Templar Steel

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Everyone in this room,’ he continued eventually, ‘is here because of your leadership and abilities in battle. It is to you that I entrust the fight against the Ayyubid and though I am your king, I am not vain enough to claim better knowledge of war than any man here. Consequently, I have appointed Raynald of Chatillon as my Regent and commander of Jerusalem’s armies. It is to Sir Raynald that I now cede the platform to speak on my behalf.’ He sat down on the throne and waited as the regent climbed up the steps to address the gathering.

  ‘My fellow lords,’ he said, ‘esteemed knights. I will keep you for as little time as possible but there is much to discuss. First of all, I will address the main question on everybody’s minds. Where is Saladin?’ He looked around the room before continuing. ‘The true answer is that we just don’t know.’

  A murmur of disquiet rippled throughout the hall.

  ‘We are aware of the many sightings of his patrols all across the Outremer,’ he continued, ‘but they remain elusive and despite our spies reaching all the way into Egypt, even into the heart of Cairo itself, we cannot find out the location of his army.’

  ‘Ten thousand men would be hard to hide,’ said one of the knights.

  ‘Aye, they would and that is what is such a worry. Until we know where they are, it is hard to make detailed plans to confront them.’

  ‘Perhaps they are on a fleet of ships out at sea,’ said another knight, ‘and waiting for an opportune moment to launch an attack.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Raynald, ‘but we have spies in all the Egyptian ports and such a fleet would have been noticed.’

  ‘Could it be that he has not actually assembled an army,’ said another voice, ‘and we have mustered here on a fool’s errand?’

  ‘Again it is a possibility,’ said Raynald, ‘but the intelligence we have managed to collect so far suggests otherwise. We have it on good authority that somewhere out there, Saladin has over ten thousand men waiting to fall on Ashkelon.’

  ‘I thought Gaza was the target,’ said Lord Reginald from the back. ‘The call to arms said there was evidence that the Saracens targeted the city’s port.’

  ‘The message was not quite correct,’ said Raynald, ‘and I apologise if you were misled but we had to ensure that Saladin thought we had fallen for his ruse, should the messages had been intercepted.’

  ‘What ruse?’

  ‘A few weeks ago, we received news that Saladin was to attack Gaza. This has caused concern and we reacted accordingly but subsequently, we found out the assault would be nothing more than a feint to lure our forces south, enabling Saladin to attack his real target, Ashkelon.’

  This time a murmur of surprise rippled around the room until Raynald held up his hand for silence.

  ‘I know this comes as a shock to most of you,’ he said, ‘but you can see why we had to be seen to play his game. If he had found out we knew the truth of his plans then his strategies would have changed, and we would have been chasing shadows from dawn till dusk. This way, by the time the attack comes we should have assembled enough men within Ashkelon to more than match his army and our response will be deadly.’

  ‘I thought you said he had ten thousand men,’ said one of the knights, ‘yet in my estimation we brought only five thousand from Jerusalem.’

  ‘At the moment yes, but don’t forget, between them, Lords Joscelin, Balian, and Reginald have added another three thousand to our roll. Their men will be here by noon tomorrow. In addition, hundreds more flood in on a daily basis in response to the Arriere-ban. I estimate that within the week, we will be able to field just as many men as Saladin.’

  ‘My lord Raynald,’ said a voice from the back, ‘I have a question.’

  Everyone turned to see the imposing figure of Eudes de St Amand standing slightly apart from the other men. His stature and heavily bearded face contributed to his already impressive presence and despite the heat, he still wore the heavy woollen cloak and surcoat of the Templar order.

  ‘Grand Master Amand,’ said Raynald, ‘welcome to Ashkelon. I hear you have ridden from Gaza especially for this briefing and your attendance is much appreciated.’

  Amand nodded his acknowledgement before continuing.

