Outcasts

by Martin Lake

  ‘I smashed his face and broke some ribs and his arm.’

  Balian whistled. ‘That must have been some fury.’ He straightened up and spoke sternly. ‘Priests should not lay with their sisters. I for one deem your fury to be a rightful one.’

  John blinked. Nobody had ever said this.

  Balian turned towards Eraclius. ‘Be wary of Sir John, my dear Archbishop. He has no love for priests who break their vows and sleep with women.’

  CHAPTER 6

  THE SIEGE BEGINS

  Jerusalem

  The following morning the people of Jerusalem were woken by a sound that had not been heard in the city for almost a century. A clear voice floated from beyond the walls, a long and warbling stream of words which simultaneously thrilled and alarmed. Outside the walls Saladin's soldiers heard the call of the muezzin and readied themselves for prayer. The most important battle of the age was about to begin and prayer was an essential element of a victory which all longed for.

  Balian and Jerome watched from the battlements as the vast army bowed in worship.

  'Do you think the Patriarch would be as effective in leading our defenders to worship?' Balian asked.

  Jerome gave a thin smile. 'No, my lord, I do not. And please don't ask me to fetch him to do so.'

  Balian chuckled. 'We need more than prayers today, old friend. We need a heavenly host.' His eyes swept over the multitude in front of him. 'Several heavenly hosts.'

  Jerome glanced up at him. He was Balian's man, always had been. He had never questioned his judgements or decisions and never would. Now, however, he wanted a reassurance he had never felt the need of before.

  'What is your strategy, Balian?' he asked.

  Balian glanced around quickly at the men who stood upon the wall. 'Strategy? I have nothing that can be graced with such a title. My only plan is to hold these walls for as long as we have men who can wield weapons.'

  Jerome nodded. 'To what end, my lord?'

  'To the end.'

  Jerome frowned.

  'No. Not to the end of every man here. I am not so fool-hardy, nor so profligate of life. I aim to fight such a battle as will daunt the Muslims and impress Saladin. He is a realist and a man of much honour. If we fight a battle of valour and hardship then he may give us terms which will be acceptable.'

  'You hope to secure Jerusalem?'

  Balian shook his head. 'There is no hope of that. The best we can hope for is to win the freedom of its people and the right of Christians to worship here. The city will fall to Saladin no matter what we do.'

  Jerome nodded. 'I think that may be termed a strategy.'

  Balian turned to him and his eyes sparkled. 'Thank you. But it's not one that I wish anyone else to hear. Not now, not ever.'

  'It will die with me, my lord.'

  Balian turned towards him. 'If that is the case I fear you won't have to keep your lips sealed for very long, old friend.'

  At that moment, Bernard and John clattered up the staircase towards them.

  'We've been all round the city walls, my lord,' Bernard said.

  He held his hand against the battlement, gasping for breath enough to continue. 'All the men are ready.'

  Balian nodded. 'Thank you, Bernard. Go to your post now. I want you on the wall opposite the Mount of Olives. Take this young man with you. Gather your friends and neighbours close.'

  'But that is on the eastern wall and the Saracens are to the west.'

  'I know,' said Balian. 'I am manning this side with brave young men. To guard the east wall I want brave men who are clever as well. Unless I place my wisest heads there Saladin may attack to the east without my realising in time.

  He watched them thoughtfully as they made their way along the battlements.

  'Bernard is a good man,' Jerome said. 'He will fight well.'

  'I hope all those I knighted will do likewise,' Balian said. He placed his hands upon the wall and peered out at Saladin's army.

  'I think they will,' said Jerome. 'Being chosen as knights has charged them with fervour. The people of the city will follow their own knights better, I think, than they would strangers.'

  'I hope you're right, Jerome. For make no mistake I shall be mocked for this deed.'

  'You will, my lord. Let's pray that only you will be mocked and not them.'

  Balian straightened and pointed to the west. 'I think the time of mockery is past.'

  Jerome looked where he was pointing. The Muslim army was on the march, filling the plain below the walls.

  In its vanguard rode a solitary horseman upon a beautiful white horse.

  Saladin was coming to conquer the Holy City.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE END OF DAYS

  Jerusalem

  The western walls of Jerusalem were most open to attack and they were thick beyond compare. The Saracens had found to their cost that they would take any amount of battering.

  After a few days Saladin had given up his attempt to smash the western wall and moved his siege engines to the east, close to the Mount of Olives. Few in Jerusalem had expected attack from this difficult terrain. In fact the Saracens had only been able to deploy half of their mangonels. But it stretched the defences more thinly than ever and Balian and Jerome spent all their time hurrying from wall to wall to check on their repair.

  Thankfully the walls were proving strong enough. So were the new-made knights. The morale in the city seemed to grow each day rather than diminish.

  'Perhaps there will be no cause for mockery after all,' Jerome said.

  Balian laughed. 'You are ever the optimist, old friend.'

  John rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. He had lost count of how long the siege had gone on. He was so exhausted that he might well have been fighting for ten years without respite.

  He sat by the eastern wall counting to himself.

  'What are you doing?' Simon asked.

  'I'm trying to count how many days we've been fighting.'

