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  ‘As do I,’ said Baldwin and turned to the scribe. ‘Before you document what went on here today, I want you to draft a message to Eudes de St Amand in Acre. Tell him that he is needed in Gaza, he and every Templar knight he can muster.’

  ----

  Chapter Six

  Acre Castle

  November 3rd

  AD 1177

  Eudes de St. Amand strode into the Templar hall and waited as the subdued talk fell away. There were almost seventy men present in all, thirty Templar Knights, sixty sergeants, and the few clergy dedicated to the spiritual welfare of the order waiting to see why they had been summoned. Those who looked after the administration and business of the order were stationed in other quarters but this morning, the briefing was for the main members only.

  ‘Brothers,’ he said eventually, ‘I trust you slept well and have broken your fast. I have summoned you here to brief you on the current situation.’ He started to walk through the gathered men, talking as he went.

  ‘As you may be aware, Count Phillip of Alsace and his army recently sailed here to Acre with intending to join forces with King Baldwin and lead a campaign south into Egypt to extinguish the threat from the Ayyubid. He also made an arrangement with the Byzantine empire to launch a simultaneous naval attack on Egypt’s fleet. Some of you may have even seen the waiting ships out in the bay, over one hundred and fifty war galleys full of armed warriors waiting to take the fight to Saladin.’ He paused and looked around the room before continuing. ‘However, that alliance no longer exists. What is more, it seems that Phillip has fallen out of favour with the king and has now ridden north with his army to campaign alongside the principality of Antioch.’

  A murmur of surprise rippled around the room and he waited for a few moments before lifting his hand for silence.

  ‘I know,’ he said loudly, ‘that this may come as a shock to most but if I am to speak truthfully, many of us long suspected such a thing would happen as there has always been a suspicion that Phillip sought more than a peaceful border with Egypt, with some even suggesting that personal advancement and wealth was his main driving force.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ asked a voice from the back. ‘Were we not to join this crusade southward?’

  The Grand Master paused and filled a wooden tankard with fresh water from a goatskin before taking a few sips and continuing.

  ‘Indeed we were,’ he said eventually, ‘for there was talk of a great alliance, everyone committed to destroying the Ayyubid once and for all. However, in anticipation of our attack, it seems that Saladin has amassed a huge army to protect his borders, over ten thousand mounted warriors ready to protect Egypt. If the attack had gone ahead as planned I have no doubt that we would have emerged victorious but now the alliance has failed, it leaves us in a precarious position.’

  ‘Is Jerusalem at risk of attack the Ayyubid army?’ asked Richard of Kent.

  ‘That is the concern,’ answered the Grand Master. ‘Saladin now has the largest Saracen army anyone has seen in years and he is too astute a commander to let it disband while the blood races hot in their veins. It is only a matter of time before he hears that the alliance has faltered and when he does, the king fears he will take advantage.’

  ‘So, you think they may ride north from Egypt?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘Aye, we do and that means Jerusalem itself could be under threat.’

  Another murmur of unease spread through the hall.

  ‘So, do we ride to reinforce the holy city?’ asked one of the other Templars.

  ‘No,’ replied the master, ‘King Baldwin wants to wait until the threat is confirmed before recalling his army from Harim but in the meantime has asked us to ride south to Gaza. There we will join with others of our order and muster a sizeable force able to react to any movement into Jerusalem by the Ayyubid.’

  ‘How many brothers are already stationed there?’

  ‘Twenty knights in all,’ said Amand, ‘and approximately two hundred other men at arms. There is nothing saying Saladin will actually come, but if they do, our role will be to disrupt their advance, delaying them until King Baldwin can deploy his army in confrontation.’

  The hall fell silent again as each man contemplated the size of the task before them.

  ‘So,’ continued the Grand Master, ‘use today to gather and secure your equipment for tomorrow we ride to Gazza. We will head south along the coast and resupply at the castles in Caesarea, Jaffa, Ibelin and Ashkelon. Each is separated by no more than a few day’s riding allowing for good weather and there are several waterholes en route. We will bear full arms and have been allocated a unit of two hundred Turcopoles for the journey.’

