Chapter 4: The Long March

“If they wish to fight today, let them come like men.”

 – Bohemond⁵³

The crusading army that gathered on the eastern shore of the Bosporus must have presented an interesting sight. The size of medieval armies is notoriously difficult to calculate, but there were probably thirty thousand infantry, five thousand knights, and perhaps a comparable number of non-combatants. They were more organized than Peter the Hermit's shambling horde, but were still camped haphazardly, with tents clustered around each noble or minor lord. Only in the Byzantine contingent – Alexius had sent a general named Taticius and a small detachment along as advisors – was there a sense of order, as they were drawn up with their huge siege engines in the same systematic fashion that the Romans had used for centuries. 

Despite the chaotic arrangements, the clashing egos of the leaders, and the competing interests of imperial and crusader troops, there was no disagreement about what to do now that the crusade was at last in Asia. If there was any hope of reaching Jerusalem, the roads through Asia Minor had to be cleared and that meant taking the city of Nicaea. 

The heavily fortified Turkish capital was situated along a major Byzantine military road on a lake not far from the Propontis, the small sea that separates Europe from Asia. It had been an important city since the fourth century and its impressive four-mile-long walls had been conscientiously maintained by the Byzantines and their Turkish successors. Although its position on the lakeshore made a siege virtually impossible without a navy, leaving it in enemy hands was unthinkable. The crusade would effectively be cut off from any help. 

At the beginning of the summer, the crusade set off from their military camp on the coast for Nicaea. Along the way they passed the gruesome remains of the People's Crusade, noting the many bleached-white bones still visible. It was a sobering reminder of the dangers they faced and the price of failure, and it must have been on their minds when they settled down to the siege of Nicaea. 

By luck rather than design their timing was impeccable. The Turkish sultan, Kilij Arslan, was busy extending his territory to the east and was reluctant to abandon the effort. He was, of course, well informed of the crusading army, but failed to take it seriously. His experience with Peter's rabble led him to believe that the westerners weren't a credible threat, and the fact that Peter himself had joined this crusade – a bit of news his spies most likely passed on – further reassured him. As a sign of his confidence, Arslan had left his wife, children, and treasury in Nicaea. 

The opening days of the siege seemed to bode well for the crusade. Although there was no single leader, the princes and their Byzantine allies acted in concert, forming a ruling council that agreed on tactics without any serious disagreements. The Turkish garrison, which could still receive supplies from across the lake, sent frantic messages to the sultan urging him to hurry home. Kilij Arslan, now realizing he had miscalculated, rushed back with his army, but by the time he arrived, morale was dangerously low. 

Just how badly the sultan had underestimated his opponents was made painfully clear on May 21, 1097. In a ferocious engagement that lasted most of the day, the heavily armed crusaders more than held their own, and by nightfall Kilij Arslan had fled into the mountains leaving Nicaea, along with his wife and children, to their fate. 

To the crusader's delight, they discovered among the ruins of the sultan's camp the ropes that Arslan had hoped to bind his Christian prisoners with. They proceeded to tie up their own Turkish captives with the same material, and attempted to demoralize the garrison by launching the severed heads of the Turkish dead over the walls. 

The garrison, however, showed far more resilience than their sultan. When the crusaders tried to bring down one of the towers by mining it and lighting a huge fire, the Turks managed to repair the damage during the night. The crusaders woke the next morning to the depressing sight of all their work undone. Gradually, it began to dawn on the crusading princes that they would need help. The garrison had enough food and water for several months, and as long as they maintained access to the lake they could sustain the siege indefinitely. If the Byzantine navy didn't close Nicaea's ports, the crusaders would be stuck here for the foreseeable future. 

A delegation was sent to Alexius, who instantly⁵⁴ arranged for a flotilla to be launched across the lake, closing Nicaea's access to the outside world. A general assault was scheduled for a few days later. 

When the Turkish garrison saw the imperial standards in the lake, they realized that there was no further point in resisting. The only question now was how to avoid the complete destruction of the city, so they opened up secret negotiations with the Byzantines. In return for a guarantee of the life and property of the inhabitants, and the promise that no crusaders would be allowed in the city, the garrison surrendered to the emperor. That night, the imperial guard was let in by a lakeside gate, and the garrison marched out. 

The emperor had recovered an important city without damaging it or estranging his Turkish neighbors. But however prudent this move was – and it was the exact reason he had extracted oaths from the crusading princes in the first place – it confirmed the general feeling amongst the crusader leaders that the Byzantines were slippery. The next morning, the very day of the planned general assault, the crusaders awoke to the bewildering sight of the imperial eagle fluttering over the city. Alexius' representatives hurried to thank the crusaders for their assistance and richly reward the princes, but among the rank and file there was a palpable feeling of being cheated. It was customary for the soldiers to be allowed three days of plundering a captured city. This was the main benefit of being on the winning end of a siege, and denying the reward meant that all the work of the siege was for nothing. 

Relations were further strained by the emperor's treatment of his Turkish captives. The court officials and wealthy citizens were allowed to buy their freedom, and the sultan's wife was received with honor at Constantinople. She was housed in the royal palace and returned with her children to her husband without ransom. This was a wise policy for Byzantium. Alexius would have to deal with his Muslim neighbors long after the crusade had ended, and rubbing their noses in the defeat would only inflame relations. For the crusaders, however, who had come to defeat the enemies of Christ, this behavior was simply more confirmation of Greek double-dealing. 

