by K. M. Ashman
‘Up there,’ said one of the knights, pointing up at the keep. ‘He is expecting you.’
Cronin threw the water skin to one side and marched up the steps to the guarded entrance, closely followed by Hassan. The two sentries on duty stepped aside to allow the sergeant through yet lowered their spears to prevent the Bedouin boy from following.
‘He is with me,’ snapped Cronin, ‘let him through.’
‘Christians only,’ snarled one of the guards, ‘there’s a dungeon for the likes of him.’
‘He is as Christian as you or me,’ said Cronin, ‘now lower your spears.’
‘Sorry,’ said the guard without moving, ‘can’t do it. Orders you see.’
‘Master Cronin,’ said Hassan, from behind the sergeant, ‘worry not, I will wait in the bailey. Go about your business.’
Cronin paused before walking into the keep and following the servant sent down to show him the way. Moments later he emerged onto the top of the tower, breathing heavily after climbing the particularly steep and winding staircase. As he emerged into the bright sunlight, he saw three Templar knights at the parapet, each fully clad in their white surcoats and chainmail despite the searing heat of the midday sun.
‘Tom Cronin,’ said one of the knights turning around, ‘we thought you were long dead.’
Cronin stared in confusion. He had never seen the man before, yet he was being addressed directly by name.
‘You know me?’ he asked as the other two knights also turned.
‘We know of you,’ said the knight. ‘Do not be surprised. We received a message from the Seneschal telling us of your task and asking us to take you in upon your return from Jerusalem, but since the king passed this way only a few days ago and had no idea who I was talking about, we assumed you had been killed.’
‘My lord,’ said Cronin, ‘you have me at a disadvantage. May I ask who it is I am addressing?’
‘I am Sir Redwood, castellan of this place and these are fellow brothers, Sir Mortimer and Sir Barnard.’
Both men nodded a greeting toward Cronin.
‘So,’ continued Sir Redwood, ‘I am told you come with grave news.’
‘I do,’ said Cronin, ‘Jerusalem is at great risk and I fear the king has no way of knowing the peril the city faces.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Redwood, ‘I spent several evenings with him recently and he is doing everything in his power to defend Jerusalem. Even as we speak he gathers an army at Ashkelon to defend against the Ayyubid advance.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Cronin, ‘Ashkelon is a feint and Saladin’s army is already on its way to Jerusalem.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know exactly but they must be forming up somewhere south of this place. They mustered east of the mountains in a place called the Maktesh Ramon and now pour down from the hills between the king and Jerusalem. Only Blancheguarde lies in Saladin’s path.’
‘And you sure of this?’ asked Redwood walking briskly towards the sergeant.
‘I have seen them with my own eyes,’ said Cronin. ‘The enemy camp spread as far as the eye could see, thousands of men hiding in a desert valley while waiting to mobilise against us. Even as we left there were signs they were breaking camp and were headed west.’
‘Yet you escaped?’
‘Only because of a Bedouin boy. Since we left we have seen the Saracens on the move, mainly headed down toward the plains below Montgisard.’
‘But the king is garrisoned further south in Ashkelon, expecting an attack there. He has even fortified Gaza as a precaution.’
‘I have no knowledge of the king’s whereabouts and even less about his tactics,’ replied Cronin, ‘but I assure you, Saladin has bypassed both cities and is probably on his way here even as we speak.’
Redwood stared at the sergeant, shocked at the revelation. He looked out across the castle at the men at their stations along the castle walls, knowing they would not be found wanting in any fight, but if Cronin was right, they would be cast aside like driftwood on a flood should an attack come.
‘Brother Mortimer,’ he said turning to his fellow knights, ‘stand to the garrison. Arm every man from knight to slave and fortify the battlements.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Mortimer and left the tower as Sir Redwood turned to the second knight.
‘Brother Barnard, send out a patrol and find out what is happening to the south. Use our best men but do not engage any Saracens you find. It is imperative we find out what is the truth of the matter before we commit what resources we have.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ answered Barnard and followed Mortimer down the narrow spiral stairway to the keep below.
Redwood turned back to Cronin.
‘You look exhausted,’ he said, ‘when was the last time you ate?’
‘I don’t recall,’ said Cronin.
‘We will get you and your men fed but while you eat, you will recount every single moment since you left the main patrol. You will leave nothing out, is that clear?’
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘Then come. There is much to be discussed.’
----
In Gaza, Hunter had spent two hours with the Grand Master and his officers, convincing them of what was happening north of Ashkelon. At first, they had been sceptical but soon realised they had been duped by Saladin and needed to join the king as soon as possible. Since then, the castle had been a hive of activity and by nightfall, fifty Templar knights, a hundred sergeants and two hundred lancers waited patiently alongside their horse in the narrow streets of the city, waiting for darkness to fall.
The plan was simple. At last light, the northern gates would open and the column would ride out to pierce the besieging line straddling the coastal road. The mission was to break through and ride towards Ashkelon as hard as they could, using surprise and the cover of darkness to gain as much advantage as possible. They were not worried about fighting the enemy, but it was a distraction they could do without. The greater need was to join the king’s army before it was too late. Gaza would be left in the hands of the infantry for there was no way they would be able to keep up with the horses.
