by Martin Lake
He stared for a moment at Guy. He turned and looked at Saladin's army and then at his own pitiful remnant of men. Then he laughed; a laugh of desperation and bitter scorn.
Raymond sheathed his sword and forced his men to harvest their courage and whatever weapons they could find.
‘Mount up,’ Raymond cried. ‘Find a horse and mount up. Even foot-soldiers, even if you’ve never ridden before, mount up.’
The Saracen host, thirty thousand warriors, was drawn up in a crescent in front of them. Raymond took a deep breath and led his hundred men towards them.
The ground was strewn with Christian corpses. His men turned their heads when they saw they were about to ride over stricken friends or comrades. But Raymond increased the pace and the horsemen moved into a canter. The two armies were close now and he cried out, summoning his men to their final hopeless charge.
He drew his sword and aimed it at the nearest emir. But as he did so, with unbelievable skill, the Saracens veered away. A gap opened up allowing the tiny force to ride through the army unmolested to safety.
On the other side of the battle-field Balian of Ibelin realised that all eyes were on the charge of his friend Count Raymond. He seized this brief opportunity to lead his last four followers to safety.
The Saracen army reformed and came to a halt a furlong away from King Guy and the rest of the Frankish lords.
Two men, the leaders of the victorious army, walked their horses a dozen paces in front of their warriors and gazed upon their stricken foe.
Later, as the sun set, Saladin walked alone across the battle field. He glanced back towards his camp where two dozen nobles stood captive. They were the sole survivors.
All around him lay the corpses of the army of Jerusalem, twenty thousand soldiers and knights, the entire defensive force of the Kingdom.
Saladin turned to the south, his eyes peering across the bleak hills. Now, finally, he could unleash the storm upon Jerusalem.
CHAPTER 5
BALIAN OF IBELIN
Jerusalem
Fear flooded the city like a plague. It swept down from the Church and through the streets to the citadel. It seeped into every home and every heart. The people of the city hurried towards the high battlements, desperate to glimpse what they were terrified to see. Bernard, John and Simon shouldered their way into the crowd and were carried along to the walls.
There were no soldiers left in the city anymore so there was no challenge to them as they climbed the steps to the battlements.
The sun was drawing close to the horizon, painting gold the plain beyond the city. A vast army, swollen to fifty thousand warriors, was marching into place. Even as they looked, the last formations hurried to close the gaps remaining between them.
The city was surrounded.
‘Perhaps our leaders will attempt another parlay?’ John said.
‘It did no good last time and it will do no good now,’ Bernard answered. ‘The moment those fools refused to surrender, Saladin swore he would kill every Christian.’ He sighed. ‘Just as the first Crusaders killed every Muslim when they took the city.
‘So we must put our faith in the Lord Christ.’
Bernard shook his head, wearily. ‘Christ’s representative Archbishop Eraclius leads us now,’ he said. ‘So if preaching and whoring are needed to defend a city we have just the man to lead us to victory.’
They gazed out at the army arrayed below them. Most were infantry but to the rear trotted legions of horsemen, their spears glittering in the light of the failing sun.
But what caught their eyes lay directly ahead. Scores of catapults and mangonels were already in place, loaded with huge stones.
‘Surely they cannot conquer these walls?’ said John. ‘Not even with those machines.’
‘The walls might be strong,’ said Bernard, ‘but there are no soldiers left to man them.’
Simon pointed. A small group of horsemen trotted forward from the foremost Saracen lines.
‘Horsemen,’ he said. ‘Five of them.’
Intrigued, the three men hurried down the staircase to the gate. They waited with the crowd until a postern door slid open and the horsemen entered the city.
The leader of the group took off his helmet to reveal the lined and haggard face of an elderly warrior.
‘Balian of Ibelin,’ Bernard said. He turned a worried face towards the Ferriers.
‘What’s wrong?’ John asked.
‘In my youth I was one of Balian’s sergeants. When he married Queen Maria Comnena I made some jest about him marrying for a crown. I received a flogging and my dismissal.’