  ‘My question is this,’ he said. ‘You state that Ashkelon is Saladin’s true target and that Gaza will be just a feint, but if that is the case, why have you tasked my order with providing a garrison there? I have fifty Templar knights and over five hundred men at arms wasting their days patrolling the lowlands in anticipation of an attack that may never come. Surely we would be better utilised in the defence of Ashkelon?’

  ‘There are two reasons,’ said Raynald. ‘The first is that Gaza, whether the main target or not, has sea ports of its own and they must be denied to the Ayyubid. Granted they are smaller than those at Ashkelon but any coastal gateway to Jerusalem must stay out of Saracen hands. You will defend them at all costs.’

  ‘And the second reason?’ asked Amand.

  When the Ayyubid come they will have to come northward along the coastal plain. That means you will be aware of their approach long before us and can send us suitable warning. Even if they should decide to bypass Gaza and head straight here, you will be well placed to disrupt their advance using your castle as a base. Besides, we need a strong garrison at Gaza to ensure Saladin thinks we have fallen for his ruse.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Amand, ‘but I must say that I think the strategy flawed. My men are the best there are when it comes to battle. To act as nothing more than bait is frankly an affront to myself and our order.’

  Heads turned to stare at the Grand Master at the claim. The Templar’s prowess in battle was well known but to have it flaunted before comrades in arms as better than any others was little short of insulting.

  ‘Grand Master Amand,’ interrupted Reginald of Sidon, ‘I suggest that when it comes to prayer and abstinence then you probably have no peers, but please allow us the smallest of dignities to believe that when it comes to killing Saracens, our sword arms are just as capable as yours.’

  The sarcastic remark drew sniggers from some of the men but Amand chose to ignore the barbed comments, choosing instead to stare at Raynald in anticipation of an answer.

  ‘My Lords,’ said Raynald, raising his hand, ‘let there be no argument between comrades. Each man here is as capable as the other and will be recognised as such.’ He turned to look at the Templar. ‘Grand Master Amand,’ he continued, ‘I recognise your concern but to you falls the greater responsibility. Gaza is a target in itself and like I said earlier, must be defended at all costs.’

  ‘At all costs?’ Asked Amand.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Even if that cost is Jerusalem itself?’

  The room erupted into argument at the claim and it took several moments to quieten down at the demand of Raynald.

  ‘My lord Amand,’ he said eventually, his voice raised, and words clipped showing his annoyance. ‘Your attendance here is most welcome and we need the knights of your order if we are to succeed, but this strategy has been worked out by the king himself and his closest advisors. Please do us the honour of accepting our judgement and carrying out the role assigned to you.’

  ‘My lord Raynald,’ said Amand. ‘There has been no suggestion from me that we would do otherwise, and we will fight to the last man in God’s name, but if we cannot offer constructive comment on strategies that we may perceive as being flawed then what was the purpose of this gathering?’

  ‘You were all summoned to share what intelligence we have and to learn the plan for defending Ashkelon when the fight comes,’ said Raynald, ‘but I say again, this has been endorsed by the king and I respectfully request you carry your orders out to the best of your abilities.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Amand, ‘my role in this affair is clear and my purpose here at Ashkelon unnecessary. With the king’s permission, I will withdraw and head back to Gaza.’

  Everyone’s head turned to Baldwin who had been silent
throughout the whole exchange.

  ‘You are free to leave, Grand Master Amand,’ said the king eventually, ‘and go with my endorsement carried in your heart. The success of this war could rely on your defence at Gaza and the continued excellence of the men under your command.’

  Amand nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘Thank you, my king,’ he said, ‘and may God look over you.’ Without another word, he turned to leave the hall.

  When he was gone, many men started muttering amongst themselves, critical of the Grand Master’s arrogance.

  ‘Please,’ said Raynald, holding up his hand, ‘there is no need for concern. Debate is healthy and as for the Templars, we all know they are almost a law unto themselves. However, Gaza can be in no better hands. Now, we need to discuss the roles of each of you in the coming fight.’

