‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Give me the extra ten and I’ll stop pestering you.’ She waited for him to mount his palfrey, then rested a hand on his thigh. ‘For God’s sake take care, my lord. And do what you can to keep Ernoul in one piece, will you?’
He grinned down at her and placed his hand over hers. ‘So it emerges at last, eh? Do you look so favourably upon my skinny squire?’
She was too sad to play out the joke. ‘He’s a good man, but no great thing, I would say, in a battle.’
‘Fear not, I’ll watch him. Though, in return, you must do something for me.’
‘Whatever you ask.’
‘Regardless of events in the north, you may be subjected to fleeting Saracen raids. If you could preserve my window, the one in the library—’
‘Oh, it’s done,’ she laughed. ‘It has already been packed away. I could not face you, if your precious window had been damaged.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s that. I’ll return the ten to you.’
‘God speed, my lord.’
‘God bless you, Maria.’ He leaned down, drew her to him and kissed her. Then she stepped back, a tall, regal figure in a tasselled grey kirtle, and he turned his horse and rode out through the barbican gate.
A few moments later ten men-at-arms entered the castle, slouching to show their displeasure at being kept back from the battle. To the north-west, dust rose above the fields as the contingent began to move. Maria watched the fine cloud until it had dispersed in the direction of Sebastia, then thought of how best to deploy her thirty- three defenders.
* * *
At Tubanie, nearly four years earlier, Reynald of Chatillon had criticized the inaccurate estimates made by the Frankish scouts when they had returned from viewing the rows of Moslem tents ranged across the plain. The criticism still held good, though this time it was the strength of the Christian army that was in dispute. Some reports listed 1,500 knights, twice that number of mercenary cavalry and upwards of 10,000 foot soldiers. Others put the number of lay knights at a thousand, with a further sixteen hundred Templars and Hospitallers, more than thirty thousand infantry and three or four thousand mounted Turcopoles.
Ernoul made his own assessment and allowed that the camp at Acre contained from ten to twelve thousand foot soldiers, one tenth as many lay knights, a similar number financed by the Military Orders, and some three thousand Turcopoles. Thus he estimated the Christian army at between fifteen thousand and seventeen and a half thousand men, the most powerful force that had ever assembled around the Royal standard of Jerusalem.
However, with leaders such as Guy, Reynald, Joscelin, Amalric, Gerard, Raymond and Balian, the Frankish body sprouted a gorgon’s head.
Chapter Seventeen
Acre, Sepphoria
ist, 2nd July 1187
On Wednesday, 22nd Rabi II., 583 A.H. – being the five hundred and eighty-third year after the Hegira, the flight of the prophet Mohammed from Mecca to Yathreb, later called Medina – Sultan Saladin invaded the Kingdom of Jerusalem. He crossed the Jordan at the Bridge of Sennabra, just south of the Sea of Galilee. The bulk of the Moslem army was composed of mounted archers, most of whom disdained to wear armour, and infantry, called Harbieh, equipped with reed lances tipped with iron, scimitars, or stolen Frankish swords, small circular shields and the inevitable daggers. There were also a number of the dreaded Naffatin, foot soldiers who carried catapults and wicker baskets filled with naphtha balls. These would be placed in the catapults, set alight and hurled deep into the enemy ranks. The flaming missiles were all but inextinguishable and they burned fiercely on whatever surface they touched.
The army of Islam was divided into three sections, the centre commanded by Saladin himself, the right by his nephew Takedin, the left by the man who had led the hunting party to Nazareth exactly two months earlier, Kukburi, Emir of Harran. The force that crossed the bridge at Sennabra numbered between eighteen and twenty thousand men. This, too, was one of the largest armies the Moslems had ever sent against the Crusader Kingdom.
At first light on Thursday, 23rd Rabi II. – 2nd July by the Christian calendar – Saladin took his six thousand men as far as Kafr Sebt, a village that lay some five miles west-south-west of Tiberias. Takedin led his column parallel with the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, but stayed two miles from the water. Kukburi moved directly against Tiberias, fired the town and laid siege to the castle. The army was now positioned to Saladin’s satisfaction. The castle was under attack, the wide valley to the west was blocked and the main Acre–Sennabra road was cut. The Sultan waited to see if the Crusaders would ride to the defence of Regent Raymond’s wife, Princess Eschiva of Bures.
