By the end of 3rd July, more than one third of the Frankish infantry had surrendered.
* * *
By the end of 3rd July – 24th Rabi II. – the prayers of the Faithful had risen throughout Islam to Allah, Lord of Creation, Judge of the Last Day.
‘You alone do we worship, and to You alone do we pray. Guide us to Your straight way, the way of those on whom You look with favour, not of those who have angered You, nor of those who have strayed from Your way. All praise be to You, Almighty Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful.’
‘La ilaha il’Mohammed rasul Allah!’
‘There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is His Prophet!’
* * *
On Balian’s orders, one of the army physicians had administered a powerful sleeping potion to Raymond. The physician had not been able to say with any accuracy how long the effects of the potion would last, but he thought until dawn, or even full light. He was wrong, for by the middle of the third hour of Saturday, 4th July, the Regent had woken, calm but listless, and had sneaked out of the tent and made his way to his king.
Guy had never been so pleased to see his erstwhile rival.
‘Where in hell were you? I’ve had men scouring the camp!’
‘How is our situation?’ Raymond intoned, blinking as though every movement of his eyelids was premeditated. ‘Are we holding?’
‘Don’t you know? Isn’t it obvious to you? Our situation is grave and no, we are not holding. Listen to me now. I make no pretence of the fact that many of my leaders are beyond my control. If you had been with me when Gerard and Reynald took me back to see—’
‘Are we holding, King?’
‘the extent of the injuries sustained by the – What? I’ve told you once, no, we are not. What is it? Are you unwell?’
‘The situation is grave, King. I make no pretence of that fact.’
Guy frowned at him. ‘I just said that. Why do you blink in such a way? What’s wrong with you?’
‘In a while I will ride out of here. It’s too dry.’
Thinking that the Regent was suffering from excessive fatigue, Guy snatched at this last opportunity to use him. Raymond was still the best tactician in the army, and he was still the man the soldiers looked to as their true leader. Fatigued or not, he must be put to work, rallying the Crusaders.
‘Yes,’ the king pressed, ‘that’s it, you ride out. Take Reginald of Sidon and young Raymond of Antioch with you. The sea’s only five miles distant. Take all the men you need and break out to the east.’
‘It’s dry here.’
‘Don’t worry, Princess Eschiva will give you water.’
‘Eschiva?’
‘Your wife, Regent. Ride to her. Hew a path for us and we will all follow.’ Struggling to find words to which Raymond would respond, Guy said, ‘It’s dry here, but not at Tiberias. Your wife waits for you with jars and baths of water. If you lead us, the army will follow.’
‘If only I were king.’
‘Well, you’re n— Yes, yes, you are all but king now. Save us today and the crown is promised to you.’
‘The sea is only five miles away.’
‘Exactly. What is that to a man like you?’
‘Hmmm?’
‘It’s nothing, is it?’ He swallowed and said, ‘You can lead the army five miles, whereas I could not take it fifty yards.’
‘I’ll ride out of here,’ Raymond repeated. ‘This is not a good place to stay.’
Guy put a hand on his arm. ‘Sit here in the king’s tent for a while. I’ll raise some men for you.’ He led Raymond into the scarlet cone and left him seated in a small chair. He was about to leave when a thought struck him and he poured Raymond a glass of wine, then placed his simple gold coronet on the Regent’s head. ‘There,’ he said. ‘How does it feel to be king?’
‘Dry,’ Raymond told him. ‘I’ll soon ride away from here.’ Reminding himself to reclaim the coronet before Raymond led the charge toward Tiberias, he went out, whispered to three of his guards to humour the Regent, but to keep him inside the tent, then hurried through the camp in search of Reginald and Walter and anyone else who would join the charge.
* * *
Constable Pola of Toron was killed by a slingshot whilst in conversation with Humphrey near the south-west perimeter of the camp.
A few moments later, Bishop Rufin of Acre was hit in the chest by an arrow and fell dying, still clutching the True Cross. Bishop Bernard of Lydda was quickly summoned and prised the cross from Rufin’s hands.
