I did not expect to see the Doge again, but just before we left for the Holy Land, I was summoned to the palace. The Doge was walking along his private terrace overlooking the Grand Canal as I was ushered in.
He was alone and appeared pensive.
‘Walk with me, Harold of Hereford.’
I bowed and began following him, a polite distance in his wake.
‘Lady Constance has told me a good deal about the circumstances of Lady Livia’s death and what preceded it.’
He stopped and looked me in the eye.
‘Were you in love with my sister?’
I hesitated and looked away, across the Canalazzo towards the east.
‘You can answer honestly. I bear you no grudge.’
‘Yes, Serenity. I regret Lady Livia’s passing with every breath I take.’
‘And yet Constance tells me that you never wavered from your duty to deliver my sister to her intended bridegroom.’
‘That is so, Serenity.’
I wanted to tell him how much I regretted the choices I had made, and the pain I had caused my beloved, but knew I could not; it would have been unkind to add more detail to his burden.
‘Thank you for doing what you did to try to save her. I know my sister was strong-willed and impetuous; you must have been a great comfort to her.’
Domenico Michele had tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath.
‘They say Roger of Salerno died a painful death at Sarmada.’
‘I believe so, Serenity.’
He nodded in approval and held out his hand for me to kiss his Doge’s ring, which I did willingly.
As I turned to leave, I was gratified to see that his tears had been replaced by a faint smile. It was a comforting end to a painful chapter in my life.
14. Siege of Tyre
As we prepared for the Siege of Tyre, I was told by one of the King’s advisers, a learned man called Barisan of Ibelin, that Alexander the Great had laid siege to Tyre many hundreds of years earlier. I made sure word of that was spread among the men, for those who had heard of the exploits of the mighty Macedonian would surely be inspired by his deeds.
The Venetians had brought timber from the forests of the Alps and we began to construct siege towers, catapults and scaling ladders. Most importantly, the Venetian navy blockaded the port, while King Baldwin’s men closed the roads to the south, thus isolating the Fatimid defenders of Tyre from the outside world.
Barisan’s description of Alexander’s siege offered King Baldwin a model for how to conduct his assault and acted as inspiration for all the sappers and engineers. Because the city’s citadel was located on a small craggy island just off the coast, Alexander had built a stone causeway, almost 1,000 yards in length, stretching out to the island. This allowed him to position his siege artillery within range of the walls. As the causeway approached the walls, however, the water became much deeper, so Alexander had constructed two huge towers with catapults on the top, to clear defenders off the walls, and ballista below to hurl rocks at the walls.
After many months of bitter fighting and countless attempts to breach the walls, Alexander finally prevailed. Unfortunately for the Tyrian defenders, they had made the mistake of executing several captured Macedonians on the walls of the city in full view of their comrades before hurling their bodies back into the Macedonian camp. So when the citadel fell, at the cost of over 6,000 Tyrian defenders, Alexander ordered that 2,000 more be crucified on the beach. The rest of Tyre’s population, over 30,000 souls, were sold into slavery.
The great Macedonian’s causeway was still intact. It had later been completed up to the city’s gates by the Romans, making our task a lot easier than it might otherwise have been.
King Baldwin’s opening gambit was a generous one: he offered safe passage to Egypt for the Fatimid garrison and the entire population, if they relinquished the city peacefully. The offer was refused, but with a grisly message. A small population of Armenian Christians – at least 200 men, women and children – lived in the city, and had done so for many years. The Emir of the city, al-Malik, ordered them to be rounded up, blinded by hot irons, placed in carts and wheeled out of the city. Baldwin took pity on them and had them escorted to Jerusalem, but his anger at the Fatimid Emir knew no bounds and he swore to exact an appropriate revenge.
After several months of careful preparation, the King was forced to reduce the scale of the siege when he heard news of an approaching Fatimid army from the south. He was only able to leave a skeleton force outside the walls, under the command of Hugh de Payens. This allowed the Emir of Tyre to get fresh water and supplies into the city.
For me, the King’s foray to the south to halt the approaching Fatimids provided invaluable military experience. Master Hugh granted me permission to join the King’s staff, which not only removed me from day-to-day contact with the rigours of Templar life, but also allowed me to observe the skills of one of the Levant’s most accomplished soldiers at close quarters. Never happier than living a soldier’s life, Eadmer was also much more content away from the rigid strictures of our Order.
I grew to like King Baldwin. He had an aura of calm, but a strong personality, and I understood very quickly that he expected rigid discipline and the utmost professionalism from his men. He rode his cavalry in well-ordered squadrons and expected a brisk pace from his infantry, even in the heat of the Holy Land. Their reward was excellent food, drink and entertainment every evening and a generous share of the spoils of victory. He had a cynical, but perhaps realistic, soldier’s view of soldiers: feed their desires, and reward their greed. He talked about this many times in his family’s language – the tongue of his homeland in the Ardennes. It had similarities with Norman, and I eventually came to understand it.
