Crusade

by Elizabeth Laird

  Adam muttered something unintelligible and threw a sideways glance at him. Sir Ivo’s face was serene and joyful.

  I wish I was so sure, Adam thought. I don’t know about anything. Only that I’ve got to fight and prove I’m brave. And Jerusalem. That’s all I want. To get there, and get the dust for Ma, and go home.

  The Fortis men were now being sent by King Richard down into the thick of the assaults to join in the desperate attempts to scale the high city walls.

  ‘Have you heard? Four gold pieces the King’s promised for every stone you can drag from off them walls. Think of it! I ain’t never seen so much money in my life!’ Roger Stepesoft called out cheerfully to Adam as they prepared to go down into the stinking heat at the heart of the camp.

  ‘Adam don’t need no gold pieces,’ Treuelove Malter muttered. ‘He’s a Martel. Fighting’s in his blood.’

  Adam felt his stomach rise with nausea but he managed to force a cheerful smile.

  ‘See you later,’ he called back to Roger. ‘Last one to get a stone buys the others a good dinner with his money. Agreed?’

  Sir Ivo called him into the tent.

  ‘Hurry up, Adam. Do you want Acre to be taken before we get there? Put this on.’

  He had pulled something from the bottom of his chest which clinked and rattled as he laid it over Adam’s arms.

  ‘Chainmail? For me?’ Adam looked up at him, astonished. ‘But I’ve never worn it before.’

  ‘No, you haven’t. But there’ll be dangerous work today. This belonged to my poor squire. I’ll return it to his family when we go home, but there’s no point in it lying there unused. You were too small when you first came to me, but now it ought to fit you well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir!’ Adam wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words. He held up the coat of mail and looked at it with awe. A thing like this, so costly and noble, was for the knightly class. He had never imagined he would wear one himself.

  He helped Sir Ivo into his own armour, then, feeling shy, pulled over his head the inner lining of soft padded linen. It smelled musty, of old sweat, and he repressed a shudder as he thought of the dead boy who had worn it. The suit of mail slid easily over his head and fitted him well enough. The tunic fell below his knees, and the leggings, though loose round the waist, were of nearly the right length. He put on the inner cap, and Sir Ivo pulled the chainmail hood up over his head and handed him a surcoat.

  ‘You’d better borrow this one,’ he said. ‘And tie the belt securely. There’s nothing worse than flapping cloth getting in the way of your sword arm. Talking of swords, take my second one. You had it sharpened, didn’t you?’

  Adam nodded. His neck felt stiff and heavy in its metal casing. Everything felt heavy, in fact. His arms were weighted down and his legs seemed pinned to the ground.

  I’ll never be able to move in all this stuff, he thought, let alone fight, or run.

  Already he was stiflingly hot. Sweat had broken out on his back and was trickling down between his shoulder blades.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Sir Ivo said, strapping on his own sword and picking up his shield and lance. ‘Come on, Adam. Remember, it’s God’s work we’ll be doing today.’

  He looked calm and cheerful, as if he was preparing to set out for a day’s hunting with his friends. Adam bit his lip, trying to breathe deeply to calm his pumping heart.

  The men-at-arms, ignoring Hugo, their captain, were already running out of the Fortis camp, fired up with the thought of the gold pieces they’d been promised and eager for action after the long months of waiting. It was now that the loss of Lord Guy was keenly felt. The baron would have been in command, directing everyone, keeping his men together as a fighting force. Lord Robert, his thin face flushed, was trying to take his father’s place, shouting orders in his reedy voice and threatening dire punishments to all who disobeyed, but no one was paying him much attention. Eyes were turning to Sir Ivo, who called out at last, ‘Go after your men, Hugo. Round them up and keep them together. Find a herald and see what orders have come through from the King. See who’s in command down there and take your lead from him.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Hugo said, with heartfelt relief. He shouted an order to the remaining men-at-arms and a moment later they had marched away, singing:

  You need have no fear of Hell

  If it’s for God you raise your sword!

  Your souls will live in Paradise

  With the angels of our Lord.

  Lord Robert turned furiously on Sir Ivo.

