In nomine patris, et file, et spiritu sancti
The beaten bronze plate, smeared with the residue of the food that, moments ago, had lay upon it, crashed onto the stones of the shady balcony. As figs, olives, bread and the finest fish from the sea of galilee sprayed across the sun warmed floor he rose to his feet in fury.
"He wrestles one rat infested whore house from the grasping hands of some oily eastern snake and suddenly he deserves the love of the king!!" Sweat and spittle rained from him in equal measure landing on his fine silk gown that hung perfectly from his form. Even in later life Raynald de Chatillon was a striking figure, a mane of ginger hair hung to his shoulders, surmounted by a head edged by a beard of the same saffron-hued mess of hair. His years fighting the infidel had given him scars, one ran from the middle of his forehead and ended at the joint of his jaw. His torso was built to wield the lance and sword yet his stomach betrayed more than a few hours spent at the table and on the luxourious divan in his chamber.
"Calm Raynald, calm" the voice was smooth yet tinged with impatience and exasperation "let him have the love of the king, allow him to sit idly and talk with the leper, he has nothing but words and promises"
"Then why, may I ask, was he given the army to lead? Why now does the king see fit to trust him with Tyre?? He gets the city while I get this scorpians nest full of sand and Saracens!!!"
"Sand and Saracens made of silk, olives and gold?"
"What do you know, you sit in Acre like its your very own Jerusalem!!"
"Silence you fat fool!! You forget that you address the future king of the Holy City!! Not to mention a fellow soldier of the Temple!"
"Forgive me my liege...I speak to hot" Raynald bowed low, his eyes still filled with anger and malice. Yet for all his rage nothing could breach the bond between these two men, for all their words they could have shared the horse as their seal depicts. They could have braved the blistering desert sun together to safeguard the helpless on the plains of Syria. They were Templars, perhaps in name only, yet they shared the same bond, if not the poverty and pentinence their lower born fellows so devoted themselves too. Templars are brothers before all else.
"Guy, speak honestly" Raynald lowered himself into his chair, "he is entrusted with the army of the kingdom and I have to protect my fortress with my own borther Templars, does not the constable of Jerusalem deserve more?"
"He does, and I am of a like mind with our king it seems as I passed around 600 sergeants on the road, bound for here, for Kerak"
"So the leper trusts me at last!! Ha!" The image of joy on Ranald's face differed starkly to the rage just witnessed "Guy, you must come with me, Tayma is not far and you knwo how we've talked of it before!"
"I shall be at your side, anyway, Acre is a bore lately, my swordarm needs some use again"
"Then my heart is glad"
If only the people of Tayma, miles to the east of Raynald's fortress of Kerak, could have know of what was about to befall them. As sand rises suddenly into a storm, so will the flash of Chirstain steel be seen on the horizon before anyone there could have imagined.
* * *
The water hissed and rose as steam almost as soon as it touched Raynald's mailed coat.
"This heat! Its a wonder we all made it here alive!"
"In God's name we triumph"
"In God's name" Raynald echoed
The day had dawned clear and hot, yet as the temperature climed, so did the men's spirits. All knew the thrill of battle yet to come and all relished the chance to spill the infidel blood in the name of the Lord and the Kingdom.
"For glory then my friend" Guy touched Raynald on the shoulder
"For God, my brother"
Raynald rode before the men "Non nobis Domine, non nobis! Sed nomine tuo da gloriam!! Deus vult! Deus Vult! Deus Vult!!"
With a wave of his arm the ram groaned as loud as the men pushing and it began it's steady progress toward the gate. Raynald held back his ladders to be employed in the crucial moment of battle for when he and Guy and the Templars charged the gate in glory and honour.
The ram drew nearer to the gate and then the arrows began to fall.
Tipped with rags dipped in pitch, the arrows now flying from the towers either side of the gate were supposed to hit the ram and stick eventually causing it to burn. But even a slow moving ram is difficult to hit from so far away, the arrows landed amidst the sergeants tasked to present their charge against the gate. One man screamed as an arrow pinned his hand to the spar he braced himself agaisnt to move the ram. Blood issued forth from the rent in his mailed glove. A carnal scream issued from the body of the troops as one man broke ranks and ran, a burning rag sending flames licking up over his face and neck. The smell of burning flesh travelled to every man stood upon the field and filled them with hatred.
The arrows began to find their mark on the ram, despite the damp leather hide of the wooden structure, flames began to take hold. The dry wood was kindling as flames consumed it. The ram burned.
Despite the close danger of the spitting and roaring fire of the ram, the sergeants held their nerve and ran for the cover beneath the towers fo the gate. The enemy dare not come forth to confront them so they stood and waited watching the ram being reduced to ash.
Raynald quickly dispatched the ladders to scale the walls. The sergeants raised them to the parapet of the wall and the first forlorn hope of the battle began to climb.
The first man to step from the parapet was pinned against it by the powerful thrust of a spear. Few men could reach to protect themselves from the probing thrusts of spearpoints already wet with Christian blood. Those that avoided them braced themselves agaisnt the wall and waited for their comrades to arrive, shielding the blows as they joined them on the wall. Few could withstand the weight of numbers and men fell. The banner of Jerusalem, that had led the sergeants up the wall was now hurled back to the sand by the hand of a heathen, Tayma would be hard fought.
More sergeants scrambled up the ladders, then, as Raynald was about to lament their deaths, two of the glorious blue and gold banners of the kingdom were held high on the wall. A foothold had been gained.
A foothold had been gained yet victory was not yet assured, the men were faltering in the heat and the thrash of battle. Raynald himself rode to the wall as some men began to climb down and flee the field. He cried encouragement and insult in equal measure as the sergeants fought on.
Before anyone could have anticipated it, the heathen banner came fluttering to the ground and the foe quailed. The gatehouse was taken as the men were urged on by Raynald himself, the sergeants delerious in the heat and without leadership, their captains laying amongst the slain.
The gates groaned open and Raynald led the knights through with cries of Deus Vult!
Christian horse met Bedouin camels and the fight was decided. Their lances broken, the knights of the kingdom and the brothers of the Temple drew their swords cleaving limbs and heads, drenching themselves in the blood of the foe.
Some knights and Templars fell, but with cries of Deus Vult still on their lips they went to paradise. The holiness of this act and God's divine backing was never in question.
The last of the defenders were put to the sword, yet the Christian's thirst for blood was not yet sated.
Raynald had 100 men, women or children killed for every one of his knights that had fallen. The screams and the blood flowed late into the night. Those that survived did so either by concealment or by repenting and converting to Chirstainity before these holy warriors.
Raynald's victory, and slaughter, was complete.
Woe unto the enemies of Jerusalem and Holy God.