With another whine of anti-gravity generators, the Personnel Carrier dropped down just in front of a large group of the estate workers. Two Landing Troopers ensured that they did not progress any further from the makeshift fortress towards the battle position.
“So, Ibrahim, what is the meaning of this!?” Billy blazed as he approached the Steward who stood forward from the rest of the workers; a sword at his waist and a shield on his left sleeve.
“F…F…Forgive us, Sidi,” Ibrahim stammered nervously as he bowed, “but, we desire only to fight by your side...”
“Ibrahim! Don’t be so ridiculous! You’re barely half-trained with those weapons and those Templars out there will give you no quarter!”
“We do not ask for quarter, Sidi!” the normally cowed Ibrahim replied with an edge of defiance in his voice. “We want to fight at your side, Sidi, and your black uniforms…”
“No! Ibrahim! Impossible! I don’t need you getting in the Troopers’ way and getting yourselves killed!”
“But, this is our home, Sidi!”
“Then go and stay in them! That’s an order!”
“No, Sidi,” Ibrahim said calmly, rebelling against everything his lifetime of service had taught him. “When a jackal sniffs around my door, I do not run away and hide from it!” he said, meeting Billy’s gaze determinedly and threw his shield down. “You dishonour me, Sidi, as a loyal servant to the estate, a husband, a father and as a man!” he hissed angrily, drawing the sword and jamming it, point first, into the ground. “I have lived, worked and served here all of my life! And if I am to die this day, it will be standing up, fighting at the place of my choice, next to my Sidi, with my friends beside me!” He stared defiantly at Billy as he crossed his arms on front of his chest.
“And, is this the view of you all!?”
Behind Ibrahim, a woman stood in complete silence and jammed the end of her bow into the ground. Beside her, a man shoved his spear point into the soil. Singly, others drove their weapon points into the ground and stood resolutely behind the Steward. Then in pairs, and in groups, the estate workers at Muscigny showed their defiance and determination until all the weapon points were grounded.
“We fight for our homes, Sidi,” Ibraham said, “whether you want us to or not.”
In the long strained silence that followed, Billy Caudwell knew that he could not shake the workers’ resolution without setting Troopers onto them. And, in his heart of hearts he knew he could never do that. With a sigh, Billy let the anger flow out of his body. He knew that Ibrahim was right; all they wanted to do was defend their own homes. Even the most loathed of animals were allowed to do that, Billy reminded himself.
“Pick up your sword, Ibrahim,” Billy sighed wearily. “No one is dishonouring you, my friend,” he added. “If you must fight, then defend the people in the Citadel. Do not under any circumstances get in the way of the Landing Troopers,” Billy ordered.
“But, Sidi!?”
“No! The Citadel must not fall! Stay away from the Troopers! If the Templars get past us, you must hold the Citadel, and deny them the road until King Baldwin arrives. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sidi.”
Good!” Billy praised them. “Go and make your preparations,” he dismissed the estate workers who retrieved their weapons and trudged determinedly towards the half-finished fortress.
There was no way in the world that they could hold the unfinished Citadel, Billy knew, but he had to keep them out of the way of the Troopers. At least they’ve got a leader now, Billy considered as he watched Ibrahim trudge after his workers. It had taken Ibrahim a lot of courage to stand up to him, and Billy had to acknowledge that.
“Sir?” a voice broke into the Communications Network. “We’ve got Templars forming up on the rise,” the Scanner Technician announced.
“Very well, back to the north west wall,” he ordered the pilot, as he jumped back into the Personnel Carrier.
As the Personnel Carrier sped away, Billy wondered just what the Templar commander was planning to do.
And, could he stop him without killing thousands?
Chapter 35
The Templar Position, Muscigny Estate
Arnold of Torroja stared confusedly down from the rise above the north-west wall of the Muscigny estate. Around him, his soldiers were deploying to battle positions. Infantrymen sprinted along the front of his well-built white charger to take up their positions in their square formations.
