Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar (28 page)

“Some of us can,” said a knight, stepping forward. “James can speak their tongue almost as well as they can.”

“I will not sanction any departure from our stations!” repeated the commander, glaring at the knight.

“But if one or two could escape unnoticed,” continued the knight, “they could retreat to Acre, send word to Grand Master Bérard, request more forces.”

“Bérard couldn’t assemble a thousand men in a matter of weeks,” said the commander. “And if even he could, they would have to fight their way through the Saracens to get to us.”

Everyone fell silent, each lost to his own thoughts.

“It looks to me,” said James finally, his voice loud in the oppressive night air, “that we only have two options.” The commander and the knights and sergeants looked at him. “We can either stay here and fight a battle we cannot hope to win, or we can negotiate our own surrender.” James looked at the Mamluk camp spread out below Safed, lit by torches and fires. “I do not fear death, Commander, but neither do I feel ready to languish in Paradise when there is still so much to be done in this world.”

SAFED, THE KINGDOM OF JERUSALEM, JULY
22, 1266
AD

For a time, the commander refused to listen to any talk of surrender. The Syrians’ betrayal had cut him deep and his stubbornness to forfeit Safed was his reaction to the wound. But the majority of the knights agreed with James and, when dawn came and they counted the loss of over twelve hundred Syrians, he relented. James volunteered to enter the camp to negotiate the terms of the Templars’ capitulation. The commander didn’t like the proposition, but unable to think of any better way to parley with the Mamluks, he agreed.

After Prime, James made his way along the wide passage that led to a postern that came out on the hillside. His horse had been saddled and was being led through the dark, uneven tunnel by a groom. The commander and two other knights were with him.

“Are you sure about this, brother?” said the commander. “They may kill you on sight.”

“I just hope I can remember the Arabic for
surrender,
” James replied lightly, ignoring the edge of apprehension that had crept into his voice.

“You won’t have to, brother.”

James and the commander turned to see Mattius hastening down the passage. With him was a short, bony-limbed Syrian, with a hooked nose and a thin mustache and beard.

“This is Leo,” panted Mattius, motioning to the Syrian. “He will go in your place.”

James shook his head as he studied the soldier. He wondered if Mattius had paid the soldier to do this task, or if the man had volunteered. “I’ve made my decision, Mattius.”

“And I’ve made mine,” Mattius replied resolutely. “I don’t want to spend the next few days viewing your head on a pike. It is safer this way. He may be a native, but he’s loyal to us. Aren’t you, Leo?” he said, clapping the man on the back.

“Yes, sir,” stated the Syrian, in a deep voice that was surprising from such a small, fragile-looking man. “I disagree with the actions of my comrades and captain and I am grateful for this chance to make amends on their behalf.”

James opened his mouth to protest, but the commander cut him off. “So be it. I don’t want to lose one of my best men if it can be helped.”

With that settled, Leo mounted James’s horse and rode out of Safed with the scroll the commander had given him that detailed the knights’ offer. James, Mattius and the commander left the passage to watch his progress. But, by the time they arrived on the walls, the knights keeping watch told them that Leo had been received and taken to the sultan’s pavilion. After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

James watched the empty hillside as the minutes dragged by. The commander was pacing about the walkway and Mattius was drumming his fingers on the parapet. Almost an hour had passed since Leo had been ushered inside the sultan’s pavilion. James looked down over the compound. “Do you think he will agree to let them go?” he murmured to Mattius, as his gaze swept the smoke-wreathed encampment of men, women and children in the outer enceinte.

“The women and children are the most valuable spoils Safed has to offer. I would, in truth, be surprised if he did.”

“I, too,” James admitted soberly.

“There!” called one of the knights.

James and Mattius looked over the parapet to see Leo riding up the hill toward the fortress.

“At least he’s still alive,” said another of the knights. “That has to be a good sign, surely?”

Not long after, Leo arrived on the walls.

“Well?” said the commander, as the Syrian hastened across the walkway flanked by two Templar sergeants. James noted that the soldier looked rather pale and shaken.

