by K. M. Ashman
He looked again down into the valley, absorbing the vastness of the forces amassed there. Even if the boy was wrong, and the coastal cities were indeed the target, the overwhelming numbers were certainly in excess of those needed to achieve victory.
‘We have to find out more,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘We have to go down there.’
Hassan’s face fell. To go so close to an Ayyubid camp invited almost certain capture.
‘My lord,’ he said eventually. ‘If we were to climb down this hill we would not get halfway without being discovered.’
‘I have no choice, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘we need to find out more.’
‘If it is unavoidable, then let it be me who goes,’ replied the boy. ‘I am as agile as a mountain goat, whilst you, my lord, often bears the traits of a camel amongst the rocks and will be heard at a thousand paces.’
Cronin looked at the boy, knowing that he made perfect sense. His own muscular frame and unfamiliarity with the terrain meant he often stumbled along the hidden paths whilst the boy still had the lightness and flexibility of youth.
‘I will not be caught,’ continued Hassan, ‘and will be back before dawn.’
‘And if you are caught?’
‘I will say I am a goatherd looking for my flock. If I am not back by the time the sun rises, you must flee from this place as fast as you can and seek the safety of one of your castles.’
‘It sounds like our roles have been reversed,’ said Cronin, ‘and it is now you who is the master and me the squire.’
‘I am no squire, my lord,’ said Hassan, ‘just your humble servant.’
Cronin realised he had no other option. To approach the camp risked almost certain capture for little reward. Besides, he could not speak any of the eastern languages whereas the boy could understand most dialects of Arabic.
‘Be careful,’ he said eventually’ and be back by dawn. I cannot wait any longer. This information is too important not to reach the ears of the Grand Master.’
‘I understand,’ said Hassan. ‘What is it that you wish me to find out?’
‘Anything you can,’ said Cronin, ‘who they are, their strengths, their weaponry, any knowledge is useful, but in particular, any clue as to what their true intentions are.’
Hassan swallowed hard, realising just how difficult his task was going to be.
‘Be careful, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘and take no risks. I need you back here to lead the way back over the mountains.’
‘I will be as silent as a desert spider,’ said Hassan. ‘Now I must go for there is little time left before the sun returns.’
Cronin watched the boy disappear into the darkness before turning his attention back on the camp below. There was little he could do now except wait.
----
Hassan crept down the hillside and onto the dusty floor of the valley. The nearest tents were several hundred paces away and there was sparse vegetation for cover, but he knew he had to get as close as he could. Seeing no sentries, he crouched low and ran as quickly as he could across the desert floor, finally stopping alongside the nearest tent.
His heart raced, and he could hear the snores of several men inside. Eventually, he caught his breath and peered around the side of the tent. This part of the camp was quieter with few fires lit but as he watched, a spear wielding sentry walked past, causing Hassan to duck back in the shadows.
He swallowed hard but knowing there was little time, got to his feet and ran to the next tent. Again, he was met with the sound of sleeping men and he cursed silently, knowing that if he was to learn anything, he had to get close to someone who was awake. He looked up and a few rows away could see the glow of a large fire and the shapes of several men sat around it.
It was dangerous but talking men often had loose tongues and he knew that was where he had to go. After checking for sentries again, he got to his feet and ran towards the fire, flitting between the tents and using their shadows for cover. A few moments later he lay flat on the ground with only one shelter between him and the fire. Outside the tent, he could see a rack of spears and a water skin hanging from a tripod. He crawled forward until there was only open space between him and the men around the fire but though they were all talking amongst themselves, he struggled to hear any of the detail.
Frustrated he lay in the shadows, wondering what else he could do but as he watched, a boy of a similar age, dressed only in a loincloth and sandals, walked directly up to the men bearing a platter of bread.
The men each took a loaf before one waved him away and they continued their conversation.
An idea formed in Hassan’s mind and deciding to act before he could change his mind, he immediately discarded his thawb and got to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the water skin from the tripod and stepped out of the shadows, heading straight toward the Saracen warriors.
