Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  When I joined the King’s command, he and his lords were debating their next move. It was mid-October 1191, and the weather was becoming wetter and colder by the day. Saladin was still destroying Christian fortresses and eradicating anything of any value from the countryside. In turn, our sappers were rebuilding as fast as they could – especially Jaffa and Arsuf.

  The Lionheart paced up and down, talking loudly.

  ‘Do we wait until the spring to attack Jerusalem? I have sent messengers to Europe asking for more men and resources; they should be here by then. In the meantime, I propose we move south. We could occupy Ascalon and threaten Egypt; that would cause Saladin great unease.’

  Baldwin of Bethune responded.

  ‘My Lord King, the men are tired and our resources are thin.’

  ‘I know, but we came here to liberate the Holy Land; we’re not going home until that has been achieved. For the time being, let’s leave a significant number of men here in Jaffa and move the main army to a forward position at Casal Maen, on the road to Jerusalem. It will test Saladin’s mettle.’

  Most nodded their assent, but spirits were low. Everyone had been away too long, and winter was looming.

  The move forward was miserable. It rained almost every day, and sickness spread through the ranks. It said much for both the men’s discipline and their regard for the King’s resolve. In the simplest terms: wherever he went, they would go; whatever he did, they would do; whatever he demanded, they would supply. He never shirked a challenge, or avoided an adversity; he walked through knee-deep mud, just as his men did; and he bore every indignity and hardship with the rest of us.

  The most difficult part of any army’s journey is the transport of heavy equipment. Pushing and pulling the parts of our siege engines – especially the huge timber beams – became a nightmare. But the Lionheart was always in the thick of it, often stripped to his braies, just like his men, and happy to lend the power of his shoulder to the effort.

  As we were too exposed to create field infirmaries, the sick travelled with us, but the King visited them every day. When he got a dose of diarrhoea – again, like the rest us – he used the side of the road as a latrine.

  But the tactic worked, and Saladin withdrew his army closer to the Holy City, persuading the Lionheart to advance to Beit Nuba, only fifteen miles north of Jerusalem and not far from our encounter with the Turcomans of a few weeks earlier.

  We made camp, but the conditions worsened and became no better than a winter in England. Morale plummeted, especially when high winds and snow created a blizzard, with drifts piled high against our tents. We could boil snow for water, but that was the only saving grace in dire circumstances. The cooks did the best they could, but our rations were reduced to a broth, which became thinner and thinner, supplemented by whatever bread could be baked from our diminishing supplies of flour. At least with very little to eat, the diarrhoea became easier to bear. I am sure any other army would have buckled under the burden, but with the Lionheart’s fortitude to cling on to, the men held firm.

  The King called a council of war and sought the advice of the Templars, the Hospitallers and the Palestine-born lords who knew the territory better than anybody. Their assessment was depressing to hear.

  The biggest problem was the size of our army. We needed to keep a substantial number of men in Jaffa to protect our rear and our supply line to the sea. We also needed to deploy a large number to protect the road to the coast, which Saladin was already harrying relentlessly. We had ridden as close to Jerusalem as possible and the Lionheart had done detailed calculations with his siege engineers regarding the men and resources needed to surround the city and breach its walls. He knew what the arithmetic added up to.

  ‘We are five thousand men short for an assault on Jerusalem; it’s as simple as that. What say you all, gentlemen?’

  Henry of Champagne nodded reluctantly, as did Hugh of Burgundy. The masters of the military orders added their assent, as did the men of the Grand Quintet.

  ‘Very well, we return to the coast for the winter. We will rebuild Ascalon, bide our time until the spring, and then launch our attack on Jerusalem when we have more men. I have written to the Abbot of Clairvaux asking that he issue a call to every Christian in Europe to come to our aid. Let us pray that the response is positive. In the meantime, we will also keep threatening to attack Egypt, and keep Saladin on his toes.’

  We reached Ascalon on 12 January 1192. The army’s sorry state had not improved. Our provisions were almost non-existent, the mud had become deeper and our horses, even without the weight of a man on their backs, found it hard to cope.

