A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  Next to the king stood Aubrette. She had no desire to be here, as Hugh had never meant anything to her – neither did she to him. There was no reason to act as a grieving widow, in truth, she was relieved that this false husband of hers was gone. She would not miss him. She remained dry-eyed and unemotional throughout the service. Their sudden explosion of lust kept charging into her mind, as that had been the one and only time they had come together with a mutual sexual desire. He had never willingly sought her out again after that moment.

  The death of Hugh became a trigger and the king was soon ill again with his recurrent fever, having still not shaken off the previous bout. He lay on his bed unaware of his surroundings and unaware that the physicians had taken over his care from the protesting Kamal, who had insisted he use his own natural remedies. The young Muslim was forced to sit alone at the back of the tent, watching sullenly as men who insisted they knew best worked on Richard. They had done so before and would do so now, and again in the future.

  From outside the tent there was a commotion, and two Saracens were escorted in by soldiers. The physicians turned to look at these men, puzzled as to why they had been brought in. Richard was in no health to pass judgement on their presence. They attempted to explain why they were here, but to no avail. The men could not make themselves understood, so the physicians called back Kamal to translate. The boy nervously approached, and with his newly acquired language, taught to him by Richard, he repeated the words spoken.

  The Saracens were here by the order of their Sultan Saladin. He had heard through his spies that King Richard had been taken ill again, and had sent fruit for him to aid his recovery. He regretted hearing of the king’s recurrent ailment and desired him well again. They were both worthy opponents, both men of honour, and the sultan respected the king. Were they fortunate enough to have been on the same side, then they would have become close friends, and would have been invincible.

  The two Saracens held out the bags that held the fruit, and through Kamal requested that they be permitted to return to their own people in safety. After inspecting the contents of the bags, and satisfying themselves that the gift was genuine, the physicians instructed the soldiers to grant the men safe passage to the perimeter of the camp. Kamal was asked whether he wanted to return to his own people, he refused, preferring to remain with the king.

  The king eventually recovered from his tertian fever, as he had done every other previous time. He was surprised at the revelation of the gift of fruit from Saladin, and pondered whether he would have been as magnanimous had it been Saladin who had been ill. His strength returned and he was eager to get back on to the battlefield to gain retribution for Hugh’s murder. Those bloody Muslims would regret slaying his favourite. They would pay if he had to slit the throats of every single man who dared to oppose him.

  The four men responsible next set their sights on Kamal. At first, they dismissed the boy as a harmless infatuation, not to be taken seriously. However, since the murder of Hugh Fulbert, the boy had become full of himself and his confidence had grown under the king’s protection. He was becoming as arrogant as Hugh had been to anyone who spoke to the king. He would position himself behind Richard’s chair, with an arm resting on its carved back, his large brown eyes watching and deciding whether they could be a danger to him. The boy rarely left the protection of the royal tent; for all his arrogance, this was the only place he felt safe.

  The four decided that it was their duty to remove the useless pretty boy. He was not a soldier and his worthless presence would continue to tarnish the reputation of King Richard as a powerful, rampant male. Some evenings, Kamal could be heard shrieking in mock terror as he entertained the king, followed by Richard’s unrestrained laughter. It took little imagination to know what immoral events were occurring behind the fabrics of the tent. The men were fixed on their own personal crusade and they would remove this other fallacious lover, so as to bring Richard back to his true wife who had been so heartlessly abandoned.

  One evening, the king visited the docks to speak with captains of the supply ships. There had been a dispute with the merchants in Acre as they had been increasing prices, which resulted in the army’s buyers being unable to purchase enough supplies to take to the soldiers.

  The young Muslim, left behind in the camp, spent his time mixing oils, fragrant herbs and petals to make salves to rub on the king’s aching body – to cool him down, relax him, stimulate him. While he sat cross-legged on the floor, crushing the ingredients in a mortar with a pestle and singing quietly to himself, he was approached by one of the avenging men. In his innocence, he was easily lured from the safety of the state tent with a falsehood.

