Kingdom Page 9

  Chapter 4

  MAY 1164: CAIRO

  John’s horse trotted into the Nile, kicking up water that shone silver in the moonlight. He could just see the king ahead of him, urging his horse across the river, while all around he could hear the splashing of men and horses, visible only as dim shapes in the darkness. John looked upstream. A bright spot on the horizon told him where Cairo lay. His horse was swimming now, and the warm water of the Nile came up to John’s waist. A moment later, his mount climbed up a sandy bank on to a low island. Knights were all around him, their horses nickering in the darkness. John was the only one amongst them not in armour. He had come in his role as a priest and translator, to offer his services after the battle.

  After nearly a month of facing Shirkuh’s army across the Nile, each side unable to attack, Shawar had devised a plan to surprise the enemy. He had provided one hundred members of the Egyptian army’s Armenian cavalry, elite troops who fought for the caliph despite the fact that they were Christian. They had joined four hundred Frankish knights and snuck north under the cover of darkness, riding downstream while a slender crescent moon climbed across the sky. Finally, when the moon stood at its apex, their Egyptian guide had stopped at the riverbank and pointed to where an island split the river in two, making crossing on horseback possible.

  John crossed the island and urged his horse into the water again. He emerged on the far bank where the men were forming a column five riders wide. He rode to the rear. At the front, Amalric rose in his stirrups to address his troops. ‘Tonight, we ride for God, to drive the Saracen scourge from these lands!’ he shouted. ‘Ride hard and ride fast, men, and when we reach their camp, show no mercy! Fill the Nile with the blood of these arse-faced, stone-worshipping bastards! For Christ!’

  ‘For Christ!’ the men roared back, and the army moved out at a trot. The sounds of hooves pounding on the sandy road and the jangle of tack joined the chorus of frogs along the banks of the Nile. The frogs went silent as the sky began to lighten, revealing broad green fields on either side of the river. In the distance, John could see the pyramids and the village of Giza huddled at their foot. South of the city, hundreds of cooking fires glimmered in the dawn light.

  ‘For Christ!’ Amalric roared and spurred to a gallop. The men surged after him, their horses kicking up plumes of sand. John slowed his mount to a walk, content to let the knights race ahead. They galloped into the enemy camp, and John heard screaming. But these were not cries of surprise or pain, but of disappointment. As John reached the camp, he saw why. The smouldering cooking fires were the only remaining trace of the enemy army. They had left before the Franks arrived.

  John heard more shouting; cries of pain mixed with the terrified screams of women. He looked to see smoke rising above Giza. Finding the camp empty, the knights had moved on to sack the town. A particularly piercing wail rose above the other cries, and John winced. He thought of Zimat, of what he would do if a Frankish knight raped her.

  John was riding towards Giza when he came across Humphrey, who was kicking angrily at one of the smouldering cooking fires. ‘The currish maggot-ridden bastards!’ the constable sputtered. ‘God-cursed infidels! Onion-eyed donkey cocks!’

  ‘Pardon, my lord,’ John said, interrupting the stream of curses. ‘Perhaps you should restrain the men.’

  ‘Let them have their fun. Their blood is up, and they need some sport.’

  ‘The Egyptians are our allies. The caliph will not look kindly on our men raping and pillaging his people.’

  ‘The people of Giza gave shelter to the enemies of Egypt. They made their own bed.’

  John frowned. The people of Giza could hardly have refused to supply and house Shirkuh’s army. As he turned away in disgust, he spotted Amalric kneeling on the sandy shore, his hands clasped before him. John cantered over and dismounted. The king rose. ‘The craven bastards,’ he muttered and then yawned. ‘I sacrificed a night’s sleep for nothing.’ The king noticed John’s expression. ‘You look as if you had lost a friend, John. What has happened?’

  ‘The men are pillaging Giza.’

  ‘So they are.’

  ‘It is unholy work, sire.’

  ‘It is the way of war, John.’ Amalric began to walk away.

  John bit back a choice curse. Then he had a sudden inspiration. ‘This is precisely why Bernard visited you, sire!’

