A Blood Red Horse

by K. M. Grant

  There was a long pause in which all that was audible was the gentle thud of hooves in the sand. “How are we going to tell the men?” asked Gavin at last.

  Richard raised his eyebrows. “We have to hope that God will help us,” he said, and searching for inspiration, he prepared to give his army the news he knew it least wanted to hear.

  18

  The meeting did not go well. At times Gavin feared for the king’s physical safety as soldiers and knights alike openly accused him of betraying the crusading ideal. Some even went so far as to argue that if the whole crusading army died attempting to take Jerusalem, their deaths would be a glorious victory, since the pope had promised they would all go straight to heaven. Richard called for silence and put forward a proposal that he felt allowed the Christians to retreat with honor.

  “My friends,” he said, “my friends, we must now make a very difficult decision. On the one hand, Jerusalem lies before us for the second time, apparently ready for us to take. On the other, I have it on authority that a combined fleet of ships from our friends in Italy is even now sailing into the harbor at Acre, ready to transport us all to the Nile delta.”

  A confused muttering broke out. This was something new. Wasn’t the Nile delta in Egypt? Why go there when Jerusalem was so close? William glanced at Gavin, but Gavin’s face was impassive.

  Richard allowed the muttering to become a row before raising his hand. A knight called Henry de Winchelsea shouted for quiet. The key to Jerusalem, Richard explained, lay in securing Egypt to prevent Saladin’s being able to call on an unlimited supply of men and provisions. Taking Jerusalem now, with Saladin’s army increasing every day and the borders to the south open, would invite failure.

  Richard’s words were greeted with silence. The soldiers looked at each other, a little of the wind taken out of their sails. Nobody seemed sure what to do. Richard began again.

  “The decision about whether or not to go on and take Jerusalem now, at this moment, is a hard one and one that we must take together,” he said. “Christ and the holy places still wait to be avenged. That fact remains. It is also true that we have all suffered a great deal to get this far. Many of you have made grievous sacrifices, and just as God will not forget, neither will I, as your king, forget. But I ask again, should we risk throwing away all we have achieved up to now to storm the holy city? If we do that, we will all surely die and the city will fall back to the Saracens shortly after. Or should we make the final assault when we can be sure that our victory is secure? Should we release the holy places from Saracen pollution for a week, then watch each other die of thirst for lack of uncontaminated water, or when we take the holy places back—for we surely will—should it be forever?”

  Gavin watched, fascinated, as Richard skillfully guided the thoughts of knights and soldiers the way he favored. Once Richard was confident that doubts had been sewn about a straightforward assault, he played his final card.

  “I leave the decision up to you,” he said. “A committee of twenty must be set up, drawn from the commanders of this army. The whole army, including myself, will abide by the committee’s decision. Whatever happens will be your responsibility.” With that, Richard dismissed the gathering, but as he walked past him Gavin could see that the king already knew he had won.

  Back in the tent, Gavin found William in a gloomy mood. He tried not to show Gavin how much he thought about Hosanna, but now he could not help himself.

  “If we don’t go forward to Jerusalem, I know that I will never see Hosanna again,” he said, his face twitching in his agitation. “I mean, I probably won’t anyway. But I am sure that the emir who took him is in Jerusalem. I just know he is.”

  Gavin sat down.

  “The committee meets in an hour,” he said. “I am to be part of it. But I’m afraid we won’t try for Jerusalem,” he went on, looking at William, wishing there was some way he could make things better. “But don’t give up hope just yet. The king has an interest in Hosanna. Raiding parties are still going out. It is possible that someone will see Hosanna and at least get news to you that he is well.”

  William would not be comforted. “I promised Ellie that I would ride Hosanna over the drawbridge at home,” he said. “I promised.”

  “It was a rash promise,” said Gavin gently, “and one which Ellie will not have taken seriously. And anyway, we don’t even know if we will make it home yet. Have you forgotten the journey out here?” Gavin shuddered. “We have that to face in reverse before we trot up the road to Hartslove.”

