A Destrier’s Tale
Balian d’Ibelin’s
Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story
Part XV: Encounter
at Bethlehem
There were more
horses in the stables than I’d ever seen. All the horses from Ibelin were there
— except poor Rufus, of course, and the others who had been killed on that
horrible battle on the barren hills above the lake. Amira was there and Ginger
too, and they were amazed to see me. But I knew things were bad when Lord
Balian sent all the mares, colts and fillies away, horse and human both. The
younger colts and fillies, who hadn’t been broken to the saddle yet were laden
with panniers like common pack horses, and the older horses all had riders. All
that were left in the stables after they went were old Spirit, Lord Balian’s
old palfrey, myself, a couple of castrates the squires used to ride along with
a half dozen pack-horses. I don’t know what had become of Gladiator, but he
wasn’t with us anymore.
At first I rather
enjoyed having so much peace, quiet and space. Furthermore, unlike at the
city-on-the sea, Lord Balian took me out every other day or so. We would leave
Jerusalem by one gate or another and ride about until we found an abandoned
herd of animals, then we’d chase them back to the city. Once or twice we
stopped to harvest apples, pears and plums that were ripening on the untended
trees of the surrounding orchards.
But the mood was
bad and Jerusalem itself was overflowing with people. At least it was a bigger
city with more gardens than in the city-on-the-sea, so the stink wasn’t quite
so bad, but it still wasn’t normal. There were too many people, and most of
them were human-mares and human-foals. Far too many of the latter. Lots of
black-robes too. I’ve never figured out what use these humans have. They didn’t
seem to like horses at all and usually ride mules. They certainly never carried
weapons and couldn’t defend themselves let alone us, but Lord Balian was always
polite to them. I don’t why.
The weather was
turning a touch cooler, when we went out in a hoard of knights and horses all
the way to a town about five miles south of Jerusalem. It sat white upon the
yellow-brown landscape, with orchards now laden with rotting fruit, at its
feet. Lord Balian was leading a troop of about 80 knights and we rode into the
very heart of the little town without seeing a single living soul — unless you
count stray dogs. In the large cobbled
marketplace, Lord Balian jumped down, turning my reins over to Dawit, and
entered the tall building flanking the square. The rest of just waited there in
the hot sun swatting and stamping at flies.
Two of the
knights apparently got bored and rode off on their own. Dawit told them not to,
but they ignored him, saying something about water. I thought water sounded
like a good idea, and was beginning to get annoyed with standing around in the
heat, when those two horses came crashing back into the square at a full
gallop. “Saracens! Saracens!” One of the knights was screaming in terror.
And sure enough,
there were Horse-Haters right behind them. Hundreds of them. They came
clattering into that square with their swords drawn and the ties of their
turbans flying. They were hooting and shouting in triumph — until they saw how
many of us there were. Then they sat back and tried to stop their slave-horses.
That’s not so easy on pavement, and the slave-horses were soon skidding and
scrambling. Half lost their footing and the others were nearly knocked over by
the horses behind them running into them.
Meanwhile,
Gabriel had drawn his sword and started shouting. The knights around me
followed his lead and within a moment they were rushing at the Horse-Haters but
not in an organized, proper charge. A bunch of amateurs! Furthermore, half the
horses were screaming and trying to run away rather than putting their heads
down and helping their riders fight. The slave-horses weren’t helping things, because
they were screaming too, and in all that confusion, horses couldn’t find their
footing on the cobbles. I flattened my ears and stamped my feet, snorting at the idiots to close ranks and fight
properly, but no one was paying any attention.
Fortunately, Lord
Balian came out of the building and seeing what was happening just grabbed my
saddle from the off-side and hauled himself into it. The minute his seat hit
the saddle, I turned toward the enemy like a bat out of hell. Ears flat and
teeth bared I aimed at the nearest Horse-Hater, confident that Lord Balian
would have his sword out in time to support me.
He did. In fact,
I don’t think I’d ever seen him fight the way he did that day. It helped that
there were no archers, of course, and no infantry either. It was just us
against those Horse-Haters on their slave horses, but the other knights were a
bunch of colts, really, none of them old enough to grow a beard and you could
see how panicked most of them were. Their horses, sensing their fear, weren’t
feeling very confident either. So it was up to me and Lord Balian to show them
how it was done.
Suddenly this
Saracen in a gawdy coat that glittered gold in the sunlight came charging at us
on a white stallion. Now, he was no
slave! He was scrambling on the cobbles in his eagerness, and he had a look of
hatred in his eye as he came at me. I knew it was him or me. Lord Balian seemed
to understand that. He spurred me forward for the first time in years, and even
as I tore off half that stallion’s neck, the top half of that Horse-Hater fell
over onto the bloody cobbles while the lower half of him bobbed away on the
back of his bleeding stallion. That bastard then showed his real worth by
fleeing from me abjectly.
When the other
slave-horses saw their stallion run away, they turned and followed him without
a thought to what their riders wanted. They were racing each other to get away
from me, but I wasn’t surprised that
Lord Balian sat back and signaled “no pursuit.” What was the point of
chasing a bunch of terrified mares and castrates? I’d shown the stallion which
if us was better!
Lord Balian
re-sheathed his sword and gave orders to the other knights to collect the dead
and wounded. As he turned back to the frightened black-robes crowded in the
building on the side of the square, he reached down and patted me on the side
of the neck. “Well done!” he told me in a low voice. “Well done.”
The siege of Jerusalem in 1187 is described (from human perspective) in:
The three part biography begins with:
A landless knight,
a leper king, and the struggle for Jerusalem!
Knight of Jerusalem: A Biographical Novel of Balian d'Ibelin, Book I, is a B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree and finalist for the 2014 Chaucer Awards for Historical Fiction.
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