“It is done, Commander,” said Leo, bowing. “Sultan Baybars has agreed to your terms. If you give up Safed without further resistance, he will let you go free. You will be allowed to retreat to Acre unharmed. The remaining soldiers and the peasants are permitted to return to their homes. He’s given you the rest of the day to prepare the evacuation. You are to come out this evening. The soldiers and farmers are to wait inside, until Baybars’s troops give them the word that they can leave.”

The commander frowned. “That was simpler than I thought.”

“This is madness,” argued one of the knights. “Are we to trust, so readily, the word of our enemy?”

“Of course not,” interjected Mattius, “but, as James said, better a prisoner than a corpse. Out there we have a chance. If we stay here we just delay the inevitable.”

“The sultan wants a swift victory, Commander,” offered Leo. “He said he doesn’t care about a handful of Western savages.” He shrugged apologetically. “He only cares that the fortress is emptied of your presence, so that it may be razed to the ground and bring an end to your taint of these lands.”

The commander’s frown deepened. “Savages indeed.” He ran his hand along the smooth stones of the parapet. “Years to build and only weeks to destroy. I cannot believe it is to fall.”

“Do you wish me to return to the sultan with your answer, Commander?” questioned Leo.

The commander looked up. He glanced at James and Mattius and drew in a breath. “Do it,” he said harshly. “Take him my agreement and be done with it.”

The priests paced before the company, murmuring prayers and passing their hands in the sign of the cross. Safed towered above the barbican, its walls and towers dusky pink in the evening sun. It had been a testimony to the strength of God and those who served Him, but the tide of war had reached its walls and it could no longer hold back the flood. St. George had failed. It was Baybars’s fortress now, although the knights had made sure that there would be little of use to him inside. The corpses of the Christians, which the Mamluks had tossed over the walls, had been dumped into the cisterns to poison the water. The stores of food and grain had been spoiled, or consigned to fires that had burned high throughout the day. The blacksmiths and masons had been given the task of destroying weapons: tearing down mangonels, hammering at swords until the blades buckled, snapping bows. All that was left was stone. And a fearful congregation of soldiers and farmers.

James turned at the sound of hushed voices beside him. The garrison’s five youngest sergeants were watching the priests nervously.

James guessed the cause of their alarm. “Don’t worry,” he assured them quietly. “The prayers are only a precaution.”

“Sir Knight,” whispered one of them, “my comrades and I were wondering how we will make it to Acre without horses, or provisions.”

“It’s only thirty or so miles.” James patted the skin that was strung around his belt and smiled. “We have water. Anything else, we can make do without.”

The sergeant nodded, relaxing a little.

“Amen,” said James with the rest of the men, as the priests finished their prayers.

The commander stood before the knights and sergeants. “Be strong, men, and hold your heads high in the company of our enemy. Show them that the warriors of Christ will not be bowed. Look all those who seek to destroy our property and hope in the eye with dignity, and in the knowledge that we shall one day return with the full force of our Order to avenge our loss. Look to your faith for solace and your training for courage.” His eyes lingered on the fortress for a moment. “Let’s go.”

Together, the knights, sergeants and priests passed under the barbican’s arch and headed out through the gate, the Syrian guards winching up the portcullis. James and Mattius walked behind the commander. At the bottom of the hillside an army was waiting for them.

As the knights walked through the enemy encampment, the gazes of the Mamluk soldiers followed them. Some of the soldiers jeered, others remained silent, arms folded across their chests. James felt his skin prickle under the fierceness of their combined stare, each and every one’s eyes filled with contempt. After being led between a line of tents and wagons, the knights came to a halt in a cleared area, surrounded by soldiers in gold cloaks. James recognized them as Bahri warriors: the Mamluk Royal Guard. In their midst stood a tall, powerfully built man, with short brown hair streaked with silver at his temples and the most chilling blue eyes James had ever seen. A cold fist closed around his heart as Baybars met his gaze. Crouching by the feet of the sultan and watching the knights eagerly was an old man in a shabby robe.

Baybars murmured something to a soldier at his side.

The soldier stepped forward. “Down your weapons,” he barked in precise Latin.

The commander looked surprised, then scowled. “Our terms didn’t stipulate that we should be disarmed.”

The soldier repeated the command.

James glanced at the commander. “Perhaps we should do as they ask. The sooner we are released the better.”

