The Heart of the Lion

Chapter VII THE KING AND THE SULTAN

The June sun blazed down on the fleet of ships – one hundred and fifty of them. They were on their way to Acre and leading them was Trenc-the-mere. Shouting orders through his trumpet, commanding that none was to attempt to pass him, sailing close to the arid land, Richard’s spirits soared. He would soon be in Acre. Before he had left Cyprus he had heard that Philip had broken the siege and filled with dismay he had hastened his preparations to depart. It had been a great relief to learn that the news was false.

And now on to Acre, to Philip, to make their plans together, to bring about the realisation of a dream.

As they had sailed from Cyprus, Richard heard that one of his galley men wished to speak to him. This man told him that he had been in Beyrout and there seen a wonderful ship – the largest he had ever seen.

‘It was a Saracen, Sire,’ he said. ‘Her sides were hung with green and yellow tarpaulins. I asked what this was for and was told that the Byzantine navy frequently use the deadly Greek Fire in their fighting and these tarpaulins are protection for the hull. Sire, this ship was being loaded with men and food. It was said that there were eight hundred Turks and seven Emirs to command them and they were on their way to Acre.’

‘If this be true,’ said Richard, ‘it is small wonder that the siege goes on. They must be constantly supplied with food and troops.’

‘And, Sire, that was not all. It was said that two hundred deadly snakes were being put on board the vessel and these were to be let loose in the Christian camp.’

‘By God’s eyes,’ cried Richard, ‘is this so then? I would to God I had the chance to meet such a ship.’

It seemed that his prayers were answered for between Beyrout and Sidon a ship was sighted on the horizon. Three-masted and flying the French flag, she was one of the biggest ships Richard had ever seen.

‘I never knew Philip owned such a ship,’ said Richard. ‘If he had, surely I would have seen it. He would certainly have boasted of her.’

Richard suspected that she was not French and as they came nearer he saw the green and yellow tarpaulins on her sides and sent for the galley man who had told him of the ship he had seen in Beyrout.

He did not wait to be asked. ‘That is the ship, Sire, the one I saw being loaded in Beyrout.’

Richard ordered one of the galleys to go forward and make contact with the ship.

The ship’s answer was a shower of arrows, javelins and stones.

‘’Tis true,’ cried Richard. ‘She’s an enemy. She must not be allowed to reach Acre.’

He gave the order to close in on her but the extreme height of the ship gave her the advantage and she was able to send down such a shower of arrows on to the galleys that the wise action seemed to be to retire.

Richard was furious. She was not going to escape. He could see that his men were losing heart for what they considered an unequal battle doomed to failure. But Richard never accepted failure. He was either going to capture or sink that vessel. She was not going to reach Acre with her reinforcements of men and food and her deadly serpents to wreak havoc in the Christian camp.

‘Are you such cowards,’ he cried to his men, ‘that you shrink from action with the enemy? She is one and we are many. Shall you, soldiers of the Cross allow her to carry succour to the Saracen? If you allow these enemies of God to escape you deserve to be hanged, every one of you.’

As ever his magnetism mingled with his personal valour had its effect. Those men who, a few moments before, had grumbled to each other that to attack was folly, were now straining for the fight.

Some of them even attempted to board the ship, and as they did so their hands or heads were cut off and the air was filled with their piercing cries as they fell back into the sea. When several men leaped into the water and tied a rope to the Saracen’s helm so that her progress might be impeded, this was more successful.

Then to the Saracens’ relief Richard gave the order to retire. It was but a respite. His mind was made up. He deeply regretted that he could not take the vessel, and the thought of all that treasure on board dismayed him. What he could do, what he must do was sink her; and that was what he was going to do.

The prows of the galleys were iron which made of these ships excellent battering rams. They could drive themselves into the sides of the Saracen with such force that they broke her up. This they did until the sea was darkened by the bodies of drowning men and the ship’s cargo. Richard tried to salvage some of the latter but without much success.

But the victory was Richard’s. The Saracen would not sail into Acre. The besieged who would be eagerly awaiting succour would be disappointed.

Surely, thought Richard, this action must have brought the fall of Acre nearer.

After such an engagement the fleet must put in at Tyre. At last he had reached the Holy Land. How enthralled Richard was at the prospect of setting foot on that soil. For so long he had dreamed of this; now fulfilment was at hand. He felt sure that ere long he would have captured the Holy City itself.

Flushed with victory he landed, but if he had expected a warm welcome, he was disappointed for the Governor came riding down to the shore. He bowed coldly and said: ‘My lord, I have orders from the Marquis Conrad de Montferrat that you are not to enter the town.’

‘What means this?’ cried Richard dismayed.

‘My orders, Sire.’

‘So I am to be governed by Conrad de Montferrat?’

‘He has the backing, Sire, of the King of France.’

‘Is this the Holy Land?’ cried Richard. ‘It is indeed, Sire.’