‘What has he come here for?’ said Simon.
‘His wife,’ said Bernard. ‘She’s here in the city. I was wrong you see. Balian married for love.’
The man who stood by Balian was a tall man of about the same age. Where Balian looked worried he seemed calm and relaxed. He gazed around at the city as if remembering good times he had experienced here. He raked his fingers through his hair and then stopped. He had noticed them watching him and a broad grin of recognition spread over his face at the sight of Bernard.
'You know him?' John asked.
Bernard nodded. 'Jerome Sospel. Balian's best friend and lieutenant.'
News of the horsemen had spread and a committee of churchmen pushed their way through the crowd. They were led by Archbishop Eraclius who rushed to embrace Balian.
‘Praise God,’ he said. ‘You have been sent to save the city.’
Balian shook his head. ‘No. I have come for my wife and children. Saladin gave me free passage to collect them. I swore an oath to stay in the city for one day only and not to take arms against him.’
A fierce cry of anguish rose from the populace at these words. Balian glanced around at the sound but clamped his jaw tight, determined to ignore it.
‘But that was an oath to an infidel,’ said Eraclius. He stepped closer as though about to whisper but he made his voice loud enough to carry across the crowd. ‘It is in my power to absolve you of your oath to the Saracen.’
Balian gave him an angry glare. ‘I have come for my wife. Where is she?’
Eraclius peered at Balian, his mind working swiftly. ‘She is in the palace. Go to her. Be joyous in your reunion. I shall come to you there later.’
The next morning the people of the city were overjoyed to hear that Eraclius had absolved Balian of Ibelin from his oath to Saladin. Balian was now free to take charge of the city’s defence.
‘What do you think of this news?’ John asked Bernard.
‘I don’t know.’ Bernard fell silent and shook his head. ‘Jerusalem is my home. Our delegates were mad when they refused Saladin’s terms; it condemned the city to destruction.’
He glanced across at Agnes who was singing quietly to their daughter. ‘I feared for my family,’ he continued. ‘But with Balian here…’
‘You think there may be a chance?’
Bernard shrugged.
Simon strode into the inn, his face shining with excitement.
‘Balian has asked for every man to join him in defence of the city,’ he said. He gave a playful punch to John’s shoulder. ‘It will be a glorious battle.’
John’s heart sank. This was what he had dreaded to hear.
‘I came to Jerusalem to be a pilgrim,’ he said. ‘I did not come to be a soldier.’
Simon stared at him in astonishment. ‘To be a pilgrim is a luxury at a time like this. The infidel is beating upon the gate.’
‘I will not kill my fellow man.’
Simon stared at him. ‘A Saracen is not a fellow man. He is an infidel, damned for all eternity. That is what the church teaches us.’
‘I do not believe it.’
Simon opened his mouth to reply but Bernard raised his hand to silence him.
‘Hush, both of you. We should not war amongst ourselves.’
‘I do not want a war,’ John said. ‘With Simon or with the Saracens.’
‘You may not want a war
,’ Simon said. ‘But what if the other man wants one? What if the Saracen is determined to have one?’
Bernard turned towards John. ‘No one wants to fight, no one wants to kill. And no one here wants to make you take up arms against your will.’
‘He may have sworn to be a pilgrim,’ said Simon angrily, ‘but he never swore to lie supine before God’s enemies.’
John looked up, his blood swirling with rage at the insult. He checked himself. It was this rage that had made him come on a pilgrimage, this rage which he had to do penance for, this rage which he had sworn to master, for Christ’s sake and for his own.
‘Shall I fight the infidel alone, cousin?’ Simon asked in a cold voice. ‘Or shall I fight with you by my side?’
John said nothing.
Simon’s face quivered with anger. He strode off but before he could reach it the door was flung open.
A soldier looked around. ‘Is Bernard Montjoy here?’
Bernard looked at the floor for a long moment. Then he raised his hand.
‘Lord Balian wants you,’ said the soldier.
‘No,’ cried Agnes.
‘He commands it,’ the soldier said. ‘He demands it.’