With every gate of the city locked and guarded, there was no way the Saracen army outside could possibly know what was being planned and the battlements swarmed with infantry, determined to stop any of the many spies within Gaza signalling the enemy positions outside.
The Grand Master walked slowly along the lines, talking quietly to each man as he passed. Behind him, dozens of young boys wormed their way amongst the column, bearing water buckets and arms full of hay for the horses while others serviced the waiting men with flagons of watered wine and chunks of boiled goat.
‘Drink and eat you fill before we go,’ said Amand as he walked, ‘for there will be no pause for rest or sustenance before we reach Ashkelon. Once there we will pause only long enough to change our mounts and then plough on in Baldwin’s footprints. We can only pray to God that we will be in time.’ He reached the back of the fifty Templars and paused as he saw an unknown figure standing alongside a horse half hidden in the lengthening shadows.
‘You,’ he said, stopping in his tracks. ‘Show yourself.’
For a moment the man didn’t move but realising there was no other option, slowly stepped forward and pulled back his hood before staring at the Grand Master.
‘James Hunter,’ said Amand. ‘You have done more than enough for our cause these past few days. There is no need for you to leave the safety of these walls.’
‘With respect, my lord,’ said Hunter, ‘I request that I am allowed to join you in your quest to find the king and fight in the shadow of the true cross.’
‘You are not strong enough,’ said Amand. ‘We will be riding hard with no rest.’
‘I am no stranger to hardship and seek no preferential treatment. Let me follow and if I fall by the wayside then so be it.’
‘And if I say no?’
‘Then once you have gone I wil
l find a way out of this castle and ride northward alone.’
‘You would be dead within moments.’
‘Perhaps so, but there are scores to settle and I will not be found wanting.’
‘You are sure about this?’
‘Aye, my lord. These past few days I have seen many I called friend die at the hands of the Saracens or from the injuries they sustained while doing the king’s business. I would have retribution in their name.’
‘You are a stubborn man,’ said Amand eventually, ‘and I think you are wrong to try, but as long as you know I will not pause for stragglers, then your fate is in your own hands.’
‘That is all I ask,’ said Hunter.
‘In that case,’ said the Grand Master, ‘discard the disguise and take your place amongst us.’
Hunter threw away the cloak and led his horse to join the sergeants at the rear of the Templar knights.
Amand walked back to the head of the column and looked up at the sky. It was getting dark fast, but he knew he still needed some light to reach the northern road.
‘Mount up,’ he said quietly, and the word rippled back along the column.
Amand looked around. It was no time for rousing calls to action for their mission had been made painfully clear to every man.
‘Ready?’ he asked turning to the two men behind him.
‘Aye,’ came the reply from both the Seneschal and the Marshal.
‘Then let’s get this done, he said,’ and turned his horse to face the sentries. ‘Open the gates.’
----
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Christian Column
November 24th
AD 1177
Baldwin sat on the tailgate of a cart in the centre of the makeshift camp, having the dressings on his hands changed. For two days they had marched north towards the city of Ibelin, desperate to use the good ground to their advantage before swinging inland towards Jerusalem. Now the column rested, using the cover of darkness to gather their strength and see to the horses. Many of the men were exhausted after the forced march, not least because of the constant harrying by the Saracens, but few had fallen and the Turcopoles had kept the worst away as they protected the army’s flanks.
The physician carefully removed one of the bandages from the king’s arm, causing Baldwin to gasp and grit his teeth against the pain.
‘My apologies, your grace,’ said the physician, ‘your sores have deteriorated rapidly and need attention. I shall have the poultices made up as quickly as I can and have the servants boil water to wash you down.’
‘Just clean the wounds,’ said the king, ‘and apply the new binds. We have no time for such niceties.’
‘Your grace…’ said the physician.
‘Do as you are told,’ said Baldwin, wincing again as the last of the dressings were removed. ‘We could be attacked at any moment and I will not be found unready.’
The physician nodded and walked away to bring fresh bandages as Sir Raynald appeared from the gloom and walked over to talk with the king.
‘Any news?’ asked Baldwin.
‘Indeed,’ said Raynald, ‘our scouts have returned with valuable information.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Saladin’s has become bogged down not far from here and though he still has a vast army at his command, it is spread across a wide area and disorganised.’
‘How far away?’
‘About three leagues,’ said Raynald, ‘at the base of the hill known as Montgisard.’
‘I know of it,’ said Baldwin. ‘There is a good ford there.’
‘There is, and it is there that Saladin has stalled.’
Baldwin thought furiously. If this was true it was truly a gift that needed to be exploited.
‘Bring me a map,’ he snapped and jumped from the cart as one of his staff rolled out a parchment on the tailgate. Two servants brought candles as Raynald and the king pored over the document.
‘We are here,’ said the king marking the map with a piece of charcoal, ‘and Jerusalem is here.’ He pointed at the image of a city on the parchment. ‘Show me Montgisard.’
