The Heart of the Lion

Chapter X JOANNA AND MALEK ADEL

Richard missed Philip. His temper was more easily aroused. He was still feeling the after-effects of his illness and he suffered from the climate as Philip had. He chafed against the delay which kept him in Acre. Until the ransom was paid he could not leave. He worried a great deal about Philip and wondered what his action would be when he returned to France. He believed that when Philip was with him he cared for him; but when he was away from him he might well forget his affection and see only what was to be gained by Richard’s absence. Always kings of France had taken advantage of the difficulties of dukes of Normandy. Ever since they had lost that stretch of land it had been the unspoken law that no king should fail to take an opportunity to regain it.

He must move on. As soon as the ransom was paid and the prisoners exchanged he would do so.

Saladin’s army was drawn up on the heights not far from the city in which the Christians were now living in comfort. It was not good for them to remain thus. Many of the soldiers, starved for so long from what they considered to be the good things of life, had decided to make the most of them while they could. There was drunkenness and sexual orgies – neither of which was good for an army – yet Richard knew that to stop this could result in revolt against him. He was a strong ruler and he was stern and quick to punish those who broke his laws; but he understood soldiers. He himself at one time had indulged in such activities as were now taking place within the city of Acre. To expect men to endure heat, hunger and sickness and give them no rewards was unwise. Let them feel now that war was worthwhile and they would fight the better for it later. At this time they had forgotten that they were supposed to be engaged in a holy war. They were ordinary soldiers with the lust of conquest upon them. Very soon must begin the march to Jaffa and Richard knew that this was going to tax their strength, endurance and fidelity to the cause to the utmost of their strength. Therefore give them this relaxation now. Let them satisfy their lusts and dream of the next conquest as they marched.

But not for long ... only until that ransom was paid.

The day arrived when it should have been paid. Richard waited eagerly for the coming of Saladin’s emissaries, but all through that day and all through that night he looked in vain.

Where were they? It had been their solemn agreement that the ransom should be paid. But where was it? Through the next day he waited.

At last came Saladin’s messengers. They brought gifts – more grapes, dates and young chickens.

Richard said: ‘We thank the Sultan for these gifts but we need the ransom.’

‘It will come,’ was the answer.

Then the messengers came again with more gifts but still no ransom.

‘What means this?’ cried Richard. ‘It seems that Saladin would deceive me.’

The messengers assured him that this was not so. The Sultan was merely asking for more time to raise the ransom.

And so it went on. Three weeks passed. The Sultan is deceiving me, thought Richard. And he remembered that night when Saladin had come to his tent – if it had not been a dream – and touched him with his magic talisman. He had believed it was Saladin and that there was a special bond between them. Was Saladin laughing at him now? Was he mocking him? Was he saying to his friends: See how easily the King of England can be deceived? This is the great leader! He so believed in my magic talisman that he rose from his sickbed. Now when I promise him to fulfil the terms of our agreement he believes me.

That Saladin should play him false, wounded him deeply – his pride and something more. He could not bear to think that he had been mistaken; and because he was uncertain his temper flared against the Sultan and all his Saracens.

He cried out in his wrath: ‘I will wait no longer.’

He was glad that Philip had gone. Philip would have tried to restrain him. But he was not going to be restrained. He was going to show Sultan Saladin what it meant to attempt to delude Richard of England.

It was the morning of the 20th August – three weeks after the departure of Philip. Through the gates of the city of Acre Richard rode on his favourite horse Fauvel which he had taken from Isaac Comnenus. He looked magnificent with the sun glinting on his armour. Behind came the army of crusaders. Richard led the way to the top of a hill, his men following him to the summit. He was immediately opposite Ayyadieh where the armies of Saladin were stationed. At the sight of the Christian army the Mohammedans were watchful.

Immediately behind the King came the cavalry followed by the infantry with their bows and arrows. They divided and placing themselves so that the watching enemy could have a good view, they remained still while the two thousand five hundred Moslem prisoners were brought out. Their hands were tied behind their backs and cords held them all together.

There they stood in wretched knowledge of their fate.

The Mohammedans watched in incredulous horror while the cavalry advanced on the prisoners and drawing their swords, decapitated every one of them.

Saladin called to his troops. This hideous spectacle enraged them; he gave the order to advance on the enemy, but before they could collect themselves for the advance every one of the Moslem prisoners was dead. Richard then shouted to his men to prepare for the battle.

Saladin’s army and Richard’s armies met, but the attack was indecisive. Saladin was horrified by the result of his delaying tactics; Richard was remorseful. In a moment of fury he had commanded his men to do this bloody deed and he felt that it would live with him for ever. He must ask himself what Saladin would think of the man whom previously he had so much admired.

The skirmish was over and the two armies retired to their camps.

As was to be expected before long there was news that Saladin had slaughtered Christian prisoners as a reprisal.