The smell of burning that already pervaded the field became stronger, and smoke began to drift across the camp. Before long the Crusaders realised that the Moslems had fired the grass and bushes on the plateau. The acrid smoke rolled in with the light wind, adding to the confusion and sharpening their desperate desire for water. More foot soldiers surrendered, but the knights held their ground, many of them divested of their heavy armour.
* * *
Bohemond of Antioch’s son and the Lords of Sidon and Caesarea were located, their knights assembled and Raymond of Tripoli led, minus Guy’s coronet, to his horse. As was the way, the leaders rode together in advance of their men. The object of the attack was to break Takedin’s line between the eastern Horn of Hattin and the northern edge of the Hill of the Multiplication of Pains. If this was achieved, the entire Christian army would stream eastward in their wake and thus break out in the direction of Tiberias.
The other leaders were occupied elsewhere, so only Guy and Bishop Bernard were present to wish Raymond well.
As the first faint dawn light hued the sky the foot soldiers on the eastern perimeter moved aside and the cavalry trotted out. Raymond’s thoughts were muddled. He was not sure whether Guy had promised him the crown if he reached Tiberias, or if he was expected to collect water from Eschiva and bring it back so that the king might bathe. Whichever, he was determined that neither Reginald, nor Walter, nor Bohemond’s son would beat him to the crown, so he spurred forward without warning his compeers, or preparing the knights for a charge.
The wiry Emir of Hamat saw him approaching through the smoke, sensed that something was amiss, and shouted to the nearby soldiers, ‘That’s the Regent of the Kingdom! What is it about him?’
‘He has no sword!’ they said. ‘He’s traded it for a lance.’
For a moment Takedin stared at the man all Islam held in high esteem, then gasped as he saw the fault in Raymond. He was holding the lance the wrong way round.
Clearly, the Regent did not realise it, for the lance was couched properly, the shaft tucked against his body, the blunt end protruding alongside the horse’s head. But the leaf-shaped tip was already cutting into the animals croup, like some devilish spur. Takedin waited for him to correct his error and reverse the lance. When he did not, and when he refused to acknowledge the shouts of warning from his Christian companions, the Moslem knew that a madness had overtaken him. Waving his men aside, he shouted, ‘Let him through! Let that man go by! Wait for the others!’
At that moment Raymond’s three fellow barons drew level with him, and their knights were subjected to the incredible sight of the Lords of Tiberias, Sidon, Caesarea and Antioch, plunging along an open corridor between the enemy lines. A few disobedient archers fired, hoping to hit one of the three sane leaders, but it was over too quickly and Takedin was screaming at them to close their ranks again.
With the Christian army trapped on the plateau, Saladin had sent word to Emir Kukburi to withdraw his men from the valley of Batuf and to bring them round to reinforce his and Takedin’s contingents. So the Regent, Reginald, Walter and Raymond of Antioch found themselves free, almost as though they had been evicted from the battle. They rode on as far as the hill of Arbel, then reined in, shattered by Takedin’s tactics.
There was nothing they could do. There was no possible way by which they might re-enter the plateau. They were free men, free to live with the knowledge that they had been forced to desert their knights and had failed
to strike a blow against their mortal enemy.
It was Bohemond of Antioch’s son who leaned over to reverse the Regent’s lance.
Raymond said, ‘Thank you,’ and then, ‘take heart, my lords, I will be made king in a day or two.’
They headed north, were given food and water at the Templar castle of Safed, and rested there before riding on to Raymond’s county of Tripoli.
* * *
At dawn the Saracens on the Hills of Hattin carried out a critical inspection of the plateau below. The grass was still burning, though more than half the field was now blackened. The Christian perimeter had shrunk and the onlookers were astonished to see that less than three thousand men were left inside the lines. More than three- quarters of the infantry had capitulated, and there was an obvious shortage of horses within the camp. But the Crusader Standard was still erect, and Guy had moved his tent on to a low mound, where it could be seen by all who were prepared to fight on. The plateau was a charnel house of bodies, some moving, most of them stiffened.
