The Kings of Vain Intent

by The Kings of Vain Intent (retail) (epub)

  Humphrey thought, of course you know, when it’s rumoured that you are treating with Regent Conrad. Then he decided that Saladin might have mentioned the theft of Isabella in order to dispense with it, and thus minimize the pain. So he nodded and said, ‘Yes, Prince, I am still saddened by that event.’

  The Sultan smiled quickly, confusing him. What was there to smile about, with Conrad’s greasy head laid next to Isabella?

  But the Moslem had not been smiling at Humphrey’s loss; rather at his language.

  ‘Again forgive me, but I am still won over when I hear my own tongue spoken with such fluency. I am pleased that Malik Ankiltar chose you as his emissary.’ He turned to Saphadin, who still gazed at William des Barres. The emir was re-introduced, this time to each of the Crusaders.

  Humphrey responded by announcing William as the renowned Christian warrior and delegate of the French contingent, and Ernoul as the chronicler and squire of Nablus. Since the exchanges were in Arabic, the knight and squire recognized only the sound of their names.

  They were invited to take their places around the table. Humphrey sat cross-legged, his feet tucked under his thighs, the rain-smeared satchel between his knees. Ernoul waited for William to enter the circle ahead of him, then lowered himself on to the silken wall. When they were seated, Saladin rang a small silver bell and murmured something to the Nubian who hurried from the rear cone. The man bowed and was about to leave when Saphadin took his eyes from William for the first time. He spoke quietly to his brother. Understanding, Humphrey glanced at the Frenchman, who, like Ernoul, was oblivious to what was being said. The Sultan nodded, repeated the words to the servant, then offered his visitors the sweetened lemon.

  By the time they had been served, the Nubian was back, bearing an inlaid box and a long, curved object wrapped in sheepskin. Saladin glanced at the box, tapped it with thin fingers, then directed that it be handed to Ernoul. Saphadin took the bundle and placed it beside him on the carpet.

  Speaking through Humphrey, and affecting not to notice Ernoul’s astonishment, Saladin told him, ‘You seem to be something of a rarity, an active soldier and a recorder of the times. If you see events with both eyes, it is to be commended. I hope there are enough pens in the box.’

  Ernoul lifted the lid, stared at the compartments – for parchment, sand, ink, pens, nib-knife – and stammered a reply. Humphrey grinned at him and turned the clumsy phrases into a proper response, while William des Barres sneaked a look at the contents.

  Then Humphrey interpreted again as Saladin continued, ‘You may wonder, Sir William, why Emir Saphadin took such an unswerving interest in you. It appears that during the fight near Arsuf, you lanced him from his horse. Is it true that you did the same to Richard of England in Cyprus?’

  ‘It was done in jest,’ William replied calmly, ‘and it was at Messina, in Sicily.’

  ‘And my brother? Do you remember unhorsing him?’

  ‘I unseated a number of emirs. I must have struck Emir Saphadin a hasty blow, else I would have killed him.’ Humphrey hesitated. Well, he thought, he is a champion, so I suppose he may speak like one. Even so – Then he caught Saladin’s eye and interpreted, word for word.

  Saphadin breathed in slowly. Ernoul looked up from his box. William waited, unperturbed. He had been asked a question, and he had supplied the answer. The emir could accept it or not.

  It took an effort, but he did. He lifted the sheepskin bundle and told the Frenchman, ‘Allah turned your lance. Had He not done so, it would have been as you say. I continue to offer prayers of gratitude to Allah the Merciful. To you I would offer this token.’ He held out the bundle and, when Humphrey had completed the translation, William leaned forward and took it. The sheepskin concealed a scimitar, the pure silver scabbard wrought and studded with jewels, the pommel of the sword inset with an emerald the size of a man’s thumbnail. Ernoul looked at Humphrey, who read his thoughts. Yes, some token. William des Barres nodded curtly to Saphadin, then placed the weapon on the far side of the cushions, so that the Moslems might see that it was out of reach, and so no danger to them. He made no comment, knowing none was called for.

  ‘Now,’ Saladin said, ‘if my spies are reliable, you have brought some proposals from Malik Ankiltar.’

