If the news of the Latins being held up outside Arqa was not helpful, the stories of such stunning reversals as the destruction of the bombardment screen began to act upon the minds of those who were feeding their coffers. Tripoli in particular, according to Raymond Pilet, the man Toulouse had left to mask it, was showing signs of unrest, with soldiers being hissed at in the streets when they ventured into the markets to buy food and a couple even suffering an assault.
‘Such things would not happen, My Lord,’ Pilet insisted, ‘without the Emir being aware of it.’
‘Then perhaps it is time to remind him what he might have faced if he had not offered us treaty.’
‘Perhaps you should command he attend upon you?’ Normandy suggested.
‘I think, My Lord Duke, that the Emir will pay more attention to a touch of bloodletting, perhaps even some of his own.’
‘The threat of that should suffice,’ Tancred added, ‘for if there is resistance we will find ourselves fighting in two places simultaneously.’
‘I will decide the merits of that,’ Raymond barked, with a startling lack of courtesy.
‘Do not allow our reverses here to cloud your judgement, My Lord.’
Raymond’s reaction proved that what Tancred surmised was correct — that he was losing his grip — for he lost his temper completely then. ‘Do not presume to cast your opinion on my judgement. Remember who leads here.’
Tancred had to work to keep his response calm. ‘If I did not fear to ask questions of Count Bohemund I will not fear to do so of you.’
It was the wrong name to use; if Tancred had harboured any hope of diverting Raymond from his bloodletting it went with the mention of his sworn enemy. In an insult that was all the greater for being silent, he turned his back on Tancred and ordered Pilet to take his men into Tripoli and show these infidels the wrath a Christian God could mete out to them.
‘And remember you are not Apulians, act like the men you are, of Provence!’
The reason for the Emir’s early offer of peace soon became apparent; he ruled in a place not much threatened for many a long year, this under the umbrella of light Turkish rule, which had existed on the same payments as he was now making towards the Latins. He had few men trained to fight and added to that his gates were open to these devils, who entered in small groups to allay suspicion before setting about their task.
Any armed defenders were quickly despatched, which allowed Pilet and his men to go on a bloody rampage unhindered by any threat to themselves, this watched from his fortified palace overlooking the Mediterranean by the ruler who knew that to step outside his walls would probably result in death. Not that the heavy palace gates he had were enough of a defence even if he stayed inside; for that reason a boat was sitting by the watergate to carry him away if he was threatened.
What saved him from flight was a combination of weariness on the part of the attackers and an emissary prepared to sacrifice his life. He found Pilet and persuaded him to desist in lieu of a gift of a chest of gold coins. Raymond’s man knew his master; while accepting the bribe for himself and his men, he also insisted on increased tribute to the Count of Toulouse, a dilemma the Emir resolved by demanding payments from the merchants of the port. Thus the message went out to the other towns that paid a levy, all of whom immediately sent more gifts to ensure their continued safety.
If that solved one problem it did not address the real issue, which was Jerusalem, for Raymond was once more coming under pressure from the pilgrims to act, a desire he could not meet while locked into a siege he could not abandon for the loss of face that would ensue. Nagging most vociferously and using his position as the man who found the Holy Lance, was Peter Bartholomew, who to Raymond’s mind was growing more arrogant by the day.
‘He has the heart of the rabble, which you used to own.’
Peter of Narbonne had been given the See of Albara in place of destroyed Ma’arrat an-Numan. Divine he might be but still he got a jaundiced look, though Raymond said nothing in reply, for there was no gainsaying the truth of it. If he could sometimes ignore the views of his equals, he found it hard to do so with the pilgrims, for he craved their good opinion as a bolster against the low esteem in which he was held by his fellow princes; it rankled that he could only get support, and that partial, by the buying of it.
‘You know why I cannot leave here.’
Narbonne knew he did not mean Arqa but the region itself, without he had the support of the rest of the Crusaders, and even with that he would be loath to move on. To do so, against the unbroken force of Vizier al-Afdal holding Jerusalem, would be to risk annihilation for his fighters and his pilgrims.
‘I have a notion of how to get the support you need.’
There was little need to ask for permission to proceed, the eagerness to hear anything that would break the deadlock was obviously welcome.
‘I fear that to detach Bohemund from Antioch is a lost cause.’ That got a glare for stating the very obvious, which Narbonne ignored. ‘But I see in Duke Godfrey a man of different motives.’
‘He is no better than his brother Baldwin.’
It was an indication of the state to which the morale of Toulouse had shrunk that Narbonne felt able to question that statement and in doing so he reprised the opinion all had held of Godfrey de Bouillon, that he was a good man whose only concern was that the Crusade should get to and capture Jerusalem.
‘Then tell me, clever Peter, why is he not here?’
To say ‘because of your pride and past behaviour’ was possible, but unsafe for a man who, bishop or not, owed all he had to the Count. Instead he managed, with a careful shrug, to let the reasons be set aside.
‘I think if he felt the whole endeavour to be at risk he would drop his reservations …’
The last word was enough for Raymond to shout to the heavens, and ask his God to give him strength.
‘What united us more than any other event, My Lord?’ Peter did not wait for a response but hurried on. ‘Was it not the prospect of losing everything, our lives as well as our cause?’
Narbonne had to be careful then; he could not allude to the Battle of Antioch without reminding Toulouse of the way he had behaved in taking to his bed, which was far from glorious. ‘What if the likes of Duke Godfrey felt that such a threat existed once more?’
‘But it does not.’
‘Godfrey does not know that. If he fears it to be true, I would suggest that he, and the Count of Flanders, will hurry to aid you lest by the loss of the army you lead they lose the chance of Jerusalem too. No more than you, My Lord, can they contemplate a move on the Holy City with only their own lances. My notion is to relay to them that there is another Turkish host preparing to descend on you and relieve Arqa, that without they come to your aid all their own hopes for Jerusalem will be dashed.’
Toulouse sighed, evidence that he was far from convinced. ‘Trust a man of the church to think with such a devious mind.’
‘I think only of what might reignite the Holy Crusade, which surely must be foremost in the mind of a cleric.’
‘Who would you send?’
Narbonne allowed himself a sly smile. ‘A churchman, who else, My Lord?’
Narbonne found Godfrey de Bouillon and Flanders besieging a town called Jabala, well to the south of Antioch, where they had been joined by a new Crusader prince and a long and seasoned campaigner, Gaston of Bearn, though they had lost the support of Bohemund who had returned to Antioch.
That was a city still with a future undecided, given there was no sign of the Emperor Alexius and his army, just a written demand that it be respected as a Byzantine fief, a message Bohemund could safely ignore; nothing short of a main force would shift him.
Given the news that Narbonne brought, it was far from surprising that these princes were alarmed and to that he added, even if it had not been discussed with the Count of Toulouse, that his master was no longer seeking leadership of the whole Crusade, so great was the threat from eastern Syria.