White Templar banners waved bravely in the early morning breeze as men and horses dashed to their pre-arranged positions. And, but for the strange array of what looked like horseless wagons in front of the low wall, Arnold could easily have imagined that it was an early morning exercise somewhere in France. But, something about the strange soldiers in black uniforms and helmets that scampered and darted around the position opposite disturbed Arnold. There were just too few of them. By a rough and ready calculation, Arnold speculated that there were no more than three hundred of the strange soldiers. Surely, no one in their right mind would dare to challenge twenty-thousand heavily armed and battle-hardened Templars with three hundred soldiers. The two thousand heavy knights alone would outnumber them over six to one. It was madness, Arnold considered. But, it was that very madness than made Arnold feel uneasy.
This little black-clad contingent was established right across the road that led to Jerusalem. It would be very easy just to sweep them aside and march straight on down the road. Yet, a flag of truce was flying, and the conventions of war dictated to even Arnold of Torroja that he had to listen to whatever the defenders of this place had to say. And, it was all taking up precious time, Arnold considered. Since Amalric had handed over the better part of thirty thousand men to Baldwin, Arnold’s only chance of retrieving some success from this venture was to get inside the city of Jerusalem and slam the gates in the leper King’s face. There was very little time left now, Arnold considered. Baldwin would be chasing shadows down on the coast, whilst Arnold had to get his Templars into the city before the King worked out that he had been duped.
“A flag of truce Grand Commander?” Arnold’s Aide-de-Campe, De Lancy, asked as he drew up on his own charger.
“It would appear so, Brother De Lancy.”
“Do we honour it, Grand Commander?”
“Do we have a choice, Brother?”
“Well, the rules of war demand…”
“The tedious rules of war and all this chivalric nonsense require that we go and listen to whatever rubbish these idiots have to say to us.”
“You’re not seriously going to parley with them are you, Grand Commander?”
“Don’t be stupid, Brother, we listen, dismiss them, send them down to the Devil, and then we march straight for the Holy City.”
“Very good, Grand Commander, do you wish to talk to them, or will I send one of the division commanders?”
“Oh, I want to see who their leader is to stand three hundred against twenty-thousand. Fetch my bodyguard, and start arraying the knights and archers behind the rise. I don’t want to spend too much time here.”
“As you command, Grand Commander,” De Lancy replied, and set his spurs to his horse’s flanks before bolting away to do his master’s bidding.
Settling his own highly-strung horse, Arnold of Torroja watched the black-clad defenders of Muscigny scampering behind the low wall, and felt the uneasy sensation settle onto him. With a brief shrug, Arnold turned his charger away from the expected battleground and began to trot back through the men scrambling to their positions.
He expected that a brief cavalry action would see the Templar force in Jerusalem by nightfall. And, Arnold of Torroja had never seen the Holy City.
“Dinner in Jerusalem,” he muttered, and trotted off to find his bodyguards.
Chapter 36
The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny
“Flag of truce approaching, sir!” the sentry called out from the Pulsar Gunner’s turret of the Personnel Carrier.
“Well then, Officer Garn,” Billy said determinedly to the Landing Trooper next to him, “let’s go and hear what they have to say for themselves, and bring the Grand Master.”
“Do we put on a show of strength, sir?”
“Oh, I think we will.”
Raising the field-viewers to his eyes, Billy watched the numerals dance along the top of the image as he scanned the top of the rise. Large numbers of men were forming lines along the crest as they took up battle positions. The red and white Templar banners barely stirred in the feeble morning breeze as Billy tried to identify the function of each block of men. Large, heavy wooden shields in five offset lines, supported by curious ‘X’ shaped structures, indicated archers. The big shields were used by the bowmen to protect them from enemy arrows as they loosed their own flights. Three bowmen congregated behind each shield, making Billy’s calculation of the size of the archery contingent relatively simple. The Templars had brought three and a half thousand bowmen to Muscigny, outnumbering Billy’s entire force almost ten to one.
