Meantime the Jerusalemfarers polished swords, helmets, and coats of mail lest some blemish discolor the brilliance when after so many trials they should approach the Holy City. They boasted that not all the strength of all the heathen could thwart them in their plighted vow. But those barons native to the land, wiser and less presumptuous, sought to dissuade Richard from proceeding. For, said they, a Turkish army in the hills could swoop down to pin us like flies against the wall as we besiege Jerusalem. Or should we take the city we must garrison it with experienced troops, which could hardly be done since many of the host wish nothing more than to complete the pilgrimage and return to France or England. King Richard hesitated five full days, then gave orders to withdraw. Hence the disgruntled army turned about, marched back the way it had come through sleet and mud. Sumpter beasts lurched and slipped beneath their loads. Pilgrims beat themselves on the breast with rage.
This to the English seemed God’s will. But the Franks became indignant, and having got to Ramlah declared they would retreat still further to Joppa or to Acre. He urged them to stay a little longer, saying they would be provisioned at his expense if they would succor the Holy Land. They would not and demanded from Richard a safeguard. He assigned the Templars. He rode a while with the Franks, tears in his eyes, imploring them to stay, but they felt discontented. Certain of these pilgrims marched north as far as Tyre. Foolish people not understanding events therefore mocked the Franks, called them a pigeon-hearted race. But to whom did His Holiness Urban turn for help against the Turk?
Enough. Why invoke the past? Geoffrey tells how these recalcitrant knights succumbed to lewd song and debauchery, banqueted among harlots, girdled their waists with embroidered belts, fastened their sleeves with gold chain, hung jeweled collars around their necks, made for themselves pretty crowns of bright flowers. Not falchions did they carry but enameled goblets and exulted in dancing women. Being heated with lust they swaggered and lurched to the houses of prostitutes where they shouted oaths if the door should be closed against them and broke it down to have their way. Not all behaved in such wise. More than one expressed regret for the discord with Richard.
Meantime the Plantagenet brought his English host from Ramlah to Ascalon where he set them to work strengthening walls, for he knew well enough how soldiers need activity lest they provoke mischief. They worked throughout the winter and made Ascalon the sturdiest of castles. All engaged at this labor, princes, knights, squires, clerics, retainers, all joined to lug stone. In ancient days five turrets were named for those that constructed them. Criminals built the bloody turret, women that of the maidens, emirs another, Bedouin another. The strongest they called for the son of Noah, Ham, whose thirty-two sons built the city with help from subjugated people. At the direction of King Richard all were fortified.
Saladin elected to loiter about Jerusalem. Easter Eve he visited the Holy Sepulcher because of what he had been told, that divine fire would kindle the lamp. With his retinue he went and observed and listened to the devotion of captives beseeching God for mercy. And the flame descended. Turks scoffed, telling each other this was some fraudulent contrivance, but Christians rejoiced. Saladin ordered the lamp extinguished, which was done. Instantly the flame rekindled. Again the sultan had it put out. Again it lighted itself. A third time he ordered the lamp extinguished. But the patience of our Lord is everlasting, nor is there counsel against His wish. For a third time the flame descended. Saladin wondered and felt confused and declared by the spirit of prophecy that he must lose possession of Jerusalem or die, which prophecy came true since he would die the Lent following.
It was about this time that King Richard narrowly missed death. Not long after the feast of Saint Alphage he went riding and startled a boar. The monster having heard the noise of his party came forth to block the path, foaming, maddened, ears erect, hair bristling up. Nor would it move when the king shouted. And if he would circle it, then would the creature whirl about to menace him with tusks. So the king gripped his lance like a hunting spear and tried to pierce the animal but the cane lance broke. Then the boar, wounded to fury, a length of cane protruding from its breast, charged King Richard who laid spurs to his mount and fairly leapt over it. They say the hinder trappings of his horse were ripped away and only that length of cane in the animal’s breast prevented it from closing. Again they charged one another and the king with his sword smote the boar when it passed and wheeling about slashed the sinews, after which he consigned it to his huntsmen. Thus by the grace of Providence he did not lose his life.
