by K. M. Grant
Saladin wasted no time in regrets. He immediately issued a challenge. There could be no more sieges, no more cat and mouse. The two armies should meet outside the city walls and fight a pitched battle. It was time to have definite winners and losers. Richard laughed when Baha ad-Din came to find him with the message. He was busy releasing the Christian prisoners and counting the Saracen dead. He made Baha ad-Din wait for an hour before he sent his reply.
“Take a message back to the sultan,” he said eventually. “We cannot fight a pitched battle as we have no horses.” Then he went into the citadel to make sure all the fires were put out and the soldiers had made the city secure.
When Richard’s message was brought back and read to him, Saladin sat thinking. Then he sent Baha ad-Din to gather the emirs together. He also sent for Kamil and asked him to help him dress in his most splendid attire. “It was not your fault,” he said. “The Christians are insane. We say many things about them, but they do not lack courage. Their faith is as strong as ours, and they are formidable, even heroic, enemies. We cannot deny them that. But now the time has come for the last great effort. I shall go to our men, not as a fellow soldier, but, for once, as their sultan.”
Saladin timed it perfectly. As the emirs assembled, the muezzin called the faithful to prayer. The sultan strode in, dazzling in gold. He took his place at the front and listened, with humility, to the imam. After the last words died away, but while the holy sentiments they had just heard expressed were still reverberating in their ears, Saladin turned to face his emirs and spoke.
“The Christian King Richard has retaken Jaffa,” he began. “But he cannot keep it for long if our army is encamped outside. It seems that he has given up on Jerusalem for the moment. But this is not good enough. We must concentrate on making it impossible for the army of the enemy to remain here in any city, particularly those on the coast. But after so long in the field already, I do not believe we can afford another drawn-out siege, either here at Jaffa or anywhere else. Instead, we must fight, and fight to the death.” Saladin paused, his eyes boring into the faces of his followers. “But in order to obtain Allah’s help,” he went on, “we must fight by the right code of conduct. The Christians have no horses, and in a formal battle we cannot use ours against men who have none. We must therefore send horses. That is the right thing to do. My plan is simple. We must send a horse for King Richard and for nine other knights. We will then use only ten horses ourselves. Everyone else will fight on foot.” Saladin stopped and looked about him. “Is that agreed?”
The emirs, struck by the force of Saladin’s words, after some consultation, nodded. Baha ad-Din sought permission to ask a question.
“But which horses shall we send?”
“We must send the best horses, the most beautiful we have, as befits the Muslim code of honor,” came the reply. “Go and get them ready and I will choose which ones are fit for this endeavor.”
With that Saladin got up. Half an hour later he went to the horse lines and walked along, picking out the animals that, in his view, would most please the Christians. He chose nine. Then he stopped, turned, and walked directly over to Kamil. “This one,” he said.
Kamil’s heart turned to lead. The red horse had become more precious to him than his own life. With Hosanna beside him, Kamil became a better man than he could ever be alone. Saladin waited patiently for Kamil to answer. After a long minute Kamil bowed his head. He was shaking. He could not help himself. But he did not need to be reminded in words of his debt to Saladin. Now he understood that the day of repayment that Saladin had talked about behind the rock had come. Swallowing hard, Kamil touched Hosanna’s star. Then, standing straight again, his head once more held high, he gave his answer. “Yes,” he said. “My red horse will go. He will go in the name of honor, love, and Allah.”
Saladin said nothing, but he touched Kamil’s shoulder lightly with his hand. As he walked away, he looked back and delivered a further test, although his heart was bleeding for his favorite son.
“Kamil,” he said, “you will be in charge of delivering the horses yourself.” Kamil did not flinch.
“As you command,” he said, and called for brushes and cloths so that he could spend all night making the red horse’s coat shine as never before.
21
At daybreak Richard was woken by his page.
“Sire, something extraordinary is going on,” said the boy.
