Templar Steel

by K. M. Ashman

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  Baldwin IV walked through the ranks of soldiers to where William of Tyre and the Bishop of Bethlehem were waiting beneath the true cross. The king wore his full battle chainmail covered with a surcoat bearing the emblem of Jerusalem. His sword hung in a scabbard from his belt and on his head, he wore a full battle helmet with a copy of the crown fixed upon it.

  He came to a stop beneath the relic and raised his bandaged arms to remove his helmet, handing it to one of the men at his side. Looking up he saw the magnificent golden cross silhouetted against the morning sky and he fell to his knees, knowing that at its heart was the sliver of wood that had once touched the flesh of Jesus Christ himself. All around him, many more men removed their helmets and knelt to join the king in prayer.

  ‘Almighty father,’ said Baldwin, ‘hear our prayer. This day you have set us a task against a formidable army, yet our burden is as nothing when compared to that borne by your son, our lord Jesus Christ. Grant us this day his strength that we may do your will and the humility to know that when we strike our foes, we do so in your name only, for Jerusalem and to your glory. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ replied the men surrounding the king and everyone got to their feet.

  Baldwin climbed up onto the boulder where he had sat earlier that day and turned to face the army.

  ‘Men of Jerusalem,’ he called, his voice raised to reach as far as he could, ‘it has been a long campaign against a cunning foe, but at last our own fate and the fate of Jerusalem is in our own hands. We were offered terms by Saladin this very morn, but it was a sacrifice too far and meant relinquishing access to Jerusalem to any vagrant who wished to enter the city. You will know by now that we rejected his terms and as such, now face conflict to decide who rides through the gates of Jerusalem as victors, Christians or Saracens.’

  He looked around the faces of the men and knew every single one of them would die before seeing the holy city fall.

  ‘In a few moments,’ continued the king, ‘we will ride down and show this Saracen army what it is like when God is on your side. Do not be afraid. Their numbers seem like ants upon the ground but like ants, they can be crushed beneath the foot of a stronger beast.’ He looked around again and raised his voice higher. ‘Today, we are that beast.’

  The men roared back in agreement.

  ‘And today,’ continued the king, ‘Saladin will be crushed beneath men guided by the hand of God himself.’

  Again the men roared their approval but before the Baldwin could continue, a commotion at the back of the lines caused him to pause and stare back up the hill.

  ‘Clear a path,’ shouted a voice and as the lines parted, Baldwin could see an enormous knight, wearing a white surcoat adorned with a blood red cross ride through the lines to join him at the front of the army. The king stared in astonishment as the man dismounted and took a knee.

  ‘My king,’ said the knight eventually, ‘the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon are at your service.’

  ‘Grand Master Amand,’ said Baldwin, taken aback at the Templar knight’s unexpected arrival, ‘You got our message.’

  ‘We did,’ said Amand, ‘We breached the Saracen lines before riding as hard as we dared to be at your side.’

  ‘Stand, Grand Master,’ said the king, ‘for on this field we are all equals before God.’

  The Templar got to his feet and stared into the eyes of the king.

  ‘How many men have you brought?’ asked Baldwin.

  ‘Fifty knights supported by a hundred sergeants and three hundred lancers. They are watering their horses as we speak.’

  ‘And your brother knights, are they fit and able to fight?’

  ‘With all our hearts,’ said Amand, ‘and if it pleases the king, we beg leave to lead the charge. We are filled with God’s strength and know our mounts well. They are strong, and we have ridden them sparingly during the darkness to ensure they remain ready for the fray.’

  ‘Fifty men will not be a wide enough front,’ said Raynald next to the king.

  ‘Then let it be eighty,’ shouted a voice and again the crowd split to let a man through, another Templar knight adorned in exactly the same garments as the Grand Master.

  ‘Sir Redwood,’ said Amand, recognising the castellan of Blancheguarde, ‘well met. ‘

  The king stared again, surprised at yet another unexpected addition to his forces.

