The Kings of Vain Intent

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

  I’ll return,’ he told her. ‘It’s an honour to s-serve the P-Princess of Jerusalem.’

  ‘The Lady of Montferrat,’ the guards corrected. ‘You can call Conrad king if you like, but it’s the Lady of Montferrat.’

  Ernoul shrugged. Then he collected the list, gazed at Isabella for an instant, and bowed his way into the watered yard. The nineteen-year-old princess stood with one hand on her purse, the other moving uncertainly at her side. She was waving to him, without waving. It was difficult to accept that she was then the most powerful woman in the Frankish Kingdom.

  Chapter Ten

  Acre

  June–August 1191

  As though by common consent, the rival factions waited for Richard of England to set the pace. Already renowned as a warrior and strategist, his campaigns in Sicily and Cyprus had added even greater lustre to his name. He had come late to the Holy Land, and Philip of France had enjoyed fifty clear days in which to set his seal on the camp. But he, too, had waited, not wishing to risk a major confrontation with the Saracens before Richard arrived. Marquis Conrad’s stock had risen during those fifty days, and he never tired of reminding the Crusaders that King Philip had come, as he had said, and had stepped ashore at Tyre, as he had said. But as Conrad had previously basked in the reflected glory of his French cousin, so now King Guy spent his time in the company of his overlord, Richard Cœur-de-Lion.

  Strangely, the soldiers themselves began to re-assess their opinion of King Guy. Those who had known him longest – men like Lord Balian and Lord Humphrey – were the most cautious. They were loyal to him because he was the king, but they were convinced that the mass of soldiery were really drawing close to Richard, and that Guy’s new-found popularity would vanish the day Lionheart left the camp. Nevertheless, King Guy found himself with a number of European nobles, half the mercenaries and the entire English army on his side. His brother Amalric and the fleshy Seneschal Joscelin sensed a new determination in Guy. They did not like it. It made the puppet difficult to work. It tangled the strings.

  Conrad was equally well supported: by the Tyrians, the growing body of Templar knights and the French army. But he, too, was disconcerted by Guy’s reinstatement. He could not understand why the younger Lusignan – a broken reed – who self-confessedly disliked the kingship, continued to cling to the throne. Conrad knew that with Isabella as his claim, he would eventually displace King Guy. And he knew that Guy knew it. So why did the Poitevin hang on? King Richard would not remain in the Holy Land for ever. Would it not be better for Guy to abdicate under Richard’s protection, than to hold out for Conrad’s wrath?

  So the weight shifted, and the balance came level.

  During the last few months the Frankish engineers had constructed a number of siege machines, among them a massive mangonel which they had christened Mai Voisin, the Bad Neighbour. The Moslem garrison at Acre had several similar manjanik in operation and had managed to destroy Mai Voisin, only to watch it being re-built, time and again. Little damage had been inflicted on the multi-towered walls, but the constant hail of stones and naphtha had a demoralising affect on the Saracens. Worse, the advent of the French and English fleets had driven the Moslem ships from the sea, and the garrison were already feeling the first pangs of hunger. It was rumoured that Sultan Saladin had waited until now, hoping to catch Philip and Richard in his net. Well, they were in the net, so for the love of Allah haul it in.

  Both kings were soon brought down with arnoldia, and, so long as they were bedridden, there was no question of an assault on the city. But the disease did not prevent them from directing the fire of Mai Voisin and the other machines. Philip concentrated on bombarding the Tower of Flies, near the harbour entrance, while Richard set his own machines to pounding the Accursed Tower, on the north-east corner of the city wall.

  One morning, a stone from one of Richard’s catapults flew wide of the tower and crashed into a small, open market. By the time it had come to rest it had killed twelve soldiers, shoppers and stallholders. Stunned by the power of the Frankish missile, a detachment of the garrison loaded the stone on to a cart and wheeled it into a nearby corn store, intending to show it to Saladin when he relieved the city.

  Men were also dying in the Christian camp. Emperor Frederick Barbarossa’s son, the Duke of Swabia, was already dead, as was another of Philip’s cousins, the Count of Flanders. Alarmed by the loss of these, and other leaders, the Kings of France and England determined that, as soon as they were up from their beds, they would attack the city. It had been in Moslem hands for exactly four years. It was time the yellow banners of Islam were replaced by the red and white standards of Christendom.

