Baron's Crusade Read online

  Conrad arrived, “The sergeant said there is a head wound to Sir Thomas. I take it you wish me to try to heal him.” I nodded. “Describe the wound.”

  I did so and he shook his head. “If he is alive when we return then there is hope but you must brace yourself for the fact that he might be dead. Head wounds are like that. How long ago did you leave him?”

  “It took three days to reach here.”

  The Master of Montfort smiled, “We can have you back in one night. The road is harder when you do not know it and it is a hard climb to get here. I have men who can guide you back far quicker. Rest during the day and I will send men back with you this evening. I have despatches which need to go to the new Hochmeister in Acre.”

  Conrad said, “I will need to gather what I need. I will see you at dusk, Sir William, and I promise that I will do all in my power to save the life of your father.” He left.

  The Commander of Montfort took me by the arm, “And before you rest, I have intelligence to give to you. This is for the ears of the King and the Duke of Brittany.”

  “I fear that the losses the army has suffered means an end to this crusade.”

  “Not so for I have learned much in the time I have been here.”

  It was a complicated story he told me. Saladin had held the Muslim factions together but, since his death, the power had been dissipated amongst others. The Egyptians in the south were a threat but, in the north, there were minor leaders who fought with each other. Al-Muzaffar Mahmud of Hama fought against his neighbour Al-Mujahid of Homs, and the Master believed that the King of Navarre might be able to exploit the dissension. In addition, As-Salih Ismail, Emir of Damascus was an enemy to An-Nasir Dawud, the emir whose caravan we had destroyed.

  “For the first time, it is the Muslims who fight amongst themselves and not the Christians. This defeat at Gaza may prove to be a blessing in disguise for those who might have resented King Thibaut’s orders will now be more likely to stay within the fold. If we can exploit this heaven-sent division then there might be hope and light in this dark night.”

  The Master’s words gave me hope and I slept slightly better, that day than I expected.

  It was good that we had brought spare horses. We rode all night. It was cool and the fact that it was late November meant that the nights were longer than the days. We watched the sun rise behind us and illuminate Acre, just a few miles away. I shook my head, “I could have reached you a day earlier if I had pushed our horses harder!”

  Conrad shook his head, “The man who led us was born in this land and knows every inch of the road between Montfort and Acre. I would not have risked the road but I trusted Raymond. This was meant to be, Sir William. If the healers feed your father and give him water and wine then he will stay alive. The brain is a complicated organ and the stillness of bed rest can only help but do not get your hopes up. Even if I save his life, he may never be able to function as a man. You understand that?”

  I stopped Thorn, “What do you mean?”

  “I do not know all that there is to know about the way the brain works but I read some of the writings from the doctors in Constantinople. They think that the brain controls different functions. One part the eyes, one the voice, one the arms and so on. Thus, part of the skull might be damaged but the rest might be healthy. Do you see?”

  I thought back to the dented helmet. Suppose the part of the skull which had been damaged was the part which gave speech, or hearing, or sight? I felt a sudden chill. If I lost the ability to see then I am not certain I would wish to live.

  Conrad said, quietly, “Let us not see a pit of despair. I have yet to examine Sir Thomas.”

  When we reached the hospital, I was pleased to see not only Mark on guard but two Bretons. The Duke of Brittany had kept his promise. The three priests we had brought were inside with my father. I went in and saw that, whilst my father lay still, his fingers still clutched the Archbishop’s cross. Conrad shooed us away so that he could examine him and speak with Brother Paul and the other priests. I was selfish and I did not do as I ought to have done and spoken to the King first. Instead, I spoke to my men, knights and Mark. I learned that the Earl of Fife had taken ship and returned to England. More than half of the knights who had survived the battle of Gaza had left his service. But Sir Stephen felt the real reason he left was that he did not wish to face me in battle. Richard Red Leg was using crutches and he came to see me while we awaited the diagnosis from the Teutonic Knight.

  “The leg is weak, my lord. They will have to call me Richard the Gammy now, but I should be able to ride. If your father would continue to have me as a sergeant then I will end my life beneath his banner!”

