He talked it over one night with Father Yves.
“Do you realise, Father, that we are in the third summer away from our homes, and the pilgrimage still goes on interminably. In 1096, when I vowed to follow our Duke, I didn’t think we should fight on and on, from Nicaea right up to Acre, and then to Egypt, for all I know. Does Duke Robert mean to carry on like this for the rest of his life, besieging these strong cities and then handing them over to someone else, so that his followers are never rewarded? Think of it; after three years’ fighting, I have no money left, only a miserable pony to ride, and my armour is wearing out, though I shall never be able to replace it. We have fulfilled our duty to these Eastern Christians, ungrateful heretics that they are; now let us go on to Jerusalem, only a hundred miles away, and finish the whole thing. I’m not alone in saying that if we don’t, next year we shall have no army left.”
“Don’t talk about breaking your vows, at any rate to me,” the priest answered, “although I have a certain sympathy with you. When I left Brittany I did not think, either, that it would take three years. We have fulfilled our obligation to the Eastern Christians well enough. But a dash straight from Acre to Jerusalem will leave the boundaries of Christendom a very peculiar shape. If we go due south we shall leave infidel garrisons behind us on every side, and the peaceful pilgrims who come after us will find it difficult to get into the Holy City at all, even if it has a Christian garrison. We must take the coast first, and have safe harbours for the Italian ships to winter in, before we attack the inland. But if what you are telling me is what the whole army thinks, and I know you have been a conscientious pilgrim up to the present, I will send word of it to the Duke. It is better for us all to go together, even to the wrong place, than for the pilgrimage to break up.”
So it fell out. On the 13th of May the siege was raised, and the whole army set out for Jerusalem. It was the first open defeat for the pilgrims, and some were sullen and disappointed as they burnt their siege-engines amid the cheers of the infidel garrison; but most were too inflamed by the prospect of taking the Holy City, and ending their three years’ wandering, to care about what nests of the enemy they might leave behind them.
At the first streak of dawn Roger was awakened by Tom the crossbowman, who came to arm him. He scrambled briskly out of the blankets in which he had been wrapped, for the whole camp was waking up, and the noise made further sleep impossible. It was the 13th of June 1099, and the seventh day of the siege of Jerusalem.
It was difficult to get barely enough water for the animals to drink, and no one had washed for the last four days; his whole body itched with dried sweat, his mail shirt stank abominably, and the clammy embrace of his hauberk round his head and shoulders nearly turned his empty stomach. The common people did not mind, for they seldom washed in any case; the great lords also could bear it, for they were obviously still great lords even when they were dirty; but for the lesser knights cleanliness was a cherished class-distinction, and they hated the foul smell of their bodies.
The sun rose over the mountains of Moab as he knelt outside the little pavilion where Father Yves said Mass at his portable altar; the whole army had been shriven the night before, and were to receive Communion this morning, for it was a great day of battle, and they hoped before nightfall to pray in the Sepulchre of Our Lord. After Mass came the scanty breakfast of biscuit and muddy water that all were accustomed to by now; he ate it standing in the crowd outside the Duke’s kitchen, and then went back to his bedding to fetch his shield and sword. Fully-armed, he strolled to the mustering-place, where the interminable and quarrelsome business of getting the pilgrims into the battle-order agreed on by the leaders had already begun.
The sun shone from a cloudless sky, and the day was already getting hot; by mid-afternoon armour would be glowing to the touch and helms would be burning into the skull. The walls of Jerusalem stood out black against the glare, sheer stone, perpendicular and uncompromising, the angles of the square towers sharp where they caught the sun; there were light-coloured, unweathered merlons and patches round the arrow-slits where the Egyptian garrison had made repairs in expectation of the siege. The black dots that clustered and shifted on the towers were the heads of the infidels, for preparations for the assault were being made in full view of the besieged, and the wall was manned in readiness. The Christian leaders had decided to rely on their prestige, and the memory of the victories they had won over great Turkish armies, to carry them over the unbreached curtain by the use of ladders alone. It might work; sometimes the defenders of a tower would flinch from their post when they saw a whole army advancing towards them, and if the pilgrims could gain a lodgement in the defences their heavier swords and stronger armour must carry them right into the town; but Roger reflected that none of this garrison would have been at Dorylaeum or Antioch, since they served a different lord, and that the last siege, at Acre, had been an unmitigated failure.
