Chapter X: The Conquest of Crete

The scene now shifts to that magnificent island of southern Greece, whence in prehistoric ages so many germs of ancient civilization had been carried to the main-land. The northern headlands and bays of Crete were still wrapped in dim twilight, while a glorious sun of July had tinted the topmost crags of Mount Ida, and its beams gradually swept downward on to the lower ranges, upland pasturages, woodlands, and teeming meadows of that beautiful island. From point to point, as the day rose, the eye caught sight of bands of swarthy Africans, for the most part in white tunics, armed with spear and sword, while mailed emirs in turbans and snowy burnoose hurriedly passed from post to post across the glens. Light-clad messengers on quick Arab barbs dashed across the open spaces or scrambled up the rocky path to some castle on its pinnacle of stone. Far as the eye could reach the whole coast seemed alive with excitement and moving hosts.

From the bay that faces the petty islet then called Dia, a small band of Arab spearmen were hurriedly dragging three bound prisoners to an eminence which commanded a range of view both east and west. There was displayed on a lofty lance-head the streaming standard of the chief emir, around whom were grouped camels and barbs with embroidered housings, mailed warriors, and ebon footmen from the Soudan. When the party had dragged their captives to the commander, by a gesture he ordered them to be brought to his presence, and called for an interpreter to put his question in the Greek tongue. The Emir Abd-el-Aziz, the governor of Crete, looked what he was, one of the heroes of Islam in the long death-grapple which for seven centuries and a half the Crescent maintained against the Cross of Rome. He well knew the vital importance of defending the island which his creed had held for one hundred and thirty years. All his demands for help from the Asian side had been paralyzed by the internal confusions of the caliphate of the East. The urgent embassy he had despatched to the great Abd-er-Rahman, the caliph of Spain, had not yet returned. Left with his single island force to meet the mighty host and navy of Rome, he strained every nerve to resist the Christians to the death.

"Who are these men, and where were they taken?" he asked the leader of the band who had brought them--the captain, in fact, of one of the corsairs which had scoured the Ægean Sea with such success.

"Last night," said the seamen, "as we were watching the advance of the misbelievers, we sighted three of his despatch-boats on the lookout for a good landing. We cut off one of them, and after a stout fight dragged the survivors ashore, Allah be praised!"

"What have you learned of the enemy's strength?" said the emir.

"We have sighted three squadrons, each of which is believed to contain more than one hundred sail. And they are within a few hours of the coast."

"Require the prisoners to report the strength of the enemy and the place where they seek to land. If they speak, they shall be free to serve the one God and His Prophet. If they refuse, send for the provost marshal and his men."

The alternative was duly interpreted to the wretched captives, bleeding with their wounds and panting from the haste with which they had been dragged. A smile of defiance was their only answer. The two foremost prisoners were seamen from Chios; the third was no soldier, but a landsman from Thessalonica, pressed into the service of the oars.

One of the emir's staff now stepped forward and took charge of the question. "One!" he shouted; and as the prisoner neither spoke nor moved, the provost marshal's men slashed off his ears and his nose. Not a groan escaped the prisoner.

"Two!" he shouted, and within two minutes more the wretch was flung on the ground and his eyes were gouged out in sight of his shuddering comrades.

Silence ensued, broken only by the moans of the sufferer with his muttered prayer to the Mother of God and the stifled groans of the two who were awaiting the same fate.

"Three!" and all around held their breath to listen; but no sound passed the Chian's lips, and he bit his lips to choke his moan. A deathly pause followed. "Christ receive me," muttered the man. Then, with a sign from the captain, a scimitar crashed through the victim's neck, and his mutilated head rolled to the feet of his companions in agony.

The sickening scene was repeated with the second Chian, who suffered and died with the same stoical silence.

But as his head rolled towards the Thessalonian prisoner and covered him with blood, the courage of the third man gave way, and with a shriek he offered to disclose all he knew.

A long and close examination, carried on with no small persuasion from the instruments of torture and mutilation so liberally displayed by the provost marshal and his men, at length wrung from the prisoner a full and fairly accurate description of the forces led by Nicephorus, and also of the place and time in which they might be expected to disembark.

