‘Then I will remain here with them.’
‘Then you will die. And die a fool, at that.’
‘Perhaps. But I won’t die a coward!’
Zaccaria looked at him bleakly. ‘Be careful how you speak to me, Buscarel.’
‘Or what? You will leave me here to die?’ Buscarel laughed scornfully.
Today, he walked along the harbour, then out along the breakwater to the Tower of Flies where he climbed the steps to the very top, staring out to sea.
‘They’ve all gone, have they?’ one of the garrison of sentries asked, watching the Genoese ships with him.
‘Yes.’
‘Are they coming back?’
‘No. They sail away to protect their money,’ Buscarel said.
‘Well, we’re better off without them, then,’ the sentry said with a shrug.
Buscarel stared at him, dumbfounded. And then he began to feel his despondency fall away. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Yes, I suppose we are.’
The plans for the evacuation of the majority of women and children were already well advanced, when Baldwin met Ivo for lunch.
The two had been working their men on the walls near the Tower of St Nicholas, and now they sat and rested their backs against the wall in the shade of the new hoarding roof while they chewed bread and drank thin ale.
‘This ale’s going off already,’ Ivo said with a wince.
‘Well, it gives you an excuse to drink it all the faster,’ Baldwin chuckled.
Ivo gave him a dirty look, but Baldwin was in a good mood. He had the trust of his men, and for all that their situation was alarming, he was determined not to show concern. When the fellows needed to be jollied along, it was Ivo who invariably sprang into action, making them laugh, and forget adversity.
Baldwin and his men spent that day strengthening the catapult-bases on top of the towers. In the last few days they had constructed larger ones behind the city’s walls, too, up near the Lazar Gate and the Gate of Maupas, where the defences had been insufficient beforehand. The timber from Venice had been put to good use. With the catapults being built now, the city could retaliate with determination against any attack.
Later, when Baldwin returned to the house, Pietro let him in wearing an expression of great irritation. ‘Worse and worse,’ he snapped.
‘Eh?’ Baldwin asked, but then Pietro was gone, and Baldwin walked through to the garden.
The weather was improving now, and the table and chairs had been taken from the house and put back into the garden. Here, the sound of the birds singing in the little fruit trees was a source of delight always to Ivo, and he liked to sit with his eyes closed, listening.
Today, however, he sat with his eyes wide open, a mazer of wine in his hand. When Baldwin walked in, the young man could see the bleak expression in his eyes.
Lucia was there, and she brought him a mazer of wine, bowing her head. He wished she could stop behaving like a slave, treating him like a master who had power of life and death over her, but there seemed nothing he could do or say that would change her manner to him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking the cup and drinking deeply. It was hot working on the towers, and his throat was parched. Then: ‘Ivo, what’s the matter?’
The older man walked to the table and sat down next to a large bowl of olives. A dish of seafood was soon brought in by Pietro. ‘Likely won’t have decent food much longer,’ the servant grumbled to himself as he set out the food, and left again.
Baldwin sat, and motioned to Lucia to join them. She shook her head quickly, and went out to the kitchen to help Pietro.
‘What is it?’ he asked Ivo again, his eyes on Lucia as she left.
‘Would you believe, the Grand Master of the German Order has resigned.’
Baldwin stared at him. ‘Burchard von Schwanden? Why?’
‘He thinks himself incompetent for the task ahead. It will serve to demoralise many of the men here in the city, just as we prepare to defend her.’
‘Who will take his place?’
‘Conrad von Feuchtwangen.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘No, I’ve never had any dealings with him,’ Ivo said. He stared about him, looking depressed. ‘I have done all I can to maintain the spirits of the men here, to try to keep them keen and ready for the fight, but the idea that the Grand Master of a religious Order could resign his position will affect everyone.’
Baldwin was struck by Ivo’s sombre mood. If even he could become downcast, Baldwin felt that there was little hope for anyone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Next morning, Baldwin was reluctant to tell his team of men the news. He didn’t want to see their faces as they absorbed it.
They had been sent to work on a new catapult being constructed near the castle. Hob was a gifted mechanic, Baldwin was learning, and his abilities improved with every machine they built. This was the largest he had so far attempted.
‘Why so large?’ Baldwin asked as Hob stood eyeing the timbers lying on the ground ready for piecing together.
‘It’s said that the enemy have some of the biggest machines ever seen,’ Hob replied. ‘They can move theirs forward or back to change the range. All we can do is make one that will reach them, no matter how far they may be.’
Baldwin was content with that, but later, when he walked along the walls, thinking of the battle to come, he found himself looking over the plain. He was there, near the Maupas Gate, when he met Sir Otto with another man in German Order tunic, the black cross on his breast.
‘Sir Otto,’ Baldwin said, bowing his head.
‘This is the new Grand Master of the Germans,’ Sir Otto said. His manner was irritable as he asked, ‘What are you looking for? The enemy has not arrived yet.’
‘I was wondering how best to aim the machines, sir,’ Baldwin replied, not understanding Sir Otto’s mood. ‘I thought if we could guess where the Muslims would place their camp, where their men would pitch their tents, we would have a better idea where to point the catapults.’
‘You need not worry about them,’ the German said. He stood and peered over the walls. ‘When they arrive, they will place their tents and horse-lines far beyond our reach. Only those devices intended to attack the city will be at a range to be hit.’
‘Can we try to estimate where they would place them?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘I have some men who are experienced in siege warfare,’ Otto said. ‘What of you, Grand Master?’
‘I will ask.’
Baldwin bowed, and then, emboldened by their apparent acceptance of him, ‘Sir Conrad, I hope God protects you in your new post.’
‘News spreads quickly when a city is in peril,’ Conrad von Feuchtwangen said. He gave Baldwin a serious stare. ‘Hopefully, we shall prevail against our enemies, be they ever so numerous.’
‘God be praised!’ Otto said fervently. ‘Baldwin, I will have two men sent to you at Ivo’s house. Wait for them there. Perhaps they can advise on the best locations to aim for.’
‘I will.’
‘Have you looked at the towers?’ Otto asked.
‘Only the catapult platforms. I have been concentrating on building the machines, sir.’
‘We have been walking the city walls together, and all the towers have their kitchens and cellars ready. The water cisterns have filled over the winter, God be praised! So now we are ready for an attack.’
Baldwin nodded. Each tower was effectively a self-contained fortress. If an assault succeeded and men gained the walls, the towers at each side of the breach would bar their doors and rally men ready to return to the walls and throw their enemies to their deaths, but if even that failed, the towers could hold on until the city could send a force to rescue them.
‘What is the mood of the men?’ Otto asked.
‘Keen to fight, sir,’ Baldwin said. ‘If they don’t see a Muslim soon, they’ll start fighting amongst themselves!’
‘Keep them calm. They’ll see their enemy soon enough. And then this Swiss will show how men can fight and keep their honour,’ he muttered, half to himself.