The King laughed out loud when he received Champagne’s request, and scribbled his reply at the bottom of his letter.
Take it, boy; you are more than worthy. But marry Montferrat’s widow, Isabella, otherwise she’ll challenge you.
Your loving uncle,
Richard
It was a wise suggestion. Isabella had the blood claim to the throne, and the only way to deal with a potential threat from her, or any new husband she might acquire, was to marry her.
Only a week later, Henry of Champagne was duly married to Isabella of Jerusalem, who was heavily pregnant with Montferrat’s child. The speed of events led many to suggest that it was Henry who had commissioned the Assassins to murder Montferrat.
When the Lionheart heard the rumours, he just smiled wryly.
‘If he did, he’s a cunning little bugger. I’ll have to keep my eye on him.’
23. Consort for a Queen
Perhaps the marriage of Henry and Isabella and the unity it brought to the squabbles over the throne of Jerusalem, made the Lionheart think about the power of the bedchamber in solving even the most intractable of problems.
One morning, over a good breakfast of fresh fruit and sweet wine, with the May sun rapidly warming the air, the King, who was in a particularly jovial mood, spoke of romance. But it was a suggestion for a coupling of a particularly startling kind.
‘My sister, Joan, is only twenty-seven, a widowed queen, handsome, broad of hip; she has borne a child already who, conveniently for my plan, died young. Saladin’s brother, Saphadin, is, I am told, a handsome brute and the rock upon which Saladin builds his army.’
The King looked at us with a mischievous smirk on his face. Blondel, usually the quietest of the Grand Quintet, said what we were all thinking.
‘Sire, apart from the fact that Saphadin must be nearly fifty, one of them would have to convert. And whichever one did would never be able to show their face again in their own community.’
‘I know all that… but it would be a very elegant solution, and could bring peace for generations.’
Robert Thornham responded laughingly.
‘It’s a pipe dream, sire; it would be like mating a dog and a cat. God wouldn’t tolerate it, quite apart from what Rome and Damascus would make of it. Can you imagine telling the archbishops at home?’
The Lionheart’s bile was beginning to rise.
‘There have been marriages between Muslims and Christians before – even between emirs and countesses.’
‘But in this case you’re talking about Saladin’s brother and the sister of the King of England – a woman who also happens to be the Queen of a Christian realm.’
The Lionheart gave Robert one of those looks that meant the debate was at an end. But Robert could not resist one more comment.
‘Well, I wouldn’t like to be the one to ask Queen Joan!’
It was a quip he would regret.
‘Really! Well, you’ve just won yourself that honour. You leave in the morning for Acre. You can ask her.’
Robert’s expression turned from one of hilarity to a look of consternation, but he knew from the King’s demeanour that there was no point in protesting. The Lionheart then turned to me.
‘Who is the shrewdest Arabic speaker we have?’
‘One of the senior Templars, Benoît of Geneva, can reach Saphadin’s secretary, Abu Bekr. He speaks Greek and Latin and Norman.’
‘Get a message to him. I will invite Saphadin to dine with me. I will take my tent out into the hinterland, to neutral ground; I will have only my personal retinue with me. See to it.’
I was shocked by the plan, as was everyone present; it was bold, to say the least, and may only have been a tactical move. But the Lionheart seemed serious.
Three days later, the rendezvous was arranged in an area of orchards and vineyards to the east of Ramla.
When he arrived, with an entourage of elegantly dressed stewards and qaadis, the Sultan’s brother bore gifts of fruit, sweet drinks and Arab confectionery. He was indeed handsome. He was tall, with a long jet-black beard streaked with grey around his chin, and his lavishly embroidered satin coat in pale blue was in perfect balance with his midnight-blue turban. His rugged face was lined with the creases of a man of deep thought and wisdom.
Here was a man worthy of any queen.