  Kamal stepped into the cool evening air. The breeze blew his sleek black hair across his face and he looked around for the messenger from the king who he had been assured waited outside. Looking around, the young man saw no one. The guards, instead of standing at the entrance to the tent, were sitting in a close group playing dice, wagering on the outcome of each toss of the die. They casually glanced at him and then quickly returned to their gaming. The young Muslim was not a threat as Hugh Fulbert had been, and warranted no great interest.

  The messenger, feigning affability, encouraged the young man to follow him, as he had been entrusted to take him to King Richard. Naively, Kamal followed, unaware he was being led into a trap. The man chatted, ensuring the intended victim had no idea that this walk away from the camp was to end in his bloodshed. Gradually, Kamal became aware that he was not being taken in the direction of the docks and asked why. The excuse given was that Richard had concluded his business at the docks and was now heading further into the desert to deal with a second situation that had arisen.

  ‘Do not worry, my young friend. Our lord, the king, will eventually thank me for caring for your welfare,’ the man assured, smoothly.

  Kamal was not reassured; there was something wrong with this man and this situation. Kamal attempted to stop walking, but the man pulled him onwards roughly.

  ‘I think I want to return now to wait for my lord,’ Kamal said, falteringly.

  The man gave a humourless, cold laugh and took the young man by the elbow, pressurising him to continue to walk at a faster pace. He led him through the city until they reached the locked gate that led outside of its wall. Kamal was forced through a small door in the main gate, and waiting there were the other three men. They had their swords drawn and their faces were malevolent with determination.

  The first man held him firm while a gag was forced into his mouth to prevent him shouting for help. Frightened, Kamal struggled to pull himself free, tossing himself one way and another, and digging his bare feet into the soil. He was not a strong man and was quickly overpowered by the assailants, before being hauled, struggling and wide-eyed with terror, into the shadows of one of the towers. Kamal was then thrown face-first against the rough surface of the walls and his loincloth was torn from his body, leaving him naked and at the mercy of these four ruthless men. He was submitted to a painful, humiliating, perverse and abominable torture from each man, before his genitals were sliced off. The bloody flesh was smeared over his face and stuffed in his mouth, stifling his hysterical screaming and making him choke on his own vomit. His hands were hacked from his wrists, his slender body was slashed, and he was decapitated. The men pulled the gold neckband and cuffs from his mutilated body and he was left where he lay. They re-entered Jaffa, crossing through the city once more, back to the camp, disposing the gold bands by tossing them down a well.

  King Richard, returned from the dockside, lounged on his bed and sent for Kamal. He had promised to send a detachment to Acre to deal with the merchants, to parley with them and to persuade them to lower their prices. If they refused, he would order the captain of the guards to use whatever means needed to bring the merchants to heel. If there was still no successful outcome, then he would be forced to intervene with severity. It was
a task that he did not desire, as he and his men would be fighting amongst themselves – a waste of manpower. Also, the Saracens were still haranguing the crusaders with their guerrilla assaults. Now, they had set raids upon the supply ships in what had been attempts to block the Christian supplies. They would appear from nowhere, inflict death and vicious injuries on his men, with their casualties comparably light. The heavy chain mail armour that weighed the Christians down was not for them. Instead, they wore light cotton tunics to keep them cool and light and fast. Richard had found these sudden raids stimulating, and the exciting possibility that he could be injured or even killed arousing.

  But he was in need of a diversion tonight, something to take his mind from the tribulations. He could have sent for Berengaria, who was safely ensconced within the city. She was his wife and it was expected of him to lay and amuse himself with her. However, he had no desire to look upon her, who was so eager to please him. She took it as her duty to endure his sexual advances – were some of his demands to slake his sexual appetites so peculiar in a man? He wanted someone who actually revelled in the act of sex, someone who would oblige him and meet his passion equally. Hugh would have done this, and even Kamal now did so after a hesitant start. With Richard’s expert tuition, he had become a deeply sensual young man.

