Baphomet's Meteor (1972.DAW No. 35) Read online

  The Hospitaler appeared unconvinced. With contracted brows, he pondered the matter.

  At that point, John of Grailly intervened politically:

  “Noble sires, I have been—I admit it—dumbfounded by the power of the weapon demonstrated for us by the Grand Master. At the time, those flames made me, also, think of some intervention by the Prince of Darkness. However, after some reflection, I am convinced that this is only a kind of Greek Fire. Our ruthless adversaries have never hesitated to use the most savage stratagems against us. Have you forgotten the pots filled with deadly vipers that were hurled into our ranks? The quicklime thrown out over the assailants of their castles? the poison placed in the water holes? Well then, in all fairness, I ask to why we should not treat them in the same way. As far as I am concerned, I am certain of the purity of our Brother Templar’s intentions; never has great power been placed in better hands. The noble William of Beaujeu promises us never to use this subtle fire except to annihilate our opponents, to reconquer Jerusalem, and to propagate the True Faith. For my part, I am ready to place the fullest trust in him. It goes without saying that he needs must keep us informed of his intentions and of the way in which he proposes to use our troops. Under those conditions I am ready to assure him of the complete support of King Philip’s men-at-arms. However, since all labor merits recompense, it seems to me that the lands and castle-wards liberated should be divided in all equity among the knights who participate in the combat."

  “By my faith, this speaks of gold,” thundered Otto of Granson. “All useful work does merit wages. I am ready to send my valiant knights to storm Jerusalem on the condition that some stronghold be ceded to my worthy sovereign, as is proper and fitting.”

  “This is a matter that calls for further thought,” the Grand Master of the Hospitalers interjected. “But first of all, calm your temper, noble William. Casting doubt on the virtue of the Knights of the Temple was farthest from my thoughts. My words only reported the gossip, the ‘they say’ talk that is heard in the courts of France and Italy. Even though this manner of snuffing out human lives is repugnant to me, I am forced to recognize that, after all, it is only a question of infidels. I would like, nevertheless, to hear from my Brother William’s own mouth what his intentions are concerning this campaign.”

  “I take not of your words with joy, Brother. It goes without saying that the Templars have never thought of appropriating the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the castle-wards or principalities belonging to it. All who take part in the action will have the right to a recompense in proportion to the assistance given. Here and now I make a solemn promise to restore to our Brother Hospitalers their former castles. Later, when our troops shall have liberated the Princedoms of Tripoli and Antioch, I swear to place again in your hands, noble Sire of Villiers, the fortress Krak, which belongs to the knights.”

  “Well spoken!” trumpeted John of Grailly. “On these conditions, the support of King Philip’s knights is assured.”

  “And that also holds true for those of England!”

  The Grand Master of the Hospitalers thereupon rose and solemnly clasped William of Beaujeu in a brotherly embrace. In the closeness of this reconciliation, the resemblance between the two monk-soldiers became even more striking: the same height, the same ascetic slenderness, the same gray eyes, cold and calculating, the same toughness of a soldier disciplined by years of battle, and also the same mystical gleam in each glance. Then both turned to the situation in hand.

  “It only remains to draw up a plan for the campaign,” the Hospitaler observed. “Our battle forces are still weak despite the powerful weapon you possess. No doubt you have thought of this.”

  “Indeed I have,” William affirmed. “Here are my suggestions bom of long sleepless vigils. As of this moment, we have available two thousand knights and twenty thousand foot soldiers and horsemen, all seasoned and courageous. Our troops will follow the seacoast, in the direction of Pilgrim Castle and Nablus. Bibars will not believe his ears when he hears the news; his army will come out to meet us. Only then will we use the magic fire. We will fight with our spears and swords during the first skirmishes but, when the main body of the Saracens is brought up, the flames will send them to hell!”

  “Wisely thought out; the power of the weapon must not be unveiled prematurely.”

