By the middle hours of the day he set out, Zacco’s tents and camp fires surrounded Agridi; the scouts and sentries were placed, and the Bastard’s banner hung over a settling host. Over their heads sprawled the mountains: the long jagged range that lay between them and the flat coastal selvedge. From the camp they could see the start of the Pass, the way that led to Kyrenia, three miles from its end. Kyrenia could not be taken by any means they now had. What they needed was unchallenged domination of the road through the Pass. Tobie said, ‘How high is it? The castle?’
He and Nicholas were waiting for food; seated not far from the ovens with the afternoon sun warming Tobie’s bald head. There was a smell of fresh bread and camels and ordure. ‘Two and a half thousand feet above sea level. You can’t see it from here. You’re not worried?’ said Nicholas. ‘And you the great doctor’s nephew?’
There was also a smell of calendula. Remembering, Tobie put up his hand and removed the field marigold he had tucked over his ear. When he twirled it, his cuirass gleamed orange. He said, ‘According to the good lord, you plan to leave for Kouklia if you manage to take St Hilarion.’
‘That’s right,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m going to be seventy-five miles away. News will take decades to travel between us.’
‘He said he hired us to fight, but if you’re longing to trade, he won’t stop you. I’m not complaining,’ said Tobie.
‘But you’re not coming with me,’ said Nicholas. The tone was one of confirmation. He added, ‘I suppose Thomas wants to stay, too. I don’t know how I’ll manage.’
Tobie’s face became heated. He said, ‘Will the sugarcane bite you? I’m needed by soldiers.’
‘I suppose you are,’ Nicholas said. ‘And if not, who am I to compete with the Arabs? Anyway, you’ve got it both ways, haven’t you? If we fail, I stay on. If we succeed, you can stay and rewrite the pharmacopoeia with whatsisname. Abul Ismail. I’d go and eat with Astorre, except that I can’t manage more than eight courses. Am I being unreasonable?’
‘Yes,’ said Tobie, relieved.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nicholas said. ‘The truth is, I need to get away soon.’
‘Why?’ said Tobie. He then flushed.
‘My God,’ said Nicholas, with dawning amazement. He took the marigold from Tobie’s fingers. ‘Do I have to tell you? I do. I have to call on our mutual friend Katelina. And if you want to know why, it’s remedial. When I get all excited like this, I need a furious woman. Who were you intending this for?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ said Tobie thoughtfully. He took the marigold back. ‘Where are Katelina and the boy? I thought the ransom money had come?’
‘So did I,’ Nicholas said. ‘She ought to be on her way back to her husband. She isn’t. Someone is stopping her.’
‘Maybe she insists on remaining,’ said Tobie, squinting carefully at his flower. ‘But they ought to send the boy home, wherever he is.’
‘I thought everyone knew,’ Nicholas said. ‘He’s an apprentice in the dyeyard. And working hard, too. He doesn’t get out till I say so.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Tobie.
‘I expect so,’ Nicholas said. ‘There was another rumour today. The Sultan is preparing for war against Venice.’
Tobie said, ‘I heard that last week. If it’s true, you’ll get all the supplies that you’ve sent for. But I suppose you were counting on that.’
‘I trust,’ Nicholas said, ‘that I’ll get everything that I sent for. I think I shall. I feel lucky. I feel you may even change your mind in the long run, and join me in Kouklia. We have, of course, to capture St Hilarion first, in which event you will be sent a pint of nut oil and a cake. If we don’t take it, you’ve nothing to worry about. Zacco won’t let me go; and Astorre and I will have wrung your neck anyway. I feel better.’
‘Good,’ said Tobie in resigned tones. They hid a low satisfaction. One of the things he liked best about Nicholas were his cowardly moments.
That afternoon, the trumpets blew for assembly, the camp proclamation was read, and after a segregated and somewhat uncomfortable blessing the army of James of Lusignan moved to the mouth of the Pass of St Catherine and turned into the steep and stony gut of the hills that were commanded by the fort of St Hilarion. They entered it like a river of quicksilver. The air was barred with their lances, and the spired and visored helms of the cavalry made a tumbling pattern, fore and aft. They beat drums as they went, and the banners flew in shivering streams, while shreds of orchid and iris, scabious, anchusa, cyclamen sprang from their feet, so that the company smelled like a whorehouse. Then the landscape of abrupt hills adjusted itself and ahead on their right stood the crag they were making for, with St Hilarion crowning its summit.