Richard, asleep in a house in the middle of the city, dressed quickly and, calling for his squire to bring his armor after him, went to the city gate. There he found a group of knights gathered. They were staring out onto the great plain. William was standing with Hal and left it to Gavin to greet the king.
“Look, sire!” he said.
In the pale, early morning light something glittered on the horizon. As the glitter drew nearer, the knights could make out that it was a small group of mounted, unarmed men. They were led by a dark youth on a horse glowing red in the dawn. His head was bare. Behind him three men were also riding, each leading three horses fully equipped for battle but with empty saddles. Behind them again was another man with one spare horse, an Arab stallion wearing only a bridle. The Christian knights stood silent. There was no sound from those approaching except for the jingle of bits and the muffled thud of hooves.
Time seemed to stand still. William began to tremble.
He could hardly breathe. His eyes were glued to the young man and the lead horse. Gavin took his brother’s arm.
“It probably isn’t, you know,” he began, fearing disappointment so acute it would be unbearable. But his eyes were also glued to the horse, and his own heart was racing.
William did not hear a word Gavin said. As the cavalcade drew nearer, a few knights began to whisper. They were uneasy. Surely this was a trap? Some turned and called loudly for their squires to bring their swords. But Richard raised his hand.
“Be quiet,” he ordered. “Be quiet.” And he, too, held William’s arm to stop him from running forward.
When Kamil reached the group of knights, he dismounted and let go of the horse. Hosanna stood stock-still, his head raised and his eyes dark and fathomless. William made a small noise in his throat, but Richard pushed him back while he himself went forward and stood directly in front of Kamil.
Kamil gave a stiff bow. “My master, the sultan, sends these horses to you,” he said to Richard, “in the name of honor, love, and Allah. We will fight today. We will use the might of our whole army. But as befits the rules of conduct, as you will only have ten horses, we also will use only ten horses.”
Richard listened carefully, then gave a small gesture of acknowledgment. William waited, in agony.
“Tell your master, the sultan,” Richard replied, “that I understand his gesture, and I gratefully accept both the horses and his challenge.”
There was a pause while Kamil stepped out from behind Richard and looked down the row of knights. He ignored them, but when, after what seemed like an age, he saw William, he walked toward him, slowly, his bearing proud. Hosanna, without being bidden, followed behind.
The two young men faced each other. Gavin drew back, so that Kamil addressed William alone.
“I am returning to you,” he said, “the red horse.” And with that he turned, took Hosanna’s rein, and placed it in William’s hand. Kamil stood for a moment before saying something in his own language and touching Hosanna briefly on the neck. The ghost of a smile flitted over his face as Hosanna blew in his ear, and his voice was just a whisper. Then he called for his men to hand the other horses over to the Christians and stepped back. Catching the rein of his Arab stallion, he vaulted lightly on and, without another word or a backward glance, galloped away into the distance.
William did not see him go. Before Kamil had even turned away, William’s face was buried in Hosanna’s mane as, in defiance of all knightly dignity, he threw his arms round his beloved horse’s neck. The horse whickered gently and rubbed his head on William’s
back. Hal was beside himself. Gavin whooped and shouted. The king was wreathed in smiles. He came over to Hosanna and, under William’s beaming gaze, patted the horse’s neck.
“Happily returned, Hosanna,” he said, and put his hand up to touch the white star on the horse’s head. Hosanna himself seemed quietly happy to be reunited with his old friends. But even as he basked in their love and attention, once or twice he looked into the desert and whinnied.
But the red horse’s return did not herald peace and tranquillity. Battle was to commence within two hours. Back in his stronghold in the city, Richard quickly summoned the knights he wished to see mounted: the Earl of Leicester, Bartholomew de Mortimer, Ralph de Mauleon, Andrew de Chavigny, Gerard de Furnival, Roger de Soucy, William L’Etang, Hugh de Neville, and William.
