Kingdom (15 page)

‘Who’s there?’ a voice called from above. John looked up to see Adenot peering down into the darkness.

‘It’s me. Pull me up.’

John wrapped the rope around his waist, and grabbed hold of it with trembling hands. Adenot and Jalaal hauled him dripping from the water. They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him out to lie shivering on the stone stairs.

‘What did you find?’ Jalaal asked.

‘N-nothing,’ John managed through chattering teeth. ‘An-n-other dead end,’ he added in French.

Adenot pulled John to his feet. ‘Let’s go. I never want to see this place again.’

They hurried up the ramp and crawled out to find that Amalric and Shawar had come to wait for them.

‘Did you find anything?’ the king asked.

‘Nothing but bones, sire,’ Adenot replied.

‘You are sure?’ Shawar pressed. ‘Nothing?’

‘We explored every inch, Vizier,’ Jalaal said.

John met Amalric’s eyes. ‘It is an unholy place, sire. Seal it up and forget it.’

‘By the d-devil’s black beard!’ the king cursed.

‘All is not lost,’ Shawar said. ‘I have been in communication with Shirkuh.’

Amalric’s eyebrows shot up at this, but he said nothing.

Shawar held up a piece of paper. ‘He has agreed to terms. Shirkuh will leave Egypt, if you also withdraw.’

Amalric tugged at his beard for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. A few more days in Egypt will not cost me Jerusalem, and I’ll not leave this place without a fight. The defenders are few and starving. We can take the city. Shirkuh will be forced to leave then, and on my terms. Will you fight beside me, Vizier?’

Shawar grinned his cat-like smile. ‘The people of Alexandria need to be taught a lesson. My men will join yours, King Amalric.’

Yusuf stood above Alexandria’s southern gate and looked out on the enemy army, the front ranks of which were just visible
in
the dawn light. The Egyptian soldiers had gathered to the south; it was the Frankish troops who were massed on the plain before him. Thousands of foot-soldiers formed a curving line that mirrored the path of the wall. Behind them stood a row of archers. At the centre of the line was a huge battering ram constructed of several tree trunks bound together with bands of iron and capped with steel. Bronze wheels carried the ram’s weight, and carpenters had built a roof over it to protect the men who would roll it to the walls. Frankish knights sat ready to charge if the ram opened a way into the city. Yusuf spotted Amalric’s flag amidst the knights’ standards, all flapping in a wet wind blowing in off the Mediterranean.

A piercing horn sounded, and the line of Frankish foot-soldiers surged forward, thousands of men shouting war cries: ‘For Christ! For the Kingdom!’ Yusuf turned towards the dozen mamluks gathered atop the gate. Their faces – lit red by a fire that simmered beneath a cauldron of hot sand – were gaunt but grimly determined. These were Yusuf’s very best men, warriors like Al-Mashtub who had stood beside him for years. He had stationed them here at the gate, where he expected the fighting to be most intense. He wished he had Qaraqush and his brother Selim beside him as well, but Qaraqush was at the western wall and Selim the east. They each commanded three hundred mamluks, leaving Yusuf with four hundred trained warriors and another five hundred citizens to defend nearly a mile of wall against an army of thousands.

Yusuf addressed his men, shouting in order to be heard over the cries of the Franks. ‘Our foes are many! But Allah will give us strength. Fight like lions, men! Fight to the death!
Fight for Allah
!’

‘
For Allah
!
Allah
!
Allah
!’ his men shouted back. They fell silent as shields went up. Yusuf turned to see that the Franks had stopped two hundred yards from the wall. Their archers loosed a cloud of arrows, which fell hissing towards the walls. Yusuf raised his shield and crouched behind the battlement just before
the
arrows began to rain down. Most shattered against the wall or flew over, but Yusuf heard cries of agony as a few struck home. Beside him, Al-Mashtub grunted in pain. Yusuf looked to see an arrow protruding from the mamluk’s left shoulder.

‘Save your speech, sayyid,’ Al-Mashtub said before Yusuf even opened his mouth. The mamluk grabbed the arrow shaft and snapped it in half. ‘I am not going anywhere.’

His last words were drowned out by another roar from the Franks. The foot-soldiers were rushing forward again. They carried ladders – four men to a side – with their shields held up for protection.

