by Jean Plaidy
‘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.’
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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.
Chapter VIII
ON THE WALLS OF ACRE
The King of France was well again; and there was no reason why the assault on Acre should not be renewed.
The citizens were in desperate straits after two years of siege; the failure to receive the promised stores which had been on the ship which Richard had sunk had been a vital blow; their walls were already badly breached and they could not hold out any longer. The combined Christian forces were formidable; the coming of Richard had put such heart into them; it was true that many had believed he must die but now that he had recovered they were of the opinion that he must be immortal and they were convinced that victory would soon be theirs.
In such a mood did they storm Acre.
The fighting was fierce; the losses were great; thirty thousand Christians died in the battle for Acre; but at last came victory. The town had surrendered and Saladin’s army was in retreat.
Both Richard and Philip agreed that such a valiant people must be treated with some respect and they ordered that the usual pillage which was generally the result of such a situation should not take place. Prisoners should be taken that these might be bartered for Christian captives. This was wise for later it was arranged that two thousand Christian captives should be returned with a ransom of two hundred thousand pieces of gold in exchange for the release of the prisoners of Acre.
Now there was victory. Over the town should fly the Christian flag. Philip set up residence in the Palace of the Templars and the royal palace was given to Richard. Here he immediately installed Berengaria, Joanna and with them the Cypriot Princess.
It was greatly comforting for the women to be in such surroundings after living in tents with the army, but they were delighted more with the victory than by the luxurious way of life.
‘We must make the most of it,’ Joanna told Berengaria, ‘for you can be sure it will not last long.’
‘I wish they would be content with taking Acre,’ sighed Berengaria.
‘They will never be content until they have taken Jerusalem,’ replied Joanna.
Richard, riding round the walls of the captured city, saw a flag he did not immediately recognise flying high.
He shouted: ‘Whose flag is this?’
‘It belongs to the Duke of Austria, my lord,’ he was told.
‘Will you bring the Duke of Austria to me here,’ he ordered.
Leopold of Austria, a proud man, did not like the peremptory summons but he knew that he must obey it. He came reluctantly to where Richard stood beneath his flag.
‘Who ordered that this flag should be placed here?’ asked Richard.
‘I did,’ answered Leopold.
‘Why so?’
‘It is my flag and I and my men have just taken part in the capture of this city.’
‘If every man who has brought a few men to fight for the Cross begins waving his flag we shall be ridiculous. Leave flags to your betters.’
With that Richard seized the flag and ground his heel on it.
Leopold of Austria was purple with rage. Those watching were astounded. Richard was in bad mood. He had heard very disturbing rumours about the King of France and he could not help believing that they had sound foundations. He was fighting his own battle with the Plantagenet temper and it had won a round when he saw Leopold’s flag. He was uneasy not only concerning the King of France, but he could not forget the strange visitation which had occurred during his fever, and although he must rejoice in the victory at Acre he could not help pondering morosely on Saladin’s defeat.
The arrogance of this petty Duke had angered him and given him a reason for giving vent to his feelings, and he had let his rage grow out of all proportion to the offence.
Saladin, he was thinking, you came to me and laid your magic talisman upon my brow. This happened . . . I know it did. It was not a fancy. And we are at war.
Saladin was his enemy and in a strange way he loved this man.
‘In other circumstances . . .’
Was that not what Philip had once said? ‘If I were not the King of France and you the King of England . . .’ And Saladin: ‘If I were not the Sultan, ruler of the Saracens and you were not a Christian king . . .’
It was a complex situation and Richard loved that which was simple and straightforward: and because he was baffled he was angry, so he had let his fury loose on the Duke of Austria.
He turned abruptly away. He knew that he had acted foolishly. What harm was the Austrian flag doing there? In that moment of rage when he had torn it down and trampled on it, he had insulted Leopold and Leopold was a vindictive man. Moreover some of the Germans had seen what he had done and the rest would soon hear of it.
‘I will never forget this insult,’ muttered Leopold.
Richard had indeed made a bitter enemy.
Chapter IX
PHILIP’S FAREWELL
The disturbing rumours which Richard had heard concerning the King of France were that he was weary of the campaign and was making secret plans to return to France.
Richard went to the Palace of the Templars and asked for an audience.
Philip received him there with affe
ction. The French King had certainly changed; he was pale and emaciated from his recent fever; his hair had become thin and his nails had not yet begun to grow normally.
He took Richard’s hands in his and kissed his cheek.
‘I have heard whispers which I know cannot be true,’ said Richard.
‘It is always wise never to trust rumour,’ said Philip. ‘What have you heard?’
‘That you are planning to return to France.’
Philip was silent for a few moments. Then he said: ‘It is unwise for kings to leave their countries for a long period of time.’
‘Even when they have an important mission, when they have taken a holy oath?’
‘God would not have given us our kingdoms if He did not believe we have a duty to defend them.’
‘Kings have regents.’
‘Nay, a kingdom needs a king. When he is away there will be trouble.’
‘So it is true that you intend to desert us?’
‘I intend to do my duty to my country.’
‘And break your oath?’
‘I have expended wealth and health in this cause. I have done enough.’
‘Your name will resound with dishonour throughout the world.’
‘But not with such effect as it would if I lost my kingdom.’
‘I see you have made up your mind to go. Does your oath mean nothing to you, your vow to God, your vow to me!’
‘Aye, these are great matters. But I am a king. I have a little son; he is but four years old. He is ailing. He needs me there. If I stay in this land another year my son will have no father. France will have lost her King. I cannot live in this vile climate. The heat is unendurable. The dust chokes me; the flies nauseate me. The mosquitoes and the tarantulas are killing my men. I tell you this, Richard: I have not come to this decision lightly but I see that if I remain here, I shall die.’
‘I am ashamed,’ said Richard.
Philip smiled sardonically. ‘As long as you are not ashamed of yourself that is all that matters. Let those who incur shame suffer it. I have cleared myself with my conscience and with God. I love my country more than this hopeless task.’
