De Capo was uncomfortable at the idea of anyone being indebted to him. He turned away from the Amir and hung the water skin over the pommel of his saddle, ‘There is no debt,’ he exclaimed over his shoulder, ‘if there was, the deaths of your men have already paid it.’
‘I am an Amir of one hundred cavalry to the Sultan al-Malik al-Muzaffar Saif ad-Din Qutuz, and I know horses,’ the Amir said as he stepped close to de Capo’s mount and stroked her muzzle, ‘this is a good horse, she will burst her heart for you; I also know men, my men, and they will not be at peace until the debt is repaid.’
Thomas stiffened when the Amir stepped forward, his hand moved towards the hilt of his sword but stopped short of drawing the blade when de Capo gave a subtle shake of the head. He relaxed slightly but remained tense and alert.
De Capo looked at the Amir’s men and quickly counted them in his head, ‘Amir of one hundred?’ At best there were a little less than a quarter that number living with another dozen or so who lay rotting in the sun, soon to bloat and burst; ripe for the scavengers.
The Amir followed de Capo’s gaze and looked sad as he explained, ‘The Khan’s men fought well; we defeated them, but our victory came at a cost.’
De Capo looked closely at the face of the man he might have to face in battle another day, he saw a proud man, but one who was smitten with sadness at the loss of his warriors, ‘The death of good men for no reason is always a crime, so I tell you again, there is no debt, the debt is ours and we will repay that debt by punishing the man responsible.’ De Capo placed a hand on the Amir’s shoulder, a sign he hoped would prove his sincerity.
The Amir flinched at the contact, perplexed at the act of comradeship from his enemy, ‘I think you are indeed a man of honour…yet,’ he continued sceptically, ‘I fear the Butcher will not receive a just punishment.’
De Capo removed his hand, he shared the same concern, ‘I too fear that, but I give you my word I will force the issue with the Constable in Acre.’’
The Amir nodded and turned to Thomas who still stood within killing distance, his hand close to the hilt of his sword. He cocked an eyebrow and spoke to de Capo without taking his eyes off Thomas, ‘A warrior without his weapons is like a hawk without its wings. Our vengeance is not with you,’ he insisted as he turned back to de Capo and raised a hand to his chest, ‘neither you nor your men will ever face a blade from men under my command; that is my promise to you, on the blood of my children.’
Judging character was an art and de Capo was proficient in that art. The eyes of the man in front of him displayed nothing that he could interpret as deceit. He nodded as he made his decision, knowing it would not be a popular one, ‘Very well, so be it.’ He turned to Thomas, ‘Return their weapons, armour and horses….and ensure they have enough water.’
Thomas sighed and shook his head in dismay at the order but did as he was told and shouted instructions to the men who were now guarding the pile of arms.
‘Your compassion will not be forgotten,’ the Amir said as his men cautiously regained their weapons and shields, ‘but I have one more favour to ask,’ he continued as he looked in the same direction de Chauvigny and his men had ridden.
‘You have been wronged, ‘de Capo replied as he watched his enemy re-arm themselves, ‘and if it is in my power I will grant it.’
The Amir looked up at the cloudless sky and squinted in the brightness, the scavengers were already circling waiting for their chance to feast on the corpses, ‘I must bury my dead,’ he explained, ‘but I fear the butcher will return and finish what he started.’
De Capo followed his gaze and saw the huge birds drifting on the high thermals like angels of death. He tried to count them but the haze and the brightness forced him to look away. ‘Aye,’ he said as the Amir waited expectantly, ‘we will stay until you have buried your men.’
One of the Amir’s men approached and handed him his sword which he took and held reverently. He pulled the blade half out and de Capo stiffened, wondering if he had misjudged the man and made a fatal mistake, ‘A thing of beauty,’ the Amir said, ‘with only one purpose.’ He smiled grimly, ‘Perhaps it will taste The Butchers blood one day.’ He pushed the sword back in its scabbard and placed the belt around his waist unaware of the minor panic he had caused. ‘Your compassion is an honourable thing,’ he said as he adjusted his sword belt and armour, ‘again you have my thanks and my men will work harder in the knowledge they will not be attacked.’
