‘With me? Looking like that?’ Maria said with a laugh. ‘My friends would think I had lost my mind. No, you must go. And if. .’ She took her hand away from the maid with the henna and stood, walking slowly and deliberately to Lucia. ‘If you tell a soul about me, and you hurt my reputation, I will have you flayed alive. Or perhaps I should put your eyes and tongue out before you go?’
‘Please!’
Maria stared down at her as she fell to her knees, hands up in supplication, but when Lucia looked up, there was only contempt in her face.
‘Go!’
‘The best way, Sir Otto, is to begin at the west side and cross the walls to the other,’ Ivo said.
They were walking to the outer wall, and Baldwin paid scant attention as he peered at his ring, rubbed at it, and rotated it on his finger with his thumb. He had not appreciated how much he had missed it, in truth.
Sir Otto had been sent to help protect Acre, and, ‘Whether the Sultan has agreed peace or no, I should investigate the defences in case his attitude changes.’
Ivo led the way through Montmusart to the Lazar Gate and then up the stone steps.
‘Here is the tower built by the Order of Saint Lazarus. There is another strong tower over there, by the sea.’
‘From here the wall extends back to the old wall, thence to the sea again?’ Otto asked, leaning forward and staring along the line of the walls. He spoke crisply, a commander getting the measure of new responsibilities.
‘Yes, Sir Otto. The double walls form a line north to south, with a dog-leg halfway.’
‘Where are the weakest points?’
Ivo considered. ‘I would be less concerned about this section. It is newer, and should be able to take heavy punishment. I would be more worried about where the dog-leg lies. The point of that has a new tower recently rebuilt by King Henry II, and outside there is King Hugh’s new barbican. The inner point is held by that tower, named the Accursed Tower — I suppose because before this new wall enclosed Montmusart, it stood all alone. I would feel cursed if I were in that tower, too.’
‘I see. Let’s walk the walls.’
They descended the inner wall and made their way through the gate to the outer wall, where they climbed another series of steps, and began to make their study of the defences.
On the way, Baldwin saw a tan-coloured cur scavenging about a foetid heap of refuse. It was only as high as his knee, and painfully thin. Spotting a discarded crust by a guard’s boot, he bent to pick it up, whistled, and the dog stopped, head tilted. Baldwin threw it the bread before rejoining the others at the wall’s top.
‘Yes, you are right about this line of wall,’ Sir Otto said. ‘The base is good and broad and there is space enough for plenty of men to stand here in safety. How many people live in the city?’
‘Around forty thousand.’
Sir Otto nodded, his mouth reflecting his unhappy thoughts. ‘That is a great many mouths to feed, even with control of the seas. And all those,’ he added, waving a hand at the tents and hovels outside the walls, ‘their clutter could give succour to the Saracens. We’ll have to fire their rubbish.’
‘Yes, Sir Otto.’
They had made their way to the corner where the new wall met the old. Here Sir Otto stood for a moment, gazing out over the plains before the city. It was the scene that Baldwin had admired during his first ride out with Roger: lush fields, olive groves, and numerous small houses of mud, much like a peasant’s home in Devon.
‘They will march right over all that,’ Sir Otto said. ‘They will want to site engines of war out there. We will need to look over the plain and consider where they will want to place their machines so that we can spoil the ground.’
‘Yes,’ Ivo said.
Baldwin felt a scratch, and, turning, saw that the little dog was sitting behind him, pawing at his leg. He tried to gently push him away, but the animal stared at Baldwin with hurt in his eyes.
‘Of course, the walls need to be prepared,’ Sir Otto said, turning and looking back at the bulk of the inner walls. ‘We must build hoardings. Any man leaning over the parapets to drop stones on attackers would be the target of all their arrows. It is a shame there is no moat.’
‘In this heat, it would be impossible to keep it filled,’ Ivo shrugged.
‘Quite so.’
‘But this is all speculative, isn’t it?’ Baldwin said, trying to ignore the dog. ‘The Saracens have promised to uphold the peace for ten years, after all.’
Ivo gave him a long, considering stare while Sir Otto continued gazing out past the barbican towards the east.
Neither answered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Had Baldwin but known it, as he stood near the tower built by King Henry II, far below him, a small party was setting out from the gate.
It consisted of two men, and one woman, dressed in old grey linen. The men were on horseback, but she followed them on foot, a cord bound about her wrists attached to a stirrup. Sometimes it was felt necessary to have slaves bound more securely, but if Lucia tried to escape, she would be at the mercy of the sun and the parched lands.
She had no thought of escape. There was nothing in her mind apart from the pain in her back and between her legs.
All hope was gone. Only misery and despair filled her heart.
Try as he might, Baldwin could not shake off the little cur, who had adopted him after that first gift of bread. Surrendering to fate, he named the mutt Uther, and now Uther followed Baldwin everywhere. The little fellow was so dependent, Baldwin felt he couldn’t discard him.
Many sections of wall required repairs before the hoardings could be constructed. The wooden platforms would jut out from the battlements, with trapdoors for rocks or oil to be dropped on enemies beneath. Their weight would put a great strain on the old walls.
In the city itself, already there were a thousand knights and mounted men-at-arms, along with perhaps fifteen hundred infantrymen, and there was a need to find space for them. Arguments and brawls were commonplace. The Templars and Hospitallers had taken to wandering about the city to try to keep the fighting to a minimum, but every so often fists would fly.
In the square outside the castle, Baldwin saw the result of yet another fight. Two men were caught up in a gambling dispute, and one drew his knife. As Baldwin passed, they were holding the guilty man before the castle’s two-legged tree: two timbers planted firmly in the ground with a beam across their tops. A rope was thrown over the top-piece, the noose set about his throat, and as Baldwin paused, the man was hauled up, kicking and thrashing, as the rope squeezed the life from him.
At home, a felon would have his suffering eased by his family. They would jump on his body to break his neck, or at least speed his throttling. Here, the Lombard had no family. He could dangle for ten minutes or more before he died. A horrible death.
There were more crusaders at the far side of the square, he saw. For some, this was a grim event, and they stood about with faces drawn as they witnessed their comrade’s death. But for others, it was merely a spectacle.
The man’s legs jerked violently as he fought for life, and Baldwin could imagine the burning agony as his lungs struggled against that rope — and then, as if that were his final peroration to life, his struggling all but ceased. An occasional jerk of his legs, a brief fluttering of the feet, a tremble, and his life was fled.
Baldwin stayed staring, rooted to the ground, struck with a premonition.
Acre would be like that man, were Qalawun to come and attack. Alone, watched by many, and with no hope of aid.
The thought made him shiver.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Abu al-Fida was not alone as he entered the great court. He was only one of a long line of men and women who wailed and prostrated themselves. Each crossed the patterned tiles to the space before the Sultan and laid down the bloodstained clothing of murdered relatives. Here a shirt, there a tunic, a robe, a turban — all with their unique blackened patterns of death and horror. In his mind’s eye, he saw the smiling face of his son. White teeth gleaming, eyes flashing, so like his mother. Looking about this hall, with Mameluk guards standing silent, the sun making their mail and helmets sparkle, he felt as though Usmar was here with him, giving him support.