Authors: Jack Hight
‘The treaty does allow for a suspension of the peace in the event of a crusade,’ Imad ad-Din pointed out.
Ubadah stepped forward. ‘It does matter who or why, Uncle. This is our chance! This Philip has taken most of the knights of the Kingdom with him to the north.’
Selim nodded. ‘Jerusalem is practically undefended. Allah has given us a clear path to the Holy Sanctuary. You will be the conqueror of Jerusalem, the saviour of our people!’
Yusuf rose and went to the window. He could see the white walls of the new citadel rising on the hills south of the city. The citadel was to be the new seat of his government, the heart of a flourishing kingdom. It was only one of many projects he had begun. He had dug new wells in Cairo and begun a bridge across the Nile at Giza. Further north, his men were at work on dams in the Nile delta. The port of Alexandria was being dredged. He had built new madrasas for learning in cities across Syria and expanded the courts to ensure swift justice. And he had posted men to secure the caravan routes from bandits so that trade could flourish. Peace had been good to his people, much better than the years of victories bought with blood and taxes. War would threaten all of it.
Yet what choice did he have? The Franks had attacked, and it was his duty as king to defend his lands. ‘The damned fools,’ he muttered. If they wanted war, then he would bring it to them. When he was done, the Franks would never spurn peace again. His decision made, Yusuf straightened and spoke with authority. ‘Qaraqush, gather the army, and send to my brother in Damascus for more men. We will set out at once for the
Kingdom
and meet Turan’s men at Ascalon. Allah willing, Jerusalem will be ours before the new year. If the Franks do not then beg for peace, I shall drive them into the sea.’
NOVEMBER 1177: JERUSALEM
John entered the chancellery with a box containing the pigeon post under his arm. He sat down and began to sort through the messages. He looked first at missives from Tripoli and Antioch. They all related the same news. The army under Philip was making little progress in its siege of Hama. John continued to scan the messages until he came to one from Ascalon. He left at once for the king’s quarters.
He arrived to find Baldwin in a meeting with Reynald, Agnes and Amalric de Lusignan. The king sat huddled by the fire while the three others stood around him. They were discussing possible husbands for Sibylla. John took up a position in the corner and waited for an opportunity to present his news.
‘Guy de Lusignan,’ Agnes said emphatically.
Baldwin frowned. ‘No, Mother. For the hundredth time, no. I do not pretend to think I will live to an old age. After I die, the man who marries Sibylla will be king of Jerusalem until my sister’s son comes of age. He should be a great lord.’ Baldwin glanced at Amalric, who was Guy’s brother. ‘Guy is a nobody. And he is a Frenchman, new to our lands.’
‘That is why he is perfect,’ Agnes replied. ‘He can bring the support of the French king and also of Henry II of England, who is his lord.’
‘Henry chased him from his lands, Mother. That is why he is in Jerusalem.’
‘Sire!’ Amalric protested. ‘We left France to fight for Christ in—’
Baldwin held up a hand. ‘Save your talk for my mother’s bed, Amalric.’
‘How dare you!’ She raised her hand to slap him.
Baldwin caught her wrist. ‘I am the King, Mother. How dare you?’
They locked gazes.
John cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, sire. I have important news.’
Baldwin waved him forward. ‘Speak.’
‘Saladin is on the march from Cairo. He will reach Ascalon in a matter of days.’
Agnes paled. ‘All our men are in the north. We must recall them.’
‘There is no time,’ Baldwin said. ‘By the time the army returns, Saladin will have taken Jerusalem.’
Agnes looked to Reynald. ‘Why did you insist on supporting Philip? You have doomed us all.’
Reynald flushed red. He turned to John. ‘How many men does Saladin have?’
‘As many as thirty thousand,’ John replied.
‘We cannot defeat such a number.’ Reynald swallowed. ‘The court should withdraw to Acre.’
‘And let Saladin take Jerusalem?’ Baldwin asked. ‘No. Saladin will have to take Gaza and Ascalon on his way north. Ascalon is strong. If we can stop him there, then we can save Jerusalem.’ Baldwin looked to Reynald. ‘How many men can we gather?’
‘Perhaps eight thousand sergeants, but most of our knights went north with Philip. There are no more than five hundred available.’
‘Have the constable assemble them as quickly as possible.’
‘Humphrey is gravely ill, sire,’ John said.
