The Crescent and the Cross Page 8

  Then, sadly, the caliphate reached out to him once more, as the Almohads expanded north. The army of Al-Andalus had reached Salvatierra, and the Moors who lived within the shadow of the fortress walls, all of whom owed more fealty to an enemy who sheltered them than to an ally who hunted them, took refuge with the knights.

  When the siege ended at the call of the king of Castile, each Moor within had had to make a difficult choice: to submit to the will of the conqueror, or to flee along with the defeated knights. Knowing what would likely await him with the caliph’s men, Yusuf had chosen to walk north with the Order of Calatrava. Despite his colouring and his religion, the Moor spoke Castilian like a native, and his arrival alongside the proud knights of Calatrava had assured him of a safe haven for now.

  Arnau had been reminded once more of how much the ordinary man from both worlds had suffered and would continue to do so in this great conflict, and felt a little discomfort at how he wavered from time to time between advocating a level of tolerance, and accepting the general understanding that what had once been a complex relationship of neighbours was resolving into a simple case of ‘us and them’.

  Still, understanding Yusuf had led to a level of trust forming that Arnau could even see in the volatile Tristán. When they slept in their hollow, each taking a turn on watch, the fact that they had not had their throats cut during the Moor’s stint seemed to decide the squire that he could be trusted.

  The second day had begun much the same as the first, but during the morning the world gradually changed as it became clear, without the need for a drawn boundary, that they were now in the world of the Almohads. While the land and the architecture they could see did not change, the road became busier the further they got from Toledo, and merchants and farmers were in evidence, not hiding in case the war suddenly rolled across their fields. The biggest sign of Almohad control, though, became noticeable on the third and fourth days: the fortresses. Crag-top castles that had been taken repeatedly by one side or the other over the years sat brooding over the landscape, the Almohad flag fluttering above the battlements, almost daring the forces of the Christian kingdoms to come south and contest them.

  Arnau had been careful to remove all northern trappings from their horses before they left, even leaving their shields with the Templar camp. Certain northern aspects remained, such as stirrups and saddlebags, which could at close view identify them as being from the Christian north, but the tack and harness and all visible clothing were suitably nondescript, and from a distance they would be indistinguishable from any other group on the road. As long as they kept to themselves and avoided close contact, they could pass unnoticed.

  Towards the end of the fourth day, a bitter reminder of the world’s troubles hove into view. The massive and powerful fortress that sat on a low plateau between the twin arms of the Guadiana and Valdecañas rivers seemed almost to taunt them, the Almohad flag snapping taut in a sudden breeze as they crossed the ancient bridge just a mile downstream.

  Calatrava.

  A fortress that had been torn from the grip of the Moors sixty-five years ago and had been given to the Templars to hold, but which they had been unable to man effectively, with their power so heavily devoted to the Holy Land at that time. Calatrava had been given instead to a group of staunch local knights who held it against the enemy through many trials, and who in good time became the Order that bore its name and who now formed such a strong sector of the crusading army of Iberia.

  Yet Calatrava had been lost to the ever-advancing onslaught of the Almohads half a century later and its Order relocated, leaving their sister fortress of Salvatierra all but cut off in enemy lands. Calatrava was to the Order as much a target as the Almohad capital, and no matter what plans the crowns of Iberia had for the advance of the crusade, Arnau was positive that this fortress would be one of their objectives as they came south, for the honour of the military orders. This place was going to be the site of a hard fight in the coming days. Arnau just prayed that they would find Calderon and escape north before it happened.

  Somehow it felt like an achievement simply having passed Calatrava.

  That evening they narrowly avoided an encounter with a small party of Moorish horsemen, hurrying from the road and ducking into a small stand of trees, where they lurked until the roving cavalry unit was out of sight. That night they dared not light a fire and ate a meal of cold salted meat and bread before settling for sleep in the ramshackle ruins of a shepherd’s hut that had long since collapsed.

