The Kabbalist (9 page)

Aryeh smiled. “So I am
to be your floodlight.”

“In your case, I’ll
settle for a flashlight.” The two burst into laughter, and for a short moment, thirty
years faded away, and they were once again two kid cousins, friends and fellow
conspirators, planning their next prank in a Safedi neighborhood.

Aryeh glanced at his
watch. “Dear cousin,” he said, “I have to go now. Your story is interesting,
and you have given me a considerable challenge. Give me a few days to see what
I can do. I’ll call you.”

He stood up. The two
shook hands, and Yossi Luria escorted his cousin to the door.

D
e Severy and Gaudin,
who insisted on delaying his departure until the last moment, sat together with
the other three commanders in the situation room. The siege was on and the
besieged were in bad shape, with the number of casualties rising on an hourly
basis.

Mark de Tramelay
concluded his situation review. Besides the mounting casualties, the siege
machines had started to exact their toll on the walls. The sky was black with
arrows shot at the defenders, and everybody was busy extinguishing the fires
lit by burning missiles, shot from powerful mangonels.

Louis de Clairvaux
reported more about the engineering forces of the enemy, who were making
preparations for digging under the fort walls, like they had done before to the
city walls. The atmosphere in the room was tense and grim.

“We will not be able to
survive here much longer,” said Pierre solemnly. “Louis, what are the chances
of evacuating some of the people by sea?”

Louis shook his head.
“We can send a few. Most of the vessels have caught fire, and under the
prevailing circumstances, we cannot repair them. There are two or three seaworthy
vessels left.”

Pierre turned to de
Caffran. “Any message from the Sultan?”

The knight shook his
head. “I am still trying to establish a communication channel, but with no
success so far.”

“So be it,” said de
Severy. “Death does not scare us. If we are destined to die, what better death
could we wish for, than in the ranks of the soldiers of the Lord, in His battle
against these devilish heretics? But we will make them pay dearly. We must decide,
brothers, whether to keep fighting from inside the fort as long as we can, or
direct one last, concentrated attack outside the walls and exact from them a
final, ultimate price in blood. Mark?”

“If we can save lives,
we must do that,” said de Tramelay. “We have women and children who fled into
the fort for protection and, besides, we had better spare the lives of our
valiant brothers, so we can come back next year to free the Holy Land. If we
cannot do that, I prefer a final crushing surprise attack. It will be a
glorious, honorable death. Coming generations will derive inspiration from it.”

De Caffran nodded his
concurrence. “Our food and ammunition supplies are limited. As time drags on,
we will get weaker. It is better to concentrate all we have into one fist of
might and strike hard, even if we perish with it, like Samson in his time!”

De Clairvaux stood up.
“The idea of a final strike is valiant,” he addressed his comrades, “but I have
a better one. Our good brother here has mentioned Samson as an inspiration and
I would like to take this one step further. Let us set a trap for them inside
the fort. Let them break in and then fall upon them, literally, too. Let us
take the steps needed to have the walls of the castle crush down upon them.
This way, we’ll take with us the largest number of these Saracen dogs. This
will be our glorious interpretation of Samson’s example!
”
He passed his
gaze around. “And what an interpretation that will be, my brothers,” he added
passionately and sat down, his words resonating across the hall.

‘Well, this is Louis de
Clairvaux’, thought Pierre to himself. ‘Always ready with a fresh and original
idea.’ He smiled bitterly. What a brilliant commander was growing here. What a
pity that he would be dead in a few days. “What do you think of this idea,
Mark?”

Mark rose to speak, but
before he could open his mouth, there was a loud knock on the door. The knights
looked at each other. Who was daring disturb a meeting of the high command?
Another knock and the door opened. A tall sergeant in his black surcoat burst
in and stood at attention.

“What is it, sergeant?”
snapped de Severy. “What is so urgent that cannot wait until the end of the
meeting of the high command?”

“Pardon me, sir,” said
the sergeant in awe. “The east gate is reporting two enemy officers under a
white flag. They demand to see the Marshall.”

The five knights
exchanged glances.

“Bring them in here,” ordered
de Severy.

