The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  When Montferrat had left him he thought of the trouble in England and he knew that his mother was right when she said he should come home.

  What if he should reconquer Jerusalem and lose England?

  I will not, he assured himself fiercely; but something within him told him he could not have both . . . not yet.

  So later when he was urged by his counsellors to forget his promise to Guy de Lusignan and bestow the crown of Jerusalem on Conrad de Montferrat he surprised himself by his agreement.

  He sent for Guy and wearily told him what he had agreed to.

  ‘But, my friend,’ he said, ‘do not despair. The crown of Jerusalem has yet to be won and it would have been yours but for a lifetime. I have a better proposition for you. Suppose you were King of Cyprus now, and your heirs followed you to the throne. Would that please you as much as the crown of Jerusalem?’

  Guy replied that spiritually nothing could compare with the crown of Jerusalem; but he believed he would please God best by pleasing his King, for his duty was to serve him while he was on earth. He would accept the crown of Cyprus and he could see that by bestowing the as yet unattained crown of Jerusalem on Montferrat Richard had taken from a treacherous enemy a reason for breaking away from the crusading army.

  Richard embraced Guy. He had always known that he could rely on him.

  Chapter XI

  THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS

  Richard firmly believed that, when shortly after this Conrad de Montferrat was murdered, this was by the hand of God who had no wish to see him reign over the Holy City.

  There was a strange company of men and women who lived in the Lebanese mountains. They had a religion of their own and over them ruled a despotic dictator whom none of them dared disobey. Any who did so was instantly killed; and this did not only apply to those of his own sect. Occasionally they came down from the mountains and took a part in affairs which were likely to affect them.

  They were called the Hashashen; this implied that they took a certain drug which was reputed to give men twice their normal strength and to rob them of all fear.

  It was unwise to offend them – a fact which Montferrat had chosen to ignore, for while he was in control of Tyre one of the ships belonging to the Head of the Hashashen, who was generally known as The Old Man of the Mountains, had been in trouble off the coast. Instead of going to its rescue Montferrat and his men had refused help to the ship and had, moreover, robbed it of its cargo and allowed its sailors to drown.

  The ‘Old Man’ was a title which was handed down from one head of this Ismaelite tribe to another. It meant the supreme head, whose word was law. The tribe was notorious throughout the middle east, for it was one of the most powerful sects in that area.

  There were many legends about the tribe. They had existed it was said in the days of Christ and their way of life had remained unchanged through the centuries. Another legend – but this was said to be true – was that the Old Man had created a Garden which was a replica of the Mohammedan paradise. In the most exquisite setting were flowering trees and luscious fruit growing in abundance. Palaces of great beauty had been erected there. Among the trees wandered the most beautiful girls, to dance, to sing or to delight in any manner possible. Delicate perfumes wafted through the air. Everything that could enchant had been thought of.

  It was ancient custom to seek through the world certain young men whose characters indicated that they would best serve the tribe. These would be brought to the Old Man to sup with him and during the meal the visitors would fall into a heavy sleep. They would wake up in the garden and there they would live for several weeks until one day they would once more go into a heavy sleep, awaking from which they would find themselves shut out of the Paradise Gardens.

  After experiencing paradise there was no peace to be found outside.

  ‘You can earn your way back,’ said the Old Man, ‘by fulfilling a task I shall set you.’

  The task was invariably murder. Someone had offended the Old Man and must be removed. When the murder had been satisfactorily committed the murderer would be given another spell in the gardens before being sent out on a new task.

  The result was that the Old Man had his assassins planted in all manner of places and none felt safe from him.

  The kings and rulers of the neighbourhood paid tribute to the Old Man knowing full well that if they did not comply with his wishes disaster would fall upon them.

  Thus the sect grew rich and powerful and more and more young men were carried to the garden so that any offence committed against the Old Man brought its swift retribution.

  Montferrat should have known better than to steal the cargo of the ship; had he gone to the succour of that sinking ship, had he done his best to salvage the goods, he would not have suffered an untimely death just as he was about to realise his ambition.

  Montferrat had dined rather well with the Bishop of Beauvais and was going home to his palace with a few of his close friends who had been with him throughout the evening.

  As he was about to enter the palace two shadowy shapes emerged from behind a pillar. They fell upon the Count and plunged their daggers into his body.

  The palace guards quickly killed one of the assassins, but the other escaped – not with any hope of getting away, for he hid behind the altar in the nearby church and when the body of Montferrat was carried in he rushed from his hiding place and thrust his dagger again and again into the dead body.

  The assassin was seized and submitted to horrible torture with rack, screw and fire but he refused to say a word nor did he utter a cry of protest.

  There were many who believed that Richard had ordered the deed to be done, but the manner of the crime and the fact that the Old Man of the Mountains had a grudge against the Count made it almost certain that he was behind the attack.

  With Montferrat dead Richard wondered whether it would be wise to bestow on Guy de Lusignan the as yet unconquered Jerusalem; but another claimant had come into the picture. This was Count Henry of Champagne who, since he was the nephew of both Richard and Philip of France, seemed the ideal successor. He was popular, too, and when it was suggested that he should marry Montferrat’s widow this seemed a happy solution to the affair.

