Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Ruthin,’ said Cadwallader, ‘the blacksmith?’

  Garyn nodded silently.

  ‘Come here,’ said Cadwallader.

  Garyn glanced at Elspeth before walking across the courtyard to stand before the Lord of the manor.

  ‘You look like him,’ said Cadwallader eventually, ‘and will have his stature. Be proud of your father, Garyn, he was a great man.’

  ‘People keep telling me this,’ said Garyn, ‘yet I knew him only as a father and a blacksmith. I never knew he was a Knight. He chose not to share his past with me.’

  ‘A strange choice but one I respect,’ said Cadwallader. ‘Perhaps he wanted to steer you from the Knight’s path to keep you from harm.’

  ‘That wasn’t his decision to make,’ said Garyn. ‘A man should choose his own destiny.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Cadwallader, ‘but a father should also keep his children from harm. He did what he thought was right.’

  ‘I hear you are taking the cross,’ said Garyn. ‘Perhaps there is room for an extra Squire amongst your men.’

  ‘You are no Squire, Garyn. A Squire takes many years to learn the code before having to prove himself in battle. I have no doubt you would be a man of honour but it is too late for you to follow the path of chivalry. Go home and rebuild your father’s business, these matters are above you.’ Cadwallader turned and walked away, leaving Garyn standing in the middle of the courtyard alone.

  A Squire walked up to him and spoke quietly in his ear.

  ‘How dare you try to claim the path of the chivalry, peasant,’ he snarled. ‘Get yourself back to your pig farm or whatever pauper’s place you crawled from. Knighthood is for the gentry, not the lowly.’

  Garyn turned to face the similarly aged boy but Elspeth ran across to grab his arm.

  ‘Garyn, come away,’ she hissed, ‘this is not the place.’

  Garyn looked around and saw many people staring at him, including all the Squires.

  ‘Come on,’ said Elspeth again and dragged Garyn to where Reynolds was waiting with two sacks of feathers.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, young man,’ said the stockman, ‘they all train in the art of warfare and each could beat you within an inch of your life without breaking sweat.’

  Garyn swung the larger of the two sacks up onto his back.

  ‘For trainee Knights, their courtesy leaves a lot to be desired,’ he said and stormed out of the gate, his ears ringing with the jeering of the Squires behind him.

  ----

  Chapter Nine

  Krak des Chevalier

  Sir Najaar knocked loudly on the door of Khoury’s chambers.

  ‘Enter,’ called Khoury.

  Najaar walked in and Khoury could see he was covered with the dust of the road.

  ‘Brother Najaar,’ he said, ‘you are back earlier than I expected. How went the patrol?’

  ‘Sire,’ said Najaar, ‘I have grave news. A Mamluk army is but a day away and heads in this direction.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Khoury, standing up.

  ‘Yes, Sire. I saw the dust from their feet with my own eyes.’

  ‘At what Strength?’ asked Khoury.

  ‘Unknown as yet,’ said Najaar, ‘but already their lead units besiege the White Castle. The main force follows on and the talk in the village is that Baibaars himself leads the army.’

  ‘If Baibaars leads then his target must be Chevalier,’ said Khoury. ‘We are not strong enough to take on a Mamluk army but luckily, our predecessors made these walls thick enough to withstand a nation. Pass the word, stand to the garrison. Have our herdsmen bring in the cattle and man the outers.’

  ‘Sire, the villagers have sent petition and seek sanctuary within our walls.’

  ‘Grant entry to all that request it,’ said Khoury, ‘but in the outer ward only. It looks like Longshanks has let us down and we are on our own in this matter. Prepare for siege, Sir Najaar and pray that God strengthens our arms.’

  ----

  Twenty miles away, Sultan Baibaars rode at the head of his mounted army. Behind him, a seemingly endless caravan of carts followed the Mamluk warriors, carrying the supplies the army would need in their campaign against the Christians.

  Hassam rode up and joined the Sultan.

  ‘Majesty,’ he said, ‘our Halqas dominate the Homs gap and already the White Castle trembles before our assault. Do you wish me to hold back our swords until you get there to witness their capitulation.’

