If being entirely cut off disheartened the inhabitants of Ma’arrat an-Numan it was not immediately obvious; more for the sake of prestige than any real hope of success Bohemund, himself employing hastily constructed ladders, opened an assault against the walls opposite where he had pitched his pavilion, only to be swiftly repulsed; his men were good fighters and they were brave, but they were not what they needed to be, Gods of antiquity with wings to fly.
The whole city, its walls broken into sections with towers, was surrounded by a deep ditch, a dry moat, which made getting any climbing equipment to the walls so slow as to render the attempt doubly hazardous, extending the time that the attackers were exposed to all the usual tools of defence: archery in the approach and retreat, boiling oil and cast-down rocks when actually close enough to the masonry to raise their ladders. Not one of them made it more than a halfway ascent, so it made sense to quickly call the attack off, it being a probe that looked likely to be too expensive.
Having made that demonstration and shown he was here for a purpose, Bohemund expected that Raymond would be obliged to soften his stand and call him to a conference to coordinate any future tactics; he waited in vain and his own pride would not allow that he abase himself by making an open approach.
Even Robert of Flanders seemed inclined to do no more than exchange the minimum of words needed to retain some element of contact and he certainly made no attempt to pass on what the Count of Toulouse might be thinking and contemplating, not that there was any activity to speak of; it was as if by ignoring them he could wish the Apulians away.
‘Perhaps when our bellies are swollen with hunger it will dent his arrogance,’ Bohemund ranted, loud enough to be overheard by many, as he rode through the Provencal lines, paying no heed to the glares he received, this to give Raymond a chance to relent. ‘Or maybe he seeks the shame of having us all retire with our honour besmirched.’
‘I doubt he can hear you, Uncle, his pavilion is too far off.’
‘He will hear me by proxy, Tancred, for my words will be reported to his ears before we are out of sight of that damned Occitan banner.’
‘And they will serve to moderate his behaviour?’
The irony in that question was not hidden; Tancred was sure that his uncle was allowing the behaviour of Raymond to cloud his judgement about what was militarily necessary, which was a rare thing and stood to demonstrate how the dispute over Antioch had got under the normally impenetrable de Hauteville skin. The reply, when it came, was a deep and unpleasant growl.
‘I await what you are sure to tell me, that you have a better notion of how to shake the dolt into action.’
‘If I had, would I be permitted to act upon it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Simply this, that your own pride is so injured that you may see me talking to Raymond as a betrayal.’
Tancred waited for a reply, but in vain; all he got was a broody silence, which encouraged him to think he had penetrated Bohemund’s anger enough to engage his mind to think in those areas that were of more import: to augment that he reprised the need for haste, due to potential hunger as well as the fanaticism of citizen defenders.
‘Their hope is that hunger will drive us away.’ Still there was no response. ‘And perhaps that is what Raymond wishes also, that we Apulians will be obliged to retire to Antioch for the sake of our bellies, for we have with us only that which we scourged on the way.’
‘As long as Toulouse is here, so are we.’
‘Which is as I expected, but Raymond will not act without he is pushed to do so and you lack the means to make him.’
The tone softened; Bohemund’s brain was working. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That I try to shift him?’
‘How?’
‘By creating the fear you might beat him to breaching the walls by your superior knowledge of siege warfare. After all, you got into Antioch before he did and for that he has never forgiven you. If he has troubled dreams they will be made up of such an anxiety.’
For the first time in days Bohemund was able to laugh. ‘By the saints, Tancred, you have your grandfather’s cunning.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Subtlety was required to deal with Raymond of Toulouse, but Tancred was also aware of the lack of time which, given it was not a secret, became a weapon not an impediment. If Ma’arrat an-Numan could not compare with other places they had besieged, the defences had enough about them, as well as bodies to man them, to provide an obstacle that could keep the combined forces at bay for many weeks, too long for any sense of comfort.
Bohemund’s conclusion, after another day of Provencal inactivity, was stark and at total odds with his previous angry contention after they had ridden through the Provencal camp. It was brought on by an examination of his own level of supply and stood as testimony to the tactical flexibility that made him a first-rate commander of men.
‘As soon as I deem it impossible to take this place in the time we have I will depart and ahead of Raymond and his pilgrims. What is left in the countryside between here and Antioch is too sparse to feed us all.’
‘What if it then falls to him alone?’
‘It won’t!’
Bohemund insisted this was the case with such doggedness that his nephew did not bother to seek an explanation, given a possible answer as to how Ma’arrat could be taken had occurred to him.
‘So, nephew, what is your plan?’
‘I have no notion, as yet,’ Tancred lied, ‘but I am sure something will occur.’
That got him a hard look; devious himself Bohemund was ever on guard for the same trait in others and perhaps Tancred had been too breezy in his response. To the young man on the receiving end, being less than open was justified both by his de Hauteville blood, as well as the number of times his uncle had been less than frank with him. Then, added to that, was the notion his idea might not work.
To approach Raymond directly would be useless and that also applied to making any move to contact those Apulian knights who had been bribed by the Count of Toulouse to desert his uncle’s banner. Instead, Tancred approached a Provencal knight called Bardel, with whom he had formed a bond. For all the various contingents usually did battle in contained units there had been many times where they had combined to forage together, and in that friendships had been shaped that transcended territorial boundaries and the enmities of the higher nobles.
Knowing Bardel, and sure he would be welcome, enabled Tancred to enter the lines of Raymond’s lances where, round a blazing fire, lay within them the seeds of his idea. These must, he was certain, feed back to their liege lord, for men like Bardel would have an appreciation of the parlous nature of the enterprise. They could calculate as well as anyone the dwindling level of supplies, just as they would see the low quantity of the same being fetched in by foraging parties that were forced to travel in a wider and wider arc, as well as in greater numbers, to secure anything at all. Given the time of year, that included growing supplies of wood to provide warmth in the increasingly cold nights, which sapped the will, as well as the dispiriting days when the skies clouded over and the rains that made fertile this high plateau fell to drench men with only canvas to provide shelter. Bardel was quick to allude to the way such conditions led to increasing sickness.
‘And that weakens us more than the need to forage when it comes to the fighting.’
If it was both obvious and a commonplace it did not diminish its significance, every siege faced the same dilemma: the more men a leader detached to forage, which tended to increase in direct proportion to the length of the endeavour, the less he could commit to battle. The longer a siege lasted in poor weather — and it was getting worse here as winter came upon them — the more men were exposed to agues and fevers, and there was always the risk of the more deadly plagues that could sweep through and decimate an army in a matter of days.