Now the ladders were being distributed. Storming-ladders should be strong and very heavy, so that the defenders cannot overturn them by wrenching at the head where it rests against the wall; but these were miserable little flimsy things, hastily made from the crooked timber of the low twisted trees that grew within reach of the camp. Lack of good timber was the chief reason why they could not batter the walls; no one ever tried to carry siege-engines on the march, they were always constructed specially when the siege was formed, and here there were no beams stout enough to make a good catapult. The ladders were so light that four men could carry them easily, and unarmed but able-bodied grooms and servants had been detailed for the work; each ladder-bearer was accompanied by an unarmed footman, carrying an enormous mantlet of wickerwork covered with leather or padded cloth. Behind each ladder was a little group of knights, fully armed, and each assaulting-party was linked to its neighbouring column by a thick line of crossbowmen; these also carried mantlets, spiked at the bottom, which they would plant in the earth when they came within range, so that they could cover the assault with their arrows.
At last, after long arguments and endless swapping of places by knights who wished to keep among their friends, the army was arrayed. Roger found himself one of a dozen Norman knights told off to one ladder, which was supposed to cover forty yards of wall. His objective was near the Jaffa Gate, where the approach was over fairly level ground, but in consequence the wall was stronger than on the precipitous south-east face. Presently, nearly two hours after they had first mustered, the trumpets blew and the leaders drew their swords; the whole body of pilgrims advanced in line at a steady walk, brandishing their weapons and making as much noise as possible, in the hope that some part of the defenders would panic at the last moment. Roger was glad to be on the move after his long wait; his feet suffered from corns, for he had done more walking in the last five days than he was accustomed to, and the rheumatism in his right shoulder, where the shieldstrap pressed on the mail, was as bad as ever; but he knew that when he began to sweat these troubles would disappear. He had not slept properly for the last two nights (did anyone ever go into battle feeling fresh and rested?) and he was a little dazed, and unable to concentrate on what was happening. As he walked, he repeated to himself: “That is the Holy City; this evening I shall be within it, and the three-year pilgrimage will be ended.” But somehow he could not key himself up to seize this wonderful moment, all he could think of was what a relief it would be to have a hot bath and a large meal, or even to sit down and take the weight of his armour off his tender feet.
The knights had been pushed into a formation of three ranks of four each, but they were not used to fighting on foot in close order, and they jostled and stumbled over one another’s scabbards as they waddled behind the lurching ladder; he was the left-hand man in the centre row, and he found that he had to keep his eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over the heels of the man in front; the latter had insisted on wearing his spurs, so that his corpse would show his rank if he happened to be killed. Everyone shouted at the top of his
voice, by order, and the crossbowmen waved their weapons in the air, but there was no genuine enthusiasm as they shuffled slowly nearer to the city; it was not like the usual opening of a battle, when you first saw the enemy face to face; they had all seen this view for the past week, and had been standing about for two hours before they moved off. A hundred and fifty yards from the wall the whole army paused, as the front ranks tried to pick up their dressing; but they were still in a sinuous and wavering line when the trumpets blew again for the final rush across the arrow-swept approaches.
