William chuckled. “Yes, it is not palatable, but it is indeed a marvel of God’s creation. Whatever you set on the sea refused to sink, although no ship could sail upon it for the water warped and corroded the planks.”
“What were you doing there, Papa?” Eve asked. “You have never told us these things before.”
William gave his daughters a tired smile. “No. It was a difficult time for me and I learned some hard lessons. What was I doing? I was on my way to relieve a castle, never knowing what awaited me there.” He shook his head and gazed toward the open window. “It is something I need to remember but not something you need to know. But stay, if you will. Your presence sustains me.”
18
The Shores of the Dead Sea, Early December 1183
At dawn, William walked with Ancel along the shores of the Dead Sea, the water reflecting hues of pink and rose amber from the sky. The air was clear and dry, and beyond the salt-scaled shoreline, the earth was a dusty baked gold. It was bearably cool at the moment, but the heat would burn up as the sun gained height in the sky. For all that it was early December, the temperature was as warm as France in the middle of the tourney season.
Ancel crouched by the shore, dipped his fingers, and then tasted the water before choking and filling his mouth with saliva to spit. “They say this place is one of the entrances to hell and that is why nothing will live in it or on it!”
William grinned. “But surely priests tell us that the entrance to hell is lush and beautiful and paved with all manner of enticements?”
Ancel spat again, wiped his mouth, and made a face that said he was unconvinced. “I can well believe this is the place where Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar of salt.”
William stooped, picked up some of the smooth white stones edging the shore and put them in his pouch for a keepsake. Then he straightened and shaded his eyes to the sunrise, knowing this might be his last day on earth.
Ancel rose beside him and the deep-rosy light fingered his cheek and burnished his hair. “I hope you are right about the mouth of hell,” he said ruefully. “I don’t want to find myself back here if we die today.”
“Neither do I, but we have done our penance at the sepulchre and received absolution, and that is all we can do.” A half day’s ride would bring them to the walls of Kerak. If Saladin chose not to retreat, then they would be going into pitched battle against the full might of the Saracen army. Even with the protection of the True Cross, it was a daunting prospect.
Ancel said flippantly, “Kerak will be full of jesters and minstrels present for the wedding. At least if we win through, we shall be royally entertained.”
Hearing the bravado in his brother’s voice, William gave him a rough hug. “Whatever happens, we’re together.”
Ancel returned the embrace, giving William a hard squeeze, but then self-consciously stepped back.
On returning to the camp to make their preparations, William was summoned to the king’s tent to receive the order of march. Girding on his sword, he made his way to Baldwin’s great white-and-gold canvas pavilion, the royal banner fluttering from the top in the breeze. The flaps were hooked back to admit the army’s lords and officers, and a crowd had already gathered. William eased his way inside and found a space at the side near the entrance, trying not to tread on toes.
Baldwin sat on a raised wooden platform. He wore a knee-length quilted silk tunic and soft, gray hose, for he was unable to bear the weight of a mail shirt. A thinly padded bonnet covered his head, with a light coif worn over it. Raymond of Tripoli and Guy de Lusignan stood either side of him. The former, his hands clasped behind his back, was looking out over the knights with a composed expression. Guy was tight-lipped, his fists clenched around his belt.
Baldwin drew himself upright and raised his voice. “Today, we march to the relief of Kerak, and it may be that we shall meet the hosts of Saladin in battle, should he choose to stay and fight. If that happens, then I trust in the Lord God and his son, Jesus Christ, to be with us and to strengthen our swords and our resolve. I shall be with you throughout, at the standard of the True Cross, and whatever happens on this day, I shall see it through to the end.
“My condition is such that although my will and spirit are strong, my body will not encompass all that must be done. I know there are differences of opinion among you and deep divisions, but now is not the time to air them. We therefore appoint the Count of Tripoli to act as overall commander of my army. He is known to all of you and is a steady hand with much experience. That is my decision. The Count of Jaffa shall attend on me and remain at my side to offer his personal support and succor.”
