‘The orchards are the key to Damascus,’ Ayub told them. ‘Always remember: strength of numbers, bravery and steel are important, but an army cannot survive without food and water. Whoever controls the orchards controls the lifeblood of the city. The emir will concentrate his forces there. If they are taken, his men will fall back to the walls. They might hold them for several months. But eventually the city will run short of food and it will fall.’
Yusuf gazed over the orchards, which ran for miles towards the rocky foothills of the nearby mountains. It was from these that the Franks would come. Yusuf was looking away when he saw something out of the corner of his eye — the flash of the sun off steel. There it was again. Squinting against the bright morning light, he could just make out tiny figures moving over the hills, headed for Damascus. ‘ Look!’ he said, pointing.
‘The Franks,’ Ayub whispered. A moment later one of the sentries in the nearby tower caught site of the enemy, and a trumpet blast shattered the air, followed by another, then another. ‘Allah protect us. They are here.’
John gritted his teeth against the pain in his back and legs as he trudged up the steep hill. His heavy pack dug into his shoulders, his armour chafed against his sides, and his feet were swollen after days on the long march from Acre. He reached a flat spot and sighed in relief as he stepped aside and dropped his pack, letting the other soldiers plod past. He looked back at the long line of men. The mounted knights had mostly passed, leaving the foot-soldiers to slog on, bent under their heavy packs, their spears held aloft and bobbing up and down as they walked. Behind them came a ragged band of pilgrims, with no armour and lightly armed with bows, spears or simple wooden staffs. They had come to pray in Damascus after the Christian victory, but they would fight if necessary. John turned his gaze to the sun, hazy brown through the thick cloud of dust kicked up by the army. Grit was everywhere, in John’s nose, his eyes, his mouth. He unstopped his waterskin and held it to his lips, but it was empty. ‘’Sblood,’ he spat. Even his spit was brown.
‘Keep moving, Saxon!’ Reynald called as he rode past. ‘We’ll be there soon enough.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ John muttered under his breath as he shouldered his rucksack. Bone-tired, he walked on with his head down, eyes on the parched, rocky ground before him. He was so intent on putting one foot in front of the other that he did not immediately notice when the slope began to level off. When he finally looked up, he saw that he stood atop the crest of a long rise, with Damascus, the garden of Syria, spread out on the valley floor below. A dark brown wall enclosed a warren of narrow streets that cut between square houses of creamy white and light brown. In the centre of the city, rising above it all, was the dome of a giant mosque. Beyond the walls, a verdant expanse of gardens and orchards — ancient Roman aqueducts rising high above the thick trees — spread west from the city towards the ridge where John stood. The brilliant green of the gardens was a sharp contrast to the cracked, dry landscape that the crusaders had marched across and which resumed on the far side of the city. A thin stream flowed through those parched lands, entering the city and flowing out again just to the south of the gardens. John licked his parched lips. He could almost taste the cool water.
He marched with renewed vigour as he descended to where the army was drawing up ranks on the plain before the orchard. There he found a dozen men from his company of fifty sitting on their helmets before one of the narrow paths leading into the orchards. They were all covered in dust. Some sat with their heads between their legs. Others stared vacantly ahead. John flung down his pack and sat beside Rabbit. The young man held out his waterskin.
‘I saved some,’ he said.
John took the skin and shook it, feeling the water slosh inside. He took a sip, just enough to rinse the dust from his mouth. ‘By God, that’s good,’ he said, handing the skin back.
Shortly after the last of the men had joined them, Reynald rode up. The men rose, groaning and cursing at the pain in their feet and backs. ‘Well done, men!’ Reynald shouted. ‘Damascus is almost within our grasp. The kings have decided to push through the orchards to the walls. We are to march through on this path, clearing out any enemy that we find, and reconvene at the river on the far side. Stop for nothing. Any man who breaks ranks to collect spoils will be flogged on orders of King Louis himself. Is that understood?’ Reynald glared at the men. ‘Ernaut, you will take the lead. I will follow with the rest of the men.’ Reynald spurred his horse towards the rear of the troop.
‘All right, you heard him!’ Ernaut shouted from horseback. ‘Let’s get going. The sooner we reach that river, the better.’
The company formed into a column, and John and Rabbit found themselves at the front, just behind One Eye and the old crusader Tybaut. They marched down a narrow path that ran between shoulder-high mud walls. The branches of tall walnut trees heavy with nuts hung out over the walls and met overhead, casting dark, ever-shifting shadows on the trail. The air was thick with dust from marching feet, mingled with the smell of ripening fruit. Walnuts crunched underfoot, adding their rich aroma.
Looking beyond the walls and the thick trunks of the walnut trees, John could see plots of green vegetables, rows of vines heavy with ripening grapes, tall palms crowded with coconuts and closely planted trees weighed down with apples and cherries, as well as a variety of exotic fruits: bright yellow and green ones; oblong fruits that ranged from dark red to fiery orange; and dark-brown pods that dangled like earrings.
‘It’s like Eden,’ John said.
‘And you can be sure there’s a snake somewhere in here,’ Tybaut grumbled. ‘Just waiting to strike.’
At that moment a long howl of pain came from somewhere off to their left. They all froze, and John dropped his hand to his sword hilt. More cries of agony pierced the silence, joined now by loud shouting.
‘What’s that?’ Rabbit asked, his nose twitching.
‘Pick up the pace!’ Ernaut ordered from where he rode just behind John.
Tybaut and One Eye moved ahead at a jog, and John hurried to keep up. He could hear shouting all around him now, growing fainter as the walls on either side rose high above them. The path turned sharply to the right, and as they rounded the corner they stopped short before a five-foot-high barricade of logs, laid across the trail.
‘Christ, what’s next!’ Ernaut complained. ‘Let’s get this moved!’
Tybaut and One Eye put their shoulders against one of the logs, and John stepped forward to join them. They strained, but the heavy log did not budge.
‘By God, it’s heavy,’ One Eye cursed.
‘We could go over the top,’ John suggested, ‘and pull the logs down from the other side while you push from this side.’
‘Do it!’ Ernaut ordered.
John managed to pull himself up to the top of the barrier and dropped over to the far side, followed by Rabbit, Tybaut and One Eye. They immediately went to the barricade and grabbed hold of one of the logs. ‘On three!’ John shouted. ‘ One, two, three!’ The log shifted, then rolled free. John and the others jumped back as it fell with a loud thud.
‘Only a dozen more to go,’ Tybaut grumbled.
John grabbed hold of the next log. One Eye, however, was in no hurry. He had wandered over to the side of the trail, where the branches of a fruit tree hung over a mud wall. He plucked one of the oblong, fiery-orange fruits and sniffed at it.
‘Get back to work, One Eye,’ John growled.
‘Cool it, bath-boy,’ One Eye replied, leaning back against the wall. ‘It’s cursed hot, and I’m hungry.’ He took a bite of the fruit. It was golden and pulpy inside. One Eye closed his eye as juice dripped from his beard. ‘Sweet Jesus!’ he sighed. ‘It’s delicious.’ The words were hardly out of his mouth when the iron point of a spear burst from his chest. He dropped the fruit and stared down at the bloody spear tip. A second later the spear was withdrawn, and One Eye collapsed, dead. There was no sign of any attacker.