The emir now called a council of war, and, giving his lieutenants his final orders, sent mounted men in every direction to marshal his host for the coming struggle. The bay, with its sandy beach on which the prisoners had been brought ashore, seemed the spot where the Christian host would attempt to land. And Abd-el-Aziz with promptitude and skill arranged his forces in a circle round the amphitheatre which commanded the bay. He had hardly finished his dispositions when the great fleet was descried in the offing, as in three separate squadrons it bore down to concentrate in the bay. Shouts of triumph, war-songs from a thousand throats, chants to Allah, and the name of his Prophet mingled with the sound of horses and camels and the orders and incitements of the emirs in command.

Slowly and in uniform mass the Roman fleet moved on, till it filled the entire bay, and came so near the shore that the voices of the captains could be heard on land. The huge chelandion, The Archangel Michael, the flag-ship of the commander, was in the centre, and from it there was now sent forth a powerful barge propelled by twenty-four oarsmen, on which stood Nicephorus in person to direct the entire movement. For a space, both mighty hosts waited in silence, watching for the first opportunity to strike. Then Nicephorus, bareheaded and unarmed--for he had laid aside his helmet, corselet, greaves, and his spear and sword--stood up at the prow of his barge, and, raising his hands aloft, and gazing upward to heaven, offered in the sight of Christian and infidel his solemn dedication of his force to Christ.

"Almighty Creator of this Thy universe, behold the army of Thy people at the frontier of Thy enemies. Look down on them. Thou who canst destroy with a breath the thousand towers of the ungodly, strengthen the hearts of Thy chosen soldiers. Root out from them any craven fear. Bring to shame the promises of the false prophets who set themselves against Thee. Show forth this day who is the true Peter and who is the author of false lies. Make manifest, O Lord, who it is that is the camel-driver, who is the profligate, who is the contriver of all craft and abomination!"

Such was the prayer reported in the iambics of Theodosius the deacon, who was present in the expedition as chaplain on the high admiral's flag-ship, and was full of thoughts to adorn the immortal _Iliad_ he designed on "_The Capture of Crete_" in five cantos, which have come down to us after a thousand years. And in the same veracious poem we learn that the ever-victorious commander of the crusade then caused himself to be fully armed. He put on his golden corselet and plumed helmet, and, equipped with his buckler and mighty spear, he bade the oarsmen row his barge along the line of battle-ships, while he thus addressed his men in that voice of thunder which they knew and loved:

"Soldiers, captains, my friends, my children, fellow-servants of the Most High, ye who are the sinews of Rome and liegemen of our sovereign lord the king, look at this fair shore and island, with its rich and fragrant pastures, valleys, hills, and bright towns. Once all these were part and parcel of our Rome, our fatherland--once they were in the realm of our king. Once, I say, in years gone by, till sloth and vice betrayed them to the enemy, drove out our people and gave them to the infidel. Charge these barbarians, then, with a stout heart. Take their cities with your swords. Take their women, take their children, and their children's children. Ye have nothing to fear from their puny darts. Ye need not be amazed if they do draw your blood. Wash out your sins with the red blood of the misbelievers--these blaspheming savages. They who fall will be honored by our lord and master, who will amply provide for their women and children. This is my last word, men. Hold your shields firm and close. Clinch your spears well in front. Show yourselves true sons of Rome. Let not that great name be put to shame by you!"

While the chief had been speaking, the Saracen battalions had rapidly drawn down to the shore, and were now arrayed in long, dense lines round the bay, both horse and foot, prepared to contest the landing; but their javelins were not powerful enough to reach the ships.

"Bowmen, advance!" now roared the admiral, and a hundred captains re-echoed the order along the line. Instantly a swarm of barges advanced with long sweeps to the beach, each holding fifty bowmen from the Thracian and Dyrrachian highlands, armed with the most effective weapons of that age. These poured upon the Saracens' lines a rain of arrows and bolts so dense and deadly that it completely broke the ranks of the defenders. They fell back sullenly from bank to bank, leaving the shore strewn with dead and wounded men, horses, camels, and mules.

