Kingdom (50 page)

‘I’ll see you in hell, Saxon,’ Reynald muttered. He spurred his horse straight towards the onrushing Saracens.

‘’Sblood!’ John cursed and galloped after him. Ahead, Reynald had disappeared into the crowd of Saracens. John charged after him, swinging his sword in wide arcs. He felt blows raining down on him from all sides, swords and spears glancing off his mail. There were no other knights in sight. The Franks had been swept up in the flood of mamluks, and each knight was now an island facing dozens of circling men.

John glimpsed Reynald through the crowd of mamluks and forced his horse alongside the regent’s. His surcoat was soaked
in
blood, though John could not tell if it was his or a Saracen’s. ‘To me!’ Reynald cried. ‘Men of Jerusalem, to me!’

A knight joined them, then another and another. Soon they had more than two-dozen men alongside. John and Reynald found themselves at the centre of the Christians and momentarily free from the fight. Reynald took a horn from his saddle.

‘What are you doing?’ John demanded.

‘We have lost.’ Reynald raised the horn to signal the retreat, but lowered it as there was a roar behind them. John looked to see the sergeants, with Baldwin at their head, slam into the Saracen line. The king drove into the Saracen ranks, hacking furiously at the enemy. Foot-soldiers came after him, spearing the Saracens off their horses. Reynald hesitated for a moment and then brought the horn back to his lips.

John knocked it from his hands. ‘The King has charged. We must ride to join him.’

Reynald looked from John to Baldwin and then raised his voice. ‘Retreat! Retreat, men! Re—’

John smashed the pommel of his sword into Reynald’s face, knocking the regent from his horse. He waved his sword overhead. ‘For Jerusalem! For Baldwin! Follow me!’

Yusuf watched as the victory that had seemed certain only moments before turned into defeat. His line of mamluks gave ground as the Frankish sergeants led by Baldwin cut into them. The Frankish knights had regrouped and were driving through Yusuf’s men and towards the king. They joined up around him and pressed forward. Yusuf’s men began to leave the field in ever greater numbers.

Yusuf looked to Saqr. ‘Sound the retreat.’

‘Are you certain, Malik?’

‘Do it!’

Saqr raised a curved ram’s horn and blew three times. Before the last of the piercing notes had faded men began to pull back,
the
line dissolving as mamluks rode for their lives. The Franks rushed after them. The knights led by Baldwin drove straight towards Yusuf.

‘Come, men!’ Yusuf shouted to the members of his khaskiya. ‘Let us save ourselves.’

He turned and galloped away from the Christians. Ahead, at the edge of the ravine, hundreds of riderless horses were milling about. Yusuf’s men had abandoned them in order to scramble down the steep side. Yusuf reached the edge and leaned back in the saddle as he urged his horse into the ravine, zigzagging down the slope. He reached the bottom and urged his mount into the water. The animal struggled against the swift current. ‘
Yalla
!
Yalla
!’ Yusuf shouted in encouragement. But the horse stumbled on a hidden rock and fell.

Yusuf managed to free his feet from the stirrups just before he disappeared under the muddy water. He hit the riverbed and was tumbled head over heels by the swift current. Finally he managed to gain a footing and stand, breaking the surface. The water came up to his chest, but he was able to hold his ground by leaning into the current. He spotted his khaskiya some fifty yards upstream. He would never reach them while in the water. He began to make his way to the far side of the ravine. He lost his footing for a moment and drifted downstream. A mamluk on horseback was just ahead of him, and the current slammed Yusuf into the side of the horse. The rider grasped Yusuf’s arm and held him there for a moment, but then Yusuf was forced under. He passed between the horse’s legs and broke the surface again. He continued to struggle across and finally reached the far side of the ravine. He scrambled up the slope and collapsed, gasping for breath. He was covered in dark-brown mud and his head was ringing. His helmet was lost in the water. After a moment he forced himself to stand.

His army was no more. On the far side of the ravine the field was littered with dead and the Franks were cutting down any who remained. On Yusuf’s side, scattered groups of men
scurried
from the field, heading for the hills to the south. A group of Frankish knights had crossed the ravine and begun to ride down the Saracens. Small skirmishes broke out here and there as groups of mamluks banded together to make a stand. Their bravery was foolish. The Frankish sergeants were starting to cross the ravine. Once they reached the far side, any mamluks remaining would be slaughtered.

