon shifting uncomfortably: Raymond was about to openly vie for the leadership and his next words proved such suspicions correct. ‘I am, amongst you, the most potent in terms of men, and none, I can assure you, are ahead of me in purpose.’
To pause then was a clever ploy, allowing, as it did, his fellow princes to adopt looks that presaged refusal.
‘Yet I am aware also that we have come from Constantinople and succeeded by collective opinion. Therefore I cannot ask of you that you hand to me command of our enterprise merely for the fact that I can put more lances in the field than all of you here assembled.’
‘Many of whom you have seduced from our service with promises of silver and the power of your relic.’
The Duke of Normandy was scowling as he said this and if the likes of Godfrey de Bouillon remained silent his expression alone demonstrated that he too shared the same sentiment.
‘I have only ever sought that we have the means to fulfil our vow, and in order that we do so I am willing to extend to you, my fellow princes, the same, based on that which you can bring to the campaign, which we must, in all conscience, pursue.’
There was uncertainty then, those he was addressing unsure what it was he was offering and again Raymond used a long pause to heighten the tension.
‘To you, My Lords of Normandy and Lower Lorraine, I offer ten thousand silver solidi each, to the Count of Flanders six thousand to serve under my banner.’
‘Nothing for me?’ Bohemund enquired, a smile playing on his lips.
‘To do so would be to waste my breath, Count Bohemund, but I am prepared to offer your nephew five thousand solidi to take service with me.’
All eyes turned to Tancred, who was close to a blush, for to a man of his standing it was a lot of silver and he was near to being ranked with the Count of Flanders, so the temptation to grab what was offered was high. Fortunately, Godfrey de Bouillon spoke then, which allowed the young man to remain silent.
‘You do not see this, Count Raymond, as flying in the face of the spirit of the Crusade?’
‘I see it, Duke Godfrey, as a means to break an impasse that has held us in Syria too long. If we cannot serve for faith, then let those amongst you who are tempted to serve for a less Christian motive come with me, for I intend to march on my own if that is required. What matters is not why we act but that we do so, for at our rear are the men we lead, who cannot understand the delay and that takes no account of the mass of pilgrims, who clamour only to attain the goal for which they have given up everything they possess.’
‘Surely you do not seek an answer here and now?’
‘No, but I would want it soon for I have made my plans to march south within the week and I will not delay.’
There was a telling response to that: was Raymond speaking truthfully or bluffing? Was this just a ploy to isolate Bohemund or did he genuinely wish to march on to Jerusalem at the head of the Crusade? Judging by the faces of his fellow magnates, and such was the mistrust that had grown up between them, they were ruminating on both possibilities without being able to come to a conclusion.