Templar's Acre

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

The ship was fitted with a castle fore and aft, and it was on the forecastle that Baldwin was told they must erect the machine.

Buscarel busied himself with his shipmen shifting ballast into the ship while Baldwin and Hob bellowed at the men on the top. First Baldwin had thought to reject Buscarel’s suggestions out of hand, but when he considered other methods of achieving the same result, it was clear that Buscarel was better advised than he. The catapult could not be sited in the middle of the vessel, for the arm would snag on mast and rigging, and he was assured that if it were set at the back of the ship, she would not be manoeuvrable. So instead he decided to carry on as Buscarel had proposed.

By the end of that day, they had a firm platform on which to set the machine. Working through the night by the light of torches and oil lamps, they had the structure built and ready on the quayside, and by the end of the second day, the catapult was completed and in place. There was a moment of panic when rocks were brought aboard in Buscarel’s absence, and a pile was built up on the port side of the ship. She was not yet ready for them, and began to heel over dramatically, until there came a warning bellow from Roger Flor, who was standing in his own ship a short distance away, laughing at their antics, and the vintaine ran about the boat at his command, rolling the rocks from one place to another and lashing them down securely.

On the morning of the third day, the ship was ready, and Baldwin and Hob stood on the harbour-front as she was pushed from the quayside and began to make her way out to sea, towed by an enthusiastic crew on a small galley.

‘How do you think she’ll do?’ Baldwin asked.

Hob looked up at him and drew the corners of his mouth down. Nodding in the direction of al-Mansour, he grunted, ‘If they manage to lob a rock at that bugger over there, I’ll be surprised, let alone hit it. Whoever heard of a catapult on a ship?’

Baldwin nodded. They made their way back to the walls and climbed the steps again.

After their third attempt at storming the walls, the Muslims were resorting to hurling every conceivable missile they could at the walls and the towers, concentrating on the point of the wall where the barbican protruded. Many rocks were landing in the city, but Baldwin reckoned these were simple overshots. The main targets were the defences, he thought, as a cloud of flame burst from the outer wall in front of him. Black, reeking smoke roiled up from the bright yellow and orange flames, and he winced at the blast of heat as it rolled past him.

‘They must have brought every rock from here to Cairo,’ he muttered.

‘Aye, they brought enough,’ Hob agreed.

On the towers above them on either side, the smaller catapults were working hard, flinging masonry. Pieces of shattered Muslim missiles gave them plenty of ammunition, along with the rubble from damaged buildings. The thunder of collapsing buildings could be heard every hour. But now a cheer went up from the besieged. The little cog had braved the rough seas, rocking and bucking, but when the men on the walls saw her catapult send the first rock inland, they roared like spectators at a cockfight. Even from here they could see the sudden shock in the Muslim ranks. The first missile missed al-Mansour, but flew straight into the flank of the men before the machine, and rolled over and over amongst them, crushing and killing several. A second flew harmlessly beyond the army, hitting only a wagon and shivering it to splinters, but the third and sixth seemed to reach close to the machine.

In a desperate bid to remove this threat, the Muslims brought up a large mangonel and set it near the catapult, firing heavy steel bolts at the ship. The missiles missed, however, the arrows stabbing harmlessly into the sea. It was a fluke, but a sudden shot from the ship punched into the sand near the mangonel, and one arm was snapped off, rendering the machine useless. But still the great beam-arm of al-Mansour kept rising and throwing rocks at the city, and no matter what the men of Acre attempted, nothing could reach that dread device.

‘We have to get it,’ Baldwin said, resting his chin on his forearm as another rock flew past al-Mansour. He recalled his thoughts about killing the Sultan in his tent that first day. ‘We should attack it.’

Sir Otto was passing him as he spoke. ‘You aren’t the only man to have that thought,’ he said.

Baldwin nodded, turning back to the sea, and was in time to see the ship breast a wave. ‘He’s very close to shore,’ he said.

Sir Otto stopped and there was a moment’s silence as the men on the walls stared out to sea. ‘He has to be, to hurt them. He must be as close as possible. It is fortunate Buscarel is a good shipman.’

The ship returned, and as it crept in towards the harbour, Buscarel relinquished his steering oar, along with command of the ship, with relief. His armpit, where he had gripped the oar for so long that day, had been rubbed raw by the timber. Blisters had raised and burst, and now blood soaked his chemise. His eyes were salted and tired from all the spray.