Richard’s great desire was to leave Acre. Sometimes he believed he would never forget that place. He would never be able to get out of his nostrils the smell of decaying bodies; he would never be free from haunting memories of brave men who stared death in the face unflinchingly. Philip had perhaps been wise to leave.

The men were sullen; they had not wished to leave Acre, where they had lived in comfort within a city. They had food, wine and women, and no doubt believed that all they had suffered was worthwhile for this spell of luxurious living. But it was not what they had come crusading for.

They must march on. They had eighty miles to cover between Acre and Jaffa. It was not really a great distance, but when it was considered that Saladin’s army would harass them all the way, and they would be equally tormented by the heat and pests, it was a formidable undertaking.

When Richard told Berengaria that his stay in Acre was coming to an end, she said: ‘I shall be glad to leave this place.’

And he knew that she too was thinking of the slaughtered Moslems.

‘You will have to stay here,’ Richard told her. ‘It is unthinkable that you should undertake the march.’

‘Oh, no, Richard,’ she cried, ‘I want to be with you. You may need me.’

‘My dear wife, if you were with me, I should suffer such anxieties as would take my mind off my armies.’

She was pleased at the implication, but sad because she was aware that he had made up his mind not to take her.

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘you will stay here in the palace. You will be well guarded. Joanna and the little Cypriot Princess will be with you.’

‘Oh, Richard ...’ she began sadly.

But he waved his hand to imply that the subject was closed. He must move on with his armies. She must remain in safety.

They had been together so little since their marriage. She knew of course that he had to devote himself to his armies; but could he not have spared a little time to be with her? She thought of the soldiers carousing with their women in the town. They had time for pleasure, why not Richard?

Alone in his apartment he thought of Berengaria and wished that he could have felt more tender towards her. But soon he dismissed her from his mind and was thinking of the march to Jaffa. He must set out soon, for to delay was dangerous. He thought of Saladin’s armies which would be waiting for him. What had Saladin thought when he saw his fellow countrymen slaughtered? But he had promised the ransom; the date for its delivery had passed. He would have learned by now that Richard was a man of his word. And he had retaliated by slaughtering the Christian prisoners in his camp. How many lives had been lost in this dispute?

Richard did not want to think of that. All the Christians who had died would now be in Heaven. And what of the Moslems? Had he sent them to Hell? Well, they would have gone there in any case.

He wondered what Philip’s verdict would have been. He had to stop thinking of Philip, and what would happen when he reached France. But he knew he could not trust him.

What was happening in England? A king should govern his own land, said Philip. But what if he had made a vow to restore the Holy Land to Christianity?

He was perplexed and ill at ease. Then he heard the strumming of a lute and a high treble voice singing a song – one of his, Richard’s, own compositions.

What a pleasant voice – so fresh, so young! On such lips the song sounded better than before.

He rose and went to the anteroom. There on a stool sat a fair youth gracefully playing his lute as he sang the words.

Suddenly he was aware of Richard. He started to his feet, flushing with embarrassment.

‘My lord, I fear my song disturbed you.’

‘Nay,’ said Richard, ‘it pleased me.’

‘’Tis a beautiful song, Sire.’

‘My own,’ answered the King. ‘I never heard it sung better.’

The boy lowered his eyes; there was delight in the gesture. It was as though he feared to gaze at such a dazzling figure.

‘Come,’ said the King, ‘let us sing it together. You take the first verse and I will answer you in the next.’

The boy lost his nervousness when singing, and together they harmonised.

Richard patted the boy’s flaxen curls.

‘Tell me your name,’ he said, ‘that I may ask for you to come and sing to me when I wish it.’

‘I am Blondel de Nesle, Sire,’ answered the boy.

None who had taken part in the march from Acre to Jaffa would ever forget it. The heat was intense, being one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade; armour became so heated by the sun that it burned the skin and gave additional torture to that suffered by the bites and stings of insects. The men’s dress was most unsuitable. The gambeson, a quilted garment made of linen, and sometimes leather, was padded with wool; over this was worn a hauberk with long sleeves and made of chain mail, attached to which was a hood which could be pulled up to cover the head. Beneath the hood a skull cap of iron was worn for protection and over this was a cone-shaped headpiece covering the wearer’s face with only a slit through which he could see. Beneath the armour was a long linen tunic, and in addition to these garments, the knight had his weapons to contend with. The sword, with its broad blade and square hilt, which was strapped to his side, was heavy; and very often in addition to his sword he would carry an iron hammer.

To march so accoutred added to the soldiers’ discomfort, and the watching Saracens were delighted to see the enemy so burdened that their speedy elimination seemed inevitable. In their own loose flowing robes, and accustomed to the weather as they were, they believed they were much better equipped for victory.

Richard, however, was not known as the greatest living general for nothing. He assessed the situation. His men would be protected in some measure by their heavy clothing and armour and if they marched but two miles a day and rested frequently they could endure the strain. He sent orders to the galleys containing food and other stores to sail along the coast keeping pace with the army. Thus what was needed would always be available during the journey.

