A Destrier's Tale Part XIV: Defeat

A Destrier’s Tale

Balian d’Ibelin’s Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story

Part XIV: Defeat

That hoard of Horse-Haters was still behind us, of course, but there wasn’t one of us not injured. Some of the people were in really bad shape, too, not able to walk. Lord Balian’s squire Ernoul was one of those. Lord Balian had the other humans make sleds and the many of the surviving destiers had to pull these behind them. Other wounded humans were hoisted up behind the saddle of knights in better shape, so that nearly all of us had double burdens. Then we started making our way along the shore of the lake.

I’d never been ridden that long in my whole life — and I’d never missed Rufus so much. With inner horror, I realized that Rufus was probably dead. The Horse-Haters were sure to slaughter every single horse they got into their hands. That meant everyone who wasn’t with us was doomed. It was a sobering thought.

Eventually, we dragged ourselves up a mountain on a winding road to a castle. The Red Crosses there took us in. They provided us with feed and water and some care for our many wounds. But we were clearly too many for them. After resting for four or five days, we continued. I was very stiff and my hocks hurt, but I knew Lord Balian didn’t have any alternative but to ride me. I was proud that despite my age I could do that — all day long — for several days until we came to a city on the sea.

The city had high, stone walls with fluttering banners on all the towers, and there were long-snouted fish that floated on the surface and let people and even horses ride on their backs. Not that I would have trusted one of them for the life of me! Fortunately, Lord Balian didn’t try to make me. Instead, he put me up in a rather cramped and dingy stall, and Gabriel looked after me there.

At first I was happy to just be able to rest, but after a while, it became really boring to just stand there day and night with no exercise at all! It was rather like being in prison. I wanted to get out into the fresh air and stretch my legs and I told Gabriel that. He seemed to understand and not long afterwards, Lord Balian came to visit me too. He patted me and inspected my injuries, and thanked me for saving his life. Then he went away again, and I was still locked in that dingy stall.

I must have stood there for almost a month with no more exercise than Gabriel could give me walking up and down the aisle of the stables, when at last Lord Balian came for me. He had fixed himself up somewhat, his chainmail gleamed and his surcoat was so clean it smelled. His hair was combed too, and he made Gabriel wash the stable-stains off my hocks and knees with warm water, while he combed out my mane and tail himself. I gathered from that that Ernoul had died.

Lord Balian mounted up in the courtyard and we rode through the streets of the city for the first time since we’d arrived. I was appalled by the stink and the crowds. There were too many people there, and the rubbish was piling up in the gutters. The stench of human shit was everywhere. Lord Balian rode me to the massive gate complex, and we rode alone through the three walls out onto the narrow causeway that led back to the mainland.

It was then that I saw them: Horse-Haters! A whole host of Horse-Haters in endless tents lay spread out across the plane in front of the city as far as the eye could see. And there was no one else but Lord Balian and me! I whinnied and tried to turn back for the safety of the city, but Lord Balian stopped me. I balked, trembling from my ears to my fetlocks. It was suicide to ride into that host alone.

“It’s alright,” Lord Balian told me, leaning forward to stroke my neck with his naked hand. “We’re going to parlay.” Whatever that means. I tried to turn around twice more, but Lord Balian was not having any of it, and so I gave in. I had to trust him.

As we approached, Horse-Haters came out to challenge us, and Lord Balian drew up. I was ready to bolt, just waiting the slightest opportunity, but Lord Balian was very firm. He shouted to the Horse-Haters in their own tongue, and after a bit a troop of them came out on slave-horses and surrounded us. I didn’t like that, but they didn’t have their swords drawn and they clearly weren’t intent on killing us just yet.

We were taken to a large yellow tent with long flowing banners floating from the tallest, central pole. There Lord Balian dismounted and left me in the hands of some of the Saracens. Curiously, they collected around me and chattered in their incomprehensible tongue. They pointed and even came forward to touch me, but they didn’t try to hurt me. After a while they dispersed except for one man who let me graze on a long rein while I waited. Eventually, Lord Balian emerged from the tent and was led away. I didn’t like that one bit and I called after him, but he gestured at me to be calm.  Sure enough he returned unharmed and we returned to the city.

Two days later, however, he had me tacked up again and this time Gabriel came too on his castrate and we loaded a donkey with some supplies as well. Then we went back out into that hoard of Horse-Haters and a troop of about 20 surrounded us, and we started south. It was very strange being surrounded by the Horse-Haters and not fighting them. I could sense how tense Lord Balian was too, although he tried to disguise it. When we camped at night, all the horses were hobbled and I grazed with the slave-horses. They were bunch of idiots, who were content being slaves. “There’s nothing wrong with our lives,” one of them tried to tell me, claiming that his master was good to him. Sure, he was! As long as he helped kill those of us who were still free. There were a couple of mares among them too, and they flirted with me a bit, clearly excited by my size and strength. I arched my neck and lifted my tail for them, but there wasn’t much I could do hobbled as I was.