  Then, suddenly, there was no need to attack.

  At the end of the first week of July, the Governor of Acre, Kara-kush, sent an urgent message to the sultan. There was no more food, and the stocks of arrows and Greek Fire were all but exhausted. Saladin must relieve the city now, or lose it.

  He made hasty preparations for an all-out assault on the Christian lines, but his own forces had suffered as pitiably as the Crusaders and it took time to separate the healthy from the infirm. Acre held out for five more days, while a Moslem fleet tried in vain to break the Frankish blockade. Then Kara-kush sent a deputation to King Guy. He immediately sought the advice of the senior monarchs. Philip invited Conrad to join him and the four men studied the terms of surrender.

  Unbeknownst to Saladin, Kara-kush offered to free two hundred and fifty Christian captives from the prisons at Aleppo and Lattakieh, and to restore the True Cross, taken at Hattin. King Guy was prepared to accept the terms, on condition that one fifth of the Crusaders to be set at liberty were of noble blood; they were not in the market for two hundred and fifty thatchers or wheelwrights. But Richard, Philip and Conrad thought they could do better, and rejected the governor’s offer.

  On the morning of 12th July, Kara-kush returned. He now offered to free 2,500 Christian prisoners – among them one hundred of noble rank – and to ransom the occupants of Acre for 200,000 talents. This immense sum was accepted with alacrity, though Richard insisted that the Moslem garrison be ransomed, rather than the civilians. The inhabitants of the city were then allowed to leave, empty-handed.

  When Saladin learned that Acre was in the throes of surrender, he hurriedly dictated a letter to Kara-kush, commanding the governor to close the gates, then fight on until help arrived. But the letter was never sent, for by evening the Crusaders were manning every tower and wall-walk.

  * * *

  Guy was with Richard, Amalric and Joscelin with Guy, Ernoul and Fostus some way behind with Balian and Humphrey. Richard led them through the sun-warmed city, raising his arms to acknowledge the cheers of his men, turning now and again to gauge the size of his entourage. He was in an excellent humour. He had been in Palestine scarcely more than a month, and he had already scored a major, bloodless victory. The Christian army was now safe. The walls of Acre needed no immediate repairs. The empty corn stores housed thousands of Moslem prisoners. The Crusading fleets controlled the sea. The Moslems had agreed to foot a bill of 200,000 talents, and to return the True Cross. All in all, he – well, yes, they – had made an auspicious start. He put his head back and echoed the cheering soldiers.

  Then he saw the banner.

  It was set alongside his own above one of the eastern gates. Pointing up at it, he asked, ‘Whose is that device?’

  Guy looked in the direction of the gate, then glanced at Amalric. But his brother closed his eyes to signify ignorance.

  ‘King Guy? Constable? How about you, Lord Joscelin?’

  As ever following Amalric’s lead, the Seneschal shook his head. ‘It’s hard to tell, lord King.’

  ‘Well, we’re surely not so crowded with flags that they must strangle each other. Look at it, the damn’ thing is round my own staff. Go and identify it, Joscelin.’

  From the rear of the entourage, the Lords of Nablus and Toron watched the Seneschal start towards the gate. They had
heard Richard’s shouted questions, and Humphrey said, ‘It looks like Leopold’s banner, what I can see of it.’ Behind them Ernoul nodded. ‘It is, my lords. I saw his men putting it up.’

  As they walked forward, Balian murmured, ‘I fear we’re about to see a change in the weather.’

  Humphrey glanced at the pale blue sky, then, correcting himself, at Richard. ‘Oh, you mean him.’

  By the time they had drawn level with Cœur-de-Lion, Seneschal Joscelin was on his way back from the gate. He reported that the banner was the House Standard of Duke Leopold of Austria. With the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa drowned in the Salef, and the Duke of Swabia dead from disease, Leopold was the senior German Crusader. As such, he had imagined that he would be allowed to set his standard alongside those of Jerusalem, France, England and Italy. Richard apparently thought otherwise.

