Prologue
In the kingdom of heaven
everything
is in everything else.
All is one
and all is ours.
We are all in all
as God
is all in all.
From: Meditations with Meister Eckhart
At the ramparts, two cousins watched as the plain around the coastal city of Acre filled with the Sultan’s army. It was the 6th of April, 1291. Gathering before them, 200,000 strong, the Mameluk army prepared its attack on the last bastions of the Christian Crusaders. The Christians, locally known as franj or Franks, still held the harbor, which was now frantic with activity as women, children and other non-combatants evacuated to the island of Cyprus.
The battle array for the Franks along the outer wall of the city was a diverse lot. The Knights Templar occupied the north end of the wall. Next to them were their frequent rivals, the Knights Hospitallers. Then came the other knights from the kingdom of Jerusalem and Cyprus. Farther along the wall the Teutonic Knights, French and English forces stood ready. The Genoese evacuated, having made their own truce with the Sultan, but the Pisans and Venetians remained, as did the King of Jerusalem.
At sea, Templar ships, rigged with catapults, began a bombardment of the enemy camp. To the cousins, it looked to be a faint response.
The Mameluk army included archers, two huge catapults, and other siege engines, along with over a thousand miners. As the Mameluk army sited their siege engines, built shield walls for their archers and miners, the two cousins positioned their men along the wall. Both were Templar knights in three-layered mail and white tunics with red crosses emblazoned on them.
Sir William, called the Fearless since before he entered the Order, stood solid and compact of build. Through his sunburned face, a serenity of mood and conviction of purpose signaled a deadly disdain for his enemies. With unhurried precision, he prepared his men to defend the wall.
Then he shifted in the hot sun and leaned against the stone ramparts. He hadn’t been in full-dress for some time. The weight of the chain mail, and the warmth of the padded coat beneath, would take a few days to get used to. Right now, his conical helmet sat on the wall, and his short-cropped hair and trimmed blond beard were glistening with sweat. After surveying the enemy, he stepped back to survey his men. He knew they would hold this section of the wall. They were hardened veterans, and the alternative to this battle was not retreat -- there was nowhere to go -- the alternative was certain death. Mameluks did not capture and ransom Templars, because the Order would not pay ransom. Additionally, the Mameluks didn’t want to face these knights again. Hence, they beheaded them.
“We can’t be expecting help from the Mongols, can we, sir?” one of the younger knights asked William. The question lacked enthusiasm, and the knight turned to look out over the walls to the Mameluk army as he awaited an answer.
William responded in a voice loud enough for most of the others to hear, “Il-khan Arghun died in January. The Mongols haven’t finished their war of succession. We are on our own today.”
The Mongol leader had been in contact with Rome, and a joint military venture against the Mameluk empire was planned, but the plan was dead -- at least for now, at least until a new leader emerged to rule the western portion of the Mongol empire.
“Why wasn’t there a war of succession with the Mameluks?” another young knight asked. “Sultan Qalawun’s death should have sparked a war of some sort.”
One of the two giant catapults let loose about then, and a huge rock slammed into the wall some hundred yards from where they stood. As these engines of destruction established their ranges, there was periodic firing from the enemy camp. William returned his attention to the knight’s question.
“The army was already assembled when Qalawun died,” William explained. “The Mameluks stayed united to launch this campaign against us. Qalawun’s son, I believe, benefited from the circumstances.”
An older, black-cloaked brother added, “He’s also a capable soldier.”
The men resumed their practiced silence and watched the Mameluk army deploy itself, build defensive shields, and sight in their catapults.
William’s gaze reached from Acre to the once fertile plain the Mameluk army now occupied. The land stretched away from the triangular city, bounded on two sides by the Mediterranean Sea, as meadows, vineyards, and rolling arable land. Where the Mameluks camped there used to be gardens and fruit-bearing trees. His gaze returned to the city. The defending forces lined the large exterior wall. Fifty yards behind them, another wall protected the city itself. Both were over a mile long and supported by nineteen towers. The city proper was bisected with another wall, four more towers, and a castle. The streets were narrow; the buildings two and three-stories high. As with most Syrian cities, there was a central marketplace, and radiating out from it were the various ethnic residential quarters. Open-air markets, food vendors, inns for travelers lined many streets.
