Prince of Legend (28 page)

‘And I say let them batter themselves against the walls.’

Nonplussed that Normandy should advocate such a course, Tancred pressed on.

‘One of the factors that sustained us during our siege was the sure knowledge that the Fatimids were no more loved than their Turkish predecessors. We expected to hold this city with the good opinion of the inhabitants, but can that be said to be so after the actions of our newly consecrated bishop and his priests?’

Arnulf was present and offended, even more so when Tancred pointed out how, by barring other Christians, who made up the bulk of the population, from the holy sites, he had mightily alienated them. In order to counter his own folly he had ‘miraculously’ discovered
a piece of the True Cross, which to Tancred, his own piety much dented, looked very suspiciously like a repeat of the Holy Lance. Clearly the Jerusalemites felt a similar suspicion, for they had failed to rally to Arnulf’s relic.

‘We can only adopt the course you advocate, Tancred, if we are joined by Raymond.’

Normandy responded to Godfrey in a manner that, if he shocked him, he did well to disguise. ‘I will not march on the news Tancred has brought to us.’

‘You do not see the threat?’ Godfrey asked.

‘I see an army disembarking but I do not see one marching towards us. Unless they do and their intention is clear, why should we countenance the threat as real?’

‘I cannot think you believe that,’ Flanders exclaimed.

Normally friendly to his brother-in-law, Normandy snapped back. ‘Being related to me by matrimony does not give you leave to question my judgement.’

Flanders was not to be put down; his response was just as forceful. ‘If I observe any judgement within you, perhaps I would question it, as it is I see nothing but foolishness.’

‘I could make you eat those words.’

‘You could try.’

‘My Lords, I beg of you,’ Godfrey cried. ‘Let us not bicker.’

‘No, let us not,’ Normandy replied, ‘and to ensure there is no more of such I will withdraw.’

The advocate was left looking at his fellow nobleman’s back and Tancred surmised he was thinking that now Godfrey was close to understanding the depth of the task that had so troubled Bishop Adémar of Puy, this as Flanders spoke.

‘I agree with Tancred. If we are to meet this vizier let us do so in open battle, where our tactics have always favoured us.’

‘You wish to march out and face the Egyptians,’ asked Godfrey softly, ‘without Toulouse or your kinsman of Normandy?’

‘I do. If God’s grace got us to where we now stand, I have faith that he will continue to bless us with his favour.’

‘I agree,’ Tancred said.

‘Then let it be so, and may God protect and preserve us.’

Led by the nobles and Bishop Arnulf, parading his piece of the True Cross, barefoot and in prayer, the half-host under Godfrey left Jerusalem to take on the might of Egypt. Such was the shame heaped upon both Robert of Normandy and Raymond of Toulouse by their own followers that both men were obliged, only days later, to lead their forces to join with them at Ramleh, the Provençals still using as a totem the Holy Lance. Jerusalem was stripped of fighting men, left to be held by prayer alone and once more, as on so many occasions, the Crusade was facing either triumph or death.

Luck or divine intervention gave them details of al-Afdal’s intentions, this tortured out of a group of captured Egyptian scouts. The Vizier had completed his landings, bringing from his domains a massive force made up of heavy Egyptian cavalry, Berbers, Bedouins and giant Ethiopians. His intention was to march on Jerusalem on the very next day. In the discussion of how to respond, Tancred once more invoked the name of Bohemund, advocating that boldness would outweigh Fatimid numbers.

‘We know where they are camped and we know they think themselves invincible,’ he insisted, ‘and therein lies our best weapon, their own arrogance.’

‘Trust a de Hauteville to know all about arrogance,’ Raymond of Toulouse cawed.

That got him a jaundiced look from Godfrey de Bouillon, now, even to Raymond’s own knights, the undisputed commander of the host. So telling was that glance that the Count of Toulouse had no more to contribute.

‘Let us attack him, instead of waiting for him to attack us.’

Flanders demurred. ‘Defensive battle suits us.’

‘Which al-Afdal well knows. He will anticipate that we will pick a good field on which to fight him and dispose his troops accordingly.’

‘And we should do what?’ Godfrey asked, his eyes ranging around the pavilion; no one but Tancred responded.

‘Attack him at first light.’

It took an age for Godfrey to make a decision, but when he did the words were prophetic. ‘May the Good Lord preserve and protect us.’

Marching out in darkness, the host found that in al-Afdal they had an adversary so full of confidence that he had not thought to set out piquets on the outskirts of Ascalon to warn of any hostile approach. Unhindered, the Crusaders fell upon his encampment while many of his men were barely aroused from their night’s slumber, their arms stacked still by their campfires and slow to be employed. In a situation where mercy, never in good supply, would have been folly, the slaughter was immense.

Raymond of Toulouse on the right flank, for all his faults a good general, having ridden right through the camp, in the process stealing the Vizier’s personal standard, drove the only troops that held their formation, the Egyptian cavalry, into the sea, where men and horses drowned. Godfrey attacking on the left drove his enemies towards
the gates of Ascalon, too narrow to permit mass entry and soon closed so that those inside could save themselves. The remainder were butchered on the outside.

Tancred and Robert of Flanders, attacking in the centre, routed the men they faced, many of whom sought to hide in trees and bushes to escape their fate, which was useless: all they became was sport for lance and bow, while those who prostrated themselves and begged were slaughtered like beasts. When the Crusade departed the field they left only corpses on which the carrion could feed. In their train they carried immeasurable wealth, the treasures and possessions of one of the richest rulers in the world.

Under their banner and their holy relics, Godfrey de Bouillon led them in triumph back through the gates of Jerusalem, at his right hand Tancred de Hauteville under his own red flag with its blue and white chequer, now truly, to all who spoke of him, the martial equal of his blood relative Bohemund. To Godfrey’s other side rode Raymond of Toulouse, Robert of Normandy and his namesake of Flanders. In their wake came carts laden with such treasure it would not have disgraced a Roman triumph of old.

The Crusade called by Pope Urban at Clermont had fought its last battle and they had won: Jerusalem, the holiest city in the Christian world, was in the hands of men who could now claim, without being challenged, to be the most puissant warriors in the world.

J
ACK
L
UDLOW
is the pen-name of writer David Donachie, who was born in Edinburgh in 1944. He has always had an abiding interest in history: from the Roman Republic to medieval warfare as well as the naval history of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, which he has drawn on for his many historical adventure novels. David lives in Deal with his partner, the novelist Sarah Grazebrook.

T
HE
C
RUSADES SERIES

Son of Blood

Soldier of Crusade

Prince of Legend

T
HE
R
OADS TO
W
AR SERIES

The Burning Sky

A Broken Land

A Bitter Field

T
HE REPUBLIC SERIES

The Pillars of Rome

The Sword of Revenge

The Gods of War

T
HE
C
ONQUEST SERIES

Mercenaries

Warriors

Conquest

Written as David Donachie

T
HE
J
OHN
P
EARCE SERIES

By the Mast Divided

A Shot Rolling Ship

An Awkward Commission

A Flag of Truce

The Admirals’ Game

An Ill Wind

Blown Off Course

Enemies at Every Turn

A Sea of Troubles

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