At Agnes’s insistence, John and Simon accompanied Bernard to the citadel. They walked in silence, Simon still angry, Bernard fearful, John trying to quell the voices which rained down insults inside his head.
The citadel was crammed with men: Franks, Armenians, Syrians and Jews. To one side was a pile of swords, spears and cudgels. A line of men received weapons from one of Balian’s sergeants before shuffling to where a churchman stood, his hand held high in blessing.
Bernard turned his head away. He had glimpsed Balian of Ibelin in a corner of the citadel talking with a veiled woman and half a dozen children.
At that moment the gate of the citadel was flung open. To the astonishment of the crowd a dozen Saracen horsemen rode in followed by four men carrying a litter. Balian kissed the woman goodbye and helped her into the litter. The bearers made swiftly for the gate, followed by the children and last, the Saracen escort.
‘What’s happening?’ Simon asked. ‘Where are they taking that woman?’
‘She is no ordinary woman,’ said Bernard. ‘She is the wife of Balian. More to the point she is grand-niece of the Emperor of Byzantium, as Saladin well knows. Saladin has no wish to antagonise the Empire. Maria Comnena could dance naked through the Saracen army and none would dare to look upon her.’
‘Somebody is looking at you though,’ John said.
Balian’s comrade, Jerome Sospel, was beckoning to them.
Bernard turned a worried gaze upon his friends and gestured them to come with him.
As they approached they saw Balian force his gaze from the gate where his wife and family had just departed and turn instead to examine the walls of the city.
Jerome placed his hand upon Balian's shoulder for a moment, the briefest of moments. Then he turned to the three friends as they approached.
‘Bernard Montjoy,’ he said. His voice pretended surprise.
Balian turned at his friend's words and stared at the three men.
Bernard flung himself upon the ground, arms prostrate.
‘My lord, Balian’ he pleaded. 'You summoned me.'
Balian kicked him in the side.
‘Get up, Montjoy’ he said. ‘Stop making a fool of yourself and of me.’
Bernard rose, dusting himself down, and stood abjectly, his head to one side. ‘Mercy, Lord, upon your former servant,’ he pleaded.
Balian considered Bernard. ‘I seem to remember that I once ordered a whipping for your insolence. I have no need to repeat it now.
‘I do, however, have need of you. In your youth you were a good soldier; a sergeant, I recall.’
Bernard nodded.
‘I have need of every man who can bear a weapon.’ Balian put his hand upon Bernard’s shoulder. ‘Most of the citizens will be good only to stop a Saracen arrow. It is men like you who must make a fight.’
Bernard swallowed. ‘I have a family, my lord. A wife and two children.’
‘Then even more reason to fight. If we hold on long enough then succour may come from the west. And if it doesn’t arrive, yet we fight bravely, Saladin may agree to honourable terms.’
He gave a shrewd look at the Ferriers. ‘Are these family?’
‘Friends, my lord.’
‘Can you fight, friends of Bernard?’
‘Just give me a weapon,’ said Simon.
John did not speak. Balian stared into his eyes. ‘Will you fight for the City?’
‘I am a pilgrim,’ answered John. ‘I am a wrathful man. My penance for an act of violence was to come to Jerusalem and never harm another.’
Balian turned to his comrade. ‘What a delicious irony, Jerome,’ he said. ‘The peaceable are lining up for weapons and this wrathful, violent man has sworn never to fight again.’
‘Perhaps he can be persuaded,’ Jerome said.
‘I can absolve him of his oath,’ said the Archbishop. ‘Much good it will do though.’
Balian turned to him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘These are just common men,’ said Eraclius. ‘We need knights to win battles.’
Jerome nodded.
‘You think this too?’ Balian asked.
‘Yes, my lord,' Jerome said. 'The people may be brave but they need knights to command them. Only knights will be able to inspire them.’
Balian’s shoulders slumped. Jerome's words confirmed the enormity of the task he had taken on.
Then he straightened. His lips closed as tight as a scar.
‘You three, on your knees,’ he cried.
