‘Is there more?’ the Constable asked quietly.
‘My master bids you prepare your defences. The Sultan swore to bring his army here on his father’s deathbed, and it was his generals who advised him to wait until after the winter rains. The rains are finished. The army marches.’
‘Do you have any idea of numbers?’ Guillaume de Beaujeu demanded.
‘I was told sixty thousand cavalry, and one hundred and sixty thousand men-at-arms on foot.’
The Constable’s jaw fell open. ‘You mean the total of marching men and cavalry was one hundred and sixty thousand, surely?’
‘No. The total is two hundred and twenty thousand warriors. There are more, but they are miners and masons to attack the walls.’
There was an appalled silence as the men absorbed this. Only Baldwin and Guillaume de Beaujeu were unsurprised.
‘Sweet Mother of God,’ a man murmured. It summed up the feeling of the men in the chamber.
‘How soon will they arrive?’ the Grand Master asked, bringing them back to the present dilemma. ‘How long do we have?’
‘They will be here in the first week of April, I think. There are many obstacles since the rains. They have more than a hundred siege engines, and the wagons for them take time to cross rivers.’
Guillaume de Beaujeu bowed to the messenger. ‘I am grateful for your news. It shows what needs be done.’
The messenger looked warily at the Commune members before him, then at the Constable, who gave a motion with his hand. The messenger then bowed low, wished them all peace, and left, his eyes going from side to side as though he feared to be attacked on his way out. One man did reach for his dagger, but another put a hand on his and shook his head. There was a sense of futility, of despair beyond comprehension.
Baldwin found himself staring at the spot where the messenger had stood. In his breast he was aware of a relaxation of tension, oddly. At last the dreadful waiting was to end.
A merchant Baldwin recognised as a friend of Mainboeuf’s, spoke wonderingly. ‘This must surely be a mistake? The Sultan would not unnecessarily take a peace envoy, would he? Perhaps we should send a message asking the Sultan to release our friends and explain again the reason for their embassy? Maybe it was the presence of two warlike ambassadors that gave the Sultan the wrong impression? We know he detests the Orders.’
Guillaume de Beaujeu turned slowly to stare at him, and when he spoke his contempt was acid.
‘Do you mean he thought we had sent an army of two knights to take his city? Are you blind to the facts? Our position is clear: we cannot negotiate. We had two options: flight — or fight to defend our city. But there is now no choice. All Christians have a sacred duty to remain here. We in the Temple know our duty.’
‘The Hospital will remain with the Temple,’ the Grand Master declared. ‘This is the destiny of our Orders, to fight and die if need be in the service of God and the Kingdom of Jerusalem.’
‘The Knights of Saint Lazarus too will fight.’
There was a moment’s pause, and then the Grand Master of the German Order, Burchard von Schwanden, grunted his own assent. Baldwin thought he looked distraught, whereas the other Grand Masters were steadfast in their commitment.
The Constable nodded and looked over the remaining members of the Commune. ‘The city will soon be at war. From this moment, all supplies of food must be subject to the demands of the city’s defence. I wrote last year to ask for more help from our friends, and with luck we shall gain some support from there. What of the Orders? Can we hope for help?’
Guillaume de Beaujeu spoke first. ‘I have hope that I can call on more knights.’
The Hospitaller nodded to de Beaujeu. ‘I will order my knights to send all who may be spared.’
The only unhappy Grand Master was von Schwanden. ‘My men are already involved in the Crusades in Lithuania and Poland. I do not know if I can have men here in time.’
‘So, we have a thousand knights and sergeants on horseback,’ the Constable said. Against the Sultan’s army.’
‘Sir, the most important thing now is to send away all those who are no use to the defence of the city,’ Jacques d’Ivry said.
Baldwin noticed that Sir Jacques appeared to feel no concern for himself, as always. His faith was so strong, it preserved him from fear.
The Constable considered. ‘It will take time to arrange such a plan. We have so many thousands to evacuate.’
‘We have planned for this already,’ Ivo put in. ‘We can begin to remove those people as early as next week.’
‘Very well, I agree. Gentlemen, my Lords, we all have much to do. Any questions should be addressed to my clerk.’ The Constable stood. ‘Good luck, and may God go with us all.’
Turning, he made his way to a curtained doorway. Baldwin watched, and was shocked to see him stumble, clinging to the doorpost like a frail old man.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
When the Genoese ships slipped their moorings and rowed into the bay, there forming up into their fleet, Buscarel was at the harbour watching, gloom filling his soul. He could have gone with them. Perhaps he should have, but the thought of deserting his city was too hard. His heart was in his throat as the first of the ships moved slowly past the Tower of Flies and out to sea, and he felt dizzy, like a man who has spent too much time in the sun. But when the third ship had gone out, suddenly all that disappeared, to be replaced by a bitter rage.
‘Damn them,’ he swore.
This was his home. He wouldn’t run from it.
The ships unfurled their great sails, and he felt a lurch in his gut to see how the pennants fluttered. From over the sea, he heard the creaking of the cordage, the straining cracks of the timbers, as the wind caught the canvas. The sun. It was odd to think that this could be the last time he ever saw his country’s fleet — because it would not return. That had been made plain.
Zaccaria had invited him to the Admiral’s house. ‘We cannot get back in time to rescue people if things go badly,’ he had warned him.
‘There are women and children to be taken away,’ Buscarel said. ‘You could carry some to Cyprus.’
‘We are clearing our warehouses,’ Zaccaria told him. ‘We both know that when the Muslims arrive, they will destroy the city.’
‘Not if there are enough men here to defend her. If the women and children could be evacuated, so that only fighting men remained, we could protect Acre,’ Buscarel declared.
‘No. You cannot hope to do that.’ Zaccaria shook his head. ‘So we have to empty all our goods from here. The investment in buildings is a sore loss, but we can do nothing about them. Besides, it is good that this city was Venice’s jewel. The loss will hurt her more than us.’
‘This is a Christian city, Admiral. Could you not bring back men? Even a few thousand would help, and if you-’
‘No. I will return to Genoa and tell our people what I believe: that Acre is lost. There is no point sending ships or men here to die,’ Zaccaria said flatly. ‘If you have any sense, my friend, you will come with us.’
‘While there is hope, I must remain,’ Buscarel argued. ‘One question: will you take my woman and sons with you? I would be happier to know that they were safe.’
‘They must go to Cyprus with the other women and children. There will be scarcely enough room on my ship for my goods.’
‘Please, Admiral. All I ask is a little space. They will take less room than I would.’
‘Yes, but they cannot work their passage like you would. Perhaps if you had not lost a second ship to the Templars last year, there would be more space aboard, but as it is, with one ship fewer in my fleet, it is going to be a tight fit.’