The Spymaster's Protection (45 page)

“I am happy for you, Lucien. She is a good woman. Even the few
times I was in her company, I could see that.”

“She is my life now, Conrad.” Though, it was hidden beneath
his gambeson, Lucien lifted his hand to where her pendant lay against his skin.

“Then I wish you life tomorrow, Lucien. I shall pray devotedly
for that before the battle.”

“And though I will not be allowed to fight at your back, my
brother, I will do what I can to watch out for it tomorrow.”

“Go with God, Lucien.”

“And you, Brother.”

They parted soon after, each going in the direction of their
own camps.

On the way back to Raymond’s division, camped to the left of
the king’s, Lucien began to smell smoke. He turned to look over his shoulder,
and was appalled to see that the Muslims were building fires all along their
sentry positions. They smelled of dry native grass and brush. The smoke created
was thick and acrid, the kind that came from burning tinder dry thistles. The
breeze was blowing in such a direction as to send it directly into the
Christian encampment.

When Lucien walked into the camp, he immediately heard and saw
the misery the burning brush caused. There was much choking and coughing, and
it hindered the sleep the fighting men needed. With this new harassment, the
Christians were going to be even more hampered by morning.

At the edge of Raymond’s camp, distracted by the sounds of the
suffering troops, he was suddenly tackled from behind. He went down under a
heavy weight, cursing his breach of personal vigilance.

The scarf he had tied over his nose to filter the heavy smoke
was yanked down, as he was thrown onto his back. No sooner had he recognized
his assailant as Reynald de Châtillon than he felt the sharp edge of a knife at
his throat.

“Are you going to kill me here and now, Reynald?” Lucien
taunted as he reached for the dagger strapped to his thigh. “You will be
accused of murder this close to Raymond’s camp.”

The two of them were concealed in the smoke covering the
ground and several dozen feet from the nearest sentry, out in the open, but not
visible.

“No one can see us, and an infidel scout could just have well
ended your life here, Reynald snarled.”

Lucien managed to bring his short blade up to the baron’s
temple, the sharp point a thread away from breaking skin. “Then you will die
with me. Who will be faster? Can you slit my throat faster than I can jam this
into you skull?”

“Bastard half-breed!”

“Wife beater! Child killer!”

“Ahh!” Reynald smiled cynically. “I see the bitch has told you
all her sad tales.”

Lucien felt the press of Reynald’s blade against his skin. The
tip of his own drew blood, which trickled down the side of the knight’s heavily
bearded face. “Whoreson! I would enjoy killing you for any one of them.”

“It seems we are at an impasse, then, infidel dog.”

Lucien had had enough. Reynald was a heavier man, but not as tall
or as young. Lucien brought his forearm up, wedged a space between himself and
Gabrielle’s husband, then rocked his body upwards and threw the knight’s weight
off of him and jumped nimbly to his feet.

Reynald rose more slowly and faced him, still gripping his
long thin blade. “You can have my spoils, renegade monk. The little chit was
never worth much once I gained Oultrejourdan. She wasn’t any good in bed, and
she is more mad than sane.”

“And I have no doubt you will personally face Saladin’s wrath
tomorrow. He will be a hundred times less merciful than I, de Châtillon.
Prepare your black soul tonight.”

Despite the fact that Lucien would have loved to walk away, he
dared not turn his back on Gabrielle’s husband, so he waited until the man
stepped backwards and disappeared into the smoke before he finally made his way
wearily to his pallet in Raymond’s tent, wishing the whole way that he had
foresworn his conscience and killed Reynald de Châtillon.

CHAPTER
22

The Christian army was roused from whatever fitful sleep they
had been able to find before dawn the next morning. The insistent prodding of
their commanders called them to rise to a quick meal of dried beef and drier
biscuits, but no water. As a result, few ate. Most were already arrayed in
their body armor, whether it was padded cowhide and leather, or chain mail and
steel plate.

The fact that the sun had not risen yet was a blessing, but
all knew the cooler night air would not last long in the face of a sun that
would soon rise with blisteringly hot intensity. Throughout the three
divisions, priests who had marched with the troops went about saying masses,
hearing quick confessions, and offering pater nosters.

