by Katz, Yoram
You will be surprised to know that the senior artillery officer of the British is a Frenchman! He is Colonel Antoine de-Phelipoux, who, believe it or not, was a fellow student of General Bonaparte in Paris’ military academy. Rumor has it that these two had always been bitter rivals. This treacherous dog, who owes everything to our beloved France, left for England to support our enemies against the revolution. He is now using his French-earned skills to kill Frenchmen! I do hope he falls into our hands alive.
But let us go back to the story of the battle.
Around noon, our bombardment started bearing some fruit. The tower on the northeastern corner collapsed, creating a breach in the wall. The penetration force under Captain de Chateau-Renault (a cousin of my friend Gaston, whom I have mentioned earlier) charged forward to widen the breach and to enable the main force to break through. Unfortunately, the moat was deeper than estimated and the ladders they brought with them were too short. This bogged down the whole operation, exposing the grenadiers to the deadly fire of the defenders. Only ten men managed to cross the moat and reach the collapsed tower. Out of a force of 800 grenadiers who were to follow them, just a single platoon entered the moat and all its men were immediately killed. The rest of the attackers got stuck at the entry to the moat and were badly hit by the defenders’ fire and by the cannons of the British ships. It was a disaster. Of the ten heroes who had made it to the tower, six managed to retreat, and four, including Captain de Chateau-Renault, were slain.
The first assault on Acre was a total failure.
Two days later, on Germinal 10th (March 30th), I left east toward Safed under General Murat. It was obvious now that the siege of Acre would take some time. General Bonaparte decided to wait for heavy artillery to arrive from Cairo, and in the meantime we had to take control of the Galilee and of the Jordan bridges, to avoid surprises from the local villages and from the Turks in Damascus. General Murat was assigned this task.
But before I proceed to describe the events of this journey, I want to share with you a report that we have just received and which illustrates the nature of our enemies - a bunch of savages with no dignity and honor, exactly as they were 500 years ago, when our ancestor Philippe de Charney was fighting here.
* * *
“Who is Philippe de Charney?” asked Luria.
“He was a Templar knight who fought at the battle of Acre in 1291. Our family has some Templar history too. I’ll tell you about it later.”
* * *
A few days after we had left, some soldiers working on the beach, east of the besieged city, saw dozens of big crates, like those used for packing rice and coffee, being swept across the waves towards the beach. The soldiers alerted their officers, including Gaston, my friend. The crates smelt bad and when the soldiers opened them, they were horrified. The crates contained human bodies, mostly of Christian citizens of Acre who had been executed upon the orders of Jazzar the butcher. Crate by crate was opened, each revealing its cargo of gore. In one of the crates, my friend Gaston faced a terrible surprise. You may remember from a previous letter that a few months ago General Bonaparte dispatched an emissary to Jazzar to propose an arrangement and that the emissary never returned. Well, Gaston found in one of the crates the butchered corpse of this emissary. It was his cousin, Captain de Chateau-Renault, brother of the other Captain de Chateau-Renault, who had died at the head of his elite unit during the assault on the Acre wall. These two heroic brothers died almost at the same time and at the same place – how terrible. My friend Gaston was much affected and swore to avenge his beloved cousins.
Well, back to me now. Our orders called for conquering Safed, that Galilean town high in the mountains, overlooking the Sea of Galilee. We left east with 200 cavalry and 500 infantry, led by a local Sheik, a bitter opponent of Jazzar, who had joined us with his men and was offered by General Bonaparte the office of Civilian Governor of Safed, once taken.
In the beginning, we made fast progress. We were traveling in a long valley, which divides the Galilee in two. Soon, low ridges of mountains appeared to our right and high ridges to our left. After a village called Rameh, we turned north and started climbing the higher ridge. The road soon became a hazardous trail, and progress was difficult. In the afternoon, we arrived at Safed. There was only a small garrison of Arabs stationed there and they all ran away without a fight, leaving in our hands their commander, a pathetic old man, whom we took prisoner.
