socket, and he fell away behind the barricade. Our archers had reached dry land. I cut at a bearded face behind the hedge of wood, and forced it to duck away, and then a man lunged at me across the divide with a spear and I, in turn, had to dodge rapidly.
To my left, Little John was still hauling at the table leg, rocking his body back and forward in short explosive heaves. He gave one final massive pull, the muscles of his great arms swelling and writhing, the sweat standing out on his forehead, and suddenly the whole table came grinding out of the barricade in a great rush, like a cow giving birth to its bloody calf, leaving a small ragged gap in the enemy defences. John lost his balance and tumbled into the sand, but dozens of eager hands began to tear at the enemy bulwark, ripping away chairs, planks and small boulders, and in a matter of moments a great hole had been ripped in the centre of the wall — through which our gallant King rushed without a moment’s pause or thought for his safety; and we all — Robin, Sir James, myself and a dozen of his bravest knights — came charging after him in a howling phalanx of steel and fury.
I had my sword in my right hand and my poniard in my left; my head was covered with a tightly fitting dome of steel and my body from wrist to knee was protected with a hauberk of fine steel links, and I was determined to bring death to the men of Cyprus who had insulted my Nur. A Greek knight shouted a challenge at me and swung his sword at my head; I ducked and he slammed into me with his shield, but I was ready for this move, and rolled my body round his shield to his left, away from the sword, and hacked at the back of his knees with my own long blade. The blow did not break through his mail leggings but it dropped the knight to his knees, and I dropped my sword, grappled his helmet with my right hand, hauled it back to expose his neck and quick as summer lightning sliced through his throat with my poniard. The blood gushed hotly as I dropped his twitching body, and I immediately knelt to recover my sword — and saved my own life. Another sword slashed through the air above my head, I felt its wind on my neck, and I turned and lunged with my recovered long blade, almost in one movement, and catching the attacking man-at-arms neatly in the groin with the tip of my weapon. His armour consisted only of a boiled leather cuirasse and a kind of leather kilt and he stumbled away, hands cupped over his cock and balls, the blood leaking through his fingers. We had burst through the line of Cypriots, and I saw to my left King Richard engaged with a mass of knights in rich armour, Robin beside him, hacking and lunging, fighting like a maniac; and there was Little John, cutting a knight from his horse with a great blow from his axe and a spray of gore.
Another knight attacked me, a decent swordsman, it must be said, and we cut and parried three times, circling each other between blows, but his attention was not on me. He kept looking left and right, seeing to his dismay that his fellows were fleeing the barricade as more and more of our men-at-arms — and scores of Welsh archers who had abandoned their bows to fight with the short swords and axes — boiled through the gap that Little John had torn in their extraordinary defences. I wasn’t concentrating on my opponent fully either, for I too was astounded at how quickly the enemy were leaving the field of battle. And I nearly paid dearly for my lack of attention. The knight suddenly stepped in and chopped straight down at me with his long sword, a mighty blow that would have crushed my skull had it landed, and only just in time I blocked with poniard and sword crossed together, my arms almost buckling under the strength and savagery of his attack. Then suddenly, miraculously, his head flew from his shoulders; the square steel helmet with its leaking stump of neck rolling several yards over the ground. The body stayed standing for a few heartbeats and then the legs folded underneath it and it slumped to the bloody ground and I was left standing and facing Sir James de Brus, with his bloody sword, held double- handed and now extended above his left shoulder in the classic warrior’s pose.
‘Are you quite well, Alan,’ the Scotsman said, looking at me with a puzzled frown. ‘It’s not like you to take so long to dispatch just one man.’
‘I was distracted, James,’ I replied, ‘Look yonder.’ And I pointed to the edge of the beach with my bloody poniard. The self-proclaimed Emperor of Cyprus was riding for the tree line as fast as his horse would carry him, escaping like the coward he was to the safety of the hills. Behind him followed a shamefaced group of richly caparisoned, well-armoured knights, all apparently unwounded, and in the centre of the imperial bodyguard, the Emperor’s standard of golden embroidered cloth flapped limply in the mild sea breeze.