The brothers were quiet as William, having been persuaded to leave Hosanna with Hal for a few minutes, went to find his armor in the great heap unloaded from the ship they had leaped from two nights before. Gavin took his exclusion from the battle with good grace. Of course there were some things it was impossible for him to do.
“We will need you afterward,” the king said to him. “Who knows what will happen.”
Gavin nodded and concentrated on helping William to arm himself for what might be the last time.
“This may be the end, you know,” he said, struggling with buckles made hard and rusty by the salty air and the weather. “Saladin means this contest to be a fight to the death.”
William, his eyes shining, did not look remotely troubled. “I know,” he said. “But I will have Hosanna. If I don’t make it back to ride over the drawbridge at Hartslove, you can tell Ellie we went down together, like true crusaders.”
Gavin tried to sound happy. “I know you will do your duty by God and King Richard,” he said. “But how I wish … how I wish we were at home now. To see you fight while I can only stand and watch; it is worse than torture. Much worse. I’m glad our father is not here to see it, too.” Gavin looked away so that William would not realize how upset he was.
William did not reply. He did not know what to say. What was about to happen seemed unreal compared to the extraordinary happiness at having his horse returned to him. He pulled on the long tunic he wore over his mail coat and adjusted it so that the crusading cross was straight. Then he put on his helmet.
“Do I look ready?” he asked.
The brothers embraced. “God, the king, and Hosanna,” whispered William.
Gavin tried to reply. He got as far as “God and the king” but could say no more.
Then suddenly William was gone.
22
The battlefield was set about a mile outside the city walls, where the plain opened out. Saladin and his emirs—among whom was Kamil—and Richard and his knights faced each other at last. The Christian foot soldiers, their helmets gleaming in the morning sun, gathered themselves into round formations that the enemy would find difficult to break. Archers and arbalesters were lined up in rows behind them, each man ready to take the place of the man in front so as to fire a continuous stream of arrows and bolts. Saladin’s army was arranged in seven lines, ready to attack in waves.
Looking out over the field—the silken pennants, the sparkle of steel, the men kneeling in rows, and the knights rock solid in their circles—the scene was so fantastical that for a moment Gavin was reminded of all the color and pageantry of the lists at Hartslove. But today was no game. He and William would not laugh about it at supper. The preparations for this battle might look like a ritual dance, but the reality was something much more terrible. The knights and horses might be proud, the emblems on shields and trappings reflecting the rays of the sun, and the emirs might be elegant, with their richly embroidered tunics, but soon the predominant color would be red as the blood began to flow. Here, the trumpet that announced the beginning of the games at home would signal the end of men’s lives. Who could know what the outcome of the day’s slaughter would be? The only certainty was that where men now lived and breathed, corpses would lie. William’s would almost certainly be one of them. Gavin did not know if he would be able to deal with this. If William dies, he thought to himself, I will go back to Hartslove, free Ellie from our betrothal, make her mistress of her own destiny, and come back out here to die myself.
There was no further time for thought. At the agreed signal Richard set his lance and his nine knights did likewise. William looked down the line. He named all the knights to himself, proud to die in their distinguished company. He felt as if he were in some strange, floating bubble. Only the gentle, familiar tug of Hosanna’s mouth down the reins as he tossed his head and the sound of the trumpets brought him back to earth.
Finally, their lances pointing directly forward and their prayers said, the Christian knights charged. At first, there was just the dull thud of the horses’ hooves in the sand. Then, “God and the Holy Sepulchre!” they cried in unison as the horses gathered speed. Their shout was taken up by the soldiers waiting behind them. William settled himself in the saddle and grasped his lance more firmly as Hosanna galloped straight as a die toward the Saracens, his ears pricked and his tail, a wave of gold, flowing out behind him.
