by K. M. Ashman
‘I will let Saladin’s people decide what you do or do not know,’ replied the brigand. ‘They have ways of getting men to tell the truth.’
‘Even a tortured man cannot repeat that which he does not know.’
‘That is not my concern.’ The Bedouin turned his head to speak to his comrade before throwing the remains of the hare over to land in Cronin’s lap. ‘Eat,’ he said, and the sergeant lifted the carcass to his mouth to strip it of what remained of its meat.
He chewed quickly, all the time watching his two captors. The older of the two seemed to know no English but the one who had given him the food was more talkative. Again, Cronin knew it was to his advantage that the man was happy to talk as the more he found out, the better chance he had to escape.
The afternoon dragged on yet to Cronin’s surprise, they seemed in no hurry to leave the makeshift camp.
‘Can I have some more water,’ he asked eventually.
The younger man brought the water skin and waited as the sergeant again drank his fill.
‘Should we not be going?’ asked Cronin when he had slaked his thirst. ‘I would think that Saladin would be a bad man to be kept waiting.’
‘Do not be in such a rush to die, Kafir,’ said the Bedouin. ‘This life is short enough.’
‘What is your name?’ asked Cronin.
‘Why is that your concern?’
‘I am just being courteous. To address a man, especially in his own lands without knowing his name is a rudeness that does not sit well with me.’
‘You Franks have a strange concept of decency,’ said the Bedouin, ‘you think to talk without knowing a man’s name is an insult, yet are happy to kill indiscriminately in a land where you do not belong.’
‘Respect costs nothing,’ said Cronin, ‘but if you would rather I do not know, then that is fine with me.’
‘Your western tongue would not wrap itself around my full name,’ said the man. He nodded toward Hassan. ‘He calls me Mehedi, it will suffice.’
‘And your friend?’ Cronin nodded toward the second Bedouin watching the exchange from alongside the fire.
‘Mustapha. A man who helped me after I escaped from Jerusalem.
‘Does he also speak English?’
‘He does not.’
‘But he is not kin?’
Mehedi paused and stared at Cronin with interest.
‘I see what you are trying to do, Kafir,’ he said, ‘but it will not work. ‘
‘And what would that be?’
‘You explore the possibilities of turning me against my comrade, but it is a fruitless ambition. You are the enemy of these lands and are responsible for my time spent in slavery. I would slit your throat in an instant should Mustapha command it.’
‘Again, I meant no insult,’ said Cronin.
Mehedi got to his feet.
‘The presence of your people in my country is offence enough,’ said Mehedi, ‘so I lose no sleep over anything you have to say. Just know that tomorrow your life gets a lot worse.’ He turned away and walked over to where the horses were tied to a tree.
Cronin turned his head and saw Hassan staring at him, having heard the conversation between the two men.
‘Well, asked Cronin, have you prayed yet, Hassan?’
‘Prayed for what?’ asked the Bedouin boy.
‘For forgiveness,’ replied Cronin and without waiting for a reply, turned away to lay on his side, his back deliberately turned to the boy who had betrayed him.
----
Chapter Fifteen
The Ravine
November 12th
AD 1177
‘Shields,’ roared Gerald galloping out from the tight ravine, ‘try to pin down their archers.’
Immediately the horsemen raced towards the rocks, their skill in horsemanship and archery coming to the fore. Within moments the deadly hail of enemy arrows dwindled drastically.
Gerald looked around at the damage already done. Almost a dozen men and horses lay dead or dying in the dust and he swore to himself when he realised that Sir Robert was amongst the fallen.
‘Some of you do what you can for the wounded,’ he shouted, ‘the rest of you, dismount and follow me.’
He leapt from his horse and ran towards the enemy’s position, holding up his shield against the few arrows still falling around him. The counter barrage from his own turcopoles meant he and his men quickly reached the enemy position and they clambered over the smaller rubble to reach their attackers, their hearts raging after being caught out in such a cowardly manner.