No sooner had the march begun than the Saracens started their harassing tactics. To endure the terrific heat, the persistent thirst, the torment imposed on them by the insects would have been unbearable but for the courage of their leader who was always there to spur them on; and his knights seeking to emulate him were of great value to the King.

The Saracens tried to break the line but they could not do so. The fact that the army progressed so slowly enabled them to keep close together; and the constant stream of Saracen arrows, although they found their targets, could not penetrate the mail and many a footsoldier marched along with arrows protruding from him at all angles, giving him the look of a porcupine. These men then became reconciled to their heavy equipment because they realised its life-saving qualities.

By night they camped close to the sea where the galleys carrying food and ammunition were in sight to comfort them.

Richard, knowing that many of them would be thinking of the recent riotous living in Acre and perhaps losing heart because of it, arranged for the heralds to go through the camp shouting ‘Help us, O Holy Sepulchre!’ to remind them that they were on a holy crusade. When they heard the heralds call every man would stand to his feet and raise his hands together and cry to God to help him.

Each day the rising of the sun would remind the men that another day of discomfort and danger lay ahead before that blazing tormenter set again. But with the appeals to God ringing in their ears and the example of Richard and the knights and the belief that what they were doing would win Heaven’s approval, they were ready to march on. It might be, thought Richard, that their recent carousal in Acre would add zest to their days because they were in urgent need of a remission of their sins after the orgies in which they had indulged, so it could be said that the life they had led in Acre was a good thing after all.

There was one knight who won Richard’s special approval. Where the fighting was the fiercest that knight could always be seen; when the enemy circled about Richard he was there beside him and when the affray was beaten off Richard sent for him.

‘I want to thank you for your good work,’ said Richard. ‘I have seen you in action and that has given me comfort. You are an example to the men.’

The knight lifted his headpiece and when Richard recognised that face there was a moment of embarrassment as he recalled that incident of the canes when this man had torn his clothes and he had been unable to beat him.

‘So it is William des Barres,’ said Richard.

‘I fear so, Sire.’

‘Fear nothing,’ cried Richard. ‘But no need to tell you that. I know you fear nothing ... not even the wrath of kings.’

‘I have always kept out of your way, Sire.’

‘Until today. You were close to me then.’

‘I was there as an unknown knight. I did not think you would discover me.’

‘You fight well,’ said Richard, ‘whether it be with sword or canes. Let me see more of your skill.’

Then he laughed aloud. He was pleased. The affair of the canes had always made him feel ashamed when he recalled it.

‘Let us bury our quarrel by becoming the best of friends,’ said Richard.

At Arsouf a battle took place. The crusaders were greatly outnumbered, there being but one hundred thousand of them to three times that number of Saracens. The fighting was fierce and at first it seemed that the victory would go to Saladin; but the crusaders stood so firm that it was not possible for the Saracens to break their ranks. The lightly clad Saracens were very vulnerable to the crusaders’ arrows whereas the heavy crusader armour continued to save Christian lives.

Saladin in the thick of the fight was amazed at the skill of the crusaders, while at the same time Richard could not help but marvel at the bravery of the Moslems.

Richard thought: We should not be fighting against each other, and wondered if that same thought might be in Saladin’s mind.

He hoped that Saladin was understanding why he had had the prisoners slaughtered. A promise had been broken and this must be avenged. He believed now that had he waited Saladin would have sent the ransom and he had encountered nothing but a little oriental prevarication. His impatience had cost so many lives that he was horrified to consider this.

But Saladin must understand that when a great king gave his word that he would do something, he must do it.

The fact was that however much respect the leaders had for each other this was war.

By sunset Saladin conceded victory to Richard and he retired leaving the town of Arsouf in Richard’s possession. It was a Saturday and Richard said they should spend the whole of Sunday resting there.

There was mourning in the Saracen camps when their losses were counted. Some seven thousand Saracens had fallen in the battle while the Christian losses were comparatively slight.

Saladin, retiring to the woods, went about his camps to comfort his soldiers. The humble ones had fought well and valiantly; it was the Emirs, the leaders, who had been no match for the Christians.

Saladin sent for his brother and his son and asked why they had failed.

‘It is Richard,’ answered Malek Adel. ‘There is something unnatural about him. He is there in the thick of the battle one moment, and then, where there is a weakness and we are about to break through, he suddenly appears. His men who are on the point of surrender fight like lions when he is seen to be there. He shouts to them abuse and encouragement and it is as though he gives them special powers. If he had gone home instead of the King of France we should have driven them into the sea by now. No one can stand against him.’

Saladin nodded understandingly. ‘I know this to be so,’ he said. ‘I wonder what we can do against such a man. He has the valour to subdue all lands. What can we do against such a mighty foe? I would that he were our friend. But if I had to lose my land, then I would rather lose it to this King than any other.’

