That brought a murmur of ‘Amens’, which faded somewhat as the Count of Taranto spoke out to repeat what he had said to Tancred about the shortage of food and the very powerful enemy encamped nearby, as well as the fact that no word had come of Byzantine aid.
‘If we remain within Antioch we will either die from hunger or be so weak as to be unable to resist.’ Pausing to await the comments of others, none came; he had spoken the unvarnished truth and all knew it. ‘Such is the dearth of food that we are talking of days before we will be obliged to throw ourselves on the mercy of Kerbogha, which I suspect will not be in large supply.’
‘Even a Turk likes ransom,’ Vermandois insisted.
‘True, Count Hugh, but while we may be sold back to our subjects, those we lead will not, and who knows, he may cut our throats as quick as he slices theirs. I look around me and ask who is inclined to trust in his greed?’
‘Not I,’ Robert of Normandy stated, emphatically.
Raymond, who had with him the Holy Lance, held his relic out for all to see. ‘Let us seek terms. If this divine object cannot feed us or drive our enemies away, perhaps that is not the message it brings.’
‘You think,’ Ademar responded, ‘that it will aid us in negotiation?’
‘I am bound to ask why we have not tried before to talk to the Atabeg?’
Godfrey of Bouillon responded to that by showing a rare flash of exasperation. ‘You know very well, My Lord, that it is common in siege for those outside the walls to demand we cease to resist. Kerbogha has not followed that custom; in short, he has not come to us with terms.’
‘Then we must go to him,’ Raymond insisted, ‘with an offer to allow us to depart Antioch as a host. Does he want the city or our blood?’
‘I would say our heads on pikes would satisfy him,’ Bohemund replied.
‘I say it is worth an attempt.’
Bohemund was adamant. ‘While I think that will be worse than useless.’
Florid-faced Toulouse went a deeper shade of scarlet but he got no chance to speak, for Ademar exercised his right to do so as the man who acted as the representative of the Pope. If few believed what Raymond proposed to be the case, it led to a long and heated discussion in which his view finally held sway, for in truth it was folly to keep fighting in a hopeless situation if the mere surrender of the city might spare them.
The first suggestion, that Ademar should go as envoy, was squashed by Godfrey of Bouillon, who required much circumlocution to tell his peers that the Bishop was too valuable to be made a hostage to fortune without bringing the cleric to the blush. In truth, he held the ground between them, which might turn to open conflict were he no longer alive.
Yet no one else would put themselves forward, Godfrey, Raymond and Bohemund included, for what was being spoken of was abject surrender and none amongst these magnates could face being the bearer of such a communication, an act which would stay with their name till the Second Coming. In the end it was decided that Peter the Hermit was a suitable messenger.
‘Will he agree?’ asked Vermandois.
Ademar spoke then in a manner rare for him; he was close to spitting, given the trouble such preachers had caused him ever since he had first encountered them. Peter was a particular bane: months before, when food had been short, and sensing the siege of Antioch to be failing, he had sought to flee back to the safety of Constantinople, only to be pursued, captured and brought back.
‘After his attempt at flight he will do what he is told, if for no other reason than to redeem himself. He has learnt Greek since he came to the east, if he has learnt little else. Let him put that to our use.’
Peter was called to the Bishop, as ever looking like a biblical prophet with his long snowy hair and beard, as well as the look of mysticism he had in his eyes, to be reminded of his disgraceful transgression and how he had not been as severely punished as he should have been for deserting people who he had claimed as his flock.
He would be given an interpreter, a fellow called Firuz, who had been suggested by Count Bohemund, and he would go to Kerbogha’s camp. That such a command provoked terror in the old man’s soul was obvious, yet he knew his sin was not forgiven but in remission and that Ademar had the power to apply whatever sanction he chose.
The prospect of being burnt as a traitor to the Crusade, which had been hinted at by Ademar and was felt, it seemed, to be a just fate by the higher lords, was greater than any fear of the Atabeg and with heavy tread he prepared, next morning, to exit one of the smaller gates with a truce flag, dressed in robes of white, to make his way towards the camp of a man he thought near to the devil.
Firuz stood with Peter. Prior to surrendering his tower to the Apulians and facilitating the capture of the city, he had been a Muslim convert but was now once more a Christian. The Armenian was less fearful than the preacher: he was a military man and had that carapace of indifference to death that attended his chosen profession. Living and dying was in the hands of powers greater than he, but he had a task to perform, one outlined by Bohemund.
So far, Kerbogha had employed mainly Turks to invest and attack the city — it was they who had issued from the citadel and only once had he tested the walls with mixed contingents. The men he had left in the nearby camps, easy to distinguish because of their attire, had been of the same single and clearly dependable race. To rate the quality and spirit of the rest of the enemy host, those yet to be committed to battle, had been denied to the Crusaders, so Firuz was to examine with great care the main Islamic lines and report back what he observed about their make-up, strength and confidence.
CHAPTER SIX
Just getting the Hermit and Firuz out of the Bridge Gate took much negotiation, indeed permission had to be sought from Kerbogha himself to allow them passage, consent brought back by a richly dressed rider leading what was clearly a strong escort. So with a final sign of the cross the pair slipped through the postern gate and crossed the arched stone bridge to the other side of the River Orontes.
The main Turkish encampment was just south of the western end of the Iron Bridge and as soon as they were sighted, what was a seemingly somnolent area of tents and cooking fires came to life; men leapt to their feet and hurried to see this apparition in his flowing robes, others exited their canvas to come and stare at Peter and his plainly clad companion, their escort slowing so they could be clearly seen and derided.
‘Keep your head high,’ Firuz commanded, as Peter let it sink on his chest rather than meet an enemy look. ‘Do not show fear if you want to live.’
The eyes of the Armenian were darting around, doing what he had been asked, seeking to drink in what he could of the dispositions of Kerbogha’s host as well as their true numbers, for the messages that had come into Antioch over the weeks since the arrival of this army had thrown up variations that were either low and designed to reassure, or fantastical and aimed at inducing terror.
Some estimate of the true figure could be discerned from the time it took to get from the edge of the camp to the centre, where sat the huge black pavilion of Kerbogha. Here were camped his own personal retainers, those on guard duty well armed, alert and wearing mail, leading Firuz to wonder if they were set there to protect their lord from his own host rather than display.
Once outside the main flap they were forced to wait in the broiling sun, offered nothing to drink or even spoken to by those entering and exiting with their leader’s commands. They also had to wait when the entire host was called to prayer, Peter at last allowed to close his eyes, in truth joining in the devotions to pray for his corporeal body not his soul.
When they were called to go inside that was carried out in silence, merely a sharp nod by a man who pulled aside the flap designed to keep out the dust, while inside the passageway there were bowls of burning incense to kill off the latrine smell which attended the gathering of every host. Through another flap they entered the main area, lit by numerous oil lamps that sent out shadows that seemed to exaggerate the hard features of the Turkish commander.