‘Know you what I have but a few days ago sunk a great Saracen who was taking supplies and men to Acre? My men are weary. They seek rest, lodging, food, relaxation.’

‘They may camp outside the city.’

‘I shall remember this,’ said Richard.

‘Not against me, my lord, I beg you,’ answered the Governor. ‘I but obey orders.’

‘Then I shall remember it against Montferrat and the King of France.’

‘If there is aught I can do for you, sire, outside the town ...’

‘Nay,’ snapped Richard. ‘There is naught. We shall not stay long on your inhospitable shores. Have you heard what happened to one who was similarly churlish? He lost his island and now lies in chains.’

The Governor began to tremble and Richard thought: It is no use blaming him. He is not the enemy.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

‘Set up the tents,’ he said. ‘We rest outside the city.’ And he thought: If this were not a Christian stronghold Tyre would go the same way as Cyprus.

But the men were weary and he was eager to get to Acre. There must be no more delay. And why had Montferrat backed by Philip behaved so to him? He supposed it was because he had sponsored Guy de Lusignan for the crown of Jerusalem when it was won. Well, Guy was worth a little friction. He did not regret favouring him one jot.

And now to rest.

The Queens came ashore – Berengaria with Joanna and the pretty little Cypriot maid.

‘We watched the fight,’ said Berengaria. ‘Oh, Richard, I was terrified. But I knew of course that you would win. You will always win.’

Joanna embraced him. ‘I was afraid for you,’ she murmured.

‘I am grieved,’ he answered, ‘that you were in a position to watch it. How glad I was that you were not in my galley!’

‘Richard is so wise,’ said Berengaria, but she spoke a little wistfully.

And the little Cypriot looked on with wondering eyes.

‘There is much to be done,’ said Richard. ‘I have ordered that you shall be comfortably lodged. I must now leave you. There is much to be done.’

Was that all? wondered Berengaria as Richard turned away.

It was an auspicious moment. There before him lay the walled city of Acre, its towers and minarets set against a blue and cloudless sky. To the south of the city stretched ten miles of golden sands with palm trees dotted here and there; and on these sands were camped the armies from all over the Christian world.

Richard gazed in wonder. At last after so many irksome months he had arrived. He turned his gaze to the thick walls of the city – strong, formidable. Behind them lurked the Saracen enemy, as determined never to be driven out of this stronghold as Richard was to take it, for since the fall of Jerusalem it had become the capital of the Holy Land. For two years those Christian armies had sought to break the siege and take the city which was the gateway to Jerusalem.

Why was it so difficult to capture the city? How could the men and women of Acre hold out so long? Surely God was on the side of the Christians! And when Richard considered the ship he had sunk and all the men and provisions which had been lost in the sea he was not surprised at the endurance of those people. If such stores were being brought to them regularly, they had nothing to fear from a siege.

But he was here at last ... yearning for the battle and when the fleet came into sight there were shouts from the shore and as he came nearer Richard saw the people gathered there to meet him.

There was an august figure there on horseback surrounded by a company of men. Philip! He was looking eagerly towards the ships. Richard knew for whom he was searching.

When Berengaria was ready to go ashore Philip waded out to the galley and, so that she should not get her feet wet, himself carried her to the beach. This was a significant gesture indeed, for Alice’s fate was still undecided. It was characteristic of Philip to show the world that he felt no ill will towards Berengaria because she was now Queen of England in place of his sister.

But, wondered those who saw this gallant gesture, how true was his apparent acceptance of this state of affairs? With Philip no one could be sure.

Richard was the last to go ashore and there in view of all, he and Philip embraced affectionately.

‘At last you are here!’ said Philip. ‘What delays there have been!’

‘Necessary delays,’ replied Richard.

‘It seems years since Messina.’

‘What a goodly array,’ cried Richard. ‘Men from all over the Christian world! How can we fail with such a company?’

‘Come,’ said Philip, ‘I wish us to be alone together. There is much to be discussed.’

‘First,’ said Richard, ‘I would inspect the troops. I want to know what we have here. What a motley!’

It is true. There were French, and English of course, Germans, Italians, Spanish, in fact as Richard had said every Christian nation appeared to be represented.

As Richard rode round the camps, cheers went up. There could be no doubt that his presence was a signal for rejoicing. His fame had gone before him. He was the unconquered and unconquerable hero of the Christian world. There could be no failure with him to lead them. They had long awaited his coming and now here he was, and this must mean that ere long Acre would fall.

He was glad to see that besides the troops from the Christian countries there was a goodly number of the company of Hospitallers – necessary to any army. These people lived up to their name and tended the sick and wounded and were very skilled in their work. They knew the value of foods and which were good in the treatment of certain ailments; they had linen for bandages and wine in which to soak them because this appeared to have healing qualities. When it was necessary to amputate a limb, which was often, they could brew a concoction of opium and mandragora with which to numb the patient’s senses. They were an essential part of an army.