For a second the Saracens did nothing. Then all was tumult as the cry “Allah akbar!” threatened to drown out the Christians’ roars. Kamil spurred his horse directly toward Richard. In the melee all that could be heard was the clash of steel matched, almost at once, by the pitiful groans of the wounded and dying. Through the dust and blood, shouting and stamping, it grew difficult to make out what was happening. His heart in his mouth, Gavin climbed onto the top of an upturned wagon and could just see Hosanna moving this way and that near the edge of the fray. William was fighting like a demon. To his alarm Gavin saw that two of the horses sent to the Christians had been killed at once. The Earl of Leicester was dead, and Hugh de Neville was crawling away, belabored on all sides by Saracens with maces. He could not possibly survive.
But Richard had seen off Kamil, and his sword was flashing right and left to devastating effect. Gavin soon lost sight of his brother and after a few minutes saw the king crash to the ground. How Richard extricated himself from underneath his dead horse Gavin never knew, but he did, and, protecting his back as best he could, caught hold of the bridle of Bartholomew de Mortimer’s destrier. The fighting around them stopped as, arguing fiercely, Bartholomew dismounted and handed his horse to Richard. Such was the extraordinary nature of the battle that Richard was courteously given time to mount before being brought once again into the heart of the fighting. Bartholomew, charging on foot, was almost immediately felled by an arrow through the neck.
Kamil was unconsciously doing his best to avoid William, but now attempted again to push Richard off his horse. Richard swiped at him, then the two were parted as other combatants assailed them. Saladin took Kamil’s place, but was crowded out by Andrew de Chavigny. With a great shout Saladin raised his sword and brought it crashing down on de Chavigny’s shoulder. It sliced clean through his mail and deep into the flesh. The knight fell and did not rise. His horse, shaking the blood from its eyes, galloped back to Saladin’s camp, from whence it had come such a short time before.
The hail of arrows from the ranks of the soldiers grew thick, and the thwack and thud of the crossbows was almost unceasing as Gavin shut his eyes and began to pray harder than he had ever prayed in his life.
The king was under threat again and again. It seemed a Saracen tactic to kill whatever mount he seized from another knight. Sometimes Richard was forced to fight on foot as he worked his way toward somebody, anybody, who had a horse. If it was a Saracen, he tried to kill the horse. If it was a Christian, he ordered the knight to hand the horse over. The order could not be disobeyed, even though this meant almost certain death. When Gavin opened his eyes again, he saw both Gerard de Furnival and Roger de Soucy on their feet. Gerard was cut down at once. Roger, by some miracle, managed to get back to the Christian lines unscathed.
The grou
nd was growing sticky with blood, and the air was filled with death. Those watching could see the combatants on both sides diminishing in number. Eventually, after a long struggle in which he managed to wound but not kill the sultan, Ralph de Mauleon also fell to Saladin’s sword, and William L’Etang’s horse was struck by a crossbolt. Its leg shattered, its screams rose until Kamil galloped over and thrust his sword into the animal’s throat. Through the red mist Gavin heard somebody shout, “William’s down, the horse is finished.” He found himself beseeching God that it was the other William and his horse, not his brother and Hosanna. His guilty relief when he discovered his prayers had been answered almost overpowered him.
Eventually all the knights’ horses, barring Hosanna and Ralph de Mauleon’s, which the king had seized as the knight’s dead body was pitched off, were slain. The battle thinned. Richard, taking stock, found William by his side. Together, they plunged in among the Saracens. As he raised his sword once again, Richard felt his horse stumble. He glanced down. Its flank was slashed. Before it could fall, the king leaped off. Kamil approached at the gallop. Now was his chance. With a silent cry of jubilation, he raised his sword just as Richard put his own above his head. A Saracen trumpet sounded. Kamil hesitated, his arm still poised. He could see from the corner of his eye that the sultan’s troops were turning back, away from the city. Although all the mounted Christians, barring the king and William, were either dead or vanished from the fight, Richard’s foot soldiers, with their arrows and crossbolts, were clearly prevailing. Kamil took no notice. He prepared his stroke. No matter what the soldiers were doing, he could kill a king. As he drove his sword down, Saladin was suddenly by his side, shouting. In obedience to the sultan’s command, Kamil missed.