William heard the collective sigh of relief surge through the tent. Baldwin could not lead the troops in a fight, however brave his words—he was incapable of holding a sword—but his barons would only follow Guy de Lusignan into battle under heavy duress. This way, at least the rift was patched over until they had dealt with relieving Kerak.
Raymond of Tripoli stepped forward at Baldwin’s invitation to give a rousing speech, followed by more prosaic instructions about deployment before dismissing everyone to their positions with a final instruction to be ready to ride on the moment. Guy sent a vicious look around the tent as it began to empty but was forced by Baldwin’s orders to remain by his side.
“Well, thank God for that,” muttered Bohemond to William as they left the tent. “The Lord of Tripoli is a fine man to lead the army, and we know where we stand.” He sent William a shrewd look. “The king is courageous, but he cannot take an active part if there is fighting. It is his will that unites us and brings us here, but that is the most that can be said.”
“And the Count of Jaffa will protect him with his life?”
Bohemond snorted. “The Count of Jaffa will do whatsoever the Count of Jaffa wishes—and that will be to protect his own life above all others. Saladin fears our king a great deal more than he does the man who would follow him onto the throne of Jerusalem. He also has cause to respect the Lord of Tripoli, but I doubt he has ever had a qualm about the name of Lusignan.”
William had his own qualms about the name of Lusignan. Guy could fight—indeed, he was vicious in a fray—but was too easily distracted by the heat of the moment. He was no commander; he did not have the gift in the thick of battle, and when it came to making plans, he was a follower who would jump on a cart already in motion but without knowing where it would end up. Many were swayed by his fair good looks and his arrogant air of entitlement. “As you say, all will be well with the king to lead the True Cross and my Lord of Tripoli to command the army.”
“You are a man after my own heart,” Bohemond said. “I admire a bridled tongue.” He slapped William’s arm. “Good fortune. If all goes well, we shall speak again inside Kerak.”
* * *
Ancel reached for his water skin and pulled out the stopper to take a few swallows before passing it to William. The sun was at its zenith and had begun to beat down on mail shirts and helmets. Ever since setting out from their camp beside the Sea of Salt, they had seen Saracen scouts in the distance shadowing their movements, close enough to taunt their approach but far enough away not to be caught. They would be reporting to Saladin that the king of Jerusalem had come in person to Kerak’s rescue, bearing the True Cross, containing amid its glittering fabric a splinter of wood from the tree on which Jesus had hung and died.
William drank the warm water, tasting of leather, and returned the skin to Ancel. His belly churned with anticipation; he was ready for battle, ready to do his duty whatever the cost. Steady and alert. He and his men were riding on the left flank, on the outer edge of the knights protecting the king’s palanquin. Baldwin was being borne on an open litter, the white silk curtains drawn back to reveal him in his cloth armor. His face was covered by a gauze veil, but his figure, borne on high, was, like the True Cross, a marker and focal point for the men.
&nb
sp; Guy de Lusignan rode close to the palanquin upon his white stallion, harness jingling with enameled pendants. The links of his coif were gilded, so that although his blond hair was covered, he was still the shining, golden prince. Riding at the king’s other side, Raymond of Tripoli was somberly garbed in a dark surcoat and seated upon a solid brown stallion, as though deliberately shunning the trappings Guy so flamboyantly embraced.
Dust rose in a gritty mist around the horses’ hooves so that the army moved in its own cloud, while beyond them, the air was clear and hard. High in the blue, several large birds described lazy circles over the advancing men.
“Do you think they know something we do not?” Ancel asked, shading his eyes.