Lucien found a secluded spot and kneeled to pray.

“Dear Lord,” he began, his head bowed. “For all the trespasses
that I have committed and are about to commit, forgive me. For all the lives I
must take, grant me your mercy. For the woman I love, keep her safe from all
harm. For myself, I beg life at the end of this battle. Let me see her again,
and return to make her my wife. Give strength and protection to all of my
brethren this day. Almighty Father, in your name, I give my humble service.
Amen.”

Pushing to his feet, he went back into Raymond’s tent to
finish arming himself. He emerged covered in chain mail, head to foot, with his
flat-topped helm held under one arm. On his hip, he carried one sword, with
another strapped to his back. In addition, he carried three long daggers, one
in his boot, one tied to his thigh, one in the back of his leather belt.

His horse stood nearby, munching on dry grass. Lucien saddled
him, then equipped him with his lance, his axe, and his kite-shaped iron
shield. They were both as ready for battle as they could be. Lastly, he slipped
the meager remainder of his water over his saddle pommel. God knew, it was
precious little to last the long hot day ahead!

As he walked his horse to the briefing King Guy was conducting
at his tent in the center of the camp, he touched his heart. Gabrielle’s
pendant lay over it, inside his padded hauberk. God forgive him, but at that
moment, he wanted nothing more than to ride away from here, directly back to
Jerusalem and her arms! He’d never been so reluctant to go into battle. He, who
had earned a reputation on the field of battle for his skill and ferocity,
wanted nothing to do with fighting, not today, maybe never again.

The portents for this battle ending well were nonexistent. The
army was in the middle of a two day march, miles away from Tiberius or the
lake. They had no water for either men or horses. They had slept little, and
the cursed fires were still burning this morning. On top of that, they were cut
off from going backwards to either Tur’an or Sephorie, and the enemy was
positioned all around them with greater numbers and unlimited access to water.

The military orders in the rearguard had been hit hard all day
yesterday, and had already lost many men and horses. As Lucien came up to the
circle of men around King Guy, he could see that his former brothers were in
dangerously poor shape for the day.

Conrad, who had been up for most of the night, as he had,
caught his eye and nodded. Lucien offered up another quick prayer to God for
his brother’s safety this day.

They were all going to need God’s intercession. There was
nothing the king could do except to tell his commanders to push forward and
punch a hole through enemy lines toward the springs at Hattin three miles away.
Punching holes through enemy lines was never a good idea when the enemy held
the high ground and your own army was weakened by lack of sleep and water.

There were a few other suggestions made by some knights and
barons, but in the end, King Guy overruled them, as always, looking to his
kingmakers for what they wanted. The kind of aggressive tactics needed to best
a superior enemy who held all the odds in his favor were never accomplished by
men of this king’s caliber, though.

Lucien looked across the circle to Reynald de Châtillon, who
was staring at him with a mirthless smirk on his grey bearded face. Lucien resisted
the urge to touch his neck, where beneath his mail coif, his throat had been
thinly cut, not enough to do damage, but enough to sting and possibly leave a
scar.

He wished he’d left more than a pin prick at the cur’s temple.
He supposed he’d have to watch his back today around de Châtillon. Despite the
fact that they rode in different divisions, they could end up fighting too
close for comfort. Though it was tempting, Lucien had no plans to kill de
Châtillon under the guise of battle. If the day went as Lucien thought it
would, the swine would meet his due from the desert lord who hated him with
vengeful vehemence.

By the day’s end, Gabrielle might be free of her vile husband
forever. God forgive him for wishing it so.

King Guy and his commanders dispersed to their appointed
divisions, and within the half hour, the army began forming up to march. On the
hills to either side of them, Lucien could see Saladin dispersing his forces.

From where he sat atop his large Arabian gelding, it appeared
that the Blue Wolf was being sent to the rearguard of the Christian army again,
along with a good portion of the sultan’s own center division. By strengthening
Gökböri’s wing, it appeared the Saracen leader intended to hit the military
orders especially hard right from the start. Lucien half-wished he could fight
alongside his old friends, but he had no wish to face the fearsome Blue Wolf.

