coming.
‘Where is the one-time Emperor Nikephoros now? In a monastery praying that the man who swore that oath does not suddenly see cause to have him strangled. I will make the pledge that Alexius demands and I will hold to it as long as he does the same. That is the warning I sent him in that letter to Bouillon, which, to ease your curiosity, he had plainly read.’
Bohemund knew his nephew was troubled and he was aware why: the younger man had more fear of divine retribution than he but it was not just that. If his own motives in coming on Crusade were mixed, those of Tancred were less so. He could recall only too clearly the way his nephew had sought to persuade him to take up the Crusade outside the walls of Amalfi, talking of the opportunities for wealth and plunder, never stating the other possibility: that a young warrior witha strong arm and a small inheritance, the fiefs of Lecce and Monteroni, might carve out for himself in the recovered territories possessions of his own to rank with those of his de Hauteville forbearers.
‘I cannot swear, Uncle.’
‘You do not have to, I will swear for myself and the forces I command.’
‘That includes me.’
‘It might not always be so, Tancred.’ Their eyes locked for a long time, until the young man nodded to say he understood: one day he would strike out on his own behalf and with his uncle’s blessing. ‘Go back to Heboomon and prepare to lead the army across to the Gulf of Nicomedia, I will deal with the Emperor Alexius.’
Bohemund did not wait for Boutoumites to come to him; he was outside the Blachernae Gate at first light with his
familia
knights, helmeted, in chain mail, wearing his great sword, his snow-white surplice with the bold red cross and loudly demanding entry, which was granted but not to the audience chamber. Knowing that they must wait until all was made ready they did so in the Church of St Mary, on their knees before the shrine to her memory, like knights at vigil over a dead leader. Bohemund was aware as he stayed still in his devotions that a stream of the curious came in to cast eyes on this epitome of the Norman warrior until eventually the messenger came.
The ceremony was the same as that attended by Godfrey de Bouillon and his captains, the same clutch of courtiers, the same guards at the pillars and Alexius on his dais in full regalia. Called upon to come before the Emperor he and his followers, still wearing spurs, made a noisy entry to the airy and spacious chamber to kneel before Alexius, swords acting as crosses, where the same oath was required and given, the relics brought forward to Bohemund to be kissed in turn.
‘It pleases me that we are at peace, Count Bohemund.’
‘I too,
Imperator
.’ Alexius could not help but smile; if Bohemund was not about to address him as ‘Highness’ he had found a way to show his respect with the ancient Roman title. What followed was not so pleasing. ‘And I ask that to seal such a peace you swear, on these same holy relics, that you shall give to our Crusade all the aid that is at your disposal to provide.’
If that set up a buzz amongst the eunuchs, it infuriated Alexius and he made no attempt to hide his anger. ‘You doubt that I will do so?’
‘No, but it would ease my soul if I knew that you were as committed to me as I am now committed to you.’
The gesture that fetched to the dais the thigh bone of St Peter was a sharp one and, with a glare at Bohemund, Alexius bent to kiss it, but he did so in silence, no words were spoken. Unbidden Bohemund stood and his men followed.
‘My army is ready to march, all they require is to be told where to embark. I would beg to be allowed to stay in the city to ensure that the supplies we need with which to campaign are bought and stored, also that ships are available to carry them to where they need to go, which I will be right in assuming is Nicaea.’
‘That must be the first objective,’ Alexius replied, still seething.
‘Where is the one-time Emperor Nikephoros now? In a monastery praying that the man who swore that oath does not suddenly see cause to have him strangled. I will make the pledge that Alexius demands and I will hold to it as long as he does the same. That is the warning I sent him in that letter to Bouillon, which, to ease your curiosity, he had plainly read.’
Bohemund knew his nephew was troubled and he was aware why: the younger man had more fear of divine retribution than he but it was not just that. If his own motives in coming on Crusade were mixed, those of Tancred were less so. He could recall only too clearly the way his nephew had sought to persuade him to take up the Crusade outside the walls of Amalfi, talking of the opportunities for wealth and plunder, never stating the other possibility: that a young warrior witha strong arm and a small inheritance, the fiefs of Lecce and Monteroni, might carve out for himself in the recovered territories possessions of his own to rank with those of his de Hauteville forbearers.
‘I cannot swear, Uncle.’
‘You do not have to, I will swear for myself and the forces I command.’
‘That includes me.’
‘It might not always be so, Tancred.’ Their eyes locked for a long time, until the young man nodded to say he understood: one day he would strike out on his own behalf and with his uncle’s blessing. ‘Go back to Heboomon and prepare to lead the army across to the Gulf of Nicomedia, I will deal with the Emperor Alexius.’
Bohemund did not wait for Boutoumites to come to him; he was outside the Blachernae Gate at first light with his
familia
knights, helmeted, in chain mail, wearing his great sword, his snow-white surplice with the bold red cross and loudly demanding entry, which was granted but not to the audience chamber. Knowing that they must wait until all was made ready they did so in the Church of St Mary, on their knees before the shrine to her memory, like knights at vigil over a dead leader. Bohemund was aware as he stayed still in his devotions that a stream of the curious came in to cast eyes on this epitome of the Norman warrior until eventually the messenger came.
The ceremony was the same as that attended by Godfrey de Bouillon and his captains, the same clutch of courtiers, the same guards at the pillars and Alexius on his dais in full regalia. Called upon to come before the Emperor he and his followers, still wearing spurs, made a noisy entry to the airy and spacious chamber to kneel before Alexius, swords acting as crosses, where the same oath was required and given, the relics brought forward to Bohemund to be kissed in turn.
‘It pleases me that we are at peace, Count Bohemund.’
‘I too,
Imperator
.’ Alexius could not help but smile; if Bohemund was not about to address him as ‘Highness’ he had found a way to show his respect with the ancient Roman title. What followed was not so pleasing. ‘And I ask that to seal such a peace you swear, on these same holy relics, that you shall give to our Crusade all the aid that is at your disposal to provide.’
If that set up a buzz amongst the eunuchs, it infuriated Alexius and he made no attempt to hide his anger. ‘You doubt that I will do so?’
‘No, but it would ease my soul if I knew that you were as committed to me as I am now committed to you.’
The gesture that fetched to the dais the thigh bone of St Peter was a sharp one and, with a glare at Bohemund, Alexius bent to kiss it, but he did so in silence, no words were spoken. Unbidden Bohemund stood and his men followed.
‘My army is ready to march, all they require is to be told where to embark. I would beg to be allowed to stay in the city to ensure that the supplies we need with which to campaign are bought and stored, also that ships are available to carry them to where they need to go, which I will be right in assuming is Nicaea.’
‘That must be the first objective,’ Alexius replied, still seething.
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