  ‘Leopold? Why, when he played no part in the victory? And it’s smothering my leopards. Haul it down.’

  Balian glanced round for Robert of Breteuil, one of the few men who dared contradict the king. But he was not with the entourage. Balian edged between Guy and Amalric.

  ‘My lord King? I am Balian of Ibelin, Lord of Nablus.’

  Richard nodded. ‘I know who you are. You’ve made sense at some of our conferences. What is it?’

  ‘It might be better to move Duke Leopold’s standard—’

  ‘I intend to. Look how it fouls mine.’

  ‘rather than have it hauled down. There’s plenty of free space along the walls.’

  ‘That’s not in question, Lord Balian. It’s coming down because it should never have gone up. Allow Austria and you allow every half-formed nation.’

  ‘It represents the might of Germany.’

  ‘It smothers England, that’s all I see. Joscelin, have it taken down.’

  Now that the entourage had halted, the cheering had died away. Ernoul looked along the warm, foul-smelling street. A few swollen corpses lay under the walls or in the small, railed gardens. Here and there heaps of masonry and broken tiles showed where a Frankish missile had landed. Carts were already moving about the streets, laden with dead Moslems, while a chain of men passed buckets from the port in an effort to extinguish the last of the naphtha fires.

  Humphrey came across and Ernoul asked him, ‘Would you have done it?’

  ‘No, I’d have left it alone. Leopold—’

  ‘I mean, would you have argued with King Richard?’

  ‘Well – I—’

  ‘As I thought, and I don’t blame you.’

  The next few moments were confused. The Germans who had witnessed Richard’s outburst hastened to tell Leopold that the King of England planned to disgrace him. Ashen with anger, the Austrian refused to remove the standard. His men drove Joscelin off at sword-point.

  ‘Then that is that,’ Richard stormed. ‘We’ll take it down by force. We’ll replant it on a level more in keeping with Leopold’s petty achievements. Throw it in the ditch.’

  The English engaged in a brief scuffle with the outnumbered Germans, and then the offending standard flapped down from the gate tower and fell, like a colourful bird, into the outer fosse. Once again the leopards growled around their flagstaff.

  At a later period of his life, Richard would be reminded of this vindictive act. Many things would be changed because of it. He would languish for a year and a half in German prisons, and England would be asked to pay 150,000 marks to get him out. But by the time Leopold’s men had retrieved their besmirched flag, Richard had forgotten the incident and was continuing his victorious tour of the city…

  * * *

  Less than a week later, Duke Leopold of Austria left Palestine. King Philip and Marquis Conrad were sorry to see him go. The Kings of England and Jerusalem were not.

  The monarchs now prepared to hammer out the problem of the disputed throne of Jerusalem. It was evident that, until some settlement was reached, Guy and Conrad could not work together, while the Christian army would remain divided.

  All the senior barons, whether native-born or European, attended the conferences. Days of hard bargaining ensued, salted with the inevitable threats and recriminations. Guy and Conrad stalked from the table in turn, only to be lured back by fear or curiosity. Richard and Philip walked out, the one with a roar of disgust, the other with finely honed sarcasm. Whenever Richard left, Guy stayed silent, refusing to discuss anything until his overlord returned. When Philip withdrew, Conrad accused Richard and Guy of attempting to undermine the Christian cause, then hurried after his French cousin. It was wearying work, made more tiresome by a strict rota of venues. One day they would meet in Richard’s quarters, the next in Philip’s, then in Guy’s, then in Conrad’s. The barons, scribes and clerics became knowledgeable about Acre, if only because they spent so much time traversing from one conference chamber to the next.

  Eventually, a decision was reached. King Guy would retain the throne of Jerusalem for life, and on his death Conrad would be crowned king. Meanwhile, the Marquis of Montferrat would be officially given the Governorship of Tyre – and of Sidon when it was recaptured. While Guy lived, Conrad would adopt the title of Regent of the Kingdom.

  Guy blanched at the news. He asked his brother, ‘Do you realise what this means? King for life? But how long a life, with Conrad’s shadow looming over me? God, Amalric, give it some thought. What is to prevent him hiring assassins? Now that he’s been promised the throne, I am the last obstacle in his way! Don’t you see? I’m a breathing dead man! I may not live out the week!’

