by K. M. Ashman
‘Why would he want Ashkelon, it is of little tactical importance?’
‘With respect,’ said Raynald, ‘the port is able to berth many ships and Saladin could land a great fleet there should he wish. If he advances on Jerusalem, he could use Ashkelon to resupply his armies.’
Baldwin’s eyes opened wider at the explanation. Ashkelon lay far inside the area controlled by Jerusalem and to have it in the hands of the Saracens would be a serious risk to the stability of the region.
‘I accept the strategic value would be of benefit to the Ayyubid,’ he replied after a few moments, ‘but surely Saladin must know we would immediately make every effort to take it back?’
‘Perhaps so,’ said Raynald, ‘but once in enemy hands, it would take a great effort to retake Ashkelon, especially as it could be resupplied by sea during any siege. Even if we were successful, the time and cost would be significant and that can only help Saladin’s long-term plans.’
‘What is our strength in Ashkelon and Gaza?’ asked Baldwin.
‘Ashkelon is poorly manned and though our forces are better in Gaza, they will be no match for the numbers Saladin is reported to field.’
‘Did you not send for the Templars of Acre as I requested?’
‘Aye, your grace, I did,’ said Raynald, ‘they should be there in a matter of days but still, I fear that their numbers will add little to the overall strength of the garrison. We should send for the army in Harim immediately and order them to ride for Gaza with all haste.’
‘To recall them now would destroy all advantage gained in the siege of Harim. Are we sure your messenger tells the truth?’
‘There is no guarantee,’ said William, ‘only that he has never let me down before.’
‘Your grace,’ interjected Raynald, ‘with respect, if Saladin takes Gaza and Ashkelon, Jerusalem itself is at risk. Can I suggest that Harim is a minor problem when compared with the possible consequences of an attack on the holy city itself.’
‘We should send out patrols and verify this report as soon as we can.’
‘Your grace,’ said Raynald, ‘there is no time. If this information is correct, then we must act now. Not only should we send for the army but also muster however many men we have available and ride to Gaza immediately.’
‘To what end?’
‘To cut off Saladin’s advance before he has a chance to gain momentum. If we combine all our forces from Gaza and all our outlying castles I believe we can hold him until the main army arrives.’
‘What say you?’ asked Baldwin turning to the prelate.
‘Your grace,’ interjected Raynald again before William could respond, ‘with respect, these are matters of war, not religion. Allow me to advise you accordingly.’
‘William of Tyre has been my teacher and advisor for many years,’ said Baldwin, ‘and I trust his judgement. We will hear what he has to say.’
Raynald fell quiet as William took a deep breath and thought for a moment.
‘Your grace,’ he said eventually, ‘ordinarily I would advise parley with anyone who threatens war. To lose even one man in any conflict is one too many. However, I know the source of this information is as trustworthy as it can be and if the facts are as reported, I fear it is already too late to seek agreement.’
‘So, your counsel is?’ replied the king.
‘Your grace,’ said William, ‘my commitment is to God and my king in that order. In my heart, I know that the spirit of one and the person of the other lies within these city walls. If they were to fall, then the things that I hold so dear to my soul are at risk, and that I cannot countenance. Therefore, though I am a man of peace, my counsel is that you should take advice from someone who is the opposite.’ He turned slowly and stared at the man beside him. ‘Master Raynald has spent a lifetime fighting the Saracens,’ he continued, ‘and if it is his advice that we ride south, then I am in no position to caution otherwise.’
Raynald nodded slightly to the prelate in recognition of the unexpected acknowledgement and turned back to face the king.
‘The urgency is real, your grace,’ said Raynald, ‘just say the word and I will assemble every man able to carry a sword and prepare for the ride south. With God on our side, we can be a barrier to the Saracens until the reinforcements arrive.’
‘I accept your advice, Sir Raynald,’ said Baldwin eventually, ‘but with one condition, that I will ride alongside you and the men.’
‘Your grace,’ said William, aghast at the suggestion, ‘you are in no fit state to ride, let alone lead a campaign. I must advise that you stay here in Jerusalem to oversee the defences. Let Master Raynald do what it is necessary.’
‘You should listen to him, your grace,’ said Raynald. ‘We will be riding hard and there will be little time to rest.’
‘I may be ill,’ said Baldwin, ‘but I am still king. If Jerusalem is at risk, then it is my place to be at the head of those who race to defend her. Tell my personal guard to prepare to ride alongside me.’
‘But…,’ started William
‘Enough,’ interrupted the king, ‘my decision is made. Have the Bishop of Bethlehem prepare the true cross, we will campaign under its glory.’
Both men stared at the king in silence. Although they both knew it was a foolish idea, they also knew that once Baldwin had made up his mind there was no way to change it.
‘Well?’ asked the king, breaking the silence.
‘As you wish, your grace,’ said William, and bowed his head in deference.
‘Sir Raynald?’ said the king turning to face the knight.
‘If this is your wish, then so be it,’ said Raynald.