The gallant emir now reformed his broken forces on a higher range of hills, just out of bow-shot from the ships. Then they beheld the advance of the main Christian host. The ships were driven straight on to the sandy shore, and from them descended masses of heavy-armed foot-soldiers, with round bucklers, long spears, and massive battle-axes. Forming up in close phalanx, these Macedonian guards, in hauberk and round helmets, fixed shield to shield like an iron wall, and advanced in dense array to the charge. They were led on the right wing by the Russians and Norsemen of the imperial guard, whose huge stature, fair, long hair, and gleaming halberds formed a strange contrast to the lighter arms of the swarthy and wiry children of the desert.

On came the Roman phalanx without a pause, for the slighter javelins and missiles of the Saracen could make but small impression on the closely locked wall of the Varangian shields. In the midst of each battalion was seen a bishop with his canons in stole, alb, and chasuble, bearing aloft a crucifix of gold, ornamented with jewels and enamel, and a fragment of the true Cross. They broke forth into a hymn to the Mother of God, whom they invoked to lead them on to victory. And in the hymn the mailed infantry of Rome joined; and from ten thousand throats broke forth the prayer to Christ to aid His soldiers against the miscreant railers of His holy name. So they marched steadily on to the foot of the hills, whereon the Hagarenes were massed. Then at the sound of "Charge!" with fierce yells and shouts of "Rome!" "Christ!" and "Mary!" they rushed up the heights, the warlike and poetic deacon tells us, "like mountain-lions," in his enthusiasm as he watched them from his barge.

The lighter army of the emir could not stand the shock of this tremendous phalanx, so far heavier in men, arms, and numbers, and with all their courage and skill they wavered and fell back. Then a sight, strange, indeed, to these children of the desert, struck wonder and dismay into their ranks. It was a new device to which Nicephorus and his engineers had given all their thoughts. The bulky transports of shallow draft, on which the cavalry had been stowed, were driven ashore till they grounded on the sand. Their bulwarks opened, and from them were lowered by cranes broad and stout bridges, which had been slung to the masts, so as to form a gangway from the deck to the beach. Thence poured out dense squadrons of cavalry fully equipped with lance and mail. They scoured the plain from end to end as they slew the broken fugitives and the helpless wounded. Foremost among these terrible horsemen were the cataphracti or cuirassiers, mostly Sarmatians or Anatolians, from the Asian steppes, clad in close-fitting coats and greaves of mail from head to foot, and using alternately the bow, the sword, the light lance, and a small, round shield. These nimble and expert troopers cut up the broken ranks of the Saracens, trampled down all who had turned to fly, and left no living thing on the field where they had passed.

In the midst of the roar of battle the poetic deacon clung to the commander-in-chief, who, now on his charger, and with his staff, commanded the cavalry in person. It was even now his chief care to prevent his forces, in their heat, from becoming too far scattered over the broken country. He knew that with his vast fleet of transports and barges the sea was a danger greater than the Saracen army. This was now effectually repelled and shattered. The whole ground they had occupied was strewn with their dead. Far as the eye could see, every village was in flames and every post of the enemy was sacked and levelled. Galloping to the nearest homestead, Nicephorus sternly bade his men reform in order to re-embark. He ordered them to cease the wanton slaughter of women and children, whom the Sarmatians and Anatolians were engaged in massacring like sheep. With his own hand he cut down a ferocious Cappadocian whom he saw in the act of hacking to pieces an infant.

At this moment the general was attracted by the shrieks of a woman who dashed out of one of the houses, the roof of which was already on fire. She was closely pursued by a band of wild, irregular horsemen from the Caucasian border, who, furious and blood-stained, were following her like hounds after their prey. Her dress, which had been that of the Moors, was torn in shreds, and only half concealed her fair limbs and graceful form. She rushed screaming to the presence of the general, whom she addressed in gasps, but in the pure Greek tongue. "Save me, keep back these wretches!" she cried. "I am a Roman, the daughter of a senator, and a worshipper of Christ and His Mother." "Who art thou, my daughter?" said the chief. "I am Theodora, the only child of Cedrenus, once governor of Cappadocia. I was captured by corsairs while on a voyage across the Ægean Sea to join my father, dragged to this island, where I have been for two years the slave of the Emir Nazireddin, whose house these savage men have sacked and burned."