The Moslem generals had encircled the camp on three sides, while the archers on the peaks that formed the fourth side waited for the Crusaders to retreat toward them. Once they came within arrow-shot the battle would be over.
Standing midway between the camp and the walls of Lubieh, Saladin reviewed the scene. His eldest son was with him, witness to the changing emotions in the man who many thought too calm for feelings.
‘They will make two charges,’ Saladin mused. ‘Then their force will be depleted. You know their Regent escaped with a number of other leaders.’
‘I know,’ al-Afdal said. ‘I am glad Emir Takedin allowed Raymond to go. I found the man’s sincerity worthy of respect. I’m glad he eluded us.’
Saladin nodded, not taking his eyes from the scarlet tent and the fluttering Standard. ‘I too. Have your troops found any trace of the Red Wolf yet?’
‘No. He must still be out there. Now there’s a beast of a different stripe. We will not let him ride away.’
‘I feel personally about him,’ Saladin said. ‘I should not allow it, but I wonder how long I would hesitate before I raised my own sword against him.’
‘None would blame you for it if you did. By all that’s just he should have been cut down long ago.’
‘Would you kill him, my son?’
‘I would, and Allah would put strength in my arm! Give him to me and you’ll see.’
‘It may go that way, though first we have to— Look! They are ready to charge.’
‘Their first attempt,’ al-Afdal said. ‘Like you, I give them one other.’
* * *
The Crusaders had reached an obvious conclusion. The two and a half thousand knights and three thousand Turcopoles who had left Acre had been reduced to six hundred Templars and Hospitallers, between four and five hundred lay horsemen and less than seven hundred Moslem mercenaries. This was tragic enough, but only half the survivors had horses to ride.
So the nine hundred who were still able to do battle were divided into two sections, one led by King Guy, Reynald of Chatillon, Gerard of Ridefort, Constable Amalric and Seneschal Joscelin, the other by Balian of lbelin, Baldwin of Rainleh, Humphrey of Toron and Grand Master Ermengard de Daps.
Balian was ordered to mount the first charge, but the direction of it was left to him.
‘We will ride directly at them,’ he said, ‘then turn west before we come into arrow range.’
‘You won’t do battle with them?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘By God, I’ve come too far to flee now.’
‘You may have more years in you than I, brother, but I ride in command today. As for your battle, do you really think we will make an impression on them?’
‘I don’t care what impression we make, so long as we break their bones!’
‘Doughty as ever, but as short-sighted. When we are killed or captured, who is left to raise another army? No, brave Baldwin, we’ll do things my way and see who rides safely out of here. You’ll have enough fighting on your hands just breaking free. Now clasp mine and we’ll say farewell. Now you, Grand Master. I think the Hospital is well pleased that you should have been chosen to succeed the valiant Roger of Les Moulins. And now you, Humphrey. You have made my stepdaughter happy and been a good husband to her. I note that you wear her silver brooch. She told me once that she had bled on it and slept on it for you.’ He smiled wearily. ‘It’s strong magic from a young woman. I pray it keeps you safe.’ He gripped Humphrey’s hand, then raised his arm in the air and waved the knights forward.
They streamed out of the shrunken camp, riding a little east of south toward Lubieh. The Saracen cavalry advanced to meet them head-on. A few stray horses and camels ran to the edges of the fast-diminishing gap and then there was nothing but the black, corpse-strewn plateau separating foe from foe…
Balian watched where the Moslem arrows fell, then waved repeatedly toward the entrance to the valley of Tur’an and wheeled to the west. A moment later Islam and Christendom collided, both sides fighting with unprecedented ferocity. Blood founted in the air, and the hills rang with the screams of men and horses. Fostus carved a path, hoping Balian would follow, but it was Ernoul who stayed close behind, while the Lord of Nablus made his own way on another part of the field.
Baldwin of Ramleh shouted for support. Twenty knights rode to him, then found themselves hemmed in by a hundred grim Saracens. Baldwin’s sword was dashed from his grasp and he felt a dozen hands dragging him to the ground.