Despite the reservations, however, there was a certain sense of confidence in the air. The first battle was behind them, and the crusade had been successful. Ahead was the golden promise of Jerusalem. As one of the minor leaders, Stephen of Blois wrote in a gush of optimism to his wife, “In five weeks’ time we shall be at Jerusalem; unless we are held up at Antioch.”

The March across Anatolia

There were two main roads that led from Nicaea to Jerusalem, one that hugged the coast and the other that cut through the heart of the sun-baked interior. Alexius had advised them to stick to the coastal route so that the imperial navy could easily resupply them, but the interior route was shorter. A week after Nicaea fell, the crusade departed. The Byzantine advice was rejected – the journey was already long enough – and the decision was taken to divide the army in two. 

Opinion about who was in charge had gradually coalesced behind two candidates, Bohemond and Raymond of Toulouse. Bohemond, who was on good terms with the Byzantine guides, was worried about finding enough supplies, and therefore suggested that they split up. Raymond, who was already annoyed by Bohemond's glory-hogging, was more than happy to comply. 

The two columns marched roughly a day apart in spectacularly casual fashion, not bothering to keep in touch. Once again, however, luck was on their side. Kilij Arslan, who had been seriously alarmed by the loss of his capital, had spent his time rebuilding his army and concluding treaties against this new threat. Aware of the route the crusaders were taking, he carefully set up an ambush, and attacked Bohemond thinking he had trapped the entire crusade. 

Only Bohemond's quick-thinking prevented a complete disaster. While his knights dismounted, forming a protective ring around the non-combatants, messengers were sent running to find Raymond's group. They only had a vague idea of where to look, but remarkably within five hours Bohemond's messengers had managed to find them. In the meantime, the Turks had made remarkably little headway. Despite vastly outnumbering their opponents, they were finding the armored knights difficult to break. Arslan's army was mostly lightly-armed archers, and aside from one ill-advised charge by a small group of crusaders, Bohemond's army had successfully resisted the temptation to break ranks that would have led to their destruction. 

When Raymond and his troops arrived therefore, they took Arslan completely by surprise. His own trap had been reversed, and he was now in danger of being crushed between the two wings of the crusading army. In the chaos that followed, most of the Turks were killed and the survivors fled, leaving behind their baggage and what was left of the sultan's treasury. 

The victory – which was credited to both Raymond and Bohemond – broke the spirits of the Seljuk Turks. Arslan concluded that the crusade was simply too strong to stop, so he stripped the countryside of supplies and tried his best to stay out of the way. After a few days of rest, the crusader army continued its march across the more desolate country that neared the Taurus Mountains to the southeast. 

For the next four months the crusaders plodded across the bleak landscape, gradually realizing the folly of attempting to cross the baking Anatolian plains in the middle of summer. What little food there was had been taken by the Turks, and there was little or no water. Worst of all was the scorching heat, amplified by the armor that the crusaders were forced to wear in case of ambush. As the pack animals began to die, the goats, pigs and dogs accompanying the crusaders were pressed into service. Many knights were forced to walk to spare the horses, and some of the wounded stayed behind to recuperate.⁵⁵ 

The only thing that kept morale up was the evidence of God's favor, made clear by their continued victories. As they reached the passes of the Taurus Mountains, a group of Turks not under the authority of Kilij Arslan, attempted to stop them from reaching the passes. Bohemond almost single-handedly defeated them, charging straight at the emir and engaging him in single combat. The Turks thought better of a pitched battle and fled, making no further serious attempt to stop the crusade. 

The great beneficiary of this triumph was Bohemond who was slowly winning his war of prestige with Raymond. His exploits with the Turks had been capped that night with a fortuitous comet that many interpreted as a sign of Bohemond's rise. Sensing an opportunity to strike while the iron was hot, he sent his nephew Tancred with some other minor nobles away from the main army on a mission to liberate several neighboring cities. These he discretely turned over to Alexius as proof of his good faith, and a none-too-subtle reminder that he was still available for the post of Grand Domestic. 

Inspired by this example, Godfrey's brother Baldwin also parted from the main group, ostensibly to obtain help from the neighboring Christian Armenians. Instead of gathering supplies, however, he took advantage of the political situation to carve out his own power base. 

Baldwin and his men were warmly welcomed into Edessa, the capital of Greater Armenia, in what is present-day eastern Turkey. Its ruler, an elderly man named Toros, was a vassal of the surrounding Turks, but eager to break free. Since he didn't have a son, he offered to adopt Baldwin as his successor in exchange for the use of the western knights to prop up his flagging popularity. Baldwin eagerly accepted and a few weeks later the hapless Toros was overthrown in a palace coup. Baldwin founded an independent state that he named the County of Edessa, the first of four major Christian outposts in the Middle East that would collectively be known as the crusader states. 

These maneuverings by Baldwin caught the attention of the entire crusade, but Bohemond's in particular. Baldwin himself wasn't especially popular – most looked down on him for breaking his crusading vow – but he had done exactly what the Norman intended to do. Bohemond's sights, however, were set firmly on Antioch.