Deus Militis - Soldiers of God

by Jonathan A Longmore

  ‘I had my orders Sir William, and I obeyed them,’ he paused as the Constable smarted at the insinuation de Chauvigny had deliberately disobeyed his orders, ‘and I abide by my decision.’

  ‘Yes….I’m sure you do,’ said the Constable unenthusiastically as he stepped back behind his desk and looked down at the mound of work awaiting his attention. He sighed and rubbed his face, the tiredness evident in his eyes, ‘Very well, I will speak with the Bailli and you will report back here tomorrow morning, one hour before noon with Sir Osmond and we will deal with the matter.’

  ‘And de Chauvigny?’ asked de Capo expectantly.

  ‘He will be here,’ replied the Constable sounding irritated, ‘otherwise he will be arrested, will he not? Now…. I have other matters to attend to.’

  ~

  De Capo and Thomas had been dismissed and together walked out of the Constable’s chamber. The door was closed by one of the guards who returned to his position and watched the two knights walk slowly back towards the steps leading down into the courtyard.

  Both men remained silent until they had passed the guards at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘What do you think he’ll do?’ Thomas asked tentatively.

  ‘Admonish him maybe, banish him possibly, but hang him? Never!’ De Capo shifted his shoulders as he tried to relieve the weight of his armour for a second or two and squinted in the sunlight that turned the courtyard into a furnace. The sun was in the west, but the heat would remain constant until it dipped below the horizon, allowing the sea breeze to waft in and cool the baking land for a few hours. He wiped his brow and glanced sideways at his friend, ‘You think I did the wrong thing?’

  Thomas raised his eyebrows and shrugged at the question, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ De Capo was slightly astounded at the answer. Thomas was never one to shy away from saying what he thought, even when he knew it was the wrong place and time to say it, ‘Speak freely, I’ll take no offence.’

  Thomas sighed deeply, ‘You followed orders Ralf. You did what you had to and it serves no purpose for me to say otherwise.’

  ‘Really!’ De Capo grunted.

  He stormed across the courtyard towards the stables and Thomas ran several steps to catch up with him, ‘What do you want me to say?’

  De Capo stopped and turned to Thomas, his mouth was set firm as he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his voice apparent, ‘I was after your opinion, I want to know what you think, not what you think I want to hear.’

  Thomas looked around, servants and soldiers from the castle garrison were all within earshot, and as they stood in the centre of the courtyard their horses were led out to them by the squires, ‘I don’t think here is the best place for us to talk.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ De Capo glanced about, ‘too many ears, not enough friends.’

  The two knights replaced their helmets, mounted their horses and rode through the gates into a street still crowded despite the lateness of the afternoon. They weaved their way through the throng of people flowing in all directions and barging into each other as they tried to move out of the path of the inexorable progress of the huge war animals.

  Thomas turned to de Capo, ‘You still want to know what I think?’

  De Capo nodded, ‘I do.’

  ‘I think you’re a bloody fool,’ snapped Thomas, ‘we should have ignored the horse and looked the other way, now you have enemies who don’t just dislike you, they want to kill you and the rest of us.’

  As he spoke a trader pushed a handcart from a side street into the main thoroughfare startling both horses. The handcart caused an instant obstruction causing a bottleneck as people tried to push their way through the decreased space. With both horses being buffeted by the crowds of people squeezing past, Thomas, recognising the vulnerability of men on horseback confined to a crowd which may not necessarily be friendly, ordered the trader, ‘Move out of the way you damn fool!’

  The trader looked up apologetically, shrugged apathetically and growled an insult at the crowd as they shouted at him and forced their way past in opposite directions. The cart was laden with baskets of fruit on the way to the evening market near the docks and it started to rock from side to side as the pressure of the crowds against its fragile frame increased.

  Thomas cursed as he tried to force his horse through the throng to get past the cart, but the noise and the pressure of the crowds on both sides made his mount skittish, and she pushed sideways crushing people who screamed and yelled.

  De Capo, aware of the panic as the crowd tried to get through shouted over the noise, ‘Thomas, back up!’

