Stewart Binns - Anarchy

After several months of careful preparation, the King was forced to reduce the scale of the siege when he heard news of an approaching Fatimid army from the south. He was only able to leave a skeleton force outside the walls, under the command of Hugh de Payens. This allowed the Emir of Tyre to get fresh water and supplies into the city.

For me, the King’s foray to the south to halt the approaching Fatimids provided invaluable military experience. Master Hugh granted me permission to join the King’s staff, which not only removed me from day-to-day contact with the rigours of Templar life, but also allowed me to observe the skills of one of the Levant’s most accomplished soldiers at close quarters. Never happier than living a soldier’s life, Eadmer was also much more content away from the rigid strictures of our Order.

I grew to like King Baldwin. He had an aura of calm, but a strong personality, and I understood very quickly that he expected rigid discipline and the utmost professionalism from his men. He rode his cavalry in well-ordered squadrons and expected a brisk pace from his infantry, even in the heat of the Holy Land. Their reward was excellent food, drink and entertainment every evening and a generous share of the spoils of victory. He had a cynical, but perhaps realistic, soldier’s view of soldiers: feed their desires, and reward their greed. He talked about this many times in his family’s language – the tongue of his homeland in the Ardennes. It had similarities with Norman, and I eventually came to understand it.

He also talked a good deal about Hugh de Payens and the Templars, and I realized that the King had a pragmatic approach to the merits of our Order. He knew that the Christian Holy Land had been won through the burning passion of the Great Crusaders and that if it was to survive, encircled by hordes of Muslims, it needed men like the Templars to give it backbone, both military and religious.

The Muslim leadership was constantly at odds with itself, riven by disputes about dogma. But if that ever changed, the Latin States would face a threat that could prove to be overwhelming.

We confronted the advancing Fatimid army at the oasis of Bir al-Abd, deep into Fatimid territory in Sinai. It was an inhospitable place – so much so that it made me wonder why anyone would want to fight over it. It seemed to be no more than an ocean of sand stretching to the horizon in the south, with only the occasional palm tree adding an isolated feature to the barren landscape. However, it was the major trading route between the Levant and the domains of Egypt and beyond, and so of strategic importance since antiquity.

King Baldwin organized his army in classical formation: three columns of infantry supported by archers, with his mounted knights in reserve to the rear. We were 4,000 in number: 3,000 infantry and archers, and 1,000 mounted knights. But the Fatimids were at least double that, creating a huge storm of dust as they approached. As the cloud enveloped them in swirls and waves, we could see their black war banners held aloft through the murk and hear their throbbing drumbeats drifting on the wind. Their infantry stamped their feet as they closed on us, adding to the deafening noise and making the ground shudder. It was intended to make their opponents tremble, but the King’s army was composed of seasoned veterans, many of them sons of crusaders. As he ordered them to halt and stand their ground, I was impressed by their unflinching resolve – even in the face of such a formidable challenge.

The King checked the sun; it was directly overhead, making it difficult to see a hail of arrows. He immediately ordered several volleys of arrows to be fired into the Fatimids’ ranks. Their infantry held firm. Within moments, it was on the move in a mass attack in a line several hundred yards wide.

Baldwin turned to me.

‘Let’s see what you Templars can do. I want the cavalry to attack between our columns of infantry. You’re to join Eustace Grenier on the left flank in his vanguard. Go quickly, before the horde is upon us.’

Without pausing to think about how daunting my assignment was, I set off at a gallop with Eadmer close behind.

He called out to me.

‘Don’t get too far ahead when we charge! Make sure the squadrons are right behind you.’

‘Stay close, Eadmer, this is my first cavalry charge.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be right up your arse!’

When I arrived at the shoulder of Grenier, at the head of 500 battle-hardened knights, he looked at me and shouted his orders.

‘You’re a soldier of Christ! Lead the charge!’

With my lance couched, my sword held high – and Eadmer at my side with the crimson cross of the Templars’ gonfalon taut in the breeze – I cried aloud to the men.

‘ For God, the King and Jerusalem! ’

We were soon at full gallop, our heavy destriers streaming through the space between our columns of infantry and bearing down on the Fatimid front ranks, now only a hundred yards away, like a flood tide rushing towards the shore. Five hundred knights’ pennons streamed in the air behind me, their myriad colours in stark contrast to the plain arid earth.

When we got close to the Fatimids, I could see the glistening curls of their oiled beards and the intricate twists and turns of their elaborate turbans. But, more than that, I could see the anxiety in their eyes. Even after a generation, the scale and power of the heavy European horse still struck terror in Muslim armies, and the solid line of men before me began to show gaps before a single blow had been struck. I could see Fatimid officers bellowing at their men to stand firm. Some took heed of them, but many did not, and we were able to flow through their lines like water through a breached dam.

The forlorn infantry beneath us were rich pickings, and we were able to thrust and cut like apprentice knights at a tilt yard. My mount skittled men before it like ninepins, and I had free rein to strike at will at those rushing to get away. There is nothing like the panic of defeat: men will tread on one another to reach safety and run aimlessly in any direction to avoid slaughter. I lost count of the number I slashed with my sword and impaled with my lance. It was like hunting defenceless creatures in a forest teeming with game. Their cries of anguish rang in my ears, and I could recall faces frozen in horror for years afterwards. But at the time, I did not hesitate or show an inkling of compassion. My warrior instincts had me in their iron grip.

We were soon through the ranks of infantry and heading towards the Fatimid cavalry, which had formed up in front of their general’s command post. King Baldwin had ordered his infantry to advance, which would soon engulf the scattered pockets of Fatimids marooned behind us with neither unity nor discipline.

In one charge, the day had been won. The Muslim horns sounded the retreat, and the Fatimid general led his staff and entourage away at a canter. They were quickly followed by his cavalry, conceding the battle to the Christians once more. Rather than pursue them, the King sounded our recall. As he pointed out, we were far enough into Egypt and had created enough mayhem to quell the Fatimid challenge for at least a year. Our priority was the capture of Tyre – to complete Christian control of the entire Mediterranean coastline of the Holy Land.

We surveyed the battlefield and buried fewer than 200 Christian dead. On the other hand, Muslim bodies littered the ground like the leaves of autumn. The King sent a message to the Fatimid general, granting him permission to collect his fallen warriors. Carts soon appeared to carry them away. I counted over 1,200 corpses before dusk brought the gruesome task to an end for the day.

The King thanked me for the success of the charge, and Grenier slapped me on the back.