Galloglass Book One the Templar Read online

  My descent into that living hell began when I split the head of the first Mamluk who showed above the wall with a blow that cleaved him from crown to chin and sprayed blood and brains across my mantel in a thick, red smear. Before the day was through, that mantel was crimson front and back, and my mail leaked blood as if I had waded through a river of it.

  The Saracens came at us with an eagerness to die that I had never before seen in men facing combat. To those who say they are cowards and worse, I would say they have never faced them in battle. We shot them down as the Infidel raced to the wall with bolts, arrows, and rocks. As fast as we toppled their ladders, they replaced them. The cries of "Allah Akbar" were deafening. Hours later, when they finally topped the wall and surged onto the allure, they threw themselves at us with renewed spirit, trying to pull us down by weight of numbers. I watched as they hurled themselves on spear points, dragging men down to allow those behind them to kill their foe. In those close quarters, my longsword was useless. I sheathed it, took the shield off my back, pulled the war hammer from my belt and waded into them in grim silence. No use shouting, I needed all my wind to survive.

  We cleared them from the wall and halted their assault and the cost was staggering. For every one of my men killed they lost ten. Bodies were heaped three and four deep across the allure. Exhausted, I stayed beside the marshal for a time until the Mamluk positioned a tower further east, near where Prince Amalric and the Cypriots held their sector. De Vendac sent me with as many Turcopoles and men-at-arms as he could spare to help, and I could do nothing but obey. Rolf and Henri came with me as well, and we hurried toward the Cypriots.

  When we arrived, the Mamluks had captured a small section of the Cypriot wall and were lowering the bridge from the tower. I could see Prince Amalric and his retinue beyond the Mamluks and could see that he was hard pressed to hold. Arrows from the Saracen side were sweeping the wall walk in dense clouds, forcing our men to stay behind the crenels or be pin cushioned. There was no time to create any great tactical plan. I gathered the men-at-arms I had, and with Rolf and Henri to protect my back, formed a wedge and went forward. The Turcopoles stayed behind us and attempted to take any man who exposed himself with their bows.

  In combat such as this, face to face with an enemy, one can see his teeth, smell his fetid breath, note the veins in his eyes—time slows. Instants seem like hours. I slammed my shield into the first Mamluk I met, then drove the rim up while smashing my hammer into his knee. He went down with a shriek while Henri, coming over my shoulder, drove a spear point through his throat. I remember thinking, "Beware the strike from below," one of the first rules taught to me about shield combat.

  Our wedge drove deep into their line, knocking men off the wall walk and scything down others. The Mamluks were not as heavily armored as we were and in such close quarters were at a disadvantage. A sword glanced off my coif and then chopped into my shoulder above my shield. The mail held, but my shoulder and arm went numb. Unable to lift my shield, I punched the top of my hammer into the Mamluk's mouth, shattering his teeth and knocking him back. I bulled forward. Spinning the hammer in my hand, my next blow spiked him in his chest, above his collar. I kicked the hammer loose. He fell away and I found myself facing Amalric and what was left of his men.

  A Turcopole beside me went down with an arrow in his eye, and I realized the tower's bridge was almost down. More arrows zipped past me. The prince saluted me with his sword and then ducked behind a crenel. Desperate, we gathered what men remained and braced for the next assault. My friends were still with me. Henri was grinning as blood seeped down his face from a cut underneath his coif. Rolf, meanwhile, leaned against the crenel beside me and broke off an arrow that protruded from his chausses as though it were simply a minor annoyance. By now I had feeling in my left arm and shoulder and was able to raise my shield. As the tower's bridge descended to vertical, Mamluks began hurling themselves forward off the bridge and onto the wall.

  "Here we go!" I called, rising to meet them. Shield up, I caught a Mamluk as he landed on the aperture between the crenels and shouldered him off into space. He disappeared with a scream and then the world exploded in an orange ball of light and fire. Flung to the floor of the allure, a wave of heat rolled over me from the tower to my front. I could hear the screams of the Mamluks in the tower and smell the stench of burning flesh yet had no idea what happened. I sat up and placed my back to the crenel before me and looked right, to the west, toward the Templar's tower. At its top, two onagers, small catapults, launched two more pots of naphtha into the opening of the tower. I watched the black trail of smoke that marked their path as they arced perfectly into the opening of the tower before me and exploded, one after the other.

