'One of the archers has already darted away, but the duke catches the other squarely in the middle of the back as the fellow turns to flee. The force of the blow carries the slender Seljuq out of the saddle and he slams to the earth with the spear in his back. The duke's sword is in his hand before the hapless Turk touches the ground, and fifty more knights charge into the breach their fearless commander has forced.
'A heartbeat later, the crusaders are streaming through and the enemy cannot prevent their escape. The knights gallop back to the line which Bohemond has succeeded in holding all alone. "Join us here," the prince commands. "Reform the line! For the sake of Christ, reform the lines!"
"They are very devils!" shouts the duke as he pulls the arrow from his hauberk. Knights are thundering back to resume their places. There are far fewer than before. I look, but I cannot see Lord Brusi. The other sorties have fared less well than Robert's. Tancred and Stephen, having run aground at the top of the hill, are scarcely able to slash their way back to the line. Good men and horses fall around them every step of the way. Once a knight is unhorsed, the Seljuqs fall upon him and cut him to pieces with their thin swords-three and four of them, hacking like butchers, until the knight is dead.
'The Count of Flanders and a great number of knights have become surrounded, and only escape when the enemy archers run out of arrows and must break off the attack. Before the sultan's troops enclose them again, the Flemish gather up their wounded and fly back to the line leaving a trail of bodies as they go. It is a slaughter, God knows, and we can do nothing but stand and watch it happen.
'The prince and lords are angry now, and desperate. "Where, for the love of Christ, is Raymond?" bellows Duke Robert. You could have heard him all the way to the sultan's camp.
'"Maybe he is attacked, too," says Stephen, rubbing sweat and blood from his eyes. "Maybe he cannot reach us."
'"Get back to your troops!" Bohemond roars-angry at the fools for breaking ranks. They have wasted good men in their folly, and the prince is in no humour to listen to them. "Regroup and reform the line."
'But the lords are discouraged. "What is the use?" demands Count Robert. "There is no line-we are surrounded on every side. There is nowhere to turn."
'Bohemond is adamant. He is furious. "I say we will hold the line until the Devil himself comes to take us."
"We will die!" shouts the count, and the others agree. "Then say your prayers," Bohemond roars, "and die as faithful knights of the cross."
'They glower at him, and curse his name, but Bohemond will not be turned. "Get you back to your men. Dismount and put your horses behind you. Lock shields and stand behind your lances." Turning to Stephen, he cries, "Send men to the camp and tell the footmen and women to bring water to the line."
'Well, it is over for us,' said Ranulf, after another drink from the drugged waterskin, 'the sun moves across the sky, and the battle continues. The women and foot soldiers hurry back and forth to the line bearing jars and buckets of water. The Seljuq swoop and swirl, filling the burning air with arrows and their hateful, jeering cry, "Allah akbar! Allah akbar!" God is great! God is great!
'Then, above the triumphant cries of the infidel and the thunder of their horses, I hear a wail arising from the marshy land behind us. We all turn to see the camp followers fleeing towards us. The Turks have at last overcome the foot soldiers guarding the camp and are plundering the tents and wagons, and slaughtering the defenceless women and children who are trying to escape into the reeds and mud of the marsh.
'I look and see two Turks ride down a young woman from behind-one of them splits her skull, and the other tramples her body under the hooves of his horse. They whoop in triumph as they murder her, and then turn their horses and ride back into the screaming mass to kill again.
'Bohemond is alight with rage. He is a very berserker! Look at him! Screaming in defiance, he springs to the saddle, bellowing for his troops to fall back and protect the camp. The other lords are to fill in behind us and hold the line. Before his orders can spread to the flanks, the prince is already racing back to camp. Alas! The other troops see the centre of the line collapse, and they retreat.
'Oh, the fools! The fools! All at once, the whole army is in motion. War band after war band withdraws-falling away from the line by scores and hundreds. Since no one had been ordered to cover the mistaken withdrawal, the retreat swiftly becomes a rout. The Turks, seeing the line crumble at last, believe that the moment for the attack has come. They draw their swords and charge, riding us down from behind. Cutting us to pieces with their swords. The screams of the dying fill the air.
'The battle is lost. The end of the crusade is at hand.'
Lord Ranulf fell silent. He lay back sweating, his breath coming in gasps from the effort of telling his story. Murdo, kneeling at his side, leaned close and offered another drink. After a moment, he lowered the skin from his father's lips and asked, his voice small against the horror of the battle, 'What happened next?'
THIRTY-THREE
'The battle is lost,' said Ranulf after a time. The drug that kept the pain at bay began to make his voice thick. He spoke, and the words seemed to struggle up from the depths of torment, as from a deep well. 'We stand on our feet and make the sign of the cross over ourselves. We prepare to die.
'But Bohemond is not defeated. He struggles forward through the onrushing tide of retreating troops, striving to turn them to battle. Duke Robert and Count Stephen follow his lead-they gather what is left of their armies and take their places either side of Bohemond.
'We can hardly stand. Our swords are heavy in our hands.
'The sultan sees the victory now.
'They come at us. By the thousands they come. For the first time all that long day, we have a solid force before us. We grip our spears and meet the charge, making good account of the weapons in our hands. We are fighting for our lives!
'The sound is deafening. I hear nothing but a growling roar like angry thunder. Faces swim before me out of a mist of sweat and blood. I grip my spear but the haft grows slippery in my grasp, and it is soon carried away. I fumble for my sword… God help me! I cannot find it! My sword!
'There! I have it! I make to pull it free from the scabbard and I feel a sharp pain in my arm. I look to see blood spurting from a gash above my wrist. The infidel's sword is quick. It strikes again before I can defend myself. I see the curved blade flick out, and feel the sting again-it bites to the bone.
'My fingers will not close on the hilt. The blade spins from my grasp. I cover myself with my shield and await the final blow.
'But my attacker is gone! God in heaven, they are falling away. I look down the line to see the infidel fleeing the field. Why? What can this mean?
'There! Streaming down the hill! See them? They come! They come! Raymond and the other lords have found us at last. God be praised! We are saved!
'I see crusaders sweeping down the hillside. Who is it? Is it Duke Godfrey? It is! His column is first over the ridge. Riding at the head of his troops, he leads them into the unsuspecting Turks.
'The other lords ride fast behind. Count Raymond gains the ridge to the left of Godfrey, and Bishop Adhemar-the bishop himself leading a force of five hundred knights-appears in the valley by way of a narrow gap in the hills. Suddenly, I see them flying towards us from all sides.