‘Yes, well, this took place in a small town, I forget exactly where.’
You cunning old devil, Ernoul thought. You say that so each man may picture his own town.
‘There was this married woman who had been consistently unfaithful to her husband—’
‘Aren’t they all?’ one of them intruded. ‘I know mine is!’ He looked round and repeated, ‘I know mine is, God rot her!’
‘Let him tell it. Unfaithful to her husband. Go on.’
‘Then don’t interrupt. As I said, a small town, and in fact she had seen the ceiling over the shoulder of a knight who was garrisoned at a nearby castle, the constable of the town, and a young lawyer who had taken up practice there.’
‘Taken up practice where, eh? Huh?’
‘Shush, let him tell it!’
‘Well, you need to know that her husband had had some work done in the house, but had not paid for it. The man who’d done the work had complained to the constable, and the husband knew the constable was out to question him. Of course, he didn’t know that the constable was also bread on his wife’s plate. Anyway, one afternoon the husband was in town, while the wife was being charged down by her knight.’
‘Charged down!’ they grinned. ‘And with his lance well-couched, eh?’
‘Just so,’ red-beard snapped. ‘But before he had quite struck, the husband returned. The knight leapt from his horse—’
‘Leapt from his horse!’
‘and hid in a large wooden cupboard. The husband entered the bedchamber, surprised to see his wife laid so low at that hour of the day, though not entirely sorry she was there. Like a good man he joined her and they drew closer and closer, until—’
‘Yes? Get on! What then?’
Ernoul acknowledged that even if the story was a pack of lies, the soldier knew how to hold his audience.
‘What then? Oh, well, there was a knock on the street door and the constable announced himself. Naturally, the husband had no wish to be taken for questioning, so he told his wife what to say and hid where she indicated, in a linen chest.’
‘And then the constable came in, didn’t he?’
Glaring at the speaker, red-beard intoned, ‘And then the constable came in. Listen, if you’re better equipped to tell the story’
‘No, no. You tell it.’
Wishing to be helpful, somebody else murmured, ‘The constable. He’s just come in.’
‘Yes,’ red-beard grated, ‘the constable came in and asked the wife where her husband was. She said what she’d been told to say, that he was away from there on a visit. So the constable, being her lover anyway, carried on from where the husband left off. But that’s not the end of it, for the husband had already talked over the problem of payment with his wife, and she had sent him to the young lawyer. Being a thorough man, the lawyer spent hours writing out advice, and, it so happens, he chose that very afternoon to present his ideas to the husband at home.’
Unable to remain silent, one of the listeners howled, ‘There’s a knock on the door! It’s the lawyer!’
‘That’s quick of you,’ red-beard spat. ‘You’re right, there was a knock and it was the lawyer. Now shut your mouth.’
Ernoul shook his head. Red-beard was clearly losing his grip on their ears. He would have to think of something fresh to catch their interest.
The same thought had already occurred to the soldier and he hurried on. ‘Like the others, the constable had no wish to be discovered, so he sheathed his sword and hid under the bed. The lawyer gets in with the wife, but he has only had time to dip his quill when there’s a terrible hammering on the street door, then feet on the stairs, then more hammering on the door of the bedchamber. The lawyer takes his advice with him behind a high-back chair, and the wife bids the lastcomer enter.’ He risked a short pause, then said, ‘It’s the workman, with three of his strongest friends. “I didn’t get paid for my work,” he says. “I’m the best carpenter this town is ever likely to see, and I’ve talked it over with my friends, and I’ve decided to take back what I did until I see some money.” Whereupon he consulted a list and announced, “We’re taking away one plainwood cupboard, one linen box, one large bed and one high-back chair. Better clear out the contents, missy, or I’ll give them to my wife.” At which point the woman climbs out of her busy bed and laughing says, “No, rope everything and take it as it is. I am in a generous mood today, and your wife will appreciate what I’m giving her!”’
The audience roared and produced wine for red-beard. They hoped he would not be killed in battle for such story tellers were rare outside country fairs and the courts of the nobility.