  Amalric stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Bernard said you are a poor Christian. He is right, but it is not because of what you do in the bedroom, much though that may displease God. No, it is because of moments like this, sire. When you let innocents perish by the sword, you make yourself unworthy to wear the true cross.’

  Amalric’s brow knit. ‘Perhaps you are right. Humphrey! Humphrey!’

  The constable strode over. ‘Sire?’

  ‘Go to Giza and bring the men to order. Tell them that any man who so much as touches a citizen of Giza will lose their head.’

  ‘But sire—’

  ‘Tell them!’

  The king watched as Humphrey departed. Soon, the cries emanating from Giza ceased.

  ‘You have done God’s work today,’ John told Amalric.

  ‘Hmph.’ The king took the chain with the piece of the true cross from the pouch at his belt and hung it around his neck. ‘Look here, John!’ he cried as he spotted a barge surging across the Nile under the power of twin banks of oars. Shawar stood in the stern. ‘Come. You will translate for me.’

  They met the barge where it ran ashore. Shawar stepped from the ship, a cup of wine in hand. ‘God grant you good day, King Amalric! I am sure you are parched after your long ride.’ He handed the king the cup.

  Amalric drained it, wine dribbling from the sides of his mouth to stain his blond beard violet. ‘The craven bastards escaped our trap.’

  ‘Indeed. My lookouts say that Shirkuh’s army began to leave a few hours after midnight. They headed upstream, into Upper Egypt.’

  ‘We must follow them. How long until you can have your army across the Nile?’

  ‘By tomorrow afternoon.’

  Amalric frowned. ‘Can they not move faster?’

  ‘There is no hurry, King,’ Shawar assured him with a smile. ‘Shirkuh has made a fatal blunder. He is headed south into desert lands. If he leaves the Nile, his men will die of thirst. We can follow in our own good time. He cannot escape us now.’

  JUNE 1164: AL-BABEIN

  John wiped sweat from his brow and rewrapped the strip of cloth that kept the harsh sunlight off his head. They had been pursuing Shirkuh’s army for three weeks, and summer had arrived in full force. A mile ahead, the hilltop town of Al-Babein shifted and wavered in the heat. It was mostly ruins, half-buried stones rising from the hillside like the bleached bones of some giant beast.

  ‘A bunch of arse-faced pignuts!’ Amalric cursed nearby, speaking to no one in particular. The king’s face was bright red. ‘Every time we get close, they flee. Why will the cowards not stand and fight!’

  The reason was not hard to guess. John glanced back to the combined Frankish and Egyptian army marching behind them. Ranks of foot-soldiers four deep formed moving squares with cavalry riding in the middle. There were ten squares in all, comprising well over two thousand knights and eight thousand infantry.

  ‘Shirkuh is no coward, sire,’ John said. ‘But nor is he a fool. We outnumber his forces nearly two to one.’

  Amalric grunted sceptically.

  ‘My lord!’ It was the constable Humphrey, pointing upstream.

  They were rounding a curve in the river, and ahead John could see that Shirkuh’s army had formed a long battle line that stretched west away from the river.

  A broad grin spread over Amalric’s face. ‘Praise God!’ he roared. ‘A fight at last! Constable, have the army form a line. I want my knights and infantry in the middle. Put the Armenians and Egyptian cavalry on our flanks, and hold the native cavalry in reserve.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Humphrey rode away and
began shouting orders.

  Amalric turned to John. ‘What do you say, Father? Does God favour us?’

  ‘God does not speak to me, sire.’

  ‘But you are a priest.’

  ‘I do not believe that God decides the battles of men, sire.’

  Amalric frowned. ‘We cannot be too sure, though, can we?’ He kissed the fragment of the true cross that hung about his neck and then closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  ‘Sire!’ John shouted. ‘Look!’ The Saracen ranks were dissolving as first dozens, then hundreds of men turned and galloped upstream. Within seconds, Shirkuh’s entire army was in flight.

  ‘God damn them, not again!’ Amalric cursed. ‘The milk-livered, craven—’ He stopped short and took a deep breath. ‘No. They will not escape this time.’ He raised his voice to a shout. ‘Constable! Constable!’

  ‘Yes, sire?’ Humphrey called as he cantered back to join the king.