He could not eat. He sat brooding on his slaughtered ranks; and in his heart he was torn by his admiration for Richard now known as Coeur de Lion and his desire to drive him from the land.

He roused himself both from his melancholy and his preoccupation with the near divinity of his enemy.

‘Richard is but a man after all,’ he said to Malek Adel. ‘For the love of Allah do not let us see him as a god or we are indeed lost. We know him for the most formidable enemy who has ever come here. Very well, we must be shrewd. If he has bettered us on the battlefield perhaps there are other ways in which we can beat him. He will now march on to Jerusalem. Instead of harrying him on the way as we have been doing without great success let the main army ride on ahead of him. Raze to the ground the walls of the towns through which he must pass. Make sure that he cannot get supplies there. You may depend upon it he will make for Ascalon and attempt to cut off our supplies from Egypt. Let us be one step ahead of him.’

This seemed a good idea. No army could carry on without food and supplies. Saladin went on ahead to carry out the plan and thus Richard and his army reached Jaffa with comparative ease.

Although the walls had in places been razed to the ground, what comfort there was in Jaffa among the orange groves and the almond trees! Fruit, which they had sorely missed, abounded. Figs, grapes and pomegranates were theirs for the taking. To slake their thirst in such a pleasant manner seemed the height of bliss after the long hot marches.

But many of the company were sick of the adventure. They thought of the wily King of France who was on his way home. He was the wise one. They thought of weary journeys to come, and the chances of meeting death on the way. That they would go straight to Heaven had suddenly become a small compensation. The fleet was plying back and forth between Jaffa and Acre and under cover of darkness many of them slipped out of camp and stowed away in one of the galleys and so sailed back to Acre.

It was not long before it came to Richard’s ears that the Saracens were destroying the walls of the cities on the road to Jerusalem so that the Christian armies would find no shelter in the towns. Realising that this was the reason for the recent easy progress, Richard sent one of the galleys to Ascalon to discover whether this was true; when the galley returned with the news that it was, he decided that they should leave Jaffa and march immediately to Ascalon there to prevent the complete demolition of the city.

He knew that the men were restive. They had suffered more than soldiers should be asked to. There came a time when they were near breaking point, and having been among soldiers all his life Richard was well aware of this. He called a council consisting of the Dukes of Austria and Burgundy, Guy de Lusignan, and knights in whom he had great confidence such as William de Preaux and William des Barres.

He put to them the theory that they should march on in spite of the fact that the winter was almost upon them – and the winter could be as hard to bear as the heat of the summer. They should make for Jerusalem with all speed, he said, and once that city was in their hands they could fortify it and return home, the object of the crusade successfully achieved.

The Dukes were against it. The men were in need of a rest, they said. They were revelling in the fruits of Jaffa. They must have this respite. To march now after such a brief respite would mean that many would desert to Acre. The Duke of Austria who had never forgiven Richard for tearing down his flag from the walls of Acre hinted that he for one might do so and if he went, with him would go the German contingent. The ranks were depleted enough and Richard was aware that several of the men had slipped away.

He knew that he was right. He was supported by Guy de Lusignan but he recognised the signs of rebellion in the eyes of the Dukes and some of the knights and he said he would shelve the decision.

How restive was Richard at Jaffa! He longed to press on. He would get young Blondel to come and sing with him. He liked the boy to sit at his feet and he would caress his yellow curls as he sang. Blondel was quite a musician; he could compose both music and words. They wrote a ballad of a king and a minstrel and Richard said: ‘Sing this song to none other. Let us make it the song for us two.’

Blondel adored him and it seemed to Richard that there was a magic in those young fingers which could strum a lute to such perfection as to bring peace into the troubled days.

‘I want to march on to Jerusalem,’ he told Blondel. ‘The greatest moment of my life will be when I enter that city.’

But still he stayed at Jaffa.

Once he rode out on a hawking expedition. Like music the hunt brought him comfort; and as he rode along on his beloved Fauvel, he saw a party of Saracens and set chase. Fauvel could outpace all other horses and in a short time he had followed the Saracens into a wood. No sooner had he entered than he knew this was an ambush. They had deliberately set out to lead him here.

They might have taken him had not William des Preaux ridden up and shouted to him: ‘What do you here, knave? How dare you leave me! Because I allow you to ride my horse you do not take my crown as well.’

The Saracens many of whom could understand the language of the Franks which was spoken by most of the crusaders immediately believed that they had lured the wrong man into the woods and that William des Preaux was the King.

They started to chase him, thus giving Richard the opportunity to escape. William des Preaux also managed to elude them.

Afterwards Richard and William des Preaux laughed over the adventure which was such as the King loved; and he spent much time in the company of William des Preaux and William des Barres playing chess and mock jousting with them, riding out to hunt, but taking greater care in this than before, for daring as he was Richard saw that had he been captured that would have been a most ignoble end to the crusade.

