I nodded. ‘At least, your Grace. The garrison I saw was well-armed in good harness and carried bows as good as John the Turk’s bow.’
King Peter sighed. ‘Ghulami,’ he said. ‘We have faced them before now.’
‘They’re all cowards,’ Sieur Percival said. He shrugged in contempt. ‘I was a prisoner, a slave, in Alexandria. The town wall is enormous – the circuit is almost ten miles. They cannot hold the whole length, not event with ten thousand men. And they will not stand and fight like men.’
Sabraham raised his eyebrows. ‘They don’t need to stand and fight,’ he said, ‘when they are mounted. They shoot and run, shoot and run.’
‘Like cowards!’ insisted Sieur Percival.
‘And yet they took you prisoner,’ de Mézzières said.
Men laughed, and Sieur Percival flushed.
‘Come, Percival, I know you and I know your mettle.’ King Peter waved a hand. ‘Where would you land?’
‘In the Porto Vecchio, where the foreign vessels wait for entry into the New Harbour,’ he said. ‘There is a fine expanse of white sand and gravel that runs right up to the walls. We can land an army there, aye, and encamp it, as well.’
Sabraham looked at me. I bowed. ‘Your Grace, we landed on that beach. It is foul with garbage, and the old harbour is very shallow. The ships anchored there could foul the manoeuvres of the fleet. And any camp would be immediately under the walls of the city—’
‘Where they must be to conduct a siege,’ Sieur Percival insisted.
‘Where there is no water or cover of any kind,’ Sabraham said.
‘There is no other place,’ Sieur Percival insisted.
I leaned forward. ‘Your Grace, there is another place, about a mile to the east along the coast, with nine good wells—’
‘He is lying,’ Sieur Percival said. ‘There is no other place.’
Some men resent any disagreement. I cannot account for Sieur Percival’s instant rage, but it was remarkable, and he did himself no favours.
‘You are a fool,’ he said. ‘A mere boy. A veteran soldier would not make this mistake. East of the city is a wood of palms—’
‘Only inland,’ I said. ‘On the coast, there are farms behind the dunes, and—’
‘Be quiet!’ Sieur Percival shouted. ‘You know nothing.’
De Mézzières put out a hand and physically restrained Sieur Percival. ‘My lord,’ he said gently, ‘the king has asked for this young knight’s report.’
‘It is worthless. This is what you sent on your reconnaissance? A Jew and a boy?’ Sieur Percival spat. He actually spat on the king’s cabin floor.
The king lay back and fanned himself for a few breaths. He sighed heavily. ‘Very well, my lord de Coulanges. You think the town is possible?’
Sieur Percival crossed his arms. ‘We will take it with ease,’ he said.
The king looked at the Hospitaller admiral. ‘Fra Ferlino?’ he asked.
‘Tell me of the fortifications on Pharos,’ the old Italian asked.
Sabraham ignored de Coulanges. ‘My lord, they are new, very new. There is a main castle, as tall as a mountain with heavy machines on its corner towers. It is surrounded by a new curtain wall that has eight towers, all with artillery. There is no ground from which to lay siege to it.’