Abu al-Fida knew that there was only one last proof of his workmanship. He clenched his fist and punched. The chief gynour nodded, and waved the others away. When they were safely removed, he looked about him one last time, and then pulled the pin from the restraining rope. There was a slithering of leather, and as the huge counterweight dropped, the long arm rose, dragging the sling after it, the rock caught within its embrace. It swept along its trough, then up, until the sling released it and the stone flew up and forward.
He had selected as his missile one of the largest rocks he could find, and the task of shaping it to be more nearly round had taken much time, but he knew that just as a stone flung from a sling should be rounded and smooth, so should the missiles from this great machine. And now he felt a sense of pride to see how the great lump of rock hurtled onwards.
It rose as smoothly as a heron leaving the water, climbing ever higher, until it reached the zenith of its trajectory some two hundred yards from the machine, before crashing down to fall three hundred yards away.
‘Load it again,’ Abu al-Fida said quietly.
The men reached for the windlass, and as soon as the counterweight was still, they began the laborious task of hauling the arm down again. In a matter of minutes, the arm was locked, the steel pin holding it down. Masons rolled the second of the great stones to the channel, and the sling was looped over it.
He punched his fist again, and the arm swept up. The stone flew high and straight, and fell with an audible crack only twenty or thirty paces from the first.
Abu al-Fida smiled. It was the first time he had done so since the death of his son, but now he could see the result of his efforts, he was content. This machine would break the walls of Acre as easily as a man crushing an egg.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
For Baldwin, it was a relief to feel a horse beneath him, the comforting weight of a sword at his belt, the hot air flowing past his face. He felt whole again, a man again. For the last weeks he had been little more than a labourer, like a peasant on his brother’s estate.
He had worked with the masons at the base of the Lazar Tower, helped construct new ramps and walkways, and once dangled over the walls with terror in his heart, helping to hang the hoardings. And all the while, Lucia was never far from his mind. Often, while on the walkways, he would stop and stare out eastwards, wondering where she might be.
It was the dearth of information which tormented him. He worked to empty his mind, but his mind refused to be distracted from endless speculation: where she might be, what she might be doing, how harsh her life was now that she had been exiled.
When the Templar Marshal Sir Geoffrey de Vendac had appeared yesterday and asked Baldwin if he would like to join today’s reconnaissance, the young man had leaped at the chance.
‘But leave your dog behind; he would never survive in the desert,’ the Marshal said, looking down at Uther with distaste.
Baldwin had taken his advice and left Uther with Ivo.
He glanced now at the knights of the troop. While he had always considered knighthood to be the pinnacle of human achievement, some of the knights he had met had not impressed him half so much as Ivo. The latter was not a member of the chivalry, yet he had depths of integrity and honour to which many knights could only aspire.
In the same way, Baldwin now realised that women were not merely chivalric ideals, nor decorative adornments for knights: they could be dangerous, too. Women like Lady Maria were powerful and intelligent. Baldwin feared her more than Buscarel.
Thinking of Lady Maria and Lucia, Baldwin felt a curious emptiness in his throat. He had experienced shame and despair when he realised that Sibilla did not love him, and that was what had impelled him to kill her lover, leave his country, and travel all this way: embarrassment at having been made a fool. But he hadn’t expected to find a woman here like Lucia, who could erase his misery with a smile.
And now she was taken from him.
‘You are thoughtful?’ It was the Marshal. He had slowed, and now rode at Baldwin’s side.
‘Where do we ride?’ Baldwin asked, instead of answering.
‘We ride south and east for a day, and then we shall ride north. We are looking for signs of warlike preparations.’
‘In the desert?’
Sir Geoffrey grinned — which totally transformed his features. Up to that moment, Baldwin had only ever seen him look introspective and austere. With a smile on his face, he was more like a kindly old uncle. ‘No! But I have spent long enough in the Temple worrying over ledgers, and you have spent too long slaving in the heat. I thought a few days away from the city would be good for all of us.’
Baldwin smiled. He doubted that the ride was for his benefit, but as he studied the Templars around him, he thought they already looked less worn down.
They were a mixed group, consisting of five knights in white, each with a squire in a black tunic with the red cross, riding a spare destrier or charger, and each with a sergeant, who was responsible for the sumpter packhorse. Baldwin had heard how these men would fight in the same manner as squires at home. As the knights crashed into the enemy, their squires would be behind them in a second wave, bringing the destrier as a remount, and fighting while the knights reformed, ready to charge again. The Turcopolier would rally the sergeants and the lightly armoured turcopoles, and they would ride in support, or charge together as a fresh rank and shatter any resistance.
‘You are impressed?’ the Marshal asked.
‘With the troop? Your Templars are an awesome sight. I only hope I might see them fight.’
‘I think that is all too likely. What do you think of the defences?’
‘At Acre? Strong,’ Baldwin said. ‘I have never seen so magnificent a city.’
‘Let us hope that we may keep it.’
‘With so many knights, and such a committed population, I don’t see how we can fail.’
‘I am glad of your faith, my friend,’ Sir Geoffrey said. ‘God will permit us to hold it, or force us to relinquish it, at His will.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘God alone can bring success.’
‘But men can occasionally guarantee failure,’ the Marshal added wryly.
CHAPTER FORTY
They rode across the dusty plains south of the city, following roads that had lain there for centuries, whipped by the wind until they were hidden under drifting sand. Each year experienced travellers exposed them with their great caravans, creating ruts in a seemingly endless expanse of sand.
At the end of the first day, the Templars busied themselves. The Marshal selected a location near a pool of water and the men waited for the command to dismount, and only then did they begin to unload their equipment. Sir Geoffrey’s pavilion was placed at the centre, and while Baldwin struggled to remove his saddle, squires and knights silently made the camp. Tents were pitched, fires lit, and men saw to the horses. Baldwin was impressed to see that the men who groomed the horses and saw to their needs tended to be the knights themselves.
‘The Marshal asks that you join him, Master Baldwin.’ The air was already cooling as the sun sank below the horizon, and Baldwin followed the young squire through the maze of guy-ropes and huddled figures to the Marshal’s tent, where he was given a goblet of wine and waved to a seat.