The Powder of Death

by Julian Stockwin

  He returned to work reassured.

  CHAPTER 23

  Four days later there were developments.

  The Saracens began massing in lines up and down the siege works. Behind them several engines of some kind were dragged up and men stood by them, as if waiting for a signal.

  ‘Don’t like it,’ Hugh muttered. ‘Looks like Khalil is pressing to close in and start the fun.’

  As they watched a single trumpet bayed. It was taken up and along the line, then as one each soldier raised a wicker shield.

  Urgent warning shouts passed along the walls and men hustled up from below. In the towers soldiers readied with stands of arms – and the Saracens moved forward.

  The reason for the protection became apparent: to shield the men hauling the engines forward. As they came into range a cloud of arrows fell on them from the walls and towers. Men dropped, the first blood of the siege, but the advance went on at a steady and ominous pace.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Jared asked anxiously.

  ‘Them’s mangonels. Throws stones and fire but they need to get in close enough. We’ve got ours and we’ll give ’em a pounding while they’re at it but they’re nasty brutes and I’m not staying about to say hello. Come on – all them arrows means we’ve got more work on our plate.’

  The first mangonels fired. In an ungainly swing each hurled an object in a lazy parabola that descended from up in the sky to meet the wall with a splintering crash and a force enough to be felt through the feet. Others, aimed higher, came down in the city streets in a crazy rampage of destruction, stones half as big as a man.

  The distant sounds made Jared freeze. Perkyn’s eyes met his in terror.

  ‘Don’t be a-feared, lads,’ Hugh rumbled. ‘They can’t reach in more than a hundred yards or so. We’ll be safe.’

  Jared tried not to think of the ordeal of those whose duties kept them at the wall.

  There was now a tense, brittle atmosphere. In the refectory men spoke little, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

  A strange implement was brought in to the forge with instructions that it be restored and returned with all haste. With a crooked handle and spiked and splayed blade it looked like nothing Jared had seen before but the repair was obvious and a strong fire-welding had the unusually stout haft reattached.

  ‘All speed – you’d better get it to ’em yourself,’ Hugh threw at him.

  He was told where to find the unit but wasn’t prepared for what he came to – a square hole with a pulley arrangement set in the ground some yards in from a tower.

  ‘Get in, then!’ he was urged.

  Jared was lowered down near twenty feet to a chamber. Leading off it was a passage, the darkness relieved only by occasional dim lights at the far end. A tunnel hacked through raw earth, it reeked of damp and foul effluvia. As he went forward the confined space pressed in on him. From the direction it seemed they were going under the wall, an immense weight of stone above that could collapse on him at any moment.

  Gulping, he finally made it to the end where men were working by the light of rush dips, stark jerking shadows flung on the jagged surface of the tunnel. They were hacking at the face at a furious speed and he saw what his implement was for: as one wielded a pick the other would reach through his legs and with a stab and twist bring out the debris with the tool.

  The repair was snatched from his hand and put into immediate use by the sweating crew without a word in the fetid, breathless air.

  Jared lost no time in reaching sunlight, then finding Hugh.

  ‘Not good,’ he muttered. ‘They’re countermining, m’ friend. Means that Khalil is getting serious – he’s mining under the towers, wants to bring ’em down.’

  He went on: the mangonels were terrifying but not the menace they seemed. On their own the fortifications could withstand the battering as the plunging missiles always hit at an angle. The real threat was invisible and deadly.

  The Saracens had started shafts from the safety of their lines headed underground directly towards the walls of Acre. The impregnable twenty-feet-thick walls and high towers were helpless against their insidious creeping and when they had undermined the massive stonework, without any kind of warning the walls and towers both would collapse into rubble, leaving a gaping breach.

  Those Jared had seen when he’d delivered the repair were frantically working against time to intercept the advancing menace. At any moment they could break through the earth into an enemy tunnel and then it would be the horror of brutal combat in the cramped darkness.