Behind the bowmen, blocks of infantry were forming up. These were the shield and spear men tasked with protecting the bowmen from any surprise attack. They were the expendables of the Templar formation. These expendables were in place simply to buy time for reinforcements to be brought up from the safety of behind the rise when needed. The Templar commander would be forming the bulk of his infantry and his cavalry behind the rise to keep them out of enemy bow shot. No point in leaving your entire force exposed for enemy archers to pick off at leisure and deplete your fighting potential.
From another rough and ready calculation, Billy speculated that there were probably in the region of two thousand expendables. So far, the Templar commander had shown him around five thousand men; about a quarter of his force. But, still no cavalry, Billy considered. The armoured knights on the heavy chargers carrying the long lances were the shock troops of the battlefield. Wherever they were arrayed was where the Templars were going to attack.
Scanning along the rest of the rise, Billy’ attention was caught by the flicker of white that indicated the flag of truce being carried by an armoured horseman. This would be the leader, Billy considered, as he focussed the field-viewers on the group of horsemen trotting towards his position.
He recognised the figure almost immediately from the pristinely clean surcoat and his manner. The figure sat astride the horse with an almost arrogant self-confidence, whilst the figure to his right leaned in towards him as if to hear instructions. Billy tried to get a closer look at the face of the figure. Unfortunately, the chain mail headgear combined with the nose and cheek-pieces of the helmet obscured most of the facial features.
Still watching the figure, Billy found it difficult to hate the individual despite his appalling plans. The part of his mind that was now a professional soldier knew that hatred was a redundant emotion that clogged up his mind when it needed to be icy calm and razor sharp. After all, it was an era where human life was still cheap if you were not one of the ruling classes, Billy considered. And, that was the danger of the situation. This individual would have no qualms about sacrificing thousands of lives for his own ends.
Lowering the field-viewers, Billy Caudwell knew what it was like to send people into combat, and to their deaths. But, Billy convinced himself, it had always been necessary. There had always been a legitimate reason, Billy argued. Or, at least, it was a reason he considered legitimate. Could this figure on horseback also believe he had a legitimate reason to sacrifice thousands of lives?
“Sir, we’re ready to go,” Garn said.
Turning his attention to the Personnel Carrier that hovered less than a metre from the ground, Billy saw Garn, six Landing troopers, and Grand Master of Saint Armand in the well of the vehicle.
“Grand Master,” Billy acknowledged the Templar, who sat resplendent in a dazzling white surcoat and bright chain mail on the long bench seat.
“Admiral,” the subdued Templar responded politely as the Personnel Carrier zipped off to meet the approaching horsemen in a great whine of anti-gravity generator.
It took only seconds for the Personnel Carrier to reach the advancing horsemen and draw them to a halt.
The lead Templar held up his right hand to halt his own contingent as the Personnel Carrier slowly turned to present its flank to the Templars. Tapping the pilot’s shoulder, the Carrier rose another metre from the ground, ensuring that Billy was looking down upon his adversary as he stood up in the well of the vehicle. Keep them off balance, the memories and experience of Teg Portan; the dead Garmaurian First Admiral, gently flowed through Billy’s mind. The object of the exercise was to frighten and intimidate, Billy reminded himself. If he could possibly avoid it, there would be no slaughter of Templars, or anyone else for that matter, on this day.
“Well, Brother Arnold,” the Templar Grand Master opened the proceedings from the well of the Personnel Carrier, “you seem to have gone up in the world in my absence?”
“Grand Master!?” the horseman on Arnold of Torroja’s right blurted in astonishment as he recognised Odo de Saint Armand.
Good start, Billy considered as he noted the shock on the faces of the two leading Templars. Keep them off balance, Teg Portan’s memories came to the fore.
“Brother Jean,” Odo replied to the leader’s right hand man, “you really must keep better company. So, what is this all about Brother Arnold, why are the Brethren here in such numbers?”
“The Order no longer answers to you, Brother Odo.”
