Templar Steel Page 9

  ‘Not yet,’ said Hassan, ‘they will still be alert from the ride. I will go forward alone and seek a route to reach them without discovery, and later, when their bellies are full they will be an easier foe.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Cronin and watched the boy slip over the crest of the hill, keeping low amongst the undergrowth.

  ----

  For the next hour or so he waited for Hassan to return but just as he was contemplating going to find him, a noise to his rear caused him to turn in surprise. The boy was back.

  ‘I was getting worried,’ said Cronin when they returned to the horses. ‘You were gone longer than expected.’

  ‘The path is harder than I thought,’ said Hassan, ‘and we would be exposed if we were to continue the same way. However, I found another that takes us straight into the heart of their camp.’

  ‘Did you get close?’

  ‘I did, my lord. There are indeed only two of them, each with a horse.’

  ‘Did you see any of our possessions?’

  ‘No, but they have pitched a tent near a stream, so I suspect our things are within. This also means that they intend to stay here for at least one night so we can make our plans.’

  ‘Tell me about the path.’

  ‘It is steeper than the first but well hidden from their eyes and you can get within a few paces of their tent without discovery.’

  ‘You have done well,’ said Cronin. ‘For now, we will gather our strength and see to the horses. As soon as the sun starts to set you will lead me into the camp.’

  ‘If this is your desire,’ said Hassan and his head lowered to look at the floor.

  ‘Hassan,’ said Cronin, after a few moments silence, ‘worry not. This is God’s work and he will be with us at every step. If we fail, then it will be his will.’

  ‘Do you believe there is a heaven, my lord,’ asked Hassan, looking up.

  ‘I do. It is a fact preached by the pope himself but surely as a Christian, you also believe such a thing?’

  ‘I have been taught such things,’ said Hassan, ‘but death has always been a distant thought. Now it could be upon me I find myself wondering if God has a place in heaven for someone such as I.’

  ‘You are a good person, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘and when your time comes, your pure heart will grant you entry.’

  ‘Perhaps my heart is not as pure as you believe,’ said Hassan, ‘for I have done things in my life that makes me a bad person.’

  ‘None amongst us is as pure as we could have been, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘but we have a forgiving God. He sees all but needs you to ask forgiveness in your prayers. Before we attack their camp tonight, we will pray together.’

  Hassan nodded silently but still looked troubled.

  ‘Come,’ said Cronin, ‘let us see to the horses and get some rest. One way or the other, today will soon be behind us.’

  ----

  An hour later, Hassan crouched low and led the way down a tiny crevice. Behind him came Cronin, carrying his sheathed sword in his hand so as not to knock it on the rocks as he scrambled down to the wadi floor. The sky was dark and as they reached the bottom, the sergeant called a stop as their eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  ‘Which way now?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘There,’ replied Hassan quietly and pointed across to the looming shadow of the cliff opposite with his skinning knife. ‘They have made camp against the rocks.’

  ‘Put your knife away, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘this is not your fight.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Hassan, ‘you may need me.’

  ‘What I need of you, Hassan,’ said Cronin, ‘is the completion of a task far more important than fighting.’

  ‘What task is this?’

  ‘When we get to their camp, I will call out and demand they return our property. I expect they will brace for a fight but whatever they do, I want you to get into the tent while they are distracted and find the satchel. When you do, get back to the horses and ride for Jerusalem with all haste. When you get there, head for the citadel and beg audience with the king.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I will follow you but do not wait for the outcome. I may fall and if so, you will have little time before they follow.’

  ‘But my lord, this is not why I came. I wanted to serve, not run at the first sign of trouble.’

  ‘You are not running, Hassan, you will be continuing our mission. Do this and I swear, that if I survive, I will petition the Seneschal himself for your appointment as a squire.’

  Hassan stared at Cronin and took a deep breath before finally nodding his agreement.

