A Blood Red Horse (25 page)

Ellie lay down beside Sacramenta. She could not take in what she had just been told. She closed her eyes and did not open them again until she could feel herself pillowed against the nurse's many rolls of fat.

“Old Nurse,” she whispered, “they are dead. All of them. The constable knew, and he never told us.”

Old Nurse began to rock backward and forward.

“There, Miss Ellie. There, Miss Ellie,” she said stupidly. “What does the constable know?”

Ellie thumped Old Nurse with her fists and wept. “Is that all you can say?” she sobbed. “De Scabious does know. He heard it from a man at the coast. He has known since April, and he never told us.”

Old Nurse did not reply. She could think of nothing but
Sir Thomas's face as he left. “God rest his soul,” she muttered, rocking harder and harder, taking no more notice of Ellie's pounding than of a fly. “God rest all their souls.”

They sat, Ellie and Old Nurse, with Sacramenta bending low over them, for some considerable time. Then Ellie got up.

“At least we can do one thing,” she said, her voice hard. “We can try to stop Constable de Scabious taking Hartslove. Sir Thomas's brother, the bishop, might help us if we can get word to him.”

“And how will we do that?” asked Old Nurse. “Nobody from here will take a message to him from you without going to the constable first. They wouldn't dare. And I can't ride. As for that Margery—well, I wouldn't trust her.”

Ellie thought for a moment. She looked at Sacramenta. “There is a way,” she said slowly. “I don't know if it will work, but we might as well try.”

For half the night Ellie was up trying to remember how to write. Which way round were the
b
s and
p
s? Her quill broke several times, but finally she managed to scribble what she hoped was a coherent message.
It is not as elegant as the one I sent to Will with Brother Ranulf's help
, she thought regretfully.
But that can't be helped
.

She wrapped it in an old silken petticoat. Old Nurse secured it with a needle and thread.

The next morning Ellie sent for Sacramenta. She would go for a ride, she said. Two knights immediately called for their horses to accompany her. One came to help her to mount, but was pushed out of the way by Old Nurse.

“I'll help Miss Ellie this morning,” she said officiously,
and stood blocking their view while Ellie slipped the silk envelope behind the girth. Then Old Nurse hitched her on board.

Sacramenta was fresh in the November winds. Ellie crossed the drawbridge and rode down through the jousting field, remembering with an aching heart the first time Hosanna had shown his mettle and how she had loved being perched in front of Sir Thomas. Now all that was at an end. She urged Sacramenta to canter. She must not allow herself to drown in memories. Not yet, anyway. The knights dawdled behind as Sacramenta flattened herself to gallop through the fallen leaves. Speed, ah! That would help to clear her mind. Sacramenta increased her pace, and they rushed faster and faster toward the river. As the mare's hooves beat the ground Ellie suddenly thought she heard the echo of other hoofbeats beside her. She glanced round. The knights were only trotting. The second horse she could hear was galloping. She could see nothing, but Sacramenta, too, seemed to stretch out her nose as if in a race. The wind tugged at Ellie's hair, and just for a moment she felt she was flying. There was a whisk of red beside her. “Hosanna?” The name resounded in her head. She could not tell if she spoke it aloud or not. But her invisible companion was not Hosanna. It was a flurry of leaves kicked up by Sacramenta.

Nevertheless, as the mare slowed down and Ellie chided herself for being so whimsical, she felt stronger.

Ellie's plan went quite smoothly, for the knights were idle and she was determined. When she reached the river, she leaned forward and muttered into Sacramenta's ear, “Go to the abbey! I don't know if you understand, but you are the best hope we've got.” Then slipping her feet from the stirrups, she slid into the mud
and smacked Sacramenta sharply on her rump. Sacramenta grunted with surprise, but, to Ellie's relief, forded the river and was soon out of sight. By the time the knights caught up, Ellie had covered herself in mud. “The horse fell,” she shouted. “And now she has run off. I daresay she'll come home eventually. Can one of you give me a ride before I catch my death of cold?”

By evening Sacramenta had not returned. However, since Ellie did not seem to be worried, the garrison knights, after consulting the sergeant, did not go to look for her and played dice instead. By the next morning, they had forgotten all about her.

