King Richard sent galleys forward. Whereupon those aboard the dromond rose up shooting with Damascus bows and arbalests, shafts and bolts dropping thicker than hailstones. Richard swore an oath by the throat of God he would string up his oarsmen on gibbets if they idled or this Turk escaped. So they sprang to their work, plunging against the waves, and caught up to her because the wind carried her slowly. Geoffrey de Vinsauf, who was present, describes how they rowed more than once around the vessel to scrutinize her but found no point of attack, so large and stout she was and darts kept dropping on their heads. To meet the enemy on equal ground is enough, says he, whereas a dart thrown from above must tell on those below, considering how the iron point comes downward. All this Richard’s men liked very little and their ardour slacked. Then the spirit of the king increased. He cast shame at the oarsmen, asked if they foundered, grew coistrel and timid from sloth. Therefore making virtue out of necessity because they cared no more for Richard’s wit than iron darts, some hopped into the waves with rope to bind the Turk’s rudders and slow her progress. Others got hold of cables and climbed up. All the same these pagans were no left-hand archers but skilled at combat and hewed off arms and legs as fast as Franks arrived, pitching bodies into the waves. And so King Richard’s men thirsted after Turkish blood, crossed the bulwarks glowing with desire to thrust them back. Now up out of the hold rushed more, young and not afraid to die, thus both sides contributed to the bloody deck. Then the king, seeing how difficult it would be to take this stout ship, ordered galleys to attack with the iron beak that mariners call the spur. So they drew off far enough and reversing course propelled themselves with mighty strokes, rammed the dromond, skewered her. All at once this great ship cracked apart. Turks leapt howling overboard while the king and his men slashed right and left to kill as many as they could, and it is said Richard’s lion shield dripped blood.
Some prisoners who could build or operate catapults he exempted from death, the rest slain, flung into the sea. Turks. Persians. Renegadoes. Had that dromond reached Acre, bringing seven emirs and all the means for defense she carried, Saladin’s devils would have kept their grip. While at Beyrouth she brought on board one hundred camel loads of weapons, crossbows with winches, levers, darts, slings, racks, Greek fire in bottles, plus two hundred writhing gray serpents gorged with venom to hurl or drop from turrets into the living army of Christ. But through divine intercession the Turk was sunk, noxious vipers scattered across the waves.
Unbelievers on a hilltop witnessed this combat. They cursed the hour and wailed and brought the news to Saladin. He clawed his beard for grief, moaned that Acre was undone. Those attending him lamented the fate that brought them to Syria, ripped their garments, snipped their curly tresses because of so many emirs and slaves of Allah lost.
King Richard held course, passed by Candalion, by Casella Ymbrici, sailed within view of Acre’s high tower. All about were the armies of Christ encamped. Beyond them Saladin’s host covering hills and valleys. They saw his pavilion and the tent of his brother Malik al-Adil.
King Richard touched the strand at eventide in the week of Pentecost before the feast of Saint Barnabas while the ground shook with acclamation. Horns, drums, flutes, timbrels, pipes, harps, trumpets, shouts of welcome. Universal gladness reigned. Many recited the deeds of ancient heroes to express their delight at his coming, others sang familiar ballads. High and low, they gathered as one, dancing with jubilation. Wax torches illuminating the night made it appear the land was on fire. As for Turks who observed this celebration from a distance, they were alarmed and downcast, murmuring, tugging their beards.
King Philip met Richard at the shore, pretending friendship. It is said he embraced Queen Berengaria and graciously escorted her to dry land, hiding his fury. Once upon a time Richard paid court to Philip’s sister. Before leaving England he had sworn an oath to marry her on the fortieth day after his return from Jerusalem. Instead, at Limassol, he pledged himself to the Spanish princess.