The King was charm personified and they chatted amiably in Norman, although Saphadin stumbled from time to time and had to be helped by one of his qaadis and by Benoît of Geneva. One of Palestine’s glorious sunsets heralded dinner, an excellent repast created specifically for an Arab guest. The centrepiece was a lamb Maqluba with fresh vegetables harvested that morning, which had been prepared by a local Arab from Jaffa. There was no alcohol in sight, but several sharbats of orange, lemon and pineapple were served from tall brass flasks that we had brought from the coast. Saphadin was impressed.
After dinner, the two men strolled through the groves together as if they had not a care in the world. The mutual respect was obvious.
Blondel went in front of us and sang as we walked; the two translators were on either side of Saphadin and the Lionheart, while his equerry and I held back at a respectable distance.
After a while, Saphadin stopped and spoke to me.
‘Captain, I see you have lost your arm. Did we deprive you of it?’
‘No, sire, it was the work of Armenians, in Ereğli.’
‘Barbarians! You are lucky, few men leave an encounter with them alive.’
The Lionheart put his arm on my shoulder.
‘Sir Ranulf is a fine warrior, my Lord Saphadin, and has become a good friend.’
‘That is good; warriors should be friends, brothers in chivalry.’
Saphadin walked on, and his tone became more serious.
‘You have treated me nobly, Melek-Ric, but let us talk as men. You have a proposition for me?’
‘I do. There is a future for this troubled land that could bring peace without more bloodshed.’
‘That is a prospect the Lord Saladin would treasure, as would I and men of all faiths.’
‘We could agree a truce, part of which would allow access to the Holy Places to all men. Sultan Saladin would have sovereignty over all land from the high ground fifteen miles from the coast, and the Christian lords would rule along the coast to the west.’
‘So we would rule in Jerusalem?’
‘Yes, but it would be a free city, as would Jaffa. The road between the two would be free to all; you would have access to the sea and we to the Holy City.’
‘But you have already made Henry and Isabella King and Queen of Jerusalem.’
‘Yes, they would reside there, and you would reside in Jaffa as Lord of the Holy Land, with jurisdiction over both Muslim and Christian Palestine. In Europe, we call such a person an emperor, as in Byzantium and Germany, where an emperor rules over kings.’
‘Indeed, we call such a man a Grand Caliph. But why would the Christian King of Jerusalem bow to a Muslim emperor?’
‘Because he would be married to a Christian queen.’
Saphadin stopped and looked startled; even Blondel stumbled over the words of his chanson for a moment. The Lionheart had made his outrageous suggestion; it was a heart-stopping moment.
Saphadin looked bewildered, as if playing a game of chess and trying to work out what was hidden behind a clumsy feint.
‘There has been nothing like this in history before, Melek-Ric.’
‘Perhaps Antony and Cleopatra?’
Saphadin knew his history; it was not a good example to choose.
‘Perhaps, but did they not lose in battle and commit suicide?’
The King was undaunted.
‘But we could make it work.’
‘And what of the small matter of who would be my queen?’
‘My sister, Joan, a noble lady, a widowed queen in her own right and still young enough to bear you heirs.’
Saphadin walked on, still trying to think through
the implications of what the Lionheart had proposed. The King let him go on alone. Blondel stopped singing and made a discreet exit back to the camp.
After a couple of minutes, Saphadin returned; he looked stern.
‘Melek-Ric, I have two answers for you. The first is from one honourable man to another. This is what I, Malik al-Adil, the one you call Saphadin, say to you. You flatter me; I would be honoured to marry your noble sister and the prospect of becoming an emperor of this ancient land is very appealing to a humble servant of God. However, I have another answer for you. It is from me as a face of my people and of Islam, as an Emir of the Ayyubid Dynasty, answerable to the Sultan Saladin and the Grand Caliphs of Cairo and Damascus. Your suggestion is clever, but no more than that; it is preposterous in political terms. More than that, it is an insult to Islam, just as it is an insult to your faith. I am sorry.’
Saphadin then bowed deeply to his host, bid the King goodbye and was gone. The Lionheart turned to me.