  This morning they had risen early, determined to get a good start on the day before the sun rose high. They had ridden for just over two hours, one of them still in the pre-dawn gloom, when a range of hills came into view on their right, along which they followed in a generally southern direction. As they passed a gap in that line, marking a pass of some sort, Yusuf began to look oddly sour and nervous. Arnau frowned but held his silence for some time, but when the Moor began to clasp a hand-shaped amulet on a chain that he pulled out from his tunic, and to mutter constantly in Arabic, Arnau finally spoke up.

  ‘What is it, Yusuf?’

  ‘Accursed place. Salvatierra.’

  Arnau blinked and turned to peer off in that direction. All he could see was the hills and the gap between them, no sign of a fortress. ‘Where?’

  ‘Through there. See the crag below the far hill? It is perhaps two miles from here, perhaps three.’

  Arnau peered. Already the heat of the morning was causing the air to shimmer nauseatingly above the ground, and it took a moment for the Templar to pick out the shape of the fortress. It sat upon a ridge that was almost lost against the green-grey of the loftier hills behind it. Arnau understood its importance immediately. That crag sat at the centre of the pass through the hills. Nothing could move through there without passing below the walls of Salvatierra. No wonder the Almohads had been so determined to take it. From this distance he could not see the Almohad flag, but he was sure that red, black and white chequered banner would be fluttering above it.

  ‘We should have a closer look,’ Tristán said suddenly. Yusuf gripped his amulet all the tighter and his prayers came faster, the words tumbling over one another in a torrent, as Arnau turned, frowning, to his squire.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Salvatierra. It was taken only months ago, and the army will pass this way coming south. If Salvatierra is still in the ruinous state Yusuf told us of last night, then it might be worth the army targeting it. The recovery of Salvatierra would be as important to morale as retaking Calatrava, and might be an easier proposition. Any intelligence we can bring back to the Order could be of value.’

  Arnau continued to frown and chewed his lip. It was true. For half a year or more now, Salvatierra had been a bitter potion to swallow for the armies of the north. It had stood as a symbol of Christian determination and power, surrounded as it was by Moorish lands. Word of its loss had been unhappily received by all. Its recovery might even mean more than that of Calatrava.

  On the other hand, it would be garrisoned now by Almohads and effectively poking the anthill was never a clever move. Their safest bet would be to stay a good distance away from the place. In the end, as he gazed into the shimmering distance, it was not that the tactical benefits of scouting outweighed the danger of coming so close to an enemy stronghold which decided him. It was simple morbid curiosity.

  Arnau knew sieges well. As a young knight, not even fully part of the Order yet, he had survived the awful siege of Rourell in which so many had died, a small-scale conflict by the current standard, but a horrifying introduction to that type of warfare. Then, eight years ago, he had lived through the worst siege in living memory as the combined forces of Frankish knights and Venetian ships had attacked Constantinople, diverted from their true goal of crusade in the Holy Land. That had been brutality on an epic scale. Salvatierra fell somewhere in between, of course, but a small garrison of knights not a great deal different to Arnau and his brothers had held the fortress deep in
enemy territory for ten weeks, and had only surrendered it upon a royal command and the knowledge that their sword arms would be better served joining the crusade than dying in defence of this place.

  And it was not just his bitter fascination with the siege, either. More than that, it was also a chance to perhaps learn something more, to understand a little better this Moor with whom they now travelled, and the knight Calderon who had survived the siege only to insult the invading army and get himself taken prisoner.

  Arnau straightened in the saddle. ‘We can have a look…’ he caught the dismay in Yusuf’s face. ‘From a distance,’ he added. ‘Staying out of sight of the garrison.’ He turned to Yusuf. ‘You know the area. Those hills behind the fortress, what can you tell me of them?’

  Yusuf, now visibly uncomfortable, pulled at his collar nervously. ‘That was the position of the caliph’s artillery during the siege. Huge trebuchets the size of which you would not believe. Big enough to reach the walls of the castle.’

  Arnau blinked and peered again. It looked too far for any artillery. Astounding.