I had expected some sort of pause after our victory on the beach, perhaps just an hour to tend to our wounds and take a drink of cool water and a bite of bread. But King Richard seemed to be in even more of a hurry than he was before the battle. He grabbed the Earl of Locksley by the shoulder as Robin came up to him on the blood-soaked strand, and said urgently: ‘There is not a minute to waste; I must have the horses; as quickly as you can, Robert, get me horses for my knights. Get them from anywhere.’
Robin turned to me: ‘You heard him Alan: horses. Take a squad of men and get up to the town; requisition any steed you can lay your hands on. Quickly.’
‘Requisition?’ I said. I knew what the word meant but I wanted to be clear about what he was ordering me to do. I didn’t want to risk being hanged as a thief. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Alan, it means steal, take, confiscate. Just go and get the King his horses, as many as you can, any way that you can. You have my permission. And saddles, too, if you can find them. We can’t let the Emperor get away.’
I rounded up a dozen archers, who were going through the clothing of the dead on the beach and slitting the throats of any enemy wounded they found, and managed to lead them — they were reluctant to follow me away from their pickings — up the beach to the dusty road that led to Limassol.
The town was almost deserted — evidently the people had seen the way the wind was blowing and had fled the place to preserve their lives and possessions, but while there was ample opportunity for plunder, I told the men that I would personally see any man who stole without my permission whipped to bloody rags. I meant it, too.
Limassol was an eerie place without any visible inhabitants, but a pretty town filled with wide sunny squares and cheerful whitewashed houses with blue-painted shutters. In front of many a house was a paved forecourt where vines hung from trellises and provided shade in the summer. And it was behind one of these pleasant dwellings, larger than the rest and with the air of a great man’s inn, that we found a corral with a dozen horses. The inn even provided five rather battered saddles and, with my permission, the men helped themselves to some food they found in the kitchen, although I banned them from sampling a barrel of wine that we found already broached in the buttery.
Mounted on the ‘requisitioned’ animals, we found it a speedy business to scour the town for horseflesh and by early evening we had two dozen or so steeds of varying quality — including carthorses, mules and one old mare that looked more than ready for a merciful death — in a loose herd being trotted towards the beach.
The battlefield had changed significantly since the noon fight; the barricade had been totally dismantled and the bay was full of ships, which had come into land as close as they could for their draft. Skiffs and snacks plied between the big ships and the shore, ferrying provisions, arms, armour and rather seasick-looking horses to the beach. The animals were frightened and confused after the long sea journey, and particularly spooked by the final stage when they had been rowed, one big horse to a tiny rocking boat, from the transport ships to the beach. They were being fed and watered by squires on the sand and walked up and down the beach to regain their nerves and equilibrium.
I delivered my herd to King Richard’s grooms and they were added to a large bunch of animals that had been gathered from the surrounding countryside; some, evidently, had been the property of rich knights until recently, their Greek owners having either perished or been captured in the battle.
I dismissed the archers and went to seek further orders from Robin. I found him with the King, and a gathering of leading knights, clerks and members of the King’s familia.
Sir Robert of Thumham, the King’s High Admiral, was speaking as I joined the group, standing behind Robin on the fringes as befitted my lowly status. The sun was sinking at the far end of the beach, setting the sea on fire, in dazzling hues of red and gold, catching the King’s bright locks and seeming to give them an effect almost like a halo. ‘Sire,’ said Sir Robert, ‘our scouts have followed their army and they tell me that the Emperor and his knights are no more than five miles away, and are preparing to spend the night.’ He cleared his throat, and continued. ‘But it seems that there are many more of them than we had imagined. The Emperor has been reinforced by knights from the north of the island, who arrived too late today to participate in the battle.’
‘How many are they?’ asked the King; he was staring up into the air watching a pair of swallows twist and turn about each other in some elegant avian game.
‘Well, sire, the scouts say,’ Sir Robert swallowed, ‘more than three thousand men in all, including servants, camp followers and the like. With more men reported to be on the way. When we have disembarked all the men