Richard’s spirits rose. He could not see how these armies could fail – with God’s help, and surely God would not deny that to men occupied in such a cause!

It was with great optimism that he came at length to Philip’s camp.

Philip dismissed all his men that he might be alone with Richard.

‘You should never have delayed as you did,’ he chided. ‘I’ve watched and waited and the days passed with still no sign of you.’

‘I dallied with good results. I got treasure from Tancred and the island of Cyprus is now mine.’

‘You did not come for personal conquests, Richard.’

‘Cyprus is now a haven for crusaders. They may refurbish their stores and rest there. The men can have a few days’ respite in delightful surroundings – fig trees, palm trees, beautiful flowers. It is an enchanting place. You will see how this will help us in our war against the Saracen.’

‘Well, suffice it that you are here. That gives me great satisfaction.’

‘Tell me, Philip, what has been happening in the last six weeks? I heard that you had taken Acre.’

‘No. As if I would without you! Wasn’t that a pact we made?’

‘Pacts are not always remembered.’

‘They should be between us two. Nay, we have had ill luck. These Saracens are fighters, Richard. Mistake that not. The climate here is terrible. We have been tormented by the hot wind from the south which they call the khamsin. It is horrible. There is sand everywhere. In one’s clothes, in one’s food ... there is no escaping it. It is a case of sand and flies everywhere. I hate this place, Richard. I want nothing so much as to be out of it.’

‘How can that be? When Acre is taken we have to march on to Jerusalem.’

‘Do not imagine it is going to be an easy victory. There is one man whose reputation matches your own. It is said that he is undefeatable. He is the great Moslem hero; even as you are the hero of the Christians. His name is Saleh-ed-Din. He is known throughout the camp as Saladin. He is a sort of legend. Yes, indeed, he is to them what you are to the Christians. I know not what will be the result when you two meet.’

‘I shall be the victor, I assure you. I am going to take Acre within the next few days.’

‘It is not as easy as you think.’

‘It would not do to think it impossible to achieve.’

‘Nay, but do not turn your back on the difficulties. I assure you they exist and they are many.’

‘What happened while you were awaiting my arrival?’

‘I was determined not to make a general assault until you came, so I contented myself with skirmishes. There is a tower known as the Accursed Tower because it is said to have been built with Judas’s thirty pieces of silver. I thought this should be taken and we have battered it continuously but because we were using bores and battering rams our task was made impossible by the enemy’s use of Greek Fire.’

Richard was acquainted with this deadly weapon used so frequently by the Saracens. It was a mixture of sulphur, wine, pitch, Persian gum and oil. When these substances were mixed together and set on fire they were almost inextinguishable. The only substances which could reduce their fury were vinegar and sand. The Byzantine Greeks had perfected this as a weapon and because of their many skirmishes with them the Saracens had adopted it to good effect. From a great height they would squirt this fire down on an enemy thus destroying all the contraptions which were put into action.

‘Then,’ said Richard, ‘if they are using Greek Fire with such effect we must attack them from afar.’

He went on to tell Philip of the weapons he proposed to use. There was the tower which he had built in the Sicilian campaign, Mate Griffon. This he had brought with him and it should be set up again. It should be put on wheels and when the moment was ripe should be run up against the walls of the city and his men from its tower could step over the walls.

‘You will see that my dallying as you call it has not been wasted. Valuable experience came my way because of it.’

‘It was your presence I missed,’ said the King of France. ‘All has changed now you are come. The soldiers know it. And what is more important so does Saladin. Imagine him ... encamped on the hills beyond the city ready to come in if we should take it, ready to attack us when we are most exhausted. I should like to know how he is feeling this day with the knowledge that Richard the Lion is here.’

‘To be more greatly feared than Philip the Lamb.’

‘Do not underestimate me, Richard.’

‘Nay, I should not be so foolish. If I did you would be reminding me of my Dukedom in Normandy.’

‘You know that the friendship between us is greater than any rivalry. You know that we are friends before King and vassal.’

‘Or King and King.’

‘Aye, my Lord of England. And how I rejoice that at last you have come.’

He was not the only one. Bonfires were lighted that night. They sprang up everywhere in the Christian camp. The crusaders sang of his exploits. They had begun to call him the Lion-hearted.

In his camp Saladin heard the sounds of rejoicing and he knew that the name of Richard the Lion-Heart struck terror into the hearts of his men.

He wanted very much to come face to face with this hero whose fame had spread through Christendom and into his own ranks.

In the tent the two Queens waited for Richard to come to them. To Berengaria it seemed strange that she was never alone with her husband. She knew, of course, that he had a Holy War to fight; the sight of the camps and military activity before the city filled her with apprehension and the thought of what those people within its walls must be suffering made her very sad.

‘I know they are not Christians,’ she told Joanna, ‘but they are people. I have heard that they are starving.’

‘If that is so,’ said Joanna, ‘they will not hold out much longer and then it will all be over.’