The Templar’s compound sat atop a rise farthest from the walls and backed by the harbor. Within the city some 30,000 people lived in six distinct quarters: the Pisan, Genoese, Germanic, Hospitaller, Templar, and mixed. The city controlled seventy-three adjacent villages with their orchards, lands, mills and vineyards.
William reflected on this as the Mameluks labored outside of archery range. This city was his home for the last few years, and he had become fond of his adopted home. His military eye had assessed the assembling Moslem army, and he knew this fight was not going to be easily won.
William’s reverie was interrupted by another catapult firing at the wall. This time, the boulder struck a nearby tower. The Mameluks had figured out the range for most of their catapults. The assault would start soon.
Farther down the wall, next to the Hospitallers, William’s cousin, Sir Robert, a natural linguist who spoke fluent Arabic, Turkish, Latin and Greek, was a more flamboyant figure. Tall, physically impressive, darker-skinned than William, Robert joked with his men as they lined the wall and took up positions in the nearby tower, which had just been struck by a boulder. His thick auburn hair glinted in the sun.
Robert’s warm brown eyes caught sight of a Hospitaller he knew, and he called out, “Sir Guy, perhaps today we will storm heaven in hopes of gaining our ever-lasting reward.”
Sir Guy, older and of a more pious nature, shook his head and replied, “Have a care, Robert, your place in heaven may not be as secure as you think.” Then he hurried off to help position bags of straw against the tower wall. The bags helped absorb the shock of the bombardment and slowed down the collapse of the tower.
Robert smiled a full, face-creasing smile at Sir Guy’s comment. The smile broke through his dark beard and seemed to come from some inner place of joy. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his own duties. He knew he was chosen as the connecting Templar link to the Hospitallers because of his easy-going nature. He was well thought of by both Hospitallers and Templars. Sir William was chosen to hold the middle of the line because of his mechanical calm under fire and tenacity on a battlefield.
As a result, the men under Sir Robert’s command were more gregarious than those under his cousin William’s. One knight to Robert’s left quipped, “I wish the city council had approved de Beaujeu’s plan to ransom Acre before this attack.”
Another of them said, “Since when has the leadership of Outremer made decisions based on reason?”
This brought a round of cynical laughter from the dozen men who heard the remark. Encouraged by the laughter, the knight continued, “The Grand Master has an emir of a thousand, Bektash al-Fahkri, as his spy. How much better intelligence could we have? And the idiots who make decisions for us prefer to hold onto what is left of the kingdom of Jerusalem with a cavalier disregard for the realities of the actual situation.”
Robert shook his head and smiled. The proposed military alliance between the Christian Franks and the lurking Mongols had convinced the Moslem ruler, Qalawun, to rout the Franks once and for all from the Holy Land. This resolve hardened into action when a mob of Franks arrived from Italy, in 1290, promptly got drunk, and raged through Acre killing anyone with a beard. Qalawun had his excuse, and now his son was on their doorstep ready to push the Franks into the sea.
Robert leaned against the wall and stared out at the massed Moslem army. Now that the engineers found the range for the catapults, slaves pushed carts, with protective walls attached to the front, into position to shield the advancing miners. Their job was to undermine the walls. To further protect them, the catapults began a barrage.
Robert’s smile-creased face slowly hardened into battle readiness. He breathed from his belly to clear his mind. Once his mind was calm, he began reciting paternosters so it became the background against which his actions were judged. He also felt a brief flare of the uncontrollable demon within him. This personal demon enjoyed battle for its own sake, delighted in bloodlust, and refused to be caged after its release. The rage stopped when there were no more enemies to kill. Robert secured the cage and returned to his paternosters.
Slowly at first, then as a steady rain, the bombardment began. Along with rocks, boulders and flaming arrows, the Moslems launched pottery-incendiary grenades. These held Greek fire and gunpowder. They exploded when they landed and sent pottery shards flying. Fairly soon, the battlements were a mess of flames, smoke, explosions and landing projectiles. Under the cover of this thickening rain of destruction, the miners advanced. The defenders began the slow process of prolonging the inevitable.
