Several large Apulian Normans leant their back against the huge wooden gate as the great baulk of timber that barred it was quietly lifted off its cleats. Others stood to each side holding ropes that had been attached to the timbers so that when the two halves were opened it would happen at a speed that would allow for an immediate charge by the horsemen.
Surprise was essential, the timing acute and both had been carefully calculated to gain them the maximum advantage. The Turkish encampments would have just bestirred and they would be deploying for dawn themselves, always the time to protect against sudden attack. Yet light was essential too: Vermandois and his men had to see their targets and the enemy had to observe what was approaching and the speed at which it was closing to be induced, the man in command hoped, to panic.
Bohemund watched as the sun turned the sky from silver to a hint of burnished gold, throwing the shadow of the citadel itself over the higher part of the city. There were two cohorts of Provencal knights up there holding the drystone wall, a couple of hundred men, all that could be spared to mask the fortress — and they should have been led by their liege lord.
Raymond, either through a recurrence of genuine illness or pique, had taken once more to his cot and left one of his vassals to command his men, which was poor behaviour, especially since Bishop Ademar, not in full vigour himself, had decided he too must lead a contingent and fight.
‘May God commend your efforts, Count Hugh,’ Bohemund said quietly, before issuing a louder command that had the gates swung open.
Vermandois let out a piercing yell and spurred his horse as soon as a gap appeared, those behind doing likewise, and the mounted men streamed through the gate to clatter over the arched stone of the bridge, quickly followed by the foot-bound archers. The Turks had a small piquet on the far side, which was ridden over in seconds, and the advance party was out on the open plain to the west of the river, firing arrows at men only halfway through their dawn deployment.
That they were so engaged worked in the Crusaders’ favour, for being loosely bunched they became easier targets for arrows fired by foot-bound knights, many of whom lacked full competence in the use of a bow and arrow. Fortunately the enemy was short on the discipline that comes from being properly formed, so the archers’ inexperience was not exposed.
Just as effective were Vermandois and his mounted fighters, who having emptied their quills proceeded to ride into the enemy ranks with their swords doing great damage, if not by killing, in forcing into flight any body of Muslims that sought to form a defence, they hampered by the fact that much of the forces deployed before the walls could not come to their aid.
It was no mystery to any of the Crusade leaders that Kerbogha’s men suffered from the same constraints that had troubled them during their siege: the deep River Orontes forced those seeking to invest the walls into a dispersed separation in which mutual support was slow to gather, and Bohemund had built this factor into his plan. He needed time to get his entire force deployed and they would have to fight to achieve the position he knew was a minimum, an unbroken line that arced with its back to the Bridge Gate so it could not be outflanked from the north.
Yet it was not a simple affair: to get fifteen thousand men out of one gate was bound to cause crowding and confusion and it was thankful that Vermandois had the sense to split his force, driving the greater part of the Muslim force back toward Kerbogha’s main encampment while allowing the rest to flee south, the smaller body now cut off from a quick retreat and any support by the river. Not that Vermandois could hold, he lacked the numbers, and it was only the arrival of the leading ranks of his northern French knights on foot that gave a tenuous stability to his line.
Men were streaming untidily out and over the arch of the stone bridge, their captains using the flat of their sword blades to try to get them into some form of order. Above their heads the walls were lined with priests in deep prayer, calling to God for aid, while higher still, not in full daylight, a huge black flag with no device flew from the citadel tower, obviously a sign to Kerbogha that the Crusaders had set in motion an attack: to those of a superstitious bent it was of a shade that spoke of imminent death.
Bohemund got out on the Antioch plain on the heels of Vermandois to set up a command post on the small mount that had once housed the siege fort of La Mahomerie. His banner was soon aloft at his back and his eyes straining north to see how quickly Kerbogha would come, worrying that he would do so before he could get what was at present a rabble into place.
The plan was, at this moment, in the balance without that should happen, for the close besiegers, still all Turks by their dress, having been swept from their prepared positions had not panicked and fled but had begun to regroup. They were showing a stiffening resistance which, given their numbers, would soon turn into a dangerous attack difficult to contain.
The northern French were fully engaged and now it was the Lotharingians debouching through the gate, led by an ebullient Godfrey de Bouillon, who went by Bohemund with a cry that ‘By God it was good to see grass again, even if it stinks of Turkish shit’, before turning to berate his men to make haste.
Half a glass of sand must have gone by before the next contingent, the two Roberts of Normandy and Flanders, began to lead out their warriors, followed by Bishop Ademar at the head of the remaining Provencals, in full chain mail and under his blue banner with the device of the Virgin Mary, each party going to the right of those who had preceded it to form a continuous line.
Last out were the Apulians, led by Tancred, who had been held back just in case an attack developed from the citadel and overwhelmed the men set to prevent them interfering in the battle. That would have led to fighting in the streets of the lower town, for the Apulians could not have got up to save the Provencals from annihilation, but better that than those outside should find their own gates closed against them. Tancred’s men gathered around Bohemund’s banner to act as a reserve that could be rushed to plug any gap in the defence.
With the sun full up the Latin forces were fully engaged against those who had been deployed against the walls and doing no more than what had been asked of them, that they hold their ground. When the main part of Kerbogha’s huge force came it was going to be hard, but contain them they must and that needed solid defensive cohesion, not ambition.
The sun rose higher and higher, the heat intensifying until the ground began to shimmer, while before him the line of Crusaders waved in both directions as some advanced and others fell back slightly, both positions reversed over time yet never enough to be a threat to either side.
Of the main Muslim host there was no sign, no telltale cloud of dust that was the mark of a great army on the march, and that held until every faction of the men of Antioch were in place, as well as the supplies of water and the means to deliver them, without which, on a late June day, they would not last. The first part of Bohemund’s plan had succeeded, but where was Kerbogha?
That black banner above the citadel had sent hundreds of horns blowing throughout the main enemy camp as the various contingents got ready to march and soon, rippling with anticipation, they were lined up to do so. That no order came was a surprise and all eyes were aimed across the huge encampment to where flew the standard of their general, wondering when he would give the command to advance and crush these feeble non-believers. Inside the pavilion it was the same; the senior officers watched Kerbogha and wondered what was going through his mind, for he had said little.
Aware that all eyes were upon him Kerbogha showed no sign of anxiety. Before him was a map that told him what position the Crusaders had taken up, whose banner flew in what was obviously the command position, and runners brought him information that suggested they were out in total, that they were being held, yet were maintaining themselves an unbroken line; no threatening advance but no hint of a retreat.