Once, this place, named after a hermit, had been sacred to God, and a monastery had stood on these stones. Now, the cloisters had gone. Instead, suspended in mist, rose the halls which Tobie perceived momentarily, chilled, to be lair of the Lusignans: a palace of half-serpent Melusine with vaults and pillars of gold, a belvedere mantled in green, a hint of gardens, of loggias; the effulgent dome of a church. The impression was fleeting. As the cavalcade trotted nearer, he saw that the buildings were not of leaf gold, but of Byzantine thin brickwork and freestone, with tiled or thatched roofs and tall windows. Set high on the hill, the castle rose to the top by degrees: the wide lower ward for grazing, for tourneys, for pageants; the middle for hall and barracks and kitchens.
The uppermost, high among the cool airs from the north, held the royal suite of the Queen, and was empty. There, Tobie knew, the traceried windows looked to the sea and would have a view, however small, of Kyrenia Castle. Being placed on the edge of a chasm, the northern range of St Hilarion required no defences. Around the rest of the castle a wall had been built, and fortified with nine towers. A quarter-mile long, it straddled the southern slope of the hill and stalked up the height to the summit. This rampart towered before them, firm and well-kept, and bearing along all its length the vicious sparkle of steel. They were to be given a welcome.
James of Lusignan held up his hand. Just out of bowshot, his troops halted. A bugle sounded a call. The King’s herald rode out, his plumes nodding, his golden tabard sewn with the crosses and lions of Lusignan, and, halting far below the main entrance, blew his trumpet and shouted. After some delay, the castle gates opened and an armed horseman emerged and rode slowly down. They spoke, the measured sound of their voices echoing in the still air. Then they parted and returned. James received his herald, and turned to his captains and army. He raised his voice. ‘The garrison has refused honourable surrender. Brave men, you are to be given your wish. You will make this castle yours, and all that is in it.’
‘And that won’t be much,’ Nicholas said in an undertone, reappearing suddenly.
Inside his armour, Tobie was sweating. He said, ‘You’ve placed your men?’
‘I haven’t placed anybody,’ Nicholas said. ‘God Almighty, there’s a spy on every knoll up there, watching us. You’ve forgotten the programme.’
‘I haven’t. Now we turn and go back to camp, leaving them to stand to arms half the night. Then we come back tonight in relays, and tomorrow. Then when they’re worn out, we take them. Perhaps. Maybe we’ll be worn out before they are. Who’s that?’ Behind Nicholas, a huddled man in half-armour hung in the grasp of a guard.
‘One of the men I found watching us. The King wanted to question him. Now he’s sent him to you.’
‘To me?’ Tobie said. An idea puffed into his chest.
‘Yes. He has a terrible pain in the belly. So have half the Queen’s troops, so he says.’
‘It worked!’ Tobie said. He flung back his head and shrieked in awful falsetto. ‘It worked! It worked!’
Nicholas was grinning, and so was everyone round him. ‘Well, they weren’t going to let a wagon of new beef pass them by, were they? What did you put in the carcasses?’
‘Ask Abul Ismail,’ said Tobie. ‘Buckthorn, heliotrope, bryony berries. Mayweed
and clover, sand lilies and cyclamen tubers. Lovely blooms. Poetic inspiration. Ilm-l’krusha, the learning of the bowels, is the Arab name for poetic inspiration. I tell you. If the garrison touches the meat, they’ll abort and shit till their eyes stream.’
‘A rotten, unethical trick,’ Nicholas said. ‘They’ll never let Abul into my Order, and Pavia will take your degree back. What d’you think of the weather?’
Tobie stared at him. ‘What are you worried about? It’s not going to rain. They say a sea wind gets up after dark, but you’re not having my blanket. Have you seen what John le Grant’s got to wear? Ten layers of thick cloth, three layers of wax cloth, and a lining of rabbit fur. He’ll be so hot he’ll be luminous.’
‘Well. We all have our burdens,’ said Nicholas, and turned sideways to talk to Astorre.