----
Unbeknownst to Hassan, only a few hundred paces away, Saladin himself walked through the same camp accompanied by Taqi ad-Din. Before and behind them walked a hundred Mamluk bodyguards, ensuring nobody approached within twenty paces of the Sultan and as they passed, anyone seeing Saladin immediately fell to their knees, kissing the ground, murmuring salutations as he passed.
‘It has been a demanding day,’ said Saladin as they walked. ‘What this place gives with one hand, it takes with another.’
‘You have truly endowed us with a massive advantage,’ said Taqi, ‘to muster such an army under the noses of the Christians is a feat worthy of the greatest of men.’
‘Yet it is all I can do to keep them fed and watered,’ said Saladin. ‘The quicker we can leave this place the better it will be.’
‘Our scouts report that the Franks have taken the bait,’ said Taqi, ‘and already fortify the cities of Gaza and Ashkelon. A few more days and they will be chasing shadows in the south while we seek the greater prize.’
‘How do my armies fare?’
‘We have over a thousand men roaming the coastal plains from Acre down to the borders of Egypt. Each patrol ensures that they are seen or at least leave evidence behind them wherever they go. They create the illusion that we are scouting the lands ready to invade from the south. Even the villages abound with rumours that your attack on the coastal cities is imminent.’
‘In that case, perhaps we should increase the illusion.’
‘In what way?’
‘Send a force to attack Gaza. Task them with placing the city under siege to strengthen the idea it is there that my focus lays.’
‘How many men, my lord?’
‘Five thousand only.’
‘A force that small will not bring down Gaza, my lord.’
‘I know, and that is not their purpose. It is one of containment and harassment only. While the Christians skirmish with our men, our main army can leave this place without risking being discovered by roaming patrols. By the time news of our advance reaches the Christian King, the streets of Jerusalem will already be swarming with our men.’
‘So, are we to start the advance soon?’
‘To wait much longer risks Baldwin’s army arriving from the north. Tell our warriors to prepare. The time is upon us.’
‘It is a plan worthy of greatness,’ said Taqi.
‘Now leave me,’ said Saladin. ‘I wish to be alone with my thoughts.’
‘As you wish, my lord,’ said Taqi, and stopped to allow the Sultan to continue alone.
----
Near the edge of the camp, Hassan walked towards the fire. He knew he risked everything for if all the slaves were known to these men then he would immediately be identified as an outsider and taken prisoner. As he approached he started to hear the conversation and was relieved to hear they were talking in a dialect he could understand.
‘The thing is,’ said one of the men to his comrades as Hassan approached, ‘they are indeed a formidable foe when their ranks are closed, and they charge as one, but once they have been dispers
ed they are no better than you or I.’
‘You misunderstand my meaning,’ said his comrade. ‘What I am saying is what they lose in mobility by wearing such heavy armour is gained by the protection it serves. I have seen their knights continuing to fight with many arrows hanging from their gambesons for our arrows have not penetrated through to their flesh. Would we not also benefit from such protection?’
‘The Sultan’s knights wear chainmail,’ said a third man, ‘why would we as lancers need such encumberment?’
The conversation went on as Hassan reached the men. The nearest turned to stare at him and Hassan’s blood ran cold.
‘Did I not just send you away?’ he snarled. ‘Be gone.’
‘I thought you may be thirsty,’ said Hassan holding up the waterskin.
‘We need no water,’ said the man, ‘now leave us alone.’
‘Wait,’ said the second man. ‘I will take some.’
Hassan walked over and gave the man the leather cup hanging from the waterskin. His hands shook, and he overfilled the cup, pouring just as much onto the floor.
‘Be careful,’ shouted the man and slapped Hassan across the face, sending him crashing to the ground, spilling even more.
‘Are you an imbecile?’ shouted the warrior, ‘water is hard enough to come by and you waste it as if we are camped near a river.’ He lashed out with his boot, kicking Hassan in the ribs.
