Templar Steel

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘It is, my lord,’ said Gerald with a slight nod of the head.

  ‘Good. In that case, select twenty knights and fifty turcopoles. In the morning, the scouts will lead you back to where the Saracens were last seen. See what you can find but return no later than tomorrow night. In the meantime, the rest of the column will continue on to Blancheguarde.’

  ‘I understand, my lord,’ said Gerald. ‘If there is nothing else, I shall assemble my men immediately.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the king.

  As Gerald turned to leave a younger man stepped forward and spoke up.

  ‘My lord, may I join Sir Gerald on his quest?’

  The king turned to look at the knight. Robert of Essex was new to Jerusalem and though he was inexperienced, he came with a good pedigree and it was no secret that he was keen to see action to prove his worth.

  ‘Sir Robert,’ said the king, ‘Sir Gerald needs no second from within this tent. His choices will be made from the other ranks.’

  ‘I understand, my lord,’ said Robert, ‘but I beg leave to serve alongside him. I have been here for six months and have scarcely left Jerusalem. I am confident I have the skills of any man but have not had the opportunity to wield my blade in anger.’

  ‘Did you not just hear me say that this was a task of information gathering only?’

  ‘Aye, my lord, I did. But such a task always involves risk and I would happily stand alongside Sir Gerald in the case of any attack.’

  ‘Your bravery is not and never has been at question, Sir Robert,’ said Baldwin, ‘and indeed, if you have half the skills of your father, then your sword arm will one day become one of Jerusalem’s greatest assets. However, I recognise the fervour in your heart and if Sir Gerald is happy, then you may ride with him as his second.’

  All heads turned to face the first knight, still standing in the doorway.

  ‘Well,’ continued the king, addressing the older knight, ‘what do you say?’

  ‘I say this,’ said Gerald after a pause, ‘why is he still standing there like a maid waiting to dance when there are horses to prepare?’

  A grin appeared on the young man’s face and he strode across the tent to duck outside, even forgetting to acknowledge the king.

  ‘Forgive him,’ my lord, laughed Gerald, ‘it is nought but the exuberance of youth.’

  ‘Travel well,’ said the king. ‘We will rest the column at Blancheguarde and will wait there for five days only. After that, we will continue to Ashkelon without you.’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ said Gerald and after bowing again to the king, left the tent.

  ----

  The following morning, Sir Gerald led a patrol of sixty men away from the camp and into the hills. With them went the two scouts who had seen the signs of the Saracens the previous day. They rode hard along the sun-baked ground until finally the scouts reined in their horses and waited for the column to catch them up.

  'Is this the place?’ asked Gerald, coming to a halt alongside one of the scouts.

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ said the rider, ‘yesterday there was a large Saracen patrol on the ridge ahead. When we approached they disappeared like the morning mist.’

  ‘Not even Saracens can disappear without leaving a trail,’ said Gerald. ‘See what you can find.’

  The scouts rode on, their eyes focussed on the ground and had hardly gone a few hundred paces when again they reined in their mounts.

  ‘There,’ said one, pointing at a patch of softer ground to the side of the path, ‘I reckon about a hundred horses passed this way less than a few hours ago.’

  Gerald turned to address his men.

  ‘From here on in, ‘he announced, ‘we will assume we are being watched and will stay alert for any attack. Keep your shields to hand and unfasten the ties on your scabbards.’

  All the men adjusted their equipment and a few minutes later, the scouts led them further into the hills.

  ----

  Chapter Fourteen

  Southwest of Jerusalem

  November 12th

  AD 1177

  Cronin groaned as he regained consciousness. Binds around his wrists cut into his flesh, as did those around his ankles but apart from the pain in his head and an overwhelming thirst, he was relatively unscathed.

  He lay motionless in the dust for a few moments, allowing his head to clear before struggling to sit up and lean against a rock at his back. Slowly he looked around. The sun was high and a few paces away, two Arabs sat cross legged near a stream, each taking it in turns to pick meat from the carcass of a hare cooking over a fire. On a nearby rock, he could see Hassan, eating alone.