  Padraig had spoken to me on the journey to Montfort and I knew that all of my men at arms wished Richard to continue to be one of them. I knew that it would bond them even closer.

  I nodded, “And if God chooses to take my father then you can serve me.”

  Richard made the sign of the cross, “Fear not, Sir William, your father will live. I feel it here.” He tapped his heart.

  Conrad seemed to be inside for a long time and when he emerged, he was wiping some blood from his hands.

  “Well?”

  “There is hope. Before I can operate, I need to find a goldsmith for parts of the skull are missing. He will need a metal plate fitting for some of the bone is missing. Gold would be best. Have you any gold to melt?”

  Padraig nodded, “Aye, lord, for we took gold from the heathens at Gaza. We were going to share it before going home but Sir Thomas is welcome to it and more.”

  Conrad smiled, “It will not need much. I am too tired to operate today but tonight you should all pray for tomorrow I will try to save the life of Sir Thomas. Now, I pray you leave us, for I have measurements to take.” He looked at me, “Did you place the cross in his hand?”

  “I did.”

  “He clings on to it and God watches over him; there is hope, Sir William.”

  While Padraig fetched the gold, I went in to see my father. Henry Samuel sat at his side. Mark had told me that my nephew had not left the chamber since I had left. My father was so still that he looked dead and yet Conrad’s words had given me hope. His hands, still clutching the cross, felt warm as I held them. “Father, I would have you live! You have another grandson you need to watch grow. You have one here who has shown how we feel about you. Live so that you can see the others grow.” I stood, “Come, Henry Samuel, the priests will watch over him. You need to eat and to sleep. Tomorrow is the day when he will need all of our prayers. This is not a request, it is a command!”

  He came although he looked tearful. The blood on Conrad’s hands had been worrying. I ate a hearty breakfast before I sought out the Duke of Brittany. I told him what I had learned. He nodded. “This may be the news that the King needs. The defeat at Gaza has laid his spirits low; more than that Amaury de Montfort and Hugh of Burgundy were his friends. That they are prisoners of the Muslims weighs heavily upon him. I will give him your news and I, too, will pray for your father.”

  Around the castle hung an air of despondency and despair. It was not only the Earl of Fife who had taken ship for home. Some of those whose lords had been captured either sought another master or, in most cases, cut their losses and headed for more familiar and less dangerous pastures. The reason for the depression in my camp was the worry about my father. However, I was now the leader of this conroi and I sought out the five men whose knights had died. Sir Walter, Sir Henry and Sir Robert had joined Sir Hubert of Lewes in a grave in the Holy Land.

  “You have served your lords well and if you wish to take ship home then I will pay your passage. If you wish to stay then I can offer you employment with my retinue.”

  Tom of Rydal said, “Lord, I can speak for all of us as we have discussed this in your absence. All of us are happy to serve with you and the other lords for we wish vengeance on our foes. We are doing God’s work and our souls will be saved. We will stay.”

 
I was relieved. It meant we could still function as a conroi. I wondered if Richard of Cornwall and the other English barons promised by the King would reach us soon. The crusade had begun in August and it was now almost December. If they did not leave England soon then they would have to wait until the spring and more favourable weather. I wondered if that was the real reason for the delay. It would not surprise me for Richard and Henry were King John’s sons and whilst they were not as bad as their father, they must have inherited some of his blood, and when news of the defeat at Gaza reached England it would give them pause for thought.

  I slept badly that night for I worried about my father. I spent an hour praying for him and I know that the rest of the men of Stockton did the same. When I woke, I went directly to my father, even though it was dark. One of our three priests was with him. I gave a questioning look to Father Paul who shook his head, “He has not moved, lord. That is a good sign. His breathing is regular and he has not brought forth the water and broth we fed him. Do not worry. This doctor knows his business and we are all anxious to help him that we might learn.”