During that stay in Jaffa he realised how many had deserted and that he had to contend with weary men and arrogant leaders such as the Duke of Austria. They were enjoying a period of peace but it was uneasy and could end at any moment. It must be that Saladin’s army was suffering in a similar fashion and it occurred to Richard that, since Saladin had once before shown himself amenable, this might be an opportune moment to come to some agreement, that they might have a temporary truce to give them both a little respite.

The idea of negotiating with Saladin excited him. He sent out feelers and discovered that the Sultan was as eager to make terms as he was.

Richard’s terms for peace were that Jerusalem with the territory between the River Jordan and the sea should be given to the Christians.

When Saladin heard this he raised his eyebrows. It was a big demand. Richard could not seriously believe it would be granted, but nevertheless Saladin would not reject it immediately. Both sides were weary of fighting. They needed a rest; discussions of terms of peace would be one way of getting it.

Saladin could not openly visit Richard. If they discussed terms they must eat and drink, and to sit down at a table together meant more to all Arabs than appeasing hunger and thirst. It was a symbol of friendship. No, they could not accept the fact that their great leader – as godlike to them as Richard was to crusaders – should sit down and eat with a Christian.

Saladin sent for his brother Malek Adel. ‘Go to Richard,’ he said, ‘discuss these terms with him. I do not believe for one moment that he wants peace. He wants to drive us out of Jerusalem that it may be restored to the Christians. It is a matter of religion with him. But what he needs and what we need is a respite from fighting. Go then and hear what he has to say.’

Malek Adel was eager to undertake the mission. He wanted to know more of this myth-like figure who had the power to strike terror into the hearts of Saracen warriors merely by appearing.

He went to Richard bearing rich gifts, among them seven valuable camels and an elaborate tent. They sat together and food was served to them and they treated each other with the utmost respect as they discussed the possibilities of making a truce.

Each was impressed by the other. Malek Adel had a grace and charm only second to that of his brother; he was witty, astute and, Richard knew, courageous. Richard marvelled that these people whom he had in the past been led to believe were little better than savages could so please him with their company.

With adroitness Malek Adel skirted the subject. It never occurred to Richard, such was his forthright nature, that Malek Adel could be anything but in deadly earnest. He was led to believe that there was the greatest possibility of a peace treaty being signed.

They talked of music and Richard sent for his favourite minstrel, Blondel de Nesle, who sang for the delight of Malek Adel; then Malek Adel sent for Syrian dancers and musicians who performed for Richard’s pleasure.

It was a congenial meeting.

Malek Adel went back to report to Saladin who had now received overtures from Conrad de Montferrat hinting that he would be ready to negotiate with Saladin separately.

‘This man is a traitor,’ said Saladin. ‘Let us hear what he has to say. He hates Richard because Richard gave his support to Guy de Lusignan in the conflict between Guy and Montferrat. And see he promises me that he will take up arms against Richard if I guarantee him possession of Sidon and Beyrout.’

‘And will you?’

‘I would not trust him as I trust Richard. But we must see him, and, brother, let Richard know that Montferrat is negotiating with us. It will serve two purposes. It will make him anxious to come to peace with us and it will let him know that Montferrat is a traitor.’

Thus it soon reached Richard’s ears that Montferrat was visiting Saladin. This could only be for one reason. If he was conferring with the enemy he was no longer Richard’s friend. He never had been, of course, but at least he had recognised Richard as the leader of the crusade now that the King of France had gone home.

It was clear how Montferrat’s mind was working. He was furious because Richard had got Philip to agree to make Guy King of Jerusalem until his death. That could mean that it would be years before it came into Montferrat’s possession and perhaps it never would.

Was Saladin likely to make terms if he knew that there was dissension in the Christian ranks? It was hardly possible. The winter lay before them. Richard desperately needed respite and it occurred to him that there was nothing like a marriage to cement the bonds between rulers. What of Joanna? She was a widow and he should find her a husband sometime. He would have done so by now had he not been so exclusively engaged in the crusade.

He had rarely met a man of such charms as Malek Adel. He was cultured; he had graceful manners. Surely any woman would be attracted by him. He remembered that his own mother had once been in love with a Saracen. His name had been Saladin and he had been related to the present Sultan. There had been talk of a marriage. If her mother had been ready to marry a Saracen of high rank why should not Joanna?

The idea persisted.

There was another matter which concerned him. Many crusaders had been slipping away to Acre. They had forgotten their vows in the terrible march across the desert. He would go to Acre. He could travel there easily on one of the galleys and the journey undertaken that way would be quick and easy to make. He would harangue the deserters and at the same time have a word with Joanna.

Within a few days he arrived in Acre. There was great rejoicing in the palace. Berengaria and Joanna greeted him with great joy. They prepared a feast and Berengaria arranged a concert of all the best musicians to delight him.

It was easy to see that he was preoccupied.

‘I cannot stay long,’ he told them, ‘and when I return I wish you to accompany me.’

Berengaria was delighted.

