Shadows on a Sword (20 page)

“We cannot go on, Theo. He is going to die if he does not rest. This heat is too much for him.”

Theo did not answer. Of the huge warhorses that had left the Ardennes, Centurion was the last one left. The others had succumbed to the rigors of the journey long ago, or had been left in the towns they had passed through when the horses had become too exhausted to go farther. Theo had clung to the possibility that Centurion’s enormous strength and force of will would carry him through. Now, it seemed, he had reached the end.

“We will rest awhile,” Theo said.

No matter how much she coaxed, however, Emma could not get Centurion to drink. He had stopped eating days ago. She picked up a coarse piece of sacking and began to rub him down. She scratched his belly thoroughly with a brush made of twigs. He shivered from time to time, but otherwise seemed insensible to her ministrations. His breathing became even more labored. Finally, Emma stopped and just leaned her head lightly against his neck. With one hand, she caressed the woolly gray hair of his mane; with the other, she rubbed his forehead on the spot where she knew he liked it best.

Theo watched. He rebuked her not for spoiling the horse, nor for treating him in an undignified manner.

Suddenly, Centurion tossed his head, knocking Emma aside. For one moment, his eyes cleared and he looked full at her, and then they dulled. One last convulsive shudder shook the massive frame and, with a ground-jarring thud, he fell. His breathing stopped.

Emma threw herself upon him. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with sweat and dirt. Theo knelt beside her. He would have put an arm around her, to comfort her, but the steady stream of curious crusaders and pilgrims passing by precluded any show of tenderness toward one who was supposed to be his groom. He laid a hand on the warhorse’s head.

“So, after all, you will not be there to carry me into Jerusalem,” he said. His voice broke. “I shall miss you, my old friend.”

They left Centurion by the roadside. There was nothing else they could do. The birds of prey began to circle high above almost before they had traveled out of sight.

It was night before Theo and Emma reached the town of Ramleh. There they found the crusaders already comfortably installed. The inhabitants had fled the town in terror at the news of their coming, but only after destroying the great Church of St. George that had stood in the ruined village of Lydda on Ramleh’s outskirts.

They rested there for three days, the crusaders exulted by the taking of a Muslim town in the heart of the Holy Land. Only Theo and Emma took no part in the celebrations. The death of Centurion was too much with them. On the fourth day, the army resumed its march on Jerusalem.

The crusaders traveled all day and on through the night. The wooded hillside gradually gave way to stony, red-earthed slopes, shaded only by stunted trees and bushes. The alien nature of this new land began to exert a strange kind of hold on the crusaders.

“It is so barren,” Emma whispered. “It chills my soul.”

There was an eclipse of the moon that night. While the crusaders marched, they watched in awe as the moon dwindled to a crescent, and then was blacked out completely.

“It is an omen,” the priests told them as they halted briefly for mass the next morning. “It portends the eclipse of the Crescent of Islam itself.”

But their words brought no reassurance to the crusaders. They pressed on in an ever-increasing silence.

Theo turned once to look back at the procession. How few we are compared to the vast army that set out from Constantinople, he thought. Hardly more than a thousand knights were left, and fewer than half the foot soldiers remained. How many pilgrims had died, Theo could only guess. Certainly, there were not nearly as many straggling in at night as there had been. It was a sad and dispirited army that trailed behind him now—a ghost of the glorious crusade that had set out so triumphantly to do God’s will almost three long years ago.

Before noon on the seventh day of June, the vanguard of the army—Theo, Emma and Amalric included—reached the summit of the road at the mosque of the prophet Samuel, on the hilltop that the pilgrims called Montjoie, the Hill of Joy.

There, before them, stood Jerusalem. Theo dropped to his knees. All around him, nobles and soldiers alike were doing the same.

Jerusalem! God’s own city. At last!