‘Your thanks are not needed,’ replied de Capo hiding the relief that he had not misjudged the Amir.
Giving a gracious smile as he inclined his head, the Amir turned and walked towards his own men shouting orders as he did so. More commands were given and the newly released prisoners were galvanised into action as the Amir shouted louder. Another of his men barked instructions and the warriors ran to the bodies of their comrades and reverently carried them and their severed heads, placing them in a row at the eastern end of the gully, while others started to hack at the ground with their swords.
De Capo stood with Thomas beside him as the last of the dead were carried away, both watching patiently as they were buried. The reverence the Amir and his men had for their comrades was reflected in the gentleness they displayed when handling the corpses. The heads had all been severed, but each one was wrapped in clothing removed from the bodies and placed gently where they should have been had they not been mutilated. By the time the grave had been covered the sun had passed its zenith and was travelling slowly towards the western horizon.
‘They could have all been killed and buried,’ said Thomas as the Saracens prostrated themselves on the ground in front of the graves, ‘and no one would have been the wiser.’
‘You think I should have let de Chauvigny kill them?’
‘I’m not saying that, but he won’t forget this,’ said Thomas, ‘this is the second time you have cheated him from killing. He won’t stab you in the back though, he will want you to know who kills you.’
‘I don’t die easily and he won’t fight me unless he knows he can win.’
‘You will have to be on your guard,’ insisted Thomas, ‘all of us will, on the battlefield and off it, I fear this time he will hunt you down for this slight to his pride!’
‘I do not fear his threats.’ De Capo knelt down, and removing his gauntlet picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers. As he stood and wiped off the grains stuck to his skin he turned towards Thomas, ‘Don’t you miss home?’
Thomas looked at him in surprise, ‘Home? You mean England?’
‘Aye,’ replied de Capo, ‘away from the stench of this blood soaked land.’
‘You think England will be any better?’
‘It will be cold and wet,’ said de Capo, ‘and the wind will chill you and force you to wrap up in a cloak.’ He sighed, ‘Do you remember the last time you were truly cold?’
Thomas shook his head, ‘No, and I don’t miss being cold either, anyway what would God say if we left?’
‘I doubt God would say anything,’ replied de Capo as he watched the Amir speaking to one of his men before looking back in his direction.
‘Maybe not God,’ said Thomas, ‘but the Bishop would be displeased and might even excommunicate you.’
‘The Bishop is a damn fool, a priest in fancy clothing. If it weren’t for the Bishops and their fawning lackeys the people here might learn to live in peace.’
‘But you still fight for God!’
‘It’s my duty,’ proclaimed de Capo, ‘I will not shirk my duty but I fear my duty in this land might be done.’ He watched as the Amir walked across the compacted desert ground in his direction, ‘Wait here,’ he ordered as he made his way towards the Amir.
The two men met in the middle of the killing ground, the blood still marking the places the dead had lain.
‘Perhaps we will meet again,’ the Amir said as he stopped within swords length of the enemy who had shown a remarkable act of mercy.
‘Perhaps,’ de Capo replied, ‘as friends.’
The Amir smiled, ‘You are a man of honour and mercy; my people will learn of you and know of your qualities, but I do not know your name!’
‘I apologise for the lack of manners,’ de Capo replied, ‘these are strange circumstances in which to offer introductions, but my name is Ralf de Capo.’
‘And I am Baktamar ibn Abd Allaah al-Din Aqtay,’ the Amir bowed low and touched his chest, chin and forehead in respect, ‘the blessing of Allah be upon you and your men Ralf de Capo, for your mercy and compassion, and may your God watch over you.’
‘And may your God watch over you,’ de Capo replied.
The Amir turned and shouted orders to his men and de Capo watched as the Mameluk mounted their horses. The Amir raised a hand to de Capo in salute before he and his men headed south, their horses kicking up sand and dust as they rode out of the gully.
