Templar Steel Page 6

  ‘Come,’ said Saladin to his generals as he got to his feet. ‘The evening has been pleasant but there are important matters to discuss.’

  He walked over to the table and picked up a goblet of fruit juice as he stared down at the exquisitely drawn map before him. The other two men joined him, also examining the document to see if there had been any alterations since the last time they had been in the tent.

  ‘Our patrols have reported many interesting things these last few days,’ said Saladin, picking up an ornamental dagger from the table. ‘Especially here at the mound of Al-Safiya.’ He pointed at a tiny picture of a castle with the point of the knife.

  ‘The Christians maintain a fortress there,’ he said, ‘and call it Blancheguarde after the whiteness of the rocks upon which it sits.’

  ‘I know this place,’ said Taqi, ‘and have passed it many times.’

  ‘As have I,’ said Shirkuh, ‘it overlooks the road from Ashkelon to Jerusalem and holds a garrison of knights who have taken it upon themselves to guard the Christian pilgrims who travel from the southern ports. It is far from Jerusalem and of little consequence.’

  ‘I do not agree,’ said Saladin, ‘its location proves a hinderance to our ambition.’

  ‘But our route goes well away from the pilgrim road. We agreed as such when first making our plans in Egypt.’

  ‘I know,’ said Saladin, ‘and I remain true to our intentions, but it has occurred to me that the amount of time it takes for our supply caravans to reach us overland from Egypt could be halved if we were to use our ships to bring them to the port of Ashkelon and then onward from there to our armies.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Shirkuh, ‘but Ashkelon is in Christian hands so in order to use the port we would first have to take the city.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Saladin, ‘but with the number of men at our disposal, it would only be a matter of days before the walls fell. Once inside, any counter attack by Baldwin could easily be repelled. Our spies report his strength is less than a tenth of ours so he would be hesitant to engage us upon an open field, let alone try to besiege a walled city.’

  ‘What about Gaza? It lies only thirty leagues south and holds a garrison of Templar Knights. They can be at Ashkelon within a day and disrupt any siege before it had any effect.’

  ‘My scouts tell me the garrison has few horsemen and even less infantry. It is not a significant risk.’

  ‘So, Jerusalem remains our true target?’

  ‘In time, yes,’ said Saladin,’ but if we were to take Ashkelon first, it would make the task far easier in the long term.’

  ‘Tell us what you want us to do,’ said Shirkuh, ‘and it will be done.’

  ‘I think we need to plan two campaigns,’ said Saladin. ‘The first will be to besiege Gaza, and the second will be to take Ashkelon.’

  ‘But I thought you said Gaza was not a risk?’

  ‘I do not believe it is, but if we were to lay siege to it, not only would it keep the Templars within busy but also focus King Baldwin’s attention on something we are not really interested in.’

  ‘A feint?’ asked Taqi, his eyes widening in admiration.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Saladin. ‘Let them think that Gaza is our target and react accordingly and whilst they are chasing shadows, we will take Ashkelon.’

  ‘It is a bold plan,’ said Taqi, ‘and not without merit. Let us discuss the tactics.’

  Saladin turned to the slaves at the doorway to the tent.

  ‘Bring a platter of sweetmeats and refresh the pitcher,’ he said, ‘and then you may retire for the night.’

  The servants did as they were told and as they disappeared out of the tent, Shakur looked at the sultan quizzically.

  ‘It is not like you to dismiss your servants so quickly, my lord,’ he said. ‘Who will serve our needs?’

  ‘We will serve ourselves,’ said Saladin, ‘for there were far too many ears within this tent.’

  Shirkuh glanced at Taqi with confusion before turning to face the Sultan again.

  ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘forgive me but you seem to be suggesting there may be a spy amongst them. If that is the case, let me know and I will tear out his eyes and tongue with my own bare hands.’

  ‘If that is your suspicion,’ added Taqi, ‘kill them all and I will furnish you with slaves from my own household by dawn. Trusted men who would slit their own throats at my behest.’

