When he had finished these words, Bohemond showed the letters of Phirous, who promised to give up the three towers which he commanded. Phirous said that he was ready to perform this promise, but he declared he would have nothing to do with any one but the prince of Tarentum. He required, as the price of his services, that Bohemond should remain master of Antioch. The Italian prince added that he had already given considerable sums to Phirous; that he alone had obtained his confidence, and that a reciprocal confidence was the surest guarantee of the success of so difficult an enterprise. “As for the rest,” continued he, “if a better means of saving the army can be found, I am ready to approve of it, and willingly renounce my share in a conquest upon which the safety of all the Crusaders depends.”
The danger became every day more pressing; it was shameful to fly, imprudent to fight, and dangerous to temporize. Fear silenced all interests and all rivalry. The more opposition the leaders had shown at first to the project of Bohemond, the more eagerly did they now produce cogent reasons for adopting it. A divided conquest became no longer a conquest. To divide or share Antioch might give birth to a crowd of divisions in the army, and lead to its ruin. They only gave that which was really not yet their own; and they gave it to secure the lives of the Christians. It were better that one man should profit by the labours of all, than that all should perish for opposing the good fortunes of that one. Moreover, the taking of Antioch was not the object of the crusade—they had taken up arms to deliver Jerusalem. Every delay was opposed to that which religion looked for from its soldiers, to that which the West expected from its bravest knights. All the leaders, with the exception of the inflexible Raymond, united in according the principality of Antioch to Bohemond, and conjured him to hasten the execution of his project.
Upon leaving the council, the prince of Tarentum sent information of the resolution of the leaders to Phirous, who placed his own son in the prince’s hands as a hostage. The execution of the plan was fixed for the next day. To lull the garrison of Antioch in the greatest security, it was agreed that the Christian army should quit the camp, and direct its march at first towards the route by which the prince of Mossoul was expected to arrive, and that at nightfall it should meet under the walls of Ascalon. On the following day, early in the morning, the troops received orders to prepare for their departure. At some hours before night the Crusaders issued from their camp, and marched away, trumpets sounding and standards flying. After a march of a short distance, they retraced their steps, and returned in silence under the walls of Antioch. At a signal given by the prince of Tarentum, they halted in a valley on the west, and near to the tower of the Three Sisters, in which Phirous commanded. It was there that the leaders revealed to the army the secret of the great expedition which was to open to them the gates of the city.
The projects of Phirous and Bohemond, however, were very near failing. At the moment that the Christian army quitted their camp, and all was prepared for carrying out the plot, a report of treason all at once was spread throughout Antioch. The Christians and newly-converted Mussulmans were suspected; the name of Phirous even was whispered, and he was accused of keeping up an intelligence with the Crusaders. He was obliged to appear before Accien, who interrogated him closely, and fixed his eyes intently upon him in order to penetrate his thoughts; but Phirous dispersed all his suspicions by his firm countenance. He himself proposed the proper measures to be taken against the traitors, and advised his master to change the commanders of the principal towers. This advice was approved of, and Accien determined to follow it on the morrow. In the mean time orders were given to load with chains and put to death, during the darkness of the night, all the Christians that should be found in the city. The renegade was then sent back to his post, loaded with praises for his carefulness and fidelity. At the approach of night everything appeared tranquil in Antioch, and Phirous, escaped from such threatening danger, awaited the Crusaders in the tower which he had agreed to surrender to them.
As his brother commanded a tower near his own, Phirous went to find him, and sought to engage him in the plot. “Brother,” said he to him, “you know that the Crusaders have quitted their camp, and that they are gone to meet the army of Kerboghâ. When I think of the miseries they have endured, and on the death which threatens them, I cannot help feeling a sort of pity for them. You are not ignorant, likewise, that this night all the Christian inhabitants of Antioch, after having undergone so many outrages, are going to be massacred by the orders of Accien. I cannot help pitying them; I cannot forget that we were born in the same religion, and that we were formerly brothers.” These words did not produce the effect he expected. “I am surprised,” replied his brother, “that you should pity men who ought to be objects of horror to us. Before the Christians appeared under the walls of Antioch, we were loaded with benefits. Since they have besieged the city, we have passed our lives in dangers and alarms. May all the evils they have brought upon us recoil upon them! As to the Christians who live amongst us, do you not know that the greater part of them are traitors, and that they think of nothing but delivering us up to the sword of our enemies?” On finishing these words, he cast a threatening look upon Phirous. The renegade saw that he was suspected. He could not acknowledge a brother in the man who refused to be his accomplice, and as his only answer, plunged his dagger into his heart.
At length the decisive moment arrived. The night was dark, and a rising storm increased the depth of the obscurity. The wind, which rattled among the roofs of the buildings, and the peals of thunder, prevented the sentinels from hearing any noise around the ramparts. The heavens seemed inflamed towards the west, and the sight of a comet which then appeared in the horizon, seemed to announce to the superstitious minds of the Crusaders the destined moment for the ruin and destruction of the infidels.[114]
They awaited the signal with impatience. The garrison of Antioch was plunged in sleep; Phirous alone watched, and meditated his conspiracy. A Lombard named Payen, sent by Bohemond, mounted the tower by a ladder of leather. Phirous received him, telling him all was ready; and as an evidence of his fidelity, pointed to the dead body of his brother, whom he had just slain. Whilst they were conversing, an officer of the garrison came to visit the posts. He presented himself, with a lantern in his hand, before the tower Phirous commanded. The latter, without appearing the least disturbed, made the emissary of Bohemond conceal himself, and went forward to meet the officer. After receiving praise for his vigilance, he hastened to send Payen back with instructions for the prince of Tarentum. The Lombard, on his return to the army, related what he had seen, and, on the part of Phirous, conjured Bohemond not to lose another moment.
But all at once fear took possession of the soldiers; at the moment of execution all saw the whole extent of the danger, and not one of them put himself forward to mount the rampart. In vain Godfrey and the prince of Tarentum employed by turns promises and threats; both leaders and soldiers remained motionless.[115] Bohemond himself ascended by a ladder of ropes, in the hope that he should be seconded by the most brave; but nobody felt it his duty to follow in his footsteps. He reached the tower alone, where Phirous reproached him warmly for his delay. Bohemond hastily descended to his soldiers, and repeated to them that all was ready to receive them. His discourse, and still more, his example, at length reanimated their courage, and sixty of them commenced the escalade. They ascended by the ladder of leather, led on by one Foulcher de Chartres, whom the historian of Tancred compares to an eagle conducting her young ones, and flying at their head.[116] Among these sixty brave men was the count of Flanders, together with several of the principal chiefs. Very soon sixty more Crusaders quickly pressed upon the heels of the first,[117] and these again were followed by such numbers and with such precipitation, that the parapet to which the ladder was fixed tottered, and at length fell with a loud crash into the ditch. Such as were nearly attaining the summit of the tower fell upon the lances and swords of their companions who were following