Presently came news of how the king’s brother Earl John fomented unrest at home. Unless such disloyalty were checked the king stood in peril. Chancellor William by letter urged him to return, saying that he and others deputed to govern in Richard’s absence were insolently expelled, some killed in riots. The king was astonished, but confided little while turning things over in his mind. He had traveled countless leagues and endured so much for the sake of Jerusalem. Now it appeared he should quit the journey if he would not have the heritage of his fathers wrested away. Therefore he summoned a council of barons, telling them he must leave and they should decide who ought to wear the crown of Jerusalem. Would they have Guy de Lusignan or Marquis Conrad de Montferrat? The barons had great respect for Conrad, small use for Guy. This being how it was, King Richard despatched his nephew Henry to notify Conrad in the city of Tyre.
When the marquis learned he would be king he stretched up his hands in prayer. O Lord God! he cried. Thou who infused this body with life, who art just and merciful, I pray Thee. If Thou thinkest me deserving, grant me to see myself crowned. Yet if it shall be otherwise, consent not to my promotion.
And when it became known across the city that he would be king there was extravagant rejoicing. Inhabitants got ready what they had. They borrowed money to buy new robes because they wished to make a splendid show at the ceremony, wishing to honor the dignity of their lord. They were seen burnishing rusted shields, polishing armor, rubbing lances, giving new edge to swords.
It seemed fitting that coronation should take place in the majestic city of Acre. Henry was therefore instructed to go and make arrangements.
However, the paths of men deviate from that of Almighty God. Conrad’s wife, Isabella, decided one afternoon to visit the baths. At suppertime Conrad went to meet his wife but was told she wished to enjoy the bath a little longer. So he thought he would go and dine with Bishop Milo. When he got to the archbishopric he learned that the bishop had finished eating. Conrad turned homeward. Outside the gate by the exchange where the street narrows he came upon two men seated, one at either side. As he rode between them one held up a letter for him to read and when he leaned down to accept it a knife was thrust deep into his body. The second villain now leapt on the croup of his mount to stab him in the back. Marquis Conrad fell from his horse and rolled dying on the stones. Many people came running. They carried him to his palace. There he made confession and spoke privily with the marquise whose eyes were wet with tears, after which he gave up the ghost and was buried at the Hospital. As to the murderers, one being straightway slain, the other ran into a church for sanctuary but was caught and dragged through the streets until his black spirit fled groaning.
Some whispered that King Richard had brought about Conrad’s death, a malevolent falsehood wrought by envious men seeking to augment themselves, hoping to diminish the luster of what they could not eclipse, such being the propensity of subordinates. In fact, when messengers from Tyre brought news of Conrad’s death the king remained a long time quiet, very thoughtful.
Conrad de Montferrat was slain upon orders of the Old Man. Old Man of the Musse as some would call him. How he stood to profit is much debated. Like a peasant sowing grain in expectation of future harvest mayhap this lord of Assassins sowed turbulence and disorder. The truth is not known. Chronicles relate that a member of his brotherhood coming by ship from Saltelaya had been forced by high waves to put in at Tyre. Marquis Conrad arrested him, sto
le his money and took his life. The Old Man sent envoys demanding that the brotherhood be compensated, but the marquis would not. Next came a votary named Erwis to ask again, but Conrad, who was proud, threatened to drown Erwis in the harbor. This brought Assassins. They took up lodging and made themselves agreeable by pretending to be Christian while awaiting the moment.
Nor was Saladin himself exempt. More than once he narrowly escaped the brotherhood. In order to rid himself of these people he laid siege to their castle in the Nosairi mountains. And there on a hillside, as though prepared to enjoy the spectacle, sat the Old Man. Saladin directed a company of soldiers to go and capture him. But when these soldiers approached they began to feel weak, their legs would scarcely move, which horrified them, so they turned and fled, gathering strength as they ran. That night Saladin posted guards with torches around his tent and sprinkled ashes before the entrance, after which he lapsed into a troubled sleep. He awoke to find a shadowy figure gliding out of the tent. Now on his bed lay a dagger of the sort Assassins use, a poisoned cake, and a sheet of parchment with mysterious verse. He cried out to the guards, who swore they had seen nothing. Nor were there any footprints among the ashes. Next morning Saladin hurriedly returned to Damascus.