Yusuf started south, towards the hills. He tried to run, but his right leg buckled. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he reached down and felt his knee. It was swollen and throbbing. He must have twisted it in the ravine. He looked up at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. A knight was riding towards him, sword in hand.

A sudden wave of fury swept over Yusuf. He had wanted peace. The Franks had forced him to fight, and, somehow, he had lost. But he would not lose his life on this Godforsaken field, and this Frank, at least, would pay for the humiliation he had suffered. Yusuf drew his sword. ‘For Islam!’ he shouted and limped towards the knight. The Frank spurred to a gallop and brought his sword slicing down. Yusuf managed to parry, but the weight of the blow knocked him to his knees. As he rose the knight wheeled his horse and came charging back. Yusuf parried another blow. But this time his sword went flying from his hands and he was knocked flat on his back. He rose to see that the knight had already turned. Yusuf looked about desperately. On the ground beside him was a dead mamluk, still gripping a bamboo spear. Yusuf prised the spear from his dead fingers and rose to see the knight bearing down. He stood directly in the horse’s path and braced himself. At the last moment he plunged the spear into the charger’s chest and dived to the side. The horse fell, throwing its rider. The Frank lay still for a moment before pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards his sword.

Yusuf retrieved his own blade and turned to see the Frank staggering towards him. He wore a helmet that hid his face, but
Yusuf
could see enough of his sparse beard to know his opponent was a young man. The Frank attacked with a roar, hacking down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf turned the sword aside with his own blade and swung backhanded. The Frank surprised him by charging, slamming his shoulder into Yusuf’s chest before his blow could land. Yusuf stumbled backwards. He raised his sword just in time to parry a thrust that would have skewered him. The knight pressed the attack, and Yusuf gave ground. His knee ached, making him slow and clumsy. He stumbled, and the knight lunged to finish him. Yusuf just managed to sidestep the blow. He swung his sword up in a wide arc and hit his foe in the side of the helmet. There was a loud ring, and the knight fell to the ground, unmoving.

Yusuf raised his sword to finish him. Then he heard a familiar voice. ‘Yusuf, wait!’

‘
Wait
!’ John called again. He dismounted and took a step towards Yusuf. John removed his helmet and Yusuf’s eyes widened.

‘John? What—?’

‘Serving my king.’ John gestured to the prone figure that lay between them.

‘This is Baldwin?’

John nodded. Yusuf met his eyes. ‘This war could be over now. Let me kill him.’

‘I cannot.’

Yusuf hesitated for a moment and then raised his sword.

‘Yusuf!’ John took two steps forward. Yusuf paused, his sword held high. ‘Leave him be!’

Yusuf hesitated a moment longer and then swung down. John was already in motion. His blade met Yusuf’s steel only a handspan above the king’s prone figure. The two friends locked gazes.

‘You choose him over me?’ Yusuf demanded.

‘I choose to do my duty.’

Yusuf’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘I am your friend, John. Your brother in all but blood.’

‘He is my king.’

‘If Baldwin dies, the Kingdom will be in chaos. I can take Jerusalem. I can bring peace, to your people and mine.’

John shook his head. ‘I cannot let you kill him.’

John saw the knuckles of Yusuf’s hand whiten as he gripped his sword tighter. Then he swung for John’s head. John blocked the blow. Yusuf drove him back a few feet, slicing at his chest again and again. But Yusuf’s injured leg made his steps slow, and John turned each blow aside with ease. Finally he stepped back and lowered his sword. ‘I will not fight you, Yusuf.’

Yusuf’s only response was to attack with renewed vigour. He slashed at John’s side, and when John blocked the blow, he spun and swung for his head. John ducked, and for a moment Yusuf was completely exposed. John could have killed him, but he again stepped away.

‘Fight me!’

‘Never, Brother.’

‘I am not your brother. You have betrayed me to fight with the Franks.’

‘I did not betray you. I was captured by the Franks because I saved your life.’

‘You could have come back to us, but you chose not to. You betrayed me, just like you betrayed my sister. You used her and left her.’

John’s grip tightened on his sword. He felt the blood begin to pound in his temples. ‘I loved her,’ he said quietly. ‘I would have stayed with her.’

‘You made her into a whore!’