  ‘Are you expecting trouble on the way?’ asked one of the knights.

  ‘We should always be prepared for trouble,’ said the Grand Master, ‘don’t forget, the Saracens see the Outremer as their lands and look upon us as the invaders. As such we are always under threat. So, are there any more questions?’

  He looked around the room. Every man there was highly trained and experienced in the ways of war. He knew that he need not outline the details of what was expected of them for even if the worst should happen and they were engaged by an enemy, their constant training and vast experience meant everyone would know exactly what to do at a moment’s notice.

  ‘Good,’ he continued when nothing was forthcoming, ‘in that case, use this day to prepare. I have sent for your squires and they will be here shortly. Have them ready your horses before first light on the morrow and before we ride out, we will gather in the church to thank God for his blessings.’

  The men broke into conversation as the Grandmaster and his two sergeants strode out of the hall. When he was gone, Sir Richard of Kent walked over to the two knights he had befriended on the ship over the previous few weeks.

  ‘Well it looks like we have arrived not a moment too soon,’ he said sitting on the table.

  ‘The sooner the better as far as I am concerned,’ said Sir Benedict, leaning back in his chair, ‘I came to the brotherhood to rid the Holy Lands of the heathen so am happy to meet them wherever and whenever they see fit. My sword is hungry for Saracen blood.’

  ‘Brave words for a man who has never faced a Saracen blade,’ said Jakelin de Mailly. ‘I suggest you reserve judgement until you actually face one in battle lest you are humbled before you get chance to do God’s work.’

  ‘And I suppose you have?’ asked Benedict.

  ‘Not as a Templar, but I served as a young knight in the forces of King Almaric seven years ago.’

  ‘You have been out here before?’ asked Sir Richard with surprise, ‘why did you not say previously?’

  ‘It is not a time that I am proud of,’ said Jakelin. ‘We were young men, full of bravado and the surety our position as knights brought. We sought honour and chivalry yet were no more than paid men directing our swords at whomever the king pointed.’

  ‘Mercenaries?’ suggested Benedict.

  ‘Aye. When first I accepted the role, I thought I would be doing God’s will but soon found that Almaric was like so many before him, putting self-gain before the needs of the pilgrims.’

  ‘So, you joined the brotherhood?’

  ‘Eventually yes. First, I had to travel back to my home town to seek absolution for my sins. I entered the monastery at Mont St Michel and spent three years as a monk before seeking permission to join the Knights Templar. I took the final vows six months ago and here I am again.’

  ‘So, have you fought the Saracens?’ asked Benedict.

  ‘I have,’ said Jakelin, ‘usually in skirmishes out in the desert and once in a pitched battle.’

  ‘And the very fact you are here amongst us suggests that you were victorious?’

  ‘We were,’ said Jakelin. ‘It was a bloody fight, and many fell but the day was ours.’

  ‘What are they like?’ asked Benedict.

  ‘Very skilled,’ said Jakelin, ‘and fearless in the fray. Man
y carry curved scimitars sharp enough to cleave an unarmoured man in half. Their horses are smaller yet hardier than ours and very mobile.’

  ‘Yet they are not our equals.’ suggested Benedict.

  ‘One on one, the skills are probably balanced,’ said Jakelin, ‘but it is the quality of our armour and tactics that gives us the advantage. There is little plate armour amongst the Saracens for they prefer cuirasses of leather or chainmail.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The reasoning is sounder than you may think,’ said Jakelin. ‘The lack of plate armour offers them more flexibility on horseback. This means they can ride amongst their enemies with the maximum of mobility. It is a good practise in the mayhem of open battle but against a solid knightly charge or at close quarters the tactic is rendered useless.’

  ‘So, what exactly was your role under King Almaric?’ asked Benedict.

