Seeking Jerusalem

by H A CULLEY

  Seeing a conroi of Hospitallers about to charge them the guards threw down their weapons and surrendered. By this time the remaining three conrois of Hospitallers had rounded up the camel drivers and the rest of the guards. Arnaud le Reynard watched those making for the hills with regret. He was too wise to let his men chase after them into unknown terrain.

  It took the rest of the day to release the Christian prisoners, tend to their wounds and feed them. Most were in a pitiful state and, seeing the treatment that had been meted out to them by their captors, Richard felt a deep anger towards the Saracens. Whilst it didn’t make what had happened at Zorah right, it did help him accept that it was necessary in order to release these poor wretches from their purgatory.

  When Humphrey returned to Jaffa with the captured caravan full of priceless spices, silks and other goods, in addition to the released Christians, he found himself something of a hero. King Richard had returned from Acre but, whilst he was delighted by Humphrey’s success, he had other, weightier, matters on his mind.

  ~#~

  Richard de Cuille, as the commander of a bataille, was invited to join the army council for the first time. He looked around the great hall in Jaffa Castle and nodded to those he knew, such as the Grand Masters of the Templars and the Hospitallers and Count Henry of Champagne. Some of the others he recognised by sight, but not to speak to. He was surprised to see that the Duke of Burgundy was also present. The last he had heard of him he was at Tyre and working against King Richard’s interests.

  ‘My lords, we have two important issues facing us: the vexed question of the kingdom of Jerusalem and the strategy for the coming campaign.’ The king paused and looked round the hall at his commanders. ‘You will note that Guy de Lusignan is not present. I asked him not to come today so that we can discuss his claim to the throne of Jerusalem and that of Conrad of Montferrat’s.’

  At this a hubbub of noise broke out as the supporters of the two claimants all tried to speak at once. The king held up his hand for silence and order was slowly restored.

  ‘You all know that I have supported Guy’s claim since my arrival in Cyprus. He has been a loyal supporter of the crusade whereas the Marquis of Montferrat has contributed nothing, other than to defend Tyre, and has been a divisive influence which has been detrimental to all our efforts to regain the Holy Land from the infidel.’

  At this statement the cacophony of voices for and against Montferrat broke out again so Richard stood up and banged the table; slowly the voices died away.

  ‘You will do me the courtesy of hearing me out. I will not be shouted down in my own hall.’ His angry glare swept around the assembled lords until they all looked away, unwilling to meet his stare. ‘However, his defeat at the Horns of Hattin is something which has obviously damaged Guy de Lusignan’s reputation beyond repair and so I have most reluctantly agreed to support Conrad’s claim to the throne if that is the will of the majority of those present.’

  Henry of Champagne was the first to break the stunned silence. ‘But, sire, this will alienate the Lusignans, the most powerful family in Poitou. You will only stir up considerable trouble for yourself in your French lands at a time when you are unable to deal with it.’

  Richard smiled slowly and then produced a solution which marked him as an astute politician as well as a great warrior king. ‘Guy is aware of what I propose and is agreeable to it. The price is Cyprus. I have agreed to buy the island back from the Templars and hand it over to him in return for his abdication from the Kingdom of Jerusalem.’

  When the renewed hubbub had died down after this announcement, the king continued. ‘Now we need to put this matter to the vote. All in favour of the election of Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, as King of Jerusalem say aye.’ There were no votes against.

  ‘Now let us turn to the second, and more important, matter for discussion. Our attempt to march on Jerusalem last year failed because our lines of communication back to the coast and resupply by our fleet became over extended and vulnerable to attack by the Saracens. I therefore propose that we march south along the coast to Egypt. This is Saladin’s supply base. It provides him with money to pay his army, food and reinforcements. Without Egypt he cannot continue to take the field against us and will have to withdraw from Jerusalem.’

