Michael Jecks - Templar's Acre

Overhead, the man with his hook in the rigging climbed up the rope hand over hand, a long knife in his belt, and soon was at the yard. A Genoese saw him, and began to make his way up a stay, but the sail was already falling away, the upper fixing cut through by the knife.

‘To me, men of the Order! For God and the Temple!’ Roger shouted, and fixing the tiller oar with a rope, he snatched up a sword and ran at the side of the ship, leaping over and in among the Genoese.

Ivo followed, his own sword gripped in his hand, but as soon as he landed on the ship, he was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of their enemies. All about him were Genoese sailors, and he was forced to hack and slash from side to side, keeping them away, until at last some more sailors from the Falcon arrived at his side and began to flail about too, forcing the Genoese back. There was a man who had a long stabbing weapon, which held them up for some time, but Ivo grabbed the point and yanked at it, thrusting forwards with his sword at the same time. It caught the man below the chin and slipped in, down into his chest, killing him quickly. A second ran at him with an axe held high, and Ivo turned, whirling with his sword as the man’s blow fell, and sweeping off both wrists. The man stood staring, shrieking at the wreckage of his forearms, until Ivo reversed his blade and hacked off his head, moving forward all the time.

Suddenly he was at the ship the pirates had boarded, and he sprang down onto the deck. There were bodies all over the place, blood seeping into the boards underfoot making each step treacherous, and Ivo was cautious as he made his way onward.

A cry, and suddenly missiles were flying all about him. A shot from a sling rattled against metal, then two men nearby fell, but he managed to make his way to the far side of the ship where a lanky, black-haired youth was sprawled against the timbers, eyes almost as dull as a dead man’s. Ivo threw himself down and glanced back over the deck. There were three men from the Falcon lying and moaning, each with an arrow pinning him, but there were more men near him, and all had weapons. The clamour of war still came to him from the other pirate ship, but now as he looked about, more men were coming to this deck. There was a bellowed order that made him give a grunt of satisfaction. The ropes binding the ships together were cut, and with a shiver, he felt the vessel shake off her attacker. With a roar of defiance and glee, the sailors of the Falcon lifted their arms and shook weapons still smeared with the blood of their enemies.

Ivo glanced to his side, at the young man beside him. ‘You’ll have a story to tell your children, anyway,’ he told him.

Baldwin looked at him, and vomited weakly.

The view was one to fill a man’s heart with wonder. Baldwin gaped: truly, this must be the Holy Land. God had preserved him to see this, to fight and protect it. He would be saved, he thought. His murder would be forgiven here.

Behind him he had left his guilt in a green, but drab England. There was little colour but grey stone, mud-daubed and whitewashed houses, and grass under a gloomy grey sky.

As they approached, the vast sweep of a natural bay opened before him, and it was on the northernmost edge that the city of Acre stood. Vast, more glorious than Exeter or Limassol or any of the great French cities he had passed by and through, it took his breath away. This city gleamed as though it was clothed in perpetual sunlight: a city of gold. Terracotta made a splash of colour, and there were patches of red, blue and green that rippled in the heat: awnings to provide shade.

Stone towers ringed a fortress at the tip, overshadowing the rest of the city, and from beneath it, the wall of the harbour stretched out into the bay, where there stood another tower upon a rocky prominence. There were houses everywhere, and what looked like a monastery, with a castle behind. A double line of walls ringed it, reaching all the way to the sea, the inner wall higher than the outer so that archers could fire over the heads of men at the outer wall into enemies on the plain. More massive towers rose up along its length, while outside the walls there was a number of tents and small houses, with farmland beyond.

A city of gold, with verdant land to feed it, Baldwin thought. Yes, this was how Heaven must look. It was no wonder that men wanted to take it from Christians. Nor that Christians would fight to the last to protect it.

‘That’s the Temple up there at the tip,’ Ivo said with a smile, seeing the direction of his eyes. ‘Templars always pick the best locations. This is their headquarters, now Jerusalem is lost.’

‘That’s why I’m here, to help win it back,’ Baldwin said with a hint of pride.

‘Yes?’ Ivo said, and his smile was not unkind as he looked down at Baldwin. He sounded condescending, however, and Baldwin tried not to scowl as he replied.

‘I will fight for the Church to win back Jerusalem,’ he said. ‘My father was a knight.’

‘You’ve much to learn, Master.’

Baldwin gave him a sharp look. He did not like to be patronised, but before he could speak, Ivo continued.

‘This is the last bastion of Outremer, the “Land Over the Sea”. Twenty years ago we could have taken Jerusalem, but now? We’ve lost the castles, we have lost Lattakieh, Tripoli, everything.’

‘Those who come with pure hearts will win for God,’ Baldwin asserted. ‘He will not allow His land to be taken by the heathen.’

‘So, of all the thousands who have come here, you think you’re the first to have a pure heart?’ Ivo snapped. ‘Are you truly that arrogant, boy?’

‘No, of course, I. .’ Baldwin faltered.

‘How’s your head?’ Ivo asked after a moment, regretting his sudden outburst. There was no need to offend the lad. He had come in good faith to fight for the Holy Land. As had Ivo himself, all those years before.

‘Better, I think,’ Baldwin said, his hand at his temple. ‘Why did they attack us?’

‘Your flag. The Genoese hate Venice. It’s always war when they meet on the seas.’

‘But both are Christian.’

‘Aye. That doesn’t mean they like each other. They’re enemies, and fight when they meet. They’re so keen on trade with the Muslims that they’ll draw swords against anyone rather than upset their actual enemies. That’s how the Muslims have taken so much land from us.’

‘It makes no sense.’

‘You think I don’t realise that?’

Baldwin searched his face, but Ivo gave him no further explanation. So Baldwin gazed instead at the city. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Acre is the jewel of Outremer,’ Ivo agreed.

‘You are English?’

‘Yes.’

Ivo was not forthcoming, and Baldwin turned from him. Looking at the vast port, he felt his soul shrink. The attack on the ship had terrified him, and the blow to his head had jarred his entire body, making him for the first time fully aware of the dangers of battle. He desperately wanted a friend. Home seemed so far away. He had so much to atone for: Sibilla and her man. The man Baldwin had killed. That was why he had fled. He had been right to do so, he was sure. Here he could serve God, and hopefully forget his shame. But he still dreamed of Sibilla. Her eyes, her lips, her warmth and softness.

He ought not.

Baldwin felt sure that if he told this stern fighter about his reasons for coming here, he would alienate himself. He was here to join the crusaders and win absolution, and yet seeing Acre for the first time, he realised its immensity. He dreaded being set ashore alone.

‘Is there a place where crusaders go?’ he asked.