‘Good. Make the arrangements, we will ride at dawn the day after tomorrow. Now be gone for I need to dress my afflictions.’
‘Of course,’ said William and both men turned to leave. Outside they both walked down the corridor away from the king’s chambers.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Raynald eventually.
‘Do what?’ asked William.
‘Give me your endorsement. It is no secret that my methods are distasteful to you.’
‘Indeed they are,’ said William, ‘but my worries are for Jerusalem and the king. I may be a man of God but even he saw fit to smite his enemies. I just agree that if war is unavoidable, then you are the right man to lead it.’
‘So, you recognise my prowess in such matters?’
William paused before a junction in the corridor.
‘Do not fool yourself, Sir Raynald,’ he said eventually, ‘I have no admiration for the things you do. Let’s just say that out in the desert, snakes are often killed by bigger snakes. Now if you will excuse me, I have many things to prepare. Goodnight, Sir Raynald.’
Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and headed deeper into the citadel. If the king was going to lead the army under the true cross, there was much to prepare.
----
Chapter Eleven
North West of Jerusalem City
November 9th
AD 1177
Cronin lay wrapped in his cloak under an overhanging rock on the face of a barren hill. Up above the crystal-clear night sky was filled with an untold number of stars but the new moon meant the only light of any consequence came from the dying embers of the fire Hassan had lit to keep away the night’s chill.
With only a few hours left until dawn, the sky was at its darkest and both the sergeant and the boy slept deeply, both exhausted after the hard ride they had endured across the plains and up into the mountains the previous day.
Down on the path below, their horses’ ears twitched nervously. They had heard something on the lower hill and their eyes were wide, seeking out who or what was approaching in the darkness.
Cronin’s eyelids opened slowly, and he stared at the dying fire, momentarily confused as to where he was. Moments earlier he had been sat before a roaring fire in a tavern in Chester, drinking ale with the many dead comrades with whom he had shared his life
over the years, but now, he was shivering in the darkness, wondering what had woken him up. Slowly his senses returned, and he blinked rapidly, desperately trying to adjust his vision. For a few seconds he just sat there, controlling his breathing as he listened intently, trying again to pick up the noise that had interrupted his dream.
At first, there was nothing but then it came again, the quiet nickering of one of the horses down on the path.
Cronin remained still, listening for anything more worrying and was about to close his eyes again when something touched his arm and he spun his head around in fear.
‘Shhh,’ whispered Hassan, holding his finger up to his lips in warning. ‘Someone is coming.’
Cronin took a few breaths, gathering his senses before pushing his cloak aside and reaching for the sword belt laying beside him.
‘I heard a voice down in the valley,’ continued Hassan quietly, as Cronin threw sand on the remains of the fire, ‘they will pass on this very path within minutes.’
‘Fetch the horses,’ said Cronin getting to his feet, ‘we need to get out of here while we still can.’
‘My lord,’ said Hassan, looking around, ‘the path is dark and to rush will result in injury. Whoever is there will know these mountains better than us and will quickly catch us up.’
‘We cannot stay here, Hassan,’ said Cronin, picking up his cloak, ‘we know not who we face.’
‘I agree,’ said Hassan, ‘but there is another direction.’
‘Where?’
‘Up there,’ said Hassan, pointing upwards. ‘The hill is steep but if we hurry, we can lose ourselves amongst the scrub. Hopefully, they will pass us by.’
Cronin thought for a moment before nodding his agreement.
‘So be it, but hurry.’
Hassan ran down the slope and grabbed the horses before leading them back up to where Cronin had gathered the last of their belongings. Within moments, they were scrambling up the dusty hill and soon found themselves winding their way between the sparse scrub.
‘My lord,’ said Hassan, ‘we need to hide. Our trail will not be seen in the dark, but noise carries a long way.’
‘At least we have some room to manoeuvre up here if it comes to a fight,’ said Cronin. ‘We need to find somewhere we can defend.’
They led their horses across a clearing and into a deep thicket before tying them to a tree.
‘You stay here,’ said Cronin, ‘I’ll go back and watch the path. If they come, I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but you must ride on to Jerusalem and deliver the satchel. Understand?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Hassan and watched as Cronin unsheathed his sword before making his way back towards the edge of the thicket.
Moments later the sergeant was standing behind a tree, peering back down the hill.
His heart rate slowed, and he focussed his thoughts on what might happen in the coming few hours. He was an experienced soldier and feared no man, but darkness was a great leveller and he did not know the strength of those who followed.
The silence of the night was almost overwhelming and for several minutes he could hear nothing except the sounds of the insects in the darkness. Gradually his nervousness started to ease, and he began to hope that they had escaped discovery, but just as he was about to return to the horses, a poorly disguised cough whispered through the trees to his front. Again, his heart raced, and he adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword as he peered into the night.
Suddenly a movement to his left made him spin around in alarm and he raised his sword, holding it back at the last instant when he saw it was Hassan.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘I told you to stay back.’
‘I have come to help,’ said Hassan quietly, holding up his skinning knife.