  ‘It was the weather that defeated us last year, Richard, and that problem won’t bother us now that spring is nearly here. We came here to re-take Jerusalem and I say we do what we came here for without any further delays.’ The speaker was the Duke of Burgundy and his counter argument was vociferously supported by most of the commanders in the hall.

  ‘You are wrong, my lord duke,’ Richard replied. ‘The problem of resupply remains whilst Saladin can maintain a sizeable army in the field. We have advanced as far south as Ascalon. Only Gaza and Darum lie on the coast road between us and the Nile delta. Egypt lies within our grasp. Once we have that, Jerusalem will fall into our laps like a ripe plum and, furthermore, we will hold the territory necessary for us to keep it.’

  ‘I fear you see yourself as another Alexander, my lord king,’ the Grand Master of the Templars spoke for the first time. ‘It is not what we are here to do. We must concentrate on Jerusalem.’

  ‘I agree. It is time we took back the Holy City.’ Balian of Ibelin banged the table. He still felt the shame of surrendering the city to Saladin and his only desire now was to see it back in Christian hands.

  The majority of those present were tired of the crusade and just wanted to bring it to a successful conclusion. Once they had captured Jerusalem and worshipped at its holy places their job was done and they could return home. What happened after that would be Conrad’s problem, not theirs. They therefore clamoured in support of the Grand Master and Balian. King Richard knew when he was beaten but, in return for abandoning his plans for the conquest of Egypt, he got the army council’s agreement to the capture of Darum first to consolidate his grip on the coast. With that Richard had to be content.

  ~#~

  Conrad of Montferrat was in his mid-forties, a handsome man known for his personal courage and intelligence. He was well connected, being a first cousin of the late Emperor Frederick Barbarossa and Duke Leopold of Austria, as well as the cousin once removed of Philip Augustus of France. When he heard of his election as King of Jerusalem from Henry of Champagne, who had been chosen as the army council’s envoy, he immediately made plans to leave Tyre and join the crusader army at Jaffa.

  The Bishop of Beauvais, another relative of his, was visiting Tyre and had taken a house there. Four days after his election as king, Conrad received an invitation to supper with the bishop before he left. His wife, Isabella, was heavily pregnant and was feeling too unwell to accompany him so Conrad set off for the bishop’s house accompanied by two knights as escort.

  Conrad was a little surprised to find on his arrival that the bishop had not invited him and had, in fact, already eaten. Somewhat annoyed, Conrad mounted his horse again to ride back to the castle. By now the sun was setting and the narrow streets were already lost in shadow. As Conrad rode under an overhead walkway connecting two houses at first floor level, a man dropped from the walkway onto the back of the new king’s horse. Conrad didn’t have time to react before he felt the excruciating pain caused by the dagger that the man plunged into his side. Then another man ran out of an alley and, leaping up, plunged his dagger into Conrad’s chest.

  Montferrat was dressed for supper, not war, so only wore a tunic and a silk surcoat. He fell from his horse mortally wounded. The two knights, taken completely by surprise at first, now reacted swiftly. One drew his sword bringing it down on the head of the man still sitting on Conrad’s horse, killing him instantly. The other knight had more presence of mind and, spurring after the second killer, wounded him with a cut to the shoulder. But Conrad of Montferrat, king of Jerusalem for just four days, was dead.

  The second man was tortured but all he would say was that they had been sent by Rashid ad-Din Sinan, the Grand Master
of the Assassins, better known as the Old Man of the Mountains. The Assassins were more properly known as the Nazani Ismailis, a sect who served Rashid with fanatical loyalty. The name Assassins was a corruption of Hashishashin, a term which referred to the use of the drug used to help indoctrinate youthful recruits to the sect. The second assassin died under torture and either didn’t know or wouldn’t say who had paid to have Conrad killed.

  Suspicion fell on King Richard, though why he would do so just after he had bought back and then given away Cyprus to smooth Conrad’s election wasn’t clear. It also fell on Henry of Champagne who married Isabella himself just two days after Conrad’s assassination.