  William knew his brother was right, but desperation made him clutch at straws. “Perhaps I could ride to Jerusalem and ask if anybody has seen Hosanna,” he said.

  Gavin was determined not to give his brother false hope. “You know that is impossible,” he said, trying to think what his father would be suggesting if he were still alive. He would, Gavin was sure, have come up with something positive. “Perhaps we should pray,” Gavin said at last, rather lamely. “It can’t do any harm.”

  William gave his brother a withering look. “Why, in the midst of all the misery of war, would God be interested in a horse?” he asked.

  Gavin shrugged. “Why should he not be? And anyway, Hosanna is not just any horse, is he?” And with that, Gavin, rather self-consciously, knelt down.

  William watched him, but a growing noise outside soon made Gavin get up and look outside. Within moments he was back, his face lit up with excitement.

  “Will, get ready!” he cried. “Scouts have located a huge Saracen caravan. They say there are thousands of laden camels and mules. But also they say there are hundreds of horses, some of which they recognize as captured from us. The whole caravan is headed for Jerusalem. Saladin has obviously called for reinforcements, and these are them. Richard has already dispatched two hundred mounted soldiers and one hundred knights to try and cut the caravan off. Quick, let’s get you dressed! There is a real chance that Hosanna might be there, too.”

  Before Gavin had finished speaking, William was pulling on his quilted shirt and mail surcoat. Gavin rushed out to tell Hal to saddle Phoebus as quickly as possible, then ran back to help William, who could barely do up his sword belt, his hands were shaking so much with excited hope. Swearing and cursing at his one-armed clumsiness, Gavin eventually used his teeth.

  “Take care,” he said, his mouth full of leather straps. “Keep your wits about you. And if you find Hosanna, don’t lose your head.” Once William was ready, they paused for a moment, then Gavin put his arm on William’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he said. “Oh, good luck.”

  William ran to where Hal had the gray waiting. He helped William to mount, then picked up a bridle lying in a heap of rugs and cloths behind him. “Just in case,” he murmured, and put it into one of William’s saddlebags. William said nothing, but wheeled Phoebus round and galloped after the detachment whose armor he could see shimmering in the heat about half a mile away.

  The scouts had been right. The caravan was a huge one. Nearly four thousand camels and mules together with hundreds of wagons and covered carts were protected by about two hundred Saracens, all armed to the teeth. But although the Saracens were watchful, the camels, despite their heavy bags, were restive.

  This was clear to the attacking knights, and they decided to see if it could work to their advantage. With recklessness borne of faith, frustration, and sheer greed for the booty being held out under their noses, the whole Christian contingent broke every rule of engagement and galloped straight for the caravan, barking like mad dogs. The effect was startling. The camels went wild and bolted. The knights then divided, and still barking, half of them galloped round behind the lumbering animals, who, confused and alarmed, swayed to a momentary halt before turning round and fleeing back. This caused the mules to panic, and the horses, many of whom were running loose, took flight, too, and swept through their Saracen escort, knocking many men over in the rush. The entire herd soon disappeared into the desert.

  In the ensuing chao
s the knights and soldiers drew their swords and killed the enemy indiscriminately. The resistance was negligible. When the few Saracens who were left began to beg for their lives, the knights ordered the soldiers to sheath their swords and start trying to get the booty under control. As the dust cleared, the sight of the soldiers trying to round up the camels, both men and beasts whistling and spitting their disapproval, had all the knights rocking with laughter.

  All except William. He ignored the main body of the caravan and followed the horses. After galloping for about a quarter of a mile, they stopped and milled about, unsure what to do next. Two stallions began to roar as William approached, but neither was Hosanna. For the next hour William rode slowly in among the throng, who pushed and thrust against him. Whenever he saw a flash of chestnut, his heart rose, only to sink when he found himself mistaken. Eventually he stood up in his stirrups and shouted, his voice like a sob, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!” There was no answering whicker; no slim, elegant head standing out from the multicolored sea of manes and tails; no soft, inquisitive nose against his pocket. William slowly sank back into his saddle.