Now the formation became a little disorganized. The ladder-bearers were not heavily burdened, and as they were completely unarmed they were anxious to get their ordeal over as soon as possible. They dashed forward at a quick run, and their protectors with the wide and cumbersome mantlets found it difficult to keep up with them. As for the knights, with their long mail shirts banging against their shins, and the points of their heavy shield just clear of their ankles, they could only stumble along in the rear of the ladder-party. A steady stream of arrows came from the wall, deadly to unarmed men, and two of the ladder-bearers were hit at the same moment. The remaining six footmen halted and looked round, to find that their supports were still a few yards to the rear; then they dropped the ladder, and bolted back out of range. The knights halted, undecided what to do next. It was ridiculous to expect them to carry burdens when there were plenty of foot about, and in any case they could not manage their shields and the ladder at the same time, but it would be undignified for them to withdraw out of range; they stood in a clump, beside the abandoned ladder, while arrows thudded into the leather of their shields. Their commander, Geoffrey de Montclair, stood at Roger’s right hand; he was shouting vague curses and orders, but clearly had no idea what should happen now.
Relief came from the crossbowmen, who had set up their mantlets in line with the fallen ladder, and were replying briskly to the archers on the wall. A few of them ran back from their shelter and rounded up the frightened survivors of the ladder-bearing party. Once more they advanced in a body, but this time with the knights in front, and as these were the slowest movers the little column kept together. Roger glanced to his left, and saw that some other assaulting-columns were also stuck between the crossbowmen and the city; a few others had reached the wall, but so far no ladders had been reared into position; he could not see how things were going on the right, for his comrades obstructed his view.
At this point the town ditch of Jerusalem was not scarped steeply; it had been dug rather as an impediment to mines than as an obstacle to men on foot. All twelve knights scrambled down together; close under the wall they were out of reach of the archers in the town, unless the latter exposed themselves freely to the Christian crossbowmen; but a heavy block of masonry thudded down beside them as an earnest that they were still in deadly danger. Roger looked back with difficulty, under the cluster of bowed heads and upraised shields; he saw that the ladder had come to a halt again. The two rearmost of the four bearers were unprotected by mantlets, and though they had been safe behind the men in front so long as they were on level ground, they were exposed when the ladder tilted at the lip of the ditch; now one of them was on the ground, squirming round an arrow that stuck out of his belly, and the other was running out of range as fast as his legs could carry him. The remaining bearers left the ladder lying on the slope and jumped to the shelter of the wall. The knights were all warmed up at last; they could see the faces of individual enemies who peered through the embrasures of the wall, and hear their warcries; this was no longer a question of advancing at a slow walk against an impersonal arrow-shooting wall, but rather the close-quarter fighting they were accustomed to. Two of them slung their shields on their backs and ran back to the ladder, which they began to drag closer to the wall; another great squared lump of freestone crashed into the ditch, without doing any damage, and now the ladder was lying with its foot at the base of the wall, in position for raising. A footman sprang to the far end, and began to hoist it above his head; it was too heavy for one man to raise, and they all clustered round to help, their shields slung. Just as they had the ladder nearly vertical another great stone was toppled from above, this time with better aim, for the foot of the ladder was smashed into kindling-wood and a knight lay dead beneath it.
There was nothing more to be done. What remained of the ladder was much too short to reach to the top of the wall, and there was no object in remaining in their present exposed position; Geoffrey de Montclair gathered them together in a compact body, with shields and mantlets raised above their heads, and they stumbled dejectedly back out of range.
Out of twenty men who had set out they had lost four in less than half an hour, but only one of these was a knight, and their fighting efficiency was little impaired. Behind the line of mantlets, where the crossbowmen still shot at the wall and made the infidels keep their heads down, the servants and non-combatants were feverishly improvising more ladders out of spears, tent poles and any bit of wood they could find; all along the wall the assault had come to a standstill, but many of the ladders had been withdrawn more or less undamaged, and everyone was eager to try again. The leaders rode up and down, marshalling their men for a new effort, and Roger’s party was given another and even more flimsy ladder for the second attempt. But before they started out the line of mantlets was brought closer to the wall, only fifty yards beyond the lip of the ditch, and the crossbowmen shot at every infidel who showed himself. The leaders dismounted to take command of their own little columns, and the trumpets blew for the second attack; everyone was more exasperated than frightened, and all walked forward with a will.