  I just wanted my father whole. As I left, I saw Conrad. He was dressed in a simple white shift. He had a piece of cloth which he unwrapped. I saw within it a curved piece of gold a little larger than a golden crown. “This may save your father’s life. There is enough skin left that when we have cleaned the wound and examined the problem, we should be able to stitch this in place so that none will know that your father wears a golden crown.” My doubt must have shown for Conrad went on, “This is the first time I have done this but I have read of such an operation being carried out many times. The method is tried and tested. When it goes wrong it is down to the lack of skill in the doctor.” I looked him in the eye, “So you see, William, if this fails and your father dies then you can blame me and that may help. I will do my best but I am just a man.”

  I nodded, “I know for the alternative is that he dies and I do not wish that. As you say it is in God’s hands and your honesty speaks well of you. Good luck!”

  He left. Padraig and Peter of York arrived. They had followed the Teutonic Knight into the hospital. “You two stay and guard the door. Send to me immediately that you know anything. I will try to keep my nephew occupied.”

  “Do not worry, lord. I have followed Sir Thomas since well before you were born. He will survive.”

  The Duke of Brittany was not happy to sit back and do nothing. He had his men patrolling the major roads to keep the pilgrims there safe. The military orders all did the same but we were crusaders and it was better than sitting, as King Thibaut did in Acre’s Great Hall. If my father had not been so close to death, I would have had my men doing the same. As it was, I just tried to keep myself occupied.

  Mark and his brother sought me out. In a way I was pleased for conversation would keep my mind off the knife that was delving into my father’s skull. “Lord, can we speak?”

  “Of course, Matthew.”

  The two squires were twins but Matthew always seemed the elder and I knew not why. He was always sensitive and thoughtful. He showed that now, “It is my brother. He has not slept since the battle.”

  “Bad dreams, Mark?”

  He shook his head, “No, lord, I let the Earl down. I should have saved him and I did not. What kind of squire am I?”

  “Like your brother a good one. What do you think you could have done?”

  “I could have done what he did at Arsuf!”

  That was the trouble with the legend. My father had often spoken of his frustration at what people perceived he had done. “You did more than he did, Mark, for his knight, my grandfather, died. You helped to prevent the Earl from suffering more wounds.”

  “But he was wounded twice!”

  I said, quietly, “What you are saying, Mark, is that Sir Stephen and myself failed my father for we flanked him!”

  He looked shocked at the thought, “No, lord, you both fought bravely,”

  “And yet he had one wound on Sir Stephen’s side and one on mine. What other conclusion can I draw?”

  He shook his head in frustration. He was not able to make himself clear, “I am saying that I should have been there.”

  “Mark, one day, you will be a knight as will your brother. When you go into battle there is no certainty that you will survive. My father and I confess our sins before we go into battle for we know that we may not survive. We hope that we will but there are no certainties. All of us can fall in battle and there is no blame attached to any other knight or squire, except those who flee. You did not flee. You stood your ground and were willing to die for my father. For that I thank you. There is no greater accolade to give a dead warrior than to say he died saving the lives of others. Now go and get some sleep. When my father recovers, and I pray that he will, he will need as much attention as we can give him.”

  They left and I was glad that they had asked the question. If they had not then it would have eaten away at their insides and, in the next battle, they might have done something foolish. It was after noon when Padraig came for me.

  “Sir William, the doctor has finished.” He saw my look and shrugged. “He did not die under the Teuton’s knife, lord. He said he would speak with you, first.”

  I went with a heavy heart for I feared the worst. I would be the one to have to return home and tell my family that I had failed to protect my father and he was either dead or the shell of the man who had left England to do the bidding of an ungrateful king. When the door opened, I was taken aback for the white tunic worn by the doctor now looked as though he had been butchering animals. The three priests were cleaning the floor and they, too, bore the blood of my father.

  Conrad smiled as he washed his hands, “It looks far worse than it was. The operation went well.”

  “Then he will fully recover?” My heart soared.

  Shaking his head, Conrad said, “I did not say that. I removed some embedded bone from the brain and some clotted blood. That is why we are so messy. I placed the plate in place and sewed up the skin around it. We had to shave your father’s head first and so he will look strange to you.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “He is there.”

  I saw that my father’s head was swathed in bandages so that only his nose, mouth and eyes were visible. If the bandages had been made of metal then he would have looked as though he was mailed. His hands still clutched the cross.

  “Will he recover?”