  When he was quite sure Hosanna was not there, he returned to the caravan. Some of the horses joined him, until eventually they all followed, and William found himself at the head of the whole vast herd. Men stopped to stare at the extraordinary sight.

  The horses of the dead Saracens were being gathered up by a company of archers. Ignoring the herd behind him, William kept his eyes flitting from the captured horses to the faces of the dead and injured men strewn about in the scrub. He did not care what condition the man was in, but he hoped against hope that he would find the face of the emir he often saw in his dreams. But it was no good.

  Racked with disappointment, William could take no pleasure in the heaps of gold, silver, spices, and food that had the rest of the raiding party dancing with delight. He helped to reorder the wagons and secure all the captured bolts of silk, stacks of chain mail, tents, and cushions so that the booty could be taken back to the Christian camp. He watched as men slapped each other on the back. But he felt only devastation. He could not—would not—believe Hosanna was dead. But where was the young man who had stolen him?

  Gavin and Hal were among the crowds standing waiting as the great caravan of Muslim spoils was driven toward them. It caused much rejoicing. But when they spotted William empty-handed, their faces fell. Hal turned away, leaving Gavin to help William dismount.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I really am sorry, Will.”

  “It was a long shot, I suppose,” said William, attempting, but failing, to be cheerful.

  Gavin was very matter of fact. He knew just what his father would do now. “Right then,” he said. “Go and get all this stuff off, and let’s see what these thousands of camels produce.”

  William was grateful to Gavin for not offering false comforts. If Gavin could be strong, he must be, too. Nevertheless, as he struggled out of his armor, William allowed himself a few moments of weakness, sinking down on to his knees and angrily dashing away the tears he was embarrassed to find rolling down his cheeks. He rubbed his face with a cloth, wishing he had some spare water to splash over his head. Hosanna was gone. He would have to get used to it. He was lucky to have Phoebus and lucky to have a brother still alive. He went back to Gavin and found him sitting with some silver dishes and a chess set, taken from one of the ten wagonloads of exquisitely carved ornaments that were being unpacked.

  “Not quite what we expected to take home as souvenirs,” said Gavin, setting out the pieces on the checkered board, “but they’ll do.”

  And because there was nothing else for it, William sat down and Gavin taught him to play.

  Just over a dozen miles away, two miles east of Jerusalem, Hosanna was standing, his eyes half-shut and his tail rhythmically brushing the flies from his flanks. Kamil was sitting with Saladin underneath a silken canopy that swayed in the light summer breeze. The rains of winter were forgotten, and Hosanna’s coat was gleaming in the sun. Kamil listened carefully and sympathetically as the sultan outlined his increasing worries over the stalemate in the war. Kamil could nearly always be found close to the horse lines. Since that terrible day behind the rocks nobody was allowed to feed or brush Hosanna apart from himself. He could not help but worry that the Old Man’s reach was very long, and he would know just how to punish Kamil if he chose to do so. The horse was so fond of Kamil now that when he was loosed from his tether, he would often follow him about. Baha ad-Din joked that the horse slept in Kamil’s tent at night. Kamil smiled, but the truth was not so far away. The boy often crept out to sleep next to Hosanna under the stars.

  Now Saladin was telling him that the emirs who led the people in Jerusalem were nothing but a bunch of cowards. They had seen the Christian army on the horizon and were ready to give in. “I believe we can hold out against Richard. Time and water are both on our side,” he said. “But the difficulty is persuading those living inside the city walls to have faith.”

  Before Kamil had time to answer, Hosanna suddenly raised his head, his mane rippling in the wind. He pricked his ears, then whinnied three times. Kamil looked up. “Ho, Red Horse,” he said. “What have you heard?” Hosanna remained staring into the desert for some time, then lowered his head and carried on picking at the fresh grass Kamil had cut for him.