Listening carefully, Billy heard the unmistakable stress in Arnold’s voice. The one called Jean was already badly shaken and indecisive. If Arnold was equally shaken, Billy knew that the confrontation would end here and now.
“No, Brother Arnold, the Order no longer answers to me when God chooses to take the life from my body.”
“To us, you are already dead, since you have treated with the Infidel.”
“Once again Brother Arnold, you are wrong. I am still alive and I am still, therefore, Grand Master.”
“Then, I do not recognise you as such, Brother Odo.”
“The rule of the Order is…” Odo snapped viciously.
“The rule of the Order is that we do not treat with the Infidel!”
“I did not treat with the Infidel, the Admiral here exchanged me.”
“You treated with an Outlander for your freedom?” Arnold of Torroja sneered.
“Outlanders are not Infidels, Brother Arnold, now, answer my question!”
“I do not recognise you as Grand Master, Odo de Saint Armand, you died the day you surrendered to the Infidels.”
“No, Arnold, I live and I breathe, and as Grand Master, I demand…”
“You demand nothing!” Arnold snapped viciously in reply.
“Yes, I demand, Arnold! And, if you do not show me proper respect, you and all of your cohorts will be expelled from the Order, and that means instant excommunication!”
For a moment, Arnold stared with pure hatred at the Grand Master who should have been rotting in a Saracen dungeon. The threat of excommunication was a severe sanction for any Christian, and Arnold was on shaky ground. The Pope’s ‘Blessing’ for the Jerusalem undertaking was little more than a quiet understanding with no formal Papal authority behind it. To stand against an elected Grand Master was a violation of the sacred oath of the Order, which had serious consequences both in this life and the next. But, having come this far, Arnold as not about to give up his ambitions just yet.
“Demand all you want, Brother Odo, you have no authority here!”
“I have all the authority here, Brother Arnold, you have defied the Grand Master and broken your oath to God, I hereby cast you and your followers out of t
he Order.”
“Pah! Brave words from a fool,” Arnold sneered as Jean, at Arnold’s side, crossed himself nervously. “You have barely three hundred against twenty-thousand, Brother Odo. You can demand as much respect as you want from the Devil himself in a short while!”
“Choose your words carefully, Arnold of Torroja...”
“Or what, Brother Odo? We are outcasts from the Order now, according to you, your words cannot harm us.”
“Very well, upon your own head be it. My Lord Admiral, I have done as you asked. I can do no me,” he bowed politely and resumed his seat on the Personnel Carrier’s bench.
“Well, My Lord Admiral?” Arnold turned quickly to Billy. “And what words do you have to frighten us with?”
“No words, Brother Arnold,” Billy smiled softly and raised his right arm as he issued the thought-command via his PES to the WATO aboard the Aquarius.
Talk was cheap with men like Arnold of Torroja, the part of Billy’s mind that was Teg Portan understood. Getting Arnold’s attention was going to require something a bit more direct.
And, to the point.
Chapter 37
Strike Eagles 1 & 2, Above Muscigny
“Strike Eagles One and Two,” the voice of the WATO broke into the Comms Net., “Strike, Strike, Strike!” the order was issued.
The pilots aboard the two wedge-shaped Eagles fighters stationed nearly five kilometres above the confrontation at Muscigny were given the order to make their attack runs.
“Confirming order, Strike Commander,” the lead pilot, swathed in flight suit, helmet, mask, and visor responded calmly into the communications network, and then changed the channel to the Flight Intercom. “You heard the order, let’s tear up some turf down there,” he ordered his companion.
Renthar Suppac was an experienced Eagle pilot; seasoned by many pre-Alliance campaigns on the Ganthoran frontier. His specialty of ground–support work during those years had become invaluable in keeping the numerically superior Ganthorans away from front line positions of his own forces. Now, those skills were about to be tested to the extreme. First Admiral Caudwell had ordered one single attack run that he hoped would put an end to the marauding Templars’ ambitions in one fell swoop.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 22