  How could the Saracen miners doggedly drive their shaft ever closer in the certain knowledge that when the moment of consummation came it would mean their instant crushing or suffocation under tons of collapsing earth and stone?

  That night sleep was denied Jared. As he lay in the warm darkness it was impossible to keep at bay the thought of the thousands out there dedicated to tearing down their defences and slaying them all without mercy.

  The next day it was crossbow bolts again but this time repairing the many score of retrieved quarrels that had been shot by the Saracens at the men on the walls as they fought to fell the hundreds working the giant mangonels.

  It was unsettling to hold in his hands instruments of malice that the enemy had sent against them: blunted and bent by their impact on stone, some with blood smears still on them. They were much as their own bolts, individual hammer marks where they’d been rushed to a finish but with a crudeness that could have done nothing for their accuracy. But with thousands a day fired it was vital to keep up stocks. He bent to with renewed purpose.

  CHAPTER 24

  Jared’s uneasy slumber was broken by sounds; not the cry of sentinels nor the snoring of those about him – irregular, sinister muffled movements and the murmur of many voices. He jerked to consciousness. Others did too, looking around for explanation.

  ‘Something’s afoot,’ grunted Hugh and threw back his blanket. ‘I’m off to see what it is.’

  Jared joined him.

  By flickering torchlight men were assembling in front of the Hospitaller Fortress. The knights in full war array wore the red cross on white mantle over chain mail and plumed helmets. They were led by a gonfanier bearing the standard of the Knights Templar. More knights were in the honours of the Knights Hospitallers. A number of sections of foot soldiers stood behind. In all, a force of some hundreds.

  ‘I told you!’ Hugh hissed. ‘You know who that is? It’s the Templar Grand Master, that’s who! Knew it was serious, if he’s leading ’em!’

  Guillaume de Beaujeu was imposing, his strong features now gentle and devout as he sought blessing for their enterprise.

  ‘They’re making a sortie against the Saracens,’ Hugh continued. ‘I’m guessing against the mangonels. Can’t do anything themselves about the mining so they’re trying to do what they can. Hard to see what, the poor bastards.’

  There were no martial drums or trumpets when they moved off as surprise was vital. Followed by a stream of silent well-wishers the cavalcade made for the St Lazarus Gate. The Grand Master held up his hand and the great gates in the shadow of the wall were eased open as the portcullis was raised and the drawbridge lowered.

  Straining to see beyond the distant moon-bleached siege lines Jared took in endless tents, barricades, impedimenta. All was still, quiet as the grave.

  Cloths were spread over the road to soften the hoofbeats and without a word the mass of men quickly passed through and into the open ground.

  The foot soldiers parted left and right, and picking up speed, the knights broke into a canter and disappeared into the heart of the encampment.

  The night was suddenly broken by far-off screams and hoarse shouting. It was impossible to make out what was happening. Jared shifted his gaze to the foot soldiers who were heading for the gaunt structure that had to be one of the giant mangonels.

  They reached its base – figures were only now emerging from the Saracen lines and there was vicious figh
ting but it was too late. A tiny flicker of flame suddenly burst into a furious blaze and the scene was flung into a wild illumination. Black, jerking figures clashed and fell.

  The pandemonium in the Saracen camp then seemed to coalesce and focus on one part, the enraged enemy converging on it in hordes with shrieks and cries. The knights were in there somewhere – killing or being killed?

  A small group of knights burst out of the lines, hoofs thudding as they raced for the gate, another group followed soon after. The foot soldiers ran stumbling after them. Several were hacked down from behind by maddened Saracens who in turn were cut down by crossbowmen sent to cover the retreat.

  At the gate Jared hastily pulled aside as foaming horses thundered in, spurred by riders with blood-streaked armour and torn mantlets. Wild-eyed men on foot pressed in with them.

  The drawbridge went up and the gates were swung to and barred. The sortie was over.

