If he loved battle Bohemund desired success more, so instead of rejoining the fight he took to trying to direct the efforts of his men from below, looking for areas where resistance seemed to be weakening or a gap began to appear and directing them to that spot. Time might have lost all meaning but it was obvious from the state of the light that the fight had been going on for a long time.
Messengers, Firuz included, had been passing to and fro throughout to let Bohemund know if Raymond was making any progress and the news was far from encouraging. Having finally got his tower up to and leaning on the curtain wall he could no more get his men over it than could Bohemund.
Several times the defenders had set it alight, which meant all hands went to the buckets of water needed to douse the flames, warring knights included, while his diversionary attack had faltered completely from lack of the men to push it to a point where the defenders were pinned in place and thus unavailable to thwart the main assault.
‘He has men sapping at the wall beneath the tower.’
This was information Bohemund passed on to a blood-soaked Tancred, who had likewise been obliged to take a rest from fighting and come to join him. His nephew, who replied through strenuous efforts to get back his breath, suggested that it was a waste of time. How could men, with picks and shovels, in half a day hope to undermine the foundations of such well-constructed walls that had been standing for centuries?
‘And if nothing happens to aid us soon,’ Tancred gasped, using his sword to indicate a darkening sky, ‘we will be obliged to halt the attack.’
‘I have sent for torches. We fight on.’
‘Even if Raymond withdraws?’
‘He had the devil’s own task to get his damn tower into place and I doubt he can get it off again, so he will not abandon it.’
That was part of a message he had received: the front wheels, huge shaped timbers hewn by those English carpenters, had begun to sink into the imperfect ground underneath, its weight dislodging the earth and pebbles, even shifting the rocks that formed a more solid base. Bohemund’s informant reckoned there was no force of men nor beasts that would have the strength to get it off, so there were only two alternatives for the Count of Toulouse: to fight on in the dark or to torch the tower and fall back.
‘And that is a retreat that will not end back in his lines. There’s no time to build another tower with the state of our food.’
‘It would be better Raymond knows we intend to fight on, Uncle.’
The reply to Tancred had to wait until Bohemund had finished directing some of his men to a perceived weak spot, or was it that he wanted to think upon the notion — his nephew did not know — but when he did reply it was in the affirmative.
‘It has to come from a trusted source and my pride will not allow that it be me, so you must be the messenger.’
‘Happily,’ Tancred replied, which got him, even if all he could see was his uncle’s eyes, a less than kindly look.
‘Deliver the message and no more, for I need you here.’
‘Am I allowed to ask Raymond to reinforce us? He must have men free from his failed diversion.’
‘No.’
There was little temptation to dispute that, even if Tancred thought it short-sighted. The mere movement of Raymond’s knights from one wall to another might help to confuse the defence, might cause them to move men best left in place. These thoughts stayed with Tancred as he made his way to where flew Raymond’s banner. The ripple of reaction when he was sighted approaching was unmistakable; indeed, a pair of familia knights were detached in the increasing gloom of a cloudy twilight to intercept him.
He was just about to pass to them his message when they halted with startled expressions and looked beyond him, this at the same time as Tancred spun round, the reason for both a sound not unlike a thunderclap, except it did not come from above. He had to peer to see the crack that began to run up the wall to one side of Raymond’s tower but what followed was easily visible. The battlements at the top of that crack began to sag and with a rumble that sounded like the end of time the whole wall collapsed, to leave, once the dust cleared and Tancred could see, a high pile of rubble and above that a clear breach.
Despite his scoffing, the sappers had succeeded.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took little time for the news of that collapsed curtain wall to find its way to the ears of those opposing the Apulians, less than it took to reach those of the Count of Taranto himself. If he had heard the rumble of that falling masonry he lacked sight of it so had no idea why those Turks who had held his men at bay for so long suddenly stopped fighting. There was a lapse too before those who had been wielding weapons at enemy heads found them to be swishing through fresh air as their adversaries fled, another before they realised that there was no barrier to their climbing over the battlements and onto the parapet.
By the time the truth dawned Bohemund was alongside his men to remind them of his instructions, to take control of the nearest towers and not to seek to get down into the city, an instruction that was not easy to obey given there was no one to obstruct them, indeed it fell to their leader to curtail their progress; he was happy with a few of the towers of Ma’arrat an-Numan, he did not need them all. Tancred found him on the Apulian side of that collapsed breach, with barely enough light left in the day to see what lay on the other side of the gap.
‘Raymond has called on his men to fall back, leaving only the number needed to secure the battlements.’
‘In God’s name why?’
‘It seems he fears to fight in the streets in darkness, against an enemy that seems to consist of the whole Muslim citizenry of Ma’arrat, which means a fighter and perhaps a knife in every doorway. The cost in blood would be too high, though since he would not talk with me there may be another cause.’
‘I cannot think what it might be,’ came the reply, with a slow shake of the head. ‘Perhaps it is wise.’
‘What do you intend?’
‘Whatever it is will not be served by us standing in the open where we can be seen as soon as someone fetches a torch.’
‘Raymond will know that we have succeeded as well.’
That was said to his uncle’s back; Bohemund was already heading for the nearest tower, and the chamber within that had provided accommodation for the Turks who had previously occupied it. Entering upon his heels, Tancred was asked to shut the studded wood door that led to the breach, which plunged the tiny space into darkness, until Bohemund called for light and a torch was brought, this allowing him to set the flame to the tallow wads resting in the hollow sconces carved out of the solid stone.
The room, cold with thick stone walls and no fire, had a table and chests that served as seats in daylight, then, when set together, as beds at night, on one of which Bohemund sat, indicating that Tancred should do likewise, before falling into a contemplative silence, his chin resting on the haft of his axe, a position he maintained for some time and held even when his nephew spoke.
‘I think it sensible to wait for daylight.’ That got a slow nod. ‘If the enemy is not truly beaten that means they will still be fired with hope and still numerous enough to spill much blood in the streets.’
‘They are bound, on such a night, to be as dark as pitch and narrow.’
‘Which is deadly.’
‘You are saying it would be equal folly for us to attempt to do what Raymond has postponed?’
‘Possibly, but then there is the notion that we will have a free hand to plunder as well before sunrise.’