As it was, Saladin’s nephew and very able young commander,
Taqi al Din, was moving rapidly toward Raymond’s vanguard, of which Lucien was
a part of again.

Positioned to the left of the main dirt road that led to the
Horns of Hattin, Raymond called out the order for his cavalry to line
themselves up into an attack formation.

Lucien reined his horse in beside the count, adjusted the
nasal guard on his conical, flat-topped helm, and withdrew his long wooden
lance into its couched position.

The Lord of Tripoli bellowed out the traditional crusader war
cry, “Remember the Sepulcher!” Trumpets sounded the call to arms, on both
sides.

Lucien and several knights around him jabbed their warhorses’
flanks with their spurs and charged forward with explosive battle cries. From
habit, Lucien shouted, “
Non nobis, Domine! Non nobis, sed Nominee Tuo da
Gloriam
!”

They met the enemy half way up the long sloping hill. With
their Christian lances braced for impact, they charged into the infidel’s
mounted troops, leaving foot soldiers on both sides to come up behind their
respective cavalries.

The infidel’s scimitars were no match initially for the long
Frank lances. Horses fell beneath the Saracens, creating a barrier that allowed
the infantry time to dash through the melee to their enemy counterparts in the
rear. The Christian knights spurred their horses to the left and right to cut
back around for another charge.

It was not an easy maneuver for everyone. Those mounted on the
huge destriers, particularly the ones that were cumbersomely caparisoned, found
it difficult to make such a tight turn and reform for another charge. Those on
the more nimble, strong-legged Arabians managed the maneuver more quickly.

Lucien and the few
knights
on the
desert horses were back up the hill first. Lucien veered to the right, jumped
over the obstacle of two dead horses and their riders, and charged into a knot
of Saracens with his long broad sword raised high. Behind him and to the left,
others chose their own targets. Between them, the infantry fought with
poleaxes, maces, war hammers, and a few swords.

It was a melee to rival any tournament, only much deadlier.
One of the mounted Saracens who challenged Lucien met his assault with a great
spiked starburst. At the end of a heavy linked chain, it whistled through the
air in lethal circles. When it hit his shield and sent it flying, Lucien ducked
under the spiked ball, guiding his well-trained mount with his knees to come up
alongside the infidel’s horse. From his belt he withdrew his long misericord.
With sword in one hand and the long dagger in the other, he waited but a moment,
then leaned in and used both to deliver two death blows, one under his
opponent’s unprotected left arm, into his side, and one under his chin, into
his skull.

It took longer to disengage his blades, but as soon as Lucien
shoved the body aside, he whirled his horse around, leaned down low, and
scooped up his shield off the ground.

Raymond called for another charge, but the third one was less
effective as the ground became heavily littered with dead horses and dying men.
Seeing the futility of breaking through at Taqi al Din’s densely reinforced
position, the count ordered what was left of his division back down the slope
to aid the king’s central regiment.

For a while, the controlled charges of the Christian army
seemed to be working. Raymond’s reinforcement helped them come close time and
again to breaking a hole in Saladin’s multiple lines of cavalry and infantry.
They drove back the sultan’s initial attacks, but lost many men and horses in
the process. By the time they came near the crest of a long rise in the
terrain, the cool blue waters of Lake Tiberius could be seen in the distance by
all. Scattered groups of desperate Christian soldiers began to desert and run
toward the vision of relief.

Fighting within the main force alongside the count, Lucien saw
many of the foot soldiers heading off toward the water, and shook his head in
dismay. It was really too far away to do them any good, and the enemy soon cut
down any who tried to escape. There was no chance of getting to the springs at
Hattin, either. Taqi al Din was firmly in control of the road which led to the
springs. His troops were positioned at the top of the hill and at the foot of
one of the Horns, while the center of Saladin’s force was arrayed between the
two Horns, firmly blocking the main road, which led up and over to Tiberius.
Gökböri and his rear division stood between the right Horn and the way back to
Tur’an.