  When we reached the coast, although our English contingent remained resolute, there were numerous desertions, especially from among the men of the French crusaders, whose King had long since left the Holy Land.

  I was as tired as most. I had lost track of my age, but during my recovery in Jaffa – and especially when I felt how hard it was to regain my strength – my years caught up with me and I remembered that I was in my forty-first year, an age when most knights would be hoping to retire. The King, at the age of thirty-five, was no longer the strident youth I had first met.

  However, like the rest of the men, it was the Lionheart who lent me the fortitude to carry on. It was astonishing; every time my head dropped, or my shoulders drooped, and I looked to the King for encouragement, he was riding tall in his saddle, or striding forwards purposefully. He seemed only to have two moods: he was either smiling happily, cajoling us all to press on; or his jaw was set firmly, his eyes focused, demanding that we do the same. Never once did he look dejected or hesitant; we would have followed him to the fiery pit of Hades if he had asked us to.

  I organized a roll call a few days later. It made for depressing reading for the Lionheart. Through death, sickness and desertion, we had lost almost 4,000 men, 280 knights and 400 horses.

  When I presented the figures to the King, he made a very telling point.

  ‘When King Philip and I left Vézelay, with the Emperor Frederick on his way down the Danube, our joint army was close to a hundred and fifty thousand men. Now, with Saladin at our mercy, we are not many more than fifteen thousand. Do you think God really wants the Holy Land back?’

  22. Ascalon

  We spent the rest of the winter rebuilding Ascalon. The Lionheart issued orders that every man had to work on the fortifications, including knights, lords and dukes. At least it kept us warm. He led by example and, wearing the simple clothes of an artisan, carried stone and mixed mortar like everyone else.

  Thanks to so much labour, the citadel rose remarkably quickly, an achievement that pleased the Lionheart immeasurably. Modelled on castles he had rebuilt in Aquitaine, it was a fine fortification. He had a keen eye for military architecture and designed everything himself, down to the smallest detail.

  As the King had said we would, we also made sorties to the south. We captured Darum and made a reconnaissance visit to Gaza, an ancient city on the road to Sinai and Egypt – a land we were sorely tempted to visit, if not to conquer. Again, on more than one occasion, the King put himself at risk by leading charges and getting involved in the thick of the fighting. So astounding were his exploits, the conviction became widespread, among friend and foe alike, that he was not a mortal man and that God’s warrior angel, the Archangel Michael, sat on his shoulder. Some even believed that he was Michael, avenging the Muslims on God’s behalf.

  At dusk on the first evening after our arrival in Gaza, the King asked Blondel and myself to walk with him along the beach. The sun was setting and, to its south, lay Egypt.

  The Lionheart looked wistful.

  ‘Great empires come and go. Over there, many years ago, there was one of the mightiest of them all. But, eventually, it fell – first to Alexander, then to Rome. In turn, they collapsed. My so-called Empire is only a generation old and my family have only been kings for four generations; my great-great-grandfather was a mere duke. Not much of a lineage c
ompared to the pharaohs of Egypt, who ruled for thousands of years.’

  Blondel started to hum his melodies. However, I felt compelled to answer.

  ‘But, sire, your blood goes back many hundreds of years. Your English heritage goes back to Alfred the Great and beyond.’

  ‘I suppose so, but I never think of myself as English. You remind me of Alun; I miss his words of wisdom, his everlasting patience and his love of England and its history.’

  ‘There are many great warriors in your bloodline besides Alfred the Great. There is the Conqueror, and his Viking ancestors – and others you know, such as Charlemagne, and some you don’t.’

  ‘That sounds like another tempting yet mysterious morsel of the sort that Alun would offer.’

  I came close to telling the Lionheart what I knew, but realized that it would all mean a lot more if I could tell him after I had been to Rome. So I changed the subject.

  ‘Sire, did Alun tell you about Queen Bérengère’s lineage?’

  ‘That she is the grand-daughter of the Cid? Yes, he did.’