* * *
While the army slept, four of its leaders stayed talking until an hour before midnight. Then, having reached agreement, one of them made his way through the camp, halting when he was challenged by the guards around the royal tent.
The caller identified himself, stepped forward into the light of the pitch torches, and was recognized by the guards. They told him the king was asleep.
‘Then wake him. I haven’t come here to sell unripe oranges. What I bring won’t improve with keeping. Go on, man, rouse your king.’
Reluctantly, a guard entered the tent and shook Guy awake. He stirred himself with equal reluctance and was about to drive the guard away when his visitor ducked in under the canopy.
‘Oh, God,’ Guy groaned. ‘Is there some plan to exhaust me to death?’
‘No, King, but extreme circumstances demand extreme measures.’
‘Granted, though you never put it in such a way before. Who loaned you that phrase?’
‘It’s time to get things done.’
‘Ah, that’s better, that’s in your style. Why, are we attacked?’
‘No.’
‘A fire then? Has some section deserted?’
‘No.’
‘Then what, for God’s sake? Is dawn far off?’
‘Yes, far off.’
Guy nodded, not quite sure why he had asked the question. Then he told the guard to set a light in the bracket of the tent pole and dismissed him. Pushing his legs over the side of his cot, he leaned forward and grumbled, ‘It’s cold. Pass me that mantle. There, beside you. Hell’s teeth, mine are set to knock themselves from my mouth. Ah, it’s warmer with the fur turned inward. Now, what brings you from your bed?’
‘It’s the opinion of many of your leaders that the army should march on to Tiberias’
‘Oh, my God, we’ve talked this out!’
‘Too sparsely for some of us. We want to go on.’
‘Very well, we will go on. In the morn—’
‘Tonight.’
‘This damned mantle is too short. The cold makes my legs ache. Tonight? No, impossible.’
‘A vote was taken.’
‘Indeed? Then I imagine you are here because your proposal found favour with my other leaders.’
‘Yes.’
‘How many cast their vote?’
‘That’s of no account, King. What is important is that if you do not give the order to move—’
‘How many took the vote?’
‘certain sections will leave the army—’
‘How many—Oh, no matter. My legs are like dungeon stones.’
‘among them the majority of the mercenaries. Moreover, I know that the Military Orders would rather relinquish their vows than allow the Lady of Tiberias to fall into the hands of the enemy. The army waits for you to lead them into battle, that’s the sum of it.’
‘I’m too cold to argue, that’s the sum of it.’ He wrapped his arms round his body and thought, if I say no and send him away, he’ll speak further with his friends, and then he or they will return tome. And as for saving Tiberias, my leaders were in favour, all save Raymond and Balian. Suppose the Regent is wrong this time; he could be, he’s no more than human. What would the army think of me then, ignoring the advice of ten to follow one who has already tried to make his peace with Saladin? His castle or no, Raymon
d could be wrong, and Balian with him.
He shivered and said, ‘I don’t like your methods, but I am persuaded that if it is what my leaders believe to be right—’
‘It is, King, I know it.’
‘Then put the word about. Let the alert be sounded in the camp. Oh, before you go. Pass my boots over. I’m too stiff to move.’ The visitor did as he was ordered, then went out to spread the ripples of wakefulness through the camp. When he reached his own tent again one of his companions inquired brusquely, ‘How did it go between you?’
‘It went well, Reynald. We’ll be at Tiberias with the light.’ The Lord of Kerak looked at Amalric and Joscelin, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘You’re made of my stuff, Grand Master. Tell me, why did he accede so quickly?’
‘He was cold,’ Gerard of Ridefort whined, mimicking the king. ‘The night wind chilled his manhood.’
The four men grinned at each other, then left to rejoin the stirring mass of soldiery.
Chapter Eighteen
Sepphoria, Hattin
3rd July 1187
By dawn the massive Christian army was strung out along the bare hills of Eastern Galilee. Raymond of Tripoli, feeling much as he had felt when he had learned that Sibylla and not he was to be crowned, rode in silence at the head of the army. He was accompanied by Reginald of Sidon and Walter of Caesarea, neither of whom were able to dispel the mood of black pessimism that had settled over him.