  'Six,' Simon answered authoritatively. 'Or maybe seven.'

  'It's nine days,' Bernard said. 'Or at least that's what Agnes told me this morning.'

  John's heart leapt. Agnes' image filled his mind. He saw her smile upon him as she had never done in life.

  He blinked his eyes to clear away the image and saw Simon looking at him with a knowing grin upon his face.

  'Still dreaming of the lovely Agnes?' he said.

  John glanced in the direction of Bernard. He had heard nothing.

  'Stop your filthy insinuations,' John said. 'Agnes is a married woman.'

  'And you are a man. As am I.'

  Simon picked some bread from his teeth. 'She is a rare beauty and I'm not afraid to say that she visits my dreams too.’

  John seized him by the arm.

  'We are guests in her house. And we are friends of her husband. Now, of all times, you should not be thinking such thoughts.'

  Simon shook his head. 'Now of all times I should be thinking them. Any one of us could be dead in a moment. And mark my words, if Bernard gets an arrow in his heart I shall follow you in line to comfort Agnes.'

  John lashed out at his cousin, slapping him across the mouth.

  Simon wiped his mouth and nodded. 'I see you've got it bad, dear cousin. And am I to play the part of the priest who you savaged for a woman?' He got up and strode away.

  John bowed his head in shame. At that moment a Saracen arrow would have been a welcome relief.

  Bernard crouched down beside his friend, Oliver the little Frenchman from Provence.

  'What was all that about?' Oliver asked.

  'What?'

  'Your two English friends. The big fair-haired one has just slapped the dark one.'

  Bernard turned and looked over to where the cousins had been sitting.

  John was alone; there was no sign of Simon.

  'John has a temper,' Bernard said with a shrug. 'I have seen it myself. I wish he would learn to master it.'

  'I don't think he will,' s
aid a figure lying on the other side of Oliver. 'I have seen such men. They can never tame the beast within.'

  'You should know, Jurgen,' Oliver said. 'You can be a beast as well.'

  'Only when I'm drunk.'

  Oliver smiled. 'Then that is all the time.' He turned to Bernard. 'Jurgen's from Saxony. Everyone is drunk there; all of the time. The weather is so bitter they have to drink to fortify themselves.'

  'Here they come again,' John called running in a crouch towards them.

  The four men listened as the air hummed with the sound of the mangonels being released.

  After three days of bombardment they had finally got accustomed to the noise. They were little concerned by the heavy thuds as the rocks crashed upon the walls.

  'I think these walls must be just as strong as the western ones,' Jurgen said, reaching for a flask of ale.

  The others nodded in agreement. Bernard opened a packet of food which Agnes had prepared for him earlier. He was famished and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  A loud deep rumble sounded below their feet. The four men looked at each other.

  This last sound was very different; not a heavy thud but a sharp crack. They threw themselves to the ground.

  They were only just in time. The sound was the noise of the final piece of foundation being mined from deep below.

  With the roar of a summer tempest the wall above the blast shuddered and slid into the space that opened up beneath. Slabs of masonry fell back to earth followed by dust as dense as a desert sand storm.

  John threw himself to one side just in time. A jagged piece of stonework smashed into the ground beside him. It would have sliced his head from his neck.

  In front of them a huge cloud of dust momentarily concealed the horrifying sight from their eyes. It cleared and they saw the huge breach in the wall. They saw rank upon rank of Saracen warriors. A horn sounded and they poured into the city.

  Within the hour Balian rode out of Jerusalem to negotiate surrender.

  CHAPTER 8

  BLOOD MONEY

  Jerusalem

  Agnes remained in her chair when Bernard returned.

  'Saladin has sent his terms,' he said.

  He hurried over to her and took her hand.

  'He demands ten dinars for each man, five for each woman and one for each child.'

  She did not answer for a moment, her throat was tight.

  'How much do we have?'

  'A little over one dinar in the safe-box.'

  Tears sprang into her eyes. So little; not even enough for both of their children. Her mind whirled, a chaos of thoughts and terrors.

  'I've got creditors though,' Bernard said, attempting a smile. 'And we can sell the inn.'

  She forced a smile upon her lips. Both of them knew that the inn would be virtually worthless now.

  'Saladin has given us time to raise the money,' Bernard said.

  He hurried across to the ledger which was kept at the entrance to the kitchen.

  'I'll start calling in our debts at once.'

  Bernard trekked from house to house, from shop to shop and church to church. Some who owed him money were willing to pay and did so with good grace. As the pennies and solidi were pushed into his hands he allowed his hopes to rise.

  But many, those who owed him the greatest debt, pretended they were not at home or refused him to his face.

  'I've got to look after my own family now,' said one of his oldest customers, a man who he had always extended credit to gladly.

  'But that's my money,' Bernard answered. 'You're buying your freedom with my money.'

  'Go to hell.'

  Bernard leant against the wall. 'Hell,' he murmured, 'I'm there already.'

  At the end of the day he returned home, his heart heavy and black.

  'How much?' Agnes asked.

  Bernard slid the money onto the table.

  'Almost a dinar,' she said, forcing a smile to her face. 'You've done well.'

