A Blood Red Horse

by K. M. Grant

  “Sacrifices must be made in the name of honor and love,” he said. “Only then is the sacrificial gift worthy of the giver.” Kamil was quieter now. “One day,” the sultan said, “one day, Kamil, I will demand something of you and see if you have understood what I have just told you.”

  Then Saladin got up, handed Hosanna over, took his own horse, and rode back to his camp.

  17

  Richard’s camp, west of Jerusalem, winter 1191

  Since Hosanna had been taken by Kamil negotiations between Richard and Saladin had been endless and unproductive. The winter rains made everybody bad-tempered, and the morale of the Christians sank as the mud rose. On leaving the orchards of Jaffa at the end of November, while Kamil was enjoying himself on Hosanna, the Christians were trying to reach Jerusalem. After it boiled all summer, now the rain never seemed to let up. Violent hailstorms tested the horses to extremes. At first, the knights and even the humbler soldiers refused to be downcast as they struggled on. At least they were on the last leg to the Holy City. However, soon the misery of traveling when every step was a struggle wore down even the most optimistic crusaders.

  William hardly noticed the weather. In the two months since the loss of Hosanna, his body had easily recovered from the three days without water, but the absence of his horse was a daily grief to him. Every time emissaries came from Saladin’s camp, he looked in vain for Kamil. Sometimes he saw a flash of red in a Muslim raiding party, but the horse was never Hosanna. Often he felt he had remained sane only because Gavin’s injuries were so grave that the surgeon had had to amputate his brother’s sword arm just below the shoulder, and William must be on hand to help him. Kamil’s blow had done irreparable damage in itself, and Gavin’s arm had filled with poison. Luckily, he had been too delirious to understand fully what was going on, but the pain he felt as the surgeon, his apron splattered with blood and pus, took his saw had been real enough. William had been there to ply his brother with drink and hold him down. Amid Gavin’s cries, his own had been drowned out.

  After the operation William and Hal had looked after the sick man between them. When Richard called for them to move on from Jaffa, Gavin was propped up in a wagon while William, now riding Dargent, made sure the driver chose the smoothest route. He was determined that his brother should not die. He could not bear to lose everything: his father, his brother, and both their beloved horses. When Gavin looked feverish, William comforted himself by consulting the surgeon, who told him that he could find no evidence of poison in the wound and that, with careful nursing, it would heal. William did not hesitate to steal things from the stores to try and make nutritious meals. He even took to slipping some of the ointment that Brother Andrew had given to Ellie into Gavin’s soup and stirring until it melted. Progress was good at first, but when Gavin fully realized what had happened to him, he seemed to suffer a mental collapse. A knight minus his sword arm was useless. A knight who had seen his squire and groom drown and his father die was an abomination. He could not get past these thoughts.

  As he sat in the wagon Gavin brooded about why God had allowed terrible things to happen. I am being punished for my sins, he thought to himself. But what has Will ever done, except good? He was haunted by the loss of Hosanna and the effect it was having on his brother. William’s face looked so empty and desperate. At night, although William and Hal did their best to make him comfortable, Gavin could not rest for wondering whether if he had behaved differently, things might have turned out better. As it was, he must live with the knowledge that the rest of his life was tainted.

  At the beginning of December, when they climbed into the hills and were almost within sight of the Holy City, the wheels of the wagons became completely bogged down. As the soldiers dug and swore, Richard told the knights to pitch their tents. They would make camp and have a meeting. William, as he always did, asked Gavin to come and listen, but Gavin shook his head. What good was he to the king now? William flung on his cloak and went on his own. He stood at the back as the king confided to his knights the true extent of his fears about the geographical position of Jerusalem and the difficulties that would arise, not so much from conquering it, but from keeping it, even assuming they could get there at all in this weather.

  “It is impossible to continue,” said Richard. “I have told Saladin that both we and the Saracens are bleeding to death, that the country is utterly ruined, and that enough goods and lives have been sacrificed on both sides.”