  So when he was told that Kamal was missing, the king was puzzled. It was suggested that the young Muslim had fled Jaffa to return to his own people during the night and would not be seen again. He could not believe this reasoning; Kamal had been pampered by Richard and had no need to flee the Christians. He had even allowed the young Muslim to practice his own religion, in an effort to keep him happy and willing to please his lord.

  Still roused and needing gratification, Richard took the cloak from a soldier as a disguise and walked alone into the centre of Jaffa. He was looking for a willing partner for the night. He found a young woman, a local prostitute, draping herself over a low wall, plying her trade and enticing soldiers for a small payment. This was exactly what Richard required, and without revealing who he was, dropped a handful of coins into her outstretched palm. She bit each coin to ensure they were genuine and, once satisfied, took the king by the hand and led him into the shadowy alley. She asked what he wished to do to her, as she was willing to perform any act required. He had paid more than the usual few coins, so he warranted the best service she could provide.

  Richard emerged from the alley satisfied with the young woman’s performance. He had told her he would use her services again, as she had pleased him with her acts of lewdness. She was a woman well-versed in the acts of sex, with many years of service to her name – which he had not even asked.

  He wandered slowly through the narrow streets, watching the night-life going on around him. Couples copulated openly in doorways or against walls, while soldiers gathered in small groups swigging back ale. None realised who he was and no one expected to see the Lionheart roaming out on his own at night. Musicians played enticing tunes to which young women danced provocatively, only to be slung over shoulders and carried away by red-blooded men, squealing with delight. Richard smiled to himself; these alcohol-filled men were his crusaders, having their fun. Why not? Richard thought. Tomorrow, they may die. Still unrecognised, though occasionally receiving a second look, the king made his way back to his camp.

  As he lay alone in his bed a short time later, his mind turned to Berengaria. He considered sending for his wife to attempt a reconciliation with her and with God’s grace, get her pregnant. He knew he should shoulder the responsibility of producing an heir to his empire, but as before, the thought of her laying motionless under his heaving body, afraid to show any true emotion, did not excite him enough to pursue it any further. He felt no remorse for his behaviour towards the queen when she had arrived at Jaffa from Acre. She had taunted him in front of others on his reluctance to bed her. If he had been rough with her, then she must take the sole blame for his actions. Richard tossed his body over and settled further down into his bed. Soon he was asleep, much needed rest before the next day arrived. With his fellow crusaders standing bravely beside him, he would face Saladin and his infidels again.

  The following day, Kamal was still missing. While Richard took his breakfast, joined by his queen, both sat uncomfortably silent at opposite ends of the table, he received a message that Kamal’s body had been discovered outside the walls of Jaffa. It was assumed the young lad had taken his chance to escape while Richard was involved at the docks.

  The king was informed that Kamal had been assaulted and mutilated, probably by an opportunist – having seen the gold around his wrists and neck. He had then been decapitated, and his head left by his torso, identifying the corpse, but the identity of the murderer unknown. Berengaria looked up from her food, watching for any signs of emotion from her husband. His eyes flicked quickly back at her, aware of her indifferent expression. His mouth turned down and he remained silent, not wanting to share his loss with his wife.

  ‘So you have lost your piece of fluff now?’ the queen murmured under her breath. Whether Richard had heard her words, he did not indicate. She knew the loss of both Hugh and Kamal would still not turn her husband back to her. Another pretty boy would soon replace the dead lovers.

  The king briefly mourned the demise of Kamal, but the loss was not as heartbreaking to bear as the death of his beloved Hugh. The Muslim boy had been light relief, an amusement, nothing more. There would be others; there always would be. He was told that Kamal’s body, severed head and hands were left where they lay to be claimed by the wild animals that prowled outside the city wall, and he made no effort to have it recovered. He ordered Simon to go and find the woman who had amused him the evening before, and bring her back to the camp. He would install her as his mistress, as the replacement for Kamal. She was to stay with the women and whores, and be ready to satisfy him when he needed her use.