  ‘What is this?’ he shouted. ‘Giving orders to my people? Are you a coward, sending the foot soldiers into action and staying back yourself?’

  ‘Chaos will serve no one, my lord,’ Sir Ivo said peaceably. ‘We can’t move without orders from the King’s herald. We must wait.’

  Adam was distracted by a tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Jenny!’ he said, and drew back away from the circle of knights and squires to talk to her.

  ‘This is it, then,’ she said. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. ‘You’re going in to take the city. And look at you. I almost didn’t know you.’

  He was about to answer when a yellow streak shot out at him from between two tents and two huge paws hit his chest, almost knocking him over.

  ‘Faithful! Here, get down boy. Where have you been all this time?’

  Faithful was ecstatically licking his face. Adam grabbed his front legs and held him off, then lowered him to the ground.

  ‘Look, he’s been tied up,’ Jennet said, eyeing the mastiff with her usual mistrust.

  A rope was tied tightly round Faithful’s neck, biting into his flesh and leaving a raw, bloody wound.

  ‘He’s bit through it,’ Jennet said, holding up the chewed end.

  Adam, clumsy in his armour, took off his mailed mitten and knelt awkwardly. He bent over Faithful’s neck and started working at the knot.

  ‘Where have you been, boy? I thought you were a goner,’ he said, pulling lovingly at one of Faithful’s long ears. ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

  The knot gave way at last. Faithful shook himself, whined happily and licked Adam’s hand.

  ‘I don’t want him getting in the way again down there,’ Adam said anxiously. ‘Look what happened last time. Keep him with you, will you, Jenny?’

  ‘Can’t you tie him up again?’ Jennet said. ‘That dog’s a menace, Adam. It’s only you doesn’t realize it.’

  Adam was already hurrying to the heavy wooden mounting block which still stood where the long-dead packhorses had once been stabled. Deftly, he tied the rope round Faithful’s body, then attached the other end firmly to the block.

  ‘Stay, Faithful. Stay,’ he said firmly, wagging a finger in the dog’s face. To his relief, Faithful circled round, then sank down on to his haunches. ‘Listen. There’s the herald. I’d better go.’

  Jennet threw a sudden arm round his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Look after yourself, Adam. Don’t go and get killed. I’m not sure I can manage without you.’

  He shook her off.

  ‘You? You’d manage anywhere,’ he said with a grin.

  Then he landed a kiss on her ear, and went off without a backward glance.

  Marching in chainmail was easier than Adam had feared. The weight of it was bearable after a while, and it was surprisingly flexible. The worst thing was the heat. The sun was already high and there was not a breath of wind. The surcoat kept the sun off the mental links on his chest and back, but there was no material covering the armour on his arms, neck and head, and it was soon almost too hot to touch. Underneath the thick padded lining he was drenched with sweat and already longing for another drink.

  The herald had ordered all the Fortis contingent to assemble facing the northern tower of Acre and to wait for the personal orders of the King, who had risen from his sickbed and taken charge. By the time the other knights and squires had arrived at the waiting point, th
e assault on the walls was in full swing. Foot soldiers from all parts of the Crusader camp, desperate to earn the promised gold pieces, were outdoing each other in mad acts of courage, racing across the debris-strewn ground below the city walls, leaping over the bodies of those already killed and scrabbling furiously at those parts of the wall where the stones had been loosened in the bombardment, trying to prise out a loose one before a lethal object was hurled down on them from the battlements above.

  Adam, waiting beside Sir Ivo for orders, watched with admiration. He saw Roger race forward, hack out a stone and stagger back with it, whooping with triumph, an arrow sticking harmlessly into the padding of his thick leather jerkin. Treuelove, frowning fiercely, hesitated for a long moment, then dashed out into the killing zone below the walls. He was only halfway there when a heavy piece of wood thrown from above hit him with sickening force on the head, stoving in his metal, basin-shaped helmet. He swayed once to the side, then fell and lay still.

  ‘Treuelove, you fool!’ shouted Roger. ‘Get up! Come back here!’