  As the full memory of how Hassan had betrayed him finally came flooding back, Cronin struggled to control his anger. Many people had warned him that the boy could have been a spy, but he had ignored them all, choosing instead to believe his own judgement. Now he cursed himself for not having listened to them.

  Despite his anger, Cronin realised that as long as he was breathing, he had a chance of escape. Slowly he forced himself to calm down and knew that if he was to stand any chance of getting out of the situation alive, he had to control his ire and keep a clear head.

  ‘Hassan,’ he said eventually, his throat gravelly from his severe thirst.

  The boy looked over and immediately his face fell. Fear appeared in his eyes and he glanced between the sergeant and his captors.

  ‘Hassan,’ croaked Cronin again, ‘come closer.’

  ‘What do you want? asked Hassan.

  ‘Just a drink,’ said Cronin, ‘please, I have a great thirst.’

  The boy hesitated but eventually got to his feet before picking up a water skin and walking over.

  ‘Do not try anything foolish,’ he said as he neared, ‘those two will cut you down in a heartbeat.’

  ‘What could I do?’ asked Cronin. ‘My feet and hands are bound.’

  Hassan loosened the ties around the folded neck of the goatskin and walked slowly closer.

  Cronin adjusted his position the best he could and tilted his head back as the boy poured the warm water into his mouth. He swallowed greedily, not knowing if or when he would get another chance and it was only when Hassan stopped pouring did he look up at his betrayer.

  Hassan swallowed heavily and broke the sergeant's gaze before turning to walk away.

  ‘Hassan, wait,’ said Cronin, ‘I need to understand.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you,’ said Hassan without turning, ‘what is done is done.’

  ‘Please, said Cronin, just a moment, that's all I ask. You owe me that much at least.’

  Hassan turned and after a few moments lifted his head to stare directly into the sergeant’s eyes.

  ‘Why did you do it, Hassan,’ asked Cronin, ‘why did you betray me?’

  ‘These men are my people,’ said Hassan, his voice heavy with regret, ‘I had no choice.’

  ‘They are Bedouin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I thought they were our allies. Why have they done this?’

  ‘They are Bedouin born but owe no allegiance to any tribe.’

  ‘So, they are bandits?’

  Hassan nodded silently.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Cronin, ‘you are a good person, Hassan. Why do you associate yourself with such men?’

  ‘I have my reasons, master Cronin,’ said Hassan, ‘and one day, God alone will be my judge.’

  Before Cronin could reply, Hassan turned and walked back to his rock but even though the conversation had come to an abrupt end, the sergeant had already learned enough to give him the slightest glimmer of hope. One, the boy had called him master so still had a measure of respect for him, but more importantly, he had referred to God, which meant he still considered himself Christian.

  ----

  Ten leagues away, Gerald followed the two scouts deeper into the mountains but the longer the day went on, the more nervous he became. He looked up at the steep sides of the ravine to their fr
ont.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ he said to the young knight riding at his side. ‘This is perfect ground for an ambush.’

  ‘We have riders on our flanks,’ said Sir Robert,’ and I'm sure they will provide more than enough warning of anyone near enough to try any attack.’

  ‘We will go an hour more,’ said Gerald,’ and then return to the column.’

  Slowly the patrol continued into the ravine, the sound of their horses' hooves echoing amongst the rocks but within a few minutes, they came to a halt as the walls narrowed to form a bottleneck.

  ‘This is as far as we go,’ said Gerald. ‘To press further invites an attack.’

  ‘It seems like it widens out on the other side,’ said Robert, standing up in his stirrups. ‘To come so far and stop at this juncture makes no sense.’

  ‘I will not risk our men,’ said Gerald. ‘Remember what the king said, our blades will be needed at Ashkelon.’

