The most secure Turkish gate lay on the far side of the two mountains that dominated Antioch and was only approachable by a high and narrow pass between the twin peaks, while the Armenians who had been questioned indicated that to close that off was next to impossible. So half the entry and exit points could only be cut off by mobile troops and they had to be able in the event of danger to make a rapid withdrawal.
If these obstacles prompted sober reflection they did not deter, merely being taken into consideration, with each leader choosing one of the three sections of the defences where they could be effective, with the rest being a shared responsibility. Bohemund elected to take the northern gate that led to Bagras, the site of an old Byzantine fortress. Close to the hillside of Mount Staurin and therefore a place of danger, it presented the only part of the walls with an extent of flat ground on the approach, where it might be possible, should they ever have the means, to mount an assault with a man-made tower. This implied to the others present that while he accepted it was likely to be a siege of attrition, the Count of Taranto had not given up hope of a coup de main.
The northern Normans, as well as Vermandois, were next on his right between Bohemund and Raymond of Toulouse, the joint of their forces meeting at the next gate south. The last of the trio and potentially as dangerous as any, given the narrow amount of land at his back, went to Godfrey de Bouillon. Tacitus was asked where he wanted to be based and once he was clear as to the nature of the question he pointed to a place well to the rear of Bohemund and his Apulians. That it was safe was obvious; that it led back to Constantinople in the case of flight did not escape notice either.
With all agreed, Raymond of Toulouse had one more statement he wished to make and it was clearly, to him, an important one. He pointed out that whatever happened, the siege of Antioch was likely to be of longer duration than that of Nicaea; he wished each leader to swear, as he was willing to do himself, not to abandon the effort, however difficult it became, on pain of eternal damnation, leaving Bohemund certainly, and probably the others, wondering what had prompted such a request.
‘Every man present has sworn already,’ Ademar insisted. ‘What need have we of more pledges?’
‘It concerns me that many have fallen by the wayside already and gone home. Then, when things are hard, there is the temptation to seek an easier route to satisfy …’
Raymond could not finish that, could not say the word ‘ambitions’ or refer to the absent Baldwin and the example he had set.
‘We are jointly here and jointly we will stay,’ Bohemund said, speaking before Godfrey could respond.
Robert of Normandy spoke up just as forcefully, knowing he was suspected of being a less-than-wholehearted Crusader and Raymond’s request might be aimed at him and his brothers-in-law, Stephen of Blois and Robert of Flanders.
‘If it aids our cause, let us make the pledge. If we are all acting in good faith it makes no difference, if we are not then God will be the judge.’
‘I will swear and gladly,’ Godfrey exclaimed.
This was close to comical — if anyone did not need to restate his commitment it was the pious Duke of Lower Lorraine; he was doing it because of the actions of Baldwin, who had quite obviously gone in search of personal profit, lest anyone ascribe the same motives to him. It did, however, because he was held in such high regard, oblige the others to agree and Ademar called for his priests and his missal to make it as formal as Raymond felt it should be.
Back in his section of the encampment Bohemund called his captains together and ordered an immediate move, his lances to travel fast and the milities to follow; he wanted the first thing that Yaghi Sayan spied from his citadel to be his banner.
Robert, Count of Flanders, was deputed to take a strong party of a thousand knights on a detour to capture the town of Artah, which controlled the road north-east and due east to Marash, Aleppo and Edessa. He arrived to find the town in Armenian hands, the locals having revolted and chased out a Turkish garrison that was reluctant to remain in any case, having heard that the Crusade was coming their way. The Armenians happily accepted a garrison of crusading knights and were equally pleased to have a banner of the County of Flanders fly from their citadel.
For the rest, with the Apulians in the lead, the only place to safely cross the Orontes was at a spot called the Iron Bridge, an odd appellation for an arched edifice made of stone that dated from Roman times or even earlier. No doubt there was some local legend of an ancient action to account for the name but it was not anything to trouble the host enough to enquire. They were pleased the bridge was unguarded and even more delighted, indeed surprised, when having crossed it they entered a flat plain in the full glory of its flowering, fed with water by a river in strong flow.
Yaghi Sayan, who should have sown the whole area with salt to deny them forage, had destroyed nothing. There was grain in plentiful supply, fruit on the trees and vegetables, the second harvest, growing in the fields while the fruits of the first harvest of the year were yet to be consumed. Livestock was plentiful and the population, being Armenian, was only too pleased to both greet and trade with these strange creatures from beyond their shores, while in the distance rising into a midday haze, they could see the massive twin hills that formed a backdrop to the city they were about to besiege.
Even to a warrior who had seen Palermo and had mighty Bari as a fief, it was sobering for Bohemund to examine Antioch when they got close enough to see the details of the fortifications, especially at the gate he had chosen to act against. Above them lay the top of Mount Silpius, while adjacent to that and only marginally smaller, Mount Staurin had set upon it Yaghi Sayan’s citadel, itself a hard place to assault and capture should they ever get close, even more so given it was fronted by a steep escarpment.
From the flat ground on which the Apulians made camp the walls ran very quickly up a scrub-covered incline that would defy any man to walk upright — it was one for a scrabbling ascent at best made even more so by the loose screed of small stones underfoot — while all the way up there was a stout and near unassailable wall interspersed with dozens of towers. That crested the high summit of Mount Staurin and continued across a high valley lying just below the peaks of both mountains in which was set, as part of the main defensive walls, the formidable citadel; it was sobering to reflect that if it was like this on the northern approach, it was even steeper and more taxing to the south.
‘As you can observe, Uncle,’ Tancred said, pointing to the citadel, ‘we can do nothing in preparation without that the Turk will see it.’
That was true; the whole plain would be laid out like a panorama from that high elevation. ‘Let him first see we are determined.’
‘Do you have a thought as to why he left all this food unspoilt?’
‘I sense you are asking me a question, Tancred, to which you have your own answer.’
The two men exchanged grins, for it was no less than the truth, as the younger man replied, ‘I think he hoped we would pass on and leave him in peace.’
‘I think the same, but it was a foolish gambit. Only a madman would leave such a potent city untouched at his back.’
‘Or is it that he does not fear us, and hopes to see our bones from his citadel when the food runs out?’
‘One day, nephew, I hope you and I get to ask him the answer.’