  Richard was agreeable, for he knew that he could trust Henry of Champagne as he never could have trusted Montferrat and as Guy was satisfied with Cyprus, the assassination of Montferrat brought nothing but good to Richard – which was probably why the rumour started that he – not the Old Man of the Mountains – had been responsible for the murder.

  Chapter XII

  FAREWELL JERUSALEM

  Richard was depressed. He had just conquered Darum, a walled city which had presented little difficulty. Some fury had suddenly possessed him as his stone-casters had gone into action; he had felt an intense anger against the Saracens who were beginning to make him feel that they were invincible. He had planned to take Jerusalem before Christmas and here they were hampered by the terrible winter and no nearer to their goal than they had been since the fall of Acre.

  So few were to be trusted. He had quarrelled with many. The French had always been uneasy allies. It had not happened as he had believed it would when he had made his glorious plans and dreamed what now seemed an impossible dream.

  And as his troops had stormed the city and the citizens had cried for mercy he had shown none. In lust for vengeance on a fate which had denied him the victory he had craved he had struck off heads right and left with no consideration for the age or sex of his victims. The wild Plantagenet temper had charge of him and had demanded blood.

  His men, as always taking their cue from him, inflicted ruthless horror on that town. And now it lay in ruins and of what good to the cause had that senseless slaughter been?

  What had come over him? he asked himself. Was this Christian behaviour? Would God ever deem him worthy to enter Jerusalem?

  Would he for ever after have moments when he remembered the cries of old men, women and child
ren, their hands tightly bound behind them, as they were marched off to be sold as slaves?

  I am fighting a desperate war, he excused himself.

  But his conscience would not accept that.

  As though in retribution for what had happened at Darum, as he rode out to Gaza messengers from England met him, with letters from his mother.

  Apprehensively he read them.

  ‘You must return at once. Your kingdom is in acute danger. John is conspiring with the King of France. If you do not come back you will lose England and Normandy.’

  The news spread through the camp. ‘Richard is leaving us. The news from England is so bad that he plans to go back.’ The King of France had long gone. The governing of his country being more important than the capture of Jerusalem. Now it was the turn of the King of England.

  Richard paced up and down. Again and again he cried out: ‘Guide me, oh God; give me a sign. Tell me what I must do. Why did You not let me take Jerusalem before Christmas? Then I could have returned with a good heart.’

  God remained silent under these reproaches mingled with pleas for guidance; and Richard’s terrible dilemma continued.

  So near to the capture of Jerusalem and yet so far.

  He re-read Eleanor’s letters. There was no mistaking their urgency. Philip, who said he had loved him! John, his own brother! Whom could one trust?

  In deep melancholy he remembered his father who had complained so bitterly when his sons had fought against him. He understood something of his feelings now.

  I did not deserve this though, thought Richard; and he seemed to hear his father’s voice echoing from the tomb: ‘Did you not, my son? There is something you have to learn. You cannot hold a kingdom by going off to do your pleasure.’

  ‘My pleasure! This was a holy crusade.’

  ‘Your pleasure, my son. A king’s duty is to his kingdom.’

  ‘But I am so near,’ he murmured.

  His army knew of his quandary. There had been other letters from home. Most people had known that John would seize the first opportunity to play the traitor. Why hadn’t Richard? Philip and he had been strange friends; love such as theirs turned to hate. Philip would never forget that he was the King of France whose rival was the King of England and Duke of Normandy and when Richard was not there to remind him that he was also his beloved friend, the King of France would forget that.

  ‘I must go home,’ thought Richard. ‘But how can I when Jerusalem is within my grasp?’

  He had made his decision. He would stay and make his assault on the town. He would put from his mind the warnings. He would capture Jerusalem and then go back to England and deal with John. If he was the one to set the Christian flag flying once more from the walls of the Holy City men would revere him throughout Christendom; they would flock to his banner, seeing in him the saviour of the Christian world. He would quickly regain anything that Philip or John had taken from him.

  June had come and with it a return of the heat. As the rain and snow had hindered, so now did the heat. The pests returned – the sandstorms, the flies, the mosquitoes, the tarantulas. Another had appeared – poisonous snakes whose sting was death.

  But we are close now to Jerusalem, thought Richard, and he thrilled at the prospect of the coming conflict with Saladin who was himself in Jerusalem, as determined to hold it as Richard was to take it.

  Reports came in of the supplies which were reaching the city. Saladin’s army was waiting to attack hidden away somewhere in the neighbourhood. There were great numbers of Saracens.

  Richard sent for Henry of Champagne, a man whom he believed he could trust not only because he was his nephew but also because he had put nothing in the way of his becoming King of Jerusalem. His desire to regain the city must be as great as Richard’s own.

  ‘I need all the men I can muster,’ said Richard. ‘This attack must not fail. We have to face Saladin’s might and we known by now that he is one of the greatest generals.’

  ‘No match for yourself, Sire,’ said Henry dutifully.

