The movement of the pilgrims did not go unnoticed either — they were camped closer to the milities than the lances — and soon bands of foot soldiers, pikes and daggers in hand, were on their heels. In Ma’arrat they found the streets full of pilgrims but free of any Turkish soldiers, who had retreated to the Governor’s Palace to await their fate, while the Muslim citizens who had fought so hard were cowering in their dwellings: nothing stood between them and rich pickings, including the unarmed pilgrims.
Bohemund had sent his interpreter Firuz to seek out the Governor of Ma’arrat with an offer that he should surrender his now untenable city. If he did so and gathered together in a body the leading citizens at his palace, he would provide a strong guard to secure their lives, bound to be forfeit if they did not concur in the frenzy that would follow the entry of the soldiery, regardless of their rank.
Once they were inside the walls there was not a high noble born, however feared he might be, who would be able to control his men in a city that had refused terms. Knights or milities it made no difference, each would be determined on what he saw as his just reward, the size of which tended to grow in the imagination the nearer the fall of a city approached, and grew out of all proportion when plunder was to hand.
Not to be cheated of what was theirs by right became the paramount emotion, often fuelled by wine taken to excess — bloodlust apart that was the primary object seized — so that in the unlikely event there was an ounce of compassion contained in a Crusader breast it was soon swamped by avarice. It was a sad commonplace to find those engaged in plunder, comrades in battle but intoxicated with drink and envy, seeking to rob each other.
Raymond had waited till first light to send forward his own herald to demand the surrender of Ma’arrat, only to discover there was no one in authority prepared to answer the ultimatum, which obliged him to lead his lances and the attendant priests over the breach in the walls and into the streets, where he expected to find the Turks ready to sell their lives dearly.
Instead he came across a teeming mass of pilgrims of both sexes, mixed with his own drunken milities, as well as bodies littering streets and alleys that ran with victim blood. More to the point, both groups had in their possession items of gold and silver, while their belts were hung with bulging leather purses.
Mindful of his standing as protector and possessor of the Holy Lance, Raymond forbade his men to take from the pilgrims what they had plundered and that, for military reasons, also had to apply to his milities, an instruction for which the citizens of Ma’arrat paid dearly. There would have been unbridled savagery whatever had occurred, but seeing themselves robbed of what they presumed as rightfully theirs sent the mailed lances in a passion even greater than that which would have attended their depredations.
As they moved into the city no one was spared, with the Armenians suffering too, and both Raymond and Robert of Flanders were to the fore in the killing and encouragement to do so; man, woman or child, a goodly number of the inhabitants that had so far survived were dragged through their smashed doorways to be executed in the streets, the only delay in instant despatch — there was no offer to convert for the Muslims — the chance to tell where they had hidden whatever they still possessed.
Bohemund had moved into the city at dawn as well, but with more purpose, no less surprised than Raymond of Toulouse to find that his men had been beaten to their pillage by a mass of villeins, drunk with wine and bloodlust, now crowding the streets and squares, his Apulians reacting in a similar fashion to the knights of Provence, for they too felt cheated.
He made no effort to contain them, nor did he even delay to observe; following the guidance of Firuz, he and Tancred, surrounded by familia knights, were led to the Governor’s Palace where he found that the arrangements his interpreter had made overnight were in place.
Assembled were all those of wealth and position, the merchants that had in their trade made Ma’rrat an-Numan such a tempting target for a conqueror, along with their possessions. There too were their many wives and even more children, all under the protection of the governor’s personal retainers, those Turkish soldiers who had been the backbone of the defence.
‘Firuz, tell those men to throw down their weapons,’ Bohemund commanded, after the governor had executed a deep bow.
A sharp command from the bent-over official saw that obeyed and Firuz translated his next words, uttered while he stood fully upright once more and pointed to the chests of coin that lay before him, a sweep following to include the objects of value that lay behind them.
‘He offers this to you as yours by right of conquest.’
‘And what does he seek in return?’
‘That which you proposed I offer, My Lord, their lives and the right to depart Ma’arrat with what they can carry.’
About to agree, Bohemund was forced to react to the sudden commotion as a body of knights entered, with Raymond of Toulouse and Robert of Flanders at their head, both blood-coated magnates stopping dead in their forward movement wearing expressions of surprise, or was it fury, to find the Count of Taranto present. That was before their eyes were drawn, as they must be, to the treasure that lay between Bohemund and the richly clad Turks, who had recoiled at the intrusion and were now gathered in a knot.
‘The city is surrendered,’ Bohemund said.
‘It is not,’ Raymond spat, ‘until it is ceded to me.’
‘It matters not, My Lord who has the glory, more who has the walls.’ He gestured for his Armenian to approach and spoke softly. ‘Firuz, tell the governor who it is that has just entered and that having surrendered to me he must also do so to the Count of Toulouse. Add that a very deep bow, even abasement, would not go amiss.’
There was a degree of terror in the governor’s eye as that was translated, but he was quick to throw himself onto the mosaic-tiled floor, an act that was copied by the whole knot of assembled males to his rear. From the floor came the words that asked for mercy, following which Bohemund explained what he had arranged.
‘Nothing of yours applies to me,’ Raymond barked.
‘It would have done so, Count Raymond, if you had climbed off your high horse and deigned to talk with me.’
Raymond’s response was to wave his bloodstained sword and order his men to seize both the assembled Turks and their possessions, an act which had Bohemund move forward to block their way, Tancred and the familia knights acting in unison to support him, all the Apulians having unsheathed weapons.
‘I have given certain guarantees.’
‘Which I had told you-’
‘You, My Lord, do not tell me anything.’
‘The lives of these infidels, as well as anything they possess, is forfeit.’
‘Their possessions, yes, their lives I have granted, as well as that which they can carry.’
Bohemund and Raymond were two sword blades apart now, and glaring at each other, which had Tancred wondering if that restraint which his uncle had stated the previous night was in danger of being broken. He was in a position where his pride would not let him withdraw but so was Raymond, and the younger man could only speculate what was going through the mind of Toulouse.
He had more men with him than his rival, but that would aid him little if it came to a fight, for he was well to the fore and might fall before his superior numbers could save him and such was the prowess of Bohemund that several of them might be despatched in the attempt, which as his familia knights they would be bound to do. Tancred thought he knew what Toulouse did not: his uncle would never strike the first blow, but it was the last one that counted and that would certainly be his.