and horses, we shall easily overmatch them, but that cannot be achieved until the end of the week, at the very earliest. ’ ‘
‘I will attack them now, tonight, with whatever knights can find a horse and a saddle and have the courage to follow me. I cannot wait until the end of the week. The Emperor will slip away and hide in the mountains if I do not smash him now; and then it will be months before I can take this island. No. I must strike him now.’
‘But sire, that is madness,’ said a senior clerk, a weaselly little fellow called Hugo, whom I knew slightly and heartily disliked. ‘They are more than a three thousand, and we have but fifty horses, look sire…’ and he waved his arm towards the corral where less than three score sea-sick and mismatched animals were being fed with some rather damp, and no doubt salty, hay.
‘Sir clerk,’ said Richard frostily, and I realised with a little peep of wicked pleasure that the King had just been called a madman to his face, ‘you stick to papers and books, and leave the fighting and the chivalry to us.’ I stifled a smile to see the clerk put down, but there were more serious matters to hand. The King was attempting a night attack on an army three thousand strong with a tiny force of ill-mounted knights; and the odds against us were sixty to one. Each knight would be facing sixty enemies. Sixty! Perhaps the clerk was right — perhaps the King was mad!
Chapter Thirteen
I counted fifty-two knights, when we formed up above the beach in complete darkness, and almost in silence, for there was a sombre air about our coming endeavour; all metal accoutrements on the saddles had been muffled with cloth, lest it clink during our advance and give warning to the Emperor’s men; the knights spoke in whispers, gravely, as befitted men who were facing death, although I do not believe there was a single coward among them. Priests moved on silent feet through the horsemen, blessing weapons, sprinkling holy water on the knights and murmuring prayers. The most fortunate, including the King and the Earl of Locksley, were mounted on the destriers of captured Griffon knights; the less fortunate on assorted animals, some no better than carthorses and mules, that I had rounded up from Limassol, or on beasts that had been brought ashore from the ships that evening. I was on Ghost, who had recovered remarkably quickly from his ordeal on the wild ocean, and seemed to relish having his four feet on dry land. I caught sight of Sir Richard Malbete mounted on a thin two-year-old which looked too frail to bear his weight. He caught my look and returned it with his flat feral stare; then, holding my gaze, he ran a mailed finger down the red scar on the side of his face. I smiled at him mockingly, showing my teeth.
At a quiet signal from the King, we moved off in two files, with scouts ahead and to the sides, trying to keep in position and make as little noise as possible as we rode through the orange groves, sniffing a hint of fragrant blossom on the still air. The May night was warm, and a big yellow half moon gave us enough light to see the man riding in front and beside us; I was feeling nervous, I admit, the ice snake slithering once again in my belly; but I was prepared to trust my King to lead us to victory as he had done so swiftly that morning.
After about an hour, the column came to a halt in an open space behind a low ridge, and with the minimum of fuss those knights with lances, about half of our pathetic force, formed a line in front, and those of us without, including myself, who had not thought to bring more than my usual sword and poniard, and my mace, formed a line behind. The knights in the front rank, each wielding a twelve-foot razor-edged spear, would be the shock troops. They would primarily use the weight of their chargers and the points of their lances to ride over and crush any formation of men that opposed them; the second wave, would mop up behind them, attacking the shattered lines of the enemy with sword and mace. That was the theory.
The King rode between the two lines, addressing us in a low carrying voice. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘You have all fought with great courage today already, and we have tasted sweet victory. But I ask you now to fight again, to show your prowess once more in our cause. They are many, and we are few; but they have been beaten once and will be beaten again. Now they sleep, warm in their blankets, thinking that we are far away, but we shall show them how this army can fight. Yes, they are many, and we are but a handful, but think how much glory we shall share between us, we few, when victory is ours.’ The King turned his horse and began to ride back down the lane between the two ranks of horsemen. He caught my eye as he passed and smiled, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
‘God is with us in this endeavour, and our cause is just,’ he said, only just audibly. I could see the knights leaning forward in their saddles to hear him. ‘Now listen close: we will ride straight for the Emperor, and make him our prisoner; nothing else matters. Shout your war cries, call on God’s blessing and ride straight for the golden standard; with that in our hands the battle is done, the enemy will melt away like snow in springtime. God be with you all.’
And he took his place in the centre of the front line.
‘Forward,’ the cry came harshly in the still night. ‘For God and King Richard,’ It was louder, far louder than the King’s words, and I realised that it was Robin’s voice, his battle voice, which could be heard for half a mile, and at the same time two trumpeters began to sound their horns, blasting out the order to charge, ta-ta-taaaa, ta-ta- taaa. It was shocking in the stillness of the orange groves to hear such a tumult, and that was its intention, to cause shock and terror in the enemy; the first line gave a great shout, each man bellowing his war cry, and the line went forward, up the slope of the hill and disappeared over the crest; I shouted ‘Westbury!’ adding my voice to those of my companions, and we in the second line put our spurs to work and followed obediently behind them.
Over the crest of the hill we charged, and down the slope into a wide grove of olive trees filled with the sleeping enemy. The field was a mass of dark tents and dotted campfires, horses that were tethered to the gnarled stunted trees, and dark, blanket-wrapped forms, which leapt to their feet as the first wave of cavalry swept into the camp. The first line thundered into the tents, trumpets squealing, men roaring their challenges, trampling the sleeping forms within and snapping guy ropes with their horses’ legs. Any man who was upright was quickly speared by a passing knight, the lance abandoned in the body as the horseman rode by, pulling out his long sword to strike at the next man-shaped shadow in the gloom. Our second line came after them, screaming our war cries and bringing our swords to bear on the bewildered enemy.
The whole camp was convulsed in panic as fifty steel-wrapped killers were set loose, to rip and slice into the half-awake, half-dressed Cypriots; their cries of terror drowning out our shouts of victory as we slashed and hacked at running shapes in the darkness. We hunted them through the sagging, drunken tents, riding level to a running shape and cutting back and down with the sword before spurring on to seek fresh victims. I was glad that I could not see clearly the results of our handiwork as we cantered between the trees, slicing into white faces with no discrimination at all. I am certain, and I pray that God will forgive me for this grave sin, that at least one or two of my victims were women, but I did not stop to count the cost to the enemy, for in the centre of the camp was a ring of torches and in the flickering firelight I could make out a large, stripped tent in gaudy green and yellow, and next to that, flaccid in the still air, guarded by two mounted knights, splashed by torchlight, was the golden standard of the Emperor himself.
I put my heels into Ghost and headed for the light. And I was not the only one; there were riders to my left and right, some very familiar, others less so, but we all had the same aim, to converge on the Emperor, and seize him before the whole camp was roused, and mounted, and fully armed — at which point thousands of swords would come to seek our lives.
A dark shape came blundering out of the darkness to my left and I smashed into its head with my mace. Another came straight at me, and I changed Ghost’s line slightly with my knees and speared him through the body with my sword. The blade stuck in his ribs and I almost lost my blade; it was only with a wrench that hurt my wrist that I got the blade free of his body before Ghost was past him.
As I approached the Imperial tent, I saw that a fierce fight had broken out around the torch-lit circle; I saw the King cut down one Greek knight with his sword, while fending off another at the same time; Robin was beside him, and Sir James de Brus, each duelling with mounted men; one of the standard bearers was punched from his saddle by a well aimed lance, driven deep by a knight I did not know and the other man, who was carrying that golden flag, reined in, turned his horse and made a break for the darkness.
I screamed ‘Westbury!’ and levelled my bloody sword, drumming my heels in to Ghost’s flanks, and the man