"Hast thou forsworn Christ and His Holy Mother?" asked the chief.

"Never have I done so in thought, word, or deed, most noble lord, though I have been forced to submit to the indignities and to listen to the blasphemies of these unbelievers. My master, who had wives of his own creed, cared little what were the thoughts of a slave, or what were her prayers."

"Are there many Roman women, Christians and virtuous, in like case?"

"There are hundreds in every town along the coast, who have been seized in ships at sea or carried off from the storming of a seaport in the empire. This island must now contain at least twenty thousand Roman women such as I am, forced to wear the garb of Islam and to serve the followers of the Prophet--all young--for the rest they kill off at sight as useless encumbrances."

"Go in safety and in honor, my daughter," said Nicephorus, gently, "these officers of mine shall see to your protection." His brow darkened, and he called round him his chief officers and secretaries. He said:

"See that this orgy be stopped and bring back my army to our ships. This Christian and innocent girl is the daughter of my friend and comrade--whose soul may God receive in mercy--and she was like to be outraged and massacred by my own men under my very eyes. Our work in the Lord is not half done until we save and rescue these miserable daughters of our people and bring them back to our country and to Christ."

Nicephorus, whose life had been passed in continual battle with the sons of Hagar, was far from sharing in the wild exultation of his soldiers; nor did he at all believe that his first victory, however brilliant, was enough to complete the campaign. He well knew the courage, the resolution, the fanaticism of the Saracens of the East, and especially of the race which had held Crete for nearly a century and a half against all the power of Rome. He took up fortified positions on the northern coast, supported by his fleet, which blockaded every port. He sent forth strong detachments to secure the principal centres. And he despatched a powerful force of cavalry and mounted infantry under Pastilas, a general of valor and experience, into the heart of the island, with strict orders to keep constant watch both day and night against surprises, and to practise the utmost caution against the wiles of the treacherous foe.

A terrible blow justified his warning. For days Pastilas had been sending despatches to report that his squadrons had swept everything before them and had seized immense booty--horses, camels, cattle, provisions, and valuables without limit--and were concentrating in the great central plain, whence they would dominate the whole island.

Nicephorus sat late one night in his tent pondering his plans with a map and studying reports of his scouts, when his officers gave notice of a mounted messenger advancing at a gallop. In a moment the horseman, bedraggled, torn, and bleeding as he was, flung himself from his foaming and exhausted mount, and threw himself down before the chief.

"A great disaster, my lord general, an ambush, a rout of our force, of which I am one of the few survivors. Our commander and all his officers slain. Everything and every man the prey of the Hagarenes. They drew our whole force into a trap, as it passed through a wooded defile, and surrounded us on every side. Pastilas died fighting like a lion at bay. But his entire command is destroyed, save a few fugitives, of whom I am one."

"And my orders?" said the chief. "Where were the scouts, the outposts, the eyes of the general?"

"It is not for me, a plain captain of the Defensors, with the reserve, stationed far to the rear, whence I could see and learn little, to pass judgment on my commander. And I fear me much that no one of his officers in the main battle survives. Pastilas had captured and dispersed scores of the enemy's detachments, had swept the land without a check, had seized horses, stores, slaves, women, wine, and gold; and his men could not be held from revelry, riot, and sloth."

Nicephorus listened in silence, with lips drawn tight, and breathing hard. He dismissed the messenger with a gesture, and groaned to himself. "Thus was Crete lost to Rome by our ancestors. Thus will Rome be lost to Christ, unless His people turn their hearts to understand the desperate war they have to wage with the False Prophet. A brave man was Pastilas, who has served Rome and God right well until this day. May he find mercy above! On earth he will be remembered as one who brought this cause a second time to the verge of ruin."