  ‘Sir Redwood,’ he said, ‘I thought I told you to remain at Blancheguarde.’

  ‘You did, my king,’ replied Redwood, ‘but I too received a message, borne by one of our own sergeants by the name of Thomas Cronin. He had seen Saladin’s camp for himself and risked his life to bring us the warnings.’

  ‘I know of this man,’ said the king, ‘for it was he who is responsible for us understanding Saladin’s true focus. When this is over, God willing, I will give him audience to bestow my personal thanks.’

  ‘He is a good man,’ said Sir Redwood, ‘and when he told us of the risk, I sent out my own scouts to find out if it was true. Upon their return they reported the strength of the army facing you I judged we would be better utilised here. If I was wrong, I will accept your judgement.’

  ‘How many men do you have?’

  ‘Thirty brother knights and another hundred lancers. With these, I suspect the vanguard will more than meet your needs.’

  Silence fell as the king looked between the two Templar knights. Their reputation in battle was second to none and he knew that if he was to succeed in defeating Saladin, then every sword arm would be desperately needed.

  ‘Assuming I agree,’ said the king, ‘what would be your strategy?’

  ‘We would do what we do best,’ replied Grand Master Amand, ‘and lead a charge directly into the heart of the enemy forces. While Sir Raynald here keeps the rest of the Saracen army busy, we will strike at its very heart.’

  ‘You will go after Saladin himself?’

  ‘Why not? Rip out the heart and the beast falls.’

  The king turned to Raynald.

  ‘What are your thoughts?’

  ‘I am the regent,’ said Raynald, ‘so the glory for the first assault should fall on me and my men.’

  ‘With respect, lord Raynald,’ interjected Amand, ‘the chances of you falling in the vanguard are very high and the king will need your military skill to guide his hand in the battle that follows. Let it be us brothers to force the breach while you follow up with the army.’

  ‘The Grand Master makes sense,’ said Baldwin. ‘Your offer of leading the vanguard is noted but your skills will be far better utilised commanding our army. The Templars will form the spearhead while we will lead our own ranks.’ He turned back to the Grand Master. ‘You and your brother Templars will lead the charge. Get yourselves ready for there is no time to waste.’

  ‘Thank you, my king,’ said Amand and turned to walk away, closely followed by Sir Redwood.

  ‘Do you think they can do it?’ asked William at the king’s side.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Baldwin, ‘but if anyone can, then it is the Templars.’

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  Half an hour later the whole army assembled into their formations and to the sound of beating drums walked slowly down the hill to the flat plain below. A few hundred paces away, the Saracen army stood motionless, vast swathes of Ayyubid knights and infantry, confident that they had the numbers to defeat the Christians. At their head was Taqi ad-Din and Shirkuh ad-Din, their roles now to face the Christian army head on with the entire might of the Saracen forces.

  ‘It is a pretty thing they fight for,’ said Taqi, looking up at the true cross still positioned on the hill, ‘and when we take it from their dead hands I will melt it down to make a golden saddle for my best camel.’

  ‘They lay great store in such things,’ said Shirkuh, ‘and will not give it up easily. Concentrate on the battle, not the spoils.’ Both men fell silent as the Christian army reached the level plain and waited for everyth
ing to settle down. Finally, the dust cleared, and they stared across at the men they would soon meet at the end of a blade.

  ‘They already look defeated,’ said Taqi ad-Din, drawing his sword. ‘Just say the word and my men will finish them off.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Shirkuh, ‘something is happening.’

  As they watched, the Christian lines parted, and a column of large, heavily bearded mounted knights emerged to form a defensive line several paces in front of the main army. Each wore a white surcoat emblazoned with the blood red cross and rode a huge, heavily armoured war horse. Every knight bore an upright lance in one hand, adorned at the top with the fluttering pennants of the Templars.

  ‘I know of these men,’ said Shirkuh, ‘fearless warriors who do not know how to retreat or surrender.’

  ‘As long as they know how to die,’ said Taqi, ‘then their purpose will be fulfilled.’