It is claimed that Philip might have taken Acre. When he first arrived he rode about to measure the defense. He set up iron screens, having them tinned until they gleamed like silver to reflect sunlight, as protection for crossbowmen, archers, and miners burrowing at the wall. He directed that volleys of arrows and quarrels be launched until not a Turk dared show a finger. He put miners to work at the wall where it abuts the Maudite Tower. Soldiers from Pisa rolled up a cat, but Turks set this ablaze and threw down hams, oil, and fish to make things worse so all beneath it met the Lord. However, a section of the wall collapsed. Then a company of knights got through, albeit they were driven back. Those inside Acre had flags for signaling and a basket they raised above the church of Saint Lawrence, which they had converted to a mosque. These signals appealed to Saladin for help. Now they ran up their flags and the basket to say they felt hard pressed. They struck timbrels, pounded on basins and platters to alert Saladin. Thus, many argue that Philip would have taken the city. But he decided to wait upon King Richard because they had agreed to share the joy of conquest.
Ambroise sang high praise of Richard, singing of how he did not shirk from carrying burdens on his shoulder half a league across the sand as if he were not a king but a mule dripping sweat. By all accounts his strength was fearsome, a graceful man with long and flexible arms, auburn hair, a taste for poetry and handsome looks gained from his mother, from the house of Poictou. That he could be subject to quick or violent rage was no secret. It happened once outside Messina that Richard and Philip had ridden together in friendly diversion, each accompanied by his entourage. Along came some rustic whose donkey was heaped high with reeds and various nobles to amuse themselves took reeds for jousting. King Richard and a valiant knight in the service of Philip, Guillaume des Barres, charged one another. Both reeds splintered. But the king’s head-gear broke, at which he set himself upon the French knight, seeking to overthrow him without success. And the king’s saddle slipped and he went down quicker than he liked.
Get thee hence, said he to Guillaume des Barres. Take care not to appear in my presence, for I am from this moment an enemy to thee.
Now off went the Frank to his lord Philip for aid and counsel regarding what had fallen out, much aggrieved by this royal indignation. Then the king of France went to Richard, asking for peace and mercy. Richard would not listen. Next day here came the bishop of Chartres, the count of Nevers, the duke of Burgundy, and other nobles on behalf of Guillaume des Barres, casting themselves at Richard’s knee. He would have none of it. Some time after, when they would embark for the Holy Land, here was the French king once more with his archbishops and bishops and counts and barons and beseeched King Richard. With much trouble they got him to consent, Richard undertaking to do this knight no harm nor proceed against him while both were busied in the service of Jesus Christ.
Or it may be, as the narrator of Reims declares, they were not at Messina but riding through the midst of Acre. Richard being thick with anger toward the Franks set himself against Guillaume to strike him out of the saddle with a truncheon. But on the passage Guillaume seized Richard by the neck, hauled him loose, flung him down grievously against the paving stones. There lay the mighty king of England in a swoon without pulse or breath while Guillaume rode at once to tell King Philip how it was. So the French king ordered his folk to arm themselves, that much did he mistrust Richard. Next here came Lionheart recovered from his stupor to assault the French. It is said they defended themselves sturdily. Now all at odds, they appointed a truce of three days during which the matter was accommodated.
Whatever the circumstance, this rowdy Plantagenet was at a single breath several men, cautious or bold, brutal or kind, crafty or generous with equal measure. Having learnt how Philip promised three gold pieces a month to any English knight that would enlist beneath the Frankish banner, Richard offered six to any Frank that fought beneath the lion standard. Nor was it secret how he could manage this extravagance. He had sold the ravaged island of Cyprus to knights of
the Temple.
He was not long in Acre when he fell sick with what common people call arnoldia, which is produced when foreign climate despoils the blood, wasting the lips and face. Despite this illness he caused mangonels and petraries to be erected and built a fort. One mangonel flung stones so far they crashed into the marketplace or butchery. And he brought from Messina such a pebble as squashed eight Turks. Further, he set up a belfrois with steps, protected from top to bottom with hides and ropes against Greek fire. During this time he was languid and faint, almost unable to rise from his pallet. Saladin also had fallen ill, gruesome carbuncles circling his waist, and could hardly rest or sleep.