  The knights cantered away to their hall while the rest trudged off wearily or sat hunched by the side of the road. Several were wounded and women came to bathe their wounds, surrounded by those who needed to know what the night held for them.

  ‘A right disaster, mates,’ one muttered. ‘The fool with the Greek fire got leery, scared of what was in front, didn’t see where he was going. Tripped and sent the whole lot into the ground instead of at the engine.’

  So the objective had not been achieved.

  ‘What about the knights – they slay a few, then?’ Jared asked.

  The man looked up, a wry grin quickly disappearing. ‘What I could see – and I was one o’ them sent in to aid ’em – they got into bother just as soon as they gets among the tents. In the dark, their horses gets tangled in the ropes. I saw with m’ own eyes three go down, and let me tell you, once on their arse they’re easy meat.’

  Groaning as his livid slash wound was dressed he went on, ‘Stirred ’em up like a wasps’ nest. Came at us from everywhere, screeching and howling, we never stood a chance.’

  Later as the news spread Jared heard that it was even worse – eighteen knights did not return, a fearful toll.

  In the light of day a grisly scene was played out. Captured horses were paraded up and down the Saracen lines in full sight of the battlements of Acre, from each suspended the head of a noble Christian knight who had not survived the night.

  CHAPTER 25

  Some days later, without warning, the Tower of Blois crashed down into ruins – a terrible death for defenders and miners alike. There was no breach, for the mighty Accursed Tower lay intact beyond, but it was clear that Khalil was throwing all he had into the siege.

  The King’s Tower barbican went soon after but the tangle of collapsed masonry was unusable as a breach. Where was the mining going on now? Soldiers atop the wall between the two towers carried on doggedly, aware that at any moment the mighty stone fortifications could suddenly give way under them in a killing avalanche.

  In the smithy there was little conversation as a pall descended.

  ‘Did I say I lost heart?’ Hugh said in a forced voice. ‘Stands to reason, they’ve sent for reinforcement, haven’t they? We’ve just got to hold until they come for us.’

  ‘And when will that be?’ Jared came back.

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ the big man exploded. ‘When they does, Christ save us!’

  ‘So if they gets a breach in the walls, they come in after us?’

  ‘God’s wounds, Jared, use your noggin! We’ve still a fair force of knights – it’s their job to stop the breach and I wish ’em well, but it’ll be the sure sign to me to find a boat and be away from here. Until then I stays and does my service to the Order as pays me. And you?’

  ‘The same, brother,’ he said uneasily.

  CHAPTER 26

  In a wild swing Acre’s fortunes changed.

  First one then several sail were spotted on the western horizon, then dozens, until the sea was crowded by ships. Crusader ships!

  Word flew about and before the first had rounded the point by the Templar Castle the walls were covered by an hysterical multitude welcoming their saviours.

  Safe from attack in the enfolding harbour, forty ships landed their freight: two thousand infantry and a hundred knights, commanded by King Henry II of the kingdom of Jerusalem and ruler of Acre, come to personally safeguard his realm.

  Received by heralds, trumpets and knights in full pageantry the young King acknowledged his reception.

  ‘A welcome in the Castle of the Templars awaits you, Sire.’

  ‘I thank you, Grand Master,’ the King replied gravely. ‘And we have no time to waste, I believe.’

  They rode in procession together to the massive fortress.

  Within, the Great Hall was set out in splendid pomp but Henry had no time for ceremony.

  ‘I bid you and the chiefs of all the Orders of Christ to attend on me privily, none other.’

  In an inner chamber he took his place at the head of the table and demanded of the Templar Grand Master, ‘You have called for reinforcements. Do tell me why.’

  ‘Your coming is most opportune, Sire. The situation is indeed grave and dolorous.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The Saracens are dedicated to the capture of Acre. To this end Sultan Khalil spares neither expense nor lives. There are four great and seventy minor engines of war, their mangonels which ceaselessly play on our walls and city to the great terror of the inhabitants. At the same time they’re investing our towers and walls with mining and excavation to effect a breach, which cannot be far delayed.’