T
heo sat beside his campfire, staring at the city. God’s own city—but it was also one of the greatest fortresses in the world, secure behind its formidable walls and towers. The crusaders had been deployed and were ready to begin the siege. Godfrey’s troops had been assigned the northwest side of the city as far down as the Jaffa Gate. Beside the gate, directly in front of Theo, was the citadel, the Tower of David. Its bulk loomed against the dying light of the day. Cicadas shrilled in the scraggly cypress trees behind him. Small, swift birds darted in the twilight. Smells of cooking wafted out to the crusaders’ camp from the other side of the walls, amid the sounds of a city settling itself for the night. Calls, cries, the wail of thin, strange-sounding music. Firelight flickered through the slit-holes of the citadel and the other towers, where Theo knew the Egyptian Fatimid soldiers stood guard—staring at the crusaders, even as the crusaders stared at them.

“The governor is Iftikhar ad-Dawla,” Godfrey told his troops. “An experienced and well-seasoned soldier. He has had ample warning of our coming and has used the time to strengthen his walls. He has driven all the flocks and herds into the city, and the city is well supplied with cisterns for water. He is prepared for a long siege.”

Theo had wondered at the absence of animals and herders in the hills as they had approached. The duke’s words explained it.

The next morning, he was worried to find Emma gone from the campsite when he stumbled out of his tent. He became uneasy now whenever she was out of his sight. The sun was just beginning to send streaks of color through the sky, and a mist lay heavy in the valleys around them.

“Please God she doesn’t get into any more trouble,” he muttered, as he gathered sticks and twigs for a fire. Very little on this bare hillside could be used for fuel. That is going to be a problem very soon, Theo thought. He rationed out oats for the horses, but there was no water. Another problem. Perhaps that was where Emma was—fetching water from the nearest well.

The sun rose. A pitiless, blazing orb, it burned off the mists below and drained the blue out of the sky above with the intensity of its heat. Theo moved the horses into what little shade the sparse trees provided, but they stamped their feet restlessly and tossed their heads back and forth. They ate only half the food Theo had given them, even though he had skimped on their usual portion. It was obvious they were thirsty. Where was Emma?

He had almost decided to go and look for her when she reappeared. She staggered under the weight of two buckets of water, one dangling on either end of a stick she had slung across her shoulders. Her face was bright red under her hood and running with sweat. Theo hastened to take the buckets from her.

“Iftikhar … He has poisoned or filled in all the wells outside the walls,” she panted. “The dog! Mind you, I would have done so myself if I’d been in his position, but it’s annoying just the same.” She dropped to the ground beside the tiny fire. “There is only one good well left and it’s away around by the south wall. I managed to fill our buckets, but the soldiers on the walls jeered at me the whole time I was doing it. Could just as well have been arrows rather than words, though, so I think myself rather fortunate.”

“Our only source of water is within bow range of the walls?” Theo asked incredulously.

“I’m afraid so,” Emma answered.

“We will have to find a river … a stream …” Theo looked around him. The few trees that grew on these stony hills did not provide nearly enough shade. Even this early in the morning, the heat was intense. A breeze had sprung up, but it gave no relief. If possible, it was hotter than the still air, and only made their discomfort worse.

“We will not be able to hold out here for long,” Theo said. “This siege must be short. We must take Jerusalem quickly, or we will die.”

Godfrey planned an attack the next week. As usual, Theo fought side by side with Amalric. Together, as the mangonels and catapults bombarded the walls with boulders and stones, they swarmed up the ladders behind the duke and Count Garnier. They charged the soldiers at the top, overrunning them with the ferocity and desperation of their attack. For a time, Theo thought they might have a chance of success. Then he heard Godfrey call for a retreat.

Back down the ladders they scrambled, in a frenzy of panic and humiliation. The Egyptian soldiers poured liquid fire down upon them as they fled. Theo had heard of Greek fire, as it was called, but had never seen it and had not really believed in it. But as the rivers of oily flame cascaded down onto the soldiers still on the ladders, the screams of the burned men proved its existence only too well.

“We had too few ladders and too few engines of war. Too few of our men were able to storm the walls,” Godfrey told them at their council that night. “If we are to take Jerusalem, we must wage an all-out attack. We need more siege machines, more mangonels, battering rams and ladders, many, many more. We must attack from as many positions as possible. All of us—all at once!”

There was a general murmur of agreement, then one dissenting voice.

“Where are we to get the wood to build these machines, my lord? There is barely enough here to feed our fires. And what of the nails and bolts for fitting them together?”