King Philip meanwhile busied himself with engines. He built a device that would creep forward and cling to the wall. And at great expense a cercleia, which is a hurdle of twigs protected with hides and clay. He himself would crouch beneath this hurdle to shoot at pagans who showed themselves. Or he would throw darts from a sling. But one day the enemy flung down blazing wood and poured so much fire that the valuable clay was burnt. So the king began to curse his own soldiers, those who ate his bread, because they did not wreak vengeance on the Turks. He had it cried throughout camp that on the morrow they would advance.
Near sunrise, having appointed men to guard the trench against Saladin, these Franks pressed forward. There were bright coats of ring-mail and many a glittering crest. So the Turks lifted a tumult, beating on timbrels and platters and metal basins and shouting to the sky and waving devilish banners to notify Saladin. Almost at once here came his army riding and yelping across the plain, howling in the pagan tongue, brandishing accursed standards, dismounting as they got near the trench. Some carried clubs equipped with spikes, or poignards, and when they got to the barricades there was bloody slaughter. Godfrey de Lusignan picking up an axe slew ten of Mahomet’s filthy disciples. Back and forth they struggled, more and more Turks appearing, until those Franks who went against the wall had to retreat and help their comrades defend the camp. It is said that King Philip became discouraged and confused and would not mount his horse. Without leadership the servants of God did not know what to do. They waited unhappily, wondering how to fight the Lord’s battle. On that day the host suffered greatly.
Also, King Philip had brought from Europe a white falcon which he dearly loved. It escaped from his glove and flew across the wall into Muslim hands. This did not augur well. Philip offered one thousand dinars if they would give it back. They refused because they wished to present the bird to Saladin. Next the count of Flanders died, further disheartening the pilgrim host. Yet is not our Lord minded to be merciful? Here came welcome assistance, bishops and princes, each with his retinue. Jordan de Humez. Earl Robert of Leicester. Radulph Taisson. Gérard de Talebor. Henry fitz Nicholas. Here came William Martel and William Bloez, and Hugh de Fierte who served gallantly in Cyprus, and others. Which is to say, God succored the host while two kings lay indisposed.
Philip was first to regain his strength. He constructed a redoubtable perrier called the bad neighbor, Male Voisine, which struck night and day because the walls of Acre are such that carts may pass one another on the ramparts, making it no easy thing to breach. The duke of Burgundy set up a perrier that inflicted severe damage and made the slaves of Allah scurry about. There was one called Perrier of God because of a priest who stood beside it preaching, which shook the tower Maudite. Others manned by Templars and Hospitalers never ceased, never quit hurling, such as the Sling of God. Yet the Turks replied with a machine the Franks called Male Cousine, bad cousin to a bad neighbor. Philip directed miners to dig at the ground beneath Maudite, which already they had battered. But the Turks thought to confront them and obliged captives to dig a countermine held up with stanchions. Yet when these parties met in darkness beneath the tower they did not fight because the shackled captives were Christian who spoke to the Franks in their mutual language to such good effect that some got through the tunnel and escaped. This mightily annoyed the Saracens.
Next occurred a great deed. A Frank of prodigious size gained the ramparts. Others brought him stones to throw, and although he was wounded fifty times and drenched with blood the Turks could not drive him off or kill him until a bottle of naphtha exploded on him and made him a torch.
Here, too, was a very great deed performed by Aubry Clément, Marshal of France. If it please God, he was heard to cry, before sunset I will die or stand within the walls of Acre!
Then up the ladder he went and Turks rushing noisily against him. Franks who climbed up after him overburdened the ladder, which broke and tumbled them in a ditch, bruising some to death while others lay hapless, groaning and bleeding. Marshal Aubry, pierced a thousand times, ascended gloriously to the arms of Christ with Allah’s subjects capering about the turrets, hooting, whistling. So did he verify himself, according to Geoffrey de Vinsauf. Others say he did not freely attack the wall but was caught and dragged to martyrdom by a Saracen grappling hook. Be that as it may, a chanson forever celebrates the name of Aubry Clément.