  ‘We will leave the infantry behind and give chase.’

  ‘Are you certain, sire? They will outnumber us.’

  ‘One of our knights is worth three of their men. We will catch them, and we will kill them, every last one of the bastards.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Amalric turned to John. ‘Bless me, Father.’ John hesitated. He had never blessed anyone. ‘Damn it! I haven’t all day. Do it, man!’

  John made the sign of the cross over the king. ‘In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus Sancti. Grant this man courage to face his enemies and strength to defeat them.’ An image of Yusuf flashed into John’s mind, and he added, ‘And the wisdom to show mercy in victory.’

  ‘Amen!’ Amalric declared. One of the king’s squires handed him his shield and long lance. The other knights had grouped around him. John made his way to the edge of the men.

  ‘God is with us!’ Amalric shouted. ‘For Christ!’ A trumpet began to blow and the king cantered forward, followed by his knights, the Armenians and the native cavalry. John hesitated for a moment and then he pulled a mace from his saddle and spurred after them. He would not let another slaughter happen, like at Giza.

  John galloped along the river, past the fields and groves of palms that bordered the Nile’s dark waters below Al-Babein. He slowed as he caught up to the native cavalry and was enveloped in a thick cloud of dust. Suddenly the riders ahead of him veered to the right, heading across green fields and leaving a wide swathe of trampled wheat. There was less dust now, and John could see the front of the charge and the Saracens beyond. They had stopped and fanned out in a battle line. Beyond them, the cultivated fields gave way to hard-baked earth and then to dunes, the sand blindingly bright under the afternoon sun.

  The Frankish charge slowed and then stopped. Amalric formed his line only a hundred yards from the Saracens, close enough to see the faces of their enemy. John found himself on the right wing, with the native Christians. He spotted Yusuf’s eagle standard waving over the centre of the Saracen line. A horn sounded, and the Christians surged forward.

  John stayed where he was and watched as the Frankish knights slammed into the enemy’s centre, which melted away under the attack, turning to flee into the desert. Amalric and his men followed, disappearing amongst the low dunes. But the rest of the Muslim army had not retreated. The left and right wings swooped down on the Armenian and native Christian cavalry, neither of whom showed much stomach for a fight now that the Frankish knights had left the field. Several hundred other Saracen warriors turned and rode into the desert after the Frankish knights, cutting off their retreat. Amalric had been too eager. He had ridden into a trap.

  John did not need to stay to know how this battle would end. He turned his horse and spurred to a gallop. He sped past a farmer, weeping as he knelt amongst his trampled crops. John was on the river road now, kicking up dust as he raced towards where the infantry had been left behind. As they came into view, John was surprised to see that they were making camp.

  ‘The Saracens!’ he yelled as he rode amongst men setting up tents and starting cooking fires. ‘The Saracens are coming!’ Several men glanced at him, but no one stopped what they were doing. John reined in beside a Templar sergeant. ‘You there! What’s your name?’ The man stared at John blankly. John raised his mace. ‘Your name!’

  ‘Renault, but they call me Carver, Father.’

  ‘I am a canon of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, your superior before God. You must do as I say. The life of every man in this army depends on it.’

  The man blinked a few times and then nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Our army has been defeated. The Saracens will be here soon, and if we are not ready they will cut us to pieces. Do you understand?’ The man nodded. ‘Good. Round up the Templar sergeants and tell them what I told you. Have the men form ranks. You have my permission to kill anyone who does not do as you ask. Understood?’ The man nodded again. ‘Good. Now go, and God help you!’

  The Templar hurried off, and soon enough Templar sergeants were roaming about the camp, yelling at the Egyptian and Christian foot-soldiers to form ranks and striking at those few poor souls who hesitated too long. You could always count on the Templars to follow orders. John looked up river and could see a cloud of dust approaching. That would be the Armenians and native cavalry, fleeing for their lives. The Saracens would be close behind. John turned back towards the infantry, who had formed a long column.

  ‘Tighten those ranks!’ he called as he rode down the line of men. ‘Shield on the outside!’ he yelled to an Egyptian who had put his shield on the wrong arm. He stopped beside a dozen men who remained outside the column. They were busy loading heavy chests on to wagons. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘This is the gold the Egyptians paid us,’ one of the men explained. John recognized him as one of Amalric’s clerks. ‘The King gave me charge of it.’