As a matter of fact, the enemy was so occupied with the crossbowmen that they reached the edge of the ditch without being bothered by arrows. This time things seemed to be going right. The unarmed ladder-bearers planted the foot of the ladder in the right place, and began to hoist it into position; the knights stood close round it, their shields slung on their backs to leave their hands free; the ladder passed the vertical and clattered against the wall, ready for climbing; Geoffrey de Montclair was already on the second rung, while the others jostled one another for a chance to follow him, when a long pole with a hook on the end was thrust out from a slit-window in the side of a neighbouring tower. Everyone shouted warnings, and the knights tried to beat down the pole with their swords, but it was too high for their reach. Every crossbowman who noticed what was going on shot at the slit-window, but the target was very small, and the infidels who managed the beam were evidently standing to one side of the opening; nothing could be done to stop it; the hook soon engaged with the side of the ladder and sent it tumbling to the ground again. Geoffrey de Montclair jumped clear just before it fell, so the Christians suffered no more casualties, but it was clearly quite hopeless to attempt to rear the ladder again in the same place.
While they were gathered together all excitedly discussing what to do next, an earthenware jug full of blazing oil was dropped from the wall above. It broke squarely on the helm of a knight standing not six feet from Roger, who had to smother a few burning drops on his mail shirt while the wretched victim writhed in agony and begged his comrades to cut his throat; actually two footmen carried him away to the shelter of the nearest mantlet, but his injuries were clearly mortal.
Since the wall was everywhere protected by the square towers, which projected for half their width from its face, Geoffrey decided that they must try to scale a tower, though it meant that they would step off the ladder into a cluster of defenders. First they used the remains of a broken ladder, which was raised against the slit-window on the first floor of the tower; a very brave crossbowman volunteered to stand on this ladder and hold the window against the enemy; but just as they were hoisting the longer ladder into position, he was shot by an infidel from the entrance to the tower room, and fell dead. Yet it was hopeless to try to climb to the top of the tower while an infidel at the slit half-way up could shoot at you from a range of three feet; the
y must find some way of blocking it up, if they could not hold it themselves.
At last, still using the short ladder, they got a dead knight’s shield across the slit, and a hefty footman held it in position with his spear. The defenders had given up dropping large stones; these were too precious to be wasted, and they were held in reserve until things got more desperate. But the flaming oil-pots had been proved a good idea, and every few minutes another was lobbed from behind the battlements of the tower. Roger had long since been forced by the ache in his arm to lower his shield to its normal position, and he found that he must keep his face turned upwards all the time to dodge these blazing missiles.
When at last the unbroken ladder was against the face of the tower, and Geoffrey again led the way, the long delay had effected a fatal change in the minds of the Christians. They had grown used to their place in the ditch, which was not so dangerous as it looked, but the tower, which they had previously regarded as a tiresome obstacle that prevented them from sinking their swords into the necks of the infidels, was now too obviously the boundary of their horizon, a boundary they could not hope to pass; they would have felt naked and exposed without its bulk reared in front of them. Geoffrey climbed fast, spurred on by his pride as their appointed leader, but the other knights hung back for a moment; for three long seconds Roger stood by the ladder, hoping with all his soul that someone else would push him aside and mount before him; but no one made a move, and he realized that he must start, or show himself publicly to be a coward. He clenched his teeth, slipped his shield on to his back, and clasped with his left hand the rung just below his leader’s feet. As he climbed, he thought to himself what a silly way he had contrived of getting killed; the first man on the enemy’s wall would win immortal fame, though he would probably lose his life in doing so; but who ever heard the name of the second man up, though the risk he ran was practically the same? However, he was not destined to use his sword that day; as Geoffrey de Montclair came level with the battlements a spear caught him in the front teeth, just below his noseguard, and penetrated to the base of his neck; he fell stone dead without a cry, knocking Roger off the ladder in his fall. Then the infidels overturned the empty ladder and the whole weary business had to be begun again, and this time without the inspiration of a brave leader.
Knight with Armour Page 32