  ‘Let us not underestimate him,’ replied Richard. ‘I have great respect for him. Many of our men deserted as you know and went back to Acre. I want you to go and tell them that we are on the point of attacking, make them see that they will regret it to the end of their days if they are not with us.’

  ‘I will go, with all speed,’ said Henry.

  ‘Do not delay. The sooner we make the attack the better.’

  So Henry left for Acre and Richard continued to make his preparations.

  Each day he watched for the return of Henry with the reluctant crusaders. The time was passing. One, two, three weeks. What was happening in England? All these weeks Saladin would be making Jerusalem stronger.

  Henry of Champagne was not finding his task an easy one. Living was good in Acre. How different from the discomforts of the march, harassed by Saracens and perhaps even worse by the plagues of the land, and men found it hard to choose between the combined displeasure of Richard and Heaven and all the easy comfort of Acre.

  The waiting was irksome, and all the time Richard was tortured by the thought of what was happening in England.

  There were forays with the enemy; Richard now and then led a raid against the Saracens. They were bringing supplies into Jerusalem by various routes and when news of them was brought to Richard he would take some of his men and make a raid. This kept the men in fair spirits and Richard knew well enough that there was nothing so dangerous as boredom.

  On such an occasion he went to the stronghold of Emmaus which he very successfully raided, killing twenty Saracens and taking possession of their camels and horses as well as supplies. The rest of the garrison, who had been deluded into thinking that Richard’s entire army was with him, fled in disorder.

  As they paused to view the spoils one of Richard’s knights rode to him and said: ‘Sire, if you will ride to the top of yonder hill I will show you Jerusalem.’

  Richard rode to the top of the hill but when he reached the summit he pulled his surcoat across his eyes.

  ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘I will not look . . . yet. Fair Lord God,’ he went on, ‘I pray Thee that thou suffer me not to behold Thy Holy City if so be that I may not deliver it out of the hands of Thy enemies.’

  And he refused to look on the city.

  They were long delayed at Beit Nuba. By this time Henry of Champagne had arrived with those crusaders who had finally been persuaded to return with him. Richard looked at them with contempt. Such men could scarcely be expected to fight as he knew they would have to.

  All the time there hung over him the shadow of events in England. He was unhappy knowing that Philip had broken his word. That John was a traitor was not surprising. He had been spoiled by their father and led to believe he would one day inherit the throne.

  When an opportunity came to intercept a caravan which was travelling from Egypt to Jerusalem with supplies for the Saracens, Richard seized it joyfully. It would give the men the excitement they so badly needed and help to keep up their spirits. Saladin’s spies were everywhere and it soon reached his ears that Richard intended to waylay the caravan. He sent men out to protect it and when Richard’s force came to that spot in the Hebron Hills known as the Round Fountain, because of the spring where the horses were brought to drink, he found the Saracens there.

  A great battle took place in which many on both sides were killed; but the Christians were victorious and the spoils were great. There were almost five thousand camels as well as mules, horses, gold, silver and rich materials, besides foodstuffs such as flour and barley and skins for carrying water.

  In Jerusalem Saladin mourned the loss of the caravan and fervently prayed that Richard should never know how weakly the city was defended. That he did not know was obvious as he was delaying the attack. Saladin did everything possible to let everyone believe that he was confident in his strong defence, but this was not the case and he knew very well that Richard’s greatest mistake was in delay.
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  He sent his spies into Richard’s camp with rumours that he, Saladin, had poisoned the wells outside Jerusalem; and Richard decided that without water they must retire from Beit Nuba and fall back on Jaffa.

  Great was the jubilation in Jerusalem.

  ‘Praise be to Allah,’ cried Saladin, ‘He has saved Jerusalem for me.’

  There was another enemy which raised its head against Richard: the ever-recurring fever.

  He knew now that it had laid him low that he must return to England. He was tortured by nightmare dreams of what was happening at home. Not in this crusade was he to have the glory of winning back the Holy City.

  Saladin was too mighty a foe. They were too much alike. They were the two greatest warriors of the age pitted against each other, and it seemed that neither could conclusively defeat the other. They respected each other. Richard thought: I can never take Jerusalem while Saladin lives. And Saladin thought: I can never drive the Christians out of Palestine while Richard the Lion-hearted leads them. We two should have been friends. We have too much respect for each other to be enemies. There is love of a strange kind between us.

  There were times when Richard thought he was dying of the fever, but in his more lucid moments he realised that if he recovered there was nothing to be done but leave for home, his task incomplete. This, which was to have been the most glorious crusade, was to end in failure. He must go back, make his kingdom and his dukedom safe and come again with more men and more supplies. At least he had gained experience. Somewhere in his mind was the thought that Saladin could not live for ever and that he must wait for his death before he could conquer the Saracens.

  There was ill news of the Duke of Burgundy, who had returned to serve under Richard after the death of Montferrat. He had an attack of fever and it seemed unlikely that he would recover. This gave the French the excuse they wanted to retire. Richard knew that all these men who had come out with such high hopes were now weary of the battle; they all longed to go home. They missed their families and their native land; they had dreamed of glory and found overpowering heat, devastating cold and poisonous insects.