* * *
News of the invasion and the siege was immediately sent by carrier pigeon to the coops at Acre. The messages were in Eschiva’s own hand, and King Guy wasted no time in convening a council of his leaders. The council was held in Joscelin of Courtenay’s palace, and the majority of barons came with their opinions already hardened. Because it was the Count of Tripoli’s castle that was the object of Kukburi’s attack, he was invited to open the discussion.
Pacing the blue and purple mosaic floor, moving so that his compeers had to turn their heads to follow his progress, he said, ‘I heard this news less than an hour ago, though it has been in my head for some days. Also, I know what is in your heads at this moment, so I would say this to you. The weather will be as hot today as at any time this year. The sun is hardly clear of the hills as yet, but you may take my word for it, I know the climate in these parts. In hand with that is the fact that we are more than forty marching miles from Tiberias. To start now would take us through the noon hours, and by nightfall we would still be ten miles or more from my castle. The men and animals will be exhausted, but more than that, we could not march those ten final miles in the dark—’
‘Why not?’ Gerard of Ridefort gibed. ‘Does the darkness frighten you?’
‘without the risk of falling into an ambush. No, Grand Master, but the thought of defeat does.’
‘What? Surely you, of all nobles, should not have such a thought in your head. Saladin has already bought you, and what he has bought he will protect.’
‘That accusation is unjust! I am not his man and never was.’
‘You say!’
‘My lords,’ Guy pleaded. ‘Must we have another round of recrimination? Tiberias stands besieged, and whatever our Regent may or may not have entreated with the Sultan—’
‘He’s Saladin’s man,’ Gerard insisted. ‘We’ve no doubt of it.’
‘You!’ Balian snapped. ‘Will you hold your silence until the king has finished?’
Somebody at the rear of the group muttered, ‘King-lover,’ and Gerard nodded emphatically.
Guy had lost the direction of his thoughts and asked, ‘Where was I? Ah, yes, I was saying that whatever transpired between Regent Raymond and the Sultan is buried in the past. What we must now decide is whether or not to go straightway to the relief of Tiberias and the courageous Princess Eschiva.’
Reynald of Chatillon dragged a hand irritably through his thick red hair, then elbowed his way forward until he was standing almost toe to toe with Guy. He had tried this manoeuvre many times before and had found that it usually intimidated lesser men. It certainly intimidated King Guy, who moved back until he bumped against Balian and Baldwin of Ramleh. These two barred any further retreat, and although he derived some comfort from their proximity, he was unable to look Reynald in the eye.
‘Decide?’ Reynald bored. ‘There is nothing left to decide. Some might think you would keep us here, discussing events until we hear that Tiberias has fallen and that we are therefore no longer needed. I’ll make no point of it; suffice it to say that some might well think it of you, King.’
Rushing his words, Guy protested, ‘Then they’d be wrong, quite wrong. If you honestly believe that it would be to our advantage to press on toward—’
‘Not ours,’ Joscelin of Courtenay interposed. ‘Princess Eschiva�
��s. Her husband seems loath to save her, but we are not.’ He glanced at Reynald, who blinked, giving him the floor.
‘Great God!’ he continued, ‘you have around you the mightiest army Christendom has ever seen, yet you still bring us here to argue this way and that—’
‘Not argue. I didn’t say argue.’
‘while the black pigs of Islam snuffle against the walls of Tiberias. I say we must go and rescue the ladies of that citadel.’
‘And I,’ Reynald echoed.
‘And I,’ from Gerard.
Constable Amalric led a chorus of assent from the lesser barons.
Guy was convinced and turned to his Regent. But Raymond strode away until he was isolated from his heavy, sweating peers, then spun round and stabbed a finger at them. He was not usually given to such dramatic gestures and they stopped voting. The shiny mosaic added a bluish tinge to his skin, so that his friends thought him sick with concern, while his rivals recognized the colour often used to depict Satan in religious frescoes.
