The more pious could not look at Bohemund, for he had stated his position with clarity for the first time, not that it had been obscure to anyone with an ounce of sense. Others did hold his eye and it was clear why: Antioch and Northern Syria, which their liege lord now controlled, would require to be administered by the senior men he led.
Castles would have to be built and garrisoned, which meant that the lands around them would be handed out to those who took command of the region, kept it at peace and held their fiefs against invaders. From that came the things of which any landless knight dreamt: titles and wealth.
If it was less than benevolent, Bohemund was challenging their faith, pitting it against their sense of personal yearning. The men who went on to Jerusalem might indeed fulfil their vow — they might also die in the attempt — but if they succeeded in taking the Holy City and survived, by the time they came back to Antioch all the best land would have been parcelled out to those who had stayed. Loyalty to Bohemund would stand higher in their leader’s estimation than the depth of their dedication to Christ.
‘This day, we have a battle to fight that will decide more than what happens here at Ma’arrat an-Numan. Just as I respect the faith of the true Crusader, I will also not press any of you to participate who think that my actions are blameworthy. But that is a decision you must make right now!’
The last expression being made with a bark had all pulling themselves upright; to decline now would be seen as a lack of courage and that they would never show.
The strip of daylight between the tower and the walls of Ma’arrat had so narrowed as to almost disappear yet that last tiny gap was proving the hardest to overcome. For all their efforts the stone crossing they had built over that dry moat had none of the consistency of the impacted ground they had earlier traversed.
The tower first swayed forward, only to lean back again as it was pushed onto another uneven patch, causing the screen which had protected the knights to first drop slightly then be hauled back up again; without it and not engaged in actual combat they were vulnerable in a situation where long pikes could outdistance their lances, while arrows and javelins launched at such a short range might even penetrate their chain mail.
Bohemund had been determined not to begin his own assault until the Provencals were fully engaged, thus pinning the defenders, but matters were not progressing as he had anticipated; it was all taking too long. Too much time had been wasted before the thing first moved and he could feel the stirrings of frustration not only at its slow progress but the way it was compressing the amount of daylight in which he would have to fight.
Behind him stood his warriors and they would be feeling the same impatience, mail-clad knights ranged in an extended line alongside the climbing frames, those lying on the ground where they had been placed overnight. Constructed in numbers they would allow his men to assault an entire section of the southern wall between two towers, an effort harder to defend against than a series of single-person ladders. They also served to send a message that this was no probing attack but one designed to take the city.
There was also in his calculation the notion that even if the danger of his attack were seen as soon as those frames became visible, there would be a time delay between the realisation of the threat and the moves needed to counter it by a defence already heavily engaged in two places. That it was not working as he had hoped required that he change: for the whole assault to succeed and in the available time he would need to draw off some of those opposing Raymond.
‘Blow the horns,’ he commanded, moving forward himself under his red banner so that all along the line his men could see it was time to move.
Up from the covering brushwood came the frames; as soon as they were in view they caused a ripple of obvious alarm on the battlements, as the nature of what they portended was assessed. It should have been a time to break into a run, to get to the base of the walls at speed, regardless of the ditch, but those frames, as they had to be, were made of heavy timber and green stuff with it, full of sap and ten times the weight of seasoned wood.
Thus the Apulians shuffled forward, dragging the frames behind them, seeking with their free hand to place their shields in the best place to ward off danger. If they bellowed their bloody intentions, their count in his dignity could do no more than threaten those men on the walls with the fierce nature of his appearance — his massive height added to the mighty axe he carried, the white surcoat he wore, still with its red Crusader cross — for the threat of Christian retribution to a Muslim was more forbidding than any de Hauteville family device.
As he came closer the men on the walls might see the look in his eyes, steady blue orbs on either side of the drooping nose guard of a conical Norman helmet. If they did it should chill their blood, for the promise of the gaze was one of death and mutilation. Naturally because of his stature and the position of leadership he adopted Bohemund became the prime target that had to be stopped, so that every projectile cast or fired from the walls came in his direction.
To protect him, and this was their duty, his familia knights stepped up to surround their lord and used their shields to create an impenetrable barrier off which arrows and javelins bounced, that raised to cover heads the closer they came to the massive rectangular stones, jointed with mortar, that made up the walls. All along the line his men were dropping into the dry moat, before setting down their burdens, a foot set on the base to secure them, while those who came behind rushed to raise them hand over hand until the tops rested on the battlements.
The enemy sought to immediately push the frames away, only to find the very weight that had slowed the Apulians made it impossible for the defenders to budge them and that was rendered even more difficult as soon at the attackers began their slow climb. What came down on them to slow their progress was dangerous — boiling oil, rocks, javelins and heavier spears — but it was widespread and not sufficient in content or concentrated enough to impose a complete check.
That came from the tenacity of the defenders, who, when engaged fought with a fury that surpassed anything the Crusaders had encountered previously and their efforts increased when reinforcements arrived from the western wall to stop this fresh assault. Bohemund, as was required by any warrior chieftain, was well to the fore, his axe swings deadly to anyone caught in their arc, for each blow was not of a weight to merely wound, aware that even with this form of assault only so many of his fighters could engage at any one time.
The frames were full of knights waiting to get into the action, which could only come about if one of their number succumbed to their front, albeit if that person fell with a mortal wound his falling body was as likely to take with him that of his waiting replacement as slip on by. Try as they did, the Apulians could not breast the battlements in numbers enough to gain a foothold.
For all their prowess in battle the Normans began to show signs of weariness. The arms ached, the throats were too dry to properly breathe, the sweat from exertion filled the eyes to make misty that at which they were aiming, and all was being undertaken with a precarious balance. The saving grace was, apart from the latter, the defence suffered likewise, so that it became possible for exhausted fighters to be replaced on both sides in a battle that was making no progress for either; the Turks could not drive back the Crusaders and they could not get onto the parapet where their greater height, weight and reach could be made to count.
It was in a short period of rest that Bohemund was able to observe that Raymond was faring no better than he, and if his admiration for the tenacity of the Crusaders was great, be they Apulians or Provencals, he had nobility enough to extend that to a race he had respected ever since he first fought them, for the Turks were every bit as formidable as any Latin and just as inspired by their faith as the most devout Christian.