  “And the provisioning?” interposed the Marshal of the Hospitalers. “Those devils will do everything possible to cut off our rear guard with their cavalry.”

  “I have thought of that, Brother Matthew. The vessels that brought me here will also follow the coast, assuring both assistance and control of the sea. As you must have noticed, they are all furnished with wooden towers which will stand above any enemy galleys and, with the launching of our projectiles, destroy them in one sure blow. Further, Charles of Anjou will receive from his father, the King of Sicily, a fleet of thirty vessels. This, it is understood, if he is placed on the throne of Jerusalem....”

  That statement caused the Hospitalers to make wry faces because of their known preference for Henry of Cyprus, nephew of Louis IX, but they held their peace.

  “Thus, with mastery of the sea, once the forces of Bibars are destroyed, who shall prevent us from penetrating the interior?”

  “I place myself completely in your hands, Brother,” approved John of Villiers. “May the heavens bless you! But you spoke of the Princedom of Antioch; it seems to me___.”

  “We certainly must not limit our ambitions to the Kingdom of Jerusalem! All pagans must be driven from the Holy Land and the former might of the Crusaders reestablished in Syria, even to the country of Edessa. If you agree, I will leave the Holy City in your care. My forces will embark in our vessels for Tripoli. There, we will do battle against the Mamelukes, and against the Mongol Khan of Persia. Again we shall be victorious, have no doubt of it. I need not say that I will accept the aid of all those knights who wish to join me.”

  “By the Lord Christ, there are great adventures ahead,” shouted John of Grailly. “We shall be with you, my men and I!”

  “I would be ashamed not to join you,” opined the Swiss Commander. “Let me at the Saracens!”

  “It is understood,” the sharp voice of the Master of the Hospitalers interrupted, “that you possess a large number of these magic spheres; our success depends on that.”

  “Be reassured,” William answered with a discreet smile. “There will never be enough unbelievers to kill. What do you say, my brave Peter?”

  The Marshal of the Templars nodded and growled:

  “By Christ, we have enough of them to send more Saracens to hell than there are in existence from Damietta to Edessa!”

  “Under these conditions, you can count on the Hospitalers. When shall we set out?” asked John of Villiers.

  “The Templars are ready, good Sire. It is for you to answer your own question.”

  “Two days seem sufficient to me. What do you say, my noble companions?”

  Otto of Granson and John of Grailly agreed with their leader.

  “One word more,” resumed the Templar. “Your men will have to construct some catapults and mangonels according to our plans. They must be light and mobile. The wheels must be such that a team of horses can pull them and always keep abreast of our troop movements. We will place them in the center of the forces and defend them, come what may. My projectiles must, in effect, be able to reach the main body of the opposing army before the enemy is too close. I should also point out that the sphere launched by a war machine is much more effective than one thrown by a sling. . . .”

  “Lord Jesus! I shall end by pitying these infidels,** muttered Grailly.

  “Along the route, all these devices will remain in the coffers of my personal luggage. My Household will guard them; no one else shall have access to them except myself and my Field Marshal. Any other Crusader, whatever his rank may be, will be killed without mercy should he attempt to come near them.”

  “That stipulation was unnecessary,” John of V
illiers stated with a haughty air. “No Hospitaler would stoop to such treason. These secrets of alchemy belong to the Temple. One last question, Brother: what does our Sainted Father, the Pope, say about these wonderful projectiles?”

  “I had an interview with the venerable Gregory X, and told him about this discovery of a Greek Fire with previously unsuspected power, which would allow us to drive the infidels from the Holy Land. He gave me his blessing, promising to keep our secret.”

  “And did you give him a demonstration?”

  “Certainly not! Such an explosion would have attracted attention. Besides, he did not request it.”

  “I see,” said the Hospitaler with a meaningful smile.

  “His Holiness will have quite a surprise when he learns of the exact power of this ‘Greek Fire.’ ”

  Tight-lipped, William protested, “By my faith, I depicted its effects faithfully for him.”