The Christians trapped in the citadel at Jaffa could see Kamil and Hosanna below. The tall tower offered the only remaining hope of safety, and not much hope at that. As Kamil looked up, he could see the Saracens' enemies leaning out to look down. He did not respond either to their taunts or their pleas. He was fully focused on his last task—taking the tower itself and forcing the Christians out. The marksmen he had sent had not been successful, and now Kamil thought more drastic action was required.

The slaughter in the city was by no means over, although the Saracens were in control. There were bodies piled on every street corner. Hosanna slipped with ease between groups of fighting enemies, avoiding stray arrows and crossbolts, bending and turning before Kamil even asked. The horse stepped neatly over the corpses that tumbled in the gutter. Kamil soon found himself engrossed in his work. As he ordered men to collect kindling (for the citadel might have to be fired) or defended himself from Christians on the run, he almost forgot that he and the horse were two different beings. Hosanna became an extension of his own legs and arms. They were as one.

However, as the day went on, something troubled
Kamil. Something within him had changed. Even as he went about the business of war, which was his duty as a Muslim and a follower of Saladin, he was acutely conscious of the Christians' blood spreading like a stain down Hosanna's front legs. It stood out hideously against the horse's natural color, and Kamil hated it. Often Kamil looked for a water trough and washed the blood off. Sometimes he even found himself avoiding killing Christian men altogether and called for soldiers to take them into the custody pens he once would not have bothered to create. He was nervous of seeing the knight with the teardrop mark again, but he never did.

By evening Kamil could see that nearly all the able-bodied Christians had reached the tower and were climbing farther and farther up. They refused to surrender, even though everybody knew that there could, in the end, be no other outcome. When the call for negotiations finally came, Kamil was not surprised to be asked to make an approach to Saladin on the Christians' behalf. The message was clear. The Christians declared that if Richard's army had not come to the aid of the city by three o'clock the following afternoon, August first, they would give themselves up.

Kamil galloped back to Saladin, who, having traveled more slowly, was now approaching Jaffa with the main body of the army. When he heard what Kamil had to say, he ordered his men to set up camp about half a mile from the city walls, where the orchards and gardens began.

“You have done well, Kamil,” he said. “The answer to the Christians is that they have until tomorrow, three o'clock—although much good may the delay do them.”

The Saracens inside Jaffa were jubilant. They had won. Despite Kamil urging caution, for he was too much a soldier
to take anything for granted, his men hoisted their green flags and pennants on the city walls in anticipation of total victory. Why bother to wait? Kamil pushed down his misgivings. What harm could a few flags do? Besides, his men deserved to celebrate. Richard, who, the Saracen spies reported to Saladin, had arrived at Acre five days earlier, could never make it to Jaffa in time to rescue the Christian inhabitants. The city was surrounded.

Kamil rode out of the city and back to the camp. It felt good to dismount. He patted Hosanna, then handed him to a groom with instructions to feed him well. Kamil was exhausted. After sharing some dinner with the sultan, he found the tent allocated to him, undressed, and fell asleep.

Neither Saladin nor Kamil had reckoned on Richard's fury. Two days after arriving at Acre, he received a message that Jaffa was under attack. Barely stopping to think, and leaving all his army's horses behind, the king set sail from Acre with a handful of knights and men-at-arms. Leaving Jerusalem for another day was one thing, but Jaffa, which would be vital for supply lines to the Holy City, must be protected at all costs. Losing Jaffa would make any future attempts on Jerusalem almost impossible. Richard could not countenance it.

Gavin and William leaped on board ship with the king. At the last minute Hal scrambled up the gangplank, begging to be allowed to fight just once on this great crusade. He had no armor and only a small dagger, but he wanted to take his chances. William was reluctant, but Gavin, remembering the frustrations of his own youth, told William that he should let Hal come. Anyway, it was too late. The ship was already sailing, followed by a small flotilla of other boats, all crammed with knights and soldiers.