  As the briefing continued, William leaned over and whispered discreetly in the king’s ear.

  ‘You were surprisingly lenient with the Grand Master, my king,’ he said, ‘I thought he was exceedingly rude and to walk out in such a manner displays an arrogance unheard of.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Baldwin. ‘The Templars have rightly earned their reputation as formidable knights and do not need to impress anyone with tales of bravado or engage in needless conversation. Amand was concise and absolutely clear about his concerns. To admonish him over something as petty as courtly manners when a war is imminent would have been churlish of me and whatever you or Raynald think about their arrogance, make no mistake, we need them fully committed to our cause if we are to have any chance of emerging victorious.’

  ----

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Coastal Road

  November 19th

  AD 1177

  Grand Master Amand and his patrol of ten Templar knights and fifty Turcopoles rode slowly along the coastal road toward Gaza.

  After leaving the briefing the previous afternoon, Amand had taken the opportunity to seek extra supplies for the garrison at Gaza and spent the rest of the day dealing with traders for everything from food and water to arrows and bandages. Despite their formidable reputation in war and the secrecy in which they ran their affairs, there was no hiding the fact that they were excellent business men and there was often a clamour to trade with them whenever the opportunity arose.

  Consequently, there was no shortage of takers for the Grand Master’s promissory notes and by the time he had finished, six ships full of supplies had been ordered to sail for Gaza as soon as possible. By the time his business had finished, night time had fallen, and the Templars had spent the night within the walls of Ashkelon Castle before setting out at first light the following morning.

  Alongside Amand was Jakelin de Mailly, the French knight who had arrived in the Holy Land only weeks earlier. His previous experience under the command of King Almaric had quickly become apparent and he had soon been recruited to the Grand Master’s bodyguard.

  ‘So, Brother Jakelin,’ said Amand as they rode, ‘are you regretting your decision to return here from France?’

  ‘There are no regrets, my lord,’ said Jakelin, ‘the last time I was here, I wanted to leave with every fibre of my being, yet the moment I stepped upon the ship headed for France, I regretted my decision. And besides, there is no greater glory than to fight and perchance to die in the name of God.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Amand, his gaze constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble, ‘this place is like an itch you can’t scratch, and God’s work is certainly an addiction.’

  ‘Can I be so bold as to ask the outcome of the briefing, my lord?’ asked Jakelin.

  ‘There is nothing new to report,’ said Amand, ‘our role remains the same as it was before we left Gaza. To defend the city and use it as a base from which we can lead sorties against Saladin when he comes north.’

  ‘So, they did not listen to your petition for us to join the forces at Ashkelon?’

  ‘They did not, but fear not, Brother Jakelin, I suspect you will once more be carrying out God’s work before too many days have passed.’

  The two men fell silent again as they rode. The ground rose slightly before them and as they reached the top, both reined in their horses sharply, staring at the devastation before them. Amand raised his fist in the air and immediately the rest of the Templars rode up alongside him, their shields already in position in response to the signal.

  Down below, spread out on either side of the road, were dozens of dead bodies. Their clothing identified them as European and it was clear from the debris and burned carts, it had been a pilgrim caravan headed for one of the coastal towns.’

  ‘Turcopoles, secure the flanks,’ shouted Amand, looking around urgently. ‘Templars, spread out, advance.’

  As the mounted archers rode outward to either side, Amand and his fellow knights urged their horses slowly down the hill. As they approached they could see the bodies included men women and children, each horribly mutilated.

  Across the battle site also lay the bodies of those tasked with protecting the caravan, western soldiers, still wearing their heavy chain mail and helmets, their weapons laying beside them where they had fallen. Many of the civilians had several arrows sticking out of their bodies suggesting they had been used as little more than target practise while most of the soldiers had been killed by lances or swords, victims of an overwhelming force.