  ‘Leave it.’

  The man was aghast. ‘Do you realize how much gold is in these chests?’

  ‘Two hundred thousand dinars. And if we leave it, then the Saracens will stop to collect spoils instead of running us down from behind and filling your arse with arrows like a pin cushion. Better to lose the gold than the lives of men.’

  ‘Is it?’ the clerk asked.

  John raised his mace. ‘Leave the gold, or yours will be the first life lost, friend.’

  The clerk hesitated for a moment and then called for his men to join the column. It was just in time. Already, the first of the Armenians were galloping past. John could see the front ranks of the Saracen cavalry rounding a bend upstream.

  He raised his voice. ‘All right, men! Keep close together now! March!’

  Yusuf’s Arabian horse moved nimbly in the deep sand as it galloped around a dune. His men had split up after they rode into the desert, and now he rode with only Qaraqush, Al-Mashtub and ten other men. The Frankish knights had also scattered in their pursuit. Although Yusuf could not see them amidst the maze of dunes, he had heard their loud cries – ‘For Christ! For the Kingdom!’ – grow steadily more dispersed. Now he raised his curved bow in one hand as he reined to a halt on some flat land between the dunes. He looked over to Qaraqush. ‘No more running, friend. It is time to do some hunting.’

  Yusuf led them back the way they had come, following their tracks as they wove between the maze of short dunes. The scattered war cries of the Franks had ceased, replaced by cries of agony as Shirkuh’s men turned to attack. The Franks’ heavy horses would be clumsy in the deep, shifting sands, making them easy prey. Yusuf rounded one of the dunes and sighted seven knights a dozen yards off, their horses struggling through the sand.

  ‘For Islam!’ Yusuf cried as he nocked an arrow to his bow.

  ‘For Christ!’ the lead knight roared back. His yell was cut short as Yusuf’s arrow lodged in his throat. The other knights charged, and Yusuf’s men divided, riding in a circle around the Franks and shooting arrows into their ranks. Two of the Franks’ horses fell, and the other knights fled.

 
Yusuf shouldered his bow and then took up his shield and drew his sword. ‘For Allah!’ he yelled and galloped after the knights. Yusuf’s horse gained quickly on the heavy Frankish chargers. He reached the rearmost knight and slashed at him. The man blocked the blow with this shield, and chopped at Yusuf, who veered away to avoid the attack. He was angling back towards the knight when he rounded a dune and rode straight into a group of twelve more knights.

  Yusuf just had time to recognize the king’s standard flying above them before he found himself surrounded and fighting for his life. A sword flashed towards his head, and he parried. He deflected another blow with this shield. He spurred forward, trying to escape the press of men, but before he could ride free a sword slammed into his back. His mail stopped the blade, but the force of the blow knocked him forward against his horse’s neck. He straightened just in time to parry a strike that would have decapitated him. Yusuf’s heart beat faster when he saw his attacker’s face. It was the king. Yusuf slashed for his head, but Amalric knocked the blow aside with his shield. The king raised his sword and then froze as an arrow thudded into his chest.

  Another dozen mamluks, with Shirkuh at their head, had rounded one of the dunes and were now circling the Christians and shooting arrows. Another shaft slammed into the king’s chest. Yusuf saw no blood. The arrows had penetrated the king’s mail, but not the leather vest beneath.

  ‘To me!’ Amalric cried. ‘Retreat! Retreat!’ He parried a final blow from Yusuf and spurred away, his heavy horse knocking aside the mamluks’ lighter mounts. The remaining half-dozen knights galloped after him.

  ‘It’s the King! Don’t let him escape!’ Yusuf shouted as he spurred his horse to a gallop. He came alongside the rearmost Frank. The man hacked at him, but he turned the blow aside with his own sword before swinging backhanded and catching the man in the chin. Blood spattered the sand as the knight fell.

  There were still five knights between him and the king. Yusuf spurred his mount still faster, flashing by one knight, then another and another. He knocked a blow aside with his shield as he sped past the final knight. The king was just ahead now.