  Bernard shook his head.

  'Not well enough. And I fear that I will do less well tomorrow.'

  Neither said what they were thinking. That here was enough to buy the freedom of two children but no more.

  'Did you have any luck in selling the inn?' Agnes asked.

  'One Jew was interested and would have offered three dinars.'

  'Three dinars? It's worth much more.'

  He nodded. 'It was last month. But not now.'

  Agnes took his hands in hers. 'Then take the money, however little. Go to the Jew now and take the money.'

  'I can't. He suddenly took fright. He feared that the Saracens would persecute him if he was seen to own a place that once sold wine.'

  Agnes put her hand to her mouth.

  They remained in silence for long minutes, staring into a pit that neither could ever have foreseen.

  Finally, Agnes rose and went to the kitchen. 'There's some supper here, my darling. You must be famished.'

  Bernard nodded. 'Tomorrow. I'll go out again tomorrow.'

  He had reconciled himself to the fact that he would not be able to buy his own freedom. He would not give up on buying that of Agnes.

  The next day was even worse than the first. The first day he had been met by cooperation or, at worst, by indifference. This day he was met by curses and looks of contempt. One man, a customer who owed him a great deal of money, punched him in the face before slamming the door on him.

  When he returned at night he had half a dinar only.

  They sat and counted up the money time and time and time again. No matter how many times they counted it, the amount remained the same.

  Finally, Bernard said the words neither had wanted to say. 'Still only enough to buy the freedom of two of the children.'

  Agnes squeezed his hand.

  Bernard wept.

  It was the last day left for the Christians to find their ransom. It broke with a bright sun which normally would have pierced the gloom in anyone's heart. This day some, those who had managed to find the money to buy their freedom, were jubilant and exhausted.

  Others, like Bernard, were filled with a bleak desperation which weighed down their hearts and minds.

  If only Alexius had not left the city, he repeated to himself over and over again. If only he had taken the loan which the old Greek had tried so inexplicably to press upon him before he left.

  Ten dinars he had offered, with no charge and no interest.

  Bernard had been astonished by the offer and refused it straight away. Alexius had insisted time and again, had even tried to give it as a gift for the children. Time and again Bernard had refused.

  The following day Alexius had left Jerusalem for Constantinople.

  Two days later had come word of the disaster at Hattin.

  Bernard drew a deep breath. There were still creditors he could approach again, still people who might agree to buy the inn for a fraction of its worth.

  'I don't think you'll be able to raise the money,' Agnes said, stroking his face.

  'I know. But I must attempt it.'

  He began once again his hopeless circuit through the city streets.

  Agnes sat alone in the courtyard. Her mind was a whirl of dread imaginings. Earlier she had been in such a despairing mood she feared it would scare the children and had asked the boys to take Eleanor to the market.

  Now they had gone she regretted it bitterly. Every moment without them seemed to be an irreparable loss.

  A familiar figure stepped into the courtyard.

  'You look as though your heart will break,' he said.

  She nodded, not able even to make a show of contradicting him.

  'You are frightened for your family?'

  'I'm terrified,' she said. 'We've been able to raise enough money to buy freedom for only two of the children.'

  'Who will that be?'

  She waved her hand at him, not even wanting to contemplate the decision which they knew they must face this evening.

  He
stepped closer and touched her on the shoulder. She felt his fingers tremble as he did it.

  'It doesn't have to be that way,' he said.

  'What do you mean?' she glanced up and looked into his eyes.

  He pulled a purse from his belt and upended its contents upon the table.

  Her quick eyes counted the money.

  'Eight dinars,' she said.

  'Enough to buy your freedom and that of the children. Including Claude-Yusuf.'

  'We have two dinars already.'

  'You will need that when you start your new life. Take all I offer.'

  Her hand reached out for the money and then she paused.

  'Are you certain about this?' she asked.

  He smiled like a cat who had trapped a bird.

  'It is not a gift, Agnes.'

  'A loan, of course. I will pay you back as soon as I can.'

  'It is not a loan, either. It is for a purchase.'

  Agnes blinked. 'For the inn?'

  He laughed and ran his fingers through her hair.

  'No, Agnes, it is to purchase you.'

  She sat upon the bed and stared blankly at the wall. She pulled the sheet over her knees. She felt dirty. Dirty and disgusting.

  As he left he had thrown the eight dinars upon the bed and she had startled herself by scrabbling for them and clutching them close to her breast.

  'These are desperate times, Agnes,' he said. 'Be sure to put it inside your safe-box.'

  She nodded bleakly at him as if he were her husband who could instruct her to do something.

  'I thought our coupling would be good,' he said. 'But it far exceeded my expectations. So full of passion, so full of lust.'

  He laughed as he walked down the stairs.

  She sat there for an hour, his final words beating time after time upon her heart.

  No, she kept thinking, it couldn't have been, it mustn't have been.

  She knew the act had not been like that. It had been a feat of desperation, a trading of her body for the lives of the children. There had been no passion, no lust on her part. But his very words began to poison her soul.

  Bernard came home later that evening and she held out the coins for him.

  He shook his head in disbelief.