‘Then you do it.’
‘But sire!’ Reynald protested. ‘I am your regent. It is my duty to command your army, and I must insist that we withdraw to the north. Riding to confront Saladin is mad. If we fail to reach Ascalon before him, then we will have to face him in
the
field. He will outnumber us nearly three to one. We will be slaughtered.’
‘Then we shall have to reach Ascalon first.’
‘No. I insist that we—’
‘Reynald!’ Agnes’s sharp voice cut the regent short. ‘We have followed your advice and look where that has led us. We will do as the King says.’
Baldwin turned to John. ‘Send out the call for men. We leave tomorrow.’
Chapter 24
NOVEMBER 1177: THE ROAD TO ASCALON
A
crow’s harsh cry carried from the branches of a dead tree, startling John awake. He had nodded off in the saddle, lulled to sleep by the even gait of his mount. The army had left Jerusalem the day before. They had reached the coast and ridden south late into the night until Baldwin finally allowed the men a few hours of sleep. The march had resumed early, when the birds were still sleeping and the only sounds were the jangle of tack and the crash of the surf. Now it was getting light and the crows were waking. They were the inevitable companions of every army. They picked over the scraps of food the army left behind during its march. After the battle they would feast upon the bodies of the dead. John watched as one of the infantrymen scooped up a pebble and threw it at the crow in the dead tree, sending the bird flying off, cawing in protest.
John shivered as a chill wind blew off the sea. The long column marched along the coast under low, scudding clouds. At their head the Patriarch of Jerusalem and the knights of the Holy Sepulchre carried the True Cross: a small fragment of the original, embedded in a huge cross of gold. Just behind the cross rode John, Baldwin, Reynald and the other great lords, followed by nearly four hundred knights. Eight thousand sergeants brought up the rear. It was a sizeable force, but less than half as large as Yusuf’s army.
Baldwin slowed his mount to draw alongside John. The king wore mail under a white surcoat adorned with the Jerusalem cross: a single large cross of gold with four smaller crosses around it. Despite the weight of his armour, he rode straight-backed. His helmet had a long nosepiece and wide cheek pieces, which together hid most of the sores on his face. He looked nothing like the sickly man who had spent most of the past year huddled before the fire in his chamber.
‘That armour suits you better than priestly robes, John,’ he said.
John had set aside his alb, chasuble and stole for mail and a surcoat. Instead of the cross around his neck, he wore a sword at his side. It was normally forbidden for priests to shed blood, but under the circumstances no one had protested. The Kingdom needed every soldier it could find.
Baldwin spoke again in a lower voice. ‘I do not trust Reynald. Keep an eye on him for me. If he so much as takes a piss, I want to know the colour.’
‘He will not welcome my presence, sire.’
‘Tell him you are there on my orders. Say that I feel he needs a spiritual adviser, and that I have chosen you.’
‘Very well.’
John rode ahead to join Reynald. The regent had been talking with Odo Saint Amand, the bull-necked grand master of the Templars. The two fell silent at John’s approach.
‘What do you want, Saxon?’ Reynald demanded.
‘Baldwin has asked me to ride with you. I am to be your spiritual adviser.’
Reynald snorted. ‘Tell Baldwin he can—’
‘Good day, Reynald,’ Baldwin said as he joined them. The regent flushed red. ‘Tell me,’ the king continued, ‘will we reach Ascalon soon?’
‘This afternoon, sire. But if Saladin has arrived first, we are dead men. Perhaps it would be best to stop some distance off and send scouts ahead.’
‘We do not have time to be cautious. We will ride on and pray to God that we reach Ascalon first.’
‘I have no talent for prayer,’ Reynald muttered.
‘That is why I have instructed John to remain by your side every waking moment. He is a priest. He shall pray for you.’
They rode on as the afternoon sun burned off the clouds and the gulls began to circle overhead, filling the air with their harsh cries. Finally they saw Ascalon, at first only a smudge on the distant horizon. It was an ancient city, already great when the Romans conquered it. It was said to be the place where Delilah had cut off Samson’s hair. Now it was a fortress town, its thick walls protecting the frontier with Egypt. As the city grew closer John began to make out some details: walls dotted at regular intervals with square towers; tall buildings of white stone; a church fronted with twin, massive towers. He squinted. The cross still flew above the city gates.
Baldwin grinned. ‘God is with us! We have arrived in time!’