  ‘We rode as enforcers,’ said Jakelin. ‘The king used us as a display of strength against anyone who dared argue against his decrees. The mere sight of a hundred fully armoured knights riding through their villages was usually enough incentive for most to bend the knee but as is often the case, the younger men sometimes saw fit to resist and it was they who paid the ultimate price.’

  ‘You killed civilians?’ asked Richard.

  ‘We did, and like I said, it is not a thing that brings me pride.’

  ‘Still,’ said Benedict, ‘the very fact you spent so much time here is an asset indeed. Your experience will be invaluable.’

  ‘My lords,’ called a voice from the doorway before Jakelin could reply, ‘your squires have arrived outside and await your instruction.’

  ‘We will talk more of this another time, Jakelin,’ said Benedict as everyone turned to leave, ‘for I would learn all there is to know.’

  ----

  Outside the courtyard Hassan peered around the gate pillar, straining to see what was happening. All day the place had been a hive of activity as knights and squires alike prepared their equipment and horses and he was desperate to learn what was happening.

  The past few days had been exciting for Hassan for although at first he had been ignored by those he had met on the docks, his persistence had finally paid dividends and recently they had softened their stance towards him. Even the squires had become friendlier and as his knowledge of the city and the traders became more apparent, he was beginning to be seen as an asset to those who lived within the Templar quarters. Often, he was sent on errands for the knights, in particular carrying messages to other orders within the city walls. Other times he was asked to simply report on the comings and goings as more ships arrived at the docks but usually, it was sourcing and supplying fresh meat and ale for the squires, a task requiring trust and secrecy in case their Templar masters found out and issued admonishments for their weakness.

  Hassan climbed up onto a cross-rail of the open gate and strained to see above the heads of the many men in the courtyard.

  ‘Master Tobias, over here,’ he called, waving at one of the squires. ‘Please, I would talk with you.’

  When it became obvious the squire had not heard him Hassan called out again, but it was fruitless. The noise in the busy courtyard was just too much and his voice was being drowned out. As he tried again, one of the gate guards walked over and dragged him from the rail.

  ‘Enough of your clamour, boy,’ he said, ‘these men have God’s work to prepare and have no time for beggars.’

  ‘I am no beggar, sir,’ said Hassan, ‘and need to talk to my friends.’

  ‘They are no friends of you or I,’ said the guard, ‘now get back to your hovel else I will give you a beating you will never forget.’ He pushed Hassan away from the gate, sending him sprawling into the dusty road.

  For a few moments, Hassan just lay there, his mind racing. He knew he had the favour of the Templar sergeants, especially Cronin, but if they were to leave Acre now, all the trust and respect he had garnered so carefully over the past few weeks would be for nought. Frustrated, he got to his feet, knowing full well he would have to do something drastic. He walked away, stopping in the doorway opposite to watch the comings and goings into the courtyard. Within the hour he had a plan and though it meant he could get into serious trouble, he knew it was his only chance.

  He walked quickly away from the gates and waited at the corner of the narrow street. Ever since dawn, carts of supplies had been taken into the courtyard to be loaded onto the Templar supply wagons and he knew if he could just hide on the back of one of the carts, he could get past the gate guards and into the compound.

  It wasn’t long before three men walked towards him, each leading a mule drawing a cart of various supplies for the garrison. Recognising his chance, Hassan ran down the road and approached a young boy begging on the corner of the street.

  ‘Haquim,’ he said quickly, ‘I have a task for you. If you do as I say, I will give you this blade to sell in the market. It will bring a fine price.’ He produced a knife from the folds of his thawb and showed it to the younger boy.

  ‘What do I have to do?’ asked the beggar, standing up.

  ‘Not much, just distract the last cart master as he passes.’ He nodded toward the approaching carts.

  ‘Are you going to steal from his wagon?’

  ‘No, but you should worry not. Just distract him for a few moments and this knife is yours.’

  Haquim nodded and Hassan handed over the blade.