  “Assuredly, Brother. Nevertheless, such a marvel must be seen in order to grasp its true significance.”

  “Are you looking for a pretext to take back your word?”

  “No, not at all, good Brother. All the same, I wager that the Cardinals and the Holy Father will talk of this at length in times to come.”

  With these words, the meeting of the Council came to an end. Each returned to his quarters to give the necessary orders.

  One hour later the news had spread throughout the city. Comments were plentiful and unfavorable. Even the sergeants and squires did not show overmuch enthusiasm for a sortie which seemed foolhardy to all.

  Still, their discipline was such that everyone made haste to prepare, furbishing armor and weapons, and loading the carts with hay and various kinds of provisions.

  That night the revelry was endless: French and English knew not when they would again see their hearts’ delights. Among the noble ladies, many a lovely eye filled with tears, weeping for a fiancé or a lover already counted lost forever.

  CHAPTER II

  ☆

  On the morning of the third day, the ranks of the Crusaders thundered out through the Gate of Saint Anthony, and took the southward road along the seacoast.

  The army was a brave sight.

  In the lead the Templars marched.

  First the Grand Master followed by the Marshal, the Seneschal and the Household. The Baussant banner fluttered in a light breeze, high in the clear sky.

  The Commanders came next, preceded by their standard-bearers. Fifty knights, as many sergeants and squires marched in closed ranks at their heels.

  The carts, loaded to the breaking point, came on behind, guarded by the Turcopoles.

  The center of the troop disposition had been entrusted to the French and English knights, who followed their respective leaders. They escorted the precious catapults, whose large new wheels rasped at every turn.

  Responsibility for guarding the rear had been placed on the Hospitalers. This was a perilous position because the Saracen horsemen were quick to harass the stragglers.

  Dust raised by the thousands of marching men did little to dim the flashing of lances and helmets, but was not slow to put these valiant warriors to the test by mingling with the sweat that already trickled under their armor.

  All the inhabitants of Acre were massed on the walls, despite the early morning hour.

  Not a few shed hot tears, asking themselves how many of those who left thus in the resplendent light of sunrise would come back to their city. No one understood why the leaders advised the Crusaders to take such risks and the rumors spread rapidly from one to another of the watchers. Some declared they had learned from a reliable source that Philip the Hardy, King of France, was going to disembark on the coast with his troops. Others were assured that an enormous fleet was arriving from Sicily and that it would join the forces of the Grand Master of the Templars at Caesarea. For certain, it was the King of England who was going to come to their rescue.

  In fact, no one could reach an agreement except on a single point: all bitterly deplored the sight of their city thus deprived of defenders.

  But already the long column was disappearing in the ocher cloud rising from the earth. For an instant one caught again the flash of a helmet glistening in the sunlight or the scarlet of a banner whipping in the wind.

  All too soon, there was nothing but a bluish line on the horizon.

  The die was cast: the troops of the Crusaders went boldly forward, challenging the Sultan Bibars to do battle.

  In the column itself, the bondmen, sergeants on foot and squires talked among themselves, sharing their mutual fears.

  Among them there were representatives of all the provinces of France: Manceaux, Champenois, Angevins, Tourangeaux, and also some Englishmen from the counties between the marches of the Scottish border and the Gallic counties.

  Among the French squires, two brothers were discussing farming. Natives of Saint-Maurice Thizouaille near Auxerre, they became Crusaders to join their elder brother, Garin, sergeant to the Templar Chapter at Saint-Maurice, who had gone out to the Holy Land.

  Guiot Tholon, a robust jovial fellow, formerly a woodcutter, sported that flamboyant beard-collar known as a Newgate frill which had earned him the nickname, Guiot-the-Red.