  Adam’s view was obscured by a platoon of Germans pushing a massive battering ram in the direction of the city’s gates. When they’d passed, he saw Roger running back to the Fortis men with Treuelove slung over his shoulder. Adam screwed his eyes shut, wanting to block out the sight. Treuelove Malter’s head had been cracked like an egg. He was clearly dead.

  An unexpected tide of anger and courage swept through Adam. He wanted to run out there himself and claw at those unyielding walls with his bare hands.

  Sir Ivo was restlessly fingering the pommel of his sword.

  ‘Soldiering – nine parts boredom, one part frenzy,’ he said lightly, though Adam could tell that he was fretting with impatience. ‘And ten parts thirst. What I wouldn’t give for a drink of cold water!’

  A ragged cheer from nearby made Adam turn his head. The unmistakable figure of King Richard was approaching. He was on foot, a page following close behind leading a huge horse by its bridle. An attentive stillness fell on the Fortis knights. On every face was an expression of awe.

  ‘Who’s leader here?’ the King called out before he had reached them.

  Lord Robert darted forwards.

  ‘I am, sire. Robert, Baron Martel of Fortis.’

  ‘Baron, eh?’ said the King, raising an eyebrow. ‘Not yet, young man, until I see fit to confirm your title and you have paid your dues. How many knights are at your disposal?’

  Lord Robert had flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘Five, my lord. And their squires. And a troop of men-at-arms. They’re engaged now, pulling out stones from the walls.’

  King Richard threw back his handsome head and laughed.

  ‘The wonderful power of gold working on the simple mind! It never fails. Martel, take your knights to the nearest siege tower. The groundsmen know where to push it. Once it’s hard up against the walls the drawbridge on top will be let down. There are fifty other knights waiting there. You’ll be under the command of the Earl of Leicester.’

  He paused, and his brilliant, commanding eyes swept round the circle of knights. ‘The glory of this day will live forever. Christ is with us! Who can be against us?’ He pointed to the banner of a bishop floating nearby. ‘Feast your eyes on the Cross, then go out, my men, and fight!’

  A thrill of wild joy coursed through Adam. He fell to his knees, as the others were doing, and crossed himself ardently. His eyes never left the glowing face of the King.

  Richard passed on. The Fortis knights rose to their feet and began to run towards the siege tower.

  ‘God wills it!’ they were shouting through cracked lips. ‘Saint George!’

  A kind of madness had seized Adam. All fear forgotten, he wanted only to leap at the enemy and fight. He tried to elbow aside the others, who were already pushing against the dozens of men crowding round the base of the siege tower as it lumbered slowly towards the walls of Acre. He wanted to be the first to climb to the top, fight his way on to the battlements across that narrow drawbridge and enter the city at last.

  ‘Jerusalem!’ he shouted, his voice catching in his dry throat. ‘Jerusalem!’

  There were dozens of other English knights already round the siege tower, all eagerly trying to crowd inside. The Fortis men, the last to arrive, hovered impatiently behind them.

  ‘Hurry up, can’t you? Get on in there!’ they were shouting.

  But the wheels of the siege tower had caught on a stone. The groundsmen pushing it raced forwards to free it. Arrows rained upon them, but few could pierce their thick padded jerkins and metal helmets.

  ‘Water!’ a cheerful voice shouted from close by. ‘Who needs water?’

  The red mist cleared from Adam’s head.

  Jenny? he thought. What’s she doing here?

  He turned and saw her. She was standing by a barrel of water, ladling it into beakers. The knights waiting to mount the tower, desperate with thirst, were crowding round her. Adam elbowed his way through them.

  ‘Are you mad? You can’t stay here. You don’t have any protection. One arrow and you’ll be finished!’

  ‘Water!’ she shouted, turning away from him to pass a beaker into the hands of a gasping squire.

  ‘Jenny!’ Adam yelled, shaking her hand, so that the ladle almost slipped from it. ‘Go back to the camp! Go away!’

  She turned on him.

  ‘Go away yourself! I’ve had enough of doing nothing. There’s men here fainting with thirst. How can they fight like that?’ She put a beaker of water into his hands. Without thinking he raised it to his lips and drank it down in one long, greedy gulp. ‘See?’ she said. ‘Feels better, don’t it?’