A roar boiled up from deep within John. He charged, hacking down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf sidestepped and swung for John’s side, but John was already spinning away, just out of reach of Yusuf’s sword. He attacked again, thrusting for Yusuf’s chest. Yusuf parried, and John swung backhanded for Yusuf’s throat.
Yusuf
ducked and lunged. John just managed to twist out of the way of the blow, but Yusuf’s blade still glanced off his side. The sudden pain in his ribs only made him angrier. He roared again and, gripping his sword with two hands, brought it slicing towards Yusuf’s unprotected side. Yusuf recovered from his lunge just in time to block the blow. Their swords met and locked together, bringing them close. Yusuf head-butted John, snapping his head back. John responded by kicking Yusuf hard in his injured leg. With a cry Yusuf fell to his knees. John slammed the flat of his blade down on his wrist, and Yusuf dropped his sword.

John kicked the weapon away. He was breathing hard and his pulse was still pounding in his temples. Yusuf looked up at him and closed his eyes. He was prepared to die. John raised his sword, but froze. A memory had risen unbidden in his mind: Yusuf standing over him while John knelt, waiting for his friend to kill him. Yusuf had spared him then.

John lowered his sword. ‘Go.’

Yusuf opened his eyes. They shone with tears. ‘Kill me,’ he pleaded. ‘Do you not see? I have lost everything. I have been humiliated. Kill me.’

John tossed his sword aside and then gripped Yusuf under his arms and pulled him to his feet. ‘It is only one battle, friend. Live to fight another.’ He shoved Yusuf away, towards the hills to the south. ‘Go!’

Yusuf hesitated for a moment and then limped away. John watched until he was sure his friend would reach the hills safely before turning and kneeling beside the king. Baldwin’s face was masked in blood. John carefully removed his dented helmet. There was an angry wound above the right temple, but it did not look fatal.

Baldwin’s eyes fluttered open. ‘John?’

‘I am here, sire.’

‘What happened?’

‘You have won the day. The enemy is fled.’

Baldwin reached up and touched the wound on his head. He winced. ‘How did I come to be here?’

‘You were knocked unconscious.’

Baldwin blinked, then nodded, remembering. ‘I thought he would kill me—You saved my life, John.’

‘I did my duty, sire.’

‘I will not forget it. I owe my life, and this victory, to you.’

Chapter 25

NOVEMBER 1177: MONTGISARD

J
ohn and Baldwin walked past scores of fallen Saracens as they crossed the plain towards where the first Christian tents had been erected. Most of the Franks were still running down the enemy, but a few hundred had begun to set up camp. Cooks were starting fires while other men gathered booty from their fallen enemies and piled it in camp, to be divided later. The men knelt as Baldwin passed on the way to his tent.

‘Hail, Baldwin!’ someone shouted.

‘Long live the King!’ another cried. ‘Long live the saviour of Jerusalem!’

John followed Baldwin into the tent. Reynald was already there, giving orders as to how the camp should be set up. His nose was swollen and crusted with blood. ‘Sire!’ he cried. ‘Thank God you are well.’ Then he saw John and scowled. ‘Guards! Seize that man!’

Two of Reynald’s men grabbed John’s arms.

‘Stop!’ Baldwin roared. ‘Release him.’

‘He struck me, sire,’ Reynald protested. ‘He broke my nose.’

Baldwin looked to John, who shrugged. ‘He was trying to signal the retreat.’

‘Is this true, Reynald?’

Reynald ignored the question. ‘I am the regent. This man assaulted me. He should be placed in irons.’

‘John saved my life.’ Baldwin drew himself up straight and
looked
down his nose at Reynald. ‘If anyone should be placed in irons, it is you, Reynald. Had I followed your advice, Jerusalem would now be in the hands of the Saracens.’

‘But sire—’

‘Silence! I’ll not hear any more of your excuses. You are my regent no longer. You may go.’

Reynald did not move. His face shaded red and his hands balled into fists.

‘I said, go,’ Baldwin repeated. ‘Or shall I have the guards show you out?’

Reynald gave a perfunctory bow and stormed from the tent, followed by his men. Baldwin went to a stool and sat, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees. John suddenly remembered how ill the king was. ‘A doctor!’ he shouted. ‘Bring the King’s doctor!’

‘I am well, John,’ Baldwin replied. ‘Only bring me some water.’

John poured a glass and handed it to the king. ‘What now?’ he asked. ‘Who shall you appoint as regent?’