One of the hidden Saracens ran out from behind a boulder and with a roar, launched himself down onto Sir Gerald, his scimitar smashing against the knight’s raised shield.
Gerald ducked to the side, absorbing the impact and his attacker fell to the ground, knocking his head against a boulder. Immediately the knight spun around and thrust his sword down into the Saracen’s chest. He ran on, and though other attackers burst from their hiding places to engage the knights, their lighter equipment meant they were no match and Gerald’s men hacked them down with impunity.
Within a few minutes, the main threat was broken and only a few men remained hidden amongst the higher rocks.
‘Archers,’ he shouted, ‘keep their heads down. The rest of you, collect what arrows you can from the field. We may need them on the return journey.’
With his men busy, the knight returned to where Sir Robert was being tended by one of the sergeants.
‘How bad is it?’ he asked, removing his helmet
‘I took an arrow to my arm,’ said Robert, grimacing, ‘but my horse was killed immediately and trapped me beneath it when it fell.’
‘It’s a typical tactic,’ said Gerald. ‘Can you walk?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ said Robert, grimacing again as the sergeant tightened a makeshift bandage around his arm, ‘help me up.’
Gerald grabbed Robert under the arms and helped him to his feet.
‘It’s not good,’ continued Robert, trying to place some weight on his injured foot, ‘but I don’t think its broken.’
‘Find him a horse,’ said Gerald, looking around, ‘what about the others?’
‘Seven dead, eight wounded and another three who probably won’t see the day out,’ said the sergeant. ‘We’ve also lost ten horses with another six beyond help.’
Gerald sighed heavily. It was a huge loss, especially as now their return would be severely hindered by trying to care for the wounded.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘this is what we are going to do. Kill the horses that won’t make it back and place all our wounded on whatever horses remain. Double up where necessary.’
‘What about our dead?’
‘We have no time to dig graves,’ said Gerald. ‘I’m worried there may be a Saracen force behind us and I don’t want to be here when they catch us up.’
‘My lord,’ said a voice and Gerald turned to see the surviving scout walking over.
‘What is it?’
‘My lord, I took the liberty of trying to find a way out of here other than the way we came.’
‘And?’
‘There is none, this ravine ends at a cliff edge a few hundred paces away.’
‘Is there no way down?’
‘No, my lord, the only way out is the way we came.’
‘But that makes no sense,’ said Sir Robert. ‘If what you say is true and their main force doubled back, why would they allow their own archers to be trapped in this place. Surely they would have known about the cliff?’
‘The numbers of archers hidden amongst the rocks was actually very low,’ said Gerald, ‘and had no realistic chance of defeating a well-trained force. It’s almost as if they were used to lure us here….’ His eyes widened as he realised what was happening and his head turned suddenly.
‘Men of Jerusalem,’ he roared, ‘close in…’ but already he knew it was too late and watched in despair as hundreds of Saracen horsemen galloped through the rav
ine behind them, roaring their battle cries as they bore down on the dismounted patrol.
----
The Saracen lancers crashed into the Christian forces and dozens of Gerald’s comrades fell at the first pass. Gerald was hit but his shield took the brunt of the impact and he fell to the ground with only a flesh wound to his side. Taken by surprise, the mounted turcopoles were slow to respond and most of their horses were cut down from beneath them. Frantically they used the last of their arrows against the rampaging enemy cavalry but to little effect and after suffering terrible casualties, what was left of the patrol huddled together, their shields presented outward offering a semblance of protection against the enemy arrows.
Gerald staggered to his feet and looked around to see the damage done. Within moments he realised they were heavily outnumbered with even more lancers pouring through the narrow ravine, closely followed by hundreds of infantry. Soon he and his men were completely surrounded.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ whispered one of the men at his side, ‘we have no chance. We need to surrender.’
‘There will be no surrender,’ said Gerald. ‘Saladin’s torturers will make every man here willingly scream what they know before slitting our throats and leaving our bodies for the buzzards.’
