Crusade

‘It is good to see you and your men. We have a few problems; if we let too many more get ashore, we’ll be overrun. My archers are trying to stop any more ships from coming in, and my cavalry are driving a wedge into their beachhead, but they must have five hundred men ashore already. I need you to support the cavalry, try to split their force in two, and then aim to cut off their retreat to the sea.’

We rode down into the fray and were soon in the midst of vicious hand-to-hand fighting. The sheer weight of numbers and the mass of bodies, both living and dead, made progress slow. I looked over to check on my comrades — all were flailing and hacking in a sea of carnage, benefitting from their hours of training. With her helmet down, Adela looked no different to anybody else and was holding her own. Edwin and Sweyn were close to her, each watching her flank, while Sweyn was easily distinguished by the speed of his blade and agility in the saddle.

Ibn Hamed called him over.

‘Look, to the left, the two ships making for shore — the Varangian Guard, the Emperor’s personal guard — there must be two hundred of them. Ride to the Count, tell him to direct his archers at them; they mustn’t be allowed to come ashore.’

With Adela and Edwin in his wake, Sweyn rode like the wind to deliver his message, while Ibn Hamed and I protected our position. I was shocked by what I saw as the ships carrying the Varangian Guard drew closer.

‘They look like Englishmen! They’re carrying shields and axes like housecarls!’

‘Many of them are. Norse, Danes, Balts, English; they are highly paid mercenaries, the best infantry you’ll ever see. The one at the prow of the first ship, giving orders in the scarlet cloak, that’s the Captain of the Guard, the finest soldier in your world and mine.’

He looked English too. I could see long blond hair trailing beneath his helmet, and the distinctive decorated circular shield of a housecarl. Then he fell backwards, struck by an arrow which pierced his hauberk at the top of his shoulder, and then by another which hit him in the chest.

‘That is a piece of very good fortune. The Captain of the Varangians leads the army unless the Emperor is present. We have just killed their general.’

Ibn Hamed was smiling broadly. Arrows were now falling on the Varangians like hailstones and the order was issued for sails to be unfurled and for the oarsmen to row the Byzantine ships away. As soon as the men on the beaches saw their fleet turn seawards, there was panic and a mass retreat towards the ships. Roger immediately ordered his own cavalry squadrons and all his reserves to attack.

The Norman destriers flowed into the bay like a tidal bore. It was a mass slaughter. The Byzantines had no defence and a stark choice: stand and fight in a hopeless final redoubt, or discard their weapons and armour and try to swim to the ships.

Most chose the latter option. Many were drowned, and the rest were killed by the arrows and quarrels from the unremitting onslaught unleashed by the Norman archers and bowmen.

Those who chose to stand their ground fared little better. Initially, the separate themes formed their own redoubts, the Macedonians distinctive with their black-plumed helmets, the Thracians in their blue tunics and the Greeks wielding small, highly decorated shields. But soon, as numbers diminished rapidly, the three redoubts became one.

After about an hour, with Byzantine numbers reduced to under a hundred, Count Roger ordered his men to cease the attack. He then stood high in his stirrups and spoke to his foes in fluent Greek.

‘I offer you quarter. Lay down your weapons, and you will not be harmed or enslaved. You are brave men, the most noble of a great army; you are free to find passage to your homes or to stay here in Sicily and make new lives. All are welcome here: Muslims, Christians, Jews. Our taxes are fair and our people are happy. You are even free to join my own army — we will gladly have you, if you will swear your allegiance to Sicily. It is your choice.’

In the many battles these men had fought, such generous terms were rare — especially the offer to continue their lives as professional soldiers. There was a little muttering in the Byzantine ranks, but it did not take long for swords and shields to be thrown on to the ground to the sound of widespread cheering from Count Roger’s forces.

The Count ordered that the Byzantines be fed and quartered and rode among them to greet as many as he could. The effect he had on them was charismatic, and many rushed forward to kneel before him and kiss his ring. I reflected that we had been very fortunate so far in Sicily; we had met two remarkable men and found a haven of just and benign rule.

The Count soon made his way over to us.

‘Ibn Hamed, I owe you a great debt. Your eagle eye in spotting the Varangians and alerting me turned the battle.’