Templar's Acre

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

That night, under cover of darkness, a galley braved the sea. A small rowing boat was despatched from it, and it landed at a small quay that gave access to the Temple.

Baldwin and Ivo were there, Baldwin nursing his scarred cheek, when the shipman came and discussed evacuation with Sir Pierre.

‘How many can you take?’ Sir Pierre demanded.

‘Thirty, perhaps. No more.’

Sir Pierre nodded. ‘There are some essentials that must be saved,’ he said. ‘We have the Treasury, records, and other important papers. Then I would send Tibaud de Gaudin, our Treasurer, so that these documents can be protected and understood. However, after him we should save as many women and children as we may.’

The selection of the fortunate few was made by lots. The mothers all drew straws, and twenty-two women and children were chosen. They joined the chests and boxes and the glum-looking Treasurer in the boat, and soon were bucketing through the waves towards the Venetian galley that stood a mile or so out to sea.

‘Will there be another ship?’ Baldwin asked Ivo.

‘The Falcon should come back, since she is a Templar ship,’ Ivo answered, but then he sighed heavily. ‘But Roger Flor is no fool. He’ll be enjoying himself in the fleshpots of Cyprus rather than coming here for us.’

Baldwin watched the ship. So far away, and yet such a good size. ‘Lucia, I am sorry. You should have been on that ship.’

Lucia rested her head on his shoulder. She did not tell him that she had drawn a short straw. She had plucked it from the fist of the Templar sergeant who came around all the women in the chamber, and as she took it, she had seen the woman with the boy next to her. Petrified with fear after the way he had been assaulted by the Muslim, he had clung on to her skirts. In his face there had been utter terror. He knew that if the Muslims came in again, he would suffer rape, and then death. He was only a young lad, not a man. Perhaps ten years old, no more.

She had looked at his mother. Tears ran slowly down the woman’s cheeks as she opened her hand and looked at the long straw. Lucia reached down, and replaced it with her own.

‘Sir Pierre! Sir Pierre! I would speak with you!’

The braying of the trumpets had announced Abu al-Fida’s presence, and now he sat upon a mare while he waited for a response.

It was some little while before a series of heads wearing Templar helmets appeared at the battlements. ‘What do you want?’

‘Yesterday, hotheads broke the truce. The Sultan offers you his full apology. He is prepared to offer the same terms as yesterday. Free passage for you and those inside the Temple. Your knights and men can keep your weapons, your women and children can leave. You will all board a ship to go to Cyprus.’

‘How can we trust the Sultan’s word?’

‘The Sultan wishes for no further disturbance. How many more must die? There is no purpose in such an outcome. Better for all that you accept terms and that you all vacate the fortress alive, that our men enter the fortress without fighting. Many thousands are already dead. Do we need to have any more die?’

Sir Pierre looked about him. ‘Well?’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘It is sensible, is it not? They wish to save their own people. It’s easier for them to have us walk from here and sail away, than that they should have to break into yet another strong wall. Assaulting the Temple would cost them dear. They know that.’

‘If we walk out of here, they won’t let us live,’ Ivo said flatly.

‘Why do you say that?’ Sir Pierre asked.

‘They are offended that we killed their men yesterday. In their minds, that is us breaking faith. They don’t understand how we could surrender, and then seek to protect our women. They don’t think like us. They know it was provocation, and if Christians broke into a Muslim harem, they would be outraged, but for their men to assault ours, that they will consider different. They will seek to capture us all, by guile if they can.’

‘I cannot tell whether you are right or wrong,’ Sir Pierre said. He stared over the parapet at the massed troops all about. ‘But I know this: if we don’t agree, we will all die here. There are miners beneath us now. They will be digging out a chamber and burning the supports to force the walls and the Temple to collapse. All the women and children will die if that happens.’

‘All roads lead to death,’ Buscarel said. He was behind Baldwin, honing his sword with a lump of stone. ‘Some are swifter than others. That is all.’

‘I think my own path is clear,’ Sir Pierre said. He had been standing with his head bowed. Now he kissed the cross of his sword, then leaned over the battlement to shout at Abu al-Fida. ‘I am coming down. I will discuss terms with your Sultan.’

Baldwin and Ivo stood watching as he descended the stairs at a swift but unhurried pace. He pointed to three Templars in the ward, and all formed behind him.