Safed is built around a fortress, which had been constructed by the Templar crusaders, and fell to the Mamluks in the 13th century, twenty five years before Acre did. The sheik told us that the Mamluks butchered all 700 Templars and mounted their heads on spikes, just like the savages did one month ago in Jaffa to our emissaries, who had approached them under a white flag.
Most of the people of Safed chose to hide in their homes, but some of them, mostly Jews (the population is half Muslim and half Jewish), came out. They gave us a nice welcome and served bread and wine to the soldiers. Most Jewish men we saw were good looking, neatly dressed in clean garments and much more agreeable than the Arabs we had met in Egypt. I, together with an infantry captain named Simon, met with a delegation of Jews who came to welcome us, to see whether we could be assisted by them in any way.
The Jewish women stayed inside their homes, but there was a young Jewish woman named Rivka, who was part of the delegation, thanks to her excellent command of French. She was dressed very modestly, but her beauty shone through and could not be ignored. Papa, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her French was indeed excellent, and she translated and mediated between us and her people. During the conversation, I realized that her intelligence and wit matched her beauty. Something in my heart went out to her, and I knew my feelings were reciprocated.
On Germinal 14th (April 3rd), having concluded a survey of the area, General Murat returned with most of the force to Acre, leaving in Safed 200 soldiers under Captain Simon. I was ordered to stay and support him with a few of my cavalry. During the days which followed, I realized I had been right in assessing the feelings of Rivka, the Jewish girl, towards me. Using various excuses and her full cooperation, we found ways to outsmart her escorts, who tried never to leave her alone, and we managed to meet a few times all by ourselves.
Papa, for the first time in my life I found in myself real feelings for a woman, not just the infatuations I had experienced before. And of all women, a Jewish one… how strange! The week that ended on Germinal 17th (April 6th), was the happiest of my life.
On Germinal 16th (April 5th), we received news by a mounted courier that thousands of Turkish cavalry and infantry had arrived from Damascus and were now crossing the Bnot-Yaakov Bridge on the Jordan River, only a day’s walk from Safed. We had very little time to prepare for battle. It was obvious that we could not defend the whole city with 200 soldiers and a few cavalry, so Captain Simon decided to retreat to the old fort and prepare for a siege. Panic spread among the inhabitants, as we could not guarantee their safety.
However, I was true to my word and made sure that my Rivka’s family, along with some other local inhabitants, retreated with us to the fort. We probably saved them from a woeful fate. These Jews are still paying for their ancient sins, and it seems they are destined to live forever between the hammer and anvil.
The Turks arrived in Safed on Germinal 17th (April 6th). They outnumbered us by far – thousands against our 200, but we were well organized in the fort, and they could not touch us. They tried to mount the walls a few times, but we always managed to repel and inflict heavy casualties upon them. The Turks, crazed with rage, ran wild in the city and set fire to parts of it, but we were safely entrenched in the fort. Eventually, the Turks gave up.
On Germinal 24th (April 13th), a farmer sent by General Murat, somehow found his way to us with orders for Captain Simon. The orders said that General Murat would be passing near Safed on his way east. Captain Simon was to storm out of the fort, attack what was left of the besieging Turks a
nd, with the help of a part of General Murat’s force, drive them out of Safed. There was also a personal message for me. After this battle, I was to leave Safed with my men and join the General’s main force. It turned out that the Turks besieging us were part of a bigger force, which was coming down from Damascus via the Bnot-Yaakov Bridge. The major part of this army was on its way to join forces with an Arab force in Jenin, from where they planned to move on Acre and engage our army.
In the morning hours of Germinal 26th (April 15th), we left Safed’s fort under Captain Simon (a brilliant commander to whom I foresee a bright future) and engaged the Turks, who were utterly surprised and displayed pathetic soldiery. I realized quickly that with such a wretched enemy we had nothing to fear. Within two hours, we scared them away with minor casualties on our side. I, then, took my farewell from Captain Simon and rode to report to my commander, General Murat, who was on his way to the Jordan River. I assumed my place at the head of my cavalry company and was cheered by my men, whom I had really missed.
