At this time a richly-ornamented tent, which an Armenian prince destined for Godfrey, and which, falling into the hands of Pancracius, was sent to Bohemond, became a fresh subject of trouble and discord. Godfrey haughtily claimed the present which had been intended for him, and Bohemond refused to give it up. On each side they proceeded to injurious terms and threats; they were even ready to have recourse to arms, and the blood of the Christians was about to flow for a miserable quarrel; but at length the prince of Tarentum, abandoned by the greater part of the army, and overcome by the prayers of his friends, gave up the tent to his rival, consoling himself in his vexation, with the hope that war would soon put him in possession of a richer booty.
William of Tyre, who has transmitted to us this account, is astonished to see the wise Godfrey claim such a frivolous object with so much heat, and in his surprise he compares the weakness of the hero to the slumbers of the good Homer. His thought would have been more just if he had compared the discords and quarrels of the leaders of the crusade to those which troubled the camp of the Greeks, and so long retarded the taking of Troy. Whilst these quarrels engaged the attention of the whole Christian army, the inhabitants of Antioch were introducing reinforcements into the city, and preparing for a fresh resistance. When they had received the succours and provisions necessary to defend themselves and prolong the siege, they broke the truce, and again began the war, with all the advantages that a peace too easily granted them had procured.
Antioch, after a siege of seven months, would have escaped from the hands of the Christians, if stratagem, policy, and ambition had not effected for them that which patience and bravery had been unable to achieve. Bohemond, whose sole motive for undertaking the crusade had been a desire to improve his fortunes, was constantly on the watch for an opportunity of realizing his projects. Baldwin’s great success had awakened his jealousy, and haunted him even in his sleep. He dared to direct his views to the possession of Antioch, and was so far favoured by circumstances, as to meet with a man who might be able to place this city in his power. This man, whose name was Phirous, was, whatever some historians who give him a noble origin may say, the son of an Armenian, who was by trade a maker of cuirasses.[112] Of a restless and busy character, he was constantly anxious to change and improve his condition. He had abjured the Christian religion from a spirit of inconstancy, and in the hope of advancing his fortune; he was endowed with admirable self-possession, and with audacity proof against any accident; and was at all times ready to perform that for money which could only have been expected from the most ardent fanaticism. Nothing appeared unjust or impossible to him that promised to gratify his ambition or his avarice. Being active, adroit, and insinuating, he had wormed himself into the confidence of Accien, and was admitted into his council. The prince of Antioch had intrusted him with the command of three of the principal towers of the place. He defended them at first with zeal, but without any advantage to his fortune, and he grew weary of a barren fidelity the moment his busy brain suggested that treason might be more profitable. In the intervals of the various conflicts he had had many opportunities of seeing the prince of Tarentum. These two men divined each other’s character at the first glance, and it was not long before this sympathy produced mutual confidence. In their first meetings Phirous complained of the outrages he had experienced from the Mussulmans; he deeply regretted having abandoned the religion of Christ, and wept over the persecutions the Christians had suffered in Antioch. No more than this was required to place the prince of Tarentum in possession of the secret thoughts of Phirous. He commended both his remorse and his good feeling, and made him the most magnificent promises. Then the renegado opened his heart to him. They swore an inviolable friendship to each other, and planned an active correspondence. They met several times afterwards, but always with the greatest secrecy. At every interview Bohemond told Phirous that the fate of the Christians was in his hands, and that it only rested with himself to merit their gratitude, and receive from them vast recompenses. On his side, Phirous protested that he was anxious to serve the Christians, whom he considered as his brothers, and, in order to assure the prince of Tarentum of his fidelity, or else to excuse his treason, he said that Jesus Christ had appeared to him, and had advised him to give up Antioch to the Christians.[113] Bohemond required no such protestation. He had no difficulty in believing what he so ardently desired, and as soon as he had agreed with Phirous upon the means of executing the projects they had so long meditated, he called an assembly of the principal leaders of the Christian army. He began by laying before them with much earnestness both the evils with which the Crusaders had hitherto been afflicted, and the still greater evils with which they were threatened. He added, that a powerful army was advancing to the assistance of Antioch; that a retreat could not be effected without disgrace and danger; and that there remained no safety for the Christians but in the capture of the city. It was true, the place was defended by impregnable ramparts; but they should recollect that all victories were not obtained by force of arms or in the field of battle; and that such as were won by address were neither the least important nor the least glorious. They, then, who could not be conquered must be deceived, and the enemy must be overcome by a great but skilful enterprise. Among the inhabitants of Antioch, so diverse in their manners and religions, so opposed in their interests, there must be some to be found who would be accessible to the bait of gold, or the allurements of brilliant promises. The question of a service so important to the Christian army, was of such magnitude that it was right to promote every kind of undertaking. The possession of Antioch itself did not appear to him to be too high a reward for the zeal of him who should be sufficiently adroit, or sufficiently fortunate, as to throw open the gates of the city to the Crusaders.
Bohemond was careful not to explain himself more clearly, but his purpose was easily divined by the jealous ambition of some of the leaders, who perhaps entertained the same views as himself. Raymond, particularly, warmly refuted the artful insinuations of the prince of Tarentum. “We are all,” said he, “brothers and companions, and it would be unjust, after all have run the same risks, that one alone should gather the fruits of our joint labours. For myself,” added he, casting a look of anger and contempt upon Bohemond, “I have not traversed so many countries, braved so many perils, lavished so much blood and treasure, or sacrificed so many of my soldiers, to repay with the price of our conquests some gross artifice or shameful stratagem worthy only of women.” These vehement words had all the success to be expected among warriors accustomed to prevail by force of arms, and who esteemed no conquest that was not the reward of valour. The greater number of the leaders rejected the proposition of the prince of Tarentum, and added their railleries to those of Raymond. Bohemond, whom history has surnamed the Ulysses of the Latins, did all in his power to restrain himself and conceal his vexation. He went out from the council smiling, persuaded that necessity would soon bring the Crusaders to his opinion.
As soon as he had regained his tent, he sent emissaries through all the quarters of the camp to spread secretly the most alarming intelligence. As he foresaw, consternation seized the Christians. Some of the leaders were sent to ascertain the truth of the reports prevalent in the camp; and soon returned with an account that Kerboghâ, sultan of Mossoul, was advancing towards Antioch with an army of two hundred thousand men, collected on the banks of the Euphrates and the Tigris. This army, which had threatened the city of Edessa and ravaged Mesopotamia, was at a distance of only seven days’ march. At this recital the fears of the Crusaders were redoubled. Bohemond passed through the ranks, exaggerating the danger, and affecting to show more depression and terror than all the rest; but in his heart he was delighted, and smiled at the idea of soon seeing all his hopes accomplished. The leaders again assembled to deliberate upon the means necessary to be taken in such perilous circumstances. Two opinions divided the council. Some wished that the siege should be raised, and that they should march to meet the Saracens; whilst others were of opinion that the army should be formed into two bodies, one of which should act against Kerboghâ, whilst the other should remain to guard the camp. This last opinion appeared likely to prevail, when Bohemond demanded permission to speak. He had not much difficulty in making them sensible of the impracticability of both the plans proposed. If they raised the siege, they would be placed between the garrison of Antioch and a formidable army. If they continued the blockade of the city, and half of the army only went to meet Kerboghâ, they were almost certain of a defeat. “The greatest perils,” added the prince of Tarentum, “surround us. Time