  Humphrey said, ‘We have, Prince, King Richard sends you his greetings, and says that he will one day talk with you face to face.’

  ‘I await that day.’

  ‘If his proposals are well received, he will send a more senior deputation. From his own ranks, Robert of Breteuil, Earl of Leicester; from the French contingent, Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, and—’

  ‘I trust him to arrange it properly,’ Saladin nodded. ‘As for today, I am satisfied with the representation.’

  Humphrey thanked him, and took a sheet of parchment from his satchel. He broke the great black wax seal and unfolded the sheet. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, sitting cross-legged in Arab style, and asked Saladin if he might stand.

  ‘Certainly,’ the Sultan replied. ‘Would you prefer that we all stood? I believe it is often the way in Frankish courts.’

  ‘No, it’s just that—’

  ‘I know. In deference to your king.’

  Humphrey climbed to his feet. He swayed for a moment, while the squeezed-out blood ran back into his legs. Then, translating as he went, he read:

  ‘This letter is to greet the famed Sultan Salah ed-Din Yusuf, and to state that both the Moslems and the Franks are reduced to the last extremity. Our cities and towns—’

  ‘We do not accept that they are yours,’ Saladin commented.

  Humphrey looked up from the letter. ‘My lord Prince?’

  ‘I said we do not accept that the cities and towns belong to the Unbelievers. However, we will let it pass for the moment. Read to us.’

  Tactfully, Humphrey continued:

  ‘The cities and towns are in ruins, and the resources of both sides in men and goods are brought to nothing. Have we not, by now, had enough of this state of things?’

  ‘All that Malik Ankiltar says is true. Do his proposals follow?’

  ‘I haven’t read—’

  ‘Then I’ll be patient.’

  ‘Jerusalem, which is Holy to us, cannot be lost. And we are resolved not to renounce it, so long as we have one True Christian left alive. Therefore, we suggest that you return Jerusalem to us—’

  Saphadin murmured, ‘It is there for you.’

  ‘and with it the whole of the Kingdom of Jerusalem which lies to the west of the Jordan River—’

  ‘That, too,’ Saladin added, joining in his brother’s grim amusement. ‘It is there for you.’

  ‘as it was in the time of the preceding kings.’

  Humphrey paused, embarrassed by Richard’s blunt demands. Jerusalem? The whole of the Kingdom west of the Jordan? How can he imagine —

  ‘Is that all the Lionheart would have of us?’ the Sultan inquired. ‘Not Egypt, or Mecca, or the world of Islam as far as the Tigris?’

  ‘I am only empowered to—’

  ‘I understand, Lord Humphrey. Is there more?’

  ‘Yes, Prince. The king continues:

  ‘You know the admiration we have for Malik Saphadin, and so we suggest that –’ I cannot believe it! ‘– that he should wed our sister, Joanna, Queen of Sicily. She may then be established in Jerusalem, and we will yield to her all the places we hold on the coast.’

  Humphrey translated, his gaze fixed on Saphadin. The emir listened in silence, a model of polite interest. Neither of the Moslem leaders commented on the extraordinary suggestion. Humphrey went on:

  ‘Sultan Saladin, on his side, may then give Emir Saphadin all the places he holds on the coast, and declare him king of the country. We would permit Emir Saphadin to retain all his towns, though the villages and small castles should be given over to the Knights of the Temple and the Hospital. The larger fortresses will belong to King Saphadin and Queen Joanna, and all the Moslem and Christian prisoners will be released. In
this way everything will be settled.

  This letter is given under our hand at Jaffa.’

  There was a long silence, Ernoul tried to imagine how the leaders of the West would react to the news that the King of Jerusalem was a Moslem. Not only that, but Saladin’s brother. At the very least they would shriek and spew blood. And how would Regent Conrad take it? Not well, not at all well.

  Eventually Saladin said, ‘You have a fine command of our language, Lord Humphrey. As a formality, King Richard’s letter will be given to our interpreters, though what you have told us must be true. No one,’ he smiled, ‘could invent such proposals.’

  Humphrey managed to ask if there would be a reply.

  ‘A full reply, yes, in a day or two. You understand, it will take that long to match the Lionheart’s, shall we say, generosity? But you may tell your king that his words have reached attentive ears. Is that not the truth, my brother?’

