Beasts of the Seventh Crusade (The Crusades Book 4) (28 page)

It would take a few years, at least, but Louis would launch another crusade. He would bring double the men he brought this time, and he would ask other nations for more participation. They would crush Cairo, he vowed. He would crush Cairo. Still, Louis couldn't sleep.

The barn door opened, and Louis heard someone climbing the ladder to where he lay. The breathing was that of a woman, and Maria's face appeared over the edge. The moonlight caught her eyes through a crack in the wall, and she was smiling.

"Hello," she said shyly.

"Hello."

"I haven't seen a man from Europe in a long time. I forgot how beautiful they can be." Without another word, she reached to Louis and kissed him fiercely, her salty lips tasting delicious on his cool mouth. She undressed without shame, letting her clothes fall away to reveal large breasts with small nipples. To Louis, they could not have looked more wonderful.

She was accommodating to Louis' demands. She turned every direction and let him take his time. She made small moans and groans that only excited him more, and she caressed his face, telling him that he was a great man. In the final throes of love, before Louis released himself, Maria sat on top of him and pulled his face close to hers—nose to nose.

"What's your real name?" she asked.

"I am King Louis, on my soul," he said.

Maria was off of him in a moment. She grabbed her clothes and pulled a rope from nowhere. With surprising force, she elbowed Louis in the face, breaking his nose. Still in shock, Maria bound his hands and feet with cold efficiency. Louis cried out.

"What are you doing? Men, to me! Men!" he cried out.

"They can't help you," Maria said. The villagers had already swarmed the barn, and every one of Louis' staff was being tied up just as tightly as he was.

"There were rumors, just tales from the river, really, that King Louis of France was missing. The rumors said that your precious 'crusade' was a complete disaster. They said that you abandoned your men when they needed leadership the most. Oh, look, your little friend is no longer happy," Maria said, looking at Louis' limp prick.

"Why are you doing this?"

"If you would have just lied to me, I would have believed you. But you acted suspicious. In sex, men cannot hold back the truth, and you said your name. I know you are the king, and I'm getting Turanshah's reward. Thank you, Louis; this was easier than I could have ever hoped for."

Turanshah and his cavalry arrived two days later. Louis was bound and lying in the sand. A few children from the village found scorpions and they were tormenting him, letting the vicious desert bugs crawl all over his face. Behind Louis were Maria and the villagers; they bowed at the sight of the sultan of Egypt.

"Are we sure it's him?" Turanshah asked. A bloodied, badly beaten man was pulled to the front of the column. His hands were bound and attached to the back of a cavalryman's saddle. His face was red and his hair sandy.

"Trunk," Louis said, recognizing his longtime bodyguard.

"It's him," Trunk said. The words were interpreted for Turanshah, and he climbed off his horse and looked closely at Trunk. He beheaded him in one clean motion. Louis gulped. He had never seen anyone kill so quickly, so assuredly.

"Tell him that we're going to Damietta, and his forces will cede the city. That is the first price he must pay for his life," Turanshah told an interpreter. The little man spoke to Louis in splintered French, and Louis agreed immediately.

"I will forfeit the city," he said over and over, hoping against hope that he might live through this ordeal.

Turanshah took off his black cape, revealing an assortment of jewelry and gold that would rival any treasure chest in any cathedral in Europe. With a careless shrug, the jewelry-encrusted suit fell off Turanshah's shoulders, and he tossed the glittering garment to Maria.

"Thank you very much," he said.

"It is my honor to serve the sultan," Maria said in Egyptian. Turanshah smiled, bowed, and ordered Louis to be tied behind a horse. And then they were gone, galloping across the desert, a king on their leash.

A retreating army was, for many, a business opportunity, especially if that army was on a coast and wanted to get across the water. They needed transport. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, the navies of every major European nation arrived on the coast of Egypt, eager to pick up the retreating crusaders and charge them exorbitant prices for passage.

The Coquets found berthing on a Venetian ship. The Venetians were the best sailors the world had ever known, but they charged Artois much of his hard-earned battle spoils to take them back to France.