William squinted against the sun. “Perhaps Saladin is asking the same question. Carrion birds always follow armies. Even without battle, there are pickings to be had.” He patted his new stallion’s neck to continue the bonding and reassurance. He had negotiated with the Templars for warhorses for him and his men, and Onri had ensured that they had been given the best that could be found from among the order’s remounts. His own, Flambur, was a golden dun with darker rings marbling his rump and shoulders. Ancel rode an inquisitive and greedy dappled gray that had already managed to dip its nose into the oat sack when no one was looking. Ancel had threatened to rename it “Greedy Guts,” the nickname of William’s youth, but the horse was called Byrnie because the strongly marked dapples on his coat resembled a mail shirt.
Moments later, two scouts came galloping in and reported urgently to the king. William was too far away to hear what was said, but the command went out to increase the pace from steady walk to trot.
A messenger joined him as they rode. “Saladin is withdrawing from Kerak, but we may yet bite his baggage train in the backside if we make haste!” He spurred on, carrying the news to the next group and the next.
William checked his weapons and his men but was confident that every man knew his part. They had fought and trained and journeyed together for so long that they worked as one without conscious thought.
Through the dusty haze of their increased speed, Kerak castle reared before them, an imposing fortress of golden rock standing on the spur of a high plateau surrounded by a deep ditch with sloping sides rising up from the base of the rock. Scrubby bushes covered the unworked areas of natural stone. The defenses showed signs of the battering they had received from the Saracen stone throwers, but banners waved defiantly from the battlements.
Ahead, the pace quickened to a canter, and William heard shouts and the clash of weapons as they hit the tail end of Saladin’s baggage train. A fight obstructed the ground in front of him, and he had to swerve to avoid three knights who had brought down a Saracen horse archer. Small whirlpools of sporadic combat churned the dust. Loose horses milled around, among them a scrawny donkey heavily laden with two baggage sacks. Ancel grabbed the rope bridle. Despite its bony, flea-bitten condition, the creature flattened its ears and lashed out with its small, hard hooves, braying fit to deafen anyone in its vicinity, but Ancel held on tightly. The first rule of battle after survival, as every knight knew, was taking ransoms and acquiring plunder.
The siege machines that had been pounding Kerak’s walls had been set on fire as Saladin’s soldiers fled, and the heat and smoke flared out from their carcasses in burning wings of flame. Through the smoke and dust, William glimpsed the cloud of Saladin’s rapidly retreating force. Arrows sang overhead and plummeted on the relief army like diving birds, but they were random and loosed as a distraction to slow the pursuit. One struck the ground close to William, and in front of him, a horse was hit in the rump by an almost-spent shaft that sent it bucking and kicking and flinging its rider to the ground. William drew his shield in close to his body. Tents and debris from the Saracen baggage strewed the route—some of it burning, some still intact, most of it worthless. Saladin might be in full retreat, but it was in good order, with his wealth and his best troops unscathed.
Swift orders were issued not to pursue the enemy but to secure the castle and relieve its occupants.
As a ragged cheer spread through the relieving army and gathered strength, William reined in Flambur and leaned forward to pat the stallion’s damp shoulder. He had been prepared to fight and die but was not sorry to see the Saracen army retreating before the banner of the True Cross. Their goal had been accomplished without loss, even if it was a pity that Saladin had had the foresight and time to move his most valuable assets forward through the ranks. Only the detritus of the baggage train remained to be picked over, and no one was going to get fat on that.
The ramparts of Kerak were lined with cheering people waving banners and cloths. William suddenly grinned and waved back, feeling like the champion at a tourney. Behind him, the donkey brayed, and he looked around with amusement. “At least one of us has acquired some booty, although I don’t think there is any need for you to share it out among the rest of the men.”
Ancel saluted him with a rude gesture.
* * *
The army paraded into Kerak in full military order, horses abreast, banners flying, the True Cross brandished aloft before King Baldwin’s litter, and the midday sun flashing starbursts on armor and weapons.
William took note of the massive defenses as they entered the castle. Such places were designed to resist assault for months, if not years, on end. He studied the damage to the stonework from Saladin’s siege machines—the pockmarks and blurring, the chips and shards of broken stone. Yet the underlying structure remained intact and the inner defenses were mostly untouched.