The chief had hardly overestimated the gravity of the situation. The Saracen hosts were now all drawn into their vast central citadel of Chandax, whence they issued in continual sorties and raids both by day and night. The tremendous fortress was closely beleaguered, but the strain of so great a siege wore down the Roman army, decimated by three successive blows--the overwhelming of Pastilas, with the flower of the cavalry, next the incessant sorties and ambuscades, and, lastly, fever, cold, and want of food. The magnificent host that had set forth so proudly in midsummer from the Golden Horn had dwindled to a third in the winter, and the immense stores it carried were exhausted. The Saracen stronghold was indeed at its last extremity. But all through that terrible winter it was hard to say if the defenders or the besiegers were in the worst plight or were the nearer to famine and exhaustion. Easter of 961 A.D. was at hand, when, at the urgent demand of Nicephorus, a new levy was sent out with adequate supplies under the command of Basil Digenes, the Acritas, the chivalrous warden of the marches. It was, indeed, sorely needed.

The vast stronghold of the Saracens of Crete looked as proud and as menacing as ever. Chandax--so named from the fosse, within which the first Mussulman conquerors of the island had intrenched themselves one hundred and thirty years before--rose from a precipitous rock overhanging the northern coast of the island; and in successive generations it had been raised to be one of the most powerful fortresses of the Eastern world. Its huge walls were defended with a long chain of lofty towers, from the battlements of which swarthy bowmen shot down every living thing that approached the circuit, while the gates and posterns would suddenly pour forth by day or by night bands of light horse or foot which harassed the camp, burned the engines, and cut off the pickets.

The Moslem fortress was now closely invested and cut off from all succor by a range of trenches and earthworks running round it from sea to sea, and it was attacked night and day by every device known to the siege-train of the tenth century, an art in which the Byzantines had preserved and greatly extended the traditions and machines of old Rome. All attempts to scale the lofty curtain with ladders had been beaten off with fearful loss, after desperate combats at all hours of day or night. Protected by mantlets, hurdles wattled with osiers and covered with hides, the besiegers had pushed on their works close up to the walls, which they now battered with huge rams and pierced with sharp-headed bores. The rams were worked each by some sixty men, who were protected by a pent-house of timber covered with hides. The bore had already loosened blocks in the base of the wall, but the defenders within continually crushed the ram or bore with massive stones, or seized the head with forked beams, which caught it in a vise, while the rain of missiles from above, with boiling pitch and every form of combustible, cut down the assailants and destroyed their engines. The losses within the city were equally severe. Protected by pent-houses, like the rams and bores, but farther behind their earthworks, the Romans plied their huge catapults, which hurled masses of rock and iron into the fortress, keeping up an incessant bombardment. They also used the balista, an immense fixed cross-bow, which shot bolts with extraordinary force and precision upon the battlements, whereon nothing living could stand exposed without certain destruction.

From morn till night the commander-in-chief, with his principal officers, inspected the works, ordered some new device, or searched for some weak spot in the defence. It was after a strenuous day in the seventh month of the siege, as the sun was setting in crimson glory behind the spurs of Mount Ida, that Nicephorus and his trusted Digenes Acritas were watching the success of a new engine of assault that had been prepared with great pains. It was a tower of three stages, constructed of massive beams protected by frames and hides and crowned with a stout roof. It was now being rolled forward on broad wheels to afford means of scaling the walls. The assault at this moment was a terrific sight. The catapults and balistas were pouring out on the ramparts stones, bolts, and bombs filled with the famous Greek fire. The earthworks of the besiegers were garnished with poles, on which stood impaled the ghastly heads of Saracens slain in the sorties. From time to time the ferocious ribaldry of the camp led the brutal soldiery to hurl into the city these grinning trophies of their slaughter, to appall their living comrades. The horrid jest of this day had been to hurl from the largest of the catapults a living mule, in derision of the famine within the citadel; and the Roman army roared with delight as the wretched brute dashed quivering down upon the loftiest tower.

