December 13th, 1324
The Red Sea
Anna had loved the sea since she was a little girl. Her father had been and old man when she was born, eight children and three wives already in the grave. He preferred to tend his garden in Galilee quietly. He loved the land. Not so Anna. She still remembered the first time she had seen the sea. She was only six, escorted by a force of knights up the coast road to Antioch. The first time she had swept the salt air into her lungs, the first time she had seen the sweeping crystal ocean, the first time she had put her feet into the foaming sea, these were her fondest memories. She visited the ocean every moon thereafter, swimming with her maidens. Father had humoured her, building her a palace of silver and pink marble outside of Acre. Even after her marriage she had dwelt there with only her ladies and the most loyal and zealous of the Templars.
When her father had died, she had made the creation of one of the strongest navies in the Mediterranean her first priority. She had three hundred galleys in Cyprus and Acre, and another sixty here in the Red Sea. Her flagship, the Boadicea, had been taken apart, transported across the Sinai, and rebuilt in Eilat. They had spent three hours sailing down the Red Sea, a cool autumn wind doing the rowers work for them. Anna was going to do what no man had ever done. She was going to burn Mecca to the ground. For two years she had built a fleet in the Red Sea, almost bankrupting the Kingdom to pay for the new navy. But it had been worth it, oh yes. She had already skirmished with the Sicilians and the Byzantines at sea, and won decisively. And the little Emir who held the Mohammedan holy cities had no ships at all, only an unorganised force of desert cavalry. Her scouts had told her that Muslims from all over the world had flocked to Mecca once the Pope had called a Crusade there at her behest. No matter. She had twenty thousand men with her, on the galleys and the massive, unwieldy transports. A further fifteen thousand cavalry marched south along the coast road, under her husband’s command.
They were the finest men in her Kingdom, men of the Holy Orders, hardened from years protecting the pilgrim roads and launching punitive raids against the Greeks, Tartars and Arabs. She had a guard of Circassians, the finest riders in the world, who looked distinctly queasy at sea and hot in their long robes. And there was her personal bodyguard, four score Sudanese, wearing silken loincloths and carrying long spear and shields of shining bronze. Anna had commissioned a hauberk of silvered mail and a blade of Damascus steel, which lay inside her cabin. For the nonce she was dressed in a simple robe of purple silk, adorned only with a few pearls, laying beneath a great golden canopy. Ladies and slave boys fanned her with ostrich feathers, and she had her wine mixed with ice to keep cool.
Above her fleet, thousands of flags and banners streamed. There was the Papal Banner, presented in solemn ceremony to her husband when he visited Rome, the flags of the Holy Orders, white, black, and red crosses in their hundreds, her personal arms, the triple crescent and the Jerusalem cross, quartered with the white hawk of her husband, and, given pride of place, the great Royal Standard, the Jerusalem Cross sewn with golden thread onto the purest white silk.
They leisurely sailed down the Red Sea, stopping to loot the coastal towns and villages and to resupply the column led by her husband. Her army said Mass every day, the priests liberally showering them with holy water, and prayers were lifted up to God, praying for a swift victory. By the time they reached Jeddah, her army’s purses were already fat with gold. Jeddah had been home to some of the richest men in Islam, who now marched as slaves north to Jerusalem.
Just over a few mountains and ridges was Mecca, the source of the cancer that had spread across half the world. It was dawn, and Anna could almost hear the drone of the Mohemmedans. She was dressed in battle array, a sword at her side, mounted on a white charger. Her husband Augustine was beside her, wearing some of the thickest plate she had ever seen. To her right was the Royal Banner, to her left, the Papal, and marching to the fore was the True Cross, born by twelve bishops. They would march for two days, then make camp within sight of the Kaaba. She felt uneasy, but put her feeling purely to nerves. Her scouts had surveyed the land just a week before, and found nothing overly important. There was simply a small force at the city itself. A few hours of battle, a round of looting, and the Black Stone would be carted away.
But slowly her scouts started to disappear, picked off one by one. Wells were poisoned, stragglers were picked off by bandits, and the heat caused some men to go insane, though she had chosen January to attack because the temperature would be milder. Irreplaceable horses were lost, fodder was non-existent, and the flocks that she had brought with her were being consumed quickly, many stolen. Her army was tired, hungry and hot by the time they reached the site her scouts had selected as camps, one day behind schedule. She trotted to the head of her army, giving encouragement to her men. But as she rode to the highest point of their camp, and glanced over the ridge, she saw a site out of the Book of Revelation. A mass of darkness shrouded the earth, thousands of fires burned, and ominous clouds cast black shadows over her foes. This army was far, far larger than the paltry force of tribesmen who had dwelled here a few weeks ago. She gave a silent prayer for victory. She would need it.