  The knights began to mutter. It was true that conditions were dreadful, but to many the prospect of abandoning Jerusalem, with its promise of physical as well as spiritual comforts, was intolerable. If they retreated now, would they ever come back here?

  Soaked to the skin, William hurried back to his tent. Just before he entered, he stopped, forced a more cheerful expression onto his face, then bent down and went through the flap, shaking himself like a dog.

  Gavin was slumped on a rug, leaning against some cushions. The stump of his arm was still extremely painful. He barely looked up when William came in because he found it very difficult to meet his brother’s eyes.

  “They say the weather will change for the better in the not too distant future,” said William brightly. “Apparently February is awful, but the rains stop in March. The king wants our opinion about what we should do next.”

  Gavin moved his head, indicating that he had nothing to say. But William went on anyway. “He has told us that the negotiations over a truce are stuck and wants to know if we should go on to Jerusalem or just reinforce the towns we have taken and leave Jerusalem for another expedition. I am not sure what I think.” He sat down next to his brother. “What about you?”

  “It’s all the same,” said Gavin.

  William looked at him. “Maybe we will get home quicker if we don’t go to Jerusalem.”

  Gavin looked blank.

  “But God must want us to take Jerusalem,” William went on, “or all this has been for nothing. And then it is dreadful to think of the True Cross being in the hands of our enemies.”

  Gavin still said nothing. William waited a few minutes. Then he pulled himself close and forced Gavin to look at him. His face was ashen white, and Gavin noticed how thin it had become.

  “Gavin,” William said, all the false cheerfulness leaving his voice. “Gavin. Please. Please don’t look away. Please speak to me. I am losing everything. I need you.”

  “You don’t need me,” said Gavin, trying not to sound pathetic. “My sins have brought disaster to me and perhaps to you, too. You don’t need me.”

  But William, desperate, was not put off. “I need you because you are still my elder brother,” he said. “I need you because, in all this madness and confusion, you are what I know. At Hartslove we often fought and you nearly killed Hosanna. But we are here now, and we are alive. You have lost your arm, and I have lost my beautiful horse. Neither is replaceable. But we cannot just give up. We must rise to the terrible challenge that God has set us. I will have to accept that Hosanna is not coming back, and you will have to use me as your right arm. Please, Gavin,” William’s voice was breaking. “Our father would expect this of us. Please help me. I can’t do it on my own.”

  Gavin looked at his brother’s pleading face. “Will,” he said at last, “I can’t.”

  “You must,” urged William. “Being together, helping each other, is all that will save us.”

  “Don’t ask me,” begged Gavin. “I am no good for anybody.”

  “Oh, how can you say that!” cried William. “You are our father’s son. You are a de Granville. We can do anything.”

  Gavin looked away to disguise the trembling in his lips. What William said struck deep into his heart. Yet how could he explain to William how unworthy he felt, unworthy to be a de Granville, unworthy, really, to be alive when better men had died?

  William was sitting with his head in his hands. Gavin looked at him. He could see his brother sitting just like that at Hartslove after some childish di
sappointment. He could hear his father and Old Nurse chiding him and Ellie laughing. What would they all think now? Memories of the day he had hunted Hosanna into the ground flooded back. Although nearly everybody else had given the horse up for dead, William had kept faith, and after Hosanna’s return had even told Gavin he had forgiven him. Maybe now was Gavin’s opportunity to make proper amends. Maybe this was his final chance, if only he could find the strength to take it.

  Gavin regained control of his face and then slowly and awkwardly put his arm over William’s shoulders. William did not move for a moment, then shifted so that he could look straight into Gavin’s eyes. His own were full of misery and questions. Gavin swallowed hard. But, slowly, he nodded his head.

  “I will try for your sake and for the sake of everything we have left behind,” he said. “But you will have to help me, Will. I will depend on you.” Gavin looked uncertain about what to do next, so William grasped his hand.