‘Well, my friend, I think I have upset my Muslim guest. At least he spoke his mind.’
‘I don’t think he is upset, my Lord. You proposed what he called a “clever” offer, one that would be perfectly acceptable in Europe; but not here, where faith makes men blind.’
‘Well put, Ranulf. Your words remind me of Abbot Alun.’
‘I wish he were here, sire.’
‘So do I. Diplomacy is our only option; I need to find a compromise to offer Saladin that will satisfy both of us and keep our respective spiritual guardians happy. I relish fighting battles for the kingdoms of the earth, but not for the Kingdom of Heaven.’
‘My Lord, you will find an answer. You and Saladin are both men of honour; between you, you will find a way.’
‘Thank you, Ranulf, I am greatly comforted knowing that you are at my side.’
The subject was never mentioned again – especially when, a week later, Robert Thornham arrived back from Acre with an answer from Queen Joan.
Her response had been very similar to Saphadin’s, but delivered in the harshest of terms – typical of the bluntness of siblings.
24. Jerusalem Beckons
After his daring plan for a future Holy Land fell on deaf ears, the Lionheart brooded for several weeks. His pride was hurt; he was certain it was a solution that would have brought lasting peace and could not understand why no one else saw it in the same way. Perhaps it was naive of him to think that the best way to end a conflict between mortal enemies was to bind them together in a shared future. It made perfect sense to him, but most other men were bound by convention and prejudice – two things that the Lionheart would hardly recognize, let alone be guided by.
I felt certain that the culmination of his torment would be a return to Europe, especially after he received a letter from his mother, Queen Eleanor, delivered by William Marshal and Baldwin of Bethune when they returned in the middle of May. The letter expressed her own concerns about the ambitions of her youngest son, John. Marshal and Bethune had extracted promises of good behaviour from both John and William Longchamp, but the situation in England remained volatile.
However, our prospects began to improve. At the beginning of June, the Lionheart summoned the Grand Quintet and myself to his new hall in Ascalon. Reports had reached us of reinforcements sailing from several ports in the Mediterranean. We heard that Henry of Champagne had raised a formidable body of knights together with a large force of Turcopole mercenaries, both infantry and archers, to help him take control of his new kingdom and was on his way from Acre.
‘Gentlemen, it seems that my attempts at grand diplomacy have failed. I have decided to revert to what I’m good at. We will attack Jerusalem. Summon the Templars and the Hospitallers and every Christian lord in the Holy Land. We will march as soon as the army is assembled. May has turned into June, and it’s hot enough already. Robert, you will go to Jaffa. When the European reinforcements and Henry’s contingent arrive from Acre, bring them on.’
We broke camp in Ascalon on 7 June 1192. It was a Sabbath and a mass was held for the entire army, celebrated by Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, and Rodolfo, Patriarch of Jerusalem, who had travelled from Acre in the hope of being reinstalled to his seat in Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Our mood was joyful; at long last, we all felt that Jerusalem was now within our grasp. The weather was warm, but not yet stifling. We were well provisioned, and progress was far quicker and much easier than our abortive attempt at the beginning of the year. Saladin sent skirmishers to hinder us all the time, but we repulsed them with ease, giving the King much sport, which he relished with his usual abandon. By 9 June we were camped beyond Latrun, and the next day advanced to Beit Nuba. We were now only a day’s march away from our objective.
When news arrived that our reinforcements were assembling in Jaffa, the King issued the order to hold our ground and wait for the new arrivals. He was in fine spirits.
‘Five thousand men and Jerusalem is ours. Let us ride to Montjoie, and take a look at it.’
Jerusalem was an incredible sight; its walls, towers and spires gleamed white in the distance through a shimmer of heat. The Dome of the Rock towered over the city, the orb of its golden roof glowing in the sunlight with almost the same intensity as the sun itself. To its right was Solomon’s Temple, once the home of the Knights Templar, of which Earl Harold had been one of the nine, now legendary, founding members. I saw the Lionheart gulp, and there were tears in his eyes.