‘It will not be the end,’ said Berengaria sadly. ‘When they have taken Acre, what next? There will be more fighting, more camps like this. I thought we were all going to die during that terrible battle with the Saracen ship.’

‘Nay, we’ll not die. Richard will take too much care of us for that.’

Did she really believe it? wondered Berengaria. She herself had changed a little. She was beginning to realise that Richard was not over anxious for her company. If he were surely there would be some time when they could be together?

The little Cypriot Princess who was constantly in attendance listened to their conversation and wondered what would become of her and whether she would ever be allowed to go home to her father.

Richard seemed to have forgotten their existence, though they heard that he often rode out with the King of France.

‘He spends a great deal of time with Philip,’ Berengaria commented, ‘although he has little to spare for us.’

‘It is good for the men to see them together,’ Joanna excused him. ‘It gives them confidence in their leaders.’

One day Richard did come to their tent, and with him was the King of France. Richard was kind and enquired after his wife’s health but it was not the occasion for intimate conversation. As for Philip he was very courteous, particularly to Joanna, but as Joanna said afterwards to Berengaria, it did not mean anything.

‘Would you like to be Queen of France?’ asked Berengaria.

‘No. If I married again I would wish to marry for love.’

‘Perhaps you could love Philip.’

‘I do not think I could and I would not want to marry merely because it would be a link for our two countries if I did. I believe that a Princess may be in duty bound to marry in the first place for state reasons, but when that marriage is over she should have a free choice.’

‘Yet if Philip offered for you?’

‘I could refuse.’

‘Even if Richard wanted it?’

‘Let us not consider that. At the moment neither of them has time for women. They have their battles to think of.’

‘I believe some of the men have time for their women.’

‘They are not kings,’ said Joanna shortly. She turned to the little Cypriot and said: ‘You listen. Perhaps you are wondering when a husband will be found for you?’

‘Do you think there ever will be?’

‘I am sure of it. Richard will find a husband for you when he is no longer preoccupied with his battles.’

And when would that be, wondered Joanna. She could not imagine Richard without a war to fight.

Richard was preoccupied with the coming assault on the walls of Acre. He had brought with him several contraptions which it was necessary for him to assemble. There was, of course, his tower, the Mate Griffon, on which men were working so that when the time came it could be wheeled into position. There was another machine known as the Belfry; this like the Mate Griffon was intended to be placed close to the walls of the city when the time was ripe for entry. Because of the Saracen’s frequent use of Greek Fire, Richard had ordered that it should be covered with tanned hides as a protection against the fire. Another of his machines was a war engine which was used for throwing stones high in the air and at great speed so that they fell into the city. This mangonel had been called the Bad Neighbour and when the Saracens invented a similar machine to throw stones back among the Christians this was nicknamed the Bad Kinsman.

All through the days that followed Richard’s arrival work went on to make these war machines ready for use. The spirits of all the Christians had been so lifted by the arrival of Richard that they forgot all they had suffered through the abortive attempts to take the city, even the discomforts of the khamsin and the devastating effect the terrific heat had on them. When he rode round the camps he was cheered by all nationalities and they all felt comforted by his presence. He was so certain of victory that he communicated his confidence to them. This uplifting of spirits was obvious even to the Saracens encamped beyond the city on the hill of Ayyadieh.

Saladin himself talked of it with his brother, Malek Adel. ‘What manner of man can this Richard be? They call him the Lion-hearted. They say he is brave and never knows defeat. There is a change in their ranks since he has come.’

Malek Adel replied that they would soon prove to the Christians that their hero was but human after all. He promised Saladin that he himself would bring him Richard’s head and that without his body.

Saladin shook his head. He was not given to such boasts nor did he care to hear his brother talk in such a fashion. He believed that Allah did not love the boastful; and he knew from experience that it was never wise to underrate an enemy.

His men looked to him and expected miracles from him and because they believed so fervently that these would come, they sometimes found their miracles. So must it be with this King Richard.

We are of a kind, he thought. It is a pity that we should fight against each other. But they were two men each with his fixed idea – Saladin’s to hold Jerusalem and Richard’s to take it.

In the midst of the activity Richard fell ill. The recurrent fever took possession of him and though he attempted to fight it off with all his strength, he failed to do so.

How maddening it was to be laid low where he could hear the noise from the anvils as the great war machines were perfected. The action would have to be delayed and this would give the Mussulmans time to prepare. They must have seen the swelling of the Christian ranks. Their spies would have taken back reports of the great war machines. And now the fever had come to torment him!

Berengaria came with Joanna to his tent. They were horrified at the sight of him.

‘I am not so ill as I look,’ said Richard. ‘I know this accursed fever by now. It will pass. It infuriates me, though, that it should come at this time.’

‘At least,’ said Berengaria, ‘now we can look after you.’

And they did. Through the haze of his fever Richard was aware of soft and gentle hands that smoothed the hair back from his face, and put cooling drinks to his lips.