He also talked a good deal about Hugh de Payens and the Templars, and I realized that the King had a pragmatic approach to the merits of our Order. He knew that the Christian Holy Land had been won through the burning passion of the Great Crusaders and that if it was to survive, encircled by hordes of Muslims, it needed men like the Templars to give it backbone, both military and religious.
The Muslim leadership was constantly at odds with itself, riven by disputes about dogma. But if that ever changed, the Latin States would face a threat that could prove to be overwhelming.
We confronted the advancing Fatimid army at the oasis of Bir al-Abd, deep into Fatimid territory in Sinai. It was an inhospitable place – so much so that it made me wonder why anyone would want to fight over it. It seemed to be no more than an ocean of sand stretching to the horizon in the south, with only the occasional palm tree adding an isolated feature to the barren landscape. However, it was the major trading route between the Levant and the domains of Egypt and beyond, and so of strategic importance since antiquity.
King Baldwin organized his army in classical formation: three columns of infantry supported by archers, with his mounted knights in reserve to the rear. We were 4,000 in number: 3,000 infantry and archers, and 1,000 mounted knights. But the Fatimids were at least double that, creating a huge storm of dust as they approached. As the cloud enveloped them in swirls and waves, we could see their black war banners held aloft through the murk and hear their throbbing drumbeats drifting on the wind. Their infantry stamped their feet as they closed on us, adding to the deafening noise and making the ground shudder. It was intended to make their opponents tremble, but the King’s army was composed of seasoned veterans, many of them sons of crusaders. As he ordered them to halt and stand their ground, I was impressed by their unflinching resolve – even in the face of such a formidable challenge.
The King checked the sun; it was directly overhead, making it difficult to see a hail of arrows. He immediately ordered seve
ral volleys of arrows to be fired into the Fatimids’ ranks. Their infantry held firm. Within moments, it was on the move in a mass attack in a line several hundred yards wide.
Baldwin turned to me.
‘Let’s see what you Templars can do. I want the cavalry to attack between our columns of infantry. You’re to join Eustace Grenier on the left flank in his vanguard. Go quickly, before the horde is upon us.’
Without pausing to think about how daunting my assignment was, I set off at a gallop with Eadmer close behind.
He called out to me.
‘Don’t get too far ahead when we charge! Make sure the squadrons are right behind you.’
‘Stay close, Eadmer, this is my first cavalry charge.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be right up your arse!’
When I arrived at the shoulder of Grenier, at the head of 500 battle-hardened knights, he looked at me and shouted his orders.
‘You’re a soldier of Christ! Lead the charge!’
With my lance couched, my sword held high – and Eadmer at my side with the crimson cross of the Templars’ gonfalon taut in the breeze – I cried aloud to the men.
‘For God, the King and Jerusalem!’
We were soon at full gallop, our heavy destriers streaming through the space between our columns of infantry and bearing down on the Fatimid front ranks, now only a hundred yards away, like a flood tide rushing towards the shore. Five hundred knights’ pennons streamed in the air behind me, their myriad colours in stark contrast to the plain arid earth.
When we got close to the Fatimids, I could see the glistening curls of their oiled beards and the intricate twists and turns of their elaborate turbans. But, more than that, I could see the anxiety in their eyes. Even after a generation, the scale and power of the heavy European horse still struck terror in Muslim armies, and the solid line of men before me began to show gaps before a single blow had been struck. I could see Fatimid officers bellowing at their men to stand firm. Some took heed of them, but many did not, and we were able to flow through their lines like water through a breached dam.
The forlorn infantry beneath us were rich pickings, and we were able to thrust and cut like apprentice knights at a tilt yard. My mount skittled men before it like ninepins, and I had free rein to strike at will at those rushing to get away. There is nothing like the panic of defeat: men will tread on one another to reach safety and run aimlessly in any direction to avoid slaughter. I lost count of the number I slashed with my sword and impaled with my lance. It was like hunting defenceless creatures in a forest teeming with game. Their cries of anguish rang in my ears, and I could recall faces frozen in horror for years afterwards. But at the time, I did not hesitate or show an inkling of compassion. My warrior instincts had me in their iron grip.
We were soon through the ranks of infantry and heading towards the Fatimid cavalry, which had formed up in front of their general’s command post. King Baldwin had ordered his infantry to advance, which would soon engulf the scattered pockets of Fatimids marooned behind us with neither unity nor discipline.
In one charge, the day had been won. The Muslim horns sounded the retreat, and the Fatimid general led his staff and entourage away at a canter. They were quickly followed by his cavalry, conceding the battle to the Christians once more. Rather than pursue them, the King sounded our recall. As he pointed out, we were far enough into Egypt and had created enough mayhem to quell the Fatimid challenge for at least a year. Our priority was the capture of Tyre – to complete Christian control of the entire Mediterranean coastline of the Holy Land.
