Текст книги "The Templar Knight"

Автор книги: Ян Гийу

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“But I did not. If they had come riding toward me to get within range, most of them would have died before they managed to nock their arrows, for they would have ridden straight into the range of the crossbows. I’m wearing a double coat of mail on my back, so their arrows would have stuck in the felt layer but not penetrated, and I would have walked through our gate looking like a hedgehog. That would have been the best turn of events, of course. But we had to be content with second best.”

“I’m still not sure I understand all this,” Armand appealed to him, while the two knight-brothers gave him a paternal smile.

“Our enemies this time are the Mamelukes,” explained the weapons master. “You, who will soon be a brother among us, Armand, must learn to know them especially well, both their strength and their weakness. Their strength is their riding skill and bravery, and their weakness is in their mind. They believe in spirits and the wandering of the soul from one body to the next and even to stones in the desert; they believe that a man’s courage is his true soul, and many other things. They believe that he who displays the most courage will be the one who is victorious in war.”

“I see,” said Armand, abashed. But they could see that he was still brooding.

“For them the number three is sacred in war,” Arn went on to explain. “In a way that makes sense: it’s the third blow in a swordfight that is the most dangerous. But now their third rider has died. Now the enemy they call Al Ghouti showed greater courage than they did, so I will win the war and not Saladin, and that rumor will spread throughout their encampment tonight.”

“But what if they had come riding toward you when you were standing out there, master?”

“Then most of them would have been killed. And the few who escaped would have seen that I was struck time after time without dying, so they would have spread the legend of my invulnerability tonight. I’m not sure which would have been better. But now it’s time for Saladin’s next move, which we will witness before nightfall.”

Arn, who no longer thought there was any danger of an enemy attack, sent off more than half the defenders from up on the walls to rest and eat. He himself went back through the streets of Gaza and into the fortress to sing vespers and pray with the knights before it was time for the evening meal. Then half of the force would rest while the other half remained on guard. Gaza’s gates still stood provocatively open, but there was no indication that Saladin was preparing to storm them.

Instead, in the late evening the enemy came forward with engineers and laborers and carts loaded with wheels, rough beams, and rope. They began to assemble their catapults that would soon begin launching huge blocks of stone at Gaza’s walls.

Arn stood pondering the scene from up on the breastwork; he had come as soon as he got word of the siege machines. It looked as though things were calm over in the enemy’s camp, where thousands of fires burned around the tents and the men were obviously eating and drinking. It looked as though Saladin had left his precious siege machines and engineers with much too small a guard, almost no cavalry and only about a hundred infantry.

If that was really true, it was a golden opportunity. If Saladin had known that there were eighty Templar knights inside the fortress, he never would have dared leave his workers so unprotected. If Arn ordered his men out in a massed attack now, they could burn down and destroy the siege machines and kill the engineers. But in the dark it would also be possible to hold a large force of Mameluke cavalry in readiness without being seen from the city walls. And much could be said about the enemy’s most dangerous commander, but certainly not that he was stupid.

Arn ordered the drawbridge raised and the gates to the city closed. The first day of war, which had been more a war of minds than out on the battlefield, was over. Neither had fooled the other, and only one man had fallen. Nothing was decided. Arn went inside, prepared to sleep for many hours, since he suspected that this would probably be his last chance to get a good night’s sleep for a long time to come.

He went back up on the walls after matins. When the light of dawn slowly changed from an impenetrable black to a gray haze, he discovered the huge army waiting down in a low-lying area to the right of the siege machines, where hammers still pounded indefatigably. It was just as he had thought: there was a cavalry force of at least a thousand men. If he had sent out his knights to destroy the siege machines, succumbing to the temptation that Saladin had presented to him, they would have all died. He smiled at the thought that it must have been a hard night for the enemy riders, having to keep their horses quiet as they waited for the drawbridge to be lowered at any moment so that two columns of white-clad enemy could ride out to their deaths. He thought that whatever he did in the future, as much future as he now had left in life, he would never underestimate Saladin.