‘Make her fast,’ he shouted, and the sergeant at the forecastle nodded and had two men set about the cables fore and aft, while Buscarel rubbed his eyes.

They had at least done some damage while sailing up and down the coast, but their catapult was not strong enough to reach into the main camp of the Muslims. They were forced to run up and down as near to the rocky shoreline as possible, hurling their missiles as quickly as possible.

Leaving the ship, he saw Baldwin walking down to meet him, his scruffy dog behind him. There were two men along with him, but Baldwin stopped them at the ramp to the harbour, and walked on alone.

‘Master Shipman,’ Baldwin called. ‘You did well today.’

‘Aye, well, we must all do what we may,’ Buscarel said, his eye falling to the ring on Baldwin’s finger.

Baldwin clenched his teeth and closed his fist. He stared at Buscarel challengingly.

‘No. Once I wanted that ring,’ Buscarel said, ‘but not now. I would be happy if I could only have my woman and children sent to Cyprus.’

‘Really?’ Baldwin found the assertion hard to believe.

‘I am Genoese. I wanted to fight Venice for control of the seas. When I saw a ship that was owned by Venice, it was natural that I should try to take her. If our roles had been reversed, the Venetians would have taken mine and slain me. It is only on land that Venice and Genoa live in peace.’

‘But you are here, although your countrymen have fled.’

‘I was proud to be Genoese — but now? Now, I think I am a man of Acre. I have made this city my own. I would not leave her to be invaded and destroyed. She is the city where my sons were born, and where my woman and I have our home. To flee and hide would be shameful. So, I will stay, and perhaps I will die, but I will do all I can for her while I live.’

Baldwin looked at him with surprise. ‘You would renounce your own homeland?’

‘I would give up everything to keep this city safe,’ Buscarel said. He stared at the line of buildings. There were flames lighting the skies to the north and east. ‘Look at her! Acre burns, and for what? My family is here, but what will happen to them, to us? The city must hold.’

‘If she does, you will become a valued member of the Commune,’ Baldwin said.

‘Me? I doubt it. I am not noble, and I wasn’t born here. No, they’ll express thanks for my efforts and forget me. It’s the way of things.’

Baldwin nodded. They both knew that when there was no longer a need to defend the city, the merchants and barons would take control again, and those who had risked their lives would be discarded. ‘Your fame will not fade so easily,’ Baldwin said. ‘The man who could lob his missiles into the Muslim camp will be remembered for many years to come.’

‘Perhaps. But then someone will mention that I was a pirate, and all my efforts before that will be overrun. But no matter. I am happy with my place. So long as there is wine to drink, and my woman is safe.’

‘Aye,’ Baldwin. His face hardened. ‘Did you know what Lady Maria did to her maid?’

‘Which?’

‘Lucia. She is with me now. Lady Maria had her beaten, and then delivered her to a slave farm. I found her there and brought her back.’

‘I wish you luck. For me, all I know is I am weary to the bones. I need to rest before I set sail again.’

‘You’ll continue tomorrow?’

‘Yes. If I can provide a harrying fire against them, at least I will feel I am achieving something.’

‘Tell me — when you assaulted our ship and took my ring, what would you have done with us?’

‘Sold you as slaves. Lady Maria had contacts with dealers in Cairo, and I would have made a lot of money from you and some of the other pilgrims.’

‘What of Mainboeuf?’

‘He was her willing assistant. A wily merchant, with contacts all over. That was why Lady Maria used him, I think. She wanted to maintain good relations with the Muslims.’

‘Why?’

‘Because her lands are hard to defend. Lydda is a valuable town, and if the Muslims wanted, they could take it and all within it. Lady Maria did all she could to protect it and herself.’

‘Would she have sold Acre?’

‘No. She is a Christian.’

‘So are many who would sell their city and friends for a purse filled with gold,’ Baldwin said.

‘Here?’

‘It is rumoured that in Safed the Templars were betrayed by a single man who became Muslim,’ Baldwin said. ‘I did think that Mainboeuf could have done that. But then, why would he have been taken and thrown into gaol? It cannot have been him.’

‘Surely no one would have betrayed us?’ Buscarel said, but in his mind’s eye he saw Lady Maria’s green eyes, and he wondered.

‘Good luck on the seas tomorrow. And God be with you.’ Baldwin hesitated. Then, ‘I will pray for you.’

Buscarel stared at him, and then patted Baldwin’s dog. ‘I never thought to make a friend of you.’

‘I think we have both seen much that has changed us in the last days,’ Baldwin said.