  Thomas pulled back on his horse’s reins as he tried to regain control and move her back out of the crush. De Capo was making slow progress as he started to back away, turning from side to side and shouting at people to move. He knew the narrow streets of Acre, and the overcrowding together with the tensions festering between the different communities could soon turn this incident into a riot which would spiral out of control. He almost laughed out loud at the stupidity of it but at the same time stared incredulously at the way the moment had gone from calm to near panic; he was now two horses’ lengths back from Thomas when only moments ago they were side by side.

  As the crowds surged forward from both directions de Capo felt the sledgehammer blow of something striking his helmet. Momentarily dazed, he was still aware of the crossbow bolt that careened off to one side and smashed into the side of a nearby building, the sound of the shaft splintering against the bricks lost in the clamour of the crowds. Luck was on his side as the bolt that should have thumped into the back of his head had been off target and struck his helmet at an angle. Jerking his body round he scanned the swarms of angry citizens until he saw the man in the long white Arabic robe staring at him as he tried to reload the crossbow he was holding. He screamed a warning to Thomas as he reached for his sword!

  Chapter Four

  Thomas’s head snapped round with a confused stare as de Capo indicated behind him with a jerk of his head, ‘Crossbow,' he shouted, irritated Thomas hadn’t seen the danger.

  Thomas, cursing under his breath pulled his sword as he tried to turn his horse. The crowds had become a solid mass and people hit both horsemen on the legs and shouted at them in a variety of languages and accents. De Capo swung down with the flat of his blade and struck out inflicting blows on heads and shoulders and ordered them to get back, at the same time glancing at the assassin who, looking anxiously at him, loaded another bolt.

  The cart which started the fracas collapsed and the crowd surged forwards and around the two knights. The people travelling in the opposite direction broke through and as quickly as it started, the near riot began to dissipate as the people found their way through and over the cart crushing the fruit underfoot. The man who pushed it there fought his way through the crowds until he reached the side street he had appeared from, and with one last glance behind him at Thomas, he ran, disappearing into the shadows.

  Thomas managed to turn his horse towards the assassin first and he kicked and screamed as he tried to force her through the flow of people coming towards him who moved out of the way as best they could as he started to close the gap.

  Still struggling to turn his horse de Capo saw the assassin raise the crossbow and release the bolt. With eyes wide he watched in horror as the bolt flew towards Thomas and struck him high in the right shoulder. The bolt was meant for him, but the immediate threat to the assassin had been Thomas, and his friend’s expression changed from one of cold anger to one of shock as it struck home with the force of a battering ram.

  There were very few places a crossbow bolt could penetrate and cause injury to a man covered in mail and plate, but at that distance and under that much power the assassin’s bolt found one as a broken iron ring gave way when the steel head slammed into it. The force pushed Thomas back into his saddle and he automatically pulled hard on the reins as he pushed down into his stirrups
. His horse reared and slammed her hooves back down on the ground, narrowly missing a man’s skull.

  De Capo shouted as he saw the bolt strike and he watched helplessly as the assassin turned and ran. Ignoring him he yelled at people to move out of the way as he forced his horse through the crowd threatening to cut down anyone in his path. Thomas slumped in his saddle and watched through hooded eyes that masked the pain as de Capo moved close enough to check the wound. He gritted his teeth and his face turned pale as sweat dripped from his nose and chin, ‘De Chauvigny,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘the bastard, I was wrong, he’s a coward!’

  De Capo looked closely at the wound, the bolt had struck just below the collar bone and penetrated deep into the muscles of the shoulder. From the length of shaft still protruding it was clear it was embedded. Thomas tried to clutch the wound with his left hand but the pain prevented him, his right hand still clutched his sword, years of training and fighting meant he would have to be dead before he let go of the hilt. De Capo took hold of the blade and removed it from Thomas’s hand and quickly strapped it to his own saddle, ‘We need to get you to the surgeon before it mortifies.’

  Thomas grunted as he nodded, ‘Aye.’