The guard was changing. Stiff and weary archers began descending from the breastwork as the new, fresh forces climbed up, greeting their brothers and taking over their weapons.

Arn’s only clear intention was to delay Saladin as long as possible in Gaza. Then Jerusalem and God’s Holy Grave might be saved from the unbelievers. It was a very simple plan—very simple to describe in words, at least.

But if it succeeded then he and all the knight-brothers in Gaza would be dead within a month. He had never viewed death this way before, so close and so clear. He had been wounded in battle many times but so far had been lucky. He had ridden with lance lowered into an enemy force that was superior in numbers more times than he could remember. But he had never been in a situation where he could foresee his own death. In some way he couldn’t explain, he had always known that he would survive every battle. He hadn’t taken any special consolation from the promise that he would go to Paradise after death, because he never believed that he would die. He wasn’t going to die, that was never the intention. He would live twenty years as a Templar knight and he would return home to the woman to whom he had promised his heart, making the vow on his honor and on his blessed sword. He couldn’t break his word, after all; surely it could not be God’s intention for him to break his word.

Now, as he stood up on the breastwork in the rising light of dawn, Arn saw that the trap that Saladin had laid was taking shape. What had at first seemed an illusion was slowly being transmuted to reality—from the sound of snorting horses in the darkness and an occasional clinking stirrup to gold uniforms that began to glimmer in the first rays of the sun. And he saw for the first time his own death. Gaza could not withstand such a large siege army for more than about a month. That was utterly certain, based on the deeds of men and discounting any miracle from God. But they could not expect a miracle; God was unyielding with his believers.

He could see Cecilia before him. He saw her walking toward the gate of Gudhem; he had turned around in tears before she vanished through the gate. That life was so different from his life now, after he’d spent such a long time in the Holy Land; those days seemed as if they’d never really existed. “God, why did You send me here, what did You want with a lone knight, and why don’t You ever answer me?” he thought.

He was embarrassed at once to be thinking this way about God, who heard all thoughts. He should not be so vain as to put his own interests before the great cause—he was a Templar knight after all. It was a long time since he had been affected by such weakness, and he sincerely prayed for forgiveness, on his knees by the breastwork as the sun rose over the enemy army, spreading its radiance upon weapons and pennants.

After his prayer at dawn Arn consulted with the weapons master and the six squadron leaders among the knights.

It was clear that Saladin had tried to lure them into a trap during the night. But it was also clear that it would be a very good thing if they could launch a successful sortie and demolish or burn the siege engines. Gaza’s walls would not withstand an onslaught of stone blocks and Greek fire for very long. Then all the men, women, children, and livestock would have to retreat, crowding into the fortress itself.

Saladin didn’t know how many knights there were behind the walls. His riders had never seen more than a squadron of sixteen men. And since no sortie had ventured out on the first night when it would have seemed most tempting, Saladin might still believe that the force of knights was far too weak for such an attack. So they ought to strike in the middle of the day, during work or midday prayers, just when the enemy decided that such an attack would not be forthcoming. The question was only how much such an action would cost in fallen brothers, and whether it was worth the price.

The weapons master thought they had a good chance. The siege engines were close to the city walls and downhill. If the attack came unexpectedly, the damage could be done before the enemy gathered themselves for a counterattack. Yes, they did have a good chance of setting fire to the siege engines. It would probably cost the lives of twenty brothers. According to the weapons master, that price was worth paying, since those twenty lives would extend the siege by at least a month, and thus Jerusalem would be saved.

Arn agreed, and all the others nodded their approval. Arn then decided that he would lead the attack himself, the weapons master would take over command inside Gaza, and all the brothers would participate, even those who normally would have been spared because of minor injuries. If they began preparing leather sacks filled with tar and Greek fire this morning, the attack could be carried out at the very hottest hour of midday, when the unbelievers were praying. As the others made ready, Arn returned to the walls to show himself to both the defenders and the enemy. As soon as he got there he ordered the city gate to be opened and the drawbridge lowered. When this was done, it caused a great stir in the enemy camp, but when nothing further happened they all returned to their work.

