Siege of Heaven

‘I want to get inside that city as much as you or any man. But I will not throw away the prize just as my hand is closing around it. Have you forgotten why it took us two years to get here? We needed eight months to reduce Antioch, almost two months to take Nicaea. Even Ma’arat needed two weeks. As for Arqa-’

‘That was different — they were merely waymarks on the holy road. Now we are at Jerusalem, God will surely win the victory for us. Besides. .’ Raymond lowered his voice. ‘Every man in this army, pilgrim and soldier alike, has waited years for this moment. Many are almost sick with longing. They cannot wait — if we do not lead them, they will take matters into their own hands.’

‘When God made us princes it was so that our wisdom would govern lesser men’s passions,’ said Godfrey scornfully. ‘Wait a few days. Once your men get used to the miraculous fact that they have come to Jerusalem, they will be less impatient. Then we can invest the city properly, prepare siege engines and ballistas-’

‘Siege engines and ballistas?’ Raymond mocked him. ‘And what will we build them out of — dust? There was a reason King Solomon sent all the way to Mount Lebanon for cedarwood when he wanted to build his temple. You will not find timber within twenty miles of this place.’

‘Then we will go further — all the way back to Antioch, if we have to. But we will not risk everything in a premature assault. Patience is the companion of wisdom.’

‘And faith is more important still. God is so powerful that if He desires it, we will scale the walls with a single ladder. He will help us.’

‘Only if we help ourselves.’

I heard a movement and quickly scurried away from the curtain. A second later it pulled back, and Duke Godfrey stepped through. His eyes narrowed with suspicion when he saw me, then widened in surprise.

‘I heard you had gone to Byzantium.’

‘I came back.’

He shrugged, as if to show it was no concern of his. ‘And Nikephoros? Has he returned?’

‘He has not.’

You did this, I wanted to scream at him. My arms ached to strike him, to pound him and kick him until his bones were like wax and his flesh like water, until he screamed for forgiveness for the evil he had done me. But I could not — not there. He left the tent, while by the opening in the curtain I saw Raymond watching me carefully.

‘What happened to Nikephoros?’

He must have guessed from my expression. He brought me into his private chamber and sat me on his couch, calling his servants to bring wine. I held the cup in my hand but barely drank as I told him everything that had happened. Almost everything.

The lines on Raymond’s face deepened as I told my story. When I described how my family had been taken hostage, he rose and stepped towards me as if to comfort me, then turned aside and poured himself another cup of wine instead.

‘That’s all they have in this country,’ he muttered. ‘No water, only vines.’

I carried on. When I had finished, he fixed me with his good eye.

‘But why would Achard have done such a thing?’

‘Because Duke Godfrey ordered him to.’ I blurted it out, my words burning hot with anger. I cursed Duke Godfrey. I cursed Nikephoros, who had refused to confront him after the ambush at Ravendan and had now paid the price. Most of all, I cursed myself. I had known the danger Godfrey threatened, and I had led my family into its shadow.

Raymond started. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he hates the Greeks. He tried to seize Constantinople from the emperor. When that failed, he tried to kill me at Ravendan. Now he has murdered Nikephoros and sent my family into slavery. I will kill him,’ I raged.

Raymond was watching me closely, and not only with sympathy. ‘But why were you on the road away from Jerusalem? Where was Nikephoros going?’

I could only hope my distraught face hid any guilt. What sort of man have you become, I wondered, using your grief for deception?

‘Nikephoros needed to speak to the supply ships from Cyprus. He thought you would want them to bring siege equipment — timbers for building,’ I added, remembering what Godfrey had said.

Raymond looked at his hand, scraping dirt from under his fingernails. ‘Then he died on a wasted errand. By God’s grace, we will have taken the city by the end of the week.’ He pulled me to my feet and clamped his hands on my shoulders, staring me straight in the eye. ‘I know Achard has done a terrible thing to you, but you cannot lay it at Duke Godfrey’s door, not before the city is taken. We rely too much on his strength. And the sooner Jerusalem falls, the sooner you will be reunited with your family.’

Back on the Mount of Olives, the priest had finished his sermon. His congregation — ten thousand knights and men-at-arms — muttered ‘Amen’, then broke into an excited chatter as they saw a small party walking up to the outcropping knoll that served as a pulpit. The red-headed priest, Arnulf, led them, a golden cross radiant over him; the princes followed and arrayed themselves in a semicircle on the outcrop. Arnulf stood in their centre, turning the cross this way and that so that golden rays flickered over the front ranks of the watching army. An acolyte knelt before him and held up an open Bible.

‘Blow the trumpet in Zion, and sound the alarm on the holy mountain! Let its inhabitants tremble, for the day of the Lord is near. A great and powerful army has come: their like has never been seen before, nor will be again in the ages to come.’ He looked around, taking in all the assembled warriors. ‘From the head of His army the Lord shouts out His battle-cry — how vast is His host. Truly, the day of the Lord will be great — and terrible.’

With a heavy slam, Arnulf let the book fall shut. The acolyte scurried away, and Raymond stepped forward. His cheeks were flushed, and an ungainly smile played over his face, as if he wanted to show humility but did not have the patience for it.

‘Three years ago we left our homes, our fields and our families to seek Jerusalem. Here we are. Tomorrow, praise God, it will be ours.’

The congregation cheered and stamped their feet on the ground. A low cloud of dust rose up around their knees.

‘We will attack at dawn. By noon, the city will have fallen.’

Chain mail shifted and clanged as ten thousand armoured heads rose from prayer. In the grim light before sunrise I could make out little more than the coned helmets and spear-shafts that rose around me like a forest — though in the east, a dark shadow was slowly resolving itself into the silhouette of a mountain as the dawn spread behind its peak. Horses galloped up and down our lines, their stirrups jangling as their riders barked the orders they brought. For the third time that morning I checked that my shield was buckled tight, then half-drew my sword and touched my thumb against its edge. I had promised myself that if — when — I ever rescued my family, I would throw it away, or give it to a smith to hammer into impotence.

One of the heralds cantered up to us. ‘Be ready. The front ranks have begun the assault. God wills it.’

‘God wills it,’ the knight who commanded our line replied. After the losses the Varangians had suffered in the orchard, there were no longer enough of us to make our own company: we had had to submit ourselves to a Frankish command. It had almost destroyed Sigurd’s pride — and worse was to follow when we discovered that none of the leading knights would accept our service. The glory to be won by being first into Jerusalem was not a prize they would share lightly, least of all with our tattered band. At last we found a knight from Flanders who had lost half his company in the siege of Ma’arat and did not have the wealth to attract others: he took us happily enough. But he was old, and most of his knights were men he had fought with since boyhood. He was happy enough to bide his time near the back of the army.

‘The vanguard will have marched clear through Jerusalem and on into Egypt by the time we reach the walls,’ I fretted. I could only hope that reverence for the holy city would keep the Franks from the sort of pillage they had inflicted on Antioch. The thought of my daughters and Anna escaping the Ishmaelites only to be slaughtered — or worse — by Franks was like a noose around my heart.

‘And what will we do when we enter the city?’ Sigurd asked. It was the fifth time he had asked that question, and I had no good answer. All I had were Nikephoros’ dying words — and I did not even know how accurate they might be. The Fatimids could have taken their captives to another fortress, or to a cave in the hills, or. .