We travelled for several ays until we came within sight of the city of Jerusalem. I’d been to Jerusalem many times before and recognized it at once because Lord Balian had a palace there.  I preferred the castle at Ibelin to that palace because the stables in Jerusalem was smaller and didn’t get as much fresh air or light, but at least it was a familiar place. It was funny, though, the way all the countryside around Jerusalem were empty. Usually there was lots of traffic on the roads and herds of cattle, sheep and goats getting fattened for the slaughter on those hills, as well as people working in the orchards. But except for the lepers at the big building beyond the walls, there was not a living creature in sight.

The Horse-Haters pulled up, Lord Balian saluted them, and then we rode on alone, Lord Balian, me, Gabriel, his castrate and our donkey. It was really strange being alone in so much emptiness. As we approached the gate of Jerusalem, it swung open before us and at once noise spilled out. I flicked my ears forward to try to make out what it was. It was a roar, like a rushing river. Or was it people? The gate was a double dog-leg. You entered into a dark, covered space as if you were going to a gate, but instead there was nothing but a blank wall ahead of you. You had to turn, walk parallel to the wall, then turn again at right angles to go into the real gate. By the time we emerged into the city I was sure the sound was people talking all at once. As I turned that last bend and saw them crowding together in the street ahead of us, I tried to stop because there was no place to go.

Lord Balian urged me forward into that sea of people and they pressed in around us, trying to touch me and Lord Balian. They grabbed onto my trapper, and clung to the stirrups. They even reached for my bridle, although I kept jerking my head up to keep them off me. I was so annoyed that it took several minutes before I realized they were shouting “Ibe-lin! Ibe-lin!” in a kind of chant.

We waded through that frantically happy crowd as slowly as walking through knee-deep mud, until we reached the Ibelin Palace. And there, when they flung the gates open, were Queen Maria and Lord Balian’s fillies and colts. Then I knew why we’d come.

The Battle of Hattin and its aftermath is described (from a human perspective) in:

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                                                                                                       or Kindle!

The three part biography of Balian d'Ibelin 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.

Buy now!

A Destrier's Tale Part X: The Battle of Le Forbelet

A Destrier’s Tale

Balian d’Ibelin’s Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story

Part X: Le Forbelet

Ginger was already a gangly two-year-old when the Saracens returned. We mustered as usual and went to face them on a broad field below a powerful castle. I was never good with numbers, but I swear there were more of them than ever before. This time they had their foot soldiers with them too. Fortunately, so did we.

The Christians lined up their infantry in multiple rows ahead of us. They had their heavy shields planted in the ground ahead of them, and we stood our ground. The Saracens were throwing arrows at us so that it sounded like a rainstorm, but the Christians had their armor and their shields and Lord Balian had provided me with a thick, canvas “trapper.” It was red on my right side and yellow on the other and studded with the square crosses with flared ends that he like to wear on his clothes too. When arrows hit the skirts of canvas, the cloth just gave way and the arrows fell harmlessly to the ground — where I trounced them to make them break.

The problem was the heat. You can’t imagine it. The sun was burning down. Even standing still, I was sweating profusely, so much so the sweat dripped off my belly and sometimes oozed into my eyes. The humans were sweating too and they started to smell pretty bad.

After we’d put up with this for several hours, the Saracen foot soldiers attacked, but we had archers too, and threw them back. Then the Saracen cavalry charged, flailing their poor slave horses up the slope against us and trying to make them kill themselves on the pikes and spears of the Christian infantry. I was rather pleased to see that the slave horses weren’t so stupid or so cowed as to do that. Instead, they reared up and ran away, throwing and then trampling on the Horse-Haters. I noted that with satisfaction.

The Saracens sent black humans against us next. They were on foot, but they couldn’t get through the Christian foot-soldiers that defended us fiercely — many laying down their own lives. The carnage was terrible, though. I swear they slaughtered the entire first line of defenders, and still kept coming!

Then suddenly horns were blowing and knights started shouting. Lord Balian couched a lance. I knew this meant we were going to charge, but I didn’t fancy the idea of running straight at those murderous Horse-Haters! Then again, I had Lord Balian to protect me. At his command, I sprang forward with my head down and the Christian infantry parted to let us through. An instant latter Lord Balian’s lance had skewered one of the Horse-Haters and then he dropped the reins and started killing them with his sword while I did my best to tear their skins off with my teeth and, better still, trample them under my hooves. It was a highly satisfying feeling! I could hear their bones snap under my weight and once put my off-fore hoof right in Horse-Haters face ending his murder forever! But just when we were gaining momentum, horns started blowing again and Lord Balian made me turn around and ride back behind the Christian foot soldiers. I was really annoyed about that and let him know by shaking my head and snorting angrily. We had them on the run, after all, and we were so much stronger and faster than they were! Why stop?

