by Hilary Green
The following day Robert of Normandy came to where Godfrey was conferring with Gaston. Ranulph was in attendance, since the southerner and the northerner still found difficulty in understanding each other.
‘One of my men is a falconer. He has noticed pigeons flying in and out of the citadel, so today he flew one of his birds and brought one down. This was strapped to its leg.’
He handed a small scroll to Godfrey who glanced at it and passed it Ranulph. ‘What does it say?’
Ranulph scrutinised the tiny characters and gave a brief, mirthless laugh. ‘Al-afdal tells Iftikhar that he has no need to worry, because we Franks are drunkards, lacking in discipline and so divided that we will never agree to a concerted attack.’
Godfrey frowned. ‘Drunkards? No. Would that we had the means to make that even half true! And not lacking in discipline. But divided … There al-Afdal’s spies tell him true. Robert, call a meeting of the council – and make sure Tancred attends.’
When the leaders had assembled Godfrey told them about the contents of the message and then turned to Tancred. ‘We know that al-Afdal is only days away. This is no time to stand on a point of honour. If we are to take Jerusalem we must all attack together. The siege towers are ready. You must make your peace with Count Raymond. If it means lowering your flag over Bethlehem then so be it. We can discuss the final arrangements when the main prize is ours. The fate of the whole enterprise is in your hands.’
Tancred looked from one to another. Then he nodded. ‘Very well. I will ride over to Raymond’s camp tomorrow. If he will apologise, I will take down my standard.’
In the event, a new occurrence meant that the reconciliation had to be postponed. A monk named Peter Desiderius had stepped into the void left by the other Peter, Bartholomew, and begun to report visions. He was Provençal and therefore one of Raymond’s men, but he also had the support of Arnulf of Chocques and he now declared that God had told him that if they were to fast for three days and then process barefoot round the city, as Joshua had done at Jericho, the city would fall. So once again they fasted, and on the third day a great procession formed up, led by Peter and Arnulf bearing crosses and followed by the whole army, knights and footsoldiers alike, barefoot and dressed as penitents. They set off, circling the city just out of bow shot, singing psalms, while the defenders congregated on the walls, jeering and hooting and displaying wooden crosses, which they spat and urinated on. Ranulph trudged along with the rest, but he found it increasingly difficult to join in the prevailing mood of religious fervour. The stones hurt his feet and it was hard to think straight. He found himself asking whether a wise, all-seeing God could really regard this as a sensible way to prepare for a battle; then he felt a hot flush of guilt at the blasphemy.
When the procession reached the Mount of Olives they halted to listen to homilies from Peter and Arnulf and then, to general relief, Raymond and Tancred stepped forward and exchanged the formal kiss of peace. The assembled troops dispersed to their various camps, to prepare for the battle to come.
16.
‘The moment has come,’ Godfrey said, ‘to explain our plans for the coming attack.’
On the table before them was a large sheet of parchment on which Gaston had drawn a plan of the defences of the Holy City.
‘We have constructed our siege tower here,’ Godfrey went on, ‘opposite this building which we have called the Quadrangular Tower, from its shape. It is one of the strongest points in the defences. The Egyptians have seen what we are doing and have reinforced the walls here and concentrated their forces in that area. But here, to the north, the walls are lower and the defences weaker. Today we shall make a show of preparing for battle. Tonight, under cover of darkness, we shall dismantle the tower and re-erect it here, between the Damascus Gate and Herod’s Gate. With the dawn the men inside the city will find themselves facing an assault from a totally unexpected point.’
There was a general gasp of amazement and incredulity. ‘Can it be done?’ Robert of Flanders asked. ‘In the space of one night?’
‘It can, thanks to the ingenuity of our engineer here,’ Godfrey responded, slapping Gaston on the shoulder. ‘The whole structure has been built in sections. Gaston will explain how it works.’