‘You have missed me perhaps?’ she asked wistfully.

‘There have been many times during the march when I have rejoiced that you were not with me. We suffered torments. I could not have permitted you to endure that. Moreover it would have been an additional anxiety to know that you were there and God knows we had enough.’

Joanna said fondly: ‘Richard always thinks of our comfort.’

He assessed her afresh. She had always been devoted to him. He did not think he would have much difficulty in persuading her to accept Malek Adel once she knew he desired it.

But it occurred to him that he would not mention the matter until they were in Jaffa. While he was here he would devote himself to commanding or shaming the deserters into rejoining the army.

This he did. He went through the city declaiming his disgust of those who took vows and then did not honour them. Such men would be ashamed to face their Maker when they died. They would go to Him heavy with guilt and the burden of their sins still upon them.

So eloquently did he speak, so impressive was his personality – many of them had forgotten how dynamic he could be – that in a short time he had persuaded every man of them that his only hope of peace in this life and salvation in the next was to return with him to Jaffa.

When they arrived in that town, the army was increased considerably by the return of those who had previously slunk away and Richard decided to put his plan before Joanna.

Berengaria was with her when he began and the Cypriot Princess who never seemed to leave them was sitting quietly stitching in a corner of the room.

‘I have something to say to you, Joanna,’ he began. ‘You have been on my mind a good deal. You have lost your husband. Would you like another?’

Joanna looked startled.

‘Why ... so much would depend ... If he were suitable ... if I were fond of him ...’

‘I know,’ said Richard, ‘you have been married once and happily. You would naturally look with favour on another husband. Particularly if he were handsome and of high rank.’

‘You cannot have chosen someone for me ... here.’

Richard nodded. He went to Joanna, pulled her to her feet and kissed her brow. ‘My dear sister, it is exactly what I have done.’

‘Who could it possibly be?’ cried Joanna.

‘It is Malek Adel, the brother of Saladin.’

Joanna stared at him incredulously, and Richard hurried on: ‘He is a man of high rank and great charm. He is handsome; he is ...’

Joanna cried: ‘He is a Mohammedan! A Saracen. You cannot seriously suggest that I should marry such a man!’

‘You have the familiar belief that these people are barbarians. Let me tell you that is far from the case. They are charming people; they are brave, cultured ... everything that a woman could wish.’

‘Not this woman!’ cried Joanna firmly. ‘You need time to grow accustomed to the idea.’

‘I need no time. I know immediately and without consideration that I would never marry a Saracen.’

‘You are being unreasonable. You have been listening to ignorant people. I know these Saracens. I have eaten with this man. Together we have listened to music. He is clever ... He is charming ... a man any woman would be proud to marry.’

‘A Saracen woman perhaps but not a Christian, not the daughter of King Henry of England and Queen Eleanor.’

Joanna had changed suddenly. All the docility had dropped from her. There was no doubt in those moments whose daughter she was. She had no need to remind her brother. There was all the fierceness, the arrogance, the self-will of both her parents.

‘How many wives has this Saracen already?’ she demanded.

‘I doubt not he has a few but that is no problem.’

‘No problem! Not to you nor to me either, for I refuse to consider this matter for one moment.’

‘I must ask you to be reasonable. This is a matter of great importance. It could help to decide the issue of this crusade.’

‘Then the issue of this crusade must remain undecided.’

‘Men’s lives are involved.’

‘And so is mine.’

‘You are unreasonable.’

‘And you are arrogant. Would you take a Saracen woman to wife?’

‘If it were necessary.’

‘For you it would be easy. You could marry a wife and proceed to neglect her. You could indulge in your wars to such an extent that you would find excuse enough never to see her.’

Berengaria gave a little cry and Joanna flushed a little, knowing how she had hurt her sister-in-law.

‘Richard,’ said Joanna, ‘I will not do it. You can tell your Saracens that I would rather jump from the towers of this town than marry a man who is not a Christian.’

Richard said: ‘Perhaps we could persuade him to become a Christian.’

Joanna burst into wild laughter. ‘Perhaps they would want me to become a Mohammedan.’

‘Nay,’ said Richard seriously, ‘I would not ask that!’

‘How kind,’ cried Joanna sarcastically. ‘How good you are to me! You would marry me to a savage, a man who doubtless has a harem of wives. You would send me to join them, but because you are so good and kind you would say, “Please will you become a Christian.” I can imagine how the man you have chosen for me would laugh at that.’

‘You are in an unreasonable mood.’

‘Aye,’ cried Joanna, ‘and shall remain there as long as you ask me to marry so. Let me tell you this, Richard, it is something I will never do.’

Richard walked hastily away.

Berengaria and Joanna looked at each other. They took a step forward and flew into each other’s arms.

Joanna was half laughing, half crying. Berengaria was pale and sad.

‘Joanna,’ whispered Berengaria, ‘could he insist?’

‘Never,’ replied Joanna. ‘He knows I mean what I say.’