Just then Saracen horsemen came crashing out of the cloud of dust. Lord Balian must have realized they were coming! The sight of them riding over and slaughtering the horses that hadn’t retreated like we had made me feel a little faint. I could so easily have been me! A lesson learned, I told myself firmly: trust Lord Balian in battle as in the joust!

However, the heat and dust were worse than ever. I was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. But when Lord Balian’s squire tried to bring us water, Lord Balian angrily sent him back. I wanted to protest, but just then more arrows rained down on us. One came in so hard and so horizontally that pierced right through my trapper and lodged itself in my thigh. The shock of it made me leap sideways, squealing in alarm, and when I looked around to see how bad it was, I saw arrows sticking out of Lord Balian’s chainmail in three places too! That didn’t half terrify me! I was sure he was injured, but he didn’t act like it. He turned and broke off the arrow in my thigh so that the shaft couldn’t get knocked and cause the head to dig deeper. Then he patted me on the neck and told me everything was going to be alright.

I wanted to believe him, but bodies were spread across the ground in front of us like manure in the worst livery stables! They were heaped on one another, bloody and still moving in some cases. They stank and whimpered, gushing slime from their bellies and bowels. The smell alone started to drive me crazy. Under the circumstances, it was a relief when the horns yowled and we formed up again for a second charge.

It took a while to corral so many horses, but finally we were ready. We trotted through our infantry lines and plunged headlong into a cloud of dust so thick it was blinding. I could see nothing except the tail of the horse ahead of me. Around me the other stallions complained in alarm, crying out “I can’t see a thing!” or “I’m blind!” or “What’s ahead of us?” Then we collided with the Saracen cavalry and everyone was just whirling around in utter confusion. Lord Balian dropped his reins so he could use both his sword and his shield and that left me free to bite anything that looked hostile — which was pretty much everything that came within my line of sight!

Abruptly, there was noise and shouting from both sides and the Saracens started to just melt away in front of us. They stopped fighting and tried to flee. Lord Balian shouted “A Ibelin!” and miraculously out of the slowly settling dust familiar knights and horses from Ibelin clustered around us. When we were a tight group again, Lord Balian led us in pursuit of the now retreating Horse-Haters. I stretched my neck out full and flattened my ears determined to run down as many of those bastards as possible, but Lord Balian checked me, letting three of the other horses pass us. I don’t know why he did that and I bucked to express my anger with him. But it was too late, the other horses were ahead of us getting all the glory of knocking the Saracens from their slave horses. At least that left them on the ground for me to trample.

But in that heat even my fury soon gave way to exhaustion. With the immediate danger gone, I started to feel the heat, my thirst and increasingly the pain in my thigh. I slowed to a halt and Lord Balian did nothing to urge me forward. I stood there swaying to the rhythm of my deep breaths as I tried to suck in air. I would have given anything for a drink of water. I looked over my shoulder toward the broad river that wasn’t very far away and got a shock: the Horse-Haters were forming up again. They hadn’t killed enough of us yet to satiate their lust for horse-blood, and we hadn’t killed enough of them yet — despite all the killing we’d done — to make them feel like they’d had enough.

The humans clearly saw the same danger and they started to shout and gesture. The Christian infantry was spread out across the whole field finishing off the Horse-Haters who had survived our charge. Now they were herded back into a line of defense, and we retreated behind them. The squires were waiting there with water, and Lord Balian dismounted and turned me over to Gabriel. He pointed to my wound and ordered Gabriel to see to it. 

I was grateful for that, of course, but I didn’t like the fact that he then mounted a young bay stallion that had joined the stables recently. I could tell that young bay was trying to take my place. He was really full of himself. A cocky little bastard, and spoiled too! He’d never gone through what I had. It was bad enough that Lord Balian had started riding him in practice jousts with his own knights, but he had no business here, in a battle. I was Lord Balian’s destrier! I tried to protest, but Gabriel had a bucket of water and when I took a step towards it my hip seemed to crumple up under me. The pain wasn’t just from the arrow; somehow I’d managed to damage the tendons in the leg as well.  

The Battle of Le Forbelet is described (from human perspective) in:

Book II of  the Balian d'Ibelin TrilogyBuy Now in Paperback!  

or Kindle!

Centurion is also a character in Book I of the Biographical Novel:

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.

Buy now!