*    *    *

The two young Saracen
officers stepped into the room, their colorful embroidered uniforms
distinguishing them from the knights in their white surcoats with the Red Cross
at the front. They bowed their heads politely and so did the five knights. One
of the guests addressed de Caffran in Arabic.

De Caffran answered
him, and then turned to the Marshall. “This officer is a man of honor,” he
declared. “He saved my life two weeks ago, when we went to negotiate with the
Sultan and the crazy bastard tried to kill us on the spot. He says he has come
to offer us generous terms in the name of the Sultan.”

“Tell him I am
listening.”

The Mamluk made a short
speech in Arabic. De Caffran answered and it evolved into a dialog, after which
de Caffran addressed the Marshall again. “The Sultan is offering us safe
passage to Cyprus. He is willing to spare us all, knights, sergeants, soldiers,
civilians…” Guillaume paused for a second. “He has only one condition.”

De Clairvaux grimaced.
“What is this condition?” asked de Severy.

“They demand that one
hundred of their troops enter the fort and watch over the evacuation.”

Pierre de Severy
frowned. “I do not like this at all. They must trust us to evacuate in peace
and order. Tell him I give the Sultan my word.”

More exchanges in
Arabic. “This is a condition set by the Sultan himself,” said de Caffran.

“This is totally
unnecessary,” snapped the Marshall. “It may spark off needless tensions. Who
can guarantee that these soldiers will not provoke us?”

Guillaume addressed the
Saracen, and was answered in a few brief sentences. “He is saying this is a
non-negotiable condition made personally by the Sultan. The Sultan will vouch
for our safety but will not compromise. This is his one and only offer, and he
demands that we take it or leave it as a package.”

“We’ll need some time
to fix the damaged vessels.”

“He knows, and even
offers to help us if necessary.”

“I have no need for his
help,” growled the Marshall. “Tell him that we have to take counsel. They are
invited to wait in the adjacent room.”

De Caffran translated,
and the two officers bowed and left the room.

“The time for decision
has come, brothers,” stated de Severy. “I tend to accept this offer and save
the lives of our men.”

Gaudin nodded his
approval.

“I do not like their
demand of admitting one hundred barbaric Saracens inside the fort,” interjected
Louis de Clairvaux. “Nothing good will come of it.”

De Severy turned to de
Caffran. “Guillaume, what do you think? Can we insist on rejecting this
condition?”

De Caffran thought a
while before answering. “I think the conditions are fair and, anyhow, I do not
think these emissaries have any mandate to compromise. As I see it, we have no
choice but to take the risk.”

The Marshall turned his
gaze to Mark de Tramelay. “I, too, am worried,” said Mark. “We shall have to
watch these savages carefully, but I agree with Brother Guillaume. We have no
choice.”

“Well, then it is
decided,” concluded de Severy.

*    *    *

At dawn, one hundred Mamluk
soldiers, under the command of one of the Sultan’s most trusted emirs, arrived
at the northeastern gate. Pierre de Severy and Thibaud Gaudin observed them
from one of the towers. The Marshall signaled the officer of the gate to let
them in and the Saracens marched inside.

The two knights turned
on their heels and returned to the situation room, where the other three
commanders were already waiting. The Marshall asked for a situation report, and
they proceeded to discuss the planned evacuation from the fort. De Clairvaux
estimated it would take two days to repair the vessels in order to set sail to
Cyprus. Only two ships were presently seaworthy and help might be required from
Cyprus, which would have to be negotiated with the Sultan. Mark reported on the
supplies and the situation of the wounded, and Louis presented an alternative
fighting plan, “in case the Sultan goes back on his word.” Almost an hour
passed, with the five absorbed in the discussion of the grueling and grim tasks
ahead, when de Severy suddenly raised his hand. In the silence that fell over
the room, they could hear an uproar somewhere outside.

At that moment, there
was a knock at the door. One of the sergeants burst inside, obviously agitated,
and stood at attention. “What is it, sergeant?” asked the Marshall.

“The Saracens…” the
sergeant took a deep breath. “They are… misbehaving. They have no honor...”

“What have they done?”
asked Thibaud.

