The Long Sword(226)

            I could just about think. ‘We won’t have Coulanges,’ I said. ‘I’m worried about losing my way.’

            Sabraham was being helped from his horse by a trio of serving brothers. He could scarcely stand. ‘Take George and Maurice,’ he said. ‘They know how to get around.’

            He beckoned me to him. When the brothers put him down, he went all the way to the ground. And lay there.

            I had to crouch by him.

            ‘I’ve lost a lot of blood,’ he muttered in a tiny voice. ‘Move fast. He can’t stay here. One attack – tower is lost. Get him to the ships. Please, Will!’

            ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. In fact, I was ready to fall asleep with my head on his chest.

            One of the serving brothers pushed me aside. They were cutting Abraham’s clothes off even as he spoke. A man came up with an iron rod glowing red.

            I smelled the burning flesh. For good or ill, Sabraham could offer no more advice – he was out.

            I stumbled back to my horse. Poor Gawain had taken ten wounds the day before and now had been ridden all day. Oats and water kept him alive – but they didn’t make him well.

            I looked over my people.

            ‘Friends,’ I said. ‘I need every one of you. There are men in the streets who mean to kill the legate. I have promised to get him to the ships.’

            Ned Cooper turned his face to one side. ‘Kill the legate?’ he asked. ‘He’s like a fuckin’ saint, beggin’ yer pardon.’

            Ewan the Scot put a finger alongside his nose. ‘I know,’ he said.

            ‘What do you know?’ Nerio asked.

            Ewan shrugged. ‘Men come round, offering us silver for some fancy shooting.’ He laughed. ‘Guess they didn’t think you was up to it, Ned!’

            ‘There’s a Savoyard. D’Herblay. Anyone met him?’ I asked.

            No one had. Except, of course, my friends.

            We all ate. I decided, having set a few ambushes myself, that it would not hurt us to make the Hungarian wait and we all slept for an hour. We had no real way of knowing the time: no cocks crowed, there were no bells, but the Order’s men knew the hours well. Men fed and watered our horses and I had to be wakened roughly, even though I had slept in my harness.

            We all had. And I ached, and so did the rest of them. But we drank hot wine with spices, which the Order’s people had going in the yard, and we chewed cloves – by Saint George, spices were all but free in Alexandria. I looked at the Emperor’s sword by firelight, and there was no dent in the blade, no kink, where the crossbow bolt had struck it. Instead, there was a scratch about as long as my little finger, as if an inexpert engraver had started to make a line. I got a stone from Davide and touched up the edge.

            It was obvious to a soldier that the legate had a head wound – the kind that makes men fey and strange for days. The brothers had kept him awake, on principle, but he was having trouble speaking. I placed him with Miles. Lord Grey could not ride – a deep thrust to his right thigh.

            I gathered my friends, and indeed, my whole little command. ‘Here’s my plan,’ I said. ‘I’m happy to hear it bettered. We cut across the city and go out through the same Customs Gate where we entered. It is the only way I know – and besides, we don’t know if the other gates have fallen, or are still in enemy hands.’

            Maurice blew out his cheeks, but said nothing.

            ‘Outside the walls, we gallop. We’ll be west of the city, and I can’t see any enemy making for there in the dark, with a tide of refugees around them. We make our way past the crusader fleet and take the legate to the Order.’