Saladin's Spy by Andrew J. Offutt

Author:Andrew J. Offutt [Offutt, Andrew J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Erotica, Historical Fiction
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 1986-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

“In addition to this direct assault the mangonel could also be used to bombard the interior of the place, the huge stones smashing the buildings beneath and causing casualties. To promote disease and despondency within the walls, it was common practice to launch dead animals, corpses and even prisoners across the wall from the mangonel.”

—ian hogg, “siege techniques” in H. W.

Koch’s Medieval Warfare, 1978

Chapter Seven – The Spy

The Christian camp awoke next day to grisly horror. The gray-faced squire to an English knight stammered the dreadsome news, and soon word was all over the sprawling encampment. During the night, one or more Saracen spies had dared creep in among their sleeping enemies. Not only had he or they made their way safely out again, they had taken a trophy: the head of Sir Reginald of Cumberland. It had been sliced off while that good English knight slept so that his tent was floored with dark coagulated blood.

None of the usually contentious barons made any objection at all when their royal leader demanded that tonight each must contribute one additional man as all-night sentry. They all showed delight at the order of an archery barrage, too, and were pleased to order out men to aid in bringing up more great stones for Pretty Girl and smaller ones for the catapults. Their only grumbling this day was at Henry of Champagne and Hugh of Burgundy, who still had not arrived with their combined force.

By noon, four catapults had sent thirty-eight smallish stones flying over the wall and into Darum. It was just at noon that the Frankish Captain-general had planned the ghastly and demoralizing shock for his enemies in the town. Meanwhile, the troublesome bombardment by arrows and catapults.

Catapults were smallish weapons operating on the same principle as the crossbow, though hardly as portable. While usually provided with larger crews, they could be loaded, wound, and triggered by one man. The framework was less than six feet tall but afforded some protection for that man. Richard and the other nobles saw to it that each of the little siege engines was further protected by at least four archers, each with a long portable shield. That did not stop the occasional catapultier or bowman from being struck by an arrow or missile catapulted from within the fortress.

As ever on the field of battle, priests, leeches and nurses remained busy.

It was from the mangonel that the cruel surprise for the Saracens would come, at high noon. King Richard’s engineer Christian presided over that engine, and he had aimed and calculated with care. Now he was sure that Pretty Girl’s missiles would clear the wall, rather than slam into it.

A long-faced man reputedly covered with hair despite its sparseness on his head, Christian had been with the master of Normandy for years. He had long ago merited a good coat of chain, a gift of his lord. His over-tunics, of the dull dust color he preferred, were bordered in scarlet. He wore no beard and, laboriously, shaved almost every day with his fine dagger.

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