  ‘So they should provide a good view of the castle, then.’

  ‘Yes. They are hills uninhabited by man until the siege. The haunt only of wild creatures and soaring birds.’

  Arnau nodded. ‘Then since the fortress has been taken and garrisoned, and they cannot expect imminent danger, the artillery will have been long since dismantled and the current commander should have no reason to have men up there. From those hills we could get a good view.’

  ‘We will lose hours of travel,’ Yusuf advised him. ‘It is not wise.’

  ‘You do not have to come, Yusuf, though I would value your company, given your familiarity with the area.’

  Yusuf was clearly struggling. He knew the two knights were unlikely to be deterred, and he had absolutely no wish to come so close to the place where he had spent ten weeks trapped, but then the notion of waiting on his own in this hostile land while they went off without him was hardly to be appreciated either. His will crumbled visibly as his shoulders drooped.

  ‘There are paths. On occasion the knights of Salvatierra would hunt up there, and as well as game trails there are routes that they cut through the undergrowth. I can find some of them, I think.’

  Arnau smiled encouragingly and caught the satisfaction on Tristán’s face, which suddenly made him wonder whether he was being foolhardy. Was the squire’s forthright and rash attitude beginning to influence Arnau’s decisions?

  Still, curiosity was winning out. ‘Come on. Let us see what the caliph has done with his prize.’

  Leaving the road, they veered off towards the hills at the far side of the pass, riding slowly enough to avoid drawing any attention from farmers or peasants they happened to come near. As they began to climb, Arnau looked back and felt a wash of relief, as providence seemed to be favouring them. The road they had travelled would have taken them straight into a unit of Almohad cavalry that had appeared through the haze. Only the seemingly rash decision to visit Salvatierra had taken them off the road just in time to avoid the riders.

  Feeling a little better about things now, Arnau turned back to the hills and followed Yusuf as he led them into an area of loose-spaced trees and bushes, climbing ever higher. The trail they followed was wide and clear enough that they did not need to hack their way through, though as they moved higher, both brothers sought their weapons from the packs across their mounts’ backs, where they were within reach for emergencies but not immediately obvious to the casual observer. Given how far they were from civilization now, Tristán pulled back his hood and let his face show to the breeze for the latest of only half a dozen times in two days. Yusuf, after all, did not stand out, and Arnau’s colouring allowed him to pass for a local, but the squire was just a little too pale, given Navarrese parentage, and had to keep his visage hidden within the folds of the cowl. Here, at least he could be free to feel the air and the sun’s warmth.

  After what felt like half a day, though in truth was probably but an hour, they emerged from a stand of scrubby trees to the crest of the hill. With Yusuf still leading them, they walked their horses past several large rocks that cast long shadows to the west, and emerged onto a natural viewing platform. Yusuf had apparently chosen well, for the distance from here to Salvatierra was not great, and had they passed across the crest somewhere barren and open, of which there were many such places, they would be easily spotted. Here, amid the rocks, they were easily hidden. Arnau reined in, and the others gathered around him.

  ‘That, then, is Salvatierra?’ Arnau mused.

  The powerful fortress sat on a ridge of rock, high and unassailable. As expected, the Almohad flag fluttered above it in the breeze.

  ‘Allah be merciful, but that was quick,’ Yusuf breathed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘See the great gatehouses in triple lines of defence down the slope to the plain? When last I was here, not even nine months ago, all that remained of the outer two was rubble. Now they are complete once more. The commander of this place has rebuilt swiftly. Salvatierra is as strong as ever.’

  Arnau clicked his tongue irritably. ‘And how vast was the caliph’s army when they attacked?’

  ‘Not a great deal smaller than that gathered at Toledo.’

  ‘Then even with the rest of the forces hurrying to join them, Salvatierra offers a lengthy siege. It would seem that its recovery might not be a sensible priority after all.’

  ‘You have seen what you needed,’ Yusuf said, trembling. ‘Now we should go.’