  ‘The truth,’ Saphadin murmured.

  * * *

  They rode back along the valley, this time with the rain in their faces.

  Humphrey fumed, ‘He might as well have sent a trio of mummers. By God, King Richard must have worms in his brain to have attempted anything so outrageous. Who, in the whole world, would support such a scheme? A Moslem king on the throne of Jerusalem? Or, as they would see it, an Unbeliever as their queen? And the castles, garrisoned by the very men who are most feared by Islam. If it happened, the Pope would – King Philip – Oh, I abandon it. It’s beyond comprehension.’

  Ernoul hugged his writing box, instantly his most precious possession. ‘They took it well,’ he said. ‘They did not seem to be insulted.’

  ‘They took it suspiciously well. We’ve been duped, or are about to be, but I don’t know how.’

  William snapped, ‘Speed up. The king’s orders do not include catching a death chill.’

  By the time they had covered the twelve miles from Lydda to the orchard camp at Jaffa they were numb with cold. But because it had rained all day on the coastal plain, there was no hot food available. Humphrey made a brief report to King Richard, then stumbled into his tent, stripped naked and buried himself beneath a pile of worn skins. During the night he dreamed of the green lake and of Isabella and of Conrad. He came awake with a start, his face shiny with sweat, and lay for a long time, listening to the rain drum for admission on the tent roof…

  * * *

  Neither of the Moslem leaders regarded Richard’s proposals as entirely without merit. They had grown used to Frankish extremism, and to the direct nature of the invaders. And the king’s proposals were no more extraordinary than those of Regent Conrad of Montferrat, who, in return for the safe governorship of Tyre, Sidon and Beirut, had stated his willingness to attack the Christian garrison at Acre, then hand over the city to Saladin.

  * * *

  Richard went further with his scheme. He had not yet spent a night with his wife, reminding her that she had arrived uninvited at Jaffa, spurning the comparative safety and comfort of Acre. She was now installed in one of the few undamaged houses on the eastern side of the town, a house she shared with Queen Joanna.

  The morning after Humphrey’s return from Lydda, Richard visited his wife and sister. The rain had not let up for a single moment, so the king entered the house like a fish with metal scales. He hung his wet cloak over a chair and bade the women a noisy good morning. Joanna left her breakfast of figs and black barley bread, expecting – hoping – that Richard would wish to be alone with Berengaria. But he waved her back to her chair and said, ‘In truth, you’re the one I want to see.’ Berengaria smothered a sigh and went forward to embrace him.

  ‘Take care, my love, you’ll catch cold.’

  ‘No, lord husband, no, I won’t.’

  He held her at arm’s-length and leaned forward to kiss her. Joanna watched, angry with herself because she could not rid her mind of images in which her brother was happy enough to embrace Robert of Breteuil and Grand Master Ermengard and this leader and that. Of course, one could accept that he was being solicitous towards Berengaria; as he had said, he did not want her to catch cold. But no newly-wed should be that solicitous, least of all when he had yet to lie with his wife.

  Berengaria started to say, ‘Is everything well with you?’ but Richard overrode her.

  ‘I should be meeting with my commanders at this moment. But first I must have my sister’s consent on a matter of importance.’ Without further preamble, he told Joanna of his intention to have her married to Emir Saphadin. Clasping his huge hands together, he showed her how Islam and Christendom would be united. She sat back in her chair, her body rigid. ‘You would marry me to a Moslem?’

  ‘like mortar, binding the stones—’

  ‘You ask me to marry a Moslem?’

  ‘What is it?’ he frowned. ‘There’s no call to scream.’

  ‘My God, you’ve lost hold of your mind. Why not Satan? You could always ask him to blunt his claws.’

  Richard was genuinely perplexed. ‘I did not expect such an outburst.’

  ‘Nor did I expect to be party to such lunacy. How could you have imagined – no, I believe you could imagine anything, then shout until it became a reality.’

  ‘But the proposal is already before him. He may want to meet with you. And when he sees how beautiful you are, how poised—’

  ‘And how Christian.’

  ‘Yes! So there was no need to scream. When you meet, we will ask him to accept Christ.’