  ‘There will be no killing,’ said Saladin, ‘and yes, there is one amongst them who has a loose tongue. He is known to have dealings with the Christians via a trader who furnishes our army with grain. But for the moment it is important he remains alive and well.’

  Both men gasped at the revelation and Saladin could see the growing anger in their eyes.

  ‘You are allowing a serpent to slither amongst us,’ said Shirkuh.’ He has seen our maps and heard our plans. What else has he heard that may cost Ayyubid lives?’

  ‘He hears what I want him to hear,’ said Saladin, ‘and that way I have a bearing on what the Christians do.’

  Both men stared at the Saladin for a few moments before Taqi smiled, realising the significance of the Sultan’s words.

  ‘So, my lord,’ he said, his voice a lot calmer, ‘are you telling us that everything we just discussed is actually a ruse to set our enemy upon the wrong path?’

  ‘On the contrary, I think we should put these things in place with all haste. That way they will see there is truth in the spy’s words and react accordingly. However, it will be a fruitless campaign and while they explore blind alleyways, we can concentrate on the real prize. Jerusalem!’

  ----

  Chapter Eight

  North of Caesarea Castle

  November 6th

  AD 1177

  Cronin sat alongside Simon Callow outside a tent alongside the road to Caesarea. They had been in the saddle for two days since leaving Acre, and though the ride had been relatively trouble-free, the rough ground had been hard on the supply carts and they had made poor time. Consequently, the column had to spend an unforeseen extra night under the stars before they reached the first of their destinations on their march to Gaza.

  Both men shared a bowl to eat their evening meal of vegetable stew, each taking it in turns to spoon the nutritious food into their mouths or break a chunk from a loaf to dip into the accompanying broth.

  Cronin chewed quietly, staring across the fertile farmland to the coastline less than a league distant. He removed the stopper from his water bottle and drank deeply to wash down his supper.

  ‘The food is better than we received in Acre’, said his comrade, wiping the bowl clean with his last chunk of bread. ‘Perhaps campaigning in the Holy Land may not be as bad as we have been told after all.’

  ‘I would hesitate to judge after only a few days,’ said Cronin, ‘the coastal road is well farmed and food easily available. I suggest we just enjoy it while we can.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Caesarea?’ asked Callow, reaching for his own bottle.

  ‘I have not,’ said Cronin. ‘You?’

  ‘No, but I hear it is a very beautiful place abundant with greenery from the river that runs through it. I have also heard it said that they have fountains fed directly from underground springs, water that is used to feed the fruit trees within the castle walls.’

  ‘I would not pay too much heed to the hearsay of lay servants,’ said Cronin, ‘I have often found their claims to fall somewhat short of the truth.’

  ‘I agree, but this was told to me by a trader in Acre with no reason to lie. He says it is amongst the finest cities in the Holy Land.’

  ‘We will find out soon enough,’ said Cronin.

  Callow took a drink before tossing the water skin into the tent and picking up a sheathed knife laying beside him. He reached into the pocket on his linen shirt to withdraw a small whetstone and after spitting on the surface, started carefully sharpening the blade.

  ‘It will be cold again tonight,’ said Croni
n eventually, looking up at the sky. ‘There is no blanket of cloud to keep in the heat.’

  ‘We are certainly a race hard to please,’ replied Callow, focussing on the knife, ‘we moan about the heat of the day and then again at the cold of the night. If only the Holy Land could maintain the temperatures found at dusk, then perhaps we could die happy men.’

  Silence fell as Cronin watched the sun dip toward the horizon. Behind them, the evening was alive with the sounds of the camp as men saw to their kit and squires looked after the horses. Further back, the brother knights stayed in a separate circle of tents at the centre of the marching camp, each looking after their own needs and spending time in quiet contemplation.

  ‘Master Cronin,’ came a voice and the Sergeant looked up to see a lay servant standing a few paces away.