‘So much effort and anguish, but there it is, the holiest place in the world. It is so beautiful, just as I imagined it would be, and far too precious for men to fight over. Would it not be easier for men to share it?’
‘It would, my Lord. But men are not easily persuaded, except by greed and prejudice.’
‘You sound more and more like Abbot Alun every day.’
‘Well, he was a good teacher, sire.’
‘Saphadin was right, sadly; my idea of a free empire for Palestine was preposterous. But it was worth asking, was it not?’
‘It was, my Lord. Remember what Hildegard said about men’s minds. Perhaps you have sown a seed that one day will flower.’
The King smiled; he seemed comforted by the thought.
‘I shall hold dearly to that possibility.’
He turned back to gaze at the Holy City. The tears had gone from his eyes, replaced by a look of steely resolve.
‘If the time is not yet here when we can achieve our objective by changing men’s minds, let us do it with the power of our swords. If I must fight for the city, then that’s what I’ll do.’
He gave Fauvel a gentle kick and was away down Montjoie’s slopes, no longer Richard the Philosopher, but once again the Lionheart.
On 21 June, three of our scouts appeared with news that would have troubled most generals, but not the King. A large army of Mamluk Muslim reinforcements, accompanied by a long baggage train of supplies, had been seen approaching from Egypt. The Lionheart was stirred by the information.
‘Instead of kicking our heels, we have some sport! Ranulf, summon five hundred knights and muster a thousand cavalry. Ask Burgundy to join us with his French. The rest can stay here with William and Mercadier.’
It did not take long to reach the Mamluk column to Jerusalem’s south-west. Their dust was obvious from several miles away, and the King ordered that we rest just beyond the settlement of Beit Jala. He gave instructions that the men should try to sleep during the evening; reveille was to be called at 3 a.m. While the men rested, the King, Robert, Baldwin and I dressed as Bedouin and made a reconnaissance of the Muslim camp. It was indeed a significant force. We estimated 3,000 assorted light cavalry, 6,000 infantry and a baggage train of carts too numerous to count in the fading light.
The King explained his tactics clearly and concisely, as usual.
‘Blondel will take a squadron back to Marshal and Mercadier to tell them that we have engaged the Muslims. We will approach at a canter, downwind, which will deaden the so
und of our approach. On the signal from my horns, we will attack at a gallop in four columns. Ranulf, you will stay close to me as I take the centre. Robert will take the left flank, Baldwin the right; we will give Burgundy all the fun by giving him the fourth column, formed up behind us as a second wave. Is that clear?’
It was.
But the night was not.
The moon was only three days old and so was of little help. But it was the time of the solstice, which meant that dawn was not far away. Even so, a massed cavalry charge in near darkness was a challenge for any army.
The King had developed a precise method for deploying his cavalry in darkness with the minimum of noise. The horses were saddled while still tethered and were kept occupied by the grooms feeding them where they stood. When all the mounts were ready, the captain of each conroi led his men to its assembly point by following a guide who had rehearsed the route several times. The men remained on foot, and the grooms continued to feed the horses to keep them calm. The assembly points for each conroi were marked by small fires, the light from which was shielded from the enemy by hurdles of brushwood.
Only when everybody was ready did the signal come to mount the horses, an order that passed from conroi to conroi by the rustle of men settling into their saddles. Then came a few moments of calm as the rustling ended, indicating that all was ready. It was a strange feeling; I could see a few men around me but knew that there were many more spread out in a formation that I could imagine, but could not see. I looked ahead, which was pointless. I might as well have been blindfolded, because ahead of me was just a black void. All cavalry charges were a test of courage, but to undertake one in total darkness was petrifying.
We advanced at a canter; fifteen hundred mounted men swept across the darkened landscape like a wave of avenging angels. Some horses tripped and fell, their riders trying to muffle their cries. But the only other noise was the steady rhythm of hooves, a pulsating sound that made my heart race.
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