The first duty was to see to the horses, ensure they were watered and given adequate stabling, and to make sure the tack was stowed safely. Ancel investigated his donkey’s baggage and was delighted to discover a red silk turban set with a huge sapphire pin and a fabulous golden damask robe embroidered all over with pearls and gold beads. A pair of gilded leather slippers with turned-up toes completed the ensemble and fitted Ancel perfectly. The other sack contained a bag of charcoal, two battered metal cooking pots, and several dice in a lidded horn cup. Amid much joshing, they decided that Ancel had captured either a thief or a trickster’s ill-gotten gains.
“You said I didn’t have to share the spoils,” Ancel declared loftily, “but you are welcome to the cooking pots and the charcoal.”
William cuffed Ancel across the top of his head. “Generous to a fault,” he retorted with a grin. “I hope to be equally generous when next I come into a fortune!”
* * *
That night, a great feast was held with music and entertainments provided by the troubadours, acrobats, jugglers, and sword dancers who were present at Kerak to entertain the guests at the marriage festivities of Baldwin’s half sister, Isabelle, and Humphrey, the young Lord of Toron. The nuptials were celebrated all over again with a thanksgiving for the timely relief that had arrived from Jerusalem.
William moved among the crowds in the hall, speaking to men, socializing, making useful connections, although his circle did not bring him anywhere near the high table, where King Baldwin presided over the feast, seated on a great chair set beneath a blue silk canopy. William could see that the event was an endurance test for the young king, who was visibly flagging, his posture slumped and his gestures slow. His half sister, the bride, sat at his side, a quiet, fair-haired girl only just entering womanhood with slight breasts and a narrow waist. Her eyes were modestly downcast, and she said little. The bridegroom was a handsome youth but also subdued and overshadowed by the grown men in the gathering, with their beards and stubble and hard eyes, all watching each other and watching Baldwin.
Outside, the evening in the desert was cold and star studded, but within, the press of so many people and the heat from the lamps and candles made for a pungent atmosphere. Seeking fresher air, William climbed to the gallery that ran around the top of the hall and looked down through the lamplight on a contortionist per
forming before the high table. The man’s torso gleamed with blue paint and his golden loin cloth shimmered as he twisted his body into all manner of outlandish positions. William was reminded of the grotesques that populated the external walls of churches, warning everyone how close they were to sin, even in a holy place. Wondrous and disturbing.
He turned away to an embrasure to look out of the window instead. A full moon shone over the defenses of a landscape scarred with the debris of the rapid Saracen retreat—the marks of their campfires, the smoking timbers of a destroyed siege machine. A jackal trotted over the terrain, sniffing, investigating, and paused to eat something it found on the edge of some heaped ashes.
William mulled over what had happened today and pondered strategies, turning over different scenarios in his mind—how he would have dealt with the matter of besieging this place if he had been Saladin and how he would have gone about defending it too. Those trapped within Kerak had tried to set up a siege machine on the walls to respond to the Saracens, but so fierce had been the bombardment that they had been forced to abandon their efforts. Many soldiers bore cuts and abrasions from flying chips of stone, and numerous civilians had been slaughtered or seized for slaves during the retreat from the outer defenses.
“Taking a respite?” Bohemond asked, wandering up to join him.
William turned. “I was thinking, sire—ordering my mind.”
Bohemond’s gaze was bright with curiosity. “What is there to think about?”
William shrugged. “What I would have done in the circumstances. It is always interesting to note each commander’s actions and how he might have adjusted his strategy. If Saladin had filled in the moat before setting up the siege machines, his attack would have posed a greater threat.”
“Indeed so, and he will have learned from this—we must be ever vigilant.” Bohemond touched William’s arm. “You have not been introduced to the bride and groom yet, have you? Or the patriarch?”
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