  I stood a moment and watched the inside of the tower catch flame and burn, but the heat was too intense, and I was forced to take refuge once again behind the wall. Both Rolf and Henri had already done the same and looked at me as though I were deranged for having waited so long to drop beside them. The arrows from below slowly abated as both sides backed away from the inferno of the tower.

  It is something to see when a wooden tower the height of a city wall catches fire. The closed walls of the tower act as a flue and draw air up through the structure, making the fire burn more quickly. What had taken days to build was gone in the matter of minutes along with all those who were unable to get out. I don't know what is worse—the screams of the dying or the smell of their roasting flesh.

  The collapse of the tower halted the Mamluk assault. Trumpets blared and their men retreated. We watched as they carried away their dead and wounded. I told my Turcopoles to put down their bows and let them go. I stood and searched for the second tower, finding it several hundred yards distant. Apparently it had run into one of several hidden ditches placed before the walls weeks before. One of its wheels was now trapped. The tower itself was leaning rather precariously to its right while hundreds of slaves scurried about trying to fill in the ditch and salvage the machine. A messenger appeared suddenly from Marshal de Vendac. "My lords," he said, addressing both myself and Prince Amalric, who was standing by my side, "Marshal de Vendac requests you come to the Templar's Tower for a brief council of war."

  I was exhausted, but my position as Turcopole of the Temple made refusal an impossibility. I could tell Amalric felt the same, but to his credit he responded with a nod and a curt, "Of course."

  Henri produced a skin of wine from somewhere and handed it to us as the messenger tromped off. The prince and I were both grateful for the drink, though it burned my already raw throat. I then gave it to Rolf. "Here take this and then go to the infirmary and have that arrow out before it becomes a problem."

  He took the wine skin and grinned. "Not to worry. It didn't go too deep."

  I nodded, relieved that he was not hurt worse. Amalric gathered his retinue and left. I waited a few more moments to make sure my men were taken care of and then left as well. Gore spattered, reeking of sweat and blood, I trudged down the wall walk back toward the Templar's Tower. Stopping twice to rest, my entire being ached. To the west I saw that the sun was not far from the horizon and realized that it must be late afternoon. When I reached the tower, I took off my gauntlets, placing them in my belt, and then pulled off my coif and arming cap. De Vendac was waiting for me with a skin of wine and a slap on the back.

  "It is good to see you, brother. I watched from the top of the tower."

  "Then you know that God has been kind. I should not be here."

  "Brother Ronan," De Vendac's voice was warm and firm, "you cannot appreciate God unless you have known war. War is the essence of man. It shows him as he is, noble, kind, heroic, cruel, merciless, and cowardly all at once and all in one. It is amazing when one thinks that our God was willing to sacrifice his only Son for our Salvation. Our own sacrifices pale in comparison, don't you think?"

  It was something to contemplate, but at that moment, I was too tired. I was simply glad to be alive. Moments later Prince Amalric arri
ved, although how I managed to get there before he did, I did not know. Marshal de Claremont and a contingent of Hospitallers came next. Behind his Hospitallers, Jean de Grailey and Commander de Gaudin made their appearance as well. A stone from a Moslem trebuchet crunched into the tower at about that time and staggered everyone in the room. De Clermont crossed himself and said, "Congratulations, my lords. We have survived the first assault. We have hurt the Mamluk as well. I believe it will be some time before they try to storm the city again."

  De Vendac concurred. "They will let their infernal machines do their work. Even now, certain sections of the walls are showing stress from their bombardment. They will probe us for sure, but I doubt we will see such an assault as this for a while."

  Captain de Grailley spoke up. "Then it is vital that we sally and attack their trebuchets. Their destruction will cause them to lose heart, perhaps give up their siege."