And now King Richard, very weak, wrapped in a silken quilt, caused himself to be carried forward because he wished to do what mischief he could. From the ditch, swaddled in his quilt, he let fly many a crossbow dart. They say he was skillful. A Turk dared show himself on the ramparts dressed in the armor of Marshal Clément, which proved his last boast. Richard shot a bolt through his heart. The Turk threw up his feet and died.
We are told that Saladin and Richard felt warmly toward each other. While the Christian monarch lay ill, wasted, fingernails loose on his fingers, hair dropping from his brow, and whispers of poison, he despatched an envoy to the sultan. King Richard wished to make it known that since kings are wont to exchange gifts, even during time of war, a gift would be delivered if it should please the sultan. Malik al-Adil answered for his brother that a gift would be welcome if something might be given in return.
We have with us falcons, said Richard’s envoy, as well as other birds of prey, but on the voyage they suffered and are dying. If you will give us chickens to feed them we will offer them as homage to the sultan when they have been restored to health.
We give you what you ask, Malik answered, because we know that your king is ill and requires chickens for his health.
Subsequently, when Richard wanted fresh fruit he received it. And they say that once when his mount was slain, leaving him open to capture, the Muslim lord sent him a fresh mount. If so, a curious tale. How should Christians interpret this?
At length, seeing how violently they were bombarded, fearing Saladin would not help, the people of Acre took counsel and thought they had best surrender to the Franks because King Richard terrified them. They asked safe conduct for ambassadors, praying that Philip might lift his assault while they discussed the business. Having got this assurance they sent a deputation to speak with him in his tent. They told him the city would be delivered if those inside might leave with their families and goods. He answered that everything within Acre must be his, yet he would grant their lives.
King Richard, all unaware, thinking he would take the city for himself, doubled his attack. Now the Turks in King Philip’s tent rebuked him. What safe conduct is this? they asked. We thought this must hold until we returned to Acre, but look you. The English king does much damage. Since you are not strong enough to bid him stop, we ask leave to depart.
I will punish the English for violating this truce, King Philip said. Chronicles relate that already he had buckled on leg armor when counselors persuaded him to let the matter drop. Otherwise great harm would have ensued.
Two winters and a summer the city lay besieged. Christian and heathen alike wearied of the struggle. Each came to know the face of his enemy. At times they would put aside their weapons to mingle peaceably. There would be dancing, singing, feasts, entertainment, much as happened in the days of Iftikhar and Duke Godfrey and Bohemond and Tancred while Jerusalem lay under siege. Children contested the field in mock battle, uttering shrill war cries, charging
, retreating, little captives ransomed for a piece of gold. But on the twelfth of July in our year of grace 1191, those defending Acre knew they could not prevail. Caracois, who was in charge, agreed to Christian terms. Documents tell how a swimmer left the harbor to notify Saladin and he was horrified. They say that while he sat in front of his tent composing a message to the garrison forbidding surrender he saw Frankish banners unfurl. He moved away from Acre and camped along the road to Saphori, knowing he must wait to receive ambassadors whose faith he mistakenly thought untrue.
King Richard stipulated that all captives must be freed, whether held in the city or in Saladin’s camp. As indemnity for Christian loss, two hundred thousand gold pieces, four hundred extra for the marquis of Tyre. Lastly, Saladin must deliver up the True Cross, which he captured during the battle of Hattin. If these terms were met, the lives of all who defended Acre would be spared. Until such time, for insurance, Richard imprisoned the garrison. He then took up lodging in the royal palace. King Philip lodged in what had been the Templar fortress.
Unseemly quarrels disturbed the Christian host. Archduke Leopold of Austria, wrapped in conceit, thinking himself equal to the kings of England and France, flew his standard from a tower, which so nettled King Richard that with his own hand he pulled down the standard, tramped across it and flung it in a cesspool. Next, some dispute opposed Guy de Lusignan to Conrad de Montferrat. This was in turn reflected by quarrels among lesser lords.
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