Before anyone could say any more, a solitary Saracen rider rode out from the enemy cavalry and toward the group of surrounded men.
‘Men of Francia,’ he called, ‘I am Shirkuh ad-Dun, General in the armies of the great An-Nasir, Salah ad-Din, Yusuf ibn Ayyub. Exalted sultan of Syria and Egypt. Who speaks for you?’
‘I do,’ said Gerald, stepping forward, ‘what do you want?’
‘I demand your surrender,’ said the Saracen, ‘and vow that if you do, then there will be no more deaths.’
‘And will we be allowed to leave as free men?’
‘Alas no, that but at least you will be alive.’
‘And what would become of us?’
‘You will be my prisoners and taken to a place far away from here.’
‘To rot in a Saracen dungeon?’
‘I have no say in the place of incarceration but is it not better than being impaled on a lance? Perhaps one day you would be ransomed and returned to your families.’
‘I know men who have spent time in a Saracen dungeon,’ replied Gerald, ‘and they say it was a fate worse than hell itself.’
‘If what you say is true, then it is obvious they survived to tell the tale,’ replied Shirkuh ad-dun. ‘Do not make the mistake of spurning this gift of Saladin for it is your only hope of life.’
Gerald turned to the scout at his side.
‘You say the cliff is impassable.’
‘It is.’
‘How severe is the drop?’
‘It falls away for about the height of four men. After that, the slope is less severe and is covered with brush.’
‘Could a man survive the fall?’
‘If God is with him.’
‘Then that is our exit, ‘said Gerald.
‘You can’t expect us to jump off a cliff,’ hissed Robert. ‘I would rather die here at the end of a lance than have my body smashed upon on the rocks. At least that would be an honourable death.’
‘Death is death,’ said Gerald and turned away to address the mounted Saracen.
‘I need to talk with my men,’ he said, ‘give me some time to consider your terms.’
‘What is there to discuss?’ asked Shirkuh. ‘You are trapped here. The only choice is life or death.’
‘A few minutes,’ said Gerald, ‘that’s all I ask.’
Shirkuh paused for a moment before answering.
‘A hundred heartbeats,’ he said eventually, ‘then I will hear your answer. Use them wisely, Kafir.’ He turned his horse and re-joined his lancers at the far end of the plateau.
Gerald turned to his men.
‘Listen to me,’ he said urgently, ‘you heard what he had to say. To surrender means torture and a short life in a stinking jail, yet to fight against such odds invites certain death.’
‘God is on our side,’ growled a voice, ‘and our lives will be dearly sold. I say let them come.’ Several others added their agreement.
‘I respect your valour,’ said Gerald, ‘but to die needlessly is a sin. We cannot prevail by staying here and we cannot retreat, but there is another way.’ He pointed toward where the Saracen lancers were reforming for a second assault. ‘Beyond them, there is a cliff edge that drops away to a slope leading to the plains. If we can get there we can risk the fall and use the cover to make our way back to the king’s column. It is impassable to horses but at least some of us may survive to fight at Ashkelon.
‘What about the wounded?’ asked another knight. ‘Surely we cannot leave them here?’
‘We have no other option,’ said Gerald, ‘they would not survive the fall and would hold up those of us who make it. We can only hope the Saracens have enough humanity to treat them well.’
‘You ask us to run from conflict,’ said the knight, ‘yet my code forbids such a thing.’
‘I ask only that you remember your oath to your king,’ said Gerald, ‘and he needs us to fight under the true cross. Don’t forget, Jerusalem itself is at risk and that is far more important than fleeting glory and a bloody death.’
‘I will not flee,’ said the knight eventually. ‘I will stay and fight.’
Gerald turned to the other men.
‘Who else chooses death before loyalty?’
Another five stepped forward, much to Gerald’s annoyance. They were good men and would be needed at Ashkelon.
‘Is there nothing I can say to change your minds?’