When she could forget her anxieties for his health, Berengaria was happier than she had been since the first days of her marriage.

As the fever grew less virulent, he would ask anxious questions about what was happening outside his tent. She would soothe him and say: ‘All is well.’

How could it be, when he was on a sickbed? he demanded irritably. Who was going to break the siege?

‘The siege can wait,’ said Berengaria; and he sighed in exasperation at her feminine ignorance.

How could he talk with Berengaria? Joanna would have understood more readily. Joanna was there but she kept in the background knowing what pleasure it gave Berengaria to attend to her husband. He was also aware of a third figure – a very young girl of great beauty who seemed like Berengaria’s shadow.

Once he said: ‘Who is the girl?’

‘Isaac’s daughter.’

He was immediately alarmed. ‘What does she here?’

‘She is with us all the time. You gave her into our charge remember.’

‘Her father is my prisoner. She could be looking for revenge.’

‘Nay. We have taught her that you are the noblest king that ever lived.’

He was uneasy. But Berengaria soothed him. The little Cypriot Princess was innocent. She was with her and Joanna all the time. She was like a little sister. She would never harm any whom Berengaria loved. Moreover Berengaria herself prepared his food. She would trust no other to do so.

He watched the girl; it seemed Berengaria was right. None could imagine evil in such a dainty child. Berengaria became a little jealous.

‘You find her beautiful?’

‘The Cypriot women have a certain charm.’ He was suddenly remorseful for his neglect of Berengaria. ‘Not to be compared with those of Navarre,’ he added.

That contented her. It was easy to please her and he felt happy in his marriage for the first time. When he was well he would pay more attention to Berengaria. She was a good woman and by no means ill-favoured; he liked her natural elegance, and it was comforting to feel her there when the fever took possession of him.

Philip came to see him. He stood by the bed looking down on him.

‘So the fever can do what no human enemy can. My dear Richard, you look very ill.’

‘It will pass.’

‘This accursed climate! How do the natives endure it?’

‘They are accustomed to it, I doubt not. Their robes protect them from the sun and so they remain cool.’

‘How I hate it!’ cried Philip vehemently. ‘Flies and sand in everything ... in one’s clothes, in one’s hair, in one’s food. The mosquitoes are a pest. Some of my men have died of their bites. The terrible spiders are a danger. Their sting is death. They come out when it is quiet and the men are asleep. Several men have been killed by these tarantulas. We have found that they dislike noise and it drives them away, and the men clash symbols before they lie down but they cannot continue this throughout the night and as soon as quiet falls the danger returns. Sometimes I think of home, of my fair land of France where it is never too hot, where there is no sand to plague me ... no dust, no poisonous spiders ... And now you are sick, Richard. In God’s name let us take this town and then go home.’

‘When we take this town that is but a beginning,’ protested Richard. ‘After that we have to march on to Jerusalem.’

Philip clenched his fists and was about to speak but he changed his mind.

After a pause he said: ‘And it grieves me to see you thus. You too need the temperate winds of home.’

‘We took an oath, Philip. We are soldiers of the Cross. Do not forget that.’

‘I forget it not. That is why we are going ahead with the assault on Acre.’

‘I am in no condition, I fear, and shall not be for a week or so. I know these bouts. The truth is, Philip, if I tried to stand on my feet I should fall.’

‘Then you must rest. In the meantime I shall begin the assault.’

‘But, Philip ...’

‘I know we were to do it together. But Saladin is arming. He knows the assault is coming. We cannot delay further. You were so long in getting here. We dare not delay longer.’

Richard looked up at that sly clever face which he knew so well.

Perhaps somewhere in Philip’s mind was the thought that if he took Acre without Richard, to him would be the glory.

There was love between them, yes, but there was something else; this irrepressible rivalry. The desire to score over the other would always be there. They excited each other more than any other person could. There was a love relationship between them but sometimes there was something near to hate.

Richard who always said exactly what was in his mind burst out: ‘You want the honour for yourself. You do not want to share it.’

‘My dearest friend, get well. Join me. Nothing would please me more. But delay I cannot. Even for your sake I cannot run the risk of defeat.’

‘I forbid you to start without me. Oh I know what you will say. The Duke of Normandy forbids his suzerain!’

‘And you will say the King of England is perfectly entitled to challenge the King of France. Forget our ranks, Richard. Know this: I am going into battle. You are too ill to join the fight. Your men may. You will not hold them back. For I am going to take Acre and that within the next few days.’

Richard was silent. He knew he could not prevail upon Philip to wait.

The battle had begun. Richard could not stay in his tent while this was going on. He tried to stand but he was too weak from fever. He could not go out there and join in the fight.

He called to his servants and commanded them to bring him a litter. This was done and when he lay on it he asked for his cross-bow.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘carry me out.’

They hesitated and he shouted at them: ‘Obey my orders, you oafs. Do not dare defy me.’