  ‘What young warriors you two will produce.’

  ‘I hope so, but she is not yet pregnant; not surprising, I suppose, as we are always apart.’

  As the King was in a reflective mood, and I felt I had replaced Alun as his mentor, I tried to say something wise, just as my friend would have done.

  ‘Sire, do you remember what Abbess Hildegard said in Rupertsberg? I think it was something like this: Your mind is much more powerful than your sword arm. That is why, when soldiers fight wars, they win land and riches. But when thinkers fight wars, they win men’s minds. You can’t change the world with land and wealth, but you can with men’s minds.’

  ‘I do remember, Ranulf. I often think of her words, and those of Alun and Earl Harold…’

  He paused and turned to stare towards the north-west, in the direction of home.

  ‘Come, let’s eat and drink some wine; I think Blondel has a tune for us.’

  We returned to Ascalon with thoughts of a glorious conquest of Egypt fuelling the King’s imagination. But at Easter, the Lionheart’s mood darkened as events in Palestine and at home in Europe brought depressing news. In the Holy Land, word came from Acre that rather than help fight for the Christian cause, Conrad of Montferrat, Marquis of Tyre, and Guy of Lusignan, ostensibly King of Jerusalem, were again squabbling over the Holy City’s throne.

  Not only that: Lusignan had recruited the Pisans to his cause, while Montferrat had allied himself with the Genoese, thus splitting two of Richard’s most important allies. The King was furious and sent Robert Thornham to Acre to point out to both of them that, until Saladin was removed from Jerusalem, there was no throne to fight over. It made no difference; neither man would compromise.

  The news from England was also a cause for concern. It came from the Prior of Hereford, a trusted envoy sent by William Longchamp, the King’s Lord Chancellor, who ruled England in his absence. His words made the Lionheart angry in a way that we had not seen happen in a while.

  ‘My Lord King, the Lord Chancellor sends his affectionate greetings and his congratulations on your success here in the Holy Land. However, sire, I am the bearer of grave news from Westminster. Your brother John, Lord of Ireland and Count of Mortain, is acting as Regent and undermining the Chancellor’s authority. The Chancellor has had to besiege Lincoln Castle because the Castellan, Gerard of Camville, swore allegiance to John and would not surrender the castle or allow himself to be replaced by Longchamp’s nominee. In retaliation, John has taken the castles of Tickhill and Northampton. Your Chancellor fears John will take the throne, if you do not return soon.’

  The Lionheart thanked the Prior and, exhibiting a more sanguine mood than I expected, asked William Marshal and Baldwin of Bethune to try to resolve the situation.

  ‘Gentlemen, return to Poitou immediately. Seek the advice of my mother and, if she is well and thinks it advisable, ask her to accompany you to Westminster. Go via Rouen and tell the Archbishop, William of Coutances, that he must accompany you. When you reach London, get John and Longchamp in the same room and, if necessary, bang their heads together on my behalf. John is a coward and will bide his time until he hears Saladin has put a lance through my heart; Longchamp is a good administrator, but he could not command authority over a flock of sheep. Tell them that if they are still squabbling when I get back, they will know my wrath.’

  Although the King’s ‘wrath’ at such a distance might have seemed like an empty threat, anyone who knew the Lionheart realized that it was far from hollow.

  Confident that Marshal and Bethune would bring peace to England, the Lionheart then turned his attention to the dispute over the throne of Jerusalem. The quarrel was dividing the loyalties of his fellow crusaders and needed to be brought to an end. He called another council of his senior men and asked for their advice.

  Their conclusions came quickly and were unambiguous. The King had to choose between Lusignan, a man who had a stronger claim, both legally and morally, and Montferrat, whose claim was weaker, but who would be a much stronger bulwark against future Muslim attacks. Their advice was clear: Give Jerusalem to Montferrat.

  Of course, it was easy for them to be categorical, because they did not have to make the decision. But the Lionheart knew they were right and, although he felt a loyalty to Lusignan, he had little choice but to agree with the council’s view.