‘Open the gates!’ he bellowed, and the four men marched out.

‘Baldwin?’ Ivo said. ‘It has been good to be with you for the last year.’

‘Perhaps we shall be together longer,’ Baldwin smiled. As he did so, there was a shout from outside.

Before the Templars could draw steel, all had been grabbed. Now all were thrust to their knees, and as the garrison watched in horror, each was beheaded.

Ivo looked at Baldwin. ‘It won’t be long now, my friend.’

There was a ship in the bay, and a rowing boat was approaching swiftly as the last assault was launched.

Baldwin and Ivo remained on the walls, hurling stones at the men clambering up the ladders. There were no enemy turrets as yet, for to bring them through the narrow, winding streets would have been difficult even before the siege. Now that each street and lane had piles of rubble from fallen buildings, it would be a mammoth task. Instead Sultan al-Ashraf depended upon ladders and his overwhelming force.

Thousands were scaling the walls. A massive timber battering ram crashed repeatedly into the gate below. Templars and women ran about the ward, fetching anything that could be used to strengthen the gates and save them from collapse. Baldwin saw Lucia running from the kitchens with a couple of other women, a large beam in their arms. Lucia almost collapsed with the weight, but then they were off again.

Baldwin had enough on his hands already. He beat off a man clambering to the top of a ladder, and thrust it back, but with the weight of men on it, all he succeeded in achieving was to make it move away and then clatter back against the wall. He tried to grab it again, but a man hacked at his hands. His leather gauntlets were no protection against an axe. Instead he stabbed at the fellow’s face through the rungs, and felt his blade strike.

A bellow, and when he turned, three Muslims were pelting towards him from another ladder. Baldwin threw himself to the side, shouting, and the archer behind slammed an arrow into the leading man’s belly. Baldwin was up for the second, stabbing him in the throat, swinging around with his blade still embedded, and thrusting his sword’s cross into the face of the next. The guard’s arm broke the man’s nose. Baldwin pulled his sword free and stabbed him too. All about him was death. The Muslims were reaching over the walls at all sides. Baldwin hurried down the steps before he was engulfed by the latest waves. In the ward itself, he saw Lucia about to run back to the gates, a pair of planks of wood in her hands. He waved at her. ‘No! Go back and lock yourself in with the women! Quickly!’

She stopped, staring at him, and then realised the danger she was in as she saw the black-turbanned men dropping down the walls behind him. He saw her turn and flee, and then he was facing the enemy again. On his left he saw Buscarel standing similarly, and then Edgar, and four sergeants from the Templars. Seven men to guard a narrow front. Now the Muslims were gathering. There was a shout, and they formed into a line of men, shields ready, swords held high, and began to move slowly forward. The Templar nearer Baldwin gave an order, and the sergeants stepped to the guard.

A bellow, and suddenly the Muslims were on them. A sweeping flash and Baldwin was aware only of the swords before him. He must give way, and his feet moved of their own volition, shuffling back, then darting forward when there was an opportunity. A man fell, and then Baldwin felt a stinging cut on his thigh. Luckily a slash, not a stab. He moved again, hacking at an arm, but someone else’s blade was under him, and he cut his forearm, and that hurt, but he dare not look down at it.

A rumbling sound came to his ears, and he was sure that the ground was moving, but he kept on fighting. It must be the assault making the flags beneath his feet tremble and shudder. Or God was giving them an earthquake.

‘Give me space, boy!’ Ivo snarled as he came up from behind and took on three men to Baldwin’s right. Edgar was on his left, swinging his blade with gusto, a small smile on his face. He only ever seemed to wake fully when he was fighting, Baldwin thought to himself.

For a space it seemed as though the attackers were losing their momentum. There was an increasing number of men lying, sobbing and wailing, and fewer wanted to launch themselves at the diminished line of Christians.

Then there was a concerted rush. Baldwin caught a glimpse of a Templar falling, and at once he knew they would not hold this place. ‘Back! Retreat to the main buildings!’ he bellowed.

Edgar nodded, and turned, but as he did so, two arrows hit him. One was high, and passed through the soft flesh beneath his collarbone. It carried on, right through him, and on. The second was lower, and slammed into his thigh. He fell at once, grimacing, and for once his smile was wiped away.