Thomas walked up to de Capo and watched as the Mameluk disappeared behind the surrounding rock formations, ‘Now they really will be talking about you.’
‘Aye, I have an enemy on the side of my friends and a friend on the side of my enemies.’
He walked to his horse, looked in the direction the Amir and his men had ridden and wondered if they would ever meet again, ‘Tell the men to mount up, we return to Acre, we have unfinished business to attend to.’
Chapter Three
Acre, the capital city of the Kingdom of Jerusalem ever since Jerusalem had fallen to Saladin nearly a hundred years earlier, occupied a small peninsula on the Mediterranean coastline and was blessed with a natural harbour. Both city and harbour were protected against attack by a series of towers built into a double wall with Montmusart, the northern suburb being separated from the main city by a single wall. Between the double walls the barracks, for the thousands of men who had pledged themselves to defend the city, had been built, and the towers in both walls were joined by bridges built on huge stone columns that divide the area between the walls into what would become a killing ground when the inevitable attack came.
The column of knights belonging to the Holy Order of St Peter filed into Montmusart through the gateway beneath the tower known as St Anthony’s Gate mixing alongside people entering and leaving the city; merchants, pilgrims, knights, mounted soldiers, people with horse drawn carts and those pushing hand carts. As they forced their way through the crowds, the familiar sounds and smells of the animal markets, the souks and the docks, and everyday sights of the most important city port in the eastern Mediterranean infiltrated their senses. Acre was a human ant’s nest where cultures met and clashed and more than twenty thousand people, together with the thousands of knights and soldiers, called it their home.
While the main column continued through Montmusart, de Capo and Thomas pulled their horses to one side and made their way into the main city and the heavily guarded entrance to the Castle of the Kings Constable where they dismounted. They were approached by the sergeant of the guard who knew them both, a veteran of twenty years with an eye missing, a wound that had forced him to become a garrison guard, but a job he was more than capable of doing, ‘Sir Ralf, Sir Thomas,’ he nodded in greeting.
De Capo removed his helmet and pushed back his mail coif exposing his hot and sweat covered head to the dipping sun, ‘We need to see Sir William,’ he stated coldly, ‘and we need to see him now!’
The sergeant shaded his one eye as he looked at the two knights, ‘Are you expected?’
Pulling a cloth that was tucked into the belt around his waist de Capo wiped his face and spat the dust from his mouth, ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘he’s not expecting us, but he will want to hear what we have to say.’
The sergeant nodded, he wasn’t there to refuse entry to knights of de Capo’s standing and the looks on the faces of both men suggested whatever they had to say was important enough to disturb the Constable without prior notice. He stood to one side, ‘Take your horses through to the stables and they’ll be watered for you.’ The thick oak doors opened at his order allowing the two men access to lead their mounts under the raised portcullis and through the arched vestibule into a central courtyard.
The courtyard was flanked on two sides by a decorated passageway; the floor above being supported by thick columns decorated in an ancient Greek style. Two towers built at the front of the castle guarding both the south east and south west corners were manned by four soldiers. This design allowed both a front and side view of the street and also the inner courtyard. One of the soldiers watched lazily as the two knights walked their horses across to the stables at the rear of the castle and handed the reins to the squires.
The battlements were patrolled by another eight soldiers, two to each wall with the rear wall forming part of the cross wall separating the main city from Montmusart. Soldiers stood guard at the top and bottom of each stairway leading from the courtyard to the first floor, and outside every chamber throughout the castle. Housing the Constable, the Bailli and other officers of the Kingdom who made the decisions maintaining Christian supremacy the building was three floors high. It was also the residence for the King during his visits to Acre, and as such a permanent garrison was maintained within the castle walls. Apart from a selected few such as de Capo, it was almost impossible to enter without first gaining the permission of the Constable or one of his subordinates. Some walls were at least ten feet thick but for all the strength and security it was not as large or well protected as the Templars Castle in the south east of the city.