  ‘I am he,’ he replied.

  ‘My lord, you have been summoned to attend the Marshal at once.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘The Marshal does not share such things with the likes of me,’ said the servant, ‘he just asked that you come immediately.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said, Cronin getting to his feet, ‘please tell him I am on my way.’

  The servant ran off as Cronin ducked inside the tent to retrieve his surcoat and belt. To attend an audience with one of the senior Templars incorrectly dressed invited punishment.

  ‘I wonder what he wants?’ said Callow as his comrade re-emerged.

  ‘I’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Cronin fastening his belt around his waist. ‘If I am away for any time, could you see that my horse is watered before you retire?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Callow and watched as his fellow sergeant walked toward the centre of the camp.

  ----

  A few moments later, Cronin stood outside a circular tent, waiting for permission to enter. The tent itself was large and bedecked with the flag of the Templars. Several other similar tents were pitched around the clearing, each one the overnight quarters of the Templar Knights.

  ‘Enter,’ said a voice and Cronin ducked through the flap to see two brothers sat at a table. Though he knew one was the Marshal, he had never seen the other before.

  ‘My lords,’ he said with a slight bow, ‘I am Sergeant Cronin. You summoned me?’

  ‘We did,’ said the Marshal. ‘Please, come in. ‘

  Cronin approached and faced the two men.

  ‘Brother Cronin,’ said the Marshal, ‘this is Brother Valmont of Lyon. He is headed to Gaza to take up the position of Seneschal due to the untimely death of the current incumbent.’

  ‘Greetings,’ said Cronin with a slight nod. ‘I did not have the pleasure of meeting you in Acre.’

  ‘No,’ replied Valmont, ‘I only arrived from Damascus on the day the column rode out so, by the time I sorted out my affairs, you had a day’s start on me.’

  ‘Yet you have caught us up. You must have ridden hard.’

  ‘God was with me, so here I am.’

  ‘Brother Cronin,’ said the Marshal, ‘I have just heard some disturbing news and would bid you shed some light on the accusation.’

  ‘If I can,’ said Cronin.

  ‘I have been told that on the morning we marched from Acre, you left the compound to help free a convicted spy from justice. Is this true?’

  ‘It is true that I helped the boy to freedom,’ said Cronin, ‘but as far as I am aware, he is no spy.’

  ‘And how do you know this?’

  ‘Because we have had dealings with him over the last month and he has been proven trustworthy.’

  ‘Yet you cannot be sure?’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Cronin. ‘However, we watch him with a keen eye.’

  ‘He is here amongst us?’ asked Valmont with surprise

  ‘He is my lord, he has been given a role preparing food amongst the lay servants. He works for his keep and is reported to be a hard worker.’

  ‘That he may be,’ said the Marshal, ‘but what concerns me is that you left your post during mobilisation without the express permission of the Grand Master. Surely you are aware of your responsibilities to the order?’

  ‘I am my lord,’ replied Cronin, ‘but you were all otherwise engaged and as I was aware that an innocent boy was about to die, I decided to do what I could to see justice applied.’

  ‘Surely that was none of your business. Your role is to serve your master.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Cronin, ‘I confess I left my post and will gladly take any punishment awarded but, in my defence, I could not stand by and see an innocent Christian boy hung for a crime he did not commit.’

  ‘Wait,’ said the Seneschal, ‘you say this boy is a Christian?’

  ‘He is, my lord. He is Bedouin born but was baptised into our faith by a priest of Acre.’

  The knight looked across at the Marshal with surprise.

  ‘Brother Tristan,’ he said, ‘I am aggrieved and ashamed that we have a Christian soul working amongst the slaves without as much as giving him a chance to explain. Surely there are other tasks he could be doing more suitable?’

  ‘This is the first I have heard of it,’ said the Marshal, ‘and I will investigate further. However, it does not change the fact that Brother Cronin absented himself from his post without permission.’