Such are the Assassins, those who tricked Conrad de Montferrat by offering him a letter to read, tumbled him bloody and dying on the streets of Tyre.
Those not witness to events have devised an egregious lie. They claim the marquis was brought into the presence of Saladin with hands roped behind his back, for Saladin wished to meet this famous lord. Ah! Marquis! Marquis! Saladin cried softly. Where are those thousand knights you would bring against me? By Mahomet, has not your covetous nature betrayed you? If not, you shall have your stomach full this day! Whereupon he ordered molten gold and silver poured down Conrad’s throat.
Such tales are false. Assassins took his life by order of the Old Man on the twenty-eighth day of April in our year of grace 1192.
Conrad was by all accounts a mighty man of war. And it may be argued that he proved himself no less so among the ladies, for when he married Isabella he had already two wives, both young and fair. One at Constantinople, the second in his native country, which was Piedmont. Nonetheless, defying God and reason, Bishop Milo married him to Isabella. Much did the archbishop of Canterbury murmur at this espousal, at threefold adultery, pronouncing the sentence of excommunication. Also, the pontiff at Rome disapproved. Many questioned if the Lord were present at such a wedding. I have heard that Conrad tampered with clerics by way of specious argument and gifts, sounding the effect of largesse, which happens enough. We, too, have seen the corrupt empowered.
Anon this steward of God’s ministry, Bishop Milo, journeyed to Assisi where Saint Francis was born. While he was there some affliction lifted a monstrous swelling on his back from rump to shoulder. They say it gaped open as though struck by a cleaver. He lingered five days in agony before giving up the ghost, whereupon those who served him made havoc of all he owned. Thus does it fare with those who slight their calling.
Conrad being untimely dead, the Holy Land felt shaken. Grief superseded joy.
The lords of Tyre thought King Richard’s nephew Henry should marry Isabella. Young Henry did not object since she was comely, although twice married and at the moment pregnant. Lady Isabella, however, shut herself inside the castle, nor would she give up the keys to her city. But a day or so having passed and she with time to reflect upon Henry’s youth and handsome looks, and he rich enough for six or eight, she changed her mind, yielding her keys and self to Richard’s nephew. Such is the nature of women, who delight at novelty, rejecting, forgiving, easily taught or led if subject to advice. They married one week after Conrad ascended to the embrace of our Savior.
King Richard invited the couple to Ascalon but Henry chose to loiter where he was, having at once fallen in love with his pregnant bride.
Now came news of Saladin distracted by revolt in Mesopotamia. Richard therefore thought to take advantage of the moment and attack Daron six or eight leagues down the coast. By sea and land he advanced toward Daron and of a Sunday pitched his tent. Saracens emerged from the fort shouting insults but prudently retired to bar the gates. In a little while English ships arrived with catapults and other engines, all disjointed. Richard and his lords did not shrink from carrying some piece of timber half a league. When this machinery was in place they undertook to destroy the fort.
After much pounding a gate broke apart. Many Turks fell groaning on the earth. Three vile misbelievers came out to sue for peace, offering to yield in exchange for their lives, but Richard would not. Defend yourselves, said he. And beneath heavy blows a tower fell, which brought forth God’s enemies scrambling like mice in all directions. Some got away, but first cut the sinews of horses to render them useless. Now the living host entered Daron. First came Seguin Borret, followed by the equerry Ospiard who carried his armor. Next, a Gascon named Peter. As to the next, chronicles are silent. Turkish banners came down while that of Stephen de Longchamp unfurled, that belonging to the earl of Leicester, that of Andrew de Chavegui. Next the Pisans and Genoese lifted standards. Forty Christian captives were discovered languishing in shackles. Some three hundred enemies had sought refuge in the principal tower and Richard set close guard around them. Whitsuntide he ordered them out, hands strapped behind their backs so tight they roared with pain. Many tasted the sword, others hurled into the ditch.
