Lionheart (86 page)

“Richard? Are you hurt? I do not see any blood. . . .”

“Look,” Richard said huskily, never taking his eyes from the dream-like vision that seemed to be floating on the horizon, shimmering in a golden haze of heat.

André raised his hand to shield the glare. “Is that . . . ?”

“Yes . . . it is Jerusalem.” Richard had not expected to be so moved, yet as he gazed at those distant limestone walls and towers, it struck him with utter and awful certainty that this was as close as he’d ever get to that most holy and hallowed of cities, the cradle of Christendom. His eyes filled with tears, which André tactfully pretended not to see.

MORGAN , WARIN FITZ GERALD , Pierre de Préaux, and a few other knights and Templars had been out scouting and decided to detour to Ramla before heading back to Bait Nūbā, for the former site had a cluster of barrel-vaulted cisterns. As they approached, they were startled to see dozens of white tents set up near the castle ruins. Advancing warily, they were delighted to discover that this was Henri’s camp; he was on his way to Bait Nūbā with fresh troops from Tyre and truants from Acre. Morgan was not surprised that Henri had been more successful than Guy in conscripting the sluggards; the count’s easy affability concealed a strong will. They were happy to accept Henri’s invitation to stay the night, and they repaid Henri’s hospitality by catching him up on all that had occurred since his departure for Acre.

They gave him the most momentous news first—that it had been decided not to besiege Jerusalem. During a heated council the week before, Richard had argued passionately against it, as he’d done in the past, citing the threat to their supply lines, the scale of the city’s defenses, and the danger that they’d be trapped between the Jerusalem garrison and Saladin’s army. The French had responded as they’d done in the past, too, and accused Richard of caring only for his own honor and glory. He’d been honest about that, Morgan told Henri, candidly admitting he did not want to be blamed for another Ḥaṭṭīn and the loss of the kingdom. He accused the French in turn of seeking his disgrace and insisted he would not sacrifice his army in a rash enterprise that had no hope of success. They countered that it was not his army. He again urged an attack upon Egypt or Damascus, insisting that was the strategy best calculated to bring Saladin back to the bargaining table. And the French rejoinder was that Jerusalem was not negotiable.

“It was,” Morgan said, “basically the same argument we’ve been having since last September at Jaffa. This one did have a different ending, though. It was agreed upon to choose a jury of twenty men, whose decision would be binding upon all. They selected five Templars, five Hospitallers, five
poulains
, and five French lords. Richard insisted that the men who actually lived in Outremer ought to have the greater say. Of course he knew what the verdict would be—fifteen to five in favor of launching an attack upon Egypt. And of course the Duke of Burgundy was furious that he’d been outmaneuvered and repudiated the agreement, saying it was Jerusalem or nothing.”

“The king did his best to win them over,” Warin chimed in, “offering his fleet for the expedition, pledging to pay for seven hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms out of his own coffers, even promising to assume the expenses of French knights. All to no avail. And when word got out, the common soldiers were distraught, outraged that Jerusalem would be denied them yet again.”

Henri could not help sympathizing with them even though he was sure Richard was in the right. It would have been better never to have raised their hopes, and he could not help wondering if his uncle had ever really intended to assault Jerusalem. But he felt a touch of shame upon hearing what Morgan said next, that Richard had declared before the vote that he’d not desert the army even if they insisted upon the siege. He would not take command, though, saying he refused to lead men to their deaths when it served for naught. No, Henri decided, it was unfair to accuse Richard of bad faith. Their quest had been doomed before Richard and Philippe even reached Outremer, poisoned by the embittered rivalry between the two kings, the two countries. But as tragic as this outcome was for the soldiers who’d been willing to offer up their lives for the Holy City, it was a blessing for the kingdom. Their army would not be sacrificed in vain, and even if the French deserted them, there was still hope of reaching a settlement with Saladin, who had his own troubles.

“I suppose Burgundy is now threatening to pull out and go back to France,” Henri said, making a face. No, they told him, the army had been temporarily distracted from their feuding by the arrival of one of Richard’s spies, a native Syrian who went by the name “Bernard.” He brought news that set the entire camp into an uproar. A supply caravan was on its way from Egypt to Jerusalem, laden with treasure, weapons, and thousands of horses and camels. It would be an incredibly rich prize if they could take it, and its loss would deliver a great blow to Saladin. Richard had ridden out that very night to intercept it, taking five hundred knights and a thousand men-at-arms, as well as the French. They laughed at Henri’s startled expression, explaining that Hugh of Burgundy had actually agreed to take part in the raid, but only if the French were allotted fully a third of the booty.

“If that man had not been so highly born, he’d have made a good outlaw,” Morgan said with a grin. “But at least for now, the excitement over the caravan has united us, for Richard promised that the spoils would be shared with all, whether they took part in the raid or stayed behind to guard the camp.”

“So now we’re waiting with bated breath to hear if it was successful. The timing has to be perfect. Fortunately, our king is good at this sort of thing.” Warin laughed and began to tell Henri the rest of their news, what he blithely described as “the usual bloodshed.”