A Destrier's Tale Part IX: The Arab Mare

A Destrier’s Tale

Balian d’Ibelin’s Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story

Part IX: The Arab Mare

Christians are very respectful and protective of mares. Even the Black Knight never took one of his mares anywhere near the Horse-Haters. The Christians keep mares where they can raise their foals in peace, and they are only ridden by their own human mares and sometimes human foals. The Saracens, on the other hand, use slave mares in battle. I suppose they might be afraid stallions will rebel and run away. Or maybe they don’t have enough stallions. Whatever the reason, many of them ride mares even when they invade to attack us.

After the other knights had chased the Horse-Haters back where they’d come from, Lord Balian and the other knights, squires and horses from Ibelin who were still alive started for home. We hadn’t gone far before we came upon one of the Saracen slave-horses. Lord Balian said she was an Arab mare.

Like me after my first battle, she was standing forlornly by the spring, evidently abandoned. She was pretty — even caked with dried sweat, covered with dust, and with burs in her mane and tail. She was a rich chestnut color, with a cheeky blaze that curled a little over her left eye. She was dainty, with neat little feet and a rounded rump that was wonderfully inviting.

Somehow she’d managed to get rid of both her bridle and saddle, but her knees were torn open and caked with dried blood still oozing fresh blood here and there. The knees were in such terrible shape, it hurt her to bend them so she couldn’t move without pain. Some of the humans wanted to put her down at once. Dawit wouldn’t hear of it. He protested vehemently to Lord Balian, and although I couldn’t understand his flood of words, his meaning was clear: she was bruised and scraped but she would heal if given care and time. Lord Balian nodded and gave him permission to bring her along with us.

She didn’t want to come at first. She was clearly terrified of the Christians. The Saracens had obviously told her lies about them, saying they would hurt her. But she couldn’t run away from us on account of her stiff, scabbed knees. She tried, of course, tearing all the scabs off and starting a new rush of blood, but when she gave up in despair, Dawit took her in hand. He didn’t just calm her, he had some ointment he rubbed on her knees that made them feel better almost at once. When the men mounted up to continue, Dawit had both her and me on the lead behind him.

I was happy about that because I could tell she was a nice filly and I could sense how frightened she was. I tried to ease her fear and distract her from the pain in her knees by telling her how nice it was in Ibelin. I told her my first owner (I didn’t mention how terrible he was) had been killed in a battle just like hers, but that I’d then been taken in by Lord Balian, nodding to him as he rode ahead of us on Rufus.

“Usman wasn’t killed,” she nickered to me in a soft, sad voice, “he abandoned me!” You should have heard the pain in her voice! She hung her head in shame too.

“Surely he just couldn’t find you,” I comforted her, thinking she might not know how easily humans were killed if unhorsed.

“No,” she sighed, dropping her head even lower with her ears hanging down in misery. “He came and took his precious saddle, but he left me to starve.”

“But why would he do that?” I protested.

She sighed and her nose was all but dragging on the ground. “He blamed me for stumbling. He said I nearly broke his neck. He said I was lucky he didn’t kill me.”

“Well!” I assured her indignantly. “He was right about that because now you’re with us, and we’ll take good care of you. Lord Balian has miles of orchards and he gives us apples and pears and even pomegranates!”

She looked at me sidelong from under her beautiful lashes as if she didn’t believe me, but I could see a flicker of hope in her eyes too. “Really?”

“Really!” Then I asked her to tell me more about herself.

She had lived a very sheltered life it seemed, and was still a virgin. I was glad to learn that because it would have been embarrassing if she’d had more experience than me. In fact, she said she’d hardly been around stallions at all, but she’d had several riders and Usman was only the last in the series. She said she’d fallen a little in love with him because he was so masterful and other men seemed to look up to him, although he was an archer not a lancer.

That evening when we camped and we were all turned out to graze, some of the other stallions came sniffing around. A couple of young studs (you know the kind, brutes that think mares are only good for one thing) tried to harass her. I chased them away in no uncertain terms, biting one so badly that he bled, and Rufus gave me a warning nicker because he belonged to a strange knight who was riding with us for some reason. I didn’t care if I left scars! Amira – that was what Lord Balian later called her — wasn’t in season and she was wounded and frightened and shy. They had no business coming anywhere near her. She stayed near me after that, grazing so close we could swat away each other’s flies and sometimes brushing against one another. I loved that.

The next day already, she was must happier. She held her head higher, lifted her ears and she even started to pick up her feet, not shuffle along as she had the day before. Dawit was pleased with her progress too, pointing it out to Lord Balian. He smiled at us and nodded. When we paused for water later, he came back and inspected her with interest for the first time, checking over her knees and noting her other cuts and scrapes. Then he turned to me and put his palm on my forehead under my forelock. It had been nearly a year before I had overcome the memory of the Black Knight’s beatings enough to let him do that. “Found a lady, have you?” he asked me. I leaned against him and rubbed my head on his shoulder to tell him she certainly was a lady and he had to treat her right.