  “You can depend on me, Gavin,” he whispered with a ghost of a smile. “We will face whatever comes with the help of God, the king, Father, and Hosanna. For them and with their help, we will get through this and get home.”

  Gavin repeated the words William was saying, once in a whisper, then again more strongly. When silence fell, they sat without moving, two brothers pushed together by losses neither could cope with on his own.

  Movement outside told them that something further was afoot. Hal pushed his head round the flap to say that the knights had demanded another meeting with the king. Without a word William helped Gavin to rise, smarten himself up, and walk to the meeting place. When the king came, the knights’ spokesman said that the knights disagreed and wanted at least to attempt to take Jerusalem. Both the de Granvilles nodded their heads. Richard accepted the decision but looked extremely unhappy. As he left, he saw that Gavin was at William’s side.

  “I’m glad to see you are recovered,” he said. “Now, keep yourself warm and as dry as possible. This rain is almost worse than the sun. When you feel strong enough, keep close to me. If you are a true son to your father, you will help me now.”

  When they set off the next morning, William got onto Phoebus, the gray stallion belonging to his father who, unlike his companion, had survived the journey. He told Hal to make Dargent ready for Gavin. The horse was well trained, and William thought that if Gavin could ride for just half an hour, it would boost his confidence. Gavin looked less certain, but William insisted and eventually, gritting his teeth at the embarrassment of having to be helped to mount, and saying nothing to William about the pain his wound was causing, he got on. To his surprise he almost immediately felt better.

  “It’s good to see the world from this height, instead of having to look up at everybody from the wagon,” he said, not quite managing a smile.

  William was content. After half an hour he helped Gavin dismount. Gavin looked exhausted, but it was a start. Each day he did a little more until finally, under some welcome weak winter sunshine, he managed a whole day.

  Christmas came, and the two young men toasted each other and the king and shivered. Short of food, their clothes rotting on their bodies, the army was now camped only twelve miles from Jerusalem. Only twelve miles. But Jaffa itself was barely thirty miles from the Holy City as the crow flies, and it had taken them a month to get this far. Everything was now in a terrible condition. The wood for the siege engines had disintegrated, many of the wagons were in a state of collapse, and half the men were limping with foot rot. Almost every day the rain beat down, as if to punish them.

  Richard convened another meeting. It was very acrimonious. Despite everything, many of Richard’s men still wanted to press on, but others, including Gavin and William, could see that Richard had been right and that the weather was making the great crusade for Jerusalem completely hopeless. Richard pushed as hard as he could for at least a temporary retreat.

  “Our scouts have been talking again to Saladin,” he said, “and the points at issue between us are these: Jerusalem, the True Cross that was taken at Hattin, and the land. I have said to Saladin that Jerusalem is for us an object of worship that we could not give up in the long term, even if there was only one of us left in the world. The land from here to beyond the River Jordan must, therefore, be consigned to us. I also said that the Cross, which is for them just a piece of wood of no value, is for us of enormous importance. I said that if it were returned to us, and the other conditions met, that we would be able to make peace and rest from this endless labor.”

  “And did he agree?” asked one of the younger knights, sounding contemptuous.

  Richard tried not to show his impatience. “Through the councillor Baha ad-Din, he sent the following message,” he replied. “That Jerusalem is as much theirs as ours and is even more sacred to them because it is the place from which Muhammad made his ascent into heaven. It is also the place where Muslims will gather on the Day of Judgment. This is not a surprise. This is what Saladin must say.”

  The young knight snorted. “I suppose we should encourage talk about the Day of Judgment. Maybe they will all be cast down into hell.”

  Richard was not amused. “The point is that they will not renounce Jerusalem,” he said. “They also say that the land was originally theirs and that we have only taken over bits of it because they were weak when our ancestors first arrived here. Saladin refuses to give up the Cross except in exchange for something of benefit to Islam. This is how matters lie. Yet look around you. Look at the condition of this army. I would be glad to hear your opinions.”