"I will repay you for this, brother. Somehow, someway, I promise I shall repay you," Francois said. They were standing on the deck of the ship, watching Damietta get smaller and smaller in the distance. Francois thought he saw a large contingent of cavalry riding to the gates of Damietta, coming from the desert, but that was no longer his concern.

"You do not need to repay me, little brother. Just be close by if I ever get injured, and we'll be on good terms," Artois said, clapping Francois on the shoulder.

Olivia came from below decks. She sidled up next to Francois and let her hands slip around his waist. He had seen how the Venetian sailors coveted her, but they had seen Artois' protective body language and settled themselves to leering. "Hello," she said.

"Olivia, say goodbye to Egypt," Francois said. Olivia spat over the deck. The brothers laughed and did the same. Their spittle disappeared in the frothy, white waves and was gone, but their gesture did not go unnoticed by one of the sailors.

"That's bad luck," he said. They ignored him.

"We're going back to France now," Artois said, "What will we do?"

"We are returning crusaders. The fashion in which King Louis propagates this expedition will reflect our treatment," Francois said, his eyes gazing into the ocean. He was thinking of Olivia, medicine, survival, and a bright world. He knew that if the Seventh Crusade was deemed a failure, he could not use that distinction in future affairs. Where would he go? There were many places, and his mind flashed to his wealthy mother, relaxing at her luxurious estate. There would be rows of grapes, thick copses of peach and walnut trees. The mighty city of Rome was nearby, a few days' travel from Tuscany. Stories from that legendary place had haunted and fascinated Francois as a child.

"I will become a bodyguard," Artois blurted out. "Or I will guard something, maybe expensive things owned by weak people. Or I will kill something."

Olivia and Francois met eyes. There was mutual humor there, and Francois knew what she was thinking:
your brother is simple to understand. You are not.

Egypt was far in the distance now, a tiny speck. None of the three spoke for a long time, and Raul ghosted up behind them. The breeze was cool and stinging, the ocean's natural way of energizing people in her realm. Raul put his hands on the railing and shielded the sun from his eyes. He sensed the quiet and did not speak. Of them, he was the only one who lost a close family member in Egypt. The strange port city of Damietta, constantly under sieges and reinforcements, was Christof's final resting place. Farewell brother. I never understood you.

"My father is in Paris," Olivia said. The men looked at one another.

"Paris is a beautiful place to live," Artois said.

"It is a place to start, son, but not a home. Make your way in Paris for a time, but remember the world is woods, fields, farms, and battlefields. Life is sailing the oceans, seeing amazing cities, and meeting strange people. Paris is a beginning, though," Raul said.

"Our mother is in Italy," Francois said, "Though I cannot make the journey alone."

Everyone leaned hard to the left. The ship listed and there was a crash beneath the deck. Cargo was likely sliding around: armor, weapons, equipment, and food boxes. Artois gripped the wooden railing and, flexing his veiny biceps, pulled himself vertical. The ship listed to the right and the cargo crashed again. A man yelled something in Italian and two crewmen went to tie down the loose articles. After a moment the ship righted itself and the seas calmed.

"Let us not speak too much of the future," Raul said. "We should enjoy being here and now. Survival on this voyage, or any other, is not guaranteed."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

THERE WAS SAND IN HIS THROAT, eyes, ears, and between the toes on his bare feet. His legs were numb from running behind a horse for two days. Turanshah had permitted Louis a few sips of water from time to time, but nothing more. Louis' chest hurt. His heart was beating too quickly, not slowing down.

The crusaders surrendered Damietta back to the Ayyubids under one condition: they could leave Egypt freely, without fear of attack. Turanshah agreed. He had their king. The gates of Damietta were thrown wide open and Turanshah's warriors stormed the city, securing the gate and main roads.

With naught else to do, Turanshah went around the tall walls of Damietta and watched the ships take the hated Europeans back to their homes. A few of them cast wary glances at the foreboding sultan, perched on the battlements, with their king tied up and kneeling beside him like a common slave. But if the crusaders were offended by Turanshah's disrespect, they lacked the heart to do anything about it. Louis watched them leave, too, and he wept.