Baldwin bent to help him up, and now the two hobbled together while Buscarel and Ivo and the Templars gave them cover. He would never know how he did it, but he managed at last to throw Edgar in through the door, and then turned to bellow to the others to join him. They ran. The first inside was Buscarel, holding up his forearm, where a long raking cut had sliced through to the bone at his elbow. Ivo was next, miraculously unhurt, and then the Templars arrived en masse. They stood in the doorway, and then sprang back and closed the doors, swinging down the hinged bar and bolting it securely.

‘Lucia!’ Baldwin said, and grabbed her.

‘There is a ship. The injured must go first,’ she said, pulling away and staring down at Edgar.

He had fallen to the ground, and now he lay there gritting his teeth against the pain of the two arrow-wounds. ‘Do they think me a pin-cushion that they would prick me so?’ he groaned.

‘You will at least be safe,’ Baldwin said. He took up Edgar’s arm, pushed his head beneath, and hoisted the man to his feet.

‘I’ll wait here,’ Ivo said. ‘We need to hold the door. Get Edgar to the boat, and as many women as you can.’

‘I’ll be back as soon as possible,’ Baldwin said.

He knew the way to the landing-stage from the other night when they had helped the women to the rowing boats. There was a short passage from here that gave out to a small yard, and beyond that lay narrow alley that led to the water.

Baldwin and Edgar got to the alleyway, and slowly negotiated the stairs cut into the rock. With Edgar wincing and sucking in his breath at every step, it was not a fast process. Women and some children were behind them, terrified lest they be too late, and Baldwin waved them on when there was space, letting Edgar rest. Then they were up again, taking the gentle descent, and limping on to the ramp to the boat.

Baldwin handed Edgar to the shipman. ‘Godspeed, Edgar of London.’

‘Godspeed, Master Devon,’ Edgar grinned, his face waxen with pain.

Baldwin turned and began to make his way back, but suddenly he saw the building before him give a dramatic lurch. There was a cloud of smoke, and then a terrifying rumble as if a mountain was collapsing. Before his eyes, the Temple was engulfed in smoke and dust. The wall near him moved, and a stone knocked him from his feet, and he found himself on his rump.

There was shouting, but he could hardly discern anything. The crack had been so loud, his ears were ringing still. He tried to climb to his feet, but an exquisite shaft of agony lanced up from the knee to the top of his head, and looking down, he saw that his foot was twisted at a peculiar angle. His leg must be broken.

He gazed back at the Temple, desperate to return. ‘Lucia! Lucia, I’m coming!’

Ivo and Buscarel held the door with the Templars. A pair of sergeants and a knight joined them as the timbers creaked and moved. The Muslims had found a beam from somewhere, probably the pile of timbers that had been holding the gates shut, and now were assailing the doors with reckless abandon.

‘We should open the doors when they least expect it,’ Ivo muttered. ‘Let the bastards run in, and we cut their legs off when they’re in, then lock the doors again.’

‘I think I’d prefer to keep the door shut,’ Buscarel said.

Ivo nodded. Then he sniffed the air and frowned.

At the farther side of the room, Lucia could smell it too. There was a reek of burning rising from the floor. She knew what that meant as well as Ivo.

There was a last shattering crash, and the doors were flung wide. They could hold the Muslims at bay no longer. Lucia sobbed, but refused to shriek. She saw the men almost falling over themselves to get inside — black-turbanned warriors, one Emir with his white turban. He and the others had drawn swords. She saw Buscarel hacked to pieces at the door, and then a man was running at her, a Muslim with one eye, and in the flash of a moment she saw the Kurd again. The man of her nightmares.

That was when she screamed.

Ivo heard her, and span about to see the man pawing at her. He roared with rage, and ran, slamming into him. More Muslims were pouring into the chamber, and Ivo stared at them, then at Lucia.

‘Girl, go with God,’ he said, and plunged his sword into her heart just before the first blow fell on him.

Only a few moments later, as two thousand Muslim warriors ran through the Temple, chasing women and children before them, whooping and shrieking with triumph, the floors gave way. The Sultan’s miners had done their job too well. As the timbers beneath burned, the Temple shuddered, and when the Muslim army entered, there was nothing to support their weight.

With a thunderous roar, like the sea pounding against rock, the whole Temple collapsed. The roof fell in on to the people inside, and the entire edifice tumbled into the caverns dug out beneath.

No one survived.