  The knights began to talk. Gavin, noticing how tired Richard looked, got up and spoke to the company, emphasizing the reality before them, how there was more to be lost than gained from pressing on. Eventually, having made Richard promise to return in the spring with fresh siege engines, enough senior knights voted for a temporary retreat to carry the day.

  The journey back to the coast was bitter. They made their way to Ascalon, a southern coastal town that Richard was determined to fortify and leave in Christian hands. But by the end of January, as they arrived, Richard noted that many men had deserted.

  For Gavin the respite at Ascalon was a godsend. The rain let up, and he and William were able to dry out. Their boots had all but collapsed, but there was time to have new ones made from the skins found in the houses of the Saracens who had fled. After resting to recover from the journey, at William’s tentative suggestion, Gavin began to practice wielding a sword with his left arm. It was hard at first, and Gavin was often disheartened. By the time the rains died away, however, William, who was always very gentle with his brother, found himself nearly poked in the eye and forced to defend himself properly. That day was the first time Gavin laughed without constraint.

  “Life in the old dog yet!” he cried, almost with his former vigor. “Once I put you in the horse trough at Hartslove with one arm. I dare say I’ll do it again.”

  William threw back his head and whooped. “Race you back to the tent,” he shouted. As Phoebus lurched into his best canter William tried his best not to compare the gray’s lumbering efforts with the floating gallop that had once filled him with delight.

  They spent six months at Ascalon, and Gavin grew confident enough to commission some new armor to protect his right shoulder. He practiced with his sword until he was now almost as good at fighting with his left arm as he had been with his right. He confided to the king that he felt ready for action. The two men spent much time riding together through the orchards and out, scouting, onto the plain, and as they rode, they talked. The king had begun to admire Gavin’s spirit; he was changed by his suffering. When Gavin told Richard that his recovery was all due to William, Richard said that both young men were a credit to their father’s name.

  Once or twice Gavin brought up the subject of Hosanna and was surprised at Richard’s sympathy. Becoming sentimental about horses was frowned upon, but the king seemed genuinely concerned. “I would be sorry to lose the horse I gained in Cyprus,” he
said. “We will do all we can to find Hosanna, but the chances are slim.”

  How the crusade would end was also the subject of many discussions. Even with better weather approaching and the army recovered in health, Richard confided in Gavin that his misgivings about taking Jerusalem had grown rather than receded. At last both agreed it was for Richard to confront his knights once again. When the king proposed abandoning Jerusalem, Gavin and some of the other knights backed him, but many were unsure. Then an unhelpful priest preached a sermon reminding the crusaders that God would not forgive a Christian king for betraying the Holy City. The king, made uneasy by the priest and booed by his men, felt trapped. Sighing deeply, he told Gavin to announce that the army would set out once more.

  At first, all went well. The sun was growing strong again, but the soldiers were cheerful. Gavin told William that occasionally the king even spoke of “when we take Jerusalem” rather than his usual “if.” But riding out with Richard on a clear morning in June, confidently controlling Dargent with one hand, Gavin cantered up into a small group of hills from which, to his surprise and awe, he could actually see the Holy City. He called the king to come and look. Richard refused. Remaining steadfastly in a dip and turning his horse away, he told Gavin he would not look on a city he had little hope of delivering. Gavin was shocked.

  “But what can stop us now?” he asked.

  “Do you not understand? Have you not listened to our spies?” Richard was exasperated. “Look toward the walls. What do you see?”

  Gavin squinted in the sun. “I see black pennants flying,” he said, puzzled. “There seem to be lots of them.”

  “Do you know what they mean?”

  “No, sire,” replied Gavin.

  Richard made his horse walk on. Gavin cantered down the hill and caught up with him. “They mean that the Saracens have poisoned the wells and springs,” the king said. “Wagons are bringing water in from the outside for those inside the city walls. When we arrive, unless our supply line can be established immediately, we will rescue the holy places and then die of thirst.”