Arn took a turn along the city walls, which in both the north and south were protected by the fortress and the harbor. In the western part of the city the moats were deep and filled with sea water. That was Gaza’s strong point, and no attack would take place there in the early part of the siege. The weakest parts were far to the east around the city gate, and where Saladin had chosen to construct his catapults. The great cavalry army was no danger as long as the walls held; the Mamelukes would just get more and more impatient the longer they had to wait with nothing to do. The most important part of the battle would take place around the city gate, between Gaza’s archers and Saladin’s infantry and sappers. The enemy would attempt to cross the moat and reach the walls in order to undermine them and crack them with fire, thus causing a breach that would allow the cavalry to get inside the walls. Arn knew very well what to expect; soon the stench of all the dead Saracens around the walls would hang like a pall of smoke from roasting meat over all of Gaza. Fortunately the wind was mostly westerly and would blow it toward the enemy. But it was still a race against time. If the besiegers wanted to knock down the walls, they would eventually succeed. No relief could be expected from Jerusalem or from Ashkelon to the north along the coast. Gaza was entirely left to God’s mercy.

At midday, Arn’s most beloved horse Khamsiin was led up to the city gate, saddled and covered with a coat of felt and chain mail along its sides. The attack that was imminent would be considerably more dangerous for the horses than for their riders, but he had chosen Khamsiin because mobility and speed were more crucial than a heavy frontal assault. Their paths would soon part in one way or another, and it was of minor importance which of them died first.

Inside the gate of the fortress the entire contingent of knights made ready to launch the attack. They said their last prayers because they knew that many of the brothers would die; in the worst case almost all of them would perish, if they had miscalculated, if the enemy saw through the plan, or if God so willed it.

But what Arn saw as he stood in his usual spot did not indicate that the enemy suspected any danger. There were no large groups of cavalry anywhere near. Far in the distance a large force was conducting an exercise, and down in the camp most of the horses seemed to be penned in, grazing. There could not be any hidden forces anywhere else in the vicinity, for in daylight the view was good. This was really the right moment to attack.

He knelt down and prayed to God for support in this reckless endeavor, which might result in losing everything, but might also save God’s Grave for the believers. He placed his life in God’s hands and took a deep breath. Then he stood up to give the order to attack and go down to the impatiently waiting Khamsiin, who was being held with some difficulty by a stable boy. Khamsiin could feel that something major and fateful was at hand; Arn could tell by the way his steed was moving.

Then he saw a group of riders approaching the gate of Gaza in tight formation and bearing Saladin’s colors. They stopped a short distance from the moat and lined up in a row, and a single rider with lowered flag rode forward as a sign that he wanted to parley. Arn quickly gave the order that the rider was not to be fired on.

He ran down the stairs from the tower by the city gate, leaped up on Khamsiin, and galloped out through the gate, stopping in front of the emir who had ridden forward, within easy range of the archers on the walls. The Egyptian rider now lowered his flag almost to the ground and bowed his head as Arn approached.

“I greet you in the name of God, most benevolent and ever-merciful, you, Al Ghouti, who speaks the language of God,” said the negotiator when Arn rode up to his side.

“I greet you also with God’s peace,” replied Arn impatiently. “What is your message and from whom?”

“My message is from…he asked me to say only Yussuf, although his names and titles are many. The men you see behind me are prepared to offer themselves as hostages during the time the negotiation is under way.”

“Wait here, I will come back at once with an escort,” Arn commanded, wheeling Khamsiin around and galloping back in through the city gate.

When he was out of sight, he reined in Khamsiin and walked him slowly down the cleared street toward the gate of the fortress. Inside sat the eighty mounted knights, ready to attack. If they struck now, the surprise would be great. They would hardly have another chance to burn and destroy the siege engines.

There were Christians who said that they could not win against Saracens by using deceit, since deceit could not exist between believers and unbelievers. Such a promise, according to this school of thought, would be worth nothing. Arn had entered into negotiation, and that was the same as a promise. But disagreement was great on this matter. Hadn’t he a short time ago been in complete agreement with Jerusalem’s Master that the word he had given to Saladin by the rocky shore of the Dead Sea must be honored?