When we got back to Ibelin, everyone who had been left behind was aflutter at our return. They made a huge feast, you could smell it everywhere, and Mathewos ordered the grooms to give us all proper baths and we had molasses pellets in our feed that night and the deepest, softest bedding ever. Still, I was a little sad because Amira and I were separated for the first time since we’d met; she was given a stall with the other mares at the other end of the stables.

After that we rarely had a chance to exchange more than a nicker or two. I always greeted her when I was led in or out and she invariably stood with her head over her stall door when I came or went. I saw that her knees healed perfectly except for some scars. Once, when we went out to the tiltyard, she was in the paddock, and she lifted her tail and galloped along beside the fence to show me how beautifully she moved and how fast she was. I could have watched her all day! Lord Balian laughed at me and patted my neck, admitting she was a “fine filly.”

Then one evening not long afterwards, when Dawit was bringing me in from the paddock at dusk, Amira was waiting for me in her stall and as I passed her she muttered in a very soft nicker: “I’m in season.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and I looked at her. Our eyes met. She wanted me!

Dawit was clicking and tugging at the lead, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed by desire. Dawit laughed and yanked down firmly on the lead. “Get it out of your head!” He told me firmly ‘though kindly. “She’s not for the likes of you!”

Not for me? The shock broke my resistance for the moment, and he led me to my stall and turned me loose inside. But I wasn’t interested in my feed or even water any more. Amira wasn’t for me? Why not? And if not for me, then for who? Surely they weren’t going to let one of the household stallions have her? How could they? I was Lord Balian’s destrier! Rufus? No, he was as much a virgin as I was. Gladiator? For the first time I looked at my predecessor with anger and jealousy. He got all the mares, just because he wasn’t good for anything else! To make matters worse he started called down to Amira, “hey little Arab? Ready for a real stallion at last?”

Amira didn’t dignify him with an answer, and I screamed at her, “Don’t believe him! He’s a broken down nag! He can’t walk on four legs and he’s got rotten teeth!” (Which wasn’t true, but I hated him in that moment.)

“Centurion!” She cried in a high-pitched terrified whinny: “Don’t let him rape me! I don’t want anyone but you! Please, Centurion.”

I screamed back to her that I would rather die than let any other stallion near her.

All our whinnying, of course, upset the humans. Matthewos came out and admonished me to “behave” — as if I was the one causing trouble! Then he ordered one of the junior grooms to take Amira and a couple of the other mares outside to the paddock.  A half hour later they came to get Gladiator too. He pranced out with his crooked, lame-assed gait, flicking his tail at me and all but crowing in triumph.

I started making runs at the stall door to break it down. When that didn’t’ work, I turned around and kicked at it with the full force of my hind legs, twice, three, four times. The door held. I started pacing around my stall again, I was sweating and I swung my head back and forth at knee level as I tried to think how to escape and rescue Amira.

Someone must have told Lord Balian what a state I was in because suddenly he was at the stall door. It was completely dark by now and the stable was lit only by some oil lamps. Lord Balian never came to the stables after dark, but he was here and Mathewos with him.

“He won’t drink or eat,” Mathewos reported accurately.

I flattened my ears on my head and snapped furiously at Mathewos. He knew perfectly well what the problem was!

Lord Balian did too. He glanced over his shoulder at Amira’s empty stall. “There’s nothing wrong with him that Amira can’t cure.”

Mathewos shook his head firmly. “They are a bad match, my lord. Too similar in temperament. Any foal they produce will be more nervous than nine cats, and, as for looks, greys and chestnuts don’t mix. You’re likely to get either ugly markings or a roan.”

Lord Balian nodded, and said, “I’m sure you’re right, Mathewos. Let me walk him a bit.”

Obviously that was an order not a request, and Mathewos had no choice but to hand him my halter but his whole expression and demeanor expressed his disapproval. Lord Balian stepped into the stall and looked me in the eye. I was so agitated I glowered back at him, but I also figured if he took me out of the stall, I had a better chance to break free so I let him slip the halter over my head. Then I followed him out of the stables, across the ward, and out the postern that led to the paddocks.

As soon as we were beyond the walls I froze and lifted my head to find out where Amira was. There were several different paddocks, you see. I lifted my head and sniffed the air. She had already seen me. She lifted her voice and squealed in a frenzy of passion. “Centurion!”

That was all I needed. I bolted. If Lord Balian had tried to stop me, I would have dragged him with me. But he didn’t. He just let me go. I galloped straight past a dismayed Gladiator, who was in one of the small paddocks by himself, and I screeched to a halt opposite Amira. Now there was only the fence between us but there wasn’t space to make a running start at that fence. I started running back and forth in the lane between the paddocks, while Amira kept pace with me, calling my name. I was on the brink of trying to take that fence from a standstill, when Lord Balian appeared again. He unlatched and opened the gate to let me in. I put my head down and my tail up and galloped right past him to Amira.

