Being the son of the Guiscard had many more advantages than just those physical, his father’s sobriquet derived from the old Norman word for a fox; others less well disposed said it meant a weasel. Bohemund had not only inherited the parental sword arm, he had also inherited much of his sire’s natural guile.
‘Such a pity he has no intention of coming to Nicaea himself.’
That made Boutoumites stiffen and when he spoke his voice lacked any degree of sincerity. ‘Who said this was so?’
‘You just did, or rather you omitted to say he would lead here whatever force has been assembled, and be assured I can smoke his game. If my nephew cannot fathom why you spent three days within the walls of Nicaea, I can.’
It was in the dark and well away from Flanders and Vermandois that Bohemund apprised his nephew of his thinking. Below them, at the foot of the slope, large fires burned between those great boulders, illuminating the ground on both sides to deter any kind of sneak attack.
‘Are you saying Alexius will not support us?’
‘He will, but it will be nothing but a token force.’
Sensing incomprehension, Bohemund reprised points he had made previously about the primary aim of any Byzantine ruler: the preservation of a much-threatened empire came first, second and last.
‘Alexius must take account of the notion that we will fail. He must also consider that now we are fully assembled we might turn on him, so he will not expose himself in person.’
‘Which is a foolish idea now we are on the wrong side of the Bosphorus. The supplies in those ships of yours will not last for ever.’
‘Now you are showing good sense but let us take the first point. Look at what we are: Christian knights far from home, seemingly held together by faith and with no fighting man in command. It is not hard to see the whole host falling apart, and if it did so where would that leave Alexius? Facing an angry Sultan of Rum, for we could not have got to the gates of Nicaea without Byzantine aid.’
‘So Boutoumites spent three days discussing failure, not success?’
‘I suspect he spent three days explaining to the Turkish commander that his master was powerless to stand in our way, while hinting that should we be forced back Kilij Arslan would be compensated with gold for any losses he felt he had suffered. Given such a hint the demands of the Turks would have been outrageous. Boutoumites took all that time to get them to agree to something Alexius would be comfortable with.’
‘Which leads me to wonder why we carry on.’
That got Tancred a gentle slap and even in the dark he could sense the wry smile. ‘We are on God’s business, nephew, not that of Byzantium.’
For all Bohemund’s anxieties no threat appeared, either from the east or from the city and as soon as the forward elements of the forces led by Godfrey and Robert of Normandy arrived he rode back to meet up with his fellow leaders and a truncated Council of Princes was held in the open air — Raymond was absent ferrying his Provencal army across the Propontis. This took place on a rocky outcrop hard to surreptitiously approach, the only place in which they could discuss matters without being overheard.
The Bishop of Puy introduced Bohemund to the gathering as if that were necessary and while the Count of Taranto was greeted by a nod from each of these magnates there was little overt cordiality in the act. Ademar had met him before, if briefly, in Constantinople and if their conversation had been amiable it had also been non-committal, so he felt the need to establish what had been arrived at previously.
‘It was agreed, Count Bohemund, that we would put aside our conceits and act collectively in our decisions and our actions.’
There was a certain amount of tension in the pause that followed what was obviously a question, and Bohemund took some pleasure in letting that last for several seconds; but in truth there was only one way to reply. Appraised by Tancred of what had happened at the first council, his uncle was well prepared, for he too had formed the impression that Ademar intended to exert some form of control, using his papal appointment and apparent independence as a lever. The leader of the Apulians would have a voice and a strong one in any proposal advanced and as to the capabilities of his peers when it came to battle tactics that would only be established in combat.
‘My Lord Bishop, I cannot conceive of any other way to proceed.’
The response came with the blessing of a handmade cross. ‘You gladden my soul, my son.’
Looking into that smooth, round face, so capable of dissimulation, Bohemund wondered what the cleric was really thinking, apart from feeling the satisfaction at still being in full control of the council. For example, what had he been told by Pope Urban, for Bohemund had met the Pontiff? Barred from Rome by a German-supported antipope, Urban had called a synod for the South Italian bishops in Bari, which made him a guest of the man who held the great port city.
At various meetings Bohemund had gently but forcefully denied a papal request to surrender and hand back some of the lands he had taken from his half-brother and to cease making raids into the territory Borsa presently controlled. The other hint was that they should, as a Christian and a family duty, for the de Hautevilles were papal vassals, join forces to help Urban gain his rightful place in Rome.
The threat of excommunication had hovered over the request to surrender both territory and aggression, only for it to be made obvious that it was not a sanction that bothered the man who might labour under it, any more than it had constrained his sire — the Guiscard had been excommunicated three times. When it came to attacking Rome to unseat an antipope and his German backers, Bohemund could see no advantage for himself; Borsa might do the bidding of a pope, so in thrall to priests was he, Bohemund would not, which if it did not make him an enemy certainly underlined he was no ally. It was passed back to him by others that his refusal was attributed by Urban to arrogance and that was an impression the Pope would have passed on to his legate.
‘I am obliged to ask, however, if the Emperor is marching to our aid.’
‘I thought he was, Count Bohemund,’ snapped Robert of Normandy. ‘We delayed our own departure in anticipation, to no avail.’
Tempted to state how stupid that was, Bohemund held his tongue and smiled; he had to allow for the fact that these knights from the far reaches of Europe did not know the Byzantines as did he, so their mistake in reposing trust could be described as understandable.
‘But when no evidence came of any movement from his camp at Pelekanum, I …’ Ademar coughed rather loudly and Robert took the hint of the need to be inclusive. ‘We could delay no longer.’
‘Then it would give me pleasure to ride with you to Nicaea, Duke Robert, and you can tell me of the homeland from which my forbears came and a place I hope one day to visit.’
If it was an offer genuinely made, it was not taken so and that was plain on his face. The Duke of Normandy obviously held himself above the grandson of a mere petty baron, regardless of how the family had prospered since they left his domains.
Setting up a siege had about it a formula and part of the threat must be a demonstration of the strength of the besiegers, so the march that brought them into full view of the garrison was delayed until the host as assembled was in proper order and able to debouch onto the plain with pennants flying. Having done that, they proceeded to approach the walls, following the papal banner of the Crusade behind Bishop Ademar and his incense-swinging clerics, several archdeacons and a bevy of priests.