‘Leave him be,’ said one of the other men, ‘he is just a boy.’
‘He is a slave and should know better,’ said the first man. ‘Perhaps I should remind him of his position here. He walked over to a nearby pile of brushwood and retrieved a thin branch before walking back to the fire swishing it through the air like a sword.’
‘On your knees,’ he shouted, and Hassan looked up with fear.
‘I said on your knees,’ shouted the man again and Hassan shuffled into an upright position.
‘I reckon you wasted about ten cups of water,’ said the warrior, ‘so your punishment will match the crime, one blow for each cup.’ Without warning he lashed out with the switch, cutting deep into the bare flesh on Hassan’s back, sending the boy gasping in pain to the floor.
‘Get up,’ snarled the man, ‘or I will double the number of blows.’
Hassan raised himself to his knees and grimaced as he waited for the second blow. Again the switch flew through the air, cutting into Hassan’s flesh.
‘That’s better,’ said the man as Hassan struggled to stay on his knees, ‘now let’s get this done.’ A third strike sent Hassan collapsing to the ground again, raising the warrior’s ire.
‘I told you to stay up,’ he shouted, and he lashed out with his boot, kicking Hassan in the ribs again.
Hassan knew he had to do something or he would probably die right there but with ten men watching the beating unfold, he knew he was powerless. He closed his eyes and prayed silently, tensing for the next blow but before it landed, a voice called out from between the tents, temporarily ending his torture.
‘Shareef, what goes on here?’
The warrior immediately dropped the cane and fell to his knees, his forehead touching the ground.
‘My lord Taqi ad-Din,’ he said, lifting his upper body up and touching his hand to his heart and lips, ‘As-Salamu-Alaykum.’
‘Wa-Alaykum-Salaam,’ replied the commander, ‘get to your feet.’
Shareef stood up and faced his commanding officer.
‘Tell me why you are beating this boy,’ said Taqi.
‘My lord, he wasted water, so I administered a punishment.’
‘How much water?’
‘Ten cups.’
‘And how many lashes have you given him?’
‘Three of ten, my lord.’
‘Three is adequate. Let him seek aid for his wounds. Our slaves need to be strong and healthy to serve us well, not injured for petty mistakes.’
‘As you wish, my lord,’ said Shareef.
‘The rest of you,’ said Taqi turning to see the rest of the men still bowing towards him by the fire, ‘get some sleep for tomorrow we strike camp and there will be little rest until we reach Jerusalem. Pass the word to all in your unit.’
‘As you wish, my lord,’ came the replies.
Taqi turned and walked away, leaving Shareef and his men staring after him.
‘It looks like Saladin has committed to the attack,’ said one.
‘And not a minute too soon,’ said Shareef. ‘Every second the Franks stay in Jerusalem stains it even more. I look forward to the day we hang them all from the city walls.’
‘As do I,’ said the first man, ‘but we should do as the commander says and get some rest. Tomorrow we will be busy preparing the horses and weapons.
Each got to their feet and dispersed back to their tents but Shareef turned, deciding to give the slave one more kick before he left, but he was too late, Hassan had gone.
----
Dawn was almost breaking when Hassan stumbled back into their makeshift camp, collapsing into the sergeant’s arms with exhaustion.
‘Hassan,’ gasped Cronin, ‘what have they done to you?’
‘Nothing more than a beating,’ said Hassan weakly, ‘our Lord Jesus suffered more. I just need some rest.’
Cronin saw the blood seeping through the boy’s thawb and lifted it up tom see the injuries.
‘It looks painful,’ he said but the wounds have not penetrated past your flesh.’ He reached for the water skin and drizzled it on Hassan’s back to clear away the dust. You will need Aloe on that, but we have none. We’ll have to find some on the way back. Can you ride?’
‘I can,’ said Hassan, donning his thawb again, ‘but first I have news.’