  ‘Good,’ said Cronin, drawing his sword from the Scabbard, ‘now hide amongst the shadows and as soon as you hear my voice, get to the tent.’

  ----

  Twenty leagues to the south west, the Templar column continued along the trading route close to the Mediterranean coastline. The previous night they had rested in Caesarea Castle but had ridden hard all day to make as much ground as they could before it got dark. At their head rode the Marshal along with the Seneschal, each heavily robed in their white surcoats emblazoned with the red cross of their order. Behind them came the rest of the Templar knights along with the sergeants and the supply column.

  Following reports of increased activity in the area, the turcopoles had been deployed along the high ground to the east to provide early warning of any surprise attack.

  A few riders behind the Seneschal, Benedict of York rode up alongside Jakelin de Mailly and offered him his water skin.

  ‘Drink?’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jakelin and took a few mouthfuls of the warm water before handing it back.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ asked Benedict, replacing the stopper in his water skin.

  ‘About what?’ asked Jakelin.

  ‘This situation. If the castellan back in Caesarea is to be believed, there are roaming bands of Saracens from here all the way down to Gaza.’

  ‘There have always been brigands,’ said Jakelin, ‘the news does not surprise me.’

  ‘Aye, but his information suggests these were more than brigands, and that they may be loyal to Saladin himself. Why would they be so far north?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Jakelin, ‘but let us not forget, in the Sultan’s eyes, we are the invaders, and this is his country. As such, his people are free to roam as they will.’

  ‘If that is the case, why do they not attack?’

  ‘Our column is strong, brother Benedict,’ said Jakelin looking back over his shoulder at the long line of knights and sergeants, and it would take a strong force to provide any real threat. Such enemy strength would be well reported before they got anywhere near.’

  ‘So, you think the reports are untrue?’

  ‘Not at all, I have no doubt that we are watched every step of the way and that Saladin is kept well aware of anything we do from Gaza to Damascus.’

  ‘I have seen nothing to suggest we are being watched,’ said Benedict, looking around. ‘Surely the turcopoles would notice if there was any such activity on the higher ground.’

  ‘Saladin has no need of patrols,’ said Jakelin, ‘every man we pass on the road whether they be shepherd, goatherd or farmer, counts our numbers. All Saladin’s men have to do is come out of hiding after we have passed to collect the information.’

  As he spoke, the column passed a goatherd on the side of the road and Benedict stared down at him with quizzical eyes.

  ‘What I do not understand,’ he said eventually, ‘is why do we allow them to carry on unhindered? Surely it would be better to take them into custody until we reach our destination?’

  ‘And how would that work?’ asked Jakelin. ‘We would have to imprison every man woman and child we passed and even then, there would be countless others who watch from the shadows. No, it is best that we do what we do and allow Saladin his small victories. By the time he receives any reports we are already leagues
away, so the damage is limited.’

  ‘Do you think he will come north?’ asked Benedict after a few moments.

  ‘He makes no secret of his ambition to retake Jerusalem,’ replied Jakelin, ‘so my only surprise is that he hasn’t done it sooner.’

  Benedict was about to respond when the order to halt came from the front and each knight automatically turned their horses outward in a pre-drilled defensive manoeuvre. One of the sergeants rode back along the column, relaying the Seneschal’s orders to the column.

  ‘We have reached the wadi,’ he shouted as he rode, ‘we are to stop here and set up camp. See to the horses and rest while you can but be prepared to set out again at first light.’

  Relieved to be stopping after a long day’s march, the column made their way down into the wadi. The Templar knights assumed a position of defence in all directions while the rest of the column slaked their thirst and only when everyone was finished did they allow themselves to approach the water hole.

  Benedict knelt and filled his own water skin as his horse drunk deeply beside him. When done, he led his mount to the area designated for the knights. One of his sergeants was removing the tack from his own horse and a squire already had the makings of a camp fire in place to keep the worst of the night’s cold away.