Ranulph’s respect for his new leader was growing by the day. At first sight, when they had met outside Constantinople, he had seemed an unlikely warrior. Slim built, almost boyish looking, with fine, handsome features, he had thought he looked more suited to strumming a lyre in a lady’s chamber than to the battlefield; but he had soon had to revise his opinion. He had proved himself a man of great courage and one of the most consistent strategists among the princes. He lacked Bohemond’s talent for inspiring speeches; but then he also lacked his greed for booty.
All day the army went through the usual preparations leading up to a full assault. The mangonels battered away at the Quadrangular Tower; archers kept up a steady rain of arrows, targeting anyone who showed himself above the battlements; equipment was moved into position. As night fell these activities ceased and the men withdrew to their camp fires. There was wood now, thanks to the expedition to the nearest forest, and the smell of cooking rose in the air. Most of them knew nothing of what was planned, but a chosen company snatched a hasty meal and then re-assembled silently around the base of the tower. As they did so, a stranger, dust-covered from a long ride, pushed his way into their midst.
‘Ranulph of Erbistock? I’m looking for someone of that name. Is he here?’
‘Here,’ Ranulph said. ‘Speak quietly!’
The man came to his side. ‘I’m glad to have found you, sir, before the attack begins. This message arrived by ship at Joppa this morning and I was told it was urgent.’
He handed Ranulph a sealed paper. Ranulph automatically put his hand to his belt where his purse usually hung, then remembered he had left it in his tent.
‘I thank you. Go to my tent – anyone will tell you where it is. Tell my page that I have sent you and my instructions are for you to be fed and given a bed for the night. When I return I will see that you are paid for your trouble.’ He hesitated, aware that this might be a promise he could not keep. ‘Tell him that if I am not back by nightfall he is to pay you from my purse. You are an honest man. You can name your price.’
The man thanked him and moved away. Ranulph looked at the letter. In the darkness it was impossible to recognise the handwriting on the outside, let alone to read the contents. But to strike a light would be to betray the presence of the men around him to watchers on the walls. He guessed it must be from Mariam, or possibly from Ibn Butlan. Possibly it brought news of the birth of his child; but surely it was too soon. He considered going back to his tent, where he could peruse the letter in private, but at that moment Gaston called softly, ‘Right, lads! Time to get to work.’ Ranulph hesitated a moment longer, then he folded the letter and thrust it down the neck of his hauberk, telling himself that there would be time enough to read it after the battle - or if he fell the contents would be of no further interest.
Ranulph shivered, and told himself the cause was the pre-dawn chill, not fear. Gaston’s plan had worked, so far at least. With a tremendous effort, the tower had been dismantled and rebuilt and now stood a short distance from the walls at the point Godfrey had indicated. Beside it stood a huge battering ram. The men who had gone into the forest had returned with a massive tree trunk, which had been mounted on a wheeled carriage. A team of the strongest men stood by to shove it forward when the word was given. Behind them, mangonels were ready with piles of boulders to be fired over the walls and archers were stringing their bows to give covering fire. As the light grew, Godfrey arrived, a cross-bow on his shoulder, with a small group of picked men and climbed to the platform at the top of the tower. Tancred followed with some of his closest companions. He paused and looked across to where Ranulph stood with Marc and summoned him with a jerk of his head.
‘You and me, hey, brother in Christ?’
Ranu
lph moved to him. ‘As you will, my lord.’
Tancred met his eyes. ‘Tancred will do – like in the cave.’
Ranulph nodded to Marc to join them and they mounted the steps into the tower and took their places on the lower platform. From above their heads Godfrey’s trumpeter sounded a single blast and in response the sergeant in charge of the ram shouted his orders. Peering down, Ranulph could see the men lay hold of the ram and hear them grunting with effort as they struggled to get it moving. For a second or two it seemed as if the weight would be too much for them, then the grunts changed to a yell of triumph as the the thing began to roll forward, gaining momentum as it went. There was a crash like a thunder clap and a section of the wall collapsed in an avalanche of stones.
From within they could hear screams and shouted orders and then pots belching flame were flung down onto the tree trunk.
‘Greek fire!’ Tancred exclaimed. ‘Damn them! Fetch water!’