‘You may have spoken too soon, sire,’ John said. He pointed beyond the city to the horizon, where a tall cloud of dust was rising. ‘Saladin’s army.’
‘There is still time to retreat,’ Reynald said.
Baldwin shook his head. ‘We must reach the city first.’ He raised his voice. ‘Forward, men! As fast as your legs can carry you!’ He urged his mount to a trot. The knights followed, and the sergeants jogged to keep up.
All eyes were fixed on the ever-growing cloud of dust on the horizon. Ahead, the city was no more than half a mile off. John could clearly see the walls, which were thick and fronted with a broad moat on the land side. On the ocean side, waves crashed against their base. He looked back to the horizon. He could now make out figures, thousands of men on horseback, stretching inland across the plain for as far as he could see.
‘We will not make it, sire!’ Reynald said. ‘The sergeants are moving too slowly.’
‘We must buy them more time. Knights, follow me! We will hold them off. For the Kingdom!’
Baldwin urged his horse to a canter, and John followed. The rest of the knights thundered in their wake. Behind, the careful ranks of the army dissolved as the sergeants ran for the city gates. The knights continued south with Baldwin at their head, his sword held aloft. Ahead, the Saracens were surging towards them; a solid wave of warriors covering the plain. Baldwin spurred his horse to a gallop.
Reynald pulled alongside John. ‘
He is mad
!’ the regent shouted over the rumble of hooves.
John ignored him and spurred after the king. The Saracens were no more than two hundred yards off, close enough that John could make out the banners flying above them. He spotted the eagle of Saladin. Then the Saracen advance stopped. They began to form ranks in order to meet the Frankish charge. Baldwin reined in just outside bow range. John pulled up beside him. He glanced over his shoulder. The sergeants were pouring through the city’s northern gate.
‘The men are safe, sire.’
‘Let us not press our luck. Ride fast, men!’ Baldwin shouted. ‘We may yet escape with our lives!’ He wheeled his horse and spurred towards Ascalon.
John followed at a gallop. He heard a roar from the Saracen ranks behind and then the thunder of thousands of hooves. Leaning forward in the saddle he flicked the reins, urging his mount to greater speed. An arrow hissed past and shattered on the hard ground. ‘
Faster
!’ he shouted in his horse’s ear. Ahead, the southern gate of Ascalon had opened. Arrows were falling thick about them now. One struck Baldwin in the back, but the king seemed not to notice. And then they were clattering across the drawbridge and through the city gate. As the last of the knights entered behind them, the drawbridge went up, sealing the city off.
Baldwin ignored the cheers of the people crowding close to
greet
him. He dismounted and took the stairs to the top of the gate. John followed.
‘Are you injured, sire?’ he asked, gesturing to Baldwin’s back.
Baldwin craned his neck to see the arrow. ‘I did not even know I was hit. It did not penetrate my jerkin.’ He looked back out past the wall. Saracen riders were spreading out to surround the city. To the south, thousands more continued to pour over the horizon.
Baldwin looked to John and grinned. ‘They are too late! Ascalon is ours!’
‘Fifty-three towers,’ Qaraqush reported. He had just returned from an inspection of the city’s defences. ‘The wall is thirty feet high. On the far side it is protected by the sea. Ascalon will be a tough nut to crack.’
Yusuf said nothing. He was standing outside his tent with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the city. The walls were crowded with men whose helmets gleamed in the setting sun. The flag of Jerusalem flew from the top of each tower.
‘How long to take the city?’ Turan asked.
Qaraqush shrugged. ‘We will have to starve them out—three months, if then.’
‘We do not have three months!’ Turan paced in frustration. ‘Winter will be upon us soon, and the Frankish army will return from the north.
Akh laa
! If only we had arrived a day earlier. We would already have the town in hand.’
‘It does not matter,’ Yusuf said. ‘We do not need Ascalon.’
‘But we cannot leave an enemy in our rear,’ Qaraqush protested. ‘It is unheard of. They will attack us when we make camp.’
‘Not if they are locked away inside Ascalon. The Franks think they have entered a mighty citadel, but we shall transform it into a prison. Turan, you will stay here with ten thousand men, more than enough to keep the Franks trapped. Ubadah will go
to
Gaza with a thousand men, to ensure that their garrison cannot escape. I will ride for Jerusalem.’