  As was becoming more and more apparent, the King was adding deepening wisdom to his military acumen and he dealt with his dilemma very adroitly. He sent Henry of Champagne to Acre to give Montferrat the good news, then asked Lusignan to come and see him in Ascalon. The excitable Poitevin must have known what the summons meant. When he arrived, he was very tense.

  The Lionheart handled him with compassion.

  ‘Guy, thank you for travelling such a distance. Champagne has journeyed the other way to give Montferrat the news I am about to give you. The lords of the Crusade and I have reached a decision about Jerusalem. It is to go to Montferrat, simply because he will be more able to hold it against Saladin. It is a decision based on expediency, not on just cause.’

  Crestfallen, Lusignan’s shoulders sank and his chin dropped on to his chest.

  ‘Sire, kings rule by right, not by expediency.’

  ‘If only that were true, my friend; sadly, it isn’t. Listen, I think I have another expediency that may mean you will leave here with a much lighter heart. How much do you have in your treasury?’

  ‘Am I to buy Jerusalem from Montferrat?’

  ‘No, not a putative kingdom like Jerusalem, but a safe and secure realm.’

  Intrigued, Lusignan’s mood lightened.

  ‘I can raise five thousand bezants, and twenty thousand in silver. But for where?’

  ‘Cyprus.’

  I looked at the others; we were all as surprised as Lusignan.

  He started to smile.

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘It is, if I say so. I sold all rights and possessions to Cyprus to the Hospitallers when we left Cyprus last year. They have paid only the first instalment of forty thousand bezants, but they have created turmoil on the island by imposing heavy tithes to raise the balance of sixty thousand. And they’re overdue on the payment. I will buy back the island for their first instalment and sell it to you for the same amount. If you give me what you have, you can pay me the rest from your income from the island’s tithes over the next five years. But be kind to the Cypriots; if you are, you and your descendants could rule there until doomsday.’

  ‘Sire, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say yes, man; it’s a choice between a kingdom that is currently in the hands of Saladin and to which no one supports your claim, or an idyllic domain secure in the Mediterranean where you would have no rivals.’

  Lusignan looked around. He saw that we were all smiling, and his smile became a broad grin. He fell to his knees and, almost grovelling, thanked the King lavishly.

 
The Lionheart pulled him up by the arm.

  ‘Go home and celebrate, find yourself a new wife and sire some heirs to the Kingdom of Cyprus…’

  He then paused, before slapping Lusignan heartily on the back.

  ‘But don’t leave without emptying your treasury. I’ll send Mercadier and a squadron to collect my geld.’

  The Lionheart had been generous; the 60,000 still owed by the Hospitallers would have helped our cause enormously, but he had written it off for the sake of justice. Not only that: Lusignan’s payment would only come in instalments. But the King had sympathy for his fellow-Poitevin and was grateful for his help on Cyprus. Although he had been foolhardy at the Battle of Hattin, he had been brave during the encounter and resolute while in captivity for over a year at the hands of Saladin.

  A happy man, Lusignan made his way back to Acre to prepare for his reign over Cyprus.

  Strangely, there was to be a twist in the tale of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Two days after Conrad of Montferrat was given the good news about his succession to the throne, he was assassinated on the streets of Acre. Returning to the royal palace late at night after celebrating with his friend Philip, Bishop of Beauvais, he was asked for alms by two beggars. No doubt feeling generous, when he reached down from his horse to put a coin in the hand of one of them, he was pulled from his mount and had his throat cut.

  It was thought that the perpetrators were the same Brotherhood of Assassins who had attacked the Lionheart outside Acre, but they had both escaped, so no one knew for sure. Guy of Lusignan was implicated by many, but as the attackers appeared to be Muslims, this seemed unlikely.

  Henry of Champagne heard about Montferrat’s death on the way back to us in Ascalon and immediately returned to Acre. To his apparent surprise, the local lords and the remnants of Philip of France’s contingent asked him to succeed to the newly vacant throne. He demurred and asked for the Lionheart’s view.