Cronin was about to admonish the boy when another cough came from the lower slopes and they both ducked back behind the cover of the trees.
‘See anything?’ whispered Cronin, eventually.
‘No, my lord,’ said Hassan.
For the next hour or so, they waited, expecting someone to emerge from the darkness until finally, the faint tendrils of light started creeping into the eastern sky. The night had been tense, but apart from the earlier two coughs, they had heard nothing more from the lower slopes.
‘My lord,’ said the boy quietly, ‘I think they have gone but I should go and see while there is still enough darkness to cover my approach.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Cronin.
‘With respect, my lord,’ said Hassan, ‘your footfall is heavy and will be easily heard. I can get much closer on my own.’
Cronin nodded and watched as Hassan made his way around the clearing and down the slope to the path.
Fifteen minutes later the boy returned and ran across to the sergeant.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘they have gone.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, my lord. It seems there were two riders and they stopped to water their horses only before going on their way. I do not think they knew we were here.
‘In that case,’ said Cronin, ‘let us also be on our way.’
They walked back through the trees towards the horses but as they approached, Hassan stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a footprint in the sand at his feet.
‘What is it?’ asked Cronin.
‘Someone else has been here,’ said Hassan looking around nervously, ‘they must have come up a different route.’
‘The horses,’ gasped Cronin and broke into a run, heading to where they had left their mounts.
‘They’re still here,’ he said with relief seeing them still standing near the tree. ‘But the bridles have been cut.’
‘My lord, the water and food has gone,’ said Hassan from his own horse, ‘while we were watching the path they have robbed us of everything we need.’
‘My chainmail and shield have also gone,’ started Cronin but stopped suddenly as he realised something even more important was missing, the satchel.
‘Oh no,’ he groaned, looking around, hoping to see it somewhere on the floor nearby, ‘the messages from the pope have gone.’
‘The messages were from the pope? gasped Hassan.
‘Aye, they were,’ said Cronin, ‘and now they are in the hands of the Saracens. If they reach the eyes of Saladin it could cost the lives of thousands of Christians.’
‘My lord,’ said Hassan, ‘it may not be as bad as you think. If these men were only brigands, then they may not see the value in such things and discard them on the road.’
‘If that was the case,’ said Cronin,’ why take them in the first place?’
Hassan didn’t answer, knowing that the sergeant was correct.
‘What I don’t understand,’ continued Cronin, ‘is why they left us the horses.’
‘Perhaps they thought it would make too much noise to get them down the hill,’ said Hassan, ‘so only took what they could carry.’
‘Whatever the reason,’ said Cronin sheathing his sword, ‘we need to catch them up and get the satchel back.’
‘My lord,’ said Hassan, ‘whoever they were, they know these hills and will be expecting us to follow. To do so puts us at great risk.’
‘It matters not,’ said Cronin. ‘I was given a task on behalf of his holiness the pope himself and was found wanting. I will regain that satchel or die in the trying.’
‘Then I will come with you.’
‘Good,’ said Cronin, ‘I will need your skills if I am to stand any chance of finding the men responsible. Now come, we need to repair these bridles as quickly as we can and get after them.’
----
Half an hour later, they led the horses back down onto the path and climbed up into the saddles.
‘I reckon they’ve got a couple of hours start on us,’ said Cronin, ‘so if we ride hard we may catch them up before dark.’
‘We should not be too eager to close them down,’ said Hassan, ‘at least not while it is light.
Do not forget they are expecting us to follow so will see us easily from any high ground. I suggest we keep them within our reach but wait until the circumstances favour us in other ways before we make any attempt at regaining your messages.’
‘Time is limited, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘so we will ride as hard as we can. If, as you say, there are only two then I will take my chances with my sword.’
‘So be it,’ said Hassan and turned his horse to head back the way they had ridden the previous day.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Cronin. ‘Surely they headed further into the mountains.’
‘No, my lord,’ said Hassan, ‘the tracks show they went back the way they came.’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Sense or not,’ said Hassan, ‘it is the way it is.’
‘In that case,’ said Cronin, ‘we must make haste. Those messages cannot reach anyone who has the ear of Saladin.’
----
Chapter Twelve
Southwest of Jerusalem
November 11th
AD 1177
The sun was heading for the horizon when Cronin and Hassan finally closed in on the men who had stolen the satchel. For the past two days they had followed at a distance, always careful to make sure they were not riding into an ambush.
‘They are close,’ said Hassan eventually, reining in his horse. ‘We should leave the animals here and proceed with care in case they lay in wait.’
Cronin agreed and dismounted before tying his horse to a tree. Together he and Hassan followed the path up to the ridgeline, crawling the last few yards until they looked down into a wadi. For a few minutes, both stared through the undergrowth before Hassan pointed to a wisp of smoke rising amongst the olive trees.
‘There,’ he said, ‘there is probably water amongst the rocks, so it is likely they have made a camp for the night. To have made a fire means they do not think they are being followed.’
‘In that case, we have the advantage,’ said Cronin, ‘and I must take the opportunity while I can.’