‘Here,’ said Raynald making a mark slightly southeast of their position. By sticking to the road, we have advanced far enough north but must go inland tomorrow to cut off the route to Jerusalem.
‘But if Saladin mobilises first, we will be eating the dust from his cavalry’s hooves.’
‘Your Grace,’ said Raynald, ‘like I said, he has become bogged down in the mire, giving us time to react.’
‘But for how long?’
‘There is no way of knowing but if we were to strike camp now and march north east we can block his way before dawn.’
‘March an army across country in the dark?’
‘Why not? We have done it before.’
‘Yes, but not one of this size.’
‘Whether it be a hundred men or ten thousand, the route is the same and besides, at least we will not be hounded by those Saracen archers.’
Baldwin stared at the map again. Ordinarily, it would take no more than an hour or so to cover the three leagues but in the dark, and with so many men on the move, the time would be tripled and contain many risks, not least the chance of being discovered and attacked while the column was strung out over rough ground.
‘It is a dangerous ploy,’ he said eventually, ‘but to delay could see us fall too far behind. Rouse the men and make ready to move, it is time to stop Saladin once and for all.’
----
Three leagues away, Saladin too was looking over a map with his generals, but the mood was grim and the silence, tense.
‘You promised me the rest of our men would be over by nightfall,’ said Saladin eventually, his voice laden with threat.
‘My lord,’ said Taqi ad-Din, ‘we have done everything possible to bring our caravans across but the more horses we move, the worse the quagmire becomes. We have men laying rushes and have stripped the surrounding land of all the trees to lay a path, but we need more time.’
‘We have no more time,’ said Saladin, ‘Our scouts report that Baldwin stalks us like a lion. To wait invites disaster.’
‘With respect, my lord,’ said Shirkuh, ‘even if we were to meet the Christian army, we outnumber them two to one. I fear nothing they may bring to the field.’
‘Yet again you take your eyes off the true prize,’ said Saladin. ‘Have I not told you we do not seek to spill the blood of the Christians simply to redden our blades? It is Jerusalem itself that that is our goal and any time spent fighting Baldwin’s mercenary army holds us from that task. How many men do we have this side of the river?’
‘Almost twenty-five thousand,’ said Shirkuh. ‘We have enough rations for two days and only await your command.’
‘And the rest of the supply caravans?’
‘Will be across by no later than tomorrow night.’
‘You are sure of this?’
‘I will take full responsibility and swear that if they are not, I will fall upon my own blade.’
Saladin stared at his best general in admiration. His loyalty and abilities were second to none.
‘Give the responsibility to another,’ he said eventually, ‘your skills will be put to better use elsewhere.’
‘Understood,’ said Shirkuh.
Saladin turned to the second general.
‘Taqi ad-Din,’ he said, ‘these past few days your forces have ranged freely along the coastal road and enjoyed the spoils of war. They have earned much respect at the victories achieved. Tomorrow morning at dawn, you and your men will lead our army north as a reward. To you will fall the duty of besieging the castle they call Blancheguarde. Fall upon it with all your might and though our siege engines are mired, your task is to ensure the Templar garrison there is contained.’
‘It will be our honour,’ said Taqi ad-Din as he bowed, touching his fingers to his heart lips and head.
‘Shirkuh, you will command the eastern tribes in my name,
’ continued Saladin, ‘as soon as Blancheguarde is isolated, ride hard for Jerusalem. I will follow behind with the Ayyubid and the Mamluks. When you see the walls of Jerusalem, surround the city and secure the perimeter. We will ride through and take their walls from beneath the Christian noses.’
‘You too will have no siege engines, my lord,’ said Shirkuh.
‘We have two thousand ladders already across the river,’ said Saladin, ‘and with Baldwin wasting time in the west, the city will be poorly defended. By the time they catch us up, we will already be on the mount and giving thanks to Allah for our victory.’
‘It is a brave plan,’ said Shirkuh, ‘but I would advise waiting for the rest of our army to cross the river.’
‘There is no more time,’ said Saladin, ‘and this may be our only opportunity. Prepare the men, we march at dawn.’
----
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Plains of Montgisard
November 25th
AD 1177
Taqi ad-Din rode his horse slowly along the front line of the Saracen army, over twenty thousand horsemen and infantry formed up and ready to make the final advance. Each wore quilted jackets or chain mail shirts, some reinforced with plates of iron hanging upon their chests. Every man, mounted or on foot, carried a round shield and a sword. Some wore turbans while most had chainmail coifs hanging from plumed, iron helmets to protect their heads and necks. It was an impressive sight and Taqi knew it was a formidable army.
The first glimmers of dawn appeared over the mountains in the east and a mood of expectation rippled through the lines. If everything went to plan, within hours the first five thousand warriors would fall upon the Templar castle like a desert storm, forcing the garrison there to fight for their lives. Since the briefing the previous night, they had managed to get a dozen ballistae across the river and the heavy timber catapults would be a major factor in subduing the fortress.
They had also managed to get one of the two massive battering rams through the mire along with several carts of timber to make covering shields while assaulting Jerusalem’s gates. Overall, they were in a far better position than they had hoped, and the general’s heart soared at the thought of the imminent battle.