  ‘The tents stay on the carts tonight, my lord,’ said the squire, ‘upon the orders of the Seneschal. Tonight, we sleep within our cloaks.’

  Benedict nodded and turned to the sergeant.

  ‘Brother Callow, how fared your horse today?’

  ‘She is fine,’ said the sergeant, patting the horse on the neck, ‘but hungry.’

  Benedict looked up and saw two squires struggling down the path carrying a sack of oats between them.

  ‘She will be fed soon enough,’ said the knight and turned to see to his own horse.

  ‘My lord,’ said Callow, ‘we have not had much chance to talk these past two days. I would ask what has become of Brother Cronin.’

  ‘I truly do not know the detail,’ replied the knight over his shoulder, ‘and have only been told he has been sent to Jerusalem on an errand for the Seneschal.’

  ‘But surely to send one man across these lands alone invites trouble.’

  ‘I do not question the motives of my betters,’ said Benedict, ‘they have their reasons.’ He turned and carried his saddle over to a nearby rock before walking back to face the sergeant. ‘You two spent a lot of time in each other’s company on the ship, do you know him well?’

  ‘Aye, we fought alongside each other many times back in England under the banner of Henry. He is a good soldier and a close friend. A few days ago, he was summoned to appear before the Seneschal to receive a penance for saving a Bedouin boy, but I have not seen him since.’

  ‘I promise I know no more detail, brother Callow,’ said the knight, ‘but if he is as good as you say, then I’m sure he will be fine.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said the sergeant, ‘for he is too good a man to die alone in a strange country.’

  ----

  Back in the mountains, Cronin crouched low and made his way towards the brigand camp. Up in front, he could see the glow of a fire reflecting off the rocky walls of the wadi. Slowly he crept through the last of the undergrowth before finally getting a clear view of the camp site. For a few seconds, he stared in confusion. The clearing held a fire but there was no sign of a tent or any horses. Confused, he stepped backwards before turning to retrace his steps but as he did, his eyes opened wide with shock.

  Standing in his way was a giant of a man wielding a club but before Cronin could react, the man lashed out and smashed him across the head sending him crashing to the ground.

  Semi-conscious, the sergeant tried to get to his feet but collapsed again as the waves of pain swept through his head. His vision blurred, and he looked up at his attacker, now standing alongside a second man wielding a sword.

  Hardly able to move, Cronin fully expected to die. Silently he cursed himself for not taking more care to avoid such an ambush, but he had been so focused on retrieving the satchel, his usual thoroughness had been found wanting.

  The sergeant knew there was nothing he could do, and he braced to receive the killing blow. A movement behind the men caught his eye and hope stirred anew in his breast as he saw Hassan slowly walking up behind the two attackers. For a few seconds he tensed his body, determined to do what little he could to help when the boy attacked, but as Hassan approached, the first man turned around, speaking to the young Bedouin in his own language.

  Cronin stared in horror as the man put his arm around Hassan’s shoulder and turned back to grin at the injured sergeant still prone on the floor.

  ‘Hassan,’ groaned Cronin, realising what had happened, ‘what have you done?’

  ‘My lord,’ said Hassan, ‘please forgive me but I had no choice.’

  ‘You betrayed me,’ gasped Cronin as any hope faded away, ‘and you betrayed your faith. May God forgive you.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Hassan, his voice cracking, ‘you must understand…’ but it was too late, the Templar sergeant had slipped into unconsciousness.

  ----

  Chapter Thirteen

  Southwest of Jerusalem

  November 11th

  AD 1177

  On the other side of the mountains, another column made camp for the night. Under the command of King Baldwin IV and Raynald of Chatillon, three hundred and fifty Christian knights, two thousand Turcopoles, five hundred archers and over three thousand infantry had marched out of Jerusalem intent on thwarting Saladin’s designs on Ashkelon. For the past two days they had headed south, a strong force capable of thwarting any attack short of a full-scale army and now lay camped on a small hillside less than two days away from Castle Blancheguarde, an important fortress on their way to the coastal city.

