‘We can’t all ride the same galley,’ I said.
Fra William was leaning his great bulk against the stern rail. He pointed over the water at Pharos Castle. ‘I see Sabraham was not lying about that pile of stone,’ he said.
Sabraham shrugged. ‘I wish I was,’ he said.
Father Pierre looked at the great sweep of the city. Alexandria is almost flat; there are two low hills in the middle, rocks, really, and it is almost three Italian miles across – honestly, it takes your breath away, it is so huge. He was shaking his head.
‘Every time I look, it terrifies me,’ he said. ‘It is bigger than Rome.’
We all looked.
Father Pierre shook his head again. ‘We are committed to this attack. The crusaders cannot remain in the boats.’
I bowed again. ‘My lord, it is not too late to land east of the city.’
Fra William shook his head. ‘The problem is not laying a siege. We lack the men, the artillery and the provisions to lay a siege. Let us be frank. For six months this expedition has been patched together and patched together again, one patch on top of another until the whole is like a frayed old garment and we have never met the enemy.’
Fra Peter smiled, but to me, in the red light, he looked old, tired, and angry. ‘It is no fault of ours. It is a miracle that we are here at all.’
Fra Robert frowned. ‘It might be better if we were not here. There are a hundred Knights of the Order in these ships. We have not set a hundred of our brethren ashore in Outremer for twenty years, to say nothing of the soldiers and turcopoles. The cost is staggering, and it will hurt us for another twenty years.’
Father Pierre shook his head. ‘Mes amis, let us pray,’ he said. And we knelt on the deck and prayed. When we were done, he rose, and blessed us. ‘That is my contribution,’ he said. ‘The king is determined to land in the Old Port and attempt the gate of the old castle. His reports make it the weakest.’ He looked at us. ‘I leave it to you gentlemen to see if there is another path to victory.’
And then he left us.
It was, perhaps, an odd performance, but he was not a soldier; in fact, he wore no armour and he never meddled in our councils except to aid us. He was, as I have said a thousand times, an exceptional man.
When his head vanished into the stern cabin, the turcopolier nodded to Sabraham. ‘I’m eager to hear any ideas you may have.’
Fra Peter looked at me. ‘Or you. You have seen a great deal of war, Sir William.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s Florence all over again, isn’t it, my lords? We have a tiny army, and even if we could defeat the enemy …’
Fra Peter nodded. ‘Perhaps that makes you our expert, then,’ he said.
We discussed and discarded various plans. I stopped suggesting that we make our landing up the coast where I had reconnoitred a camp. The turcopolier’s statement was too true to deny – we lacked the men to lay a proper siege. There was no point to making a camp so far from the walls that men would wear themselves out walking back and forth. Of course, in Italy, we did just that, but we rode everywhere. And our ‘sieges’ were mostly raids.
The sun set, and the warm red light stayed only on the towers of the city and the fortress of Pharos.
‘They’re winding a machine on the fortress,’ Sabraham said.
We watched them wind it. It was three-quarters of a mile way, and the last light showed it plainly.
‘The machines are new,’ I guessed. ‘The captain of the fortress wants to test his range.’