  The other answered to the name of Clement, which in no way corresponded with his hot-tempered character. One day, a Gallic sergeant had accused him of cheating at dice. Clement picked the unfortunate fellow up bodily, lifted him over his head, let him fall on his bent knee, effectively rupturing his kidneys. Suddenly, the reputation of the former scythe-swinger was solidly established and no one picked a quarrel with him.

  The two brothers were impenitent whoremasters and the elder brother often had to lecture them to lead them back on the right path.

  Such as they were, with guileless blue eyes, with renown as fierce fighters, they openly grumbled but never were sullen about a task.

  “By ’swounds!” Guiot swore. “I swear to you, if I had it to do over, I would never leave Auxerre. You have to be an animal to come to this God-forsaken country of sweat, tears and blood on these burning trails under a sun that boils your brains. If I listened to myself, I would send all this bloody equipment packing. Me, all I need is a good ax to smash these cursed pagans! “

  “You’re not very far wrong! I can feel myself broiling under this whore of a coat of mail. The Saracens never weigh themselves down with any such holy scrap-iron; just a tunic, a shield and their saber. But for us, it’s like being in a shell; no question of running, you have to crawl in a furnace.”

  “And this dust! It gets to me everywhere: it scratches as if somebody were rubbing me with a whetstone.”

  “If you only knew what you were going to have to face in this hellish desert! Just imagine the Grand Master and our Commanders all having to live through this dust! ’Swounds! It would be a fine thing to shelter behind the ramparts of Acre. The Saracens could lay siege to us and, for once, their heads would be broken. But no, we have to go out to do battle in open country, and they are ten times more than we.”

  “My boy, if the Templar were here, he’d tell you that it’s to expiate our sins.”

  “Oh, that. Perhaps it’s true. Ah, that sweet bitch, Mathilde.”

  “A cursed bawd for certain,” agreed his brother knowingly. “But to get back to what you were saying about the Grand Masters. I agree with you, and they know better than we what the infidels are cooking up. For me, Bibars is not far away and we are going to stumble onto him without warning.”

  “And then what? I tell you their numbers are ten times

  ours. After you’ve killed a hundred thousand, there are just as many.”

  “Quite likely. All the same, I don’t let it bother me: surely they have some plan in the back of their heads to expose us without cover. Me, I have confidence in them.”

  “Maybe you’re right... must have a word with Garin where we make a halt. Perhaps he knows what’s going on. In the meantime, I’d give plenty for a quart of good country wine..
..”

  “Don’t talk about such things! You cut me to the quick....”

  Their throats parched by the dust, the Tholon brothers brought their interesting conversation to a close: it was a question of holding out until the evening encampment at Caipha, situated on the shore of the gulf at the foot of the Carmel Mountains.

  The noon halt saw the first ones crippled giving careful attention to their bruised feet. Actually, the majority of the Crusaders had become unaccustomed to long marches. The vegetation, mostly spiny shrubs, offered little shade so that both sergeants and squires crowded alongside the carts and stretched out on the ground. Others sheltered themselves as best they could under their shields, balanced obliquely on a sword or a lance.

  Fortunately, there was no shortage of water, nor of food. After taking their fill, everyone surrendered to the pleasures of a siesta, under the guard of sentinels who streamed with sweat under the fiery sun. No alarm troubled their well-earned rest, but some Saracen knights scouted the size of the Christian forces, then retired at a gallop to inform their leaders.

  The strident call of horns and trumpets put an end to the sleep of the unfortunate Crusaders, who returned to their places in the column.

  This start was made near the hour of Vespers. The heat had not lessened at all, the gait of the foot soldiers showed its effect and the Hospitalers of the rear guard had all they could do to spur on the stragglers. Some unfortunate victims of sunstroke had been placed in the carts where they raved and struggled, fighting with imaginary enemies.

  At last the glaring ball of the sun sank to the horizon, lurid in the dust and haze. Then a noticeable landswell outlined itself against the sky: the Carmel Mountains at the foot of which sprawled opulent Caipha.