Accompanied by Tacitius and his cohort of Byzantines, Duke Robert and Bohemond of Taranto headed the vanguard of the first half of the Crusader army on the march to the south at the end of June. Robert again asked us to act as a mobile corps, to do reconnaissance and act as liaison between the two armies. Other than the appalling heat, which was causing many casualties among the old and sick, the first two days were uneventful.
Sweyn had recovered well, as had Adela, although where the surgeons had had to shave her hair in order to stitch the gash on her head she now had a large bald patch. The ugly scar and three-inch-wide causeway from her forehead to the top of her head did little for her allure, but she cared not and covered it only when the midday sun became unbearable.
Then, early in the morning of the 1st of July 1097, a date I will remember all my days, Qilich Arslan and the massed ranks of the combined armies of all the Turks of Anatolia struck.
There had been no reports from our scouts, and our patrols had seen nothing untoward. We were in the centre of a wide, open plain with hills all around, not far from Dorylaeum, when we first became aware of an attack. The first hint was like a distant roll of thunder, but one that was continuous and quickly became much more ominous as the ground beneath us began to shudder.
‘Cavalry!’ shouted Hereward. ‘Thousands of them!’
With the formidable Bohemond acting as his mouthpiece, bellowing orders up and down the column, Robert coolly and calmly took control. Our entire force was corralled into a tight circle, with the baggage train, women, children and clerics in the middle, surrounded by a solid ring of knights and foot soldiers.
‘Like an English shield wall!’ cried Bohemond.
The order was repeated like an echo by every captain and sergeant.
Hereward rode up to Sweyn.
‘I hear you were the best horseman in Duke Robert’s service. Ride to Count Raymond’s army. Tell them to hurry.’
With that, Hereward slapped the flank of Sweyn’s horse to send him away at a gallop. Adela saw him go and was in his wake in seconds.
Hereward then signalled to me and Edwin. We rode over to Robert, who was still calmly marshalling his forces.
Hereward spoke first.
‘Robert, I have sent Sweyn and Adela off to alert Count Raymond.’
‘I have already sent riders.’
‘I’m sure you have, but I wanted at least two of my rapidly diminishing family to see out the day. What’s about to come over those hills is a horde the like of which would make God quake.’
Hereward then addressed the three of us.
‘You have troops to command. With your permission, I’d like to stay with Estrith, who is with the civilians, trying to calm them. I abandoned her and her sister once before on the cusp of a battle. I don’t want to do it again.’
Robert turned to me as we watched the great man ride away. ‘Was he as fearsome as the storytellers would have us believe?’
‘No, much more so. And, I suspect, he still is.’
Hereward was right about the impending onslaught. The sun was still low in the east, so what crested the ridge and poured over the hills beneath appeared like a wall of water in silhouette. Like the flow of hot pitch, it filled the gullies and valleys first, then spread out over the flatter ground until the whole perspective of our eastern quadrant was made black with men and horses. Even the green of their Islamic war banners became menacing dark shadows against the glare.
The sound became deafening as the chilling war cries of the Turks added a piercing shrill to the ever-deepening thunder of thousands of galloping horses. I had never seen anything like it and estimated we were facing an army at least twice the size of ours, perhaps as many as 60,000, not counting the ones who had yet to come into view.
In an extraordinary illustration of Norman military discipline, Robert and Bohemond and all their senior knights rode around the defensive ring, appealing for courage and calm. Robert issued a command to help morale, which was repeated by every Crusader present: ‘Stand fast together, trusting in Christ and the victory of the Holy Cross!’
There was sheer terror in the centre, where the monks and nuns said prayers and heard the confessions of the non-combatants. Volley after volley of arrows, like showers of heavy rain, fell from the clear-blue sky, killing hundreds, especially the civilians without armour. Javelins and spears flew through the air, hurled from horseback by the Turks with great force and deadly accuracy, killing anyone in their path, with or without armour. But they were only the pinpricks of the battle; the real pain was inflicted by a whirlwind of slashing sabres as the Turkish cavalry tried to hack its way through our defensive ring.