Here, too, we won a huge victory.
General Murat’s infantry had two battalions and as exercised so many times before, each arranged itself in a shape of a square. The two squares then moved rapidly towards the Jordan River to capture the Bnot-Yaakov Bridge. The Turkish cavalry made an attempt to attack us, but the small perimeter of the squares prevented the Turks from putting their advantage in numbers into effect. Their offensive was promptly broken, and they ran back into their camps. What now happened was unbelievable. The retreating cavalry caused panic throughout the huge camp and thousands of Turkish and Arab soldiers scattered away in a chaotic rout, running for their lives rather than face 1,000 Frenchmen – a smashing victory indeed! The whole splendid camp of the enemy with its entire equipment fell into our hands, and the soldiers celebrated all night by singing, dancing and gorging themselves.
The following day, we moved on southwards and on Germinal 28th (April 17th), we reached Tiberias. Tiberias is surrounded by high walls and since we had no artillery, we would have faced difficulties capturing it. Here again, the cowardly Turks, having heard how their brothers had been defeated on the previous day, simply deserted their positions and ran away before we even got there. In the city we found storehouses full of provisions. We found here a big Jewish community, and they gave us a warm welcome. However, by now my work is done, and I will not need them.
The taste of victory is intoxicating. I find it hard to express my emotions and the pride I feel as a son of the French Republic, facing the primitive savages of this land, who are not even brave enough to stand up and fight.
After I had taken care of my men, I found some time to relax and write this letter to you. Strangely enough, at this rare moment of respite between battles, I find myself yearning for a certain woman in Safed, whom I wonder whether I ever get to see again.
Long Live the Republic,
Your loving son,
Pascal de Charney
* * *
Luria finished reading and raised his head. His eyes met Jeanne’s. “I must admit that history was never my specialty,” he said, “but this reads like an adventure novel. And all this happened not far from here… this is fascinating.”
Jeanne smiled. “History is basically a collection of life stories, and when it involves places we know or people we feel related to, it becomes personal, and then it is even more fascinating. This is also the main reason for me being here – to discover my family’s part in this story.” She fell silent for a moment, her eyes remaining on him.
“Before we go on,” she added. “I would like you to read an English translation of another letter, a short one this time.” She handed him a printed sheet of paper.
Luria put down the stack of sheets he was holding, took the new one and started reading.
* * *
Prairial 29th, Year 7 of the French Republic,
(June 17th, 1799)
Cairo.
My honored sir,
Your son, Pascal de Charney, was killed on Floreal 21st (May 10th, 1799), while leading his soldiers in the attack on the walls of Acre. He died with honor and without pain, a death any soldier would have wished for himself.
I have had the honor of personally knowing both you and Pascal. Your son, like you, was an excellent officer who showed exceptional bravery and his commanders expected him to go far.
Your loss touches my heart. It is a terrible moment when we have to part from a loved one, but I assure you that you can be very proud of Pascal.
As a soldier to a veteran soldier of France and the revolution, I cannot tell you more than you already know about life, death and honor.
I weep with you and can only hope that you will find some solace in the friendship I will always have for you, and in the honor I will always have for the memory of your brave son.
Yours respectfully,
Napoleon Bonaparte
* * *
Luria looked up. “A truly majestic letter; was it really written by Napoleon?”
“Definitely; I have the original. It is in his handwriting and bears his signature. Napoleon had an exceptional capacity for expressing himself in writing, as well as in speech. It was one of the qualities which made him such a great leader.”
“Very impressive.”
Luria was thinking. The 200-year-old story of the French Officer was exciting, yet the private investigator in him felt uneasy. He could not pinpoint what it was, but something in de Charney's letter felt odd. He mused a bit longer but failing to focus, decided to repress this thought for the time being. He will have to return to it later.