The commander looked as if he were about to argue, then he nodded. “Very well.” He unsheathed his sword and placed it carefully on the ground.

The knights and sergeants followed his example. Several Mamluk guards came forward to collect the weapons. Baybars waited, then beckoned to another of his soldiers. This time, when he spoke, it was loud enough for James to hear.

“Send in the men. I expect the knights have destroyed anything of value, but search the castle anyway. Once you have secured it, kill the Syrians who refused to leave on my request. Take the women and children.”

James stared at him, aghast. “You gave your word!” he cried in Arabic.

Baybars looked round. His eyes fell on James as the soldiers marched away to do his bidding. “The tongue of my people sounds ill on your lips, Christian,” he said, after a pause. “You aren’t fit to speak it.”

The commander looked from Baybars to James. “What does he say?”

James answered him. “We’ve been tricked, sir.”

From behind the Bahri warriors came soldiers bearing chains and manacles. Some of the knights shouted as they saw them, reaching instinctively for weapons that weren’t there. One of the younger sergeants tried to run. James yelled at him. “Stay where you are!”

But the boy, in his terror, didn’t heed the warning. He only got a few paces before the Mamluks caught him. His cries continued for several moments longer as they beat him to the ground with their swords and he disappeared in their midst. The cries ceased. As the Mamluks moved away, James’s jaw tightened at the sight of the bloodied corpse. The sergeant’s hands were shredded where he’d tried to ward off their blows. His face was a mess of wide red slashes and his body was punctured. James intoned a prayer as the soldiers approached the company, which had fallen silent.

The knights’ mantles were removed, as were their chainmail coats and undershirts. James, forced to his knees beside the commander, watched as his white mantle was tossed onto a fire and his armor was taken away to be given to a Mamluk warrior as a trophy. Heavy chains were looped around him, the iron cold on his bare chest.

When the knights, sergeants and priests were bound, Baybars stepped forward. He looked down at James. “I may not have kept my word, Christian, but I’m not an unreasonable man.” He paused, then nodded, satisfied by the look on James’s face that the knight understood him. “I shall offer you a choice. Translate my words to your commander.”

As Baybars spoke, James listened, a sick feeling rising in him. When Baybars had finished, James hung his head.

“James?” pressed the commander, who had been watching the exchange intently. “What is happening? Is it as I feared? Are we to be taken to Cairo as slaves?”

For a moment, James couldn’t reply. He forced himself to raise his head and addressed the commander, but kept his eyes on Baybars. “No, we are not to be taken prisoner. The sultan has given us a choice.” James’s voice was clear enough for the whole company to hear. “We can choose to deny Christ and convert to the faith of Islam, or we can choose to be martyred as Christians. He will give us the night to decide whether to save ourselves, or face execution by decapitation.”

OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF SAFED, THE KINGDOM OF JERUSALEM, JULY
23, 1266
AD

The night pressed in, warm and airless, around the knights and sergeants as they knelt together on the ground. During the first few hours they had remained, for the most part, silent, each lost to his own thoughts. They had listened to the sounds of the camp, the murmurs of the guards keeping watch on them, and the faint screams that came from Safed as the men were slaughtered and the women and children rounded up. It was after midnight when the commander’s voice broke the stillness.

“It is time.”

The company stirred, all eyes turning to him. The commander’s rage had gone. His voice now was calm, if a little husky.

“We must make our choice. I, for one, am set on my decision, but, as brothers, we must speak as one.”

No one said anything. The younger sergeants watched him intently, but the older ones and the knights, those who had served the Temple for years, looked away, knowing what the decision would be.

“Twenty years ago, I knelt before the chapter in Paris and was received as a Knight of the Temple, but although the years since that day have tested my flesh, they have not tested my faith. The vows I took then are as clear to me now as they ever were. I knew what I was being asked to do. We all did, brothers, even those of us who have never worn the mantle.” Some of the older sergeants nodded. “We made a pledge that we would give our lives in service to the Order.” The commander’s voice shook with emotion. “I shall not renege on that pledge! Were the Devil himself and all the hordes of hell to command it of me, I would not deny Christ!” He paused as some of the knights and sergeants murmured their approval.