‘You are talking about sending away a high proportion of our cavalry strength and half our milities. What of Antioch?’
‘The Count of Toulouse,’ said Robert of Normandy in reply, ‘does not seem to accept that without we can feed our men, there will be no siege to press home.’
‘While the Duke of Normandy cannot grasp that Antioch must be in as dire straits as we. It is no time to relax our grip. If we must send men away let it be to a place where there is food.’
‘Would not that equally deplete our strength?’ Bohemund enquired.
Raymond had taken a position on the matter and over the preceding weeks he had become fixed in his opinion that he knew how to press home a siege better than his peers, which gave Ademar a real dilemma, for he lacked the knowledge to know who was right and who was wrong. This made what he saw as diplomacy and some saw as fence sitting harder to maintain.
‘At least, Count Bohemund, we might see those we favour back to good health.’
‘Good! When they return they can bury the bones of those left behind.’
While Raymond sought to impose his views, Godfrey de Bouillon had moved to a position of much influence for his sound common sense as well as his complete lack of conceit and, while Ademar had seen his authority diminish, that of the Duke of Lower Lorraine had risen to the point that when he spoke all listened.
‘The stocks of food are low and they are not being replenished in enough quantity. I would also remind you, My Lords, that we have another duty, which if it does not transcend what we are engaged in must have an effect on our thinking.’
‘These pestilential pilgrims,’ Vermandois spat. ‘They eat food that should go to the men who fight. If you had listened to me after Nicaea it is a burden we would have shed.’
‘Would it matter,’ Godfrey responded, ‘if they starved in Bythnia or here in Syria?’
‘The Emperor would have fed and cared for them.’
‘As he did previously, Count Hugh? Do you not recall we walked over their bones on the road to Nicaea? I would like to see you put that point to the sainted Peter who led them. He was in my pavilion today pleading that his pilgrims be treated equally and as Christians.’
‘We lack the stores,’ Robert of Normandy insisted. ‘We have no more than a week of half rations and no idea of what will come in the days ahead.’
‘I must have a formal proposal,’ Ademar insisted, ‘so I can put it to the vote.’
That got him a jaundiced look from Raymond, who expected support from the papal legate who had, to his mind, come here on the tail of his surcoat. But the Bishop was on the horns of a dilemma, still seeking to maintain harmony when he could see it fracturing before his eyes. It had come to the point that without Godfrey de Bouillon to aid him in keeping the peace there would have been constant dissent and disagreement.
‘I propose,’ said Normandy, ‘that we send out every pack animal and ox cart we can muster, with men to both protect and lead them, to proceed to the plateau known as the Jabal as Summaq, in which we are told food is plentiful, and bring back enough to help sustain us until the spring.’
‘Ten days to get there, ten to forage and ten back at least,’ Raymond protested. ‘Do you not think our Turks watching from their citadel will not notice?’
Bohemund spoke up then. ‘Are you saying we cannot contain them even with half our strength?’
That flummoxed Raymond; if he believed he could not hold them he was admitting to the fact the siege was an error — the host outnumbered the defender six to one at even the most limited estimate.
‘I would undertake to do that,’ Bohemund added, which stung the Provencal magnate’s pride. ‘There is no need when my knights are present. They alone can seal the walls.’
‘Then, Count Raymond,’ interjected Robert of Normandy, ‘you will not object to your foot soldiers driving the carts?’
‘Do you intend to lead, Duke Robert?’
That gentle enquiry from Godfrey de Bouillon got a shake of the head. ‘I will put forward my brother-in-law of Flanders.’
‘An excellent choice,’ Ademar exclaimed, with such faux enthusiasm he made it sound the very opposite.
Godfrey spoke next. ‘Would you, Count Bohemund, agree to share the venture?’
‘Surely it is the turn of others?’
‘How can it be, my friend, when you so recently defeated our enemies in open conflict?’
‘I am willing to serve as the council directs.’
The plateau referred to by the Duke of Normandy lay well to the south-east of Antioch and as had already been stated it was, for the kind of cavalcade led by his brother-in-law and Count Bohemund, a long and slow march to get there. Both commanded large bodies of knights, some three hundred each in number, enough to cow the locals into cooperation as well as to deal with any groups of Turks they might encounter.
Where Bohemund had come to enjoy common ground with Duke Robert on the way to Dorylaeum, he found the Count of Flanders less forthcoming in that regard, he being aloof and much concerned that he was as much a knight and commander as the Norman and that his authority over his own lances should not in any way be compromised. Added to that, those on foot were Raymond of Toulouse’s men and they proved unruly, their captains just as unwilling to bow the knee to Norman or Frank.
The success of their mission made such a situation tolerable; while acting in concert they operated in a semi-independent fashion, ranging far and wide over what was a land full of milk and honey compared to Antioch, loading up their beast of burden and their carts until they were fully laden, eventually coming together to camp side by side with the intention of starting back for Antioch on the next morning, the troops of Flanders to the east and the Normans to their rear.
It was never established whose duty it was to send out scouts, each man blamed the other for the failure to do so and that continued all the way to the later chronicles of the Crusade; all that mattered was there were none, or too few to give warning of the threat that was approaching the foraging force. The sight of a large party of Turks at dawn, observing their positions, was in itself alarming and set the camp into a rush to get ready to move. Riding out to assess the level of danger Bohemund got a shock greater than any he had ever experienced, for, from an elevated observation point, he could see that the land to the east was covered in marching men; this was no roving squadron but a full-scale army, obviously headed for Antioch, and one that massively outnumbered the Crusaders.
Hastening back to the lines he harried the drovers and milities to get their carts and animals into motion in the hope of putting some distance between them and the Turks, quick to curse the Count of Flanders for the fact of such a force being a surprise. There were grounds for that, if they were slender — the mounted men of Flanders had operated close to the enemy line of march — but it was, in truth, the fault of both men to allow themselves to feel so secure that no duty for protection had been discussed.
To say it was a race to get clear was risible; the sole hope was that the approaching Turkish host would have in mind some other objective and that the sight of the foraging Franks would not divert them from that. It proved to be a false dream almost before they cleared the overnight encampment, as Turkish cavalry appeared on the far hillsides in numbers, clearly intent on forcing battle. With sinking hearts the two leaders knew the Muslim foot would be hot on their heels. Worse, the mounted warriors split into twin columns and set off with the clear intention of getting ahead of the Crusaders before coming together and blocking their route to the west and there was little either Count could do to prevent it.