  Back in Jaffa, Humphrey heard the news of Conrad’s death with a mixture of delight and trepidation as he would now have to find the rest of the money he had promised the Assassins. He was about to set off for Tyre to reclaim Conrad’s widow as his wife when he heard of Count Henry’s marriage with disbelief. For a fleeting moment he thought of arranging for Henry’s assassination before dismissing the idea as preposterous. He would have to go to Richard now and beg a loan from him before Rashid’s men demanded payment. He had a good idea as to his fate if he failed to pay up.

  Chapter Eleven – The Advance on Jerusalem – Summer 1192

  On May the twenty second 1192 King Richard took the strategically important town of Darum which lay on the frontier with Egypt. The route into the richest province under Saladin’s rule now lay open and ripe for conquest. It was only with great difficulty that the Lionheart turned his back on the road south and headed back towards Jerusalem.

  Tristan sat on his rouncey next to Warin, Sir Miles’ squire, leading Lord Richard’s new destrier, a coal black stallion imaginatively called Noir. They were waiting outside Ascalon to take their place in the line of march. King Richard had placed Henry of Champagne in command of the vanguard. He was now the de facto king of Jerusalem, though he had declined to take the title despite his marriage to the Queen regnant. Henry was almost universally popular and his astute decision to decline the crown as Isabella’s consort had only increased his standing within the army, and especially amongst the nobles who held lands in the Holy Land like Balian of Ibelin. Even Humphrey of Toron was struggling to overcome his resentment of the young man and his marriage to Isabella.

  Humphrey had managed to borrow the balance of the money he owed to the Old Man of the Mountains from the king. He hadn’t said why he wanted it; just that he was likely to follow in Conrad’s footsteps if Richard refused him. The king must have had a shrewd idea why he needed the loan but he didn’t enquire further. In any case, the replacement of the hostile Conrad by his nephew Henry must have come as a welcome development to Richard. The previous day Humphrey had returned to his house in Ascalon to find a grubby pilgrim waiting to see him.

  ‘My lord, I think you may have been expecting me. I am here to collect a debt incurred in a tent outside Acre.’ The man spoke quietly so as to keep his words private but Humphrey was conscious that the sentry on duty was obviously mystified about the presence of the pilgrim, though the man-at-arms never looked directly at either man. Well, he could be as curious as he liked, he couldn’t have heard what the pilgrim has whispered.

  Without saying a word Humphrey went into another room where he kept his strongbox and handed the friar a sack of silver coins. The pilgrim glanced inside the purse and left with a nod of thanks.

  Tristan was now just seventeen and growing into a well-built young man. If not exactly handsome, he had a pleasant enough face and an agreeable disposition. His only fault was that he had a tendency to be arrogant towards his juniors and those he considered his social inferiors. It was an unconscious fault and, if it had been pointed out to him, he would have been mortified. Because he was Lord Richard’s nephew and heir he tended to look down on Warin, although the other squire was the elder, and treat him as if he were already Baron of the Cheviot and Warin a mere household knight.

  For his part Warin was usually an amiable youth who knew that, in time, he might well be dependent on Tristan’s favour, but sometimes he was tempted to take Tristan to task for his attitude. Instead he put up with it and just muttered under his breath. Richard de Cuille should have noticed, as Tristan’s master, and said something to his nephew, but he was too preoccupied with his duties as commander of his bataille.

  Henry of Champagne led the vanguard away from Jaffa on the road to Jerusalem. The count was followed by his own contingent of Frenchmen and then by Richard de Cuille and his men. Henry and his commanders rode amidst a brave show of banners whereas Richard de Cuille was the only noble in his bataille. Tristan couldn’t help but feel pride as the white chevron on black with its three golden aulants fluttered past.