They were afraid and did his bidding and he insisted that they carry him to a spot near the walls of the city. There under cover of raw hides he watched what was going on and when he saw any of the enemy appear on the battlements he took a shot at them with his cross-bow, and as he was the finest shot in the army he rarely missed his mark.

But this was Philip’s assault. Richard could not be in command from his litter and this gave the French King his opportunity. He was determined to succeed ... without Richard. He longed to be the master. Again and again he thought of those happy days when they were younger and Richard was not yet a king, his inheritance in jeopardy because of his father’s hatred of him and determination to put John in his place. The King and the beloved hostage. That was the way he wanted it.

And now this rivalry had been formed to corrupt their relationship. Both of them perhaps were kings before they could be lovers.

If he could take Acre while Richard was actually on the spot, this would indeed be glory. Some might even say that Richard had feigned illness because he knew he could not compare with the King of France. A ridiculous statement of course, and Philip would be the first to admit that Richard was his superior on the battlefield, but there was no end to the foolish things people said, and desperately Philip needed the glory Acre could give him.

He was going to take the Accursed Tower. That was important. The Tower which had been built with the thirty pieces of silver given to Judas and had before withstood his attack. He would undermine that Tower; it should crumble; the bricks should be taken away so that in time it tottered to the ground.

Over the walls of the city flew the deadly stones discharged by the giant mangonels; but down from the walls came the deadly Greek Fire.

One of Philip’s greatest delights was a movable screen of mantelets which had been given the name of The Cat. This protected his soldiers from arrows and stones. He had ordered that it be wheeled close to the walls and he himself was there to watch its protective effects. To his great dismay the Greek Fire sent down upon the attackers from the walls of the city caught it alight. Philip groaned in despair as he watched it burn.

Everything seemed to go wrong after that. Philip shouted abuse at his men and at God. It was so rare for him to lose his temper that they were aghast. The French King must be deeply disturbed so to lose his calmness in this way; the English King was suffering from a fever, and the Saracen armies seemed unconquerable. The Christian foot soldiers in their heavy armour over long padded coats, suffered cruelly from the heat. The only asset of these accoutrements was that often arrows could not penetrate them. Some were seen walking about with arrows lodged in their mail and which would have killed them but for it. But the discomfort was hard to bear.

Philip longed for France; he cursed the day he had sworn to set out on a crusade. How different the reality was from the dream! It had seemed so desirable. Marching along at the head of his men, making easy conquests, scoring over Richard – which did not seem too much to hope for since what he lacked in military skill he made up for in subtle diplomacy – winning glory, and a remission of his sins. And the reality – dust, the ever-present sand, the flies, the mosquitoes, the tarantulas and the incessant heat.

I want to go home, thought Philip. Oh God I would give anything to go home.

The Accursed Tower would not fall. Even when they made a breach in it it was not enough to break through. Seeing his dismay one of his finest soldiers, his Marshal of France and dearest friend Alberic Clement, cried out to him: ‘Despair not, Sire. I swear that this day I will either enter Acre or die.’

Alberic fixed one of the scaling ladders and sword in hand started to climb with some of his men following him.

God was not with them that day, mourned Philip. The ladder broke and the men fell to the ground with the exception of Alberic who was left alone hanging there exposed to the full fury of the enemy’s fire.

To see this dear friend die deeply wounded Philip.

He turned away from the arrows and the Greek Fire and went back to his camp.

He had begun to shiver. He was suffering from the same symptoms as those which had beset Richard.

So the siege of Acre had not been broken and the two kings were sick. The crusaders were despondent. They cursed God. They had come all this way to fight for His Holy Land and He had deserted them.

The fighting had slowed down. Richard was still carried out and beneath his protection of raw hides took shots at any enemy who came within his range. He was thus able to kill the Saracen who appeared on the wall of Acre wearing the arms of Alberic Clement. This gave him great satisfaction for he had heard of that brave attempt to scale the wall. But the fact that the King of France was indisposed and that he himself was ill had made the soldiers apprehensive. They feared they were to be left without leaders.

Richard began to think a great deal about the enemy and the man who led them, the great Sultan Saladin. The stories he had heard fascinated him. He had not before thought of a Mohammedan as human but it appeared that this man Saladin was humane, a man of sensitivity and culture. The fanatical manner in which his armies fought had long been a source of wonder and it seemed that these men were fighting for a cause even as the Christians were.

Saladin’s name was mentioned with an unmistakable awe.

As he lay on his litter cursing the evil fate which had smitten him down at this time, he wondered if it would be possible for them to meet.

Saladin himself was thinking a great deal about Richard. He had been aware of what was happening in the Christian camp. The spies who slipped into enemy terrain kept him well informed of what was going on. From the heights of Ayyadieh he had seen the arrival of Richard’s fleet; he had heard of his conquests in Sicily and Cyprus, and he felt a great desire to see this man, whose fame had spread throughout the Moslem Empire.