And there was something else, something which personally connected him to the story. “Did you know that I grew up in Safed?” He asked.
Jeanne was genuinely surprised. “Is that so?”
“Yes. My family has roots in Safed, going hundreds of years back.”
Jeanne’s eyes widened. “No, no, I did not know that,” she said in wonder. “This is incredible. It is as if fate has brought us together and now you, too, are part of this story! This is amazing!” her enthusiasm and excitement were contagious.
“Well,” Laughed Luria, “I am a skeptic by nature and for me it is also a professional asset. I am not good at all with fate or faith, but this certainly gives me a special interest in this case.”
Jeanne kept silent, but her eyes told him that she saw things differently. ‘Well, this is fine with me’, he thought. ‘Women have a weak spot for romance and mystery. This is probably why she is here anyway, and I am OK with that.’ He smiled. “Well, then, what is the task that you have in mind for me?”
“I believe you have already guessed it by now,” replied Jeanne. “Pascal spent a short while in Safed. It seems that during this short time, he formed a special relationship, maybe even a romantic one, with a young local Jewish woman…”
‘Here we go...’ Luria made a mental sigh. ‘Women…’
“This is the reason I am here. I want you to trace this woman and her family.”
Luria expected that, yet… “Please forgive my tactlessness, but besides the historical background, this aspect of the story sounds like a teenage girls’ novel material. Why does it really matter to you what happened between a cavalry officer, granted he was family, and a Jewish girl he saw for a week, more than 200 years ago? Is it just romanticism?”
The smile vanished from the blue eyes. Jeanne was angry, but even anger became her. “You are a man and you understand nothing,” she snapped. “First, this is my family’s history and I am intrigued. Besides, I also believe this story will develop and provide a new dimension to my thesis. You may call it female intuition, if you will.”
Luria doubted that. ‘But does it really matter?’ he thought. ‘This is a job, and it sure beats following adulterous husbands… and there is this dazzling client…’ For now this would do.
“Well,” he said, “female intuition is one thing I could never argue with, so let us get to work. What have we got
here, then? 1799, a young cavalry officer called Pascal de Charney and a young Jewish girl from Safed called Rivka. Is that it?”
“Pretty much so.”
“Are there any more letters mentioning her? Is there any additional material that may shed some light upon their relationship or her background?”
“No,” said Jeanne, and Luria thought she hesitated for an extra split of a second. “This is all there is.”
Luria had his own intuitions, and they were telling him otherwise, but this was not the right time. “Well,” he said, “this task falls more in the domain of a historian than in that of a private eye, but I’ll see what I can do. First, I would like to ask you to leave with me copies of the two letters.”
Jeanne hesitated. “This material is very sensitive from a family perspective and besides, this is a historical source that I plan to be the first to publish.”
“Well, Jeanne,” said Luria, “if I am to work on this case, you must trust me. I’ll keep the letters in my office safe, and I solemnly promise I am not going to publish an academic essay that will compete with yours. And, anyway, these are not the originals.”
Jeanne’s smile made him forget Srur, Porat and the rest of the scum who populated his world. “OK,” she declared, “I believe you.”
“So, we are left only with the issue of fees,” noted Luria and she smiled. “And then, of course, we’ll have to find out which type of food you like and when you are free for dinner.”
11. Pierre de Severy - Acre, May 18th, 1291
The sun was setting. Pierre de Severy stood alone in a room overlooking the city, gazing at the turmoil below. The tidings from the battlefield have been going from bad to worse. After Guillaume de Beaujeu’s death, the situation kept escalating. The Hospitaller Marshal, Matthew de Clermont, who led another failed attack to recapture the Accursed Tower, fell in battle, too. The Saracens were all over town, annihilating almost everybody they ran into, with the lucky ones shackled and taken to the pens, later to be sold as slaves. Total chaos reigned when a huge crowd tried to board the last few ships. Thousands were left on the piers. For most of them, these were their last hours.