‘Archers!’ Yusuf yelled as he rose, now heedless of the arrows falling around him. ‘Archers!’ he cried again, pulling the man next to him to his feet. ‘Let fly!’ Yusuf took his own bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He picked a target: one of the front men carrying a ladder. Yusuf held his breath and let fly. His arrow struck the man in the groin, just below his shield. The man fell and those behind tripped over him and dropped the ladder. They had only just picked it up when Yusuf shot again, dropping another Frank.

But most of the Franks were making it to the wall. Only a dozen yards to Yusuf’s right, four Franks raised a ladder while another four spread out, firing crossbow bolts up at the defenders. The ladder made contact with the wall and a mamluk began to push it off, only to receive a crossbow bolt in the throat. Below, two men held the ladder while two more Frankish soldiers began to climb. The first carried a shield before him. The second came close behind, holding a spear. As they neared the top of the ladder, another mamluk tried to push the ladder away, but the man with the spear picked him off the wall.

‘Use the rope!’ Yusuf shouted as he shouldered his bow and ran to the ladder. He picked up a coil of rope that had been placed there for just this purpose, and looped it around the end of the ladder. He began to walk along the wall, dragging the top
of
the ladder sideways. The ladder tilted and then fell back. The Franks screamed as they hit the earth.

All along the wall, ladders were going up and being dragged down. Yusuf’s mamluks shot arrows into the Franks below, while the Alexandrians hurled stones down on them. But there were too few defenders to hold off all the Franks. On the far side of the southern gate a Frank forced his way on to the wall and began to lay about with his sword, scattering Alexandrians. He was joined by another, then another. Soon half a dozen Christians were clustered atop the wall.

‘Al-Mashtub! Follow me!’ Without waiting for a reply, Yusuf drew his sword and sprinted towards the Franks. The wall was wide enough for four men to face Yusuf at once. They levelled their spears at his chest. At the last second, Yusuf dropped his sword and hurled himself forward on the ground, rolling beneath the spears and taking out the legs of the four men. One of them tumbled off the inside of the wall, dying instantly as he landed headfirst on the cobblestones below. The others fell across Yusuf, who found himself on his back, pinned beneath them. One of the Franks, a fat man with a thick blond beard, drew a dagger and reared back to strike. He collapsed in a spray of blood as Al-Mashtub’s sword struck him in the neck. The huge mamluk impaled a second Frank and grabbed the third, hurling him from the wall. More mamluks rushed past to engage the remaining Christians. At close quarters, their swords were more effective than the Franks’ spears, and the mamluks quickly cut them down.

Al-Mashtub had just helped Yusuf to his feet when there was a loud boom. The wall shook beneath them. The Franks had rolled the battering ram up to the southern gate. Yusuf’s men hurled stones down on it, but they clattered off the peaked roof. A shower of burning naphtha followed the stones. The liquid engulfed the ram in flames for a moment, but the roof had been covered in wet hides. The fire burned out without catching. The ram slammed into the gate again, and Yusuf heard a loud
crack
as one of the three thick beams that barred the gate started to give way. The Franks manning the ram began to roll it back from the wall, so that they could build momentum before striking the gate again.

Yusuf turned to Al-Mashtub. ‘We must take the ram.’ He raised his voice to shout at the men at the gate, who were still hurling stones down on the ram. ‘Men! Follow me!’

Yusuf led ten men down the ramp to the base of the wall. Two-dozen mamluks were gathered before the gate with spears pointing, ready to meet the Frankish assault if the ram broke through. Yusuf noticed Saqr amongst them. ‘Open the gate,’ he told the men.

They did not move.

‘Are you mad?’ Al-Mashtub demanded. ‘We will be overrun!’

The ram hit the gate again. The top beam splintered in the middle. The two other beams holding the gate shut were sagging inward.

‘We must do something!’ Yusuf pointed to four of the men with spears. ‘You four. Prepare to open the gate.’ He selected another six men. ‘You will take the ram and roll it inside. The rest of us will hold off the Franks.’ Yusuf looked to the four men who were now standing with their shoulders braced against one of the beams barring the gate. ‘Now!’

The men strained as they lifted the heavy beam from its brackets. They dropped it to the side and put their shoulders to the next beam. Yusuf raised his sword. ‘Ready!’ he shouted as the men removed the second beam and pulled the doors of the gate inward. ‘For Islam!’ He charged through the opening.