  Tristan and the other squires rode into line after the mounted vanguard and in front of their baggage train. It was a warm day in early summer and the horses in front of them had kicked up enough dust to make the inexperienced new squires suffer from inhaling it. The old hands like Warin and Tristan were wearing the type of head cloths used by the Saracens around their necks and they now pulled these up over their mouth and nose to keep the worst of the dust out. A boy of fourteen riding on the other side of Warin started to cough and splutter as the dust entered his lungs. Warin quickly tore his own neck scarf in half and offered it to the boy.

  ‘Huh, you’re too soft. Let him learn by experience as we had to,’ Tristan told him with sufficient disdain in his voice to anger the normally equable squire.

  ‘And a fat lot of good that lesson would be if he choked to death. Really Tristan, sometimes I think that you lack any compassion for your fellows.’

  Tristan was so surprised that he couldn’t think of anything to say in response for a moment. Part of the reason for his arrogance was a certain lack of self-confidence stemming from a deep rooted concern about how he would behave in battle. He wasn’t certain that he could summon up the bloodlust and disregard for his own safety that he saw in Lord Richard when he fought. He was competent enough on the practice field but he feared that, when he had to fight for real, it might be a very different matter.

  The more he thought about what Warin had said, the more ashamed he felt. His fellow squire was right; he could be a bit of a prig at times. Without saying a word he tore his own scarf in two and, tying one half back around his face, he turned out of line and gave the other part to another fourteen year old who had only arrived from England a week ago with the latest batch of reinforcements.

  When he re-joined Warin, the latter nodded at him in approval, smiling under his face cloth, and Tristan felt better about himself than he had done for some time.

  A few days later the army was approaching Latrun, some fifteen miles from Jerusalem, when a large force of Saracen cavalry swept down on the vanguard’s baggage train. The latter was guarded by a force of two hundred serjeants and each wagon had a man-at-arms riding beside the driver but they were spread out and heavily outnumbered. The squires were only armed with daggers for self-protection and, although many had a helmet of some sort hung from their saddle horn, few wore any more body protection than a gambeson or a leather jerkin. However, each lead a packhorse with his master’s spare arms including lances, maces, shields and some battle axes. Tristan called out for the seven hundred squires to arm themselves and, leaving one squire in five to hold the packhorses, he led five hundred and sixty boys and youths in a mad charge into the flank of the Saracens.

  Tristan had completely forgotten his worries about how he would conduct himself in a real fight. His blood was up and his natural qualities as a leader had asserted themselves as soon as the Saracens appeared. Perhaps half the squires present were older than Tristan, but they followed his lead without question.

  The serjeants were all but overwhelmed by this time and many of the men-at-arms had died defending the wagons. The Saracens were already leading several of the slow moving wagons away as prizes of war when the lines of squires smashed into them. The squires had been training
with weapons since boyhood and they relished the chance to show what they could do. The startled Saracens were caught unawares and most of the squires had killed a man before the enemy realised what was happening. They had counted on a swift raid and escape before the cavalry in the vanguard or the main body could organise themselves and come to the aid of the baggage train.

  Tristan had armed himself with a lance, shield and battle axe and as he galloped towards the milling Saracens he picked out a large man with a plume in his helmet dressed in chainmail as his quarry. He was riding a beautiful white Arabian stallion and Tristan was sure he must be one of their commanders, possibly an emir. Tristan aimed his lance at the centre of the man’s chest as he turned to meet the threat, his mouth twisted into a snarl. He died like that as the point of the lance broke the links of his chain mail asunder, smashed through his ribs and came out through his back. Tristan let go of the lance and grabbed the battle axe hanging from his saddle horn just as a sword struck his shield, nearly dislocating his left shoulder. He turned his rouncey using his knees and brought the spike of the axe down on the forearm of his attacker. The man dropped his sword with a howl of agony and then Tristan was past him and facing a spearman.

  Using his shield to deflect the thrust of the spear he swung the blade of the axe backhanded across his body to bite into the side of the spearman. He followed this up with a blow to the head which cut through the cloth turban and split the skull underneath. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Then Tristan felt a tremendous blow to his helmet and he knew no more.