  Someone grabbed the beaker from his hand and thrust it at Jennet. It was Lord Robert. She filled it and he drank quickly, recognizing her only as he handed back the beaker. His face, already scarlet with heat, flushed even more.

  ‘And I hope it chokes you,’ Adam heard her mutter as he turned away.

  The siege tower was moving again, rolling bumpily towards the city wall. The crowd of waiting knights disappeared into it, up the narrow stairway. Soon it would be the turn of the Fortis men. Missiles from the desperate defenders on the city walls were hurtling towards the tower. Its leather-covered sides were already bristling with arrows, and some rips were beginning to appear in the hides.

  ‘Fire!’ someone shouted. ‘They’re throwing Greek fire!’

  A pot, trailing a long tail of sparks and whistling like a demon as it flew overhead, landed on the base of a catapult some distance away. It smashed and exploded in a ball of flames. Men nearby shouted in panic and ran frantically away, beating at their burning clothes.

  Adam, in the first row of Fortis men, had worked his way to the front of the crowd and was now in the entrance of the siege tower, his foot on the lowest step, his hand on his sword, his heart pounding in a frenzy of excitement.

  ‘God go with you, Adam!’ he heard Jennet cry from behind him.

  And keep you safe too, he said silently, without turning round.

  Then came the unearthly sound of terrified yells as two explosions ripped into the tower. Looking up, Adam saw that two pots of Greek fire had hit the sides, and their deadly substance was rolling down the leather walls, engulfing the whole structure in flames. The dozens of men already inside, pressing up the narrow wooden stairs, were now trapped in a furnace. The leather split as some burst out from within, leaping to their deaths on the ground far below. But most, caught inside, had no way of escape. Their desperate shrieks knifed through Adam’s head. He stood as if paralysed, unable to move.

  A hand grabbed his surcoat and wrenched him backwards. ‘Quick!’ Sir Ivo shouted at him. ‘It’s going to fall! Get out of the way!’

  The knights not yet inside the tower were stumbling away from it, looking back fearfully at the terrible sight, shielding their faces from the intense heat. With the awful deliberation of an animal sliding to its side in the slow agony of death, the tower heeled over an
d began to fall.

  ‘Jenny!’ screamed Adam. ‘Get out of the way! Jenny!’

  As the tower hit the ground, the flames burned brighter all the way along its length, and smoke and dust billowed out over the ground. Only the few men still on the first few rungs of steps had been able to dash outside to safety.

  ‘Jenny!’ Adam yelled again, peering through the smoke. ‘Where are you? Jenny!’

  But there was no sign of her. All he could see was her barrel. It had been knocked over by one of the siege tower’s upended wheels, and the water that had poured out of it was rapidly turning into steam in the violent heat of the blaze.

  Almost faint with shock, Adam ran forward towards the fire, but the heat had already made the metal rings of his armour blisteringly hot. They were scorching his cheeks and hands.

  ‘What’s that fool doing? Who is he? Come back!’ people were yelling at him.

  Adam could go no further. He stopped and stared helplessly into the roaring flames. The screams inside the wreckage of the tower had stopped minutes ago. Nothing, nobody, could have survived in such an inferno. Jennet had gone. She must have done. He had been within a few arms’ length of her, but he hadn’t been able to save her.

  The ardour that King Richard had inspired only a few minutes before had entirely drained away. He had no wish to fight anyone, now or ever. The thought of more death and injury sickened him.

  ‘To me!’ Lord Robert was shouting excitedly. ‘Fortis! To me!’

  Once again, Adam felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Sir Ivo spun him round.

  ‘It’s over for them, poor souls,’ he said. ‘They’re glorious martyrs now. No time for grieving, Adam. Come on. We must avenge them. Our holy work is still to be done!’

  Pushing Adam from behind, he broke into as fast a trot as the weight of his armour would allow, following the other knights who were already some way ahead, running towards the place where the most daring men-at-arms were still pulling at the stones in the crumbling city walls.