He talked of him to his brother Malek Adel, who was delighting in the news which had been brought in of Richard’s sickness.

‘We see in this the hand of fate,’ said Malek Adel. ‘As we feared our people in Acre could not endure the siege much longer, and lo, the great Richard has fallen sick. Allah has answered our prayers.’

‘Let us not be too sure that he will not rise from his sickbed. It may be that he has already done so.’

‘The people in Acre will be rejoicing,’ said Daher, Saladin’s son. ‘It is said that the great King is unable to walk, is carried out on his litter and lies there with his cross-bow. If we could find him thus we could capture him or kill him. Where would they be without their leader?’

Saladin shook his head. ‘I would not wish it. I do not care to take advantage of a great King thus.’

‘My lord,’ cried Daher, ‘he is our enemy.’

‘’Tis true, my son, but one must respect one’s enemy. I want to overcome him in fair battle, not to slip in and take him while he lies unprotected.’

‘Is this the way to win a war?’ asked Malek Adel.

‘It is the honourable way to conduct a war,’ retorted Saladin.

While they talked one of the soldiers begged for an audience. His news was that a magic stone thrown from one of the enemy’s war machines had landed in the centre of Acre and had killed twelve people.

‘One stone to kill twelve!’ cried Daher. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘It is so, my lord,’ replied the soldier. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. I narrowly escaped being one of its victims. It was large but there have been others as large. It landed in the town square and killed the twelve.’

‘It’s unbelievable that one stone could do this,’ said Saladin.

‘If it did, it was magic,’ replied Malek Adel.

Saladin said that he would see this stone and he ordered that it should be brought to him.

This was done. It was set down and they examined it. There was nothing extraordinary about it as far as the eyes could see, but when the number of deaths from this one stone had been confirmed there was no doubt in the minds of the Mohammedans that the stone had been given some special properties.

Malek Adel wanted to try it against the enemy, but Saladin did not want to lose the stone. It was to be preserved and studied. A stone which could kill twelve people at one throw must have magic properties.

Into Saldin’s camp came a messenger. He was a daring man to brave coming into Saracen lines, but Saladin was not one to allow such a man to be ill-treated. He had given orders that this was not to be so, for such messengers came on the orders of their leaders and unless they behaved with insolence and arrogance they were to be well received.

‘I come from King Richard,’ said the messenger.

Saladin asked all to retire except his brother Malek Adel.

‘Pray state your business,’ he said.

‘King Richard wishes you to know that he believes there could be much good in a meeting between you and himself.’

Saladin was excited at the prospect. He looked at Malek Adel about whose lips a cynical smile was curving. Saladin was too astute to allow a personal desire to influence him and much as he desired to see Richard and talk with him he must view this approach with the utmost care.

Malek Adel said: ‘So the King of England is sick. He despairs of taking Acre. Therefore he would like to talk peace.’

This could be so, thought Saladin, but it was true that the besieged town of Acre was in a pitiful state. When he had heard of the lost ship, which Richard had sunk, he had cried out in despair, ‘Allah has deserted us. We have lost Acre.’ And it was a fact that the loss of all that ship was bringing to the beleagured city could have a decisive effect on its survival. It was true that Acre was not yet taken but it could fall at any moment. Another assault could bring the citisens to their knees. There had been an arrangement that if they were in dire distress within the town they should indicate to the army on the heights that this was so by the beating of kettle drums. During the recent assault those kettle drums had been heard.

It was typical of Malek Adel to display this blind confidence in their armies. Saladin applauded it up to a point. Confidence was essential, but this must be tempered with sound good sense.

‘Your King lies sick,’ he said to the messenger.

‘It is an intermittent fever,’ was the reply. ‘He has had it before. He will rise from his bed in due course as strong as he ever was.’

‘’Tis not what I heard,’ growled Malek Adel.

The messenger said: ‘My King offers to meet you, my lord.’

Saladin said slowly: ‘There is much to be settled first. After eating and drinking familiarly we could not fight afterwards. That would be offensive to our beliefs. The time is not yet ripe for a meeting.’

‘My King wishes to show his good will by sending you gifts,’ said the messenger.

‘I could not accept gifts from him unless he took them from me in return.’

‘My King says: “It does not become kings to slight each other’s gifts even though they are at war. This is one of the lessons our fathers taught us.”’

‘It is is true,’ replied Saladin. ‘If the King will accept gifts from me I will take gifts from him.’

‘My lord, we have eagles and hawks which my King would send you. But these birds have suffered from the long sea journey and a lack of rightful food. If you would give us some fowls, and young pigeons with which to feed them, my King would then present them to you.’

‘Ah,’ said Malik Adel, ‘you see what this means, my brother. The King of England is sick, so he longs for doves and in due course he will send hawks to us.’

