Guy moved to bend his legs, but they buckled and he sprawled on the cushions. Affecting not to notice, Saladin sensed that the king was almost paralysed with fear. His yellow hair was matted, his face streaked with blood and dirt, his hands twitching without control. Pained that Guy should harbour such fear in his presence, the Sultan nodded to one of his servants, who turned aside to set jugs and glasses on a tray.
Baldwin sat erect, his legs crossed in the Arab manner, his blood still racing with the will to fight.
Amalric let his head hang forward and rested his hands, palm uppermost, on the carpeted ground.
Reynald looked at Saladin, then turned away, as though the leader of all Islam was some bow-backed dog.
Humphrey sat quiet, his fingers crooked around Isabella’s brooch. He wondered if Ernoul had escaped, or if his friend was lying out there, dead on the field. He murmured a prayer, then stopped as Saladin glanced at him.
The servant placed a tray before his master and Saladin poured rosewater into a glass, rubbed ice against it and handed the glass to King Guy. The Poitevin steadied it in both hands and drank greedily. The glass was a little less than half full as he passed it on to Reynald. Couching his broken left wrist, the Lord of Kerak reached for it with his good hand.
‘One moment,’ Saladin said. ‘Do any of you speak my language?’
‘A few words,’ Humphrey stammered. ‘Though I could not converse—’
‘Ah, but you understand my question well enough, Lord Humphrey. So if you understand me now, please tell that man that his king gives him water to drink, not I.’
‘You mean—’
‘I mean that man there.’
Humphrey relayed the message to Reynald, who mouthed, ‘Water’s water. What difference who gives it?’
Saladin nodded at Humphrey and the young noble found himself with the unenviable task of interpreting between the leader of Islam and his hated stepfather.
Speaking directly at Reynald and hardly giving Humphrey time to translate, Saladin remarked, ‘It makes the greatest difference, Lord Reynald. It is the custom of our people – as you know full well – that if a stranger is given food or drink he may not be harmed. You are no stranger to me, but the tradition applies.’ He clapped once and his servant dispensed rosewater to Baldwin, Joscelin and Amalric. Saladin himself passed a glass to Humphrey.
Reynald growled, ‘If you intend harm, get on with it. You don’t see me trembling.’
‘No, but you should tremble, with the debt you owe. It sullies my mouth to say it, but I am bound to spare you should you embrace Islam.’
‘Embrace it?’ Reynald said. ‘I’d first rub the contents of my bowels on it.’
Guy clenched his hands around his glass. Amalric glanced up sharply, one eye sealed with dried blood. Humphrey breathed with his mouth open, deaf to any sounds beyond the tent.
Quietly, Saladin asked, ‘What did that man say?’
‘I – I didn’t hear clearly.’
‘What did he say, Lord Humphrey?’
‘Nothing of moment, Sultan. Nothing that bears repeating.’
‘Who are you to judge?’ Reynald demanded. ‘Tell the pig what I said. Tell him I squat with a bare arse on his Faith. Tell him! Tell him!’
With a curious mixture of terror and relief, Humphrey translated Reynald’s boast. His head hurt from the spinning shield blow, and he found it difficult to focus. As he spoke, Saladin rose like a blurred phantom beside him. Even on his feet, the Sultan seemed thin and ineffectual among the taller, heavy-boned Crusaders. But as Humphrey’s voice trailed away he said, ‘You twice broke the treaty. You sank a pilgrim ship. You murdered civilians. You sacked caravans. You threatened the holy places of Islam. You tortured prisoners until they were maimed. And now you would defile our religion.’
‘What of it? Kings do all you say, and I am only a prince. You’re lucky I didn’t do worse—’ The final sibilance was still on his lips as Saladin drew his sword and hacked downward. The blow cut halfway through Reynald’s neck. He rose from the floor, eyes and mouth stretched wide. Then, with his lips pulled back, exposing his great stained teeth, he fell back again in a welter of blood. He tried once more to rise, but his left wrist failed to support him and he splashed over on his side.
His one-time companion, the Sicilian corsair Camini, may have turned his own ravaged face from the agonies of Hell and felt avenged, for Bloodhead was dying with a whistle on his lips.
Although his enemy of enemies was not yet dead, Saladin would have no more to do with him. He was satisfied that he had not hesitated to raise his sword against this Godless monster, and now motioned to his servant to drag the thing away. Humphrey’s last sight of his stepfather was of his massive head flapped over to one side as he was hauled out to be butchered on the burnt grass.
