The Norman Camp
The summer heat had begun to take its toll, and by noon it was sweltering. Heat rose from the ground in wisps from the scorching heat and made metal, armor, and swords hot to the touch, while the dry desert winds bought dust, and sand, and misery. Already, several of the small folk had succumbed to heat stroke and exhaustion. Plumes of dust were kicked up by knights and horsemen foraging for what little food there was in the barren wilderness. Within the Norman Camp, there was little that could be done to avoid the heat, except to stay within the shade where the sweat and grime combined to make a putrid odor unbearable to most. Dust would cling to the swords, the draperies, their clothes, to the sweat on their faces. With what precious little water they had, the Normans could not afford the luxury of baths or even basic hygiene.
Within his tent, Robert took counsel with his closest companions and retainers. Alan, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Brittany, sat on his right, while Stephen, Robert's nephew, the young Count of Aumale and the once-pretender to the throne of England, sat to his left. In front of them was half empty chalice of Sekanjabin with several tankards.
"God, this tastes like pisswater," Robert snorted. The men chuckled.
"You sound like you speak from experience," Stephen mused. "I'm sure the Curthose would be accustomed to pisswater by now."
"You cheeky bastard, watch your mouth before I knock another one of your teeth out," Robert replied with a grin.
With a chuckle, Alan took a swig of the briney, sour liquid. With a scowl, he gulped down the concoction. It burned his throat and left strong after taste. "That may have been the worst drink I have ever tasted. Wasn't this supposed to be sweet? I can't taste any damn honey in this!"
"Milord, we ran out of honey a few days ago. We only have well water and white vinegar to dilute it," one of his retainers meekly responded. The drink, Sekanjabin--when prepared correctly--was considered to be a Persian delicacy. Mixed with honey, lavendar, rosewater, and diluted with water. However, with few of these provisions on hand, the drink was mostly brine and harsh vinegar. Apart from that, few other drinks were on hand. The smallfolk and the infantry had consumed the barley, while there was no pomegranates left to make grenadine. Some of the camp followers had left to Ascalon to acquire more pomegranates, but with the Fatimid Army approaching, there was no telling when--or if--they would make it back to Jerusalem in time.
"Well, it's not the worst drink I have ever had, but it sure does come close. I swear by the tabernacle, this may have been worse than that draught in Flanders."
The men chuckled as they sipped their drinks. While not much, it staved off the thirst.
"The sooner we get on with this siege the better."
Outside the city, the Crusaders were split into two groups, one in the North comprising the bulk of the Crusader Army, led by Tancred, Robert of Flanders, Robert of Normand, and Godffrey of Bouillon, on the plains outside the city near the Christian quarter, while Raymond was position at the south near Mount Zion and the Valley of Hinnom.