The soldiers manning the ram had their heads down as they strained against the bars protruding from its side, struggling to push it towards the wall. Yusuf impaled one and slashed across the face of another before the rest realized what was happening. They fled, and the six men Yusuf had selected went to the bars. But before they had even begun to push, dozens of Franks came rushing towards them from either side.

‘Get the ram inside!’ Yusuf shouted. ‘Form a line, men! Stay together!’

The mamluks had just enough time to form a semicircle around the ram before the Franks struck. Yusuf sidestepped a spear thrust and plunged his sword into his enemy’s gut. A sword blade slashed towards his face. He knocked the blow aside with his shield and then brought the shield up to smash the attacker’s face. He spun away from another spear and lunged, dropping a fourth man. More Franks joined the attack, and they surged forward, pushing back the line of mamluks. Yusuf found himself separated from his men and surrounded by Franks on all sides. He ducked a slashing blow, but as he rose, a spear struck him in the back. The blow was turned aside by his mail, and Yusuf spun and slashed down, snapping the spear shaft in half. He impaled his attacker, but a moment later a sword rang off the back of his helmet. He staggered forward. Another Frankish foot-soldier was standing before him. The man grinned, and instinctively Yusuf stepped to the side. A spear thrust past him and impaled the grinning Frank. Yusuf spun and cut down the man with the spear.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yusuf saw a sword flashing towards his face. He ducked, but another blade was thrusting towards him. It was blocked at the last moment. Yusuf looked to see Saqr standing beside him. The young mamluk turned the sword aside and slashed across the leg of the Frank who held it. The man dropped to one knee, and Saqr drove his sword into his throat. He parried a spear, and Yusuf dispatched the attacker. Together, they fought their way back towards the line of mamluks. Saqr was quick as a snake, his sword darting through his enemies’ defences and leaving them crying in agony. Yusuf blocked and lunged, parried and countered again and again, but the ranks of Franks seemed endless. Then someone grabbed Yusuf’s shoulder and pulled him backwards. Yusuf spun, ready to strike.

‘Easy there!’ It was Al-Mashtub. He had pulled Yusuf back
behind
the line of mamluks. Behind him, the ram was rolling, picking up speed.

‘Fall back!’ Yusuf shouted. ‘Fall back!’

The ram rolled inside the gate, and Yusuf and his men began to retreat, moving backwards in step. They reached the gate and spread across the opening in a double line. Only twenty mamluks remained now, facing over a hundred Franks, with more arriving all the time. A horn began to sound, and Yusuf heard the rumble of hooves over the sound of battle. That would be the Frankish knights charging for the gate.

‘Close it!’ he shouted. ‘Close it!’

As the mamluks began to push the gates closed, Yusuf’s men fell back. The space between the two doors was small enough now that it could be defended by only three men: Yusuf, Al-Mashtub and Saqr. ‘Close the gate!’ Yusuf repeated as he fought desperately. But try as his men might, they could not force the gate closed against the press of Franks. As more and more Christians joined the attack, the doors of the gate began to swing wider. Now there were six men standing alongside Yusuf. And the thunder of hooves was louder. The knights were close.

Yusuf looked to Al-Mashtub. ‘The sand.’ Al-Mashtub nodded and left the line. Yusuf raised his voice. ‘Follow me, men. One last push!’

He led his men forward. They pushed the Franks back a few feet before their charge stalled. Beyond the heads of the enemy foot-soldiers, Yusuf could see the standards of the approaching knights.

‘Retreat!’ he shouted. ‘Inside the gate!’

His men rushed back inside. Yusuf was close behind. With a roar the Franks charged after them. But their cries of triumph turned into screams of agony as a shower of red-hot sand poured down from above. Some Franks fell to the ground, clawing at their armour, which trapped the burning grains of sand against their skin. Others ran screaming. Yusuf’s men were able to push
the
gate closed, and the first crossbar dropped into place with a loud thump. The second followed a moment later.

Yusuf ran up the ramp to the top of the wall. The battle was still raging. Thousands of Franks swarmed the length of the walls, but his men were holding. He joined the fight and soon lost track of the number of ladders he toppled, of the number of men he killed. And all the time, Saqr stayed by his side, silent but ruthlessly efficient. Finally, as the sun began to set, a horn in the enemy camp sounded three short blasts. The attack slackened. The three blasts repeated and soon the Franks were in full retreat, carrying their wounded with them.