They gave him the most momentous news first—that it had been decided not to besiege Jerusalem. During a heated council the week before, Richard had argued passionately against it, as he’d done in the past, citing the threat to their supply lines, the scale of the city’s defenses, and the danger that they’d be trapped between the Jerusalem garrison and Saladin’s army. The French had responded as they’d done in the past, too, and accused Richard of caring only for his own honor and glory. He’d been honest about that, Morgan told Henri, candidly admitting he did not want to be blamed for another Ḥaṭṭīn and the loss of the kingdom. He accused the French in turn of seeking his disgrace and insisted he would not sacrifice his army in a rash enterprise that had no hope of success. They countered that it was not his army. He again urged an attack upon Egypt or Damascus, insisting that was the strategy best calculated to bring Saladin back to the bargaining table. And the French rejoinder was that Jerusalem was not negotiable.
“It was,” Morgan said, “basically the same argument we’ve been having since last September at Jaffa. This one did have a different ending, though. It was agreed upon to choose a jury of twenty men, whose decision would be binding upon all. They selected five Templars, five Hospitallers, five poulains, and five French lords. Richard insisted that the men who actually lived in Outremer ought to have the greater say. Of course he knew what the verdict would be—fifteen to five in favor of launching an attack upon Egypt. And of course the Duke of Burgundy was furious that he’d been outmaneuvered and repudiated the agreement, saying it was Jerusalem or nothing.”
“The king did his best to win them over,” Warin chimed in, “offering his fleet for the expedition, pledging to pay for seven hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms out of his own coffers, even promising to assume the expenses of French knights. All to no avail. And when word got out, the common soldiers were distraught, outraged that Jerusalem would be denied them yet again.”
Henri could not help sympathizing with them even though he was sure Richard was in the right. It would have been better never to have raised their hopes, and he could not help wondering if his uncle had ever really intended to assault Jerusalem. But he felt a touch of shame upon hearing what Morgan said next, that Richard had declared before the vote that he’d not desert the army even if they insisted upon the siege. He would not take command, though, saying he refused to lead men to their deaths when it served for naught. No, Henri decided, it was unfair to accuse Richard of bad faith. Their quest had been doomed before Richard and Philippe even reached Outremer, poisoned by the embittered rivalry between the two kings, the two countries. But as tragic as this outcome was for the soldiers who’d been willing to offer up their lives for the Holy City, it was a blessing for the kingdom. Their army would not be sacrificed in vain, and even if the French deserted them, there was still hope of reaching a settlement with Saladin, who had his own troubles.
“I suppose Burgundy is now threatening to pull out and go back to France,” Henri said, making a face. No, they told him, the army had been temporarily distracted from their feuding by the arrival of one of Richard’s spies, a native Syrian who went by the name “Bernard.” He