  Conrad smiled, “He will wake but it is too early to say what effects the wound and the operation will have in the long term. As I told you, I am uncertain what parts of the brain control in the body. There was damage. I just do not know what the effects will be. He breathes easier and he will open his eyes when he recovers from the opiates we gave him.”

  “Opiates?”

  “They have potions here, in the east, which come from much further east than any I know have travelled. They numb pain and ease sleep. Used in quantity then they can kill but, in small doses, they can help a healer. He will sleep and hopefully start to recover. The three of us are weary. Have your men watch him for the next twelve hours. If he wakes then send for me. Other than that, you pray to God.”

  In the time we had been talking the three priests had cleaned the room and there was just my father and me there with the doctor.

  “Thank you, Conrad. I am in your debt.”

  “I fought in the Baltic Crusade and know the reputation your father had. It was an honour to try to save him. I have only made a down payment on the Sword Brethren debt. And now I will pray and then eat.”

  I sat in the seat next to my father and held his hand. Padraig opened the door, “Well, my lord?”

  “He lives and we wait. Send for Mark and Henry Samuel. They will wish to be here. As for the rest, you can stand down. This is now my watch.”

  “Aye, lord, but we will not be far away.”

  Sir Thomas

  I was floating. I knew not where I was except that
I could hear voices but they seemed to be in the next room. I thought I recognised Mark and his brother but I could not be sure. I was just fascinated by this feeling of lightness and floating. I felt no pain and yet I should have for I had been cut about my leg. I looked down and saw nothing save white. It was not the white of Baltic snow. It looked like clouds. Was I dead? That would explain why I did not feel pain. I tried to think back to the battle. Was it yesterday or last week? I had been hit in the head! I heard more voices and they were ones I did not recognise. I forced myself to think back to the battle. We had been winning and then I was struck from behind. I was getting old for there would have been a time when my reactions would have saved me. Perhaps we had won. That was an illusion. We could not have won. Winning would have meant defying the greatest odds I had ever fought and I knew that our enemies were good. I had to be dead. Was this purgatory? Crusaders were said to be able to miss out purgatory and go straight to heaven. This did not feel like heaven for I was alone and heaven should be filled with others who had died well. Where were my son, Alfred, and my father? Where was my grandfather and the Warlord? Where was Aunt Ruth? Then a chilling thought came to me. Despite Bishop Albert’s words and the promise of Pope Gregory perhaps my murder of the Bishop of Durham was so great a sin that St Peter and St Michael would not let me enter heaven. Or perhaps I was not dead and this was some dream. I had had bad dreams before and forced myself to wake up. I would try to do so again! Suddenly I felt a great heat as though I had been plunged into a fire; I tried to scream but no words came forth. Had I gone to hell? Was this the fire of hell which burned me? Then I saw a cross before me and I reached for it. My fingers wrapped around it and I felt the smoothed wood. I felt easier. The heat disappeared and I saw the face of my son, William. He looked pained. Was he with me? Had he been wounded? I gripped the cross and tried, once more, to rouse myself from this dream.

  No matter how much I tried I could not wake myself and then I felt the blackness return. The white clouds disappeared and I felt pain again. Did this mean I was not dead? If I could feel pain then I had to be alive. I felt as though I had a great weight upon my head. My skull felt as though it was being crushed. Then there was a blinding light and both the pain and weight went. Once more I was in a white world and I began to hear voices again. This time I did not recognise any. Then the voices disappeared and silence enveloped me once more; I was not used to silence. Even in my solar at my castle in Stockton, there were sounds: the guards on the fighting platform, the laughter of women at St. John’s well, birds singing, my wife commanding the servants, horses neighing in the bailey. This was total silence. Even the voices disappeared and then, when they came back again, I recognised my son and grandson. They were close and I had to wake to find them. This was a dream and this time I would free myself from its tentacles. I would wake myself. I forced myself to remember the faces of my family. I began with the hardest, my grandfather, and worked through all the others until I came to my newest grandson, Richard. I could not make out his features for he was just a baby but I felt better for having remembered him. The white began to thin. It became less cloud-like and more like fog.