  ‘No, Hassam,’ said Baibaars, ‘the White Castle is but a distraction. Let our Amirs tear it down for the one I want is Chevalier and I would make it my focus. Send in the Halqas to surround the castle and lay waste to any hope of succour in the area. Lock them in their precious fortress, Hassam, let them think their walls are impregnable for in their arrogance they forget who it is they face. No army is too big to fall to Baibaars and no castle too strong to withstand my wrath. We will give them a gift, Hassam. We will give them the gift of this night to sleep safely within their walls. Tomorrow, our offerings will be horror, pain and bloodshed.’

  ----

  ‘Get a move on,’ shouted a Knight at the crowd of villagers pouring through the gate in the newly formed wooden palisade. ‘One more hour and these gates will be barred.’

  The villagers shuffled forward, each burdened with what belongings they could carry. Behind them, on the horizon, thousands of mounted Mamluk soldiers rode slowly toward Chevalier intent on laying siege.

  All along the palisade archers were busy placing piles of arrows in strategic places. The approach to the castle was not very wide and they knew their arrows would cause devastation before any battering rams got anywhere near.

  ‘Leave the animal here,’ shouted the Knight at an old man leading a mule through the gate. ‘There is no need of beasts of burden within the castle.’

  ‘My wife can’t walk, Sire,’ said the wrinkled man. ‘Please let us through.’

  ‘I will not allow your diseased animal, old man,’ said the Knight, ‘but will not deny you the sanctuary of the Castle. He stepped forward and lifted the woman from the mule.

  ‘Unload your things and follow me,’ he said, ‘your wife will be waiting within Chevalier.’ With that, the fully armoured Knight strode back toward the imposing fortress with the old woman in his arms, surrounded by two hundred terrified villagers.

  ----

  Within hours, Baibaars’ army surrounded the mountain upon which Chevalier sat. His warriors set about looting the village before setting it alight and building their own tented encampment out on the plain.

  From his position in the gate tower, Khoury could see the smoke rising from the White Castle in the distance and he knew that further along the gap, Castle Margat was already under siege.

  ‘Are the men ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Najaar.

  ‘Then take ten Knights and support the palisade,’ said Khoury. ‘I do not expect it to hold out against the hoard but our archers can cause many casualties before they even reach the outer wall. Do not sacrifice our men needlessly, pull them back when they can do no more. Their services will be needed within these walls before this is over.’

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said Najaar and left the Castellan alone with his thoughts.

  Out on the plain the enemy army swelled and were like ants upon the ground.

  ‘Bring your wrath, Baibaars,’ said Khoury to himself as he watched them prepare their camps, ‘for no man has yet breached these walls and they will not fall until every Knight’s blood has stained the walls red. This I swear by all that is holy.’

  ----

  The following morning Najaar stood atop of the archer’s ramparts waiting for the assault to begin. On either side of him, fifty archers waited patiently, each with their bows already strung in anticipation and a hundred arrows at their feet. On the slopes below he could see thousands of men making their way up the hill and in amongst them he could see carts heavily laden with the catapults such si
eges inevitably brought. A lone rider broke free and rode toward the palisade.

  ‘Hold your arrows,’ called Najaar to his defenders.

  The man came close before reining in his horse.

  ‘Who speaks for your Castellan?’ he called.

  ‘I do,’ answered Najaar, ‘what do you want, Mamluk?’

  ‘I come with my Majesty’s blessing with offer of leniency,’ said the rider. ‘Baibaars himself recognises the greatness of your Castle and believes it would be a shame to destroy such magnificence. He offers terms of surrender with guarantees of safety for all. Commit to his request and our armies will be gone before this same sun sets.’

  ‘Tell Baibaars that surely a warrior King such as he must know we will not yield,’ answered Najaar, ‘and though his warriors are many, they will be like a wave upon a rock.’

  ‘Even a rock erodes from many waves,’ said the messenger. ‘Look before you, Christian. This Halqa is but ten thousand strong. Baibaars has a hundred times this many, you do not have a chance.’

  ‘We have every chance, Mamluk,’ answered Najaar, ‘for we are the Knights of St John De Hospitaller. Our name is feared throughout your tribes and there will be no submission.’