When our passion had been sated, we grazed together side-by-side just as we had the first days we met. Later, we lay down to sleep a bit and she stayed so close I could feel her warmth against me. It was the most beautiful night of my whole life.

Mathewos was wrong about our foal to. Well, half wrong. I have to admit that she wasn’t pretty by most standards. Her coat was a very light chestnut, a bit of a roan to be honest, and she had a white face and four white socks, but she was the sweetest little filly you’ve ever seen. Born in love, she came into the world full of it, and when Lord Balian’s timid daughter Helvis needed a horse that she could trust absolutely and always, Lord Balian’s choice fell on our Ginger. But that is getting ahead of my story.

Life in the Kingdom of Jerusalem in the last decade before the fall of Jerusalem to Saladin is described (from human perspective) in:

Book II of  the Balian d'Ibelin TrilogyBuy Now in Paperback!  

or Kindle!

Centurion is also a character in Book I of this Biographical Novel:

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.

Buy now!

A Destrier's Tale: Part VII -- Lord Balian

Balian d’Ibelin’s Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story

Part VII: Lord Balian

I recognized him at once. I mean, he walked in and the grooms and even the squires stopped to bob their heads to him. The horses nickered. The big bay stallion in the stall next to me, who had nearly been killed by the Horse-Haters and was now lame, immediately went to hang his head over the stall door. And he stopped to clap Gladiator on the neck and tousle his forelock. Then he looked straight at me.

It was terrifying. First of all, he was tall and dark — which reminded me of the Black Knight. He had golden spurs — just like the Black Knight. Although he wasn’t in armor, he had an enormous sword in a fancy sheath at his hip. He was a knight alright. Lord Balian.

He started toward my stall door and I retreated into the corner. I tried to get as far away as possible, and just waited for what would happen next. Nothing did. So I looked over my shoulder to see if he’d gone away. He hadn’t. He was still staring at me — and so was Gladiator in the next tall.

He slid the bolt back to let himself into the stall, and I tried to make myself smaller. He stopped. By now I was trembling from head to foot out of sheer nervous anticipation. I knew that I was only going to be allowed to stay in this beautiful place if I pleased Lord Balian, but he reminded me so much of the Black Knight I was terrified. I’d tried to please the Black Knight too, but he had still beaten me. I had never intentionally thrown the Black Knight, not like later with the horse trader, but he still fell off and blamed me for it. What if Lord Balian was the same?

For the moment, he proved himself more patient. He retreated, left my stall, and just leaned on the stall door considering me. I started to relax. He held out his hand palm up. I considered it. There was something on it. I stretched out my neck to try to see what it was and sniffed. It smelt like sugar, but it looked different, small and granular.

“Come on! “ He coaxed. “Come and try it.”

I looked to make sure the stall door was still bolted, then took a step and reached out my neck as far as possible. I was still too far away. I had to take another step. Finally I could lick it up. It was sugar and it melted in my mouth! It was better than any cane. He laughed at my expression of surprise and left his hand out like that until I’d licked the last trace of it off his hand.

After that he came every day. Step by step, he stroked me, put a halter on, led me around the courtyard and out to the paddock. He lunged me as if I were still a colt, and he took me on the lead when he rode his big red palfrey Rufus.

I was beginning to think he was never going to ride me, but then one day he took me out into the ward, tied me there and brought a heavy saddle. I started to tremble again. This was the moment of truth. Because no matter how nice he seemed to be, I knew that if he didn’t like the way I performed under saddle, I would not be allowed to stay.

Mathewos and Dawit appeared out of nowhere and together they tacked me up while Lord Balian watched them. Then Dawit held the off stirrup and Lord Balian pointed his foot in the near-stirrup and swung himself up to land in the saddle so gently I wasn’t entirely sure he was there for a moment. Dawit and Mathewos stepped back warily as if they thought I might go wild or do something stupid when Lord Balian took up the reins. Well, partially took up the reins. He held them, but not tightly, then he nudged me with his calves. No one had ridden me like that since I’d left home.

We walked around the ward, then he turned in the saddle and I followed him. We were pointed for the gate and the draw-bridge. I started sweating. It was all very well at a walk, but what was going to happen when he wanted me to trot or canter? We walked to the edge of town and then out into the surrounding countryside. By now I knew this quite well from being on the lead. There were beautiful pomegranate and orange orchards all around Ibelin, and beyond that rich fields of wheat and barley.

