Templar's Acre

CHAPTER NINETY

He was alive, but Abu al-Fida felt sickened.

His own men had performed miraculously well, climbing the rampart to the city with only a small number killed, but here in the streets was where the worst danger would lurk. He knew the potential for traps.

They made their way to the inner gate, but it was barred against them. Men at the walls overhead pelted them with rocks and arrows, causing a number of injuries. Abu al-Fida sent a party along the wall to see if there might be a second entrance that could be more easily taken while he organised his men here to assault the gates. They found a heavy timber and six of his men ran with it, one falling dead from an arrow as they crashed into the gates. Pulling back, another man taking his place, they ran again — and again the wood held. A third, a fourth, and there were six of his men dead now. It was frustrating, and he chafed to be thwarted by such a small force.

Five of his men had gone to find ladders, and now they returned. The walls were high, but the men had courage and faith. They set up the first ones, and while archers beneath kept the walls clear, the first men set off up the rungs. The first was hit by an arrow, and he fell into the second, who almost tumbled from the ladder, but managed to keep his grip, and moved still more urgently up the remaining rungs.

Abu al-Fida waited impatiently. Three more of his men fell from the walls while trying to reach the parapet, but then there were shouts of glee, and the bodies of some Franks were thrown from the battlements while his men gloried in the victory that Allah was giving them. They were proving their faith in Him and He was rewarding them.

The gates opened, and they pelted in. The streets here were narrow and tangled, but they could hear the clamour of the fighting. Abu al-Fida led his men at the run towards the rear of the Accursed Tower.

The scene that met his eyes was one of carnage. Franks, Muslims, all lay together in untidy piles, body heaped upon body.

And then he heard the snapped orders, and he saw the Templars behind him, preparing their charge.

Ivo was more weary than ever before. His city was in ruins. He hurried through streets in which he had once strolled. In the past he had come here to curse traders who had bartered too crudely. One of them, he saw now, cowering in a doorway, hands over his head, wide, petrified eyes staring wildly.

It was at the western edge of the Pisan quarter that he spotted Lucia. ‘Here, Lucia, here!’ he bellowed, but it was Edgar who darted from the line of men, caught her about the waist, and drew her back to his place.

Muslims harried them along the north and eastern edges of their formation. Templars and Hospitallers were fighting with great valour, but they could not hold back the enormous numbers of their enemies without aid. One fell, then another, and soon there were all too few remaining. Baldwin joined them, protecting their left flank as best he could, but he was tired after so many days of struggle.

It was a relief when another Hospitaller ran to the line and pulled Baldwin out of his way, setting about the men ranged against him with eagerness unabated. Baldwin realised it was Matthew de Clermont.

‘Men of the Temple, I salute you! Your Grand Master has died, and is in Heaven, where we shall soon all join him! Praise be to God! We die in His service!’

With each word, his sword leaped, and three times he stabbed or cut a Muslim. His companions fought with a steady silence, men of the Hospital fighting with those of the Temple.

Seeing Lucia, Baldwin ran to her.

‘What now?’ she pleaded, staring up at him. ‘Don’t let them catch me, please, I beg.’

‘I won’t,’ Baldwin stated, but as he spoke there was a screamed command, and he turned to see more Muslims pouring out from an alley. They must have come through Montmusart to get here, he realised, but then he and Edgar were hard at it again.

The Muslims managed to separate the groups from each other. The Orders remained fighting desperately at their front, while the enemy attacked the main body of men from the rear. Baldwin pushed Lucia behind him, but then Edgar called to him.

‘The alley there looks clear. I can see to the sea.’

Baldwin looked, and sure enough, Edgar was right. There were no Muslims along here yet. Even as he had the thought, he saw two of Sir Otto’s men passing along it, and made his decision.

‘Come with me!’

He set off, gripping Lucia’s wrist in his hand, past alleys and lanes, always continuing towards the water. Down there, he thought, was the harbour, and it must be possible to get to a ship. If no one else could be saved, he could at least place Lucia on a ship and see her free.

Lady Maria stood at the harbour, jostled by the common folk, silent and bitter.

Her life was ruined. Her lovely house had been struck by two rocks today, and was devastated. She could not return to Lydda, nor to her little farms, where her olives and pomegranates grew. Instead, here she was, preparing to leave her city and her land forever. Because she would never be safe, returning here. She had come to appreciate that.

A necklace of gold was about her neck, while at her ears were her two best emeralds. Other precious stones and jewellery were held in a small box, the more valuable pieces held next to her breast in a soft purse.