  Jakelin de Mailly and the Grand Master dismounted and walked amongst the bodies looking for any survivors, but it was soon obvious there would be none. The attack had been thorough, and no mercy shown. Suddenly, Jakelin stopped and leaned down to examine a corpse before standing up and turning back to face the Grand Master.

  ‘My lord, I know this man, he is a foot soldier from Acre and I believe joined our ranks as an infantryman before we left for Gaza a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Jakelin bent down again and removed one of the gauntlets from the dead man before standing up and turning back to the Grand Master.

  ‘Aye, I am sure,’ he said holding up the gauntlet. ‘I gave him these when I first arrived in Acre. These men are ours.’

  ‘They must have been sent out to escort this caravan after we left Gaza, ‘said Amand. ‘Alas, they must have run into one of the Saracen patrols and have been found wanting.’

  ‘My lord,’ shouted one of the other Templars from behind one of the upturned carts, ‘over here.’

  Amand and Jakelin walked around the cart, gasping aloud when they saw a body pinned to the base with arrows through his wrists and ankles, spread eagled as if in mockery of a crucifixion. But it was not the manner of the man’s death that caused their horror, nor was it the note pinned to the man’s chest with a dagger through the heart, it was the fact that the victim was a knight, and he wore the garb of the Templars.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Jakelin eventually.

  ‘It’s Brother Lyon,’ said Amand, ‘one of those stationed at Gaza. A good man and a fearful fighter. Whoever did this to him would have paid a terrible price before he fell.’

  ‘There is much blood,’ said Jakelin looking around, ‘and not all of it Christian. They must have taken their own casualties with them.’ He walked over to withdraw the knife holding the parchment from the dead knight’s chest.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Amand.

  ‘Allahu Akbar,’ said Jakelin before crumpling up the parchment and throwing it to one side. ‘I don’t understand,’ he continued eventually, ‘this is not how Saladin works. Yes, he is ruthless in battle but to mutilate his victims is not a trait I recognise.’

  ‘Nevertheless, the message is clear,’ said Amand, ‘and to have it delivered like this so close to Gaza can mean only one thing.’ He looked nervously around the horizon. ‘Cut him down, we will take him back for burial.’

  ‘What about the others, my lord?’ asked one of the nearby knights.

  ‘There is no time to dig so many graves so lay them together an
d cover them with rocks. When this thing is over we will come back and bury them but until then, we will pray for their souls.’

  Jakelin made the sign of the cross upon his chest before helping one of the others take Brother Lyon’s body from the wagon and laying it gently on the floor.

  The men hurriedly gathered the corpses before covering them with sand and rocks. Somebody fashioned a rudimentary cross and hurriedly drove it into the ground. Whoever had committed this atrocity was still somewhere close by and they had to make it back to Gaza before dark.

  Amand removed his helmet and said a short prayer before everyone remounted and with Sir Lyon’s body draped over one of the pack horse’s backs, turned southward.

  ----

  Up on the watchtower of Gaza castle, the new watch sat against the battlements, already bored with the uneventful duties that came with sentry duty. Lazily they threw dice between them, unconcerned that they should be watching the approaches to the city instead of engaging in games of chance behind the castle walls.

  ‘You are surely looked over by angels,’ said Simon Willow as his comrade threw another pair of sixes, ‘unless those dice are weighted.’ His eyes narrowed as the thought developed further. ‘You are not cheating me, are you?’ he continued suspiciously.

  ‘Me?’ replied the second guard, never. ‘Honest John, that’s what they call me.’

  ‘Rotten John, more like,’ said his comrade.

  ‘Call me what you like but it doesn’t change the fact that you now owe me three rations of ale.’

  ‘I always pay my debts,’ said Simon, ‘and anyway, I hear the next ships to come from Cyprus are laden with wine and ale and we will be allowed to purchase extra rations against our next pay.’

  ‘If you believe that then you will believe anything,’ said John. ‘These Templars abstain from almost everything and if you think they are going to let us get drunk in their own castle then you are stupider than I thought.’