  Grabbing the reins de Capo guided Thomas’s horse around and led him slowly towards the gate back into Montmusart. As the horses picked their way through the remains of the cart and joined in the crushing of fruit that was never destined for the market, de Capo kept a wary eye, watching the roofs of the buildings and glancing into each doorway as they passed. The rocking movement of the horse increased the pain with every step, and Thomas tried hard not to groan as he felt the steel barb biting into his body.

  The knights of St Peter had their own compound in the centre of Montmusart which comprised fifteen buildings of various shapes and sizes, the gaps between them had been built up to form a basic but effective fortification protecting the knights and soldiers inside. Crenulations had been constructed on the roofs of the buildings which formed a rough square around a central dusty courtyard, and the entire complex looked like, and was as effective as a small castle.

  The guards on the roof battlements shouted down into the courtyard as de Capo and Thomas came into view and men came running out to assist. Once inside the compound a dozen men lifted Thomas from his horse and placed him on a stretcher which had been rushed out from the small infirmary. As they placed him on the stretcher he called out in a rasping voice, ‘Ralf!’

  De Capo knelt beside his wounded friend, ‘You’re safe. The surgeon will deal with you.’

  Thomas grabbed his arm and spoke harshly through the waves of pain, ‘No….get a Muslim doctor…..keep the surgeon away from me…..bastard butcher….swear?’

  ‘Aye,’ De Capo nodded, ‘I’ll get a Muslim, I swear.’ He stood and watched as Thomas was carried away before speaking to one of the men at arms, ‘Adam, stay with him and don’t let the surgeon near him, my orders.’

  Adam nodded and walked after the stretcher as de Capo turned to see his own Commander, Osmond le Vicomt striding across the courtyard towards him. He was a tall man with a wiry yet muscular frame, and even though his short hair was still dark with no hint of changing colour, his dark beard with wisps of grey showing through gave away his age. He had dark blue eyes, and the small lines spreading from the outer corners gave the appearance he smiled a lot, although he wasn’t smiling now. He stopped short of de Capo and stared at the stretcher being carried through the doors of the infirmary, ‘I know about the prisoners, but what happened to him?’

  ‘Ambushed,’ said de Capo, ‘a bolt meant for me!’

  ‘De Chauvigny?’

  ‘I can’t prove it, ‘de Capo said angrily, ‘but I’m sure it was his doing.’

  Le Vicomt indicated with a nod towards the infirmary, ‘Has the surgeon been informed?’

  ‘He doesn’t want the surgeon anywhere near him,’ de Capo looked at le Vicomt expectantly, ‘he wants a Muslim doctor.’

  Le Vicomt nodded and beckoned one of the guards over, ‘I know a man, treated my nephew.’

  ‘He lived?’

  ‘No,’ replied le Vicomt with a look of sadness, ‘but he didn’t die in pain,’ he was silent for a few seconds before continuing, ‘and that was a blessing in itself.’

  The guard stood close by and le Vicomt turned to him, ‘Near the tomb of Nabi Salih you will find a house with this symbol on,’ he knelt down and scratched the Arabic word for peace in the sand, ‘this is on the house of Yusuf ibn Ayyub, tell him I need him.’

  The guard knelt down and examined the markings and nodded. As he stood to leave, de Capo stopped him, ‘Wait, I will come with you.’

  ‘NO,’ said le Vicomt, ‘he will try again Ralf and I need you alive.’

  De Capo’s expression said all that was needed and le Vicomt gave his consent reluctantly, ‘Very well, but take four men with you, from now on you will have a bodyguard at all times outside of here’.

  ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘Yes,’ insisted le Vicomt sternly, ‘it is, and when you return we need to talk.’

  ~

  By the time De Capo left the compound the guards had been doubled and the gates closed. As they walked in the early evening shadows the streets were still crowded although slightly less so, but being caught on a horse in the narrow streets once that day was enough for him, and being on foot made them more manoeuvrable in the event of another attempt. People moved aside for the four soldiers striding along with a purpose, shields protecting de Capo who walked in the middle.

