‘Sire,’ said one of the household knights, breaking the spell of stunned silence. ‘He is moving at last, look — I believe Saladin is committing his reserves to the battle.’ And he pointed at the enemy lines, where large masses of men, some thousands, it seemed, were moving forward on the left against the Hospitaller knights — who were still engaged in a furious melee, hacking at the surviving Turks with their great swords, carving men and horses into red ruin.
‘Well, that’s it, then. Saladin has weakened his centre. We must seize the moment,’ said King Richard. He looked at me: ‘Blondel,’ he said, ‘pass the word to Locksley. He is to move up in support of the third division; pull the Hospitallers’ chestnuts out of the fire, if he can, and then attack the enemy’s right flank — that’s on our left. Is that clear? He can take James of Avesnes and the Flemings with him. We will all attack now, all along the line. That is the order. Trumpeter!’
As I turned my horse to deliver the King’s message, my heart was beating hard with excitement. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him point directly at Sir Nicholas de Scras. ‘You, sir,’ he thundered, ‘you, sir, can tell your Grand Master that I will have words with him after this day is done, if he survives!’ And then the King turned and began to shout for his best lance and his new gauntlets.
I raced back to Robin’s men, but I could see the news of the order to advance had outstripped me. All along the line the horsemen were moving forward. I rejoined the line of Robin’s cavalry, taking my place beside my master. ‘The orders are to support the Hospitallers, sir, and then to attack the enemy’s right wing,’ I said to Robin. ‘The Flemings are to ride with us. It is a general attack, sir, all along the line.’ And, for no reason that I can easily explain, except that I must have been infected with the King’s battle-madness, I grinned at him.
‘Yes, it is, Alan; yes it is. And about time, too,’ and he gave me a wide, easy smile.
Chapter Nineteen
We advanced in a single line, riding out beyond the tide-mark of dead men and horses in front of our position, and we angled our charge towards the north-east, where the scattered Hospitaller knights, having cut their opponents to bloody shreds, were hastily trying to reform in the face of a body of heavy Berber cavalry two hundred strong that was bearing down on them from Saladin’s right wing. As we approached at the trot, with the Flemings hard on our heels, two hundred yards ahead the Berbers launched a shower of javelins and then hurled themselves at the bunched Hospitallers in a furious rush of galloping horse, snarling white-clad warrior and lunging spear. But, tired though they were from their previous fight, the Christian knights were masters of this kind of war: they met charge with charge, and lance with lance; and the two forces, smashed into each other with a crash of splintering wood and the squeal of steel grating on steel.
I looked over my right shoulder to the south and saw that the whole first division, King Guy de Lusignan’s knights, the Angevins, Poitevins and Richard’s knights from Aquitaine, with the Templars in their distinctive white surcoats on the furthest right flank — more than a thousand heavily armed soldiers of Christ — were charging in a great mass eastwards, along the line of the marshy river, towards the centre-left of the Saracen lines.
I looked over my left shoulder and directly behind us were the rest of the English cavalry and the King’s grim Norman knights two hundred and fifty yards to our rear. But they had not moved from their position in the centre of our former line — and I wondered why, when the whole of the rest of our forces had charged. Had not the order been for a general attack? Richard, his golden crown flashing in the afternoon sunlight, was riding up and down in front of the English and Norman knights — some of the best and most renowned fighters in his army — and he was clearly speaking to them, though the words were lost at that distance. They were lined up in the order of the charge, but not a horse stirred in that hot blazing sunshine. Why did they not advance, why were they holding back?
But there was no time for further speculation. Sir James de Brus shouted an order, a trumpet blew, and suddenly we were flying towards the enemy, Ghost galloping smoothly between my knees, my shield tight on my left arm, right arm holding the lance steady. The Berber cavalry were spread over a wide area, those still living exchanging cuts, scimitar against sword, with the Hospitaller and French knights, their horses whirling and stamping, men cursing and screaming in pain, as Christian and Muslim knights fought out their individual duels. Our line of horse crashed into the melee at the gallop, one moment we could see a vicious cavalry battle taking place before our eyes, the next we were in among them.
In front of me, I saw a white-robed warrior slash with his scimitar at a helmet-less French knight, catching him a cruel blow across the face and flaying the skin from the Christian’s cheek with a spray of bright blood. I lined up Ghost with my knees, gripped the spear shaft more tightly between my elbow and side, dug in my heels and surged forward to plunge the point of my lance with all my might deep into the small of the man’s back. The shock of the blow was immense, as if I’d stabbed the point at a gallop into an oak tree; the spear shaft was ripped from my hand, I felt a twinge in my broken wrist, and then I was past my enemy, and looking over my shoulder to see what damage I had caused. He was still in the saddle, and I hauled out my sword, turned Ghost, and galloped back to challenge him again. But he was clearly no longer a threat, the white robe crimson with blood from waist to knee, the long lance waggling from the centre of his back and I guessed that the point had plunged right through him and out of his belly, pinning him to the high pommel of his saddle and keeping his body upright. His eyes were wide with unimaginable pain, his open mouth working soundlessly in the agony of his death, and, purely as a mercy, I hacked into his throat with my sword as I passed him by, to send him onward more swiftly.