Turanshah called for his French interpreter. "Tell this miserable leader to shut his mouth and stop behaving like a woman. He is supposed to a king." The interpreter nodded and started speaking to Louis in that foul language that sounds like one's tongue is misshapen.

"You have taken everything from me. I have nothing left," Louis told the interpreter.

"There is always something more that I can take. Your manhood, perhaps? Your head? Do not presume that you have nothing left to lose," Turanshah said.

"I am not afraid of you," Louis insisted. The interpreter began to translate, but Turanshah held up his hand to silence the man.

"Leave us now. I have nothing more to say to this wretch."

Turanshah summoned the leaders of Damietta to the town center that evening, after the last of the crusaders had evacuated. He made them kneel, naked, in a row. There were six of them, all men, all spoiled sons of wealthy politicians in Cairo.

"You are supposed to be warriors. Your sacred duty is to guard this city against invaders. You have failed in your duties. Is this not true?" Turanshah said quietly, stalking up and down the row. The naked men's genitals shriveled and one of them had urinated all over himself. Another was crying.

"The crusaders were too many! We gave the city up easily, yes, because we wanted to save lives for future battles!"

"That is not your decision to make! If my father told you to guard this city, then you guard the city! You are not authorized to portion out warriors throughout this empire as you see fit!" Turanshah roared. His sword was suddenly in his hand and he plunged it into the man's mouth. The man gagged and choked on the cold steel, and then he fell sideways, his eyes open and glassy. The watching crowd gasped and a woman cried out, but there was no general disturbance, no pleas for mercy.
If they thought my father was brutal, wait until I'm finished with these men,
Turanshah thought.

He sentenced them to die by half-hanging. It was an execution method he'd learned about while fighting in Syria, though he didn't know where the idea originated. It was simple, really. Hang a man by the neck until he passes out, and then revive him. Then do it again. And again. It was putting a man to death, essentially, but not giving him the sweet release of eternity.

Turanshah ordered a scaffold to be constructed immediately. He stood and grimly watched while the engineers from Damietta and his soldiers fumbled around, trying to locate the supplies. It took some time, but the framework was ready within an hour, and the scaffold was completed in two. Men worked harder when under the gaze of the sultan, who controlled their lives with the breath of his voice.

He made sure that Louis watched the executions. It was fitting Louis should know what his expedition had cost these men. Turanshah hated the idea of kings and queens, generals and, yes, even sultans sitting on their plush estates and not witnessing the effects of their decisions. Turanshah liked to be face-to-face with his subjects; he liked to smell their fear and see their blood.

The half-hangings began without delay. The crowd was like a living thing, and they pressed in on the scaffold from all sides, yelling about Allah and shaking their fists in the air. When the men were being choked, bets were taken on who would live the longest, or who would die first. Each time a man coughed and his eyes fluttered open after a revival, the crowd would sigh and the betting would begin anew. Turanshah watched from the top of the scaffold, pleased at the unity that the executions were bringing to the citizens of Damietta. They were able to forget their shame for a time, at least.

Turanshah left Damietta the next day. He ordered Shajar to stay behind and fortify in every way he could think of. He told him to put the smartest, strongest, and most enthusiastic warriors in charge of the defenses. He wanted towers at the mouth of every river. He wanted artillery ready at all times on the walls. The citizens were required to train in basic combat techniques, and each person was assigned a specific task if Damietta was attacked again. Turanshah made one final promise to the coastal city before he left: if you ever succumb to foreign invaders again, without even a fight; he would personally half-hang them all.

Cairo beckoned. Turanshah had hundreds of things to do. He needed to placate the politicians whose sons he had executed. A proper burial ceremony was owed to Qutuz, and Turanshah would see it happen. His wives were likely squabbling over a thousand petty issues that he would need to sort through. The Mongols were threatening his holdings in the east. The responsibilities weighed on Turanshah, made him tired before he started the work.