After their attack, we watched from the tower as three or four thousand soldiers, the Sultan’s professionals, made camp on the other side of the suburbs.
I won’t say we were smug. But we had a good garrison and a fine position. The courtyard trap was better than a gate, because we could sortie whenever we pleased and the Venetians and the English – and John – gave us a power of archery I’ve seldom had in a siege. We were going to run out of shafts in a few days, but we had the largest city in the world at our backs. I was no more worried than an exhausted soldier in a siege usually is and Fra William de Midleton was positively exuberant. He’d led the counter-attack on the Sudanese, axe in hand, and now seemed … bigger.
That was evening of the third day.
By then, Fra William had organised watches. I no longer had a command – my group of volunteers was spread to the winds. We had casualties; Juan, of course, and others; and we were missing men. Volunteers of the Order were as likely to loot as others. And Nerio had taken men with him when he took Fra Peter back to the galleys. More had escorted the legate that hellish night.
Fiore and Nerio and I served with the Scottish knights. They were good men, and they followed Baron Rosilyn. He was no older than I, and very proud, but a fine fighter. I’d like to say we got along, but in fact, we never spoke beyond ‘That wall’, and ‘Here they come’.
On the morning of the fourth day, Nerio took a patrol all the way to the ships, and returned in the evening with twenty Knights of the Order and all the rest of the available turcopoles and volunteers. They marched in just in time, for we had the first probing attack from Mamluks at dusk. We repulsed it easily.
Nerio had canteens of wine, and he shared them with us, so we were sitting on our haunches like beggars in armour, drinking Venetian wine from canteens. Nerio shook his head.
‘Turenne, that man of steel, says this gate cannot be held. He is demanding that the city be abandoned.’
I shrugged, having heard the same. There were brigands and crusaders trying to join us by then. Fra William sent them to hold other gates. A few even did. We admitted none of them to our towers.
Nerio shook his head. ‘No, I mean it. Most of the crusaders wish us to sail away. There was a rumour today that these gates had fallen.’ He looked at me. ‘The legate is in a bad way, my friend.’
I nodded.
Nerio frowned. ‘Someone has told the king that you attacked d’Herblay and other crusaders – that you are a secret pagan, a traitor.’
Fiore grunted.
‘I wish I had a better quality of foes,’ I said. ‘Camus and d’Herblay – ugh.’
Nerio’s eyes slipped past Fiore. I was going to say more, but Fiore turned his head to look. It was a Greek girl, bringing water to the soldiers.
Nerio rose. ‘Sabraham wants to speak to us. He said something to me,’ he said, ‘But I forget what it was.’ He laughed, and went to chat to the Greek girl, apparently untouched by the horror around us.
The next day, the Mamluks prowled for a weaker gate.
The king came and told us that we were the pillars on which the crusade rested.
He had a complete collar of the Order of the Sword, and he put it on me. He waited with us for the daily visit by the Sultan’s army, but it did not come, and eventually he rode away. He looked tired, and harried – we all did.
But de Mézzières had a conversation with Nerio and Fiore while I was invested with the order.
And when the king was gone, I put a hand on Nerio’s shoulder. ‘Brother,’ I said, ‘we need to bury Juan.’