  ‘Then at least send the scouts ahead,’ said Robert. ‘Then we can truthfully report that we came as far as we could and saw as much as we can.’

  One of the scouts twisted in his saddle to face Gerald.

  ‘My lord, I am happy to proceed alone. Allow me to test the passage and report back.’

  Gerald nodded and watched as the man rode slowly forward, scanning the high walls of the ravine as he went.

  As they waited, the second scout dismounted and walked back and forth across the ravine floor, his head down as he examined the tracks.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Gerald, breaking the silence.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the scout, ‘the signs show many horses passed this way just a few hours ago.’

  ‘Yet you look concerned?’

  ‘There is something wrong,’ said the scout, ‘but I cannot be sure. ‘

  ----

  Up ahead the first scout emerged from the bottle neck into a much wider part of the ravine. The ground was flat and but only continued a few hundred paces before dropping away over a cliff edge. Slowly he looked around, carefully scanning every possible hiding place, searching for any sign of an ambush until finally, satisfied he was alone, he turned to send the signal back to the patrol.

  ----

  ‘My lord,’ said one of the knights behind Gerald, ‘the way is clear.’

  Gerald looked up to see the scout waving on the far side of the ravine. He was about to give the order to advance when the second scout spoke up from the dusty ground to one side.

  ‘My lord, you should see this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘These tracks, something is wrong.’

  Gerald glanced at Robert.

  ‘Hold the men here,’ he said, ‘I will return in a moment. He dismounted and walked over to the scout. ‘Show me.’

  ‘These are the tracks of the men we have been following,’ said the scout, ‘as you can see, there are many horses, possibly up to a hundred, but look here.’ He crouched down to point at a single hoof mark. ‘This track is not as deep and is rough around the edges. The horse has obviously thrown a shoe.’

  ‘Continue,’ said Gerald.

  The scout got to his feet and walked a few paces away.

  ‘This horse has also thrown a shoe,’ he said, on the same leg as the first one.’

  ‘Coincidence?’ suggested Gerald.

  ‘I thought so at first,’ said the scout, ‘but the more I look, the more I find. If these tracks are to be believed, there are at least six horses that have lost one shoe, each on the rear hind leg, and they are just the ones I have found so far. I'm sure if I keep looking I will find more.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make sense. How could several horses all lose the same shoe?’

  ‘They wouldn’t,’ said the scout, ‘which can mean only one thing.’

  Gerald stared at the scout as they came to the same conclusion.

  ‘It's the same horse,’ he said quietly.

  The scout nodded and looked back down the path they had ridden up earlier.

  ‘The riders we have been tracking,’ he said, ‘have doubled back several times to leave a trail that makes the group look much larger than it actually is. They must have known we were following.’

  ‘But why do that?’

  ‘They must have wanted us to believe that they were still ahead of us when all the while...’

  Gerald's face fell at the implication. If the group ahead was much smaller than they had thought then that could mean only one thing, the main force was now behind them.

  He turned suddenly to order the men to assume a defensive position but before he could speak, someone shouted out from the column.

  ‘My lord, there's something happening up ahead!'’

  ----

  On the far side of the narrow ravine, the first scout turned his horse to stare at the ravine walls. Only seconds earlier they had seemed silent and devoid of life but as he watched with horror, dozens of archers stood up from behind the rocks, each aiming their bows toward him. Desperately he turned his horse to re-join the patrol, but it was too late and before he could ride, his horse fell from beneath him, cut down by a hail of arrows. The scout landed heavily but was unhurt and he scrambled quickly to his feet to run back toward his comrades but had gone only a few paces when a single arrow pierced his leg and sent him crashing to the ground.

  His cry of pain echoed around the ravine and as his horrified comrades watched on, he tried desperately to crawl to safety.