  ‘It is a point well made,’ said the Seneschal, and turned back to the sergeant. ‘Brother Cronin, I’m sure that you understand that discipline is of the utmost importance in any organisation, but especially during a deployment in a hostile land. Indeed, if this had been one of our brother knights who had done such a thing, the order would have had no other option than to administer a heavy punishment, such is the seriousness of the accusation. However, we note that you have only just arrived from England and have perhaps not had time to fully understand our ways. Do you have anything to say in your defence?’

  ‘My lord,’ said the sergeant, ‘I have already admitted my guilt, but could it not be said that my actions did not stray far from your own oaths in the Holy Land, that is to defend the humble wherever they are unable to defend themselves? It may not have been on the field of battle or the caravan routes to Damascus, but nowhere have I seen a decree that says we only help those outside of our city walls.’

  The Seneschal nodded in acknowledgement and turned to the Marshall.

  ‘He makes a good point. There are many things to consider so perhaps we should adjourn this hearing to make our judgement.’

  ‘I agree,’ said the Marshal, turning to face the sergeant, ‘you may leave but report back here at dawn. We recognise the intention was honourable, but the charge is serious enough to warrant a penance.’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ said Cronin and turned to leave the tent.

  When he was gone, Brother Valmont got to his feet and walked over to pick at the platter of dates laying on another table near the tent entrance.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘I think his intention was admirable,’ replied Brother Tristan, ‘but to allow him to go unpunished sends out a signal that absenting themselves from their posts is acceptable, and that we cannot allow. I suppose we refer him to the Grand Master.’

  ‘We could but I think that may result in a flogging and to inflict such a thing so early in a campaign, especially for the crime of rescuing a fellow Christian, will raise an unease amongst our men. No, perhaps we need to be more lateral in our thinking.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I hear he comes with good references from England?’

  ‘Aye, he does. He fought in France under King Henry and acquitted himself well. He is an honourable man.’

  ‘In that case, his punishment should befit the crime and allow him to redeem himself.’

  ‘Do you have something in mind?’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ said the Seneschal, ‘and if truth be told it couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.’

  ----

  The following morning the camp was busy with mo
st of the tents already struck ready for the day’s march to Caesarea. Lay servants set about piling them onto the carts and the squires fed the horses before sorting them out with caparisons, saddles and bridles.

  At the centre of the camp, Cronin waited patiently outside the command tent alongside his horse. Both were fully equipped and ready for the march.

  ‘Brother Cronin,’ said the Marshal appearing from the direction of the corrals, ‘please, step inside.’

  ‘The two men ducked into the tent and found the Seneschal sat at the table looking over one of the maps.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said as they entered. He walked from behind the table and into the centre of the tent. ‘Brother Cronin’ he continued, ‘we have had time to consider your crime and I know that despite your honourable intentions, you accept it was an error to leave your post without express permission from one of the brother knights. Consequently, we are obliged to administer a penance. Ordinarily, a period of confinement within one of the churches to contemplate your actions would be in order but as we are setting out on a campaign, to divest ourselves of an experienced man such as yourself could be a self-inflicted wound so we have come up with an alternative.’

  ‘Like I said, my lord,’ said the sergeant, ‘my conscience is clear, and I will gladly accept any penance.’

  ‘Good. In that case, there is a task that I would have you carry out in our name. I have in my possession a package intended for the king in Jerusalem. I was going to take them there myself but, in the circumstances, I think it is far better that I stay with the column, especially as there is a risk of Saladin moving his forces out of Egypt. Can I trust you to be the bearer of this package to the king?’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ said Cronin, ‘but my knowledge of the Holy Land is limited and the road to Jerusalem is unknown to me.’

  ‘You will be furnished with a map,’ said the Seneschal, ‘and enough supplies for five days. In addition, you will be accompanied by the boy you freed in Acre.’

  ‘Why him?’ asked the sergeant, surprised.