Standing in the prow as the king's vessel traveled south
hugging the coast, William strained to pick up any clue about what was happening inland. Contrary winds made their progress agonizingly slow. Richard fretted that a journey calculated to take two days with an accommodating wind was going to take at least three.

The king was right. It was not until nearly midnight of the Christians' last night before surrender that the fleet reached Jaffa, and when the dawn broke, Richard's heart sank. They were too late. The green flags mocked him. The king stamped and swore.

It was Gavin who, straining his eyes in the thin light, saw movement at the top of the tower. He watched with increasing amazement as a priest, waving wildly at the ship, jumped from the fortress into the sea. It was a massive leap. Unsure what this signified, Gavin indicated to the sailors that they should lower a rope and haul him in. The Christians were silent. What was going on inside the city?

The priest, gasping and his teeth chattering, demanded to see the king. Hal threw a blanket over him while Gavin fetched Richard.

“Sir,” said the priest, “I have come to tell you that Jaffa has not fallen completely to the Saracens. There are many of us, even knights still armed, taking refuge in the top of the citadel. If you can move quickly to get us out and can provide enough fighting men yourself, the city may yet be saved.”

Richard, sensing a glimmer of hope, asked the priest how many Saracens he thought were in the city and what their state of readiness was. The priest told of feasts half-eaten, of Saracen horses unsaddled, and of soldiers sleeping in the streets. Richard made up his mind at once. “We must attack from the beach, and we must do it now,” he said. “Every able-bodied man on this ship must wield a
weapon.” He caught sight of Gavin. Are you ready?” he asked.

Gavin stiffened his back.

“I am ready, sire,” he said, pulling out his sword with his left hand.

“And you?” the king turned to Hal.

“Yes, sire.”

Richard smiled. “I am surrounded by brave men,” he said. “I shall not forget.”

William and Hal made sure Gavin was between them as they prepared to leap from the ship and make their way to the shore.

“Seems as good a time as any to try out my new skills for real,” Gavin shouted as all three plunged into the sea together. “Even a one-armed man and a groom are needed now!”

When they surfaced, Hal was already holding his dagger high above his head. “Hartslove and Hosanna!” he was shouting. Gavin and William, with terrified exhilaration, took up his cry.

The first Kamil knew of Richard's arrival was when Muslim soldiers began pouring out of the city gates through which they had only recently poured in. He was woken by screams. People were no longer praising Allah, they were begging for his help. By the time he had pulled on his clothes, run out to find Hosanna, and was ready to fight, it was too late. The Saracen flags were being torn down. Jaffa was once again filled with fighting, and before breakfast the red cross on the white background was flying again, hoisted by a handful of men whose bravery verged on madness. Kamil, although he tried his best, was helpless to stop this reverse. His mind was numb with shock and
incredulity as he found Saladin to give him the bad news himself.

Saladin wasted no time in regrets. He immediately issued a challenge. There could be no more sieges, no more cat and mouse. The two armies should meet outside the city walls and fight a pitched battle. It was time to have definite winners and losers. Richard laughed when Baha ad-Din came to find him with the message. He was busy releasing the Christian prisoners and counting the Saracen dead. He made Baha ad-Din wait for an hour before he sent his reply.

“Take a message back to the sultan,” he said eventually. “We cannot fight a pitched battle as we have no horses.” Then he went into the citadel to make sure all the fires were put out and the soldiers had made the city secure.

When Richard's message was brought back and read to him, Saladin sat thinking. Then he sent Baha ad-Din to gather the emirs together. He also sent for Kamil and asked him to help him dress in his most splendid attire. “It was not your fault,” he said. “The Christians are insane. We say many things about them, but they do not lack courage. Their faith is as strong as ours, and they are formidable, even heroic, enemies. We cannot deny them that. But now the time has come for the last great effort. I shall go to our men, not as a fellow soldier, but, for once, as their sultan.”

Saladin timed it perfectly. As the emirs assembled, the muezzin called the faithful to prayer. The sultan strode in, dazzling in gold. He took his place at the front and listened, with humility, to the imam. After the last words died away, but while the holy sentiments they had just heard expressed were still reverberating in their ears, Saladin turned to face his emirs and spoke.