Guy broke the glass he was holding and jerked like a hanged man. Saladin placed his sword behind his cushions and murmured, ‘Be calm, Guy of Lusignan. That perfidious creature went beyond all measure, but you have nothing to fear. It is not written that a king shall kill a king.’
* * *
Now it was over.
Saladin commanded that every Templar and Hospitaller be executed on the field, and went so far as to purchase them from their captors. Then, having paid a generous sum for them, he put them with the others, to be beheaded. Only one member of the Military Orders was reprieved. This was the Grand Master of the Temple, Gerard of Ridefort.
The lay knights and barons were taken fettered to Damascus, to be held for ransom.
The Turcopoles were murdered for being traitors to their race, though some, who had become Christians, turned back to Mohammed and were spared.
The Frankish infantry was led away in droves, and since so many had surrendered without a fight it was soon possible to buy a prisoner for three dinars, or a string of six for twenty.
To further impress the citizens of Damascus, cartloads of heads were hauled through the city and were passed out freely to any with the stomach for such a souvenir.
It was over. Yet for Salah ed-Din Yusuf, the Great Saladin, surnamed al-Malik un-Nasir, the Victorious King, and for the Moslem world, it had only begun.
Aftermath
Palestine
July, September 1187
Next day, 5th July, Tiberias surrendered. Princess Eschiva was afforded every courtesy and was given safe conduct to Tripoli.
Saladin’s brother, al-Malik al-Adil, captured Jaffa on 9th July.
On the following day Acre was taken. Shortly after, Nablus fell and, within two weeks, Toron.
With little or no difficulty the Saracens occupied Nazareth and Sebastia and, on the coast, Haifa, Caesarea and Arsuf.
The fortresses of Recordane Mills, Sepphoria, Duburieh, Calansua, La Feve and Beisan were subdued.
Reginald of Sidon sought refuge in his castle of Beaufort, so on 29th July his city was taken without bloodshed.
One week later, Beirut surrendered.
A few days more and, on Hugh Embriaco’s orders, Jebail yielded. For this he was set free.
Saladin swept south and took Jamnia, Darum and Ramleh.
Toward the end of August, Raymond of Tripoli wasted away and died – assuredly of remorse.
After bitter fighting, Ascalon was occupied on 4th September. Meanwhile, other Moslem contingents had seized Latrun and Beth Gibelin.
The Templars at Gaza laid down their arms in return for their lives and the release of their Grand Master. Saladin kept his word and Gerard of Ridefort was set free.
The Saracens failed to take Tyre, Tortosa, Beaufort, the impregnable Hospitaller stronghold of Krak des Chevaliers, and its equivalent, Kerak of Moab. But the rest of Palestine was in Moslem hands and on 20th September Saladin pitched camp before the walls of Jerusalem.
The Christian capital in the East refused to surrender. At that time there were only two knights within the walls, and of the two obvious leaders, one was of doubtful mettle. He was the Patriarch, Heraclius, up from
his bed. So it was to the other that the population of merchants, women and youths looked for deliverance. And Balian of Ibelin was determined that they should not look in vain.
Author’s Note
The major events in this story are based on established historical record. Reynold of Chatillon’s Red Sea raid happened, and Saladin personally killed or mortally wounded him. The Sultan’s surprise attack during the wedding at Kerak, and the massacre of the Military Orders in the valley near Nazareth, are true. Gerard of Ridefort was indeed one of three survivors, and was the only Templar spared at Hattin. Pashia de Riveri existed, along with all the listed characters with the exception of Fostus. Many of the recorded incidents have been embellished in an attempt to put flesh upon the bones of those who have lain for more than 700 years beneath the surface of that tortured Holy Land.
The Story of the Houses of Ibelin, Lusignan and Toron, and of the other leaders of Frankish Palestine, plus the advent of Richard Cœur de Lion, Philip Augustus and Frederick Barbarossa, is continued and concluded in The Kings of Vain Intent.
G.S.
About the Author
Graham Shelby was lauded as one of the great historical writers of his time. The Crusader Knights Cycle, originally published between 1969 and 1986, is a tour de force of high drama, gruesome battles, chivalry, and glory.
Next in The Crusader Knights Cycle:
The Kings of Vain Intent
The Kings of Vain Intent, the second thrilling instalment of The Crusader Knights Cycle is perfect for fans of David Gilman and Conn Iggulden.
Find out more
First published in the United Kingdom in 1969 by Collins
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Graham Shelby, 1969
The moral right of Graham Shelby to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788632096
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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