Still on a long rein, he turned me away from the cultivated fields and toward the sand dunes. We rode past a hard-packed area where a dozen men in armor were jousting with each other. The squires turned to watch us ride past, bobbing their heads respectfully at Lord Balian. There was a trail of sorts between the dunes and Lord Balian asked me for a trot. I picked it up immediately, anxious to please, and by all the Horse Gods, his seat didn’t leave the saddle! It was as comfortable under him at a trot as at a walk. I started to relax, shaking my head and snorting to tell him what a pleasure it was not to have someone pounding on my back. He reached down and stroked my neck, and then clicked and tightened his legs. No kicking, no gouging. He didn’t even turn his heels inward to prick me with his spurs. Just tightened his legs. I picked up the canter and tensed for the horrid thumping on my back. It didn’t come! It was as if he were glued to my saddle.

Because he wasn’t pounding down on my back, jarring and hurting me, I felt free — liberated and alive for the first time since I’d left home. I risked going faster and faster. Soon we were racing over the sand, the bushes rushing past. It was wonderful! The wind was blowing back my mane and tail. The sand was flying back from my hooves. Lord Balian leaned forward, putting his weight on his knees and the stirrups and it was as if I didn’t have a rider at all. I felt as if I could fly.

And the next thing I knew there was this huge, gleaming, writhing monster in front of us. At the sight of us, it reared up and snarled viciously, slobbering foam and growling deep in its throat!

I’d never turned around so fast in my whole life! I just spun around on my haunches and tried to run in the opposite direction. In that moment, I was much more afraid of the monster than of Lord Balian or any human on earth. After five or six seconds, I realized that Lord Balian was somehow still on my back and he was hauling on the reins (none too gently under the circumstances) to get me to slow down.  I was relieved that he hadn’t fallen off, but I was not about to stop until I’d put more distance between us and the monster. Eventually, however, he did convince me to slow down to a walk, and I snorted at him in agitation. That monster was huge and who knew how fast it might be? I thought we should get back to the safety of the castle.

Lord Balian had other ideas. He wanted me to go and face the monster again. I kept shaking my head and when he turned me toward it, I backed up as fast as I could. I couldn’t understand why he was so determined to face that monster. It couldn’t possibly bring us any advantage, and it might very well kill us! The sensible thing was to get to the safety of Ibelin Castle.  But Lord Balian was not being sensible. He jumped down, took the bridle behind the bit, and started walking toward the monster.

At first I followed him, thinking maybe he knew something I didn’t know. Maybe the monster was already gone. But then we came over the last dune and it was still there! It was still seething with hostility and snarling at us, licking its lips ready to swallow us. I was not going any nearer! I reared up and spun about again on my haunches, lifting Lord Balian clear off the ground and starting to drag him with me before he let go of the reins.

After that, I just kept going at full speed, anxious to get to safety as soon as possible.

By the time I trotted across the drawbridge, I knew I was going to be in trouble for leaving Lord Balian behind, but had decided I was just going to have to weather it. He shouldn’t have tried to make me face a monster like that!

At the stables, everyone was so astonished that I returned alone that they didn’t immediately get mad at me. That’s when I realized how unusual it must be for Lord Balian to come back on foot (in contrast to the Black Knight, who’d done it rather a lot). Then I realized that most of the agitation was because they thought Lord Balian must be hurt. They were going crazy about that, calling for stretchers to be brought while Dawit rushed out on one of the fleetest mares. But I knew he hadn’t been hurt so I wasn’t too upset. Still, I knew he was going to be furious at me for leaving him behind, and I started to feel a little guilty.

When I heard the commotion at the door indicating he was back, I put my head down in the corner of the stall and waited for the storm. From the door I heard Lord Balian’s voice: “Is he ok?”

Is he ok? That was his first question: whether I was OK.

Dawit assured him I looked okay and they came over in a group. He stood leaning on the stall door and I looked over my shoulder at him.

“Silly boy,” he opened. “The sea can’t hurt you. It’s just water.” Then he held out his hand, palm up.

I wasn’t falling for that trick! If I’d gone over, he might have snatched hold of the bridle and then hit me. I stayed out of range.

He dropped his hand and remarked. “I don’t know. I thought of naming you ‘Centurion,’ but Roman officers were very brave, and you’re just a big coward.”

Coward? Me? After all I’d been through? But, of course, he didn’t know about the Black Knight or the Slaughter House. And I liked the sound of ‘Centurion.’ Anyone can be “Grey” or “Foggy” but Centurion was noble. I stood up straighter and lifted my head.

But he was gone. Fortunately, I caught the words, “We’ll try again tomorrow” as he left the stables.

Lord Balian and Centurion are characters in my three-part biography of Balian d'Ibelin staring 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.

Buy Now!

A divided kingdom,
                       
                         a united enemy, 

                                                  and the struggle for Jerusalem!


Defender of Jerusalem: A Biographical Novel of Balian d'Ibelin

Book II

Buy Now in Paperback!  
or Kindle!

