Baldwin and Ivo stood watching as he descended the stairs at a swift but unhurried pace. He pointed to three Templars in the ward, and all formed behind him.
‘Open the gates!’ he bellowed, and the four men marched out.
‘Baldwin?’ Ivo said. ‘It has been good to be with you for the last year.’
‘Perhaps we shall be together longer,’ Baldwin smiled. As he did so, there was a shout from outside.
Before the Templars could draw steel, all had been grabbed. Now all were thrust to their knees, and as the garrison watched in horror, each was beheaded.
Ivo looked at Baldwin. ‘It won’t be long now, my friend.’
There was a ship in the bay, and a rowing boat was approaching swiftly as the last assault was launched.
Baldwin and Ivo remained on the walls, hurling stones at the men clambering up the ladders. There were no enemy turrets as yet, for to bring them through the narrow, winding streets would have been difficult even before the siege. Now that each street and lane had piles of rubble from fallen buildings, it would be a mammoth task. Instead Sultan al-Ashraf depended upon ladders and his overwhelming force.
Thousands were scaling the walls. A massive timber battering ram crashed repeatedly into the gate below. Templars and women ran about the ward, fetching anything that could be used to strengthen the gates and save them from collapse. Baldwin saw Lucia running from the kitchens with a couple of other women, a large beam in their arms. Lucia almost collapsed with the weight, but then they were off again.
Baldwin had enough on his hands already. He beat off a man clambering to the top of a ladder, and thrust it back, but with the weight of men on it, all he succeeded in achieving was to make it move away and then clatter back against the wall. He tried to grab it again, but a man hacked at his hands. His leather gauntlets were no protection against an axe. Instead he stabbed at the fellow’s face through the rungs, and felt his blade strike.
A bellow, and when he turned, three Muslims were pelting towards him from another ladder. Baldwin threw himself to the side, shouting, and the archer behind slammed an arrow into the leading man’s belly. Baldwin was up for the second, stabbing him in the throat, swinging around with his blade still embedded, and thrusting his sword’s cross into the face of the next. The guard’s arm broke the man’s nose. Baldwin pulled his sword free and stabbed him too. All about him was death. The Muslims were reaching over the walls at all sides. Baldwin hurried down the steps before he was engulfed by the latest waves. In the ward itself, he saw Lucia about to run back to the gates, a pair of planks of wood in her hands. He waved at her. ‘No! Go back and lock yourself in with the women! Quickly!’
She stopped, staring at him, and then realised the danger she was in as she saw the black-turbanned men dropping down the walls behind him. He saw her turn and flee, and then he was facing the enemy again. On his left he saw Buscarel standing similarly, and then Edgar, and four sergeants from the Templars. Seven men to guard a narrow front. Now the Muslims were gathering. There was a shout, and they formed into a line of men, shields ready, swords held high, and began to move slowly forward. The Templar nearer Baldwin gave an order, and the sergeants stepped to the guard.
A bellow, and suddenly the Muslims were on them. A sweeping flash and Baldwin was aware only of the swords before him. He must give way, and his feet moved of their own volition, shuffling back, then darting forward when there was an opportunity. A man fell, and then Baldwin felt a stinging cut on his thigh. Luckily a slash, not a stab. He moved again, hacking at an arm, but someone else’s blade was under him, and he cut his forearm, and that hurt, but he dare not look down at it.
A rumbling sound came to his ears, and he was sure that the ground was moving, but he kept on fighting. It must be the assault making the flags beneath his feet tremble and shudder. Or God was giving them an earthquake.
‘Give me space, boy!’ Ivo snarled as he came up from behind and took on three men to Baldwin’s right. Edgar was on his left, swinging his blade with gusto, a small smile on his face. He only ever seemed to wake fully when he was fighting, Baldwin thought to himself.
For a space it seemed as though the attackers were losing their momentum. There was an increasing number of men lying, sobbing and wailing, and fewer wanted to launch themselves at the diminished line of Christians.
Then there was a concerted rush. Baldwin caught a glimpse of a Templar falling, and at once he knew they would not hold this place. ‘Back! Retreat to the main buildings!’ he bellowed.
Edgar nodded, and turned, but as he did so, two arrows hit him. One was high, and passed through the soft flesh beneath his collarbone. It carried on, right through him, and on. The second was lower, and slammed into his thigh. He fell at once, grimacing, and for once his smile was wiped away.
Baldwin bent to help him up, and now the two hobbled together while Buscarel and Ivo and the Templars gave them cover. He would never know how he did it, but he managed at last to throw Edgar in through the door, and then turned to bellow to the others to join him. They ran. The first inside was Buscarel, holding up his forearm, where a long raking cut had sliced through to the bone at his elbow. Ivo was next, miraculously unhurt, and then the Templars arrived en masse. They stood in the doorway, and then sprang back and closed the doors, swinging down the hinged bar and bolting it securely.
‘Lucia!’ Baldwin said, and grabbed her.
‘There is a ship. The injured must go first,’ she said, pulling away and staring down at Edgar.
He had fallen to the ground, and now he lay there gritting his teeth against the pain of the two arrow-wounds. ‘Do they think me a pin-cushion that they would prick me so?’ he groaned.
‘You will at least be safe,’ Baldwin said. He took up Edgar’s arm, pushed his head beneath, and hoisted the man to his feet.
‘I’ll wait here,’ Ivo said. ‘We need to hold the door. Get Edgar to the boat, and as many women as you can.’
‘I’ll be back as soon as possible,’ Baldwin said.
He knew the way to the landing-stage from the other night when they had helped the women to the rowing boats. There was a short passage from here that gave out to a small yard, and beyond that lay narrow alley that led to the water.
Baldwin and Edgar got to the alleyway, and slowly negotiated the stairs cut into the rock. With Edgar wincing and sucking in his breath at every step, it was not a fast process. Women and some children were behind them, terrified lest they be too late, and Baldwin waved them on when there was space, letting Edgar rest. Then they were up again, taking the gentle descent, and limping on to the ramp to the boat.
Baldwin handed Edgar to the shipman. ‘Godspeed, Edgar of London.’
‘Godspeed, Master Devon,’ Edgar grinned, his face waxen with pain.
Baldwin turned and began to make his way back, but suddenly he saw the building before him give a dramatic lurch. There was a cloud of smoke, and then a terrifying rumble as if a mountain was collapsing. Before his eyes, the Temple was engulfed in smoke and dust. The wall near him moved, and a stone knocked him from his feet, and he found himself on his rump.
There was shouting, but he could hardly discern anything. The crack had been so loud, his ears were ringing still. He tried to climb to his feet, but an exquisite shaft of agony lanced up from the knee to the top of his head, and looking down, he saw that his foot was twisted at a peculiar angle. His leg must be broken.
He gazed back at the Temple, desperate to return. ‘Lucia! Lucia, I’m coming!’
Ivo and Buscarel held the door with the Templars. A pair of sergeants and a knight joined them as the timbers creaked and moved. The Muslims had found a beam from somewhere, probably the pile of timbers that had been holding the gates shut, and now were assailing the doors with reckless abandon.