“They… they have
molested Christian women and desecrated them… children too…”

The five knights
appeared shocked. “Uncivilized, boorish heretics,” cried Louis, his face
turning red. “One just cannot trust these dogs.”

The small party left
the room. Outside, in the court of the fort, a
ruckus was in
progress. They found a big mass of knights and soldiers surrounding the
Saracens, some of whom were already lying dead on the ground. Seeing the
Marshall and Gaudin approach, the crowd fell silent.

“What happened here?”
asked de Severy, turning to one of the knights.

“The pagan dogs
assaulted women and children, molesting and forcing themselves upon them.
Christian women were desecrated.”

The emir, the commander
of the Saracen force, waved his scimitar and yelled something.

“What is he saying?”
Pierre turned to de Caffran.

“He demands to execute
all who have touched his soldiers and threatens a terrible punishment at the
hands of the Sultan.”

“Does he have anything
to say about his soldiers’ behavior?”

De Caffran translated.
Once more, the emir yelled angrily and waved his sword. “He says he owes no
explanations to infidels. He demands that we turn in to him those who have
raised their hands against his soldiers, or else we shall all die a horrible
death.”

“Is that so?” de Severy
was usually a cool-tempered man but now, he knew, all red lines had been
crossed. The game was over. He looked at Gaudin. Thibaud nodded, and the
Marshall turned to de Clairvaux.

“Louis, order your men to
put these dishonorable infidels to the sword,” he said tersely and turned to
Gaudin. “Thibaud, my brother, the time has come. Board your ship and leave.
Take with you as many women and children as you can.” He turned back to de Clairvaux.
“As soon as the ships disappear below the horizon, cast the bodies of the dogs
beyond the walls of the fort as an offering to the Sultan.” The Marshall then
turned on his heels and left without a further word.

*    *    *

All knew that the dice had
been cast and that there was no turning back. Vessels were hastily patched as
much as was possible and citizens were sent away from the small pier near the
fort, in the hope they would make it to Sidon. Thibaud left with them. The
knights and soldiers, under Pierre de Severy and Louis de Clairvaux, were preparing
their welcome for the Saracens in the expected battle of the next day.

Nobody slept that
night.

But when dawn broke,
there was only eerie silence around. The expected attack was not forthcoming.
Then, two Saracen emissaries appeared at the gate under a white flag. Guillaume
de Caffran went out to meet them and returned after a few minutes.

“The Sultan knows what
happened yesterday at the fort and is expressing regret at the behavior of his
soldiers,” he told de Severy, who was waiting for him inside. “He is suggesting
a meeting with you for re-offering of terms.”

The Marshall
contemplated this for a while. “Do you believe him?” he asked. “Don’t you think
this is a trap?”

Guillaume fixed his
gaze on his commander and comrade and then lowered his eyes. “Honestly, sir, I
do not know what to believe anymore.”

About an hour later,
the fort gates opened and four Templar knights, headed by Pierre de Severy and
Guillaume de Caffran, rode out. Many knights and men crowded the walls to watch
them. The four riders advanced until they reached the Sultan’s entourage, where
they dismounted their horses. The moment the men placed their feet on the
ground, they were seized by Mamluk soldiers and brought to their knees in front
of the Sultan. The stunned knights on the walls watched from afar, as one after
the other, their commanders and comrades were beheaded, their heads rolling in
the dust at the Sultan’s feet.

The Sultan Al-Ashraf Khalil
did not tarry anymore. He ordered his engineers to resume their digging under the
foundations of the fort. Within one day, cracks and breaches appeared in the
walls, and the Sultan sent 2,000 Mamluk soldiers into the fort to finish off
the job.

It is still not clear
whether it was the damage affected by the Mamluks to the foundations of the
fort, or the trump card in the pack of de Clairvaux and the Templar knights,
but the fort structure could not carry the weight of so many people. The main
towers collapsed first, to be followed by the walls and then the rest of the
fort, burying Christians and Saracens alike.

Acre’s invincible
Templar fort imploded to rubble, most of it rolling into the sea and sinking
there. Not a single soul, Christian or Saracen, survived.

Acre fell to the Sultan.

*    *    *

Three months later, the
last crusaders were driven away from the Holy Land.