A Destrier's Tale: Part VI -- Ibelin

A Destrier’s Tale

Balian d’Ibelin’s Destrier “Centurion” Tells his Story

Part VI: Ibelin

I went willingly with the black man, striding out for the first time in a long time. He led me through the town and then to a deep, dry ditch surrounding a castle. To get to the castle, I had to cross a bunch of wooden boards laid across the ditch. It didn’t look all that safe to me, so I stopped. Well, alright, I balked.

The black man looked back at me, and I started to back up as fast as I could anticipating his anger. This was not a good start, I realized, but how could I step on boards that were obviously going to break and send me crashing down into the ditch?

The black man did the strangest thing: he let go of my lead! I broke free and ran a few strides back toward the town. Then I stopped and looked over my shoulder confused. He was standing there with his hands on his hips just looking at me. Then he shook his head and walked over to me, talking to me as he came. “It’s all right. Haven’t you ever crossed a draw bridge before?”

I thought about that. I supposed I had going to the other castle, but then I’d been with the other horses.

He stroked and patted my neck, and finally took the lead again but rather than trying to drag me across the bridge he walked over to the guard house on the nearside of the drawbridge and handed the lead over to a soldier who’d come out to watch.

“What have you got here, Master Mathewos?” the soldier asked.

“A new destrier for Lord Balian.”

The soldier shook his head. “Doesn’t look like a good buy to me.”

“We’ll see what Lord Balian says. Hold him for me will you.”

So his name was Mathewos, and he now crossed that draw bridge and disappeared inside the gate to the castle. The soldier let me graze on the grass growing around the ditch until Mathewos returned with a second man, who looked so much like him that it could only be his son. They were both leading mares. I mean mares. Not broken down old female nags, but pretty little fillies. You know what I mean: high stepping little fillies that mince around flicking their tails at you and waggling their backsides while pretending to be totally indifferent to you! These two were not only foxy, they were so well groomed their coats absolutely gleamed in the sunlight and their hooves were oiled black, while their manes and tails were so fine they blew in the slightest breeze. I hadn’t seen anything like it since I’d left home, and I just stood there gaping at those two beauties until I got so excited everyone could see.

Mathewos and his son (later I learned his name was Dawit) brought those mares over the draw bridge and then turned around and walked them back over the drawbridge right in front of me. That did it. If both of those fillies could be on the bridge at the same time — and cool as cucumbers! — then it was sure to hold me. I mean, each was smaller than me, but together they weighed more. And if they weren’t afraid, how could I be?

Once I was through the gatehouse into the castle, I knew things were going to be alright. The place was clean, and the humans were happy. You could tell. Some boys were sweeping the yard and they were chattering and laughing together, and children were playing on the top of one tower, laughing as they chased each other. A woman was wringing out laundry and hanging it up to dry and singing as she did so. Yes, I said, this is a happy home and if the humans are happy, surely they’ll be good to the horses. Besides, I had Mathewos to look after me and those two little fillies sure the hell hadn’t been mishandled by anyone!

Mathewos led me into the stables and I stopped dead in my tracks out of sheer wonder. Every horse had his own box stall! And it smelled of wood shavings, hay and sweet-feed. I was taken to a stall (at the other end of the stables from the fillies, mind), and everything was ready for me.  Fresh wood-savings so deep and fluffy I sank right into them and the sound of my hooves were silenced. There was a hay-net stuffed to over-flowing with hay and clover, and a water trough that had clean, cool water. It was wonderful.

Over the next several days, Mathewos and Dawit got me cleaned up. They brought in a farrier to re-shoe me with better fitting and lighter shoes. They oiled my hooves twice a day to spur the heeling of the tear. They trimmed my mane and tail. Before long those fillies and their friends would look up and nicker when I was lead past, proving I was still a stud — even if I’d never had a filly yet.

After several days, I was taken out to a pasture behind the castle and allowed to run around in a field that was green with long grass and dotted with flowers — even though it was the middle of the summer. The air here had a unique smell that unsettled me at first, but the other horses laughed it off and just said. “That’s the sea.”

“What’s the sea?”

“Water that stretches to where the sun goes down. It puts the sun out at night.”

That sounded pretty far-fetched to me, but they said I’d see it eventually, and went back to grazing.

So everything was fine — except the nagging memory of Mathewos saying he’d bought me for his lord. It was pretty obvious from this castle that his lord must be like the man who’d owned the last castle I’d visited: that is, he had to be important. And if he was important, he would be demanding and expect a lot of his horse. Although I tried not to think about it, I was nervous about meeting Lord Balian.

Lord Balian and Centurion are characters in my three-part biography of Balian d'Ibelin staring 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.

Buy Now!

A divided kingdom,
                       
                         a united enemy, 

                                                  and the struggle for Jerusalem!


Defender of Jerusalem: A Biographical Novel of Balian d'Ibelin

Book II

Buy Now in Paperback!  
or Kindle!