Was it not pride to set the value of his own honor so high? Balanced in the other pan on the scale might be Jerusalem and God’s Holy Grave. A broken word, a single brief moment of deception on his part could possibly save the holy city.

No, he thought. Such a deception would only gain time. Destroyed siege engines could be replaced. The promise of his word could never be undone.

He gave the order to open the fortress gate, rode inside, and summoned the first squadron among the waiting knight-brothers to come with him. He ordered the others to dismount and rest, for he was convinced that Saladin was not preparing a deception.

Arn rode out at a brisk trot at the head of his squadron, with his confanonierbearing the flag of the Knights Templar at his side, up through Gaza and out the city gate. As he neared the waiting Saracen flag-bearer he commanded the whole squadron to form a straight line, and their opponents did the same. The two groups of riders approached each other slowly until they were a few lance-lengths apart. Then a group of five riders from the other side broke off and began moving toward Arn, who in turn countered their movement and rode with only his confanonierat his side toward the approaching hostages until the two groups met.

Among the hostages he recognized at once Saladin’s younger brother Fahkr, but the other emirs were unknown to him. He greeted Fahkr, who returned his greeting.

“So we see each other sooner than we expected, you and I, Fahkr,” said Arn.

“This is true, Al Ghouti, and we meet under circumstances that none of us would have wanted. But He who sees all and He who knows all willed it otherwise.”

Arn merely nodded in agreement, and then he declined to keep any hostages other than Fahkr. He ordered Armand at his side to see to it that this man was treated as an honored guest in every respect, but he should not be shown too much of their defenses or the number of white-clad knights.

With that Fahkr rode past Arn, who in turn rode into the group of waiting Mamelukes. The Templar knights formed an escort around Fahkr and the Mamelukes around Arn, and thus the two groups rode away from each other in opposite directions.

Saladin honored his foe with greater gestures than was proper for a man who was master of only a single fortress. A thousand riders formed two columns alongside Arn the last stretch of the way toward Saladin’s tent, and not a single scornful remark was uttered during this short ride.

Outside the commander’s tent stood two rows of Saladin’s security guard, forming a path with swords and lances to the very opening of the tent. Arn dismounted and one of the guards hurried to take Khamsiin by the reins and lead him away. Arn did not bow and showed no expression as he now unbuckled his sword as custom demanded, handing it over to the man he judged to be of highest rank in the guard. But he was met only by a bow and the explanation that he could put his sword back on. This surprised Arn, but he did as he was told.

Wearing his sword again at his side he entered the tent. When he came into the dim light, Saladin stood up at once and hurried to meet him, taking both his hands as if old friends and not enemies were meeting.

They then greeted each other with greater heartiness than any of the other men in the tent had expected, for when Arn’s eyes got used to the gloom he saw astonished faces. Saladin showed him to a place on the floor in the center of the tent, where a camel saddle decorated with gold and silver and precious stones stood next to another just like it. They bowed to each other and sat down, as the other men sat down on mats along the walls.

“If God had brought us together at a different moment, then you and I would have had much to discuss, Al Ghouti,” said Saladin.

“Yes, but at this meeting with you, al Malik an-Nasir, “the victorious king” as you are also called, you have brought your cavalry and siege engines to my fortress. So I’m afraid that our conversation will be quite brief.”

“Do you want to hear my terms?”

“Yes. I come to decline your terms, but respect demands that I listen to them in any case. Tell them to me now, without evasion, for neither of us believes he can fool the other with sweet and guileful words.”

“I give to you and your men, your Frankish men, safe passage. But not to those traitors to the true faith and the jihad who are working for you for silver. You may all ride out without a single arrow being loosed upon you. You are free to ride wherever you like, to Ashkelon or Jerusalem or to one of your fortresses farther up in Palestine or Syria. Those are my terms.”

“I cannot accept your terms; as I said, this will be a brief negotiation,” replied Arn.