The first detachment left after midnight and, retracing their steps of the day, moved silently back to St Hilarion. Tobie, to his anger, was not with it; but he saw Nicholas ride out clad in full armour as were all of the captains. The King was with him. So were John le Grant and the pioneers, all garbed in leather or cloth, shadowy devils on shadowy mounts. He thought he saw camels. The sound of their feet died away and the camp settled again, perhaps to sleep. An hour passed, and another. The wind, rising, rattled the tents. Tobie, swearing, got up and, wrapped in his mantle, went off to check through the hospital tent. Two of his dressers were there, asleep on a pallet, and a man of the King’s, whose physician had gone with his master. Awake with a book by a candle was Abul Ismail, the Egyptian. He looked up and smiled, his bearded face folded in vertical lines. Tobie said, ‘The wind woke me.’
Abul Ismail laid down his book. ‘Your young friend will have to be careful. And your fine engineer.’
They had long since congratulated each other on the doctored beef. Tobie said, ‘The wind won’t affect hackbuts. All they want is to make noise and some smoke, while John has a close look at the walls.’
‘So I believe. But my ancestors, when beset, could defend themselves. Within the garrison may be slaves of my race, and the wind is in their favour. Wax cloth and squirrel, my friend, are convenient for silence. They do not promise a shield against naphtha.’
He had used the Arab word naft, and for a moment Tobie thought he meant firearms. Then he understood. ‘Greek fire? They may throw Greek fire?’
‘It was how the Crusaders were beaten. It is kindled and thrown in clay pots. Or shot from crossbows. The hillside would burn. Your pioneers would have little chance. Your knights, attempting to rescue, would boil like crabs in their armour. It is an unforgiving weapon.’
Tobie got up, took a step to the door, and turned back. ‘Ointments,’ he said.
‘They are here. The young man and the King have discussed this. The pioneers know of the danger. Your friend has taken what precautions he can. He is a versatile youth, but like the King somewhat heedless when hunting.’
‘He is there,’ Tobie said.
‘He wishes his plan to succeed. It is not in his nature to step aside from what he is creating. Once it is done, he will listen to reason.’
Tobie looked at him in silence, thinking of Trebizond. The Arab nodded once. He said, ‘I see you agree with me. While he is in thrall, he is mad. Perhaps a God-given madness; perhaps something quite other. I do not think you can cure it, but he requires some containment. A leash for the hawk, a halter for the colt, and the horse, and the young. Here they come.’
Tobie sprang to his feet. Then, rewrapping his cloak, he walked heavily to the tent door to watch the squadron arrive. The first person he saw was the King; the next Nicholas. They were shouting. He saw they were shouting with pleasure. Behind them, dismounting, were the pioneers. He saw John, his squirrel-vest open, his felt cap wringing wet in his fist. He was shouting as well. Roused by the noise and the orders, men tumbled out in their tunics and began to buckle on armour: the second squadron preparing to leave. A man limped up, holding his arm and complaining, and two others eased a third off his horse and carried him into the tent. He was cursing.
Nicholas, his helmet under his arm, came in raking his hair and dropped his hand, staring at Tobie. ‘That’s all we’ve got. Two wounded,’ he said. ‘You look disappointed.’
Tobie cleared his throat. He said, ‘I was getting ready to deal with your blisters. No naphtha?’
‘It was a total failure,’ Nicholas said. He dumped his helm and his gloves on an orderly, and unbuckled his sword for good measure. ‘I’m starving. Do you want to go on this foray? There isn’t much point. No one hits anybody.’
‘In that case, I’ll stay,’ Tobie said. ‘So what happened?’
No one answered directly. Presently he found himself in the firelight in a lolling company of chewing, boisterous men, which included the King, and Astorre, and Thomas, and John le Grant, his red hair sprung like a brush and his blotched nose translucent. John said, ‘Covering fire? They nearly shot me three times. Then the smoke came so far up the hill that I couldn’t give orders for coughing.’
‘They couldn’t see you,’ Zacco said. ‘The garrison couldn’t see you. And what did you do? You dug no tunnels, embedded no gunpowder …’ He mimed a comic disgust, his eyes smiling.
‘As you well knew, my lord King,’ said the engineer. ‘Whoever built those walls knew a thing or two. There’s a place up the side … perhaps there’s a place up the side. But it’s not worth the time without cannon. And when we get cannon, we shan’t need to use them on St Hilarion.’
