He and Alexius had not enjoyed a happy meeting, for proud Raymond had point-blank refused to swear any kind of oath to the Emperor, promising nothing more than that he would do no harm to any present or former possessions of Byzantium. Then he and some of his leading nobles came on to the Gulf of Nicomedia ahead of his army, not willing, given his previous troubles, that they should move until he had seen and approved of the encampment.
In the collection of pavilions the largest had been set aside for a place in which to meet and it was there that Tancred took his place as the acting head of one of the crusading contingents, with Robert of Salerno as a sole supporter. That his youth attracted looks he was aware, just as he was conscious that in standing in for Bohemund his voice would carry nothing like his uncle’s weight.
A glance around the room showed him now familiar faces, including the sad countenance of the much diminished Peter the Hermit, as well as those of the fresh arrivals. Raymond of Toulouse was a man who repaid close study, for he had about him an air that impressed Tancred. Of medium height he had a high colour, set off by golden hair and a stern brow made more so by thick eyebrows, this over a much broken nose. It was not just that he looked like a warrior — the leaders all had that air, even in some ways Vermandois, and it certainly resided in the Constable of France. It was more a cast in the eye that marked him out, for it had about it something of the confidence exuded by Bohemund.
The one non-warrior, if you discounted servants there to supply food and wine, was Bishop Ademar of Puy. He had come with Raymond, trailing a reputation for being of clever mind as well as a calm one. The personal representative of Urban he had been tasked with overseeing the papal enterprise, though not in a military sense, something from which he maintained his office and priestly vows debarred him. Tancred guessed that was so much stuff; de Puy knew that these men would no more obey a divine than any other one of their number. Having led the assembly in prayer and asked God that their efforts be blessed he took a seat along with everyone else and opened the gathering, looking straight at Tancred.
‘We are saddened that your uncle is not with us.’ The voice, if it was soft, was not weak, nor was there any blinking when Tancred returned his questioning stare, looking into a round, smooth face set in a substantial head, in which the eyes seemed large and the nose and mouth seemed unnaturally small. ‘However, we are sure that it is only duty that detains him.’
Was that a barbed comment or a priest speaking the truth to assuage the concerns of others? It was impossible to tell, but Ademar did not hold his gaze on Tancred, he let it roam around the room, to rest on each of the powerful magnates in turn, naming them and all of their titles, as if such a thing were necessary. That done, his smooth face took on a look of gloom, albeit without the production of one single wrinkle.
‘It is a sadness with which we must live that a man’s intentions can always be called into question, even if he is blameless. As I look at this assembly, so puissant and remarkable, I see much justified pride yet I am forced to have you recall that pride is a sin. The endeavour upon which we are about to embark will be both difficult and hazardous. If we have God to sustain us we also have the means through base human motives to put many obstacles in our path.’
That brought forth various ways of denying possession of such a thing as pride; throats cleared, the odd bark and one outright vocal dismissal from Vermandois, which brought from Ademar a slow and engaging smile.
‘Be assured that priests are not immune, and an elevation to a bishopric does not much alter things. You here assembled represent the very best of Christendom. You have given up lives of ease and comfort to come here, I know.’
That too got various reactions, for not all had abandoned ease and comfort, though Vermandois was nodding as he picked at a bowl of grapes. Those serving under Godfrey de Bouillon and his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, came from a patrimony in constant turmoil, while Robert of Normandy, known as Curthose for his shortness of leg, had left behind a duchy at constant threat from his brother.
William Rufus, the eldest son of the Conqueror and now King of England was determined to unite the twin parts of the paternal domains, an aim that was only frustrated by too many difficulties at home, yet he caused endless trouble in Normandy. It was maliciously rumoured that Curthose had come east for peace and quiet, not more conflict. There was one truth that had emerged through loose talk by his men: he had mortgaged his duchy to William Rufus for the fabulous sum of one hundred thousand crowns, which, if he had not already spent it all made him one of the richest of the assembly.
‘Yet,’ Ademar carried on, ‘if we are all poor sinners there is wisdom here too, enough of that to allow for the putting aside of arrogance so that the common good may be served. I, as you know, am not at home on the field of battle but I have made it my business, since tasked by Pope Urban, to put my mind to a study of the art of war. While I will openly admit to being a novice in such a gathering I do have, I think, sound judgement and, I hope and pray, divine guidance.’
That got another slow study of the room, as though Ademar was seeking to discern where each man stood. Tancred thought it a clever ploy; if the Bishop could not lead by experience of combat he could act as the honest broker between those who were knowledgeable, the next words from his mouth cementing the notion.
‘Yet we are bound to be beset by differing views so I propose that what we have here gathered be the norm. Let us call ourselves the Council of Princes and set as our task to act always as honest and open in matters of policy, as well as men who can accept that when a majority favours a course with which they might disagree, that is the one which should be adopted.’
If Bohemund had been present, Tancred was sure all eyes would have turned on him to see if he would accept such an arrangement. As it was they were laid upon Raymond of Toulouse, including those of Ademar, which obliged the Count to react. The answer was not long in coming, showing that he had a clear sight of what was attainable as well as that which needed to be done.
‘As of this moment we are not obliged to engage in speculation. Our first goal stands four-square on our path. If we are to have any discussion, it would have to be plans of how we are to take a fortified town that has thrice sent Byzantium packing.’
‘Then let us make haste to be outside the walls,’ cried Vermandois, with brio.
‘Tancred,’ Raymond said, ignoring him. ‘Your uncle will have spoken to you of this.’
‘He has, My Lord.’
There was real discomfort in becoming the centre of this much attention and as he replied he wondered if the tremor he could feel in his voice was obvious. Had he been standing he was sure his knees would have been shaking.
‘Then it would serve us,’ Ademar asked, ‘if you would share his thinking with the council?’
‘The observations he made to me concern the old Roman Road, which provides the route we must follow to Nicaea, and he asked that I reconnoitre it. It does exist but is so overgrown in places as to disappear. In the mountains there are the usual problems of mudslides and falling boulders, but at least it is defined. Where it is visible on open ground it is in poor repair and it would thus be easy for our forces to wander off it. The Emperor Alexius stressed when discussing tactics with my uncle that when we march it must be as a compact body, for the Turks are adept at forcing battle on dispersed forces. He cites the fate of the pilgrims led by Peter the Hermit.’
That had the old man’s lips moving in silent prayer as the others present used gestures to underline that they were very different from that rabble.
‘Then,’ Raymond declared, ‘that must be our first task. To clear the road and mark it clearly.’