  ----

  Gerald thought furiously. Although one of his men was wounded, he had to consider the whole patrol. To ride further into the ravine was a huge risk as he had no idea how many Saracens were hidden amongst the rocks, yet to retreat meant leaving one man to die and the rest of them facing an unknown threat further back down the ravine. Quickly deciding it was better to face the enemy on known ground, he decided to turn and ride hard back down the way they had come, knowing it was imperative that as many as possible returned to Baldwin to fight for Ashkelon.

  He turned to give the order but before he could speak, Sir Robert, enraged at seeing one of their men wounded just a hundred paces to their front, drew his sword and raised it in the air.

  ‘Men of Jerusalem,’ he roared, ‘advaaance.’

  Without hesitation the young knight spurred his horse forward and galloped through the ravine, closely followed by the patrol.

  Gerald stared in horror, knowing that the inexperienced man was probably leading the patrol into a trap.

  ‘No,’ he shouted, ‘hold that command.'

  Some of the men heard the knight and reined in their horses but it was too late, by far the majority were already following Sir Robert through the narrow ravine.

  Gerald ran to his horse and climbed into the saddle,

  ‘My lord,’ shouted one of the men, ‘what are your orders?’

  Gerald looked around desperately. Only twenty men remained and if he was to withdraw now they could be cut down by the Saracens waiting somewhere further back down the valley, but to follow the inexperienced knight through the ravine meant he was probably riding into an ambush. Knowing he had no choice but to help the young man, he drew his own sword.

  ‘Present shields,’ he roared, ‘advaaance.’

  Within moments the remainder of the column thundered through the ravine… straight into a storm of Saracen arrows.

  ----

  Back in the brigand camp, Cronin watched as his two captors finished their meal and laid back in the shade to rest while the sun was at its highest. Occasionally one looked over to make sure he was not attempting to release himself from his bonds.

  ‘Any chance of some food?’ asked Cronin eventually, catching the glance. He lifted his bound hands and pointed into his mouth to emphasise the point. ‘Food,’ he said again.’ I need to eat.’

  The man talked to his comrade briefly before getting to his feet and walking back to the fire to remove the carcass from the spit above the fire. For a moment Cronin thought he was going
to get fed but his optimism was short lived as the man returned to his place in the shade and sat back down, picking nonchalantly at the meat still on the bone while staring at the prisoner.

  ‘Hassan,’ called Cronin, getting the boy’s attention, ‘ask him if I can have some food.’

  ‘There is no need,’ said Hassan.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I understand you well enough, Kafir,’ interrupted the man, ‘and you will eat when the rest of us have had our fill, no sooner.’

  ‘How do you speak our language?’ asked Cronin, surprised.

  ‘I spent a long time as a slave to your people in Jerusalem,’ said the man, ‘and would be there still if I had sat back and blamed Allah for my predicament, as did those who toiled alongside me. Instead, I learned the language and used it to plan my escape from servitude.’

  ‘Yet here you are, cast away from your own people as a brigand.’

  ‘It is better than the cells of the citadel,’ said the man, ‘out here I am free to live or die according to my own judgement, unlike you.’

  ‘Do you mean to kill me?’ asked Cronin.

  ‘Not I,’ said the man, ‘for you are too valuable alive but I doubt your new masters will make your life so comfortable.’

  ‘And who may that be.’

  ‘Saladin has placed a good price on any Templar knight brought to his camp alive. You are such a man, yes?’

  ‘I am no knight, ‘said Cronin.

  ‘Maybe not, but you bear the same blood cross upon your tunic. Titles bestowed upon men by other men mean little, but the fact that you shared the same quarters as the Templars gives you value.’

  ‘I see our mutual friend has been very talkative,’ said Cronin, glancing toward Hassan, ‘what else do you know about me?’

  ‘Not much, except you are a formidable fighter and need to be watched with the eye of a hawk.’

  ‘You waste your time taking me to Saladin,’ said Cronin, ‘for I know little. I arrived in the Holy Land only a few weeks ago and have not been involved in any tactical planning. The fact that I was out here at all shows you that I hold little sway in the order.’