‘I will deal with this matter as my heart dictates,’ said Saladin. ‘None in the world could have aught but respect for King Richard. Let this messenger be clothed in fine robes and give him safe conduct back to his King with young pigeons and fowls and turtle doves.’

Malek Adel was astonished but even he dared not criticise too strongly the Sultan’s action.

The messenger went back to Richard with an account of what had happened.

The fever had returned. Doubtless due to the inclement air it was not as easy to throw off as it had been on other occasions. He was a little delirious. Once more he fancied he was with his father and he felt a terrible remorse because of the ill feeling between them. It was only when he was ill that he felt this. When he was strong he was convinced that his sons’ enmity was entirely their father’s fault.

Philip haunted his mind. He had at first believed that Philip was feigning illness because he wanted an excuse to go home. But this had proved to be untrue. He had heard that Philip’s hair was falling out and his nails flaking off and that he was in a very poor condition. ‘It’s this climate,’ he wailed continuously. ‘This accursed climate ... this dust ... these insects ... they are killing me.’

It was said that his longing for France was an illness in itself.

Are we both going to die? wondered Richard.

If so, they would die with their sins forgiven for how could a man die in more sanctified state than in a campaign to bring the Holy Land back to Christianity?

There was Saladin. A great man, a good man. Who could believe that a man who was not a Christian could be good? Yet it seemed so. He had noticed how Saracen prisoners spoke and thought of their leader. If my men think thus of me I am happy, thought Richard. How could a man who was not great and just inspire such respect?

They did not believe in Christ, these Saracens. But they believed in Mahomet. He it seemed was a holy man. He had laid down a set of rules even as Moses had, and it seemed they were good rules.

And yet how could a man who was not a Christian be a good man? Yet were all Christians good? Richard found himself laughing in a hollow way.

Then he thought: I am dying. This accursed fever has caught up with me at last. I should never have camped in the swamping ground all those years ago. How the insects plagued me! Those maddening mosquitoes. And here they are again ... worse than ever!

And if I die what will become of England, of Normandy? Philip will take Normandy. He is waiting for the chance. What of John? Will John try to take England? And what of young Arthur whom I have named as my heir?

As the waves of fever swept over him he started up, for it seemed to him that someone had slipped into his tent. It was one of the guards.

‘My lord, there is one who says he must speak with you. He is unarmed. Will you see him?’

I am too ill, thought Richard. But he said: ‘Bring him in.’

The man knelt by the bed and laid a hand on his brow. It seemed cool and soothing. There was a certain magic in its touch.

‘Who are you?’ asked Richard.

‘One who comes in friendship.’

‘You are not an Englishman.’

‘Nay. I would speak with you alone.’

‘Leave us,’ cried Richard to the guard. The man hesitated but Richard cried: ‘Begone.’

When they were alone Richard said: ‘What brings you?’

‘You are near to death and I come in friendship.’

‘Tell me who you are.’

‘Perhaps you know.’

‘It cannot be.’

‘Do you feel this bond between us? I have heard much of you. I craved to see you. You are in a high fever.’

‘I am seeing visions,’ said Richard.

‘It could be so.’

‘Saladin ... why are you here?’

‘I felt the need to come. I have a magic talisman. If I touch you with this and God wills it, the fever will pass.’

‘You are my enemy.’

‘Your enemy and your friend.’

‘Is it possible to be both?’

‘Lo, we have shown it to be.’

Richard felt something cool pass over his brow. ‘I have touched you with my talisman. The fever may now pass. There are foods you need now to strengthen you – fruit and chicken, such things as you do not possess in the camp. These will be sent to you. You will recover.’

‘Why do you come to me with succour?’

‘I understand not my feeling except that I must. We shall fight together and one of us will be victorious. It may be that we shall die in battle. Yet this night we are friends. We could love each other but for barriers between us. Your God and my God have decreed that we shall be enemies, and so must it be. But for this night we are friends.’

‘I feel comforted by your presence,’ said Richard.

‘I know it.’

‘If you are he whom I believed you to be, I am filled with wonder. While you are near me the fever slips from me. But I have suffered such delirium that I tell myself I am in delirium now.’

The cool hand once more touched his brow.

‘This is no delirium.’

‘Then if you are who I think you are ... why did you come here ... right into our midst?’

‘Allah protected me.’

‘I shall add my protection to his when you go back. You shall not be harmed by any man of mine while on such a mission.’

‘We shall meet again,’ was the answer.

Richard said: ‘Call the guard who brought you to me.’

The guard came in. ‘Go with this man until he dismisses you,’ he said. ‘Let any who harm him know that he does so on pain of cruel death. That is my order.’

Richard was alone.

Almost immediately he fell into a soothing sleep and when he awoke from it the fever had left him. He told himself, I had a strange hallucination but the next day grapes and dates arrived with young chickens. They were gifts from the Sultan Saladin.

There were many who feared the gifts might be poisoned but when they were tried they were found to be good and wholesome.

In a short time Richard had recovered.