  ‘Do not let me down or I will seek you out,’ he said and ran back across the narrow lane to hide in a doorway.

  Moments later, the first two carts passed but as the third approached, the beggar ran out into the road and collided with the cart master leading the mule.

  ‘Watch where you are going,’ roared the man as Haquim fell to the ground, crying out in feigned agony, ‘are you a simpleton?’

  ‘My ankle is broken’, cried Haquim, reaching for his foot, ‘may Allah have mercy on me.’

  ‘You are not hurt,’ growled the man looking around, ‘do you think me a fool? This is nothing more than a trick to rob me.’ Realising what was happening, he turned and ran to the back of the cart, checking amongst the goods to see nothing had been taken. Satisfied that any attempt at theft had been foiled, he returned to the front, determined to give the boy a beating, but there was no sign of him. He looked up and down the street and considered asking some of the other beggars where the boy had gone, but soon realised it would be pointless, the rogues looked after their own and there would be none that would give up a fellow thief. Realising the gates to the Templar courtyard was only a hundred paces away, he urged his mule forward once again. The quicker he delivered his goods the quicker he could get back to his farm outside the city walls.

  ----

  Squire Tobias knelt on the floor of the courtyard, rolling up his waxed blanket before tying it tightly with leather laces. His master’s equipment was already packed and ready to be stowed on the carts later that evening so all he had to do now was finish preparing the few possessions he owned, the bedroll, an eating pot with a knife and spoon, a waterskin, a leather jack and a heavy cape. These he had brought with him from England and though it wasn’t much, the Templars provided anything else he needed while he campaigned with them and he wanted for little.

  Unlike other squires in England, he was not noble born or had aspirations to be a knight but had been recruited as a paid servant due to his knowledge of horses having grown up on a horse farm near one of the Templar churches. His wage was meagre, and he would not receive a penny until he returned to England, but it meant that should he survive the coming campaigns, he would return home in three years and have enough money to start a life of his own.

  He pulled tighter on the straps as dozens of men milled around the courtyard, each focussed on preparing for the following day’s march. For a second he thought he heard someone faintly call his name and he looked up, but seeing nobody, continued with his task.

  ‘Squire Tobias,’ came the wh
isper again, and this time, as it was louder, he looked directly over to see Hassan hiding behind a stack of water barrels.

  For a moment he stared in shock. As he was not directly employed by the order, Hassan was forbidden to enter the courtyard and could be severely punished. He considered ignoring him but when Hassan called out again, he knew he had to do something. Leaving his bedroll unfinished, Tobias got to his feet and walked quickly over to the barrels, dropping down beside the Bedouin.

  ‘Hassan,’ he whispered, ‘what are you doing here? You could be whipped. How did you even get past the guards on the gate?’

  ‘I hid beneath a cart,’ said Hassan. ‘I know it is not allowed but I needed to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t have the time,’ said Tobias. ‘We are moving out in the morning and I have much to do.’

  ‘It is this that concerns me. Where is it that you go?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ said Tobias looking around, ‘for to do so invites punishment. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Only because wherever it is that you go, then that is also my path.’

  ‘Hassan,’ said Tobias, ‘we have discussed this. You have been useful to me and the brothers, but this is where it must end. Go home before it is too late.’

  ‘But my destiny is with the men of the red cross,’ said Hassan, grabbing the squire’s arm. ‘God told me in a dream.’

  ‘Hassan, there is nothing I can do,’ replied Tobias, ‘now please, be gone before we both get in trouble.’

  Without waiting for a reply, Tobias got to his feet and returned to his task. The last thing he needed right now was a beating and to be seen talking to a trespasser within the Templar compound could result in severe punishment from one of the chaplains. He finished tying the bedroll and got to his feet before glancing back toward the water barrels. With relief, he saw that Hassan was gone and with luck, would already be back through the gates. He turned to walk over to the equipment wagon but before he could take another step, an angry voice roared out across the courtyard.