  "I agree," said de Claremont "But, not tonight. They will expect us."

  "We stick to the plan. Three days from now there will be no moon. We will strike then and Brother MacAlasdair will lead us," said de Vendac.

  All eyes turned on me, even de Gaudin. I lifted my arm in acknowledgement. "Three days, lords. Until then, we endure. "

  "My lords, no disrespect to you," De Gaudin began, "however, do you think it wise to give command of this operation to Brother MacAlasdair? He is. after all, not only young but inexperienced in the ways of siege warfare."

  The room quieted at once. Marshal de Vendac hooked his thumbs in his sword belt and stared at Commander de Gaudin a moment. "Tell me, commander. How long have you been in the Levant?"

  De Gaudin was puzzled. "Fifteen years, why?"

  "In fifteen years, brother, have you learned the language of our enemies? Can you speak as a Saracen?"

  De Gaudin shook his head. "No, why should I?"

  "Because we live and rule amongst Moslems. Because we trade with them, make alliances with them, and yes, make war on them." He pointed at me while holding up his fist for all to see. "Brother MacAlasdair speaks the language of the Prophet." One finger of his fisted hand went up in the air. "He has experience with ships and raiding from the sea." A second finger went up. "He is the Turcopole. His men are archers. They know the land and more importantly can pass for Saracens." A third finger went up. "He has the confidence of both myself and Marshal de Claremont." A fourth finger went up. "Do I need any more reasons, Commander?"

  All eyes were on de Gaudin and none were sympathetic. He had overreached himself and knew it. He bowed his head slightly and said, "Forgive me, lord. I am convinced."

  While this was going on, Brother di Bergamo entered the tower from the allure and signaled for me to come to where he stood. Excusing myself, I nodded and slipped to the doorway as the conversation moved on from the raid to repairing the damage to the walls. Adolfo did not mince words. "We may have trouble with the Venetians. I have already heard they will withdraw to their ships the moment the situation looks desperate. If they pull out, you can be sure the Genoese will not be far behind."

  "You are sure of this?"

  He smiled. "I have a cousin who sails with the Venetians. I heard it from him. He has offered me a berth on one of their galleys should the situation fall into the dung heap."

  I clapped my hand on his shoulder and said, "Keep this between us. There is no sense in spreading despair. It will be hard enough to hold the wall as it is. I will have some of my Turcopoles keep an eye on them so there will be no surprises. In the meantime, I will inform the marshals of what you have heard."

  Returning to the tower, I pulled de Vendac aside and repeated what Adolfo had told me. He stepped back and asked, "Is this information reliable?"

  "I have no reason to doubt it, my lord."

  The Marshal's thoughts were much the same as my own. "Say nothing of this. I will inform de Claremont. I trust you know what to do. When the time is right, we will let the others know as well. No use in starting a panic."

  Having done my duty, I returned to the allure and Adolfo. Henri had long since returned to the barracks, and I was glad for the Italian's company. "De Vendac thinks as I do. We hold this bit of news close and keep a watchful eye on our allies."

  "Come then, let us find something to eat," said Adolfo. "Tomorrow and every day thereafter will be long, and we will need our strength if we are to endure."

  He was right. The days were long and brutal. The Mamluks probed every section of the wall but made no more general assaults. Their trebuchets began to focus on the Bishop's Tower and the Tower of the Hospitallers. I am sure their spies had informed their engineers that those two towers were the weakest part of our defenses. Nightly our own engineers would enter them both. Using gangs of Moslem prisoners, and the detritus of Tripoli's jails, they would shore up the damage of the previous day. The work on the walls soon became non-stop, and by the fifth day, I could see we were not able to keep up with the daily destruction.

  On the afternoon of our planned raid, I was atop the Tower of the Templars when I spied buches, wooden defensive walls, being constructed around the Mamluk war machines. They were turning each engine into a small fortress. I knew then that we must attack that very night or we would lose any chance we might have of destroying them. By this time, Thomas, one of the Turcoples who had come with us from Acre, had become my squire. My position as De Beaujeu's Turcopole allowed me a squire and a sergeant-brother for my personal retinue, yet I only had Thomas. I sent him to tell the marshals what I had discovered and then asked him to meet me back at the commandery. I then went there to eat and gather my gear for the coming night.