‘Before we take one more step,’ he said, ‘set your minds back to the October of four years past. We were then at Tubanie. You were there, Reynald, and you, Amalric, and you Joscelin. We were led at that time, as now, by Guy. We were all there, and I remind you of it for one reason only. It is now as it was then.
‘The Saracens are on our borders. Before a week is out they will be forced to feed themselves from the country. This time the heat is greater, so their desire for water must be more strong. If they advance it will be into arid country. If they remain where they are they will soon grow hungry. So I say, if you are set on approaching them, let us go as far as Sepphoria. But, my lords, not one mile farther. We know from the last time that our position there is defensible, and that we, ourselves, will not go short of food and water. Moreover, we will be able to control the valleys to the north, and the Plain of Jizreel to the south. I would rather we stayed here and let the enemy tire, but as a compromise, will you accept it?’
Reynald replied for his party. ‘We’ll accept anything that takes us closer to Tiberias. But we warn you, Regent, Sepphoria may only satisfy us for a very short time. We, you see, are eager to glimpse the enemy.’
The alarm was sounded throughout the Christian camp and by mid-morning the army was on its way along the convenient road that curved south-east to Sepphoria. Among the fifteen thousand and more soldiers there were only eighteen casualties during the march. Three horsemen were injured when they raced each other, veered too close and collided. Five were smitten by the heat, while a number of others fell or were pushed under the wheels of baggage carts. Two men were wounded in knife fights. Two were drowned during an unnecessary attempt to ford a stream that ran below the Templar castle of Le Saffran, and one hanged himself for undisclosed reasons in a wood near the village of Saka. So far as the leaders were concerned, it was a dusty, uneventful march.
By the time the sky had dimmed above western Galilee, the Crusaders were safely encamped at Sepphoria. Raymond of Tripoli knew that Saladin expected him to ride to the rescue of Eschiva, and he told Balian, ‘If you have any regard for me, do not let me accede to his wishes. The trap is as obvious as earth and water. I love that woman above all else, save the land we have sworn to defend. Will you stay with me this night?’
Balian nodded, imagining how it would be if Tiberias were Nablus, and Eschiva were Maria. He acknowledged that he, too, would need a friend close by.
* * *
Reynald of Chatillon did not make empty threats. An hour after dusk, he, Amalric, Joscelin and Gerard called for a further conference with King Guy. So for the second time that day the barons assembled before their monarch, only now the mosaic of the palace gave way to the grassy floor of Guy’s scarlet tent.
Even alongside the Constable of the Kingdom, the Seneschal of the Kingdom and the Grand Master of the Temple, the Lord of Kerak remained the principal spokesman.
He said, ‘We have discussed the situation amongst ourselves, King, and we are united in our belief that if the castle of Tiberias is to be saved, and with it the Princess of Galilee, then we must make our move now.’
‘Oh, this is too much,’ Guy exploded. ‘You let the entire army pitch camp, patrols have been sent in all directions, guards posted by the hundred, and now you say you want to go on again. Well, you can’t. I am your Commander and I say you can’t.’
‘King,’ Reynald menaced, ‘there’s a whole world moving between what a man says and what he is heard to say. In Jerusalem now, they might hear it as the beating of a faint heart. We can go on. You know we are able. When you say we can’t, are you really commanding us not to go against the enemy?’
Guy looked at his brother, but could see he would get no help there. He turned to Raymond, thinking as he did so, whenever I am pressed I run to him or Balian. If only they could have made one of them king and had done with it.
‘In essence,’ Raymond said, ‘the king’s command is as you suggest. For the moment, for the hours of darkness, we are not to move against the unseen enemy. Only a madman would take any army out there tonight.’
‘Are you saying we are mad?’ Reynald demanded.
One who had not spoken at the earlier meeting, young Humphrey of Toron, now rekindled his stepfather’s enmity by replying, ‘A whole world moves between what we say and what you hear, Lord Reynald.’
There were smiles and chuckles of approval, but Reynald was not so easily deterred.
