Free Prince of Legend by Jack Ludlow Page A

course, and impressive enough to cow anyone who came upon it as a friend. More importantly it would astound the representative of an enemy come to parley.
    Yet it was not all Byzantium; there were Franks in attendance too, men who had come east to join the Crusade and, it seemed, expected to do so in the company of the imperial host, among them Guy de Hauteville, Duke of Amalfi, half-brother to Bohemund and a man well known to William of Grandmesnil. If he was greeted with nothing but eye contact – protocol denied any other way – it was as a friend. The two arrivals having made their obeisance with deep bows, Alexius immediately enquired as to from where they had come.
    ‘I from Alexandretta, Highness,’ replied Blois, adding to an immediately raised and quizzical eyebrow, ‘where I was recovering from a long and debilitating illness.’
    ‘Cared for by three hundred lances, I am told,’ Alexius replied,though he was careful to add to that there had also been mendicant monks to bring the Lord of Blois back to full health.
    The eyes of Count Stephen flicked towards Tacitus then, the half-breed general with the golden nose Alexius had sent south with the Crusade to ensure imperial interests were served; such information very likely came from him. However it was imparted or gilded it told Blois that the Emperor knew what had been happening around Antioch, while the temptation to refer to the fact that Tacitus and his men had also left the siege at much the same time had to be resisted. He would have done so under orders from the man on the throne.
    ‘And you, Grandmesnil?’ Alexius asked.
    A falsehood now so well honed by repetition came out without hesitation, William looking the Emperor right in the eye, both to give credence to what he was saying and to seek to discern if he was being believed. That was a waste of time with a man like Alexius Comnenus, so well trained, as he had to be, in masking his feelings.
    ‘And how do you see their prospects in Antioch now?’
    Such a question demanded a response larded with both gravity and sorrow, both of which Grandmesnil managed in abundance, lent more of both by the speaker’s belief than it was true.
    ‘Your Eminence, I cannot see how they are still holding the walls against the might of the army of Kerbogha. I say this not from any lack of valour on the part of my confrères, but merely from the belief that they are in want of the means of sustenance to keep on fighting. Most of their mounts have either died or are so weak they are useless. When I left there was nothing in the grain stores but an echo, and as for meat, none was to be had even for those like my Lord of Blois, with purses deep enough to meet the demands of the hoarders and smugglers.’
    Stephen stiffened at the reference to his having a deep purse,which got Grandmesnil a glare, one that was ignored. Here in the imperial presence and its very obvious magnificence William could sense opportunity; in that, Blois would not be a companion but a potential rival, a difference he underlined as he continued, for it was necessary to raise his own standing and to diminish that of his fellow messenger.
    ‘Had my confrères been as well fed as I found to be the lances attending Count Stephen, I would say they could hold till the moon fell from the sky but with no food and the Turks holding the citadel …’
    ‘I was seeking to join them, Highness,’ Blois protested, his face showing he was well aware of what Grandmesnil was seeking to do. ‘But with Turks in their many thousands between Antioch and me, what could I do rather than engage in useless sacrifice? Better to hold Alexandretta for both the Crusade and the empire than that!’
    Stephen was about to go on, indeed to protest too much, but a held-up imperial hand stopped him and that was followed by silence, no one daring to speak and disrupt the imperial ruminations. Neither man could see into the mind of the Emperor Alexius, nor be privy to his