‘You would not ... kill yourself.’

‘Rather than marry such a man ... yes.’

‘Oh, Joanna. It is a terrible thing to be a Princess who is sent where others wish her to be. I used to think I was fortunate.’

‘And are you not, Berengaria?’

‘What is the use, Joanna? Why should we pretend? He does not care for me. He makes excuses to be away from me.’

‘Take comfort that he is not with other women.’

Berengaria’s lips tightened. She stared straight ahead and said: ‘Perhaps there are others of whom I should be jealous.’

Alas, thought Joanna, she has grown up and she finds the world is not what she thought.

All pretence between them had disappeared. From now on if they remained together, there would be no necessity to placate Berengaria with excuses for all Richard had to do. Berengaria knew that he did not want her; that any relationship she would have with him would be because of a sense of duty to the crown.

They were two unhappy women – Berengaria more so than Joanna, for Joanna had declared that she would never marry the Saracen and she meant it.

The Cypriot Princess watching them sat so quietly that they forgot she was there.

Yes, it was true, it was sad to be a Princess. She wondered what her own fate would be. Her father was in chains – silver ones – and Cyprus belonged to Richard. She had no home. Would she ever see her father or her old home again? Would a husband be found for her? Perhaps not, for homeless and with a father in chains, she was not important any more.

Richard realised that Joanna would never marry Malek Adel; he had a niece, however, who could take Joanna’s place and marry the Saracen leader. He sent a message to Saladin and Malek Adel telling them that before a marriage could be arranged with his sister Queen Joanna it would be necessary to get a dispensation from the Pope which would cause delays and difficulties. He therefore proposed that Malek Adel should take his niece.

When Saladin heard this he laughed aloud. He had never expected for one moment that Richard’s sister would marry his brother. It had all been part of the bargaining, which was not to be taken seriously.

He sent a message to say that Malek Adel could not consider anyone of lesser rank than the King’s sister; and Richard had to accept the fact that that idea could not be pursued.

Saladin was not displeased with what had happened. The terms could never of course be considered seriously but at least the peace talks had delayed action and both sides were resting. The autumn was passing into winter and that was scarcely the season to wage a successful campaign.

Leaving Berengaria and Joanna in Jaffa Richard with the army moved on to the town of Ramleh, which Saladin had evacuated when he decided that he would move back to Jerusalem and prepare for an assault on that town should it come.

There was a conflict of opinion in the Christian camp. The fact that Saladin had gone to Jerusalem could only mean that he was building up defences there and as the peace talks had come to nothing it was clear that he was determined to defend Jerusalem with all his strength.

Some of the crusaders wished to press on to Jerusalem and subject it to a siege. Richard knew very well that they were not equipped to do this and Saladin would be in a much stronger position than they were. They would be utterly defeated and they must remember that such defeat to them would be disastrous whereas the Saracens on their own territory could after a while get men and supplies for further attacks.

The failure of the peace talks and the inability of Richard to arrange a match between his sister and Malek Adel had slightly tarnished his aura of invincibility, and there were some who questioned his judgements. As the majority of the crusaders wanted to press on to Jerusalem Richard gave way. He too wanted to see the Holy City; he wanted to crown the crusade with the ultimate glory. If he could set the Christian flag flying over that city he would die contented.

It was the twenty-second of December when Richard left Ramleh on the march to Jerusalem. The crusaders had never seen such rain; it poured in torrents; the hailstones were the size of pigeons’ eggs and they felt that one of the plagues of Egypt was being visited upon them. From the mountains the swollen streams became rivers and the paths were so muddy that men sank up to their knees.

After days of disaster it became clear that no progress could be made. The army was miserable and dispirited. The only thing to do was to return to Ramleh.

This they did, disgruntled and weary, blaming each other for the disaster. Richard did not know then that in the town of Jerusalem, Saladin, his army depleted, his stores scarce was fearful that Richard would continue the march to Jerusalem and that had he done so at that time he might have had a good chance of success.

At Ramleh Richard discussed the position with the dukes and the knights. Those who knew something of the Palestine winter were certain that they must wait for the spring. An army could not progress through such rain as was customary in this land and the cold would be intense, also. Richard decided that they would spend the winter repairing the walls of cities which Saladin’s army had destroyed, while doing so making ready for the spring offensive.

It was depressing. He had reckoned on taking Jerusalem before Christmas and here he was in January still far from achieving that purpose.

They were in need of food and he believed that their ships would be lying off the coast of Ascalon so he ordered that they should leave at once for that town.

The journey was even worse than they had anticipated. The men were blinded by the rain; again and again their baggage sank in the mud; they cursed the climate and asked themselves which was worse, the heat of summer or this devastating rain, snow and cold which seeped into their bones.

Their spirits were not lifted when they arrived at Ascalon. The walls were in complete ruin, for Saladin, guessing they would wish to use this town, had done his best to make it uninhabitable. There was one hopeful sign. The supply ships had arrived but alas even in that they were thwarted, for it was impossible for the ships to land on account of the stormy weather.