  Simon quickly found the young woman. Assuming he was looking for entertainment, she lured him into the alley for an assignation. He accepted her offer without hesitation as the king had not set a time for him to return, so he dallied with her before explaining the reason for his visit and that she should accompany him without question.

  She stood confused and scared in front of the English king, realising that the wealthy man she had entertained in the alley was him. Had she realised, she would have charged more for her services. Richard instructed her on what would be expected from her; she was to be ready to amuse her new lord whenever he desired and to perform every act of lewdness he wanted. For this, she would receive new clothes, somewhere safe to sleep and regular food. Moving closer to him, she asked whether he wished her to please him at this moment. He pulled her against his body, before pushing her to her knees in front of him, ignoring the others present. She knew what he wanted her to accomplish and took great pleasure in obliging the king in delicious detail. Greatly satisfied and stimulated, Richard asked her name.

  Looking up, smiling and wiping her mouth dry, she replied, ‘Wahiba.’

  Berengaria soon became aware of the new interest in her husband’s life. At least, she thought, in a moment of bitter irony, he spreads the legs of a woman this time. This was more natural and more expected of a man. She wondered whether Richard would now send for her and lay with her by his side, as he now bedded this other woman. However, she knew deep in her heart that he would not and it did not distress her any more. Since the event when she had arrived, she feared his touch. His pleasure would not be hers.

  Of course, he would use all the usual excuses: preparing for battle, war councils that went on late into the night, or that he did not wish to disturb her. She would sigh and concentrate on her endless needlecraft, carefully making a shirt for her husband to wear. He would later wear it and politely comment on the fine needlecraft. This small act of kindness calmed and quietened his guilt. If she deliberately left a pin in the shirt to prick his skin, would he mention
this? Or would the guilt deter him from speaking out?

  46

  Late in the year of 1191, the crusaders marched forward towards Jerusalem. Richard was confident he would succeed and that victory would be his. Under his command, his men always fought bravely. He was a natural leader and they would follow him into hell if they had to. Astride his dappled warhorse, Great William, he would ride along the lines of crusaders, his head bare so all could see him and that there was no fear in his blue eyes. He would be energized and ready to lead his men from the front, to fight alongside his fellow Christians.

  They were not far from Jerusalem now, he told them, and God was testing every one of them. He would fight beside them, win beside them, even die beside them if God desired this to happen. He needed his men as they needed him, from the mightiest duke to the most humble of yeoman. They were his brave warriors of Christ and they would triumph over evil, or meet again in glorious heaven! His inspirational speeches would fire them into action before each battle.

  However, there had been desertions, and the gradual depleting numbers of men began to make the remaining soldiers disheartened with their lot, even with the king’s motivational speeches. Morale amongst them was beginning to dip dangerously low. This was not an adventure anymore. They wanted to take Jerusalem, loot villages, rape the women, kill the men, and then return home with their plunder. The weather was also turning against them – a sign from God that He did not want them to win Jerusalem. He wanted them to return to their homes. They had suffered from the scorching, oppressive and heavy heat of summer, with its multitudinous of stinging, biting, irritating insects, and now the cold winter storms battering them. There were hailstorms that hit them like missiles, denting their armour, cold biting winds and freezing, torrential rain, which turned the ground under their feet into a quagmire. The men were miserable, and even their king promising them that they were now only twelve miles from their goal, twelve short miles before the gates of Jerusalem, was not enough. The usual persuasion of their charismatic leader did not convince the men. Instead, they were sure that a force of Saracens were surreptitiously shadowing them, they would attack from behind and they would all be killed. The men began to bicker and fight between themselves, instead of the enemy.