The worry for Bishop Ademar was so great it produced a single crease of skin on his forehead, the question and the expression proving beyond doubt his lack of military expertise. It was explained to him by others, not Bohemund, that it would be madness to wait to find out if what the Turk had revealed was true, since if Kilij Arslan was going to attack, it had to be with a very necessary element of surprise.
The appearance of Tancred at the doorway was a sight to lift the spirits of his uncle, even more so when he informed the council that Raymond of Toulouse was less than half a day’s march away and that he intended to bring his men on even if darkness fell before they made the crusading encampment.
‘Time,’ insisted Godfrey de Bouillon, ‘to make our dispositions.’
Courtesy demanded he wait for a nod from each leader before he continued.
‘Count Bohemund, since you hold the walls to the north I suggest it would be best if you move your men around to the south of the city so that the Provencal forces can deploy in the ground you vacate.’
‘Agreed.’
‘We, the rest, can take station to cut off access to the southern gate, for there will not be space for us to all man a common front.’
That too, being sound sense, got a nod as Vermandois raised his voice. ‘I demand a place of honour.’
‘But Count Hugh,’ Ademar said, in his soft clerical tone. ‘Wherever you are is a place of honour.’
It was testimony to his inanity that he took what was said at face value. Equally it showed a great level of tact that no one else present sniggered, especially the man sent to guide him.
CHAPTER TEN
It required a line of flaring twin torches to get Raymond of Toulouse and his men into place, a movement accomplished with much cursing, jostling and the odd exchanged blow. Not that he was with them; the Provencal leader was in the council tent discussing how the forthcoming battle might be fought, it being likely that the Turks would use the lake to protect one flank of their advance and seek to drive the Normans who were now in that position away from the city walls, so that they could get through to the gates and release the garrison, who would be waiting to sally out to join them.
Leaning over the map on the centre table, Bohemund made a sweeping gesture with his arm, outlining his view of how to counter that threat and not only beat off Kilij Arslan but inflict on him a crushing defeat, which put the majority of foot soldiers on the expected line of attack, with the majority of the lances out to the south in a position to engage once both forces were locked in combat.
‘If you, Raymond and Duke Robert, backed by a good proportion of our milities, hold him on foot, then My Lord of Bouillon and I can use your mounted knights to wheel round and take him in flank.’
Vermandois, after Walo had whispered in his ear, made the point that such forces would be the most exposed.
‘He may attack the position you take up and if you have your lances in the front line they will be at the mercy of the Turkish archers, which the Emperor told Walo and I we must at all costs avoid.’
Robert of Normandy spoke up next. ‘Is it possible he would try to deny us a line of retreat by getting to our rear and cutting us off from the road to Constantinople.’
‘Annihilation would follow,’ Vermandois responded, clearly terrified at the notion. ‘Like the People’s Crusade.’
It was a potent and frightening allusion; every section of the host had marched through a landscape strewn with the bones of those slain under Walter Sansavoir, too many to even contemplate burying them. Even more, those visiting a market set up by Alexius at Civetot had walked on a carpet of the same that littered the landscape all along the shoreline. If there had been any doubt as to their fate should they fail, the proof scrunched under their feet; when facing the Turks it came down to victory or death.
‘That carries too much risk,’ insisted de Bouillon, speaking just before Bohemund had a chance to say the same. ‘He cannot split from the garrison or he will be weak in both quarters. He must clear a gate to increase his numbers.’
‘And his aim is to drive us from the walls,’ Bohemund added, ‘in short, to break the siege. The sight of our host retiring, as have the Byzantines before us, would be enough for him to claim victory.’
‘Will he know that I have arrived?’ asked Raymond.
‘With the sun at his back he will see your banners and if he does not know your device he will be aware that our force has seen an increase.’
‘He may know before that,’ said Robert. ‘Which could cause him to alter his plan of attack.’
‘Impossible to tell if he has,’ Bohemund replied. ‘We have seen no sign of any signalling to warn him, but that does not mean there has not been any.’
‘If I may,’ Tancred cut in, carrying on when his uncle nodded. ‘Any signal would have to be prominent enough to carry and be seen three mille passum or more away, so it would be seen and act as an alert to the presence of a receiver. It would tell us someone is out to the east and you, My Lords, would not miss such a sign as there is only one person that can be. He has come in secret and that he sees as his most potent weapon, so we should assume that the arrival of the Provencal host is unknown to Kilij Arslan.’
Raymond responded to Tancred with a nod, only for Baldwin of Boulogne to speak up, he doing so once more without seeking permission from his brother.
‘It would be foolish to base what we do on a guess. I say we stand together on the defensive and let him batter himself on our shields.’
‘That,’ Bohemund growled, for once showing a degree of impatience, ‘will leave him to fight another day. Which means, even if we drive him back, throughout the siege of the city we will be obliged to keep one eye over our shoulder and men deployed to prevent another assault.’
Baldwin and Bohemund exchanged a look that had within it none of the required delicacy for which this council had been formed, in fact it was openly defiant on the part of Baldwin. That was made worse when his elder brother agreed with the Norman and then sought to sweeten that rebuff with the instruction to command the foot soldiers alongside the Provencals. The Duke of Normandy and his lances would stay to the rear as a reserve, able to join the battle at any point where weakness showed and also to act against the possibility the Robert had outlined, an attempt by the Turks to cut the route of retreat.
Put to the vote, it was tied until Raymond agreed to the task he had been offered, not from amity but necessity. Last to arrive he was being given a pivotal role in the battle to come and that clearly tickled his pride, but he was scarce equipped for mounted warfare — having been marching for days his mounts were bound to require rest, which obligated him to a battle on foot. Finally Tacitus was invited, through his Frankish interpreter, to approve, which he did with a silent and enigmatic nod as if he thought it was all nonsense.
‘Then all that remains,’ intoned Bishop Ademar, ‘is for each of you to be shriven and Mass arranged for the entire host.’
‘That must wait,’ Baldwin of Boulogne exclaimed, glaring at his brother, then Bohemund. ‘First I want that ditch before the line My Lord of Toulouse and I are going to defend made deeper.’
Godfrey de Bouillon addressed Bohemund. ‘And our men must take the spoil to fill and make smooth that part across which we are intending to advance.’
Bohemund nodded once he had considered the potential pitfall, namely that such a thing would be obvious. Yet with no high ground to observe the freshly dug earth, the only way Kilij Arslan would know of the changes would be by signal from the city, and he, like Tancred, had serious doubts that such a system existed. Even if it did, to send such a message was bound to be complicated.
Men toiled late into the night under the moon and starlight with spade and pail, digging and moving earth, spreading straw across the top of the filled-in part of the ditch to hide the obvious dampness of freshly dug spoil. Then they saw to their weapons, the grinding wheels spinning continuously to make deadly the heads of swords, axes and knives, as well as the points of the milities’ pikes.