‘No!’ Ranulph shouted over the growing din. ‘Water won’t help. There is only one way to put out Greek fire and that’s with vinegar.’
He was not alone in this knowledge. Gaston had prepared for this eventuality and barrels of vinegar were being hoisted into position, but before they could be upended over the burning ram Godfrey yelled, ‘No! Let it burn! It’s in our way now.’
Ranulph looked down and saw what he meant. The ram was now occupying the breech it had made in the walls and there was no way that such a huge weight could be extracted. Reducing it to ashes would allow the tower to be moved into position. The defenders had seen their mistake, too, and began to douse the fire with water, but this only made it burn more fiercely. Boulders fired by the mangonels were crashing into the wall on either side of the breech and into the defenders beyond, while showers of arrows flew from both directions. Above them, they could hear Godfrey urging his companions to reload and fire as fast as possible. Ranulph knew that he had taken the most exposed position and sent up a prayer for his safety. For the moment there was nothing that he and Tancred and the others with them could do but wait.
From the top of one of the nearby hills a light flashed briefly as the sun reflected on a shield.
‘That’s the signal to Raymond to start his attack,’ Tancred said. ‘Let’s hope he can create a diversion while we are stuck here.’
Ranulph decided the moment had come to voice a thought he had been waiting to express.
‘Tancred?’
‘Yes?’
‘No massacre this time. Not like Antioch. Let us at least behave to the ordinary people as Christians should.’
Tancred put his head on one side and looked at him ironically. ‘You know, if I hadn’t seen you fight I would have said you were too much of a monk for this undertaking. But you’ve shown me what Christian forbearance means. We’ll do our best.’
At last, the ram collapsed into a smouldering heap and Godfrey gave the order for the tower to be moved. Men shoved and strained on a system of ropes and pulleys and the whole creaking structure rolled forward. Tancred looked at Ranulph, the battle light in his eyes.
‘They call you Ironhand, don’t they?’
‘Among other things.’
‘Well, let’s see you live up to it now.’
There was a jolt as the base of the tower came up against what remained of the wall.
‘Now!’ Tancred shouted. The front of the platform where they stood was protected by a wattle screen but on his order two of his men shoved it outwards so that it formed a bridge and launched themselves across it. Ranulph knew them both, they were brothers, Ludolf and Engelbert, from the city of Tournai. Both were cut down within seconds, but by this time Tancred had leapt after them and Ranulph followed with Marc, as always, at his side and a dozen others behind them. Scaling ladders were thrown up against the walls and the rest of Tancred’s men, who had been waiting below, swarmed up them.
For Ranulph, the next minutes resolved themselves into the familiar rage of battle. Faces appeared, weapons flashed across his vision and were parried, he struck out and the faces disappeared. An arrow struck his hauberk like the kick of a mule and for a moment he could not breathe. Before he could recover, something crashed into his shield with such force that he almost dropped it. Then a weight hit him in the back and knocked him to the ground. He rolled over and found a man on top of him, grinning triumphantly, his scimitar raised to strike. He had lost his sword in the fall but he blocked the blow with his shield and jerked up his knee, catching his assailant in the stomach. The man gasped and rolled away and Ranulph scrambled to his feet. His sword lay nearby. He picked it up and swung round and decapitated the man who had attacked him as he struggled to rise.
Looking round, he found no new opponent to attack. The ground all round him was strewn with bodies, Franks and Egyptians, but the fighting had moved on. He saw Tancred ahead of him and ran to catch him up. In a wedge, with Tancred at the apex, they fought their way along a street until the opposition disintegrated in the noise of running feet, heading away. Abruptly, the street was empty. They ran on and came to a square. The houses around it were silent, doors and windows shuttered, but ahead of them they could see running figures, men, women and children, all heading in the same direction. An old man scuttled across in front of them and Tancred grabbed him by the shoulder.
‘Where are they going?’
‘The mosque!’ the old man gasped. ‘To seek sanctuary. But I’m a Christian! See! See!’ He produced a crucifix from inside his shirt.