  ‘What has been your response?’

  ‘We have attempted sorties but have been driven back at grievous loss, Sire.’

  ‘And else?’

  ‘Nothing that has proved effective, My Liege.’

  Henry took a deep breath. ‘Then pray tell, Grand Master,’ he said heavily, ‘what you expect me to do with my reinforcements? Fall upon the unbelievers, make challenge of combat – drive them into the sea?’

  At their silence he gave a look of contempt. ‘No suggestions? Then I have one.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘If we’re unable to sortie and it is a matter of time only until our walls are breached then … we must treat with Sultan Khalil for a peace.’

  There was instant pandemonium.

  ‘A peace? We will be forced to a withdrawal!’

  ‘To abandon Acre to the Saracens? Sire, this is sacrilege!’

  ‘The last city left of the conquering Holy Crusades – the very final soil to fly the banner of the faithful! Sire, it’s—’

  ‘Silence!’

  He waited for the murmurs to die.

  ‘Did I say an abdication of territory? The Sultan is here to avenge an injury – it may cost us dear, but if we offer to compensate in the matter of a large sum he will listen.’

  ‘Large sum?’ The Grand Master of Templars was instantly on guard. Of all the military orders his was the most wealthy and its treasures were stored here, in the Templar Castle.

  ‘Can you think of a better outcome, My Lord? For a payment in restitution now, Acre continues to prosper under our flag and some thousands of rich Venetian and Genoan merchants will have cause to bless you.’

  Guillaume de Beaujeu nodded reluctantly: the eventual sack of the city would not outweigh the gains of an immediate end to lives lost and, more importantly, the daily cost of maintaining an army of many thousands indefinitely. The calculating Sultan would negotiate.

  ‘Who is your wisest knight, Grand Master?’

  ‘In these matters? I believe it must be William of Cafran, Sire.’

  ‘Then he is appointed my ambassador. Do seek a parley while I confer with Sir William.’

  CHAPTER 27

  Jared stood with Hugh on the walls as the party rode out in the unearthly quiet.

  ‘Knew it would settle down. Both lots have too much to lose,’ Hugh said.

  ‘It’ll cost a hill of ducats.’

  ‘Which w
on’t concern the likes of we, m’ friend.’

  They followed the party until it disappeared among the tents.

  ‘So let’s be back at work – or will a peace see us with nothing to do?’

  Free from the threat of mangonel boulders the streets were thronged with people and traders.

  Later that evening, however, with wailing and screaming, the news spread that the Sultan had bluntly demanded the keys of the city in an immediate surrender of Acre and its peoples as a condition of his gracious mercy. Failing which, the siege would be resumed until this last outpost of the Crusaders had been put to the sword.

  In a frenzy of fear thousands went to the harbour with what they could carry and took ship, others milled about aimlessly in terror.

  The merchants who had not fled earlier took counsel together; their decision, however, was to delay flight until the situation clarified. They had reinforcements, the city could never be starved out. They believed the Sultan’s bluff would be called and he would strike camp and depart, as so many besiegers had done before.

  And from the Grand Masters came valiant words that there would be no craven surrender. Those who had taken the cross would honour their vows, stand at the breach against the hordes and never yield.

  CHAPTER 28

  Jared tried to focus on his work but thoughts raced.

  ‘Do you think …?’

  Hugh didn’t answer, pounding his red-glowing piece as though it were offending him.

  ‘I said—’

  ‘You go if you want, I stay.’

  ‘They’ll come and murder us if we don’t go,’ Perkyn said miserably. ‘There’s too many out there!’

  ‘They’re all common soldiers, stoutheart, not a knight among ’em,’ Jared said as breezily as he could. ‘And we’ve the bravest knights in Christendom to defend us – they said so, didn’t they?’