Humphrey joined Balian and fought alongside him, as each moment brought the valley entrance a yard nearer. They saw Ermengard, with the remnants of his Hospitallers, and Humphrey turned, thinking Balian was still with him. The Lord of Toron was between Balian and the Grand Master when a Saracen threw his shield at him, sending it spinning flat like a discus. It caught Humphrey on the rim of his helmet and knocked him cold. The dark-skinned horsemen swooped on him and pitched him from his saddle.
By now Fostus had been singled out for immediate dispatch. He had done too much damage and looked set to do more, so a group of Saracen archers marked him as their target. Eager to make up in his glance what he lacked in muscle, Ernoul yelled, ‘’Ware bowmen!’ and charged at them. It was an instinctive movement, as when he had ridden between Balian and the Constable at Nazareth, and it irritated the Saracens. They had no time to waste on this skinny Frank. He was unimportant and could be easily cut down later. But at the moment he was in their way, blocking their view of the hairy monster who continued to bedevil them. If he didn’t turn aside soon—
Suddenly realising what he was at, Ernoul tugged at the reins and fled. The archers raised their bows, then screamed imprecations. The warrior-ape had gone, cutting a swathe through to rejoin his master.
Because Balian’s unexpected manoeuvre had given the Crusaders a few moments advantage, a number of them reached the valley of Tur’an. They did not stop there, but put five good miles between themselves and the Horns of Hattin. Twenty lay knights arrived first, then a handful of Hospitallers, then a further thirty knights, then Ernoul, then a mixed dozen, then Fostus, Balian, eight more who wore the split-pointed cross, and Grand Master Ermengard. They waited for some time and were joined by another sixty horsemen.
At a rough count, Ernoul estimated that somewhat less than one hundred and fifty had escaped, leaving twice that number dead or captive on the field. Balian searched for his brother and young Humphrey, but too many survivors had seen them fall. It was poor consolation to know that they could be ransomed, so were probably still alive.
* * *
Al-Afdal shouted, ‘Look! They make their second attempt!’
This time the knights did not veer east or west, but rode straight at Lubieh and the Sultan. They paid dearly for their guileless courage, and within the first few moments of combat Hugh Embriaco, Lord of Jebail, was taken, and the king’s brother Amalric, and the Lord of Botrun. Then, as the knights retreated to the slope below Guy’s tent, the aged William III, Marquis of Mo
ntferrat was dragged, none too gently, from his horse. William was the grandfather of Queen Sibylla’s sickly son, the late Child King Baldwin V, and the Saracens who led him back to their lines were confident of gaining a good price for him.
Now Saladin and his son watched as the Moslems made their final assaults on the camp. Twice they attacked and twice they were beaten back, the last time bringing them dangerously near their Sultan. Each time the Moslems reached the low hill al-Afdal shouted, ‘We have them!’ and each time Saladin replied, ‘Be silent. They are not yet finished.’
Then Takedin and Kukburi waved their men forward and Saladin watched as the mighty Crusader Standard teetered and fell, while the royal tent disappeared with a last flash of scarlet. Spilling tears of joy, the Sultan sank to his knees and made obeisance to Allah. Then he climbed to his feet again, his expression as grave as ever and said, ‘Bring their leaders to my tent. I will speak with them there.’
Al-Afdal nodded. He could not believe that the battle was over. But it was over, all save the final reckoning.
Leaden-limbed and smeared with blood the Christian overlords were herded down the slope and across the razed field. The True Cross was taken from Bishop Bernard. Rumour had it that an officer in the Moslem cavalry took it with him to Damascus where he tied it to the tail of his horse and dragged it through the gutters of the city. True or not, it was never seen again by the Christians of Palestine. When they reached the Sultan’s tent, Guy was briefly reunited with his brother, then the Lusignans, Baldwin, Humphrey, Joscelin and Reynald were led before their victor.
They expected many things, but not a gentle greeting and an invitation to be seated on scattered cushions. Indicating that King Guy should sit at his left and young Humphrey at his right, Saladin then extended the gesture to include Balian’s brother, the Seneschal and Constable of the Kingdom, and the Red Wolf of the Desert.
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 30