‘So what happened?’ said Tobie with patience.
‘He planted crackers with fuses,’ said Nicholas. ‘The castle stood to arms all evening after the challenge, heard us arrive in the night, made to resist what they thought was a full-scale attack; saw us ride off defeated. They’ll start sleeping in shifts. An hour after we’ve gone, they’ll hear volleys under the walls from John’s crackers, rouse the fort and shoot into the smoke. Then they’ll stand down again.’
‘And the second squadron will arrive,’ Tobie said. ‘Mind you, they may not be so scared of you next time. They’ll put a third of their men on the walls, and give the others some rest.’
‘That’s what he said,’ said Captain Astorre, referring to Nicholas. He jerked his head, carrying with it a spit jammed with kidneys. ‘But they won’t rest very long now. Night attack from the front and the rear.’
‘What?’ said Tobie. Zacco was laughing.
‘Goats,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘A small detail with a wagon of goats. They’ll drive the beasts up the back cliff, let off a handgun or two, and watch the rest of the garrison rush to the back walls. If they haven’t got the skitters already, they’ll have them by then. The camels were grand.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Tobie. ‘They carried the goats up the hill.’
‘My good doctor,’ said Zacco. ‘You are not taking this seriously. The camels were trained. They have no objection to noise. Your ingenious friend Nicholas placed his hackbutters on the camels, one behind every hump, and they raced past and shot at the castle.’
‘Did you hit anything?’ Tobie said.
‘Not yet,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s for tomorrow. Tomorrow, they open the gates for us. I’m going to bed.’
‘When tomorrow?’ said Tobie. ‘You don’t mean tomorrow, in daylight?’ But it was a rhetorical question, because he knew that was what Nicholas meant, and also King James, who had caught this crazy apprentice’s infection which was not, to be truthful, so crazy. By mid-morning tomorrow, the garrison of St Hilarion would be kitten-weak and exhausted and ready for capture.
Tobias Beventini of Grado rose therefore next morning and attached himself to the army when it moved out of camp, although he had had no more sleep than they had; and rode his good horse which had got used to camels and hackbut fire and the whistle of arrows arching over the battlements. The journey to the castle seemed short, and there was less talk than before. They assembled, foot and horse, at the base of the hill of St Hilarion. The trumpets ble
w, and Tobie felt a pang in his stomach.
This time, under cover of smoke, the troops under King James did not keep their distance but mounted the hill, firing steadily. Their fire was returned; but the bolts and arrows that appeared through the smoke were sparse and ill-aimed, and fell to the grass, or against shields, or sprang into the hide screens the foot-men were carrying. Through the haze, you could see the relief run through Zacco’s army. This was the work of sick men. If they were too ill to bend bows, they would hardly prevail in hand-to-hand fighting. Tobie watched Zacco’s hand, upraised as he looked for the ladders arriving.
Advancing steadily, his hearing dulled by the clash and thud of metal and firearms, by the pounding of hooves and the continuous din of threatening voices, Tobie was not at first aware of a change inside the castle. Behind the walls, a burst of screaming made itself heard, and then travelling, broke out elsewhere. A subdued roar began to emerge, like that of an avalanche. Tobie reined and looked up.
The hackbut smoke was beginning to clear. It showed that the wall-walks above were half-empty, and the upper stretch of the tiltground full of men running backwards and forwards. Beyond and higher was smoke. Beyond that, at the top of the castle, was a coronet of clear, transparent flame. As he watched, the flames spread, with men running downhill before them, their clothing alight.
Nicholas was nowhere to be seen. Zacco said, ‘Advance to the wall. Mount, and open the gates.’
Before he ended, the scaling-ladders were there, and men were up them and over. No one opposed them. When the gates were dragged open, the first to fall out were members of Carlotta’s garrison – voiceless, naked, their faces raw meat flecked with carbon. One was a living torch of a woman with a child in her arms. They dropped as Tobie touched them and lay, a heap of sticks and black paper. He got up and ran into the castle, his orderlies following. The King said, ‘Stand to take prisoners. Doctors, set up your hospital. Captain, put out those fires. Do we want to inhabit a ruin?’
Race of Scorpions Page 38
