Raymond’s ambitions for Jerusalem did nothing to dent his desire to rein in the ambitions of his rival; he still intended to control the entire supply of food to Antioch from the south by holding an arc of land hinged on Ma’arrat, which abutted Turkish territory, through the Ruj Valley to the coast, with control of the roads to the nearby ports to complete his aim.
There were other ambitions too, based on possession. In Ma’arrat, as he had in Albara, he had installed one of his priests, the one-time archdeacon, Peter of Narbonne, as the bishop of that see. Both would adhere to the Latin rite, albeit they had needed to be consecrated by the only available high divine, the increasingly feeble Armenian Patriarch, John the Oxite, these designed to raise his standing among the pilgrims as well as to curry favour in Rome.
These manoeuvres, and he knew of every step his enemy took, were watched by Bohemund, though it would have been fruitless to seek to observe how much such moves concerned him. All an observer would see was a man going about his business, ensuring the walls of Antioch, where damaged, had been repaired, that his forage parties, albeit obliged to work to the north and east, were bringing in enough to fill more than just the storerooms of the citadel, over which he had total control.
If he had a major concern, it was one he did not spread abroad. When John the Oxite shrugged off his mortal coil, something that seemed increasingly imminent, Bohemund was determined, in the same manner as Raymond, that the person who replaced him should be a Latin bishop. This engendered much correspondence with Rome, a steady stream of letters, his aim to persuade the Pope to accede to his request and to send someone of stature to take the office, not forgetting to add that he, unlike Raymond of Toulouse, did not have the arrogance to assume that he could appoint someone from his own retinue of priests and of his own choosing.
In every communication lay several references to the loyalty to the Holy Church shown by his family, not least Count Roger of Sicily, which conveniently glossed over the several times a reigning pope had been humbled by a de Hauteville over the previous decades. Added to that lay a subtle undercurrent of doubt, in which Bohemund detailed the lack of support the Crusade had received from Alexius Comnenus, not omitting to add that an emperor who had so far taken as much as he could of the spoils of the Crusade without spilling the blood of his own men, would no doubt claim that Jerusalem, like Antioch, should be a fief of Constantinople.
How then, when Byzantium ruled in the birthplace of Christ as well as the mighty city of Antioch, the site of St Peter’s first church, could the Bishop of Rome lay claim to be the universal head of the faith? How then, with Byzantium in such a powerful position and entrenched, could His Holiness hope to persuade the Orthodox Church to heal the divisions of the forty-year schism?
When it came to the unity of the faith, a matter of vital concern to Rome and the future of the Christian mission, who was the true enemy, Byzantium or Islam?
‘I know a great deal of your grandsire’s family, Tancred,’ Robert of Normandy said. ‘They were much talked about when I was growing to manhood, he most of all.’
‘Not with much affection, I suppose.’
That was a remark that made both men smile, though it did not last long with the Duke. The de Hautevilles — if successful, they were at least distant — were typical of his own subjects, men whose loyalty was to their own success and well-being, not that of their liege lord. Norman knights were able to shift allegiances with an alacrity that made the task of ruling Normandy, indeed anywhere the heirs of the Vikings had planted their feet, near impossible, as the Guiscard too had found to his cost.
His own father, William, had taken years between his succession at seven years of age and the great Battle of Val-es-Dunes to exert control over his subjects and in that he had required the support of the King of France, his titular suzerain, who did not supply such aid to the nineteen-year-old Duke William without extracting a territorial price, one redeemed when the young man, a decade older and finally secure in his domains, turned on his one-time ally and defeated him in battle.
Robert himself, succeeding to Normandy on the death of William, now called the Conqueror, had been forced to fight his brother, who ruled England, to maintain the title bequeathed to him; in that contest the ability of his subjects to change sides, and to do so at the drop of a gage, made a successful defence near impossible.
The two men talked on — Robert had been kind and indulgent to Tancred ever since they had marched in company with Bohemund from Nicaea — each recalling the feats of their forbears. Robert was able to range with pride all the way back to Rollo, the Viking raider who, to keep him and his ferocious raiders quiet, had been given Normandy as a fief. If Tancred’s lineage was, in terms of nobility, a shorter one, their deeds were just as remarkable, so a happy period was passed in talk of Norman success.
‘You have accepted the offer made to you by Raymond of Toulouse?’ Tancred said, in what seemed an abrupt change of subject and one that fractured the pleasant mood.
‘I have,’ Robert replied, with a look indicating that any enquiry into motive would be unwelcome.
‘Who can doubt your faith?’ Tancred responded, neatly sidestepping the issue of Raymond’s silver. ‘For myself …’
The ploy, leaving any conclusion to his words hanging in the air, was obvious and intended to be. Robert was sharp enough to pick up on what was required.
‘You are here to seek my advice?’
‘Some would be welcome, My Lord, since I can extract none from my uncle.’
‘You have asked?’
A nod accompanied by a gloomy look. ‘And been told to follow the dictates of my own conscience. Were it anyone but Toulouse I would not hesitate, like you I am all committed to Jerusalem, but …’
Robert, with his saturnine complexion and dark eyes, gave Tancred a look that seemed to enquire if he was ever going to finish a sentence, yet he declined to be drawn once more and remained silent, forcing the younger man to continue.
‘If it were Godfrey de Bouillon seeking my sword arm I would not hesitate, yet if I join with Raymond, Bohemund will surely see it as a betrayal.’
‘That is not necessarily the case.’
There was an air of real artificiality in the way that Tancred brightened then, made more apparent by his eagerness to hear anything encouraging.
‘We have just been talking about our ancestors, have we not? Ask yourself, Tancred, what the Guiscard would do in the same circumstance, indeed what your uncle would do if matters were reversed? What is here for you in Antioch but continued service under his shadow? What waits for you if you do as I have done, and you follow the dictates of your crusading vow?’
‘Bohemund is fond of saying he cannot see into the future. I am no better than he.’
When Robert responded, it was with an emphatic tone and a sharp chop of his hand.
‘That was a vow taken by Bohemund too, to march on Jerusalem and bring it back to Christianity, yet you and I know he will not progress one step beyond Antioch, for he sees no advantage to himself in doing so. Think like your uncle and that will give you the answer you seek.’
‘I have spoken with the men we lead, both lances and the foot soldiers, as you said before that I could.’ That got a gesture from a seated Bohemund, a twitch on the enjoined hands under his chin; it implied such a thing was hardly a secret. ‘Fifty of our lances are set on Jerusalem, nearly all the milities.’
‘They are more pious, the milities.’
‘And I am determined on Jerusalem myself, but I will go without Raymond’s silver if acceptance of that offends you.’
‘Take his money, for not to do so would be foolish,’ Bohemund snapped, but it was not said in anger. ‘But this I advise, trust Raymond in nothing, stay close to Robert of Normandy and even more to Duke Godfrey when he decides to march.’