  Roger de Flor was in the dining hall when I entered along with Henri and Adolfo. Rolf was still recovering in the infirmary. The Templar priest who was reading the Psalms for the evening meal paused in his recital to hush the choleric sailor.

  "Piss off, father, or I'll take you and that book outside and toss you both off the wall."

  Apparently none of the other knights in the hall were very keen on hearing the priest drone on in his monotone Latin because no one spoke up in his defense. Instead, he quietly closed his Psalter and disappeared. I believe the look on Roger's face was enough to convince him that what he said was a distinct possibility.

  "I was hoping you would be here," I said. "I don't trust just anyone to get me in close to shore without being seen."

  "Getting you in is not the problem. From what de Vendac has told me, it will be getting you out," he grinned at me. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding at Adolfo.

  "Brother Adolfo de Bergamo," offered Adolfo.

  Roger searched Adolfo up and down, like a hound sniffing another dog for the first time. "De Bergamo," said Roger after a pause, "there was a knight by that name who served the Duke of Milan."

  "My father."

  "And you were the younger son?"

  "One of them."

  De Flor nodded. "Given to the Temple rather than the Church?"

  "I do not have the disposition of a priest."

  "Nor do I," grinned de Flor. "Come, have a seat. Ronan would not have you by his side if you were not trustworthy and lethal." Roger turned to me. "And what is it about you that brings that specialty to the fore? You laugh, yet I am serious. I have pondered it of late and have no answer."

  Henri grinned and slapped his great hand upon my shoulder. "He has a talent, that's for certain. Think of it as a gift from God." The big man chuckled at that.

  There was a mood upon me. I rarely talked about my upbringing, but these were my friends, and I had felt the caress of Death's hand that day. "Honestly, I cannot remember a time when I have not fought. On Islay it was for food, clothing, recognition, always recognition. I was five the first time I tried to kill someone. A page at my grandfather's court took my wool cloak one night when the snows came and a winter storm lashed the island. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and even then my father barely recognized my existence. I knew that if I let that boy keep my cloak, I would freeze and n
o one would much care. The boy was bigger and a few years older so that when he took my cloak, the other boys in the hall laughed at my helplessness. I walked over to the wood pile where they kept kindling for the hearth and found a stick about the length of my leg and as round as a broom handle. The boy had his back to me and was laughing with the other boys when I hit him. The first blow I swung two handed into the back of his knees because I wanted him down to my height. He screeched and landed on his back while everyone around us stared, too stunned to stop me. I hit him again, this time on the back of his head as he sat up. Broke my stick, I did, and dropped the boy like a hammered ox. Split his head wide open. His only luck was that I hadn't been older and had the strength to crack his skull. I meant to kill him. I took back my cloak and went off to my corner. My father's guards laughed themselves sick, but my grandfather, Angus Mor, he noticed. From that day on, I had food and clothes and everything else that I needed as the son of a lord, except a father."

  De Flor nodded his head. "That explains much. Your father, he is still alive?"

  I looked down to my hands, they were balled into fists. "Most certainly."

  "Then someday, I will help you kill him. Bastard or not, it is a poor man indeed who does not recognize his own seed."

  Adolfo clapped me on the shoulder. "Perhaps by then, it will not seem so important?"

  "Perhaps," I said, for Adolfo was a true Templar, unlike Roger or me. He had no intention of leaving the Order and was very much a warrior monk. To him, forgiveness was an essential part of Christianity and unlike many, not something to be ignored.

  Roger shook his head. "Somehow I doubt it." He pulled a loaf of bread to his platter and began to eat. Servants were passing bowls full of a rich stew around the table as he pointed his finger at me. "My men row you ashore about a half of a mile north of the trebuchets. You must move behind their encampment and attack them that way so as to achieve surprise. If you are very lucky, you destroy their siege engines, but you must escape. So where do you go?"