But there were not enough ships to rescue everyone. Although the Venetians and Genoese had many vessels, some in the harbour, more lying off out to sea, the hubbub of the citizens at the quays was deafening. Some ships were already leaving, the number of people on board straining the boundaries of safety. Some smaller craft were being rowed out, but even as she watched, she saw one struck by a galley, and it was broken to pieces in an instant, and simply disappeared. The passengers were there one moment, and in the next, gone.

Lady Maria stared at the screaming throng.

Buscarel gripped her elbow. ‘Come with me,’ he said, and began to barge through.

The scenes were heart-rending. She saw a young woman tearing at her garments as she pleaded with an obdurate ship-man to let her children aboard. A family of merchants whom she knew vaguely were begging a rough-looking Piedmontese for passage, and everywhere women were wailing, wretched and despairing as they watched ships leave the port.

‘Hoi! You!’ Buscarel bawled in a voice loud enough to reach the forecastle from the afterdeck in a gale. ‘I have someone to come on board.’

Lady Maria found herself pushed up the gangplank of an enormous Templar craft. Its very size was gratifying, for everyone knew that vessels sailed at the mercy of the seas: if larger, she must surely be safer. Others were imploring an enormous Nubian, but he allowed no one to pass him or his unsheathed sword.

At the deck, a tall, swarthy man turned and eyed her unsympathetically. It was Roger Flor. ‘You want a berth, Master Buscarel? I may be able to find you a menial function, I suppose.’

‘Do you have space for a woman?’ Buscarel asked.

Lady Maria did not know Roger Flor, but she recognised his cross. He was a Templar! Oh, she felt the relief like wine in her blood. The Templars had many faults, including their arrogance, but they were at least Christian, and would not desert a woman like her.

‘We may have space for certain cargoes, yes,’ Roger Flor said. He was stowing a rope, and now he left it in a coil, and wandered over the deck to give her a careful scrutiny. ‘You have a good dress, madame. I like that colour. Is it silk. Yes? Good. It’ll fetch a good price. What’s in the box there?’

‘My jewels,’ she said.

‘Good. Give them to me.’

‘They’re all I have.’

‘And now you don’t,’ he said, holding out his hand.

She had a moment’s hesitation. Then a catapult’s rock smacked into the sea. The people near the quayside were drenched, and a woman dropped her baby. The child bounced on the hard stone edging, and tumbled into the water. The mother shrieked, and two men grabbed her to stop her following it. A man jumped in, but with swaddling bands wrapped all about it, the baby had no chance of floating or swimming. The man dived three times, desperately searching, but did not find it. He finally climbed out, and the woman collapsed at the water’s side.

That stone decided her. ‘You want how much?’

He looked at her, and he wore a seraphic smile. ‘Everything you have, madame. I will not be choosy.’

She looked at Buscarel, but before he could speak, Roger Flor beckoned a sailor. ‘Bernat here doesn’t like customers arguing about the fee. If you don’t want to pay, that’s fine. I’ll be gone before the Muslims get here. There are many other ladies and their gentlemen who have been here and asked my price. They wanted to go away and think about it too. But remember this, madame. When my ship is full, I sail, and if you arrive here even one second after the ropes are slipped, you are one second too late to live!’

Buscarel pushed her slightly. ‘Go. You have nothing to hold you back here. Find a new life, my Lady.’

‘Well, Buscarel? Are you coming too?’ Roger enquired. ‘What will your price be? Perhaps I will allow you to go halfway, and then cast you overboard? That would be fun.’

‘You hold a grudge against me, when I enriched you by a ship?’ Buscarel said. He shrugged.

‘Well, come on, then. I can’t take you if you don’t climb aboard.’

‘No,’ Buscarel said.

Lady Maria had made her way over the gangplank onto the ship, and stood anxiously holding on to a stanchion as the vessel rocked gently.

‘Your man doesn’t want to come too, eh?’

‘His wife and children are all dead. He stays to kill Muslims.’

‘You’ll fight them on the land, then? Good luck to you, ship-man. You’ll find them that way,’ Roger added, pointing sarcastically.

Lady Maria watched Buscarel before he was swallowed up by the people at the quay as they barged forward, hands held out, pleading.

Roger Flor smiled, but his answer was the same to all. ‘You want your life? Then give me all you have: your jewels, your money, your gold and silver. Nothing less will do.’

She turned away from the weeping, pleading crowd, and made her way to the side of the ship, sitting uncomfortably on the planking of the decks.