Tancred pushed him away and waved to Ranulph and the rest to follow him.
They were running up hill now and Ranulph saw that they had reached the Temple Mount. Ahead was the façade of the mosque and beyond it a gilded dome, which he knew from his reading must shelter the rock from which Mohammed was supposed to have ascended into heaven. Tancred led the way into the mosque and came to a standstill. The vast interior was a forest of massive pillars. Sunlight filtered dimly through high windows but the place was full of shadows – shadows but nothing else, as far as they could see. There was a scurry of footsteps and a figure in the robes of an imam hurried away along one of the aisles. Tancred strode after him and grabbed him.
‘Where are they – the people who came here for shelter?’
The imam shook his head feebly and muttered something in Arabic. Tancred looked round for Ranulph.
‘Tell him if he doesn’t tell me where the people have gone I will drag it out of him along with his guts. Tell him these people are under my protection and as long as they behave themselves and remain here they will be safe.’
Ranulph rewarded him with a smile of gratitude and translated.
‘He says they have gone up onto the roof,’ he reported.
‘Very well.’ He beckoned his standard bearer forward. ‘Ranulph, here is my standard, as a sign that this place is under my control. Take a dozen men and stand guard here. Make sure no one enters and no one leaves. I am going to see what booty is to be found in the Dome.’
Ranulph chose his men, reluctant conscripts who saw their chance of loot diminishing, and posted them at strategic points around the building. He and Marc remained in the entrance porch, while Tancred disappeared in the direction of the Dome of the Rock with the rest of his men.
Marc gazed around him. ‘I can’t believe we’re here. We are actually in Jerusalem! Is the city ours?’
‘It’s too soon to say. From the sound of it there is still fighting going on. My guess is Iftikhar has withdrawn to the citadel. That’s Raymond’s side of the city. A lot depends on whether he has been able to fight his way in.’
‘We haven’t seen much sign of him yet.’
‘True.’ Ranulph stirred restlessly. He was becoming aware of a sharp pain in his ribs where the arrow had struck him, one of his legs was hurting from where he had fallen and his cheek stung. He rubbed his hand across it and it came away bloody. ‘Damn Tancred and his lust for booty! We should be heading for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, not standing
outside a mosque.’
From somewhere across the city they heard a crash then a roar, like distant thunder.
‘What in heaven’s name …?’ Marc exclaimed.
Tancred reappeared, with clinking sack on his shoulder. ‘Sounds as if St Gilles and his men have finally decided to join us. He’s a bit late if he wants his pick of the loot.’ He gave rapid orders, relieving the guards on the mosque and setting new ones. The men relieved sloped off, looking for what pickings were left, and Tancred turned back to Ranulph. ‘We can leave the Provençals to deal with the citadel. What’s over in that direction?’
Ranulph strove to recall the maps he had studied back in Antioch. ‘I think that is the Muristan, the market. It’s in the Christian quarter. That’s where we should be.’
‘Come on, then,’ Tancred said. ‘Let’s go and see what the situation is.’
He called his men to follow and they set off through the narrow, winding streets. It was soon apparent that other attackers had not been as merciful as Tancred. Bodies lay everywhere and the stones of the roadway were slick with blood. Already small groups of Frankish soldiers were beating in doors and the sound of screams and the sobbing of children filled the air. The fighting was almost over. Here and there the last defenders were being bludgeoned into surrender but there was no need for Ranulph to draw his sword.
In the square in front of a church they met Godfrey, a rough bandage around his head instead of his helmet, a grin of triumph on his face. He threw an arm round Tancred’s shoulders and slapped Ranulph on the arm.
‘It’s done! Praise be to God, we are victorious and Jerusalem is free! Let us go into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and give thanks.’
‘Is this the place?’ Ranulph asked, breathlessly. Suddenly, in the middle of the noise and the slaughter, the world seemed to stand still. After three years of danger and hardship he was on the threshold of the place he had dreamed of seeing, the scene of Christ’s suffering and resurrection. He started forward and was stopped by the sound of running feet and someone shouting Tancred’s name.