“There are forests around Samaria. Tancred, you and Robert of Flanders, take your men and cut down trees. Take the camels—they are by far the best beasts of burden in this heat and need next to no water. As for the rest of us—we will pray that supplies come from the coast. In the meantime, we build. All of us.”

Theo and Amalric worked with the rest. Emma did her share as well. Princes worked side by side with pilgrims. Women and children worked from sun-up to nightfall. Tancred and Robert came back laden with rough-hewn logs and planks. Theo helped to tear wagons apart for the nails and bolts, and then the army burned the wagons for fuel. The lack of water was deadly, however. Pack animals and herds they had captured along the way began to die of thirst in large numbers.

“At least they provide food,” Amalric remarked cynically.

Godfrey sent out detachments from the camp every day to find streams and wells. They were guided by native Christians who had been turned out of the city and had joined the crusaders. Some even went as far as the Jordan River to find water. The well Emma had found the first day—the Pool of Siloam, the Jerusalem Christians called it—was deep and brimming with cool, clear water, but the sentries on the walls had left off taunting and had settled down to killing all who came near it.

The hot breeze Theo had felt the first day outside the walls of Jerusalem became a steady wind. Dry and burning, it laid a fine film of sand and dust on everything and everyone in the camp. It never ceased, and it drove men and women crazy.

“Many of the crusaders are undergoing baptism in the river Jordan, gathering palm branches from the riverbank and deserting,” Theo told Emma.

“I know,” she answered. “This is not what they expected. They feel we will never conquer Jerusalem.” She looked at the walls towering above them. “They think we will die here.”

They might be right, Theo thought, and thrust the unbidden idea out of his mind immediately.

A few days later, Amalric barged into their camp with news.

“Six Christian ships have put into Jaffa. Their scouts arrived at the camp last night. They have supplies! Food, ropes, nails, bolts—everything we need!”

“Now, we can really build,” Godfrey announced at their evening conference. “And as well as everything else, I will build a siege castle, as high as the walls themselves. Higher! A tower set on wheels that we can roll right up to the walls. Then we can attack from within the tower without the need of ladders. We’ll fit it out with catapults as well.” He strode back and forth, his tall figure seeming to fill the tent.

“We can fight with fire, too,” he added. His eyes blazed and he flung his long, fair hair back with an impatient toss of his head. “I have Christians here who escaped the city and have brought the secret of the Greek fire with them. We can hurl it down upon the Egyptians from the tower and the mangonels can send it flying over the walls.” He turned to Gaston of Béarn. “Build the castle well out of sight of the fort. It will be a surprise to the garrison, and not a very welcome one, I warrant.” He laughed, a sound that had not been heard in his tent for many months. His eagerness and enthusiasm were infectious. Amalric thumped Theo on the back with such gleeful force as they left the meeting that it knocked the breath out of him.

But the work went slowly, and they suffered terribly from the heat. In spite of their leaders’ assurances, more and more people deserted every day. Then Theo heard news that a great army had set out from Egypt to relieve Jerusalem.

“The mood in the camp is desperate,” he told Emma. “The priest, Peter Desiderius, says we must do something. He is calling for three holy days of fasting. He says Bishop Adhemar himself appeared to him, and told him we must hold a fast and then walk barefoot around Jerusalem. Only then will we be able to gather our forces and attack.”

“Once again, when we are starving, they call for a fast,” Emma muttered. “These priests do have a sense of humor.”

They fasted for three days, but did not cease to work. On the Friday of that week, the procession formed. Theo and Amalric lined themselves up with their lords behind the bishops and the priests, who carried the crosses and holy relics they had brought all this way with them. The foot soldiers and pilgrims followed; Emma, in her groom’s garb, chose to walk with them.

Theo was lightheaded from the heat and the lack of food. He was barely aware of the soldiers and townsfolk who gathered on the walls to mock them. He kept his eyes on the ground, concentrating only on putting one foot ahead of the other. He tried to follow the prayers of the priests, but a buzzing in his head drowned out their chanting. They circled the city, then climbed the Mount of Olives. There, the priests began to preach.