“Then you will all die, and a warrior such as yourself should know that, Al Ghouti. You of all people should know. My high opinion of you—you alone, and for reasons that only you and I know but no one else in this room—requires me to make you this good offer which my emirs find entirely unnecessary. The rules say that he who refuses such an offer cannot expect any quarter if he is defeated.”

“I know that, Yussuf,” said Arn keenly aware that he was addressing the greatest commander of the faithful solely by his first name, “I know that. I know the rules as well as you do. You must now take Gaza by force, and we will have to defend ourselves until we can do so no longer. And those of us who afterward, wounded or not, become your prisoners cannot expect anything other than death. I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other now, Yussuf.”

“At least tell me why you are making such a foolish decision,” said Saladin, his face almost contorted with sorrow. “I don’t want to see you die, and you know that. Therefore I have given you an opportunity that no one but you would have been given when our force is so much stronger than yours, as you have seen. Why are you doing this when you could save all your men whom you now doom to death?”

“Because there is something greater to save,” said Arn. “I believe, as you do, that if you stay here in Gaza and lay siege to us, you can defeat us in a month and I will end up dying here, unless God wills it otherwise and sends us salvation of a miraculous nature. But so be it.”

“But why, Al Ghouti, why?” persisted Saladin, obviously distressed. “I am giving you your life, and you refuse to accept it. I give you your men’s lives, and you choose to sacrifice them. Why?”

“It’s not so hard to figure out, Yussuf, and I believe that you do understand,” replied Arn, suddenly feeling a faint hope begin to glimmer inside him. “You can take Gaza, I believe you. But it will cost you half your army and it will cost you much time. And in that case I die not for any small cause; I die for the only thing I truly must die for, and you know very well what I’m talking about. I don’t want your mercy to save my life. I would rather die if my death will cause your army to shrink to a size that makes it impossible for you to proceed. Now I have told you why.”

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other,” Saladin agreed, nodding sadly. “May you go with the peace of God and say your prayers this day. Tomorrow there will be no more peace.”

“I too leave you in God’s peace,” said Arn, getting up and bowing deeply and respectfully to Saladin before he turned and left the tent.

On his way back to the city gate he met Saladin’s brother Fahkr, who reined in his horse and asked how things now stood. Arn replied that he had said no to Saladin’s offer, which, he had to admit, had been less harsh than he might have expected.

Fahkr shook his head and muttered that he had told his brother the exact same thing, that even the most generous proposal would be met with a flat refusal.

“I say farewell to you now, Al Ghouti, and know that I, like my brother, feel sorrow for what now must come to pass,” said Fahkr.

“I feel the same way, Fahkr,” said Arn. “One of us will die, it seems. But only God knows which one of us it will be.”

They bowed to each other in silence since there was nothing more to say, and then they each rode slowly away in opposite directions, pondering.

As Arn neared the city gate, he harbored a bright hope that Saladin might have been so humiliated in front of his own emirs when his generosity was contemptuously refused that now he would have to eradicate the affront by truly taking Gaza. That, in turn, would prevent him from continuing on toward Jerusalem. But it was true, as Saladin had said, that such an action would lead to the eventual death of all men at arms within Gaza’s walls, and of all the infidels who worked for the Christians—including Arn himself. It was a certainty imbued with sorrow, because the thought that he’d had ever more often in recent years of one day returning home now seemed impossible. He was going to die in Gaza. But his joy was greater than his sorrow, because he would die to save God’s Grave and Holy Jerusalem. That much was crystal clear. He could have died in any minor battle with less important foes in the past years, and it would have made no difference at all in the Holy Land. But now God had granted him and his brothers the grace of dying for Jerusalem. In truth it was a worthy cause, a favor that was granted to few Templar knights.

He would do as Saladin suggested, spend the evening and the night in prayers of thanksgiving. All his knights would have to prepare by taking Holy Communion before the next day dawned.

The following morning Saladin’s army broke camp and set off in column after column north along the coast in the direction of Ashkelon. They did not leave even a small siege force behind.