Acre was a city at war with itself as well as with the enemy outside its walls. Maintaining order and preventing infighting between the different factions created its exceptional cosmopolitan uniqueness and was at times an impossible task. With each group of knights and merchants all having their own fortified stronghold, it wasn’t hard to remember this city was the capital of a Kingdom forged over two hundred years of hate and distrust.
~
‘These are serious charges!’
De Capo stood in front of the glowering Constable. Normally a mild mannered man in his late forties he was, for the first time in de Capo’s memory, red faced with anger as he listened to an explanation of the events that had bought the two knights to his office. He shook his head and gritted his teeth as he remained sitting, with numerous scrolls and parchments littering the table in front of him, correspondence from various knights and military commanders all waiting for a reply to a question or a request. He was responsible for administering military justice, or at least oversee the justice that was meted out, in this case however, an allegation against de Chauvigny was something he had to deal with personally.
‘I understand the seriousness,’ de Capo replied.
‘I’m sure you do,’ the Constable said angrily, ‘damn the bloody bastard!’ He turned to his scribe who had rushed in when the Constable frantically rang the bell to summon him, ‘Make sure everything is written down,’ he barked before turning back to de Capo, ‘I hope you have got your facts right.’
‘The facts are indisputable; he attacked the Sultans men after the orders were issued stating they should be given free passage.’ De Capo leaned forward, ‘He is trying to provoke an attack….an attack we would be hard pressed to defend against.’
‘He could be hung for this,’ said the Constable, ‘that’s what should happen, but it is always hard to hang a knight who has killed his enemies?’
‘With respect Sir William,’ de Capo replied as he glanced at Thomas, ‘this is not about killing enemies; this is about ignoring orders and putting Acre and the entire kingdom in jeopardy.’
The Constable sighed and looked at Thomas standing next to de Capo, ‘What do you say of this matter?’
Thomas nodded, ‘It is as Ralf said, de Chauvigny had killed a number of the Sultan’s men and was preparing to torture and murder the rest.’
‘Damn it Ralf,’ the Constable replied rubbing his forehead in frustration, ‘I will have to give de Chauvigny the chanc
e to refute these allegations.’ He stood up and roughly pushed his chair backwards before walking to the window and looking out over the city of Acre, ‘As if we didn’t have enough problems with the damned merchants fighting each other,’ he turned his head and half looked over his shoulder, ‘and now the bastard does this! It might have been better if you had found the enemy after he had finished with them.’
‘You think I should have ignored it?’
‘No, of course not…..but it’s a savage land; you know that as well as the rest of us. Sometimes it is best to hide the truth for the good of the truth,’ he turned to face de Capo, ‘this might not make much sense to you.’
‘I think I understand,’ de Capo replied, ‘but this is not the first time de Chauvigny has crossed the line.’
‘Meaning?’
‘The pilgrims he murdered?’
The Constables eyes widened and he tensed as he replied, ‘That is not for discussion here or anywhere,’ he turned to the scribe, ‘ignore any mention of this.’
The scribe nodded and stopped writing.
De Capo glanced round at Thomas with a look of disbelief before facing the Constable again, ‘Another truth hidden!’
‘I believe you were not here at the time….and what you hear is rumour and gossip and I counsel you against speaking of this again.’
‘If those are your orders.’
The Constable looked at de Capo angrily, ‘Yes they are!’
‘I take it you’ve not spoken to him yet?’
The Constables expression changed from one of anger to surprise, ‘Should I have done?’
‘I instructed him to return here and report to you,’ de Capo replied fervently. ‘and explain why he killed those men or he would be arrested.’
The Constable was taken aback, ‘I cannot arrest a man like de Chauvigny without proof!’
‘I can,’ de Capo said, ‘we are the proof, and my men will testify. De Chauvigny is a murderer and a liar, and if necessary I will go and arrest him now.’
Thomas forced back a smile when the Constable glared at him. He turned angrily back to de Capo, ‘I will decide who is to be arrested, and I will decide what proof is relevant!’
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