  ‘There were indeed days when your name struck terror into our villages,’ said the messenger, ‘but not this day. Our country is united once more, Christian and rides with the spirit of Sah-la-Din at our side. Your time here is done, Christian, take your ships and leave this land to those whom Allah decrees.’

  Najaar nodded to a nearby archer and an arrow ripped through the air to embed itself in the floor at the horse’s feet, causing it to jump in alarm.

  ‘You have our answer, Mamluk,’ said Najaar. ‘Now be gone for there is a battle to be fought.’

  The messenger rode forward a few paces before answering.

  ‘You had your chance, Christian,’ he shouted, ‘now pay the price.’ He spun his horse and as he galloped away, slid sideways in the saddle to snatch the arrow from the ground without losing any speed. Najaar watched him go and turned to the defenders.

  ‘To arms, Brothers,’ he called, ‘and face the heathen with courage and honour. Count not their numbers for God is with us and for those who do not survive this day, look down on us with pride from the Kingdom of the Lord.’

  ----

  Baibaars took the arrow from Husam and waited for the explanation.

  ‘Majesty,’ said Husam, ‘the Castellan’s voice sent this in response.’

  ‘It is no more than I expected, Husam,’ said Baibaars. ‘Their arrogance knows no bounds. Give the order to attack. Tear down their walls and bring me the head of the Castellan.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty,’ said Husam and left the tent to start the assault.

  ----

  ‘Here they come,’ roared Najaar, ‘archers prime your bows and release on my command.’

  Before them, hundreds of men carrying round shields and curved swords raced up the hill toward the palisade, each roaring their battle cries and beseeching their God for victory.

  The defenders notched their arrows and aimed high into the sky. The slopes before them had been carefully paced out and markers placed at various distances, allowing the archers to know how high to aim their arrows.

  ‘Steady,’ shouted Najaar as the enemy approached the first marker, ‘steady…Release.’

  A hundred arrows shot high into the morning sky, followed seconds later by a second volley. Within moments the hail of death fell amongst the Mamluk infantry and though most raised their shields against the arrows, many fell beneath the deadly barrage.

  ‘Keep firing,’ shouted Najaar, ‘show them that every step they take comes with a heavy price.’ Over and over again the air filled with arrows but despite their losses, the Mamluk army continued onward until finally, the last man fell and the slopes fell silent. All over the hill the ground was littered with the corpses of over three hundred men, none of whom had got anywhere near the palisade.

  Suddenly the air was ripped apart by the sounds of the defenders cheering but Najaar knew it meant nothing.

  ‘Silence,’ he roared, ‘report casualties.’

  ‘No casualties, Sire,’ came the reply from one of the Sergeants.

  Another Knight walked over and stood alongside Najaar, staring out over the corpse littered killing ground.

  ‘Brother Sabra,’ said Najaar. ‘This is your first siege I understand.’

  ‘It is,’ said the fellow Knight, ‘and the tactics of the Mamluk fascinate me. They have sacrificed so many men for so little gain.’

  ‘Baibaars knows what he is doing,’ said Najaar. ‘Look to the flanks, he has observers watching how we defend the walls and will use this information to his advantage. A few hundred or so of his lower ranks are but a small price to pay for this knowledge.’

  ‘What do you think he intends to do?’ asked Sabra.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Najaar, ‘but we will soon find out.’

  The wall fell silent again and the morning quiet was disturbed only by the occasional groan of any wounded men still on the battlefield, suffering in the heat. Apart from appointed lookouts, the men on the Palisade took the opportunity to rest from the sun until Najaar’s voice echoed around the hill once more.

  ‘Stand to,’ he called, ‘here they come again.’

  Every man returned to their positions and this time saw warriors with longer shields walking slowly toward them.

  ‘Prepare arrows,’ shouted Najaar, ‘steady…release.’

  Again the air filled with arrows but this time the effect was less devastating. Few men fell due to the shields but it soon became clear they had no intention of assaulting the wall. Instead they covered the slopes with piles of blackened hay before retiring once more.