‘I will die before I flee,’ said one and the others banged their swords against their shields in a sign of assent.
‘In that case, I ask a boon,’ said Gerald. ‘In a moment, their cavalry will attack again, and I ask that you form the first line of defence. If you can disrupt their advance for even a moment, we have a chance to break through to the cliff. Will you do that?’
‘Aye,’ came the reply.
‘And I will lead them,’ said Robert stepping forward.
‘You should come with me,’ said Gerald, ‘the king will expect it.’
‘I will remain and lead those who sacrifice themselves in the greater cause,’ said Robert, ‘it was my misjudgement that got us into this mess, so it is the least I can do.’
‘You will not survive,’ said Gerald.
‘My decision is made,’ said Robert. ‘I stay behind.’
‘So be it,’ said Gerald and turned to the remainder of his men.
‘Look to your weapons, my friends, and prepare to fight for your lives.’
----
Shirkuh ad-Dun looked over at the surrounded Christians in the centre of the plateau. His comrade rode up and reined in his horse beside him.
‘It looks like your offer was not accepted,’ he said, watching as a group of heavily armoured knights emerged from the group to present a shield wall facing the Saracens.
‘Then their commander is a foolish man,’ replied Shirkuh ad-Dun, ‘and they will die where they stand.’
‘Does not Salah ad-Dun want them taken alive?’
‘He does but at minimal cost. Their capture would have been a great prize but there will be others of equal value.’
‘Shall I give the order for our archers to cut them down?’
‘No, their heavy armour and shields will protect them against most of our arrows. Wait until their position has been broken by our lancers and then send in the foot soldiers.’ He lifted his lance so it was visible to all the Saracen cavalry.
‘Ayyubid, ‘he roared, ‘for Salah ad-Din, advance.’
‘Allahu Akbar,’ roared the mounted warriors, and moments later, over a hundred horses thundered across the arid plateau towards the Christian position.
----
‘Here they come,’ roared Gerald, raising his sword into the air, ‘in the name of God Al
mighty, advance.’
Led by Robert of Essex and the other six knights who had sworn to fight to the death, every able man in Gerald’s patrol raced forward to engage the charging lancers head on. The tactic was totally unexpected by the Saracens, and as the two groups collided, the first of the heavily armoured knights dropped low to avoid the enemy lances, swinging their heavy swords to smash through the legs of the horses. Men and beasts fell to the floor and Gerald’s knights fell upon them, cutting them apart with swords and axes. Some of the Saracen cavalry ploughed in amongst Gerald’s men but without the advantage of speed, their impact was minimal, and they were soon hauled to the ground and killed without mercy.
The initial contact had been brutal and three of the knights fighting alongside Sir Robert were now on the floor, either dead or dying with lances sticking out of their chests. Others had also fallen but Gerald knew they could not pause to offer any help.
‘Keep going,’ he roared and with renewed effort, they raced toward the cliff edge where only moments earlier, the Saracen lancers had mustered for an attack. They reached the edge and Gerald peered over, his heart sinking as he realised the drop was just too far for any man to survive.
‘My lord,’ shouted the scout, ‘over here.’
Gerald looked over and saw the part of the cliff face nearest the scout was covered with scrub. It wasn’t much but he knew it would aid a descent.
‘Lancers to the fore,’ shouted Gerald, ‘the rest of you, shield wall.’
His remaining knights turned to face the enemy now on the far side of the plateau as their comrades started to lower themselves over the cliff. The Saracen commander, knowing he would be unable to launch a mounted attack so close to the edge, ordered his foot soldiers to form up to fight the Christians at close quarter.
‘Hurry,’ shouted one of Gerald’s men, ‘they are coming.’
The last of the turcopoles disappeared from sight and he finally ordered the last of his knights to follow them down before turning to see Sir Robert and three other knights still standing and facing the enemy.
‘Sir Robert,’ he shouted, ‘come there is still time.’
‘I told you,’ replied the young knight, ‘I am staying here with these men.’