  ‘True,’ Amalric said. ‘It’s the burden of office. You will have to be more alert from now on, won’t you?’

  After that, it was unusual to see the nervous, yellow-haired Poitevin without his hauberk and helmet…

  The series of meetings had exhausted Philip Augustus. He had never fully recovered from the attack of arnoldia, and he began to speak of returning to France. Richard had rallied better, though the disease had almost robbed him of his moustache, and he spared no sympathy for his fellow-monarch.

  He invited himself to Philip’s quarters, gazed down at the balding Frenchman and said, ‘You must set about ending these rumours. Everywhere I turn, I hear of your imminent departure. What’s that cloth for?’

  Philip had half-risen from his couch as Richard entered. Now he lay back and put a hand to the wad of silk. ‘According to my physicians,’ he said quietly, ‘I am going blind in one eye. I don’t trust them to cut into it, and I don’t think they trust themselves. So we have agreed to do nothing.’

  With fine insensitivity Richard remarked, ‘Well, it’s only in the one eye. They say the other grows stronger. It’s the same if one loses an arm.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Half-see, anyway. But this other business; you are not really planning to desert us, are you?’

  ‘It’s odd,’ Philip said, ‘how you choose the words that always favour you. You say desert. That calls for some defence on my part, defending myself against your word. Choose another.’

  ‘Why, when it would be that? It would be desertion. And it would show the whole world your lack of faith in the Crusade.’

  ‘You have it down so pat. But, contrary to your beliefs, I have great faith in the Crusade. And why? Because you are here. We both know that no man is better suited to the business of reclamation than you. Sultan Saladin has had a run of success. He has united Syria, Egypt, Nubia, all the Moslem nations. He is spoken of as a scholar general, a warrior poet. Yet he has remained indecisive for some long time now, long enough for you to reach his shores.’

  ‘Our shores.’

  ‘Christ’s shores, to be precise. So don’t accuse me of a lack of faith. You took two years to get here, but no one called you faithless.’

  ‘And now I am here, I intend to stay. How would it be if I turned for home—’

  ‘How would it be if your skin flaked, if you suffered stomach cramps, if you were afflicted with blindness? I am ill, as you can see, and tired, if you lis
ten to my voice. I plan to go home. That is not desertion.’

  With a menacing hunch of his shoulders, Richard pressed, ‘It’s come to me. I know why you’re going back; to stir up trouble. I tell you, Philip, I’ll take it hard if I hear that French troops have been seen on my lands. We’ve had enough trouble there, you and I.’

  ‘Oh, be sane! I’m not taking the army with me. It’s just myself—’

  ‘I want a written assurance. I want to know that I shall find my borders as I left them. Not one mile shorter.’

  ‘I imagine you have a secretary crouched outside. Yes, you may have your assurance. And in return you can vouchsafe that the cities and lands you recapture here will be divided equally between King Guy and Regent Conrad.’

  ‘Did we agree to that?’

  ‘We are agreeing now.’ He held the silk in place and turned his good eye on Richard. In a steady voice he said, ‘I have not yet decided on the number of my escort. I may take, oh, ten thousand men for protection. Will the lands here be divided equally?’

  ‘Yes,’ Richard snapped, ‘don’t fret. Your cousin will be rewarded.’

  ‘On the other hand, I may need only fifty. Shall we draw up our assurances?’

  Neither placed any trust in the other’s word, spoken or written. But at least a signed promise was something to wave, after the promise had been broken.

  A few days later King Philip of France sailed for Tyre. Regent Conrad went with him, leaving the army to Richard and Guy. In early August they heard that Philip had started for home. He had taken only three galleys, leaving his troops and fleet under the joint command of Henry, Count of Troyes, and Hugh, Duke of Burgundy. Conrad had decided to stay on and consolidate his position at Tyre.

  * * *

  It soon became clear that Kara-kush had placed Saladin in a terrible predicament. The Moslem governor had agreed to pay the Crusaders 200,000 gold talents in ransom money, and the sultan was honour bound to raise it.