Nicephorus and his staff anxiously watched the slow advance of the great wooden turret filled with troops ready to swing bridges, planks, and ladders on to the rampart. The whizzing of the missiles, the shouts of the Romans, answered by barbaric yells from the walls, the roar of the flames as, one after another, the engines of the defenders or of the assailants caught fire, made a truly infernal din. "See! general," called out the warden of the marches, "the turret is within twenty feet of the wall and on a level with the rampart--fifteen!--ten feet! Down with the scaling-bridge!" he roared. And crashing went the gangway from the front of the pent-house. But as he spoke, the soft earth in the newly filled fosse whereon the turret stood gave way. The gangway fell short, the turret toppled and split. The besiegers hurled on it bolts, rocks, boiling pitch, and fire-balls; and presently it collapsed with a sudden crash, and fell in a heap, mangling and burying the men inside it and beneath it, and at once it blazed up a huge mass of burning timber. "No," said the field-marshal, "as I feared, no turret lofty enough to overtop these walls can be brought up to work on such a ground as this. If rams and turrets fail us, we must fall back or resort to a mine."

The destruction of the great, movable turret, on the success of which such hopes and fears had been placed, caused the ranks of assailants and defenders to pause for a space, while both were watching the effect of the blazing pile. A lull ensued in the storm of battle, which was interrupted by a strange incident such as the superstition of that age invested with supernatural effect. On the battlement of the topmost tower there now appeared the gaunt, dishevelled figure of the wild woman who had long been known to both armies as the "Witch of Nejd." The Saracens devoutly believed, and the Christians with terror admitted, that by intercourse with the infernal powers, and by incantations that she inherited from Sabasan and pagan ancestors, she could work spells on those whom she devoted to her Satanic spirits. Her long, black hair hung round her loosely, in wild folds. Her bony arms held aloft a brazier, into which she dropped aromatic drugs, and her loose robes floated in the wind as she shrieked out her maledictions on the Christian soldiers beneath:

"Blaspheming followers of the Nazarene!" she screamed, "see the foretaste of the blazing ruin that awaits your souls, even as fire is now consuming your ruined turret. Each flash from this pan is the answer of my Lord, the mighty Sheitan of the world below, that ye and yours--your women, your children, your cattle, and your goods--shall be utterly consumed. And you, proud, bloody, lecherous emir of the Nazarenes, you shall be slaughtered like an ox on your own bed by the foul woman to whom you have sold yourself. In the name of the prince of hell, I devote you all to death on this field, and to burning torment in the world to come!"

"Shoot down the crazy crone!" cried the Lord Digenes. "Who need listen to her raving? Why do the dogs cower at the screaming of a mad gypsy?" But not a man stirred. The guards, the officers, even the general himself felt a thrill of awe, which they could neither explain nor suppress.

Silence ensued, till it was broken by the yells of the maniac, who had now worked herself up into a delirious spasm, which in that age passed for the inspiration of one possessed by demons. Leo the deacon and Theodosius the deacon devoutly believed in her diabolic mission. Both solemnly relate the tale.

Again she screamed aloud: "Accursed are ye, sons of the Crucified Impostor! Your bolts cannot harm me, the chosen paramour of Sheitan himself; nor can your lying priests, nor the wanton, the Mother of your God, avail to save you. See me stand bare and unprotected in the sight of your rotten shafts, bare even as when my lord from hell visits me! you cannot touch a hair of my head nor the skin of my body! Shame, death, torment is your portion here and hereafter! _Seeph--echeimat--ischarop--rhasan--sennet--midene--chaët--iphesane!_"

With these words, which no man in the Roman host could comprehend, but which Theodosius solemnly rehearses, words which sounded to them as the knell of their soul's damnation, the maniac fell into a series of convulsions; and thrice repeating her "_Seeph-echeimat_," she leaped on to the upper battlement, and then tore off her garments, which she flung down in derision into the blazing heap below, and there stood shrieking, in face of the two armies, covered only with her long, black tresses.

"Shoot the blaspheming witch!" cried a voice here and there; and many an archer raised his bow, but with the fear of the powers of darkness in his heart, drew back without daring to take aim.

"_Seeph--echeimat!_" was yelled out a third time. And at last an archer (it is said from the Mongol mercenaries, who held Moslem or Christian mysteries equally cheap) levelled his weapon steadily at the witch as she stood with her bare body lighted up by the blazing pile below. The shaft pierced her breast, and with a shriek that rang through the Moslem fortress and the Christian camp, the hag fell headlong from the tower into the burning mass of the fallen turret, and was there consumed to ashes--almost before the blood had ceased to flow from the corpse.