The centre of the army was commanded by King Guy, who rode with his brother Amalric and Seneschal Joscelin. Behind them, protected by a phalanx of infantry and a triple line of lay knights, came the most precious of all Christian symbols in the East, the True Cross. It was coated with red gold, set with pearls and rubies, and contained a chip of wood purporting to be from Christ’s own cross. The True Cross was carried in turn by Bishop Rufin of Acre and his fellow-cleric Bernard of Lydda.
Some fifty yards farther back another detachment of horsemen and foot soldiers formed a solid wall around the Kingdom’s greatest secular emblem, the Crusader Standard. Where the True Cross could be seen by only a handful, the Standard was designed as a signal to the entire army. The flagpole itself stood as tall as a ship’s mast. It was made from prepared sections, and each joint was bound with a high hoop of iron. From the top of the pole flew the Royal Banner, while the base was fixed to a huge, four-wheeled platform. Twenty guards from Guy’s household stood on the platform, and the entire structure was drawn by eight deep-chested shire horses.
The importance of the Standard to every Christian soldier was inestimable. The Moslems had long known this, so made ceaseless attacks upon it. They knew that while it reared above the battlefield, while a Crusader might look up and see the Royal Banner floating out from the topmast, he would gain fresh heart and fight on, whatever the odds. But they knew, too, that if the platform could be overturned, or the pole cut down, the Franks would assume that their leaders had been defeated and would promptly lose heart. They had learned from past example that the Standard was all things, good and bad, to the soldiers of Christ.
So the True Cross and the Crusader Standard were afforded the fullest protection, and the morale of the army rose with the sun.
The rear of the column, acknowledged to be the most vulnerable position, was under the collaborative command of Reynald of Chatillon, Balian of Ibelin, and the Grand Masters Gerard of Ridefort and Ermengard de Daps. Humphrey of Toron shunned his stepfather and rode with Balian, while Baldwin of Ramleh kept company with the Grand Master of the Hospital.
The minor peers attached themselves to one of the three main sections, and the Christian host wound eastward toward the black basalt Hills of Hattin, beyond which lay the sunken waters of the Sea of Galilee. Tiberias stood between the Hills of Hattin and the sea, and Guy expected to reach the citadel during the early hours of the afternoon.
He no longer complained about the cold. As if in answer to his prayers the sun warmed the ridges of the hills. By mid-morning the heat had become uncomfortable; the army sweated and grew thirsty and the infantry dragged their feet, halving the speed of the advance. Scouts were sent to inspect the Springs of Cresson. They returned to report that the entire area was swarming with Moslem cavalry, and that anyway the springs appeared to have dried up.
The army continued at a snail’s pace. Guy vacillated and sought the advice of Regent Raymond.
‘You know what I will say,’ Raymond snarled. ‘Lead us back to Sepphoria before it’s too late. We will shortly be midway between there and Tiberias, at the farthest point from water. Why do you trouble to ask me now, when you allowed Gerard to persuade you last night? Christ in Heaven, King, will you for once take my advice and hold to it, or will we be halfway back when you spin again?’.
The heat was beginning to dry the sweat on Guy’s face, so he poured water on a hand towel and wiped his eyes with it. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘you know I cannot retreat when I have not yet seen the enemy! There must be water hereabouts. In the valleys perhaps?’ He offered the towel to Raymond, who waved it away.
‘All you will find in the valleys are Saracens. Can’t you see, we are shuffling into a trap!’ His face livid with anger, he shouted, ‘I told you at Acre! I told you at Sepphoria! I tell you again here, on this blasted hill – Saladin’s sole purpose is to draw us away from the water! He all but succeeded when we left the coast. Then we settled at Sepphoria and I pleaded with you to stay there. But no, you were intent on giving him the second chance. Well, with Gerard’s help you have given him that chance. We are at last without water, while every step takes us farther into his embrace!’