So quickly did Richard take this fort that his pilgrims were encouraged. They spoke of marching a second time against Jerusalem, English and Franks together. But there was disquieting news from England. A cleric arrived to say the king’s brother fomented treason, abetted by Philip Augustus. Chancellor William was driven out of the realm into Normandy and the king’s exchequer emptied, save what might be concealed in churches.
With the army bivouacked at Ybelin, near that valley where Anna the grandmother of Jesus was born, Richard took himself wearily to bed. And while he lay pensive in his tent, not knowing what course to follow, he noticed the chaplain William of Poictou. It appeared that the chaplain wept. And having asked the cause, King Richard was told that throughout camp were muttered rumors of his leaving.
Ah, Sire, may the day never come, said William. May never this reproach be charged against thee. On how many occasions hath God honored thee, since first I saw thee count of Poitiers. Dost recall the great emprises? The multitude of captives? Messina, which thou didst seize, and when thou overcame the Grecian rabble. But fifteen days it took to conquer Cyprus, which none other dared essay. Recall, too, the mighty Saracen vessel in Acre’s harbor that thou took with little galleys, at which time the serpents drowned. How often hath God succored thee! Sire, dost understand why God spared thee the sickness which prevailed, that was named Leonardie, against which no physician helped, and other princes died? Recall these things, Richard, King of England, and so guard this holy land whereof thou hast been appointed guardian. For all did He commit to thee since the French king departed. Now do all that love thy honor say of one accord, great or small, that thou art wont to be father to Christendom. And do thou forsake this land, then is Christendom betrayed.
Thus the chaplain had his say and took the king to school, such a sermon was he preached. To it Richard answered not a word, nor did they that sat in his pavilion open their mouths unless to wonder. But the king thought hard against himself and his heart changed. He returned to Ascalon with his army, camping among the orchards. There he told the duke of Burgundy and other high lords that not for any need that would arise, nor any message or messenger, nor upon any quarrel, would he depart the land before Eastertide. He summoned Philip the herald, publisher of his bans, causing it to be cried throughout the city that all should prepare themselves, with all that God bestowed, for straightway against Jerusalem would they go and lay siege.
Pilgrims held up their hands while they listened to the herald. O God, they prayed, we adore Thee and thank Thee that we shall come to Jerusale
m where the Turks have dwelt so long! Deserved have been our tribulations, our sufferings! Yet shall we be recompensed by the sight of the Holy City!
Such were the prayers they lifted to heaven. Each got himself ready for the campaign, humble pilgrims fastening bags of food about their necks. All seemed in harmony with their intent.
Sunday at dawn, Octave of the Holy Trinity, they went out from Ascalon, a chosen people nobly arrayed, issuing slowly because of the heat. Banners and pennons flew, men from varied nations bearing arms of different shape, crested helmets alight with jewels, gleaming mail, shields embossed with lions rampant, flying dragons. And sumpter beasts burned with indignation at being checked, so eager were they.
Richard’s army crossed a river of sweet water, marched without obstacle to Blanchegarde and pitched their tents on the plain. Within a small space of ground that first night a soldier and his arms-bearer died of serpent bites. Yet the Lord in whose service they perished looked down with mercy, granting absolution to their souls.
On the ninth of June the living host arrived at Latrun and that night caught fourteen Parthians who crept out of the mountains to plunder. Next day the king with his escort rode ahead to Arnald castle, pitching his tent on the high side. Thence to Beit Nuba five leagues from the Holy City where they stayed a while expecting Count Henry. On the morrow of Saint Barnabas a spy informed King Richard that Turks lay in ambush on the mountains so at daybreak he went looking for them, surprised them by the fountain of Emaus, slew twenty, caught Saladin’s herald, and put others to flight. His men captured three fine camels, mules, horses, beautiful Turcomans, various species of aloe, and similar costly things. Richard chased the fleeing infidels, striking them down right and left until he came into a valley where, having pierced another and cast the body aside, he looked up to behold shimmering at a distance the yellow walls of Jerusalem. Unable to contemplate the city of God, which he could not deliver, King Richard lifted his emblazoned tunic to hide his face.
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