  At the centre of the camp lay the king’s tent, a structure much larger and more decorative than any of the others. Inside, Baldwin sat on an ornate chair holding counsel with his officers and senior knights. Alongside him, as usual, was Raynald and William of Tyre.

  ‘Sir knights,’ said Baldwin, wincing as a servant applied a cool poultice of mashed Aloe and Comfrey to the king’s lower arms, ‘it has been a long day and I will release you to your duties soon enough, but we are in receipt of fresh information. A few hours ago, our patrols reported seeing at least three parties of Saracens within a day’s ride of here. Each was over a dozen strong and seemed content in watching us pass.’

  ‘Were they engaged?’ asked Sir Gerald, one of the Jerusalem knights.

  ‘Each time our patrols approached, the enemy turned and rode away. Our men pursued as long as they could, but they dispersed amongst the hills and it was impossible to follow further.’

  ‘A hundred men here and there are hardly a threat,’ said Sir Gerald.

  ‘Maybe not, but it is an indication that Saladin is indeed testing our resolve and roams much further north than he has for a long time. However, this is in itself is not why I brought you here. Our same patrols have reported signs of a larger body of men in the lands between Bathsheba and Ashkelon.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Gerald.

  ‘The numbers are unknown as none have been seen directly, but there are many tracks and signs of old campfires, each hidden beneath the sand as to remain unseen. In addition, villages report groups of armed men taking livestock and crops in the night.’

  ‘With respect, my lord,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘this does not sound like an invasion force led by Saladin. I have campaigned against this man many times and always he has been well supplied. Even when forced to take from the villages, he has always paid recompense. These actions sound like the activities of brigands, nothing more.’

  ‘Ordinarily, I would agree,’ said Baldwin, ‘but consider this. If Saladin was nearby and wanted to keep his presence secret, would he not resort to such measures in an effort to remain hidden? Could it not be that he or those that ride in his name are actively seekin
g recruits to his cause and are forced to steal in the night to remain invisible to our allies?’

  ‘Possibly, but why are we so eager to dismiss the theory that it is no more than brigandry?’

  ‘Because of the scale,’ interjected Raynald. ‘The further we go south the more destitute are the villages we pass. There is hardly one that does not report a great loss to the thieves of the night and that says to me that somewhere out there, there is a body of men that need feeding without recourse to a supply line.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Gerald, ‘but without anyone actually seeing these men with our own eyes I would remain a sceptic.’

  ‘And you would be right to do so,’ said Baldwin, ‘but we cannot just head straight to Ashkelon while there is a risk of a Saracen army within striking distance somewhere to the east. If we leave these reports untended then we invite an ambush further down the road. We need certainty and that is why I have asked you all here.’ He looked around the tent. ‘I seek a volunteer to ride into the Judean Mountains with a body of men and follow the tracks our patrols have found. The task is of observation only and he is to report back to me with absolute details as to whether or not there is a risk from the east.’

  Several men stepped forward, each volunteering their services, but it was Gerald that caught the king’s gaze.

  ‘Sir Gerald,’ said Baldwin, ‘despite your scepticism, I know your report will be accepted by all as true. I am happy to bestow the responsibilities upon your shoulders.’

  ‘Thank you, my king,’ said Gerald with a nod of the head. ‘I have to admit that I find the task somewhat unnecessary but to ride free from the constraints of the snail our column has become excites me.’

  A murmur of laughter rippled around the tent. The slow pace of the column frustrated everyone, but it was important they stayed with the supply wagons, despite the importance of reaching Ashkelon.

  ‘You are free to ride as fast as you like,’ said the king, ‘indeed, speed is of the essence but in addition, there is a need for caution. The priority here is the gaining of accurate information so unless you are forced to defend yourselves, you are forbidden to undertake any sort of conflict as every sword will be needed in the defence of Ashkelon. Is that clear?’