‘I still say there must a spring, a river—’
‘You fool! I know these lands. Many of the Saracens know them. But how can you know, when the workings of your own mind are foreign to you? There are no springs, save Cresson. There is no river, save that feeble thing we skirted to reach Sepphoria. How many times must I tell you? Now turn the army and take us out of here, or I promise you – we are lost.’
He had hardly finished speaking when the first black-feathered arrows thudded into the column. Men fell to the ground. Horses reared and threw their riders. Christian crossbowmen ran to the perimeter of their sections, peering down the slopes of the hills at the thin lines of Moslem horsemen who wheeled their mounts, sped parallel with the Crusaders, fired once, twice, three times, then turned away again out of arrow shot.
The army came to a halt. Balian prepared to repulse an attack on the rear and, while he and Reynald formed their men into a defensive half-circle, the Templars and Hospitallers charged left and right toward the Saracens. The superior weight of the Christian knights smashed the enemy lines and the surviving archers fled into the valleys.
The Military Orders reformed and rode back slowly to the ridge. Many of them carried hacked-off Moslem limbs. Others grinned, prickly with embedded arrows. The army moved forward again, yelling triumphantly. There was now no turning back. The invaders had struck and the Crusaders had retaliated. The battle was joined.
* * *
Saladin was overjoyed to hear that the Christians had left Sepphoria. He sent word to Takedin and Kukburi and, leaving two hundred men to continue the siege of Tiberias, the rest of the Moslem army, advanced along the valley that Takedin had previously blocked. The army halted at its northern end, sealing the valley like a stopper in a jar.
The Sultan’s scouts informed him that if the Crusaders continued on their present path they would reach the Moslem position via the ridge that separated the valleys of Batuf and Tur’an. The only sources of water were in Saracen hands, so if the Christians could be halted, then driven north against the steep hillside, they would have to repulse not only the assaults of Islam, but the intolerable agonies of thirst.
Saladin listened to the volunteered advice, gazing directly at each man who spoke. By Western standards he did not seem physically equipped to lead an army of such magnitude. He was of average height, but with a spare frame, thin wrists and
fingers, and the face of a scribe, or an ascete. He was bearded, the hair starting high on his cheeks and growing down, grizzled, to his chest. Like all Moslems, he took care to keep the beard clean and well combed; not for him the lice-ridden growth of the Crusader. The upper half of his face was unremarkable; brown eyes and a hooked nose, and dark skin that was wrinkled over narrow cheek bones. Even in repose his expression was grave. He would smile gently, as a father to his child, but in anger there was none of the blazing intensity that seared the Frankish countenance.
The Crusaders knew him to be a brilliant general, though they themselves would never have followed such a reedy scholar.
When his scouts had finished, he said, ‘Then we must contain them between the valley we are in and those two pinnacles of rock. If they should break through us here, they will find water at that village—’
‘It’s called Lubieh,’ one of the scouts told him.
‘Yes, at Lubieh. We must prevent that, and we must also ensure that they do not escape between the peaks and so reach Tiberias and the sea.’ Nodding at the scout who had named the village, Saladin asked, ‘What does one call those two pinnacles, do you know?’
‘I do, Sultan. The Franks call them the Horns of Hattin, after Kafr Hittim, the Wheat Village.’
‘So. Then we will do all we can, under Almighty Allah, to impale the enemy on those horns.’
He gazed at the twin peaks for some time, acknowledging that not even Allah and walls of rock were sufficient, by themselves, to defeat the Crusaders. He therefore made his own preparations. By noon the Saracens had constructed eighteen hundred arrow shelters, set up seven hundred and fifty weapons points, from where the archers could draw arrows, and the infantry collect spears and lances. More than four hundred sheaves of arrows were held in reserve and sixty-six camels were set aside to carry them about the field. So far five hundred horsemen had been sent out to harry the enemy. This number was now doubled, and dust rose up to fill the valley of Tur’an as the cavalry galloped west toward the approaching army.
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