Robert of Flanders pushed through to get between the two men. ‘Is there not enough here for all? No good will come of spilling blood in place of a share of the spoils.’
‘I demand their heads on my lances,’ Raymond spat, gesturing to the Turks, cowering in a group once more, ‘as recompense for the blood and treasure I have spent.’
‘Settle for their wealth, Raymond, for I have given them my word on their lives.’
Robert of Flanders put his mouth close to Raymond’s ear and spoke in such a low whisper that Bohemund could not hear what he said, words which did nothing to soften the look aimed at his Apulian rival. Bohemund held Raymond’s eye, but kept his countenance mild, until either from the words he was hearing or from the uselessness of maintaining it Raymond turned his head slightly and broke the mutual stare.
‘You would fight a Christian to save a Turk?’ Raymond asked, when Flanders had ceased to whisper.
‘I would fight to defend my bounden word.’
That caused the other man to blink, for it flew directly in the face of his low opinion of Bohemund, who to his mind was careless with his vows. It was then obvious that Flanders had suggested a compromise that would save the face of both men. It was equally the case that Toulouse was unhappy in the making of it, for his voice was strained.
‘You may have their lives, but they leave this palace with nothing but that in which they need for modesty.’
The time taken by Bohemund to consider that did nothing to lighten the threatening atmosphere, but eventually he called forward Firuz, with instruction being given that the Turks should be stripped of their personal valuables, including their rich garments, while explaining the alternative, which was worse.
‘Tell him I will provide an escort to the city gates and beyond, to ensure they are safe.’ ‘
‘And what of these men we had to fight to get here, Count Bohemund?’ Raymond asked. ‘Do you intend to protect them too?’
‘They are not subject to any promise I made.’
‘Then,’ Raymond hissed, ‘it is fitting that they pay the price for their deeds.’
Receiving no reply, Raymond issued a sharp command and the men who had led the Muslim citizens of Ma’arrat an-Numan and shown them how to fight, now without arms to defend themselves, were slaughtered to the frantic screams of the women present.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ma’arrat had suffered greatly but in truth the majority of the population survived, even some Muslims of both sexes, but more tellingly a high number of Armenians. For every body in the streets or blocking the doorway to a dwelling there were another three citizens still drawing breath, albeit they kept out of sight in their cellars and attics until the murderous instincts of their enemies had run their course and exhaustion added to full bellies brought an end to the killing.
Still, the place smelt of death and it was sound policy to begin to clear away the already rotting cadavers, as well as ensure that any buildings still smouldering were doused to prevent a spreading conflagration that could consume half the city. Corpses were piled on carts by the survivors of Ma’arrat and taken out of the city to be burnt in a huge human bonfire that sent pungent clouds of stinking black smoke into the air, the sticky ash falling to cover the clothing of those who had been engaged in the destruction.
The Crusaders were sated, both by blood and plunder, for they had been given a free hand to take for themselves that which they wished, while their lords and masters had a care to see that they got a share in the spoils that had been haggled over in the Governor’s Palace. Raymond had insisted that it was his labours, most notably in expending a great amount of silver on his siege tower, as well as the blood expended in its employment, that had led to the fall of Ma’arrat. That being so, he and his Provencals, as well as the men under Robert of Flanders, should have the lion’s share of the booty.
Bohemund was equally adamant that the Apulians, in drawing off men from the main assault, had contributed just as much to success and that both he and his lances deserved an equal share. Besides, it was he who had made the arrangements that had seen such treasure assembled in one place, for had it not been, given the mayhem of the sack of the city, with the pilgrims matching the soldiers in their avarice, the high nobles might have been lucky to see a single coin.
In the end, after much bluster and negotiation, the promises Bohemund had made to the governor and the wealthy citizens of Ma’arrat cost him dear: stripped as they were of everything they possessed, and in terror, these people still had their lives. Raymond made it obvious that unless he was satisfied in his demands they would suffer the same fate as that of the men who had been guarding them — those retainers who were now at best twitching carcasses laid out on a tiled floor swimming in bright red blood. It took a part payment of what Bohemund should have got for the Apulians to get them safely out of the city and on the road to Aleppo.
Such arrangements saw no more favour in the Provencal ranks than it did with their liege lord: to their mind Bohemund’s men were latecomers who had done little to deserve even that which they had, which caused their leaders to withdraw their contingents to those areas of the city under their control, the southern towers for Bohemund and the rest of Ma’arrat for Toulouse and Flanders.
‘Flanders,’ Tancred announced from the doorway, receiving in reply a nod that the man should enter.
He stood aside to let Count Robert of that province enter the small chamber where his uncle had set up his quarters, the very one he had occupied on the previous night. It was one of eight held by the Apulians, fully a third of the towers of Ma’arrat an-Numan and, being the outer defences, of greater value than any city dwellings.
Standing to greet his visitor, Bohemund noticed that Robert’s eyes, before engaging his, took in at a glance the chests of treasure that lined the walls, making cramped what was already a room much lacking in space. A servant was sent to fetch refreshments — bread, grapes and dates as well — while the host indicated that his visitor should occupy the lid of one of those very chests.
‘Will you sit, My Lord?’
‘I have come as an emissary of Count Raymond.’
Robert had replied as if such a thing precluded comfort and he did not move to accept the offer, which led to a silence that he clearly found awkward. Before responding to what he held to be obvious — he had been waiting for some kind of emissary — Bohemund took a short time to reprise his relationship with this handsome man, nearer Tancred’s age than his own, well built and with a full head of brown hair, worn long, and with steady eyes of the same colour.
Brother-in-law to the Duke of Normandy, Robert had come on the Crusade under his banner, which made him better disposed to the Norman Apulians than would be the case with the knights who served Toulouse. In common with most of his fellow magnates that relationship had fluctuated, sometimes good and on other occasions fraught with bile and recrimination — it very much depended on the circumstances of the crusading endeavour.
Like all the crusading princes Flanders had been wary when they first met, again in common with his noble peers, unwilling to quite believe and accept the reputation for successful soldiering that hung like a corona around the Count of Taranto. Yet as his brother-in-law mellowed towards Bohemund, so it seemed had Flanders until, if they were not quite friends, there was no open antagonism.
The nadir had come when foraging on this very plateau of Jabal as-Summaq in the spring, for it was there they, in joint command, had been obliged to abandon the mass of food they had gathered to take back to Antioch, as well as the bulk of the men who had done the collecting, caught unawares because no piquets had been set overnight to warn of any approaching threat, common practice when camped overnight in strange and enemy territory.