‘Oh, and I’ll have that purse under your dress, madame,’ Roger Flor said as he passed her a short while later.

‘That is all I have!’

‘No. You don’t. As I said before — it’s mine.’

Baldwin finally reached the harbour by the simple expedient of using the pommel and hilt of his sword to force a way through the crowds.

He could feel the citizens’ panic. If only they had believed the Templars all those weeks ago, when Guillaume de Beaujeu had warned them of their fate. But no, the people had smugly accused him of cowardice and of feathering the Templar nest. Now their stupidity was coming back to haunt them all.

‘My love, please,’ Lucia said. ‘You must come with me.’

‘I cannot,’ he said.

They had reached the harbour, and as they stared along the ships, Baldwin gave a little gasp of relief. ‘He’ll help us!’

‘Who?’

He dragged her after him, excited by the sight of Roger Flor, but before they could reach his ship, he heard shouting, and a squad of Hospitaller Knights came out from an alley. They carried a wounded comrade on a ladder, and Baldwin groaned to see that it was their Grand Master, Guillaume de Villiers. The latter was demanding that they take him back, protesting that he did not wish to sail from here, but none of his men listened to him. They strode to a Venetian ship and curtly demanded that their Grand Master be transported away from here. When the shipmaster tried to haggle over a price, a sword-blade appeared a scant inch from his nose.

But now there were desperate cries from further up the quay, and as Baldwin stared over the heads of the people nearest, he saw a contingent of blue-clad men with gold crosses on their breasts march to a ship. More came down the hill, clad in the same blue tunics of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and then, in their midst Baldwin saw the King and Amalric. They said nothing as the populace spat and jeered, crying out at the betrayal.

‘Cowards! Cowards! You are supposed to fight and protect your people, it’s your duty to stay!’

There was no response, other than waved weapons. The King and his brother looked neither to the right nor the left as they boarded ship.

They were not alone. Sir Otto was not long after them, and he and Jean de Grailly commandeered all the ships in the harbour for their men.

Baldwin stared with incomprehension. Surely the warriors should remain, and allow all the unarmed people to escape. That was the duty of the Bellatores — to serve the priesthood and protect the poor. If they would not do their duty, who would?

He saw Roger Flor once more, and made his decision. Half-dragging Lucia with him, he reached the stern-post and rudder, and called to the Templar: ‘Will you take my woman, Roger? Please?’

‘You coming with us?’ Roger cried in response. ‘That’s good, old friend. We’ll make our fortune with this voyage. Do you have any idea how much we’ll make? All the richest people in the city are giving us everything. And later, we can take another ship, and we’ll become the wealthiest men in the whole of the Mediterranean.’

‘I can’t come — I must stay. But please, take my woman.’

‘Her?’ Roger gave her a cool, appraising look. ‘She doesn’t look like she has any money, Baldwin. How will she pay?’

Baldwin felt his mouth fall open. ‘Please, for me?’

‘No, my friend. You, I could use. Especially in a fight. Her? No!’

Lucia grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go. Baldwin considered leaping into the ship and killing Flor there and then. It was because of that raid, he saw. It was there in Flor’s eyes. He wanted another felon like himself, and if Baldwin were not capable of his work, he would not take Baldwin’s woman.

‘I won’t go without you, Baldwin,’ Lucia said.

He saw where she pointed. There, in the stern, was a group of people, and some distance away, sitting with her back to the hull, was Lady Maria.

‘I would prefer to die here with you than go somewhere with her,’ Lucia said.

Baldwin nodded. They hurried back through the crowd of people to where he had seen Sir Otto — but by the time he reached the ships where the English and French were embarking, there was no sign of him.

‘Where is Sir Otto? Sir Otto, where is he?’ he shouted, but the guards at the harbourside said nothing. They couldn’t. They were standing with polearms held half-staff, while all the frantic men and women surrounding them shouted, screamed, cajoled.

‘Come away, Baldwin, please,’ Lucia begged, and at last, baffled and miserable, he returned up the road whence they had arrived.

He was distraught. ‘How can I get you away? I have to make sure you’re safe!’

‘Where would I go without you? What should I do? I am happier here.’

‘No, I have to-’

‘Baldwin. If we are to die, let us die together.’

The decision tore at him. He would do anything to make her safe and happy, but God had chosen a different fate for them.

There was a shout, and the clatter of arms from an alley. People were streaming down it, screaming in terror, and when Baldwin looked up, he saw turbanned heads.

He also saw Edgar and Ivo. They were fighting for their lives.