  ‘Quite. This was a fruitless side trip in the end, but the possibility was worth exploring. Let’s return to the road below.’

  Moments later they were passing back through the shadows of the great rocks on the peak, but as Arnau turned to speak to the squire, something caught his eye, and his head snapped back. Holding up a hand, he stopped the others as he peered down the slope. Once again, the sun glinted off something halfway down the slope amid those trees, and Arnau shrank back into the shadows, waving to the others to follow suit. He peered off into the distance and it took him some time to check out the entire panorama, but there was no sign of that unit of cavalry they had almost bumped into on the road.

  Cursing silently, Arnau took moments to locate the glinting among the trees once more. It could not be the unit from the plain. There were only a handful at most on the slope, while there had been dozens on the road. Since his view was unrestricted off to the north and east, and those riders had come from the south, it seemed certain that the cavalry had curved around this hill into the pass, probably bound for Salvatierra. But perhaps they had seen the three figures on this uninhabited hill and sent a few of their men off to check it out. It was the only reasonable explanation.

  ‘Men on our trail?’ Tristán asked quietly.

  Arnau nodded. He peered at the shapes among the trees. ‘I can see four. I think that’s it.’

  ‘Any way we can avoid them?’

  The knight turned to look at Yusuf, eyebrow raised questioningly. The Moor was frightened and shook his head. ‘I do not think we can get to another trail and down from here without being seen, if that is what you mean?’

  ‘If they saw us from below, then they are coming to check us out, as this hill is not supposed to be occupied. If they see us again, coming down elsewhere and deliberately avoiding them, they may trigger a major alarm. We cannot afford to ride south if half the caliphate is onto us.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’ Tristán muttered.

  ‘We will have to kill them all. It is the only way. After all, this is a holy war, and those are not men of peace. Think of it as an early strike of the crusade.’

  Tristán nodded, his jaw set, and Arnau turned to Yusuf. ‘Do you have a weapon? Can you use one?’

  The Moor blanched and his trembling increased. ‘I am a teacher, not a warrior.’

  Arnau sighed. ‘Of course, and I have no intention of launching you into a fight you do not wish to be a p
art of.’ He turned to Tristán. ‘Two each, Brother. We can count on the element of surprise, though.’ He peered down the hill. ‘I can see them a little clearer now. Three men in just riding gear and one in a suit of chain. Two of them have helmets. I think they are mainly scouts, perhaps with one true cavalryman among them.’

  ‘We could have Yusuf sit over there to the west on his horse and draw them in,’ Tristán said. ‘Bait, while we fall upon them in ambush.’

  Arnau shook his head. ‘If they are scouts, they may have bows. I will not risk Yusuf taking an arrow.’ He turned to the Moor. ‘Find somewhere out of sight and hide. If this goes wrong, then wait until it is quiet and ride away for safety.’

  Yusuf, relieved, took his horse and all three spare mounts off behind one of the westernmost boulders. Arnau and the squire exchanged a look. ‘This has to be fast, and it has to be final,’ Arnau said. ‘We can’t let them get away, nor give them sufficient time to cry out an alarm. Take the first one down with one blow if you can and then move on to the second instantly and silence him. I’ll take the armoured one, since he’s coming my way anyway.’

  Tristán knew when not to argue, it seemed, and he nodded and shuffled his horse behind one of the great rocks. Arnau did the same, the pair to either side of the tracks they had laid down crossing the crest earlier. Both men gripped their swords tight, their reins in the left hand. They needed to be quick. Arnau mused on the panoply of the man he was facing, and then swapped his sword to his left hand, wrapping the reins around his wrist, and then fished out his needle-like misericorde dagger with his right.

  They sat in silence for some time. To their credit, the scouts following their trail said nothing, though the shush of chain and the plodding of hooves gave away their presence and location as they emerged from the line of trees not far from the rocks. Arnau tensed, peering across at Tristán. Between then, shadows appeared, long ones cast by men on horseback.