  ‘They build a palisade of grass,’ said an archer, ‘what use is that?’

  Najaar turned his face into the welcome breeze before realising the significance.

  ‘That’s no ordinary grass, soldier,’ he said, ‘it is fire grass. Damp hay soaked in flammable oil. The breeze is with him and he prepares for the next step.’

  Within moments a line of Mamluk archers appeared and lay clay pots on the ground before them.

  ‘Archers,’ said Sabra,’ but surely they are out of range.’

  ‘Their arrows are not meant for us, Brother Sabra but the fire grass. The pots before them contain embers from their fires.’

  The Mamluk archers dipped their arrows into the fire pots before aiming at the bales of hay around the slope. As each bale was hit it burst into flames sending clouds of black oily smoke toward the palisade.

  Najaar turned to the defenders.

  ‘Tie a cloth around your faces,’ he shouted. ‘Tear your clothing if you must but form a mask against the smoke.’

  Within moments the defenders were coughing violently as the smoke billowed over the wall. Their eyes stung from the acrid fumes and they crouched behind the timber, desperate for fresh air.

  ‘Here they come again,’ shouted a voice and the sound of thousands of screaming men filled the air as the second attack began. This time they reached the wooden wall and the defenders heard the sound of siege ladders thumping against the other side.

  ‘Ladder poles,’ shouted a voice and many archers exchanged their bows for long poles, notched at the end to take a ladder rung and used them to push away the ladders, sending the men upon them hurtling down to the floor. The smoke was rapidly dispersing and the defending archers once more rained their arrows amongst the Mamluks. Some attackers succeeded in getting over only to be met by the maces of the Sergeants. Eventually the sound of horns echoed around the hill and the attackers turned and fled down the hill as defending arrows cut them down like hay.

  The wall fell quiet again and this time there was no cheering.

  ‘Casualties?’ shouted Najaar.

  ‘Three dead and two wounded,’ came the reply.

  ‘Get them back to the castle,’ ordered Najaar. ‘Archers r
eplenish your stocks for the main assault is about to come.’ He turned to Sabra. ‘A strange assault, Brother,’ he said, ‘Baibaars is a ruthless man yet I struggle to understand the aim of that attack. Even with the smoke, they would have been turned.’

  ‘Sire,’ said a voice, ‘I think I know what they have done.’

  The Knight turned and saw a man peering down to the base of the wooden walls on the enemy side.

  ‘More fire grass,’ continued the man, ‘but this time it is piled high against the walls.’

  Najaar looked for himself and saw he was right but as well as the fire grass, there was something more concerning. Almost all the wooden wall was soaked with black oil, the result of hundreds of clay pots smashed under cover of the assault.

  ‘So that’s it,’ said Sabra. ‘They intend to burn us down.’

  ‘It was always a possibility,’ said Najaar, ‘and Baibaars is a clever man. Without a source of water, there is nothing we can do. When he sets the wall alight, all we can do is withdraw.’

  As he spoke a line of enemy archers approached once more and within moments the defenders heard the thud of arrows hitting the wooden walls. Black smoke billowed from the fire grass once more but this time, the intense flames caught the oil soaked timbers alight and the wooden wall was soon ablaze.

  ‘Pick up your weapons,’ shouted Najaar, ‘and retire to the outer walls. The Palisade is lost to us.’

  The defenders climbed down the ladders and ran back across the open ground toward the outer wall. The stone wall also stretched from one cliff edge to the other and its structure meant fire would be no use to the attackers. The ditch at its base was similar to the one at the base of the main fortress and filled with pointed stakes. Any man falling in was doomed and the high parapets provided ample protection for defenders.

  Najaar led the men through the archway and watched as the stout door was secured with metal bars sunk deep into the stone walls. Though it wouldn’t hold against battering rams, the murder holes meant any such weapons being employed would cost them dearly in lives.

  ‘Deploy along the walls,’ ordered Najaar, ‘and get some rest. The palisade will take time to burn and I expect Baibaars to savour his minor victory before continuing the assault.’ He turned to one of the soldiers. ‘Take word to the Castle,’ he said. ‘Tell them to bring food out for the men. They will eat on station.’