  Joanna looked at Berengaria, then at Richard. ‘Repeat yourself,’ she said bleakly. ‘You’ve drugged my brain.’

  Richard leaned forward on the table. Patiently, he explained, ‘We will propose to him that, as the new King of Jerusalem, he should relinquish Islam and embrace Christianity.’

  ‘Saladin’s brother?’

  ‘Saphadin, yes.’

  ‘One of the great Arab warlords?’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘The Moslem leader, second only to the Sultan?’

  ‘Yes, so you would be marrying a powerful—’

  ‘You are stricken, Richard Lionheart. I have never heard such profound idiocy. The man is Islam! He is engaged in a Holy War! Nothing, no power on earth would make him turn to the religion he so utterly rejects. Even I know this.’ She turned in desperation to Berengaria. ‘Sweet Queen, tell him. Tell him one cannot make a cat bark.’

  ‘Tell me nothing,’ Richard snapped. ‘I shall invite Emir Saphadin to visit us. And my sister will be here to greet him. Mark what I say. This thing will be settled by Christmas.’ He banged his way from the table, collected his rain-sodden cloak and left the house.

  When he had gone, Joanna and Berengaria stared bemusedly at each other, wondering how to explain their brother, their husband.

  * * *

  During the latter days of November, the Moslem army withdrew from Lydda and set up winter quarters around Jerusalem. In an attempt to leaven the morale of his troops, Richard led them to Ramleh and Lydda, where they found both towns razed to the ground. They spent miserable weeks among the valleys of western Samaria, prey to conflicting reports about the Saracens’ strength and intentions. More soldiers left the army, and the Frankish leaders agreed that they must either make an all-out bid to take Jerusalem, or reach a settlement with Saladin. Richard’s magic, which had held the army together for so long, was wearing off.

  But it suited the Sultan to keep the exchange of letters flowing as long as possible. While negotiations lasted, he was free to strengthen his army and complete the destruction of the nearby castles. For this reason, Emir Saphadin pretended to give some thought to Richard’s marriage proposals, before politely declining to embrace Christianity.

  The weather worsened, and the majority of the barons accepted that Jerusalem would spend another winter in Moslem hands. Floodwater poured down from the hills, and there were instances of men and horses being drowned in the mud of the wadis. Also, the Crusaders had no accurate picture of the Saracen positions, th
ough it was known that a second army, brought up from Egypt, was somewhere in the vicinity.

  Then, on the last day of the year, Saladin made one of his shrewdest moves. He sent a group of horsemen in the direction of Ramleh. They were spotted by a French patrol, who pursued and almost captured them. In their flight the Saracens dropped a number of weapons, a shield and a sturdy leather tube. The tube was collected by the patrol sergeant, who took it unopened to his overlord, Henry of Troyes. Henry was visibly shaken by the contents of the tube. He requested an immediate council of war, where he presented the scroll of parchment to King Richard, who read aloud a letter from Regent Conrad to Sultan Saladin – the letter in which Conrad agreed to attack Acre.

  Instinctively, both Guy of Lusignan and Humphrey of Toron put their hands to their swords.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Coast, Tyre

  January–April 1192

  During the next three months the Christian army fell apart, as though the incessant rain had softened their bonds. Hugh of Burgundy and the majority of the French contingent returned to Jaffa. Henry of Troyes and the local barons stayed with Richard, but when the depleted force moved from Lydda and Ramleh, it was not in the direction of Jerusalem, but southwest, towards the great coastal citadel of Ascalon. The Crusaders knew that Ascalon was to the south of the Kingdom what Tripoli was to the north, and Acre to the centre. It contained a large harbour, into which sailed fleets of fast-moving butas, each Moslem warship bringing more men and supplies. With the help of God, Jerusalem might be taken by storm, but it would be a short-lived victory so long as the Saracens were free to bring reinforcements through Ascalon – the gateway to Egypt.

  However, Frankish intelligence was again made worthless by events. The Crusaders reached Ascalon on 20th January, to discover, as before, that the massive walls – and in this case fifty-three watchtowers – had been reduced to rubble. Saladin was holding to the plan he had made at Acre; everything would be destroyed, save for Jerusalem and the southernmost town in the Kingdom, Darum.