‘Wit at this hour is out of place, kinsman. And if it is secondhand, it is already tarnished. Now, either make some constructive comment, or get to bed. You are still not yet full grown.’
His supporters enjoyed the riposte and Humphrey was forced to hear the cruel laughter of his elders.
Then Gerard steered the discussion back on to its original path with an impatient outburst. ‘Talk the night away, if that’s your taste, but I have been out on patrol since we arrived here – Oh, yes, Regent, I thought that might surprise you – and I have received several reports from more recent patrols. They confirmed what I surmised. There are no Saracens in the area. None. But I doubt that I could say the same in the morning. While we stand here rooted like fruit trees the Saracens creep closer to reap the harvest. I grant you, we have nothing to lose by remaining here. Nothing except the fortress and town of Tiberias, and most of Galilee!’
‘You impertinent adventurer!’ Raymond roared. ‘Who in hell’s jaws will lose most? It is my castle, my town, and these are my lands! Stretch your eyes, Gerard of Ridefort, and try to see more than your splintered corner of the picture. I would rather my town and castle were taken and laid waste, rather my wife and soldiers and all my possessions were lost for ever, than see the entire Kingdom destroyed. I know that if we advance, you, for one, but not you alone, will be captured or slain. With you will go the army, and if that goes, who defends the Kingdom? You smirk, but I will tell you why you are lost out there. There is one spring, just one, between here and Tiberias. It’s called the Spring of Cresson, and if it can assuage the thirst of one hundred men I shall be surprised. What are we? Eh, Gerard? Ten, twenty thousand? And what if your creeping Saracens have reached it first? It will be of little use to them, but not even you will get a drink there. Most of us will die of thirst, while those who survive will fall mewing to the Saracens. As for my wife, Eschiva, I will ransom her later. As for my fortress, I will retake it later. But for the present I will do nothing to save what is mine, but set my mind to safeguarding what is God’s.’
There was a long, impressed silence. Then Guy said, ‘We will stay here the night.’
Balian, Humphrey and Raymond exchanged glances with their allies. It seemed that good sense had triumphed at last.
* * *
Ernoul explored the Christian camp. There was no symmetry in the arrangement of tents; each Commander had set up his own defences, so the camp bulged at the northern end, where the ground was flat, and tailed away to the south. The first contingents to arrive at Sepphoria – those
in the van – had naturally chosen the best places. Gerard’s Templars and hired mercenaries had brought up the rear of the column, and Ernoul could see the lights of their fires on the northern slopes of the Hill of Nazareth. Gerard’s tent was pitched less than half a mile from the valley into which he had led the suicidal charge against Kukburi. The young squire did not know whether the Grand Master had chosen the site intentionally, or was there because it was one of the last available. But his present position befitted his character. Like a thief, he seemed drawn to the scene of his crime.
In the centre of the northern bulge, Welsh and Irish mercenaries mingled with Bretons, Venetians, Danes, Navarrese and local-born Franks. The Moslem mercenaries – the Turcopoles – kept to themselves, and neither they, nor the pale-skinned Crusaders would have much to do with the dark, big-boned half-castes called Pullani, lawful or illegitimate offspring of Frankish–Syrian unions.
Wandering from group to group, Ernoul caught snatches of conversation and eavesdropped shamelessly on the more interesting titbits. One red-bearded soldier had gathered a large audience of leering night owls around him and was entertaining them with a repertoire of licentious stories. He had just concluded one tale with the words ‘ – so the priest convinced the silly woman that the child would be born malformed unless she allowed him to remedy the situation with his own pure seed. So far as I know he’s still at it with any woman he hears is pregnant!’
The audience made appropriate comments about the faltering standards of the clergy, then nodded at red-beard to begin another.
He cleared his throat, winked at them and said, ‘Here’s one I heard when I was in Brabant. I won’t vouch for the truth of it, but it’s a pretty story.’
The listeners were not at all concerned with the veracity of such anecdotes. Who cared if they were true, so long as they amused? ‘You were in Brabant,’ they said. ‘Go on from there.’
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 27