So there they were, a dejected army – with food and other supplies in sight but unable to reach them.

Richard, always at his best in adversity, ordered them to occupy the town. They would take what was there, repair the walls and make the place habitable. The storms must subside at some time and then they would have their provisions.

They settled in and to inspire his men he himself joined them in the manual labour of repairing the walls.

Inspecting the men, taking a share in the work, he encouraged them to carry on and it was comforting to see a revival of spirits. He noticed however that Leopold, the Duke of Austria, was not working with the rest.

Coming face to face with the Duke who was strolling in a leisurely manner close to the wall where men were working, Richard said to him: ‘I do not see you joining with us in this necessary work, my lord Duke.’

‘You do not see me because I do not do it,’ answered Leopold. ‘My father was not a mason and I am not a carpenter.’

The Plantagenet temper boiled over. This was the kind of incident Richard was most anxious to avoid. The soldiers had suffered great hardship and he wanted them to know that this was understood and appreciated and shared by them all.

In a sudden rage he kicked the Duke of Austria on the shin so fiercely that he fell sprawling on the ground.

This affront to his dignity infuriated the Duke. He scrambled to his feet, scarlet with rage. Richard by now had stalked away.

‘A curse on you!’ shouted Leopold.

A few days later he and his men, which meant the German contingent, had left the crusade.

That was a dispiriting winter. The departure of Leopold of Austria in high dudgeon was followed by that of the Duke of Burgundy who, finding himself short of money, had asked Richard to lend him some. He had believed, he explained, that he would have had his share of the ransom for the prisoners of Acre which he had been relying on. Now that it was lost, because in his wrath Richard had slain the prisoners of that city there was no money forthcoming from Saladin, and Burgundy, like many others, was finding himself in difficulties.

Richard who had lent him money at Acre and not been repaid refused to help him. So infuriated was the Duke that he went off taking the French contingent with him and declaring his intention to join Montferrat.

His plans going wrong, victory seeming far away, Richard longed for an end of inactivity.

With the coming of the spring he would go forward to Jerusalem; surely this year would see victory.

Letters came from Queen Eleanor. The news they contained was very disturbing. She expressed her fears with vehemence. There was trouble in England. The people deplored the long absence of their King. Philip of France was being over friendly with Richard’s brother John; and there was no doubt that John had his eyes on the throne and had a good chance of getting it if Richard did not come home to prevent him.

‘You cannot wish to lose your crown,’ wrote his mother, ‘and if you want to keep it you must come back to England without delay. There is no time to lose.’

When Richard read those letters he was thrown into a state of terrible indecision. At one moment he was almost on the point of returning home; at another he was telling himself it would be folly to go now that he was so near to Jerusalem.

While he was pondering on this Conrad de Montferrat asked for an audience and Richard immediately granted it.

What hatred Montferrat harboured against him! He could sense it. He felt weary. This man had made a split in the crusaders’ army.

‘You came,’ said Richard, ‘not to fight for God but for yourself.’

‘Who does not?’ replied Montferrat. ‘Some achieve great conquests like the Island of Cyprus. Others are content with less. And we do our duty to God at the same time as to ourselves.’

‘You must know that before the King of France left we made a treaty that Guy de Lusignan should be King of Jerusalem during his lifetime and then you and your heirs should follow him.’

‘I wish to be King of Jerusalem during my lifetime.’

‘And if I do not agree?’

‘Many of your men are already with me. I have the Dukes of Austria and Burgundy with their followers to swell my ranks. There are others.’

Yes, thought Richard sadly, there are others.

He curbed his temper and instead of shouting abuse at Montferrat which he might have done a short time before, he said: ‘I will consider this matter.’

When Montferrat had left him he thought of the trouble in England and he knew that his mother was right when she said he should come home.

What if he should reconquer Jerusalem and lose England?

I will not, he assured himself fiercely; but something within him told him he could not have both ... not yet.

So later when he was urged by his counsellors to forget his promise to Guy de Lusignan and bestow the crown of Jerusalem on Conrad de Montferrat he surprised himself by his agreement.

He sent for Guy and wearily told him what he had agreed to.

‘But, my friend,’ he said, ‘do not despair. The crown of Jerusalem has yet to be won and it would have been yours but for a lifetime. I have a better proposition for you. Suppose you were King of Cyprus now, and your heirs followed you to the throne. Would that please you as much as the crown of Jerusalem?’

Guy replied that spiritually nothing could compare with the crown of Jerusalem; but he believed he would please God best by pleasing his King, for his duty was to serve him while he was on earth. He would accept the crown of Cyprus and he could see that by bestowing the as yet unattained crown of Jerusalem on Montferrat Richard had taken from a treacherous enemy a reason for breaking away from the crusading army.

Richard embraced Guy. He had always known that he could rely on him.