The populace of Gaza stood on the city walls and watched the enemy moving off. They thanked their gods, which were seldom the true God, and they moved in long queues past Arn, bowing to the knight who stood up by the tower at the city gate. He was filled with ambiguous feelings, but the people wanted to thank him for their salvation. A rumor had spread through the city that the master of the fortress had somehow managed to scare Saladin with magic tricks or by threatening vengeance from the evil friends of the Knights Templar, the Assassins. It was a rumor that caused Arn to snort when he heard it, but he made no effort to refute the lies.

His disappointment was greater than his relief. Saladin’s army, which had gone unchallenged, was now large enough to take Ashkelon, a city far more important than Gaza. And many more Christian lives were sure to be lost. In the worst case, Saladin’s army was even large enough to take Jerusalem.

So Arn felt more like a failure than a victor. Nor was there any wise choice to make when it came to Gaza’s force of knights. First they needed to know what was happening to the north, perhaps wait for orders that would soon arrive by sea. With good winds it didn’t take many hours to sail from Ashkelon to Gaza.

While waiting for the right time to make such momentous decisions, Arn applied himself to a multitude of smaller problems. All the refugees who had taken shelter behind Gaza’s walls now had to be sent back to their villages as soon as possible. They needed to start rebuilding as much as they could before the winter rains came. They also had to be supplied with livestock and grain for bread so that they could resume the routines of their everyday lives. For a day and a half he busied himself mostly with these matters, working together with his head of ordnance and his scribes.

But on the second day a messenger came sailing into the harbor, giving Arn a reason to summon all the high brothers to the parlatoriumat once.

The young leprous king of Jerusalem, Baldwin IV, had ventured out with the cavalry force he had scraped together—500 knights, no more—from Jerusalem toward Ashkelon to meet the enemy on the open field. It was not a very wise thing to do; the flat landscape around Ashkelon was all too well suited to Mameluke warriors. It would have been better to concentrate on defense at the walls of Jerusalem.

When the Christians discovered what a superior force they would have to face, they hurried to flee behind the walls of Ashkelon, and there they now sat, trapped inside. Saladin had left a siege force to keep them in place. In the flat landscape around the city the Mameluke riders would have no difficulty destroying a heavily armored force of knights, which was also much smaller than their own.

For his part, Arn did not need to worry over what to do. Among the men in the royal army behind the walls of Ashkelon was the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Odo de Saint Amand, and from him now came a direct written order.

Arn was to set off toward Ashkelon with all haste, bringing his knights and at least a hundred sergeants. They would ride with heavy arms, and without infantry to protect the horses, and they would attack the siege force one hour before sundown on the following day. When Arn’s attack came, the army trapped in Ashkelon would simultaneously emerge from inside, and the siege army would be caught in a pincer movement between two shields. That was the whole plan. But it was an order from the Grand Master, so there was nothing to discuss.

Nevertheless Arn made one decision on his own; he would take with him his mounted Bedouins as spies. He would be venturing into territory that was controlled by the superior number of enemy cavalry, and the only protection he would have was reliable information about where it would be safe to ride and where it would be foolish to go. The Bedouins could acquire such information with both their camels and their fast horses; no one who saw Bedouins from a distance could say for sure which side they were fighting for, and it was seldom worthwhile trying to catch them to find out what they knew. Arn saw to it that Gaza’s Bedouins were well paid in silver before it was time to set off, but more important than silver was the knowledge he imparted to them that this time there would be much to plunder. This was true no matter how things went, because now the Templar knights were riding without caution, and without infantry that could protect their horses from sudden attack by Turkish archers. Now they were riding to victory or to death; there was no other choice. Time was too short, and they were too outnumbered to worry about caution.

The Bedouins fanned out before the advancing column of Templar knights from Gaza. The first of them came riding back in a cloud of dust at top speed even before they were halfway to Ashkelon. Out of breath, he related that in the next village he had seen four Mameluke horses tied outside some clay huts. The village looked deserted, and it was hard to say what the knights were doing inside such miserable dwellings, but the horses were there in any case. Around the village lay a number of goats and sheep that had been shot with arrows.