  Saladin was smiling. “Kamil,” he said. “You are like a son to me. But the red horse is truly your brother.”

  Kamil laughed, then became serious again. “He has taught me many things,” he said. “And not all of them to do with horsemanship.”

  Both men were silent. The shadow of Abdul Raq and the Old Man still hung over them. Kamil started to say something, then stopped.

  “What is it?” asked Saladin gently.

  “Have you noticed?” Kamil was suddenly rather shy. “Have you noticed how the color of blood clashes with the red horse’s coat?”

  Saladin considered. “I had not noticed,” he answered. “But what you say is true. Blood and that horse do not go together.”

  Kamil tried to be flippant. “For that reason, I am always careful now whom I kill,” he said, and to hide his confusion, he busied himself pushing the grass that Hosanna had scattered into a neat pile. He still could not tell the sultan about the night he had killed the Christian boy, but his soul felt calmer and his temper less quick. On the nights he slept alongside the red horse, he slept well, the horse’s presence keeping his nightmares away. Inspired by their interest in his horse, he had begun to teach some of the sons of the emirs how to train their own horses and surprised himself by finding he enjoyed it. The little boys worshipped Hosanna, and the horse patiently allowed them to fuss over him. Kamil had quite a following.

  Saladin looked at the boy with love in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I notice that you are now more careful about many things.” The young man blushed and was grateful to find an excuse to lean forward and remove a stray stalk from Hosanna’s mane.

  But the red horse was restless, and eventually Kamil got up. As he rose, he caught sight of the bedraggled remains of the vanquished caravan limping past the sentries posted at the entrance to the Saracen camp.

  “Allah help us!” he exclaimed. “What on earth has happened?” He quickly put out his hand and helped the sultan to his feet. From all over the camp, people were shouting and rushing forward with water.

  As Saladin approached, the distraught and thirsty men began noisily to disclaim any responsibility for losing the valuable cargo with which they had been entrusted. They told how the knights had barked like dogs, how the camels had gone mad and scattered the mules and horses. “Then the horses came back,” said one soldier, still gulping water. “They were all following a knight who appeared from nowhere. So they were gathered up, too, and taken back to the Christian camp. We were lucky to escape with our lives.”

  Saladin was furious. “Are you part of the great caravan from Egypt?” he asked. “I particularly sent word to the emi
rs not to send such huge quantities of livestock and goods all at once. The Christians may be vile and uncouth, but they are brave. With that prize in front of them, they will have been completely fearless. Have we lost everything?”

  The men nodded, trembling with fear. “We are all that is left.”

  Saladin said nothing more, but bidding Kamil go round and gather his Councillors together, he went to his tent.

  The leading emirs and the sultan talked for a week, trying to decide whether to take on Richard’s army face-to-face and recapture some of the lost booty or to allow the Christians to proceed to Jerusalem and lay siege to it. They knew that the Christians were camped twelve miles west of the Holy City and that if they began to move forward, the Saracens could not stop them. Nevertheless, once the Christians were outside the city walls and busy constructing their siege engines, then the Saracens could besiege them in their turn, as had happened the year before at Acre. The Christians would be stuck.

  However, the emirs knew this strategy carried its own dangers. They could not rely on the fortitude of their fellow Muslims in Jerusalem, who, by all accounts, were in favor of giving in to the Christians. The reputation of Richard the Lionheart went in front of him. If the Muslims in Jerusalem offered him the keys of the city, with the coastal towns already in Christian hands and plentiful supplies to keep their army fed, who knew how long Richard could hold out? Then a miracle occurred.

  A mounted spy galloped into Saladin’s camp. “They’re leaving,” he shouted. “They’re leaving.” Saladin was disbelieving. The spy insisted.

  “I have seen the so-called great Christian army,” he said. “Before they began to pursue the caravan from Egypt, they seemed to be having some kind of meeting. They did not look happy. It seems that the great Richard is not so great after all. Just when they seemed on course for Jerusalem, they are moving away, moving away, I tell you, taking all that booty with them.”