‘What did you learn?’
‘My lord, I do not believe Saladin makes Gaza or Ashkelon his target. I heard only mention of Jerusalem. Twice it was said, and the army below is preparing to leave.’
Cronin’s face fell, and he looked at Hassan with a look of horror on his face.
‘Master,’ said Hassan, ‘what is it?’
The sergeant dropped to his knees and smoothed out a large piece of dusty ground before using his knife to draw an image representing a crude map of the Holy Land.
‘Hassan,’ he said, dragging his knife in the dust, ‘if this is the sea and these lines represent the mountains. Show me where we are in relation to Gaza.’
Hassan lowered himself gingerly to his knees and taking the knife, drew an elongated oval shape on the eastern side of the mountains.
‘This is the Maktesh Ramon,’ he said, ‘and this is where we are now.’ He drew a cross on the western edge of the oval.
‘Show me Gaza,’ said Cronin.
Hassan put a stone alongside the sea at the lower edge of the map.
‘And Ashkelon?’
Hassan put another stone bit further up the coast from Gaza.
‘So, we are approximately in line with Ashkelon?’
‘We are my lord. If Gaza is Saladin’s target, he would have to cross the mountains and then head south west back down the coast towards Egypt.
‘Where is Jerusalem?’ asked Cronin and watched as Hassan placed a larger stone on the drawing to depict the holy city.
Cronin fell silent and stared in horror. If Hassan’s map was anywhere near to scale, the distance to Jerusalem from Saladin’s camp was less than the distance to Gaza.
‘He has tricked us all,’ he said eventually. His designs on Gaza are no more than a ruse designed to draw our forces south, so he can get behind them and campaign unhindered northward.’ He looked up at Hassan with concern in his eyes. ‘He’s going straight for Jerusalem and there is nothing we can do to stop him.’
‘My lord,’ said Hassan, staring at Cronin’s worried face. ‘I see you bear great concern.’
‘Indeed I do,’ said Cronin. ‘Even if we head back now, Saladin’s army will be right on our heels. Jerusalem needs time to muster her defences and even if we get there in time, I am a singl
e soldier unknown to the king with an unlikely tale of imminent invasion.’
‘But you are a soldier of the Templar order. Does that not carry any importance?’
‘If I was a knight, perhaps but don’t forget, I am new to this country and have already lost a precious package from the pope himself. What credibility can I offer and besides, even if I get an audience with the king, stories of Saladin’s imminent invasion are as common as English raindrops. Who is to say that I will be believed?’
‘But I heard them with my own ears.’
‘To them, you are no more than an Arab boy and unlikely to believed.’
‘Would it help if the tale was to come from a Templar knight?’
‘Aye it would, but most are in Gaza under the command of the Grand Master. By the time we got there, and his messengers rode for Jerusalem it would be too late.’
‘But are there not Templars at Blancheguarde Castle?’
‘I believe so, but again it is out of the way and we do not have the time. By the time we reach Blancheguarde Saladin will be at the gates of Jerusalem.’
‘My lord, there is something you do not understand,’ said Hassan picking up the knife again, ‘let me show you.’
Cronin looked down to the map and waited as Hassan again drew in the dust.
‘This is Blancheguarde castle,’ said Hassan, scratching a cross on the makeshift map, ‘three day’s ride northwest. It guards the trading route to Jerusalem so if Saladin wishes to advance, he has to pass that way.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Cronin, ‘why would the Ayyubid first go towards the coast before heading north. Surely the direct route will be three times as quick?’
‘Because that way lies the western edge of the Negev desert and it will be too difficult for even Saladin to cross.’
‘But your people do it all the time.’
‘Yes, but they travel in small groups and pull no carts. Saladin leads a huge army and they would be weighed down just by the weight of water needed to survive. By the time he got anywhere near Jerusalem his army would be vastly diminished.’
‘So, they have to cross the same mountains as us and then head north past Beersheba towards Blancheguarde?’