“We had two fierce skirmishes with the Saracens,” Warin reported between bites of bread. “The first one occurred on June twelfth when the Saracens lured some French troops away from camp. Things were going badly for them until the Bishop of Salisbury and the Count of Perche rode to their rescue. The second one began when the Turks ambushed one of our supply caravans from Jaffa.” He paused to finish his food before relating a sad story about Baldwin de Carew, who’d been unhorsed in the battle and commandeered his squire’s mount, only to see the squire struck down and beheaded soon thereafter.

Henri had no liking for Baldwin, who’d been one of the two knights who’d broken formation at Arsuf, forcing Richard to commit to a premature charge. Henri would have offered his own horse to his uncle in a heartbeat; he’d even do it for Philippe, who was his liege lord. But he hoped he’d not accept another man’s horse, knowing it could mean the other man’s death. Because he considered Morgan, Warin, and Pierre to be friends, he felt comfortable enough to say as much. They looked at him in surprise before Morgan reminded him, as gently as possible, that he’d be shirking his royal duty to refuse such an offer, for a slain king was the worst of calamities. Henri frowned into his wine cup, wondering how long it would take for him to feel at ease with his new rank.

By now the meal was done, but they lingered by the fire, savoring the simple pleasures of wine and conversation. They commiserated with Pierre de Préaux, whose heroic brother Guilhem remained in captivity, for Saladin still refused to ransom him, and Henri good-naturedly endured the usual bridegroom jests. They were lamenting the recent deaths of two knights from snakebites when the sentries warned that riders were approaching.

They got quickly to their feet, reaching for weapons in case it was a Saracen raid. But they soon heard cries of “The king!” and so were ready to welcome Richard and his men when they rode into the camp. There was no need to ask if the ambush had been successful, for it looked as if thousands of beasts—camels, horses, mules, asses, and donkeys—were being herded by downcast Saracen drovers. The pack animals were heavily laden, and Richard’s elated knights were eager to boast of their plunder. They told Henri that they’d seized gold, silver, brocaded silks, spices, sugar, purple dye, wheat, barley, flour, Saracen mail shirts, weapons, and large tents, all intended for Saladin’s army at Jerusalem. They’d captured almost four thousand camels, they bragged, and as many mules and donkeys, also taking five hundred prisoners and killing many, men now lost to the sultan. It was, they proclaimed to Henri with what he thought was pardonable pride, a great victory for the Franks, a great defeat for the Saracens.

Henri soon realized that Richard was not joining in the jubilation. He answered questions readily enough, accepted their compliments with a smile, and agreed that it had been an outstanding success. But he seemed to be doing what was expected of him, not really sharing in the rejoicing. His behavior was so out of character to Henri that he seized the first opportunity to draw Richard aside for a private word.

“The celebrating is likely to go on far into the night. Even the French are well satisfied; it is the first time I’ve seen Burgundy smile in months. So why are you not better pleased about it, Uncle?”

“I am pleased,” Richard insisted, and Henri shook his head.

“You ought to be triumphant. You dealt Saladin a grievous wound, gained enough pack animals for a campaign in Egypt, and gave the Saracens another story to tell around their campfires about
Malik Ric
.”

“But it has changed nothing, Henri. I could have captured every blessed beast from Dārūm to Damascus and it would not matter, for the French will never agree to a campaign in Egypt and I cannot convince them of their folly.”

Henri could not dispute that. “At least you’ve kept them from besieging Jerusalem.”

“And half the army will never forgive me for it.”

Henri started to speak, then stopped himself, for he could not dispute that either.

RICHARD DISTRIBUTED the camels to his knights and the donkeys to the men-at-arms, and the chroniclers reported that all rejoiced. The euphoria did not last long, though, and soon some were complaining because such a large number of pack animals had sent the price of grain soaring. But the underlying cause of their discontent was the decision not to besiege Jerusalem, and the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais seized the opportunity to argue again for an assault upon the Holy City. The debate ended when Richard’s Syrian spies reported that Salah al-Dīn had poisoned the wells and destroyed all the cisterns within two leagues of Jerusalem in anticipation of a siege, for no army could hope to prevail without water. The French then set up their own camp apart from the others, and Hugh wrote a satiric song about Richard, annoying the latter so much that he retaliated in kind and composed a mocking song of his own. By now it was obvious to all that such deep divisions could not be healed, and the decision was made to withdraw from Bait Nūbā and head back to Jaffa. It was July 4, the fifth anniversary of the calamitous Christian defeat at Ḥaṭṭīn.

HENRI SPURRED HIS STALLION to catch up to Richard. The day was utterly still, with not even a vagrant breeze, the sky devoid of clouds or birds and leached of color; it seemed almost white to Henri every time he squinted up at the blinding blaze of the sun. The heat was brutal, but they no longer needed to fear burns and peeling; by now even men as fair-skinned as Richard and Henri were deeply tanned. He could hear the drone of insects, the plodding of hooves, but no other sounds, for the army was marching in eerie silence. He found himself thinking that it was as if these thousands of unhappy men had become ghosts, trapped in a waking dream. He knew it was not a good sign when he was getting so morbidly fanciful and he glanced over at his uncle. “What now?” he asked, his mouth and throat so dry that the words emerged as a croak.