  Within ten minutes they had reached the tomb, a square, sun bleached stone building with a blue dome on top. An iron gate with Islamic symbols engraved into the ornate curves led into a small shaded vestibule where pilgrims could kneel and pray. The tomb was set at the edge of a small cemetery, small because it was for Muslims and even though they were tolerated in Acre they were still a minority in their own land.

  The area was surrounded by houses and de Capo ordered the guards to start checking the doors in the vicinity. Within minutes the door had been found and de Capo knocked and waited for a reply. The door opened slowly and a man no older than de Capo himself stood in the doorway dressed in a long white loose fitting robe. His beard was close cut and seemed to fit his face as though it had been moulded on. The skin on his face was smooth and unmarked and he looked at de Capo with a neutral expression, only his eyes betraying his concern as he saw the four armed men behind de Capo.

  De Capo gave a small bow of his head, ‘As-Salaamu `Alaykum’.

  The man in the doorway gave a small almost imperceptible nod and replied, ‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.’

  The formalities out of the way, de Capo wasted no more time in pleasantries, ‘You speak our language?’

  The man glanced at the soldiers again and nodded, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m looking for Yusuf ibn Ayyub.’

  ‘I am he,’ said the man as he again glanced at the soldiers with an expression of mistrust.

  De Capo noted the man’s discomfort, ‘Excuse these men, they are here to protect me and I need your help.’

  Yusuf relaxed slightly but looked a little mystified, ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘My friend……,’ de Capo stopped mid-sentence as he saw a small head appear to the side of Yusuf’s legs, tanned face with thick black hair above a beaming smile.

  Yusuf looked down and said something sharply in Arabic and the head disappeared, he looked back up at de Capo, ‘Children,’ he said, ‘curious about everything.’ He stepped back and held the door open, ‘You are welcome to enter my house.’

  De Capo looked through the doorway past Yusuf to see a woman standing a few feet behind him. Even though her face was partially covered he could see she was scared. The boy held on to her legs and the sound of a baby crying from within embarrassed de Capo. He glanced at the men with him and realised anyone would be scared to have five armed men knocking on their door. The citizens of Acre could be in as much danger fro
m murder and robbery inside the protective walls, as they could be outside.

  De Capo’s expression softened, ‘My apologies for disturbing your family, but Osmond le Vicomt has asked me to find you; he says you are a doctor and can help my friend who has been wounded.’

  ‘Ahh, Sir Osmond,’ Yusuf smiled and turned to his wife and spoke to her, she visibly relaxed and disappeared into another room and returned seconds later with a large leather bag she handed to Yusuf. He turned to face de Capo and smiled, ‘Come, take me to him.’

  The walk back to the compound took longer than it should as de Capo and his guards continuously scanned the rooftops of the buildings and checked each side street before they passed by, ‘Are you expecting to be attacked?’ Yusuf asked as he walked beside de Capo.

  ‘We were ambushed earlier,’ said de Capo, ‘my friend has a crossbow bolt in him.’

  ‘Is the point showing through the other side?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What have your doctors done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied de Capo, ‘my friend insisted I get a Muslim doctor.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Yusuf nodded in understanding, ‘and does your friend have a name?’

  ‘Thomas……..Thomas of Frant.’

  ‘And does his friend have a name?’ Yusuf asked.

  De Capo realised his bad manners and apologised as he continued to scrutinise the people they passed, ‘I am Ralf de Capo, but my name is not important, my friend is!’

  ‘I understand your fears Ralf de Capo, but remember this,’ Yusuf looked serious, ‘I am only a man and I cannot promise anything.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ de Capo replied as he glanced behind them, ‘if my friend dies it will not be you I hold responsible.’

  ‘I will do what I can,’ said Yusuf, ‘and if it is the will of Allah, blessed be his name, your friend will live.’

  The rest of the short journey was in silence and as they approached the compound the gates were opened to allow them in. De Capo took Yusuf to the infirmary and found Thomas lying on a straw filled mattress on the floor with his eyes closed. Most of his mail and plate had been removed with the exception of his mail hauberk, this remained pinned to his body by the bolt still embedded in his flesh. His face was pale, he was sweating profusely and his breathing was laboured, but there was no rattling from his chest.