  As they watched, the Templars formed a single line abreast and closed ranks until each knight was tight to the one on either side.

  ‘An impressive sight,’ said Taqi, ‘but they will not survive an attack by our massed cavalry. I will prepare the men.’

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  Up on the hill, Sir Gerald stood alongside William of Tyre beneath the true cross, his left arm still in a sling from the injuries he sustained back on the Ashkelon plains. Alongside them stood Cronin and Hassan, each watching the events unfold as the two armies manoeuvred into position.

  ‘It is a momentous day,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘and one way or the other the future of Jerusalem will be settled by sunset.’

  ‘It is just as well you arrived at Ashkelon when you did,’ said William, ‘else we would still be crouched behind the city walls waiting for an attack that would never come.’

  ‘It is not me who should bear your praise,’ said Gerald, ‘but the men at my side. It is they who found Saladin’s camp and found their way back to warn the king.’

  ‘You have the gratitude of every man in Christendom,’ said William, turning to face Cronin.

  ‘Don’t forget James Hunter,’ said Cronin, ‘for he is the one who bore the message to the Templars at Gaza.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ asked William.

  ‘He has joined his comrades ready for the fight,’ said Gerald, ‘a role that I envy with all my heart.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he will avenge the deaths of his fellows while we stay up here doing nothing. We should be down there amongst our comrades.’

  ‘You would fight?’

  ‘Aye, I still have one good arm, but the king has ordered me to remain.’

  ‘The king is a good man,’ said William, ‘and thinks you have all done enough. But if there is fire in your soul and you truly believe God is summoning you to the fight, then who are we to deny his calling?’

  ‘To deny my king goes against every vow I have taken.’

  ‘God’s service outranks even the highest of kings,’ said William, ‘and I believe that today, Christianity has need of men like you. The battle is about to commence, so I suggest that whatever the outcome, by its end the king will have other things on his mind.’

  Sir Gerald paused momentarily before drawing his sword with his good arm and turning to the men at his side.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘are you coming?’

  Cronin turned to Hassan.

  ‘What of it, Hassan,’ he said, ‘are you ready to ride into your first battle?’

  The Bedouin boy reached beneath his thawb and produced the blade he had carried all the way from Acre.

  ‘I am ready to do God’s work, my lord,’ he replied, ‘whatever that may be.’

  Without further ado, Sir Gerald started to walk down the hill towards the rear of the army, closely followed by Hassan and Tom Cronin.

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  Eudes St Amand sat astride his warhorse in the centre of the Templar line. Alongside him on his right was Brother Tristan, Jakelin de Mailly and Benedict of York. On the other side were Brother Valmont, Brother Redwood, and Richard of Kent.

  The rest of the Templar line stretched away on both sides, every man waiting silently for the signal to advance. They were an impressive sight to men on both sides of the battlefield, eighty heavily armed warriors, strong in both faith and stature. Their heavy surcoats atop chainmail hauberks and quilted gambesons meant their bodies were well protected against the light arrows of the enemy archers and the full-faced heavy helmets over chainmail coifs protected their heads and necks. Most wore chainmail leggings strengthened with metal plates, along with studded gauntlets to protect their hands during battle.

  The horses too were heavily protected, each draped with heavy, quilted caparisons hanging low past their fetlocks, protecting them from enemy arrows and all but the strongest of sword blows.

  Wherever there was space on their customary white garb, the blood red cross was clearly emblazoned, pronouncing to the world, whether friend or foe that these were the Templars, and were to be feared.

  ‘So, at last you face the battle you so desperately desired,’ said De-Mailly to the man at his side. ‘I hope it does not disappoint.’

  ‘It is what I have prayed and trained for,’ said Sir Benedict, ‘and I swear I will not be found wanting.’

  ‘I’m sure you will not,’ said De-Mailly, ‘but I have one piece of advice if you want to survive this fight. Shelve any humanity you have and embrace the cruelty that all men hide deep within their hearts. Strike hard and fast without thought for those beneath your blade for to pause is to die. If you are lucky and God is with us, there will be time to repent later.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ said Benedict. ‘Your advice is well received.’