We surveyed the battlefield and buried fewer than 200 Christian dead. On the other hand, Muslim bodies littered the ground like the leaves of autumn. The King sent a message to the Fatimid general, granting him permission to collect his fallen warriors. Carts soon appeared to carry them away. I counted over 1,200 corpses before dusk brought the gruesome task to an end for the day.
The King thanked me for the success of the charge, and Grenier slapped me on the back.
‘I thought you would bring us an easy victory. The men believe your crimson cross heralds the courage of the Great Crusaders.’
The King ordered that we make camp a mile or so from the battlefield. As the army filed away, he turned to address me.
‘Take your sergeant and ride up and down the column with the Holy Cross. It will be the perfect end to a good day for the men.’
Despite my doubts about Hugh de Payens and our eminent Order, what followed in his name and that of my brother Templars was one of the most invigorating moments of my life. While I stood tall in my stirrups waving my sword in salute, with the setting sun blazing through it, Eadmer carried the Templar’s crimson cross along the length of the Christian column. The cheers followed us like waves running along a beach and echoed all around us. At that moment, I realized that the Knights Templar were a force to be reckoned with in the Holy Land and that their influence may well extend way beyond its borders – even reaching back into Europe.
I had come through yet another challenging skirmish and was at last beginning to believe that my quest to write my own chapter in the illustrious history of my family might, after all, meet with success.
Three weeks later, we were back beneath the walls of Tyre, with the King freshly invigorated and determined to break the siege. News had also reached the defenders that the relief army from Egypt had been turned back, which must have weakened their resolve. Although Hugh de Payens’ small force had been unable to stop the Emir from replenishing his supplies, he had been under siege for several months and morale within the city must have been running low.
Over the decades of their occupation, the Christians had brought in large numbers of pigs from Europe for plentiful supplies of pork and bacon, of which the Franks were particularly fond. Conversely, Muslims regard the pig as a filthy animal and loathe its presence, quite apart from finding it abhorrent as a food. The King ordered the collection and slaughter of dozens of pigs, and the army was fed roast pork for the coming days. However, the pigs’ heads were spared the pot and instead hurled into the city by the basketful. Then, to compound the insult, after consuming pork for several days, he ordered his men to defecate into earthenware pots provided for the purpose. These too were launched on to the inhabitants of the city.
The King found the whole distasteful exercise amusing – in stark contrast to the revulsion that must have been felt behind Tyre’s walls.
The catapults were then put to more conventional use and soon boulders, incendiaries and hot oil began to cascade from the skies. The Venetian ships also began to bombard the city, until missiles rained down on all sides. The barrage was relentless; a shift system was organized among the Christian sappers so that the aerial attacks continued all day and every night. For those trapped inside the city, sleep was almost impossible – especially for the citizens charged with extinguishing the many fires that were started by the flaming pitch. Despite the onslaught, there was no sign of capitulation from the besieged inhabitants.
But then, an unexpected development caught all of us unawares in late June 1124. I remember the date well because some of the men who still had hankerings after their old pagan traditions had just celebrated the Summer Solstice a few days earlier. It was about half an hour before dawn when the gates of the city suddenly opened to release a tumult of humanity. People of all ages ran in every direction. Many tried to run through our camp, some begged for mercy at our tents, and a few made for boats in the harbour to try to escape by sea. They were mainly civilians, but a few were armed and appeared to be from the Emir’s garrison.
Within minutes, the city gates had been closed again and most of the escapees had been rounded up – a group of severa
l thousand. There was no violence; these poor souls had simply had enough and had stormed Tyre’s gates from the inside in a bid for freedom from the agony of the unremitting siege. They said that unrest was widespread – even among the Emir’s men – and that disease had taken hold, killing dozens by the day.
The King immediately ordered that the runaways be quarantined, but within sight of the city. And then he made a shrewd decision: he ordered his cooks, stewards and healers to care for them. In full view of vantage points on the city walls, food was cooked and distributed, plentiful supplies of water were given out and even wine was made available for those who wanted it. The sick were treated, and sappers were stood down from their duties servicing the siege engines and preparing ammunition in order to erect shelters for the evacuees.
It took only two days for the King’s generosity to work its magic inside the city. We could hear shouting and screaming from inside the walls, followed by the clash of weapons. Then, towards the end of the second afternoon, amidst much uproar and cheering, a large group of men appeared on the walls, just above the main gate. In the centre of the group, tied hand and foot, was a bloodied and beaten Emir of Tyre, al-Malik. The leader of the group then shouted down to us in good Norman, asking for food and water and safe passage to the Muslims of the east, rather than to Fatimid Egypt. He said that everyone in the garrison loyal to the Emir had been killed in fighting that had lasted for two days and that the Emir was now alone and defenceless.
Under instruction from the King, Hugh de Payens then walked forward and agreed to the citizens’ requests. But he said it was conditional on the Emir being released.
Wild celebrations followed, both inside and outside the city. The next day, the Muslims of Tyre began their long walk to the east and a precarious future, while the Christian army entered their city – the last Muslim enclave in Palestine. But before the Muslims left, the King had his revenge for the blinding of the Armenians.
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