Terrified, Bernard, John and Simon scrambled to obey.
Balian drew his sword, making them flinch. He touched them on their shoulders. ‘Arise, Sir Knights,’ he said.
Astonished, the three men climbed to their feet. Simon looked ecstatic, Bernard full of doubt. John looked mortified.
‘There,’ Balian said. ‘Now we have three more knights. That makes seven in the whole city. It’s a start.’
He turned to his comrade. ‘Jerome, send for my sergeants, I’ll knight those first. And then Bernard, go find me such of your fellow citizens as you think will make good leaders.’
‘But there are no nobles left,’ said Eraclius. ‘Only their children. Perhaps twenty of them.’
Balian held Eraclius’ gaze, considering.
‘Jerome,' he said, 'I want you to knight every son of a noble old enough to bear arms in battle.’ He paused.
‘And I will knight any commoner that Sir Bernard recommends to me.’
He turned to Bernard. ‘As many as possible, but only men who others will follow.’
Eraclius held out his hand to stay Bernard.
'My lord Balian,' he said. 'I do not think this is wise.'
'Why not? You just said we have need of knights. How else will we get them? Can the skeletons of Hattin be made to fight again?'
Eraclius crossed himself at these words.
'No indeed, my lord,' he said. 'But neither can knights be conjured out of rough-hewn men.'
Balian's eyes narrowed and it looked for a moment as if he would strike the archbishop.
Eraclius flinched but maintained his ground. 'What do you think, Jerome?' he asked.
Jerome licked his lips and glanced up at the walls of the city which stood empty and unmanned.
'I have never heard of such a thing,' he said. 'But I have never been in a situation such as this.'
He paused. 'What I do know is that whoever Balian chooses to knight is a knight. That cannot be gainsaid and cannot be undone.'
Eraclius glared at Jerome and shook his head. 'So be it,' he said. 'If Christ could make fishermen disciples then maybe Balian can make peasants knights.'
He raised his hand for a moment as if about to cross himself at the impiety of his own words then he thought better of it and blessed Balian instead.
Jerome hurried off followed by Bernard.
Balian turned to John and Simon. ‘From your speech you are English?’
They nodded.
'I can make use of another gift from England,' he said.
He glanced across the square to where one of his sergeants was watching the handing out of weapons. He gestured towards the man and he hurried over.
He was a tall man with a mass of golden hair like the mane of a lion. He would have looked a mighty warrior save for one thing. His right hand had been severed and was now a stump.
Balian drew his sword and touched him on the shoulder.
'You're Sir William Esson now,' he said.
Esson held up his stump. 'Jerome said you were doing this, lord. But how can I be a knight with only one hand?'
'One hand is better than none,' Balian said. 'And you've got a sharp mind and a tongue. A tongue which speaks good Arabic.'
Esson nodded.
'I want you to get the treasure which Henry of England gave to the city as penance for his slaying of Archbishop Becket. If the priests are reluctant to let it go don't hesitate to show them your swords.'
Esson smiled.
'Once night has fallen take the treasure and go to the Saracen lines. Buy as many weapons as you can from them. You'll find plenty willing to sell if the price is right. Don't stint. We need weapons not treasure.'
'Gladly, lord, but I am limited with one hand.'
'Take this man with you, Simon Ferrier. He's English so I'm sure his King would approve of his actions. He'll carry the treasure for you.
‘Yes, my lord.’
Balian watched Esson and Simon disappear from the citadel before gesturing John to come closer.
He examined him for a while in silence. ‘Tell me your name,’ he said at last, ‘and of your violent deed.’
‘I am called John Ferrier, lord.’ He looked at the ground. ‘Our priest, Father William, taught me my letters; I was grateful to him. Then I met his sister and started to court her.’ He paused, struggling to voice the words which clawed at his throat but would not come out.
Finally he muttered, ‘I found out William was sleeping with her. I became mad with fury and attacked him.’ He fell silent.
Balian held John’s gaze in his. There was no censure in his eyes. ‘And what did you do to this priest?’ he asked.