  Before they could continue, the Grand Master broke ranks and rode his horse out a few paces before turning to face his men.

  ‘Fellow knights,’ he called looking along the closely packed line, ‘brother Templars. Today we have been brought together by God’s grace and assemble in his name to prevent a great injustice.’ He started to walk his horse down the line, addressing his men as he went. ‘The enemy before you,’ he shouted pointing towards the Saracens, ‘those unbelievers, those defilers of women and killers of Christian children, would have us believe they are our equals and claim Jerusalem for their own God. Well we are here to deny them that privilege and send a message across the Outremer that Jerusalem is, and always will be a Christian city.’ He reined in his horse and looked along the lines before raising his voice, demanding a response. ‘And why are we doing this?’

  ‘God wills it,’ shouted his command in reply.

  ‘Yes, God wills it,’ shouted Amand, turning his horse to head back the other way. ‘That army before you may look numerous, but they are nothing before the hooves of our chargers because never forget, you are God’s chosen warriors and when we ride, they will fall to his wrath. Again he stopped and looked towards the waiting Templar line. ‘Why will they fall?’

  ‘God wills it,’ roared his men again, the response even louder than before.

  ‘Yes, God wills it,’ shouted Amand, ‘and I will tell you why.’ He turned to point at the Saracen army again. ‘At the heart of the beast is the one man responsible for all the pain and fear felt by the innocents of these lands. Kill him and not just Jerusalem but the whole of the Outremer will sleep easy at night. Cut him down and we end the Saracen’s claim to Jerusalem once and for all and if you fall, let it be with God’s name on your lips. So tell me again and this time, let the angels themselves hear you retort. Why will we fight and die for Jerusalem?’

  ‘God wills it,’ roared the men again at the top of their voices.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Amand, ‘God …wills… it.’

  He turned his horse one more time and resumed his place in the line.

  ‘Make ready,’ he shouted, and every knight donned their helmets as they waited for the final command. Even the horses pawed the ground in anticipation as the Grand Master lifted the face plate on his own helmet and drew his sword.


  ‘Brother Templars,’ he shouted, raising the sword high above his head, ‘for God, Jerusalem and for the king… advaaance!’

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  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Battle for Montgisard

  November 25th

  AD 1177

  ‘What are they doing?’ gasped Taqi at the front of the Saracen lines, ‘they are no more than a hundred and we have twenty thousand at our call. They ride to their certain deaths.’

  ‘Do not be so quick to dismiss them,’ shouted Shirkuh, struggling to control his own horse, ‘I have seen these men fight and they have no equal.’ He turned to his own lines. ‘Present shields,’ he roared, ‘prepare to defend the lines.’

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  The single rank of Templar Cavalry trotted toward the vast Saracen army, each keeping their place in the tightly packed line.

  ‘Present lances,’ shouted Amand and as every knight removed their heavy weapons from their sockets to couch them beneath their arms, the pace automatically increased to a canter.

  With only a few hundred paces to go, the Grand Master said a silent prayer before giving gave the last order.

  ‘Hold the line,’ he roared, as the pace increased, ‘present shields. Brother Templars, in the name of God almighty…chaaarge!’

  The line of Templars spurred their horses to a gallop and within moments, eighty of the best, heavily armoured knights in the Holy land thundered towards the vast Saracen army.

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  ‘Prepare to advance,’ shouted Raynald from the front rank of the main army a few hundred paces behind the Templars, ‘men of Jerusalem, forward.’

  Almost five thousand horsemen, knights, lancers and turcopoles spurred their horses to follow the Templars into battle. Behind them came the heavily armed infantry, another five thousand foot-soldiers bearing a vast array of weapons designed for mutilation and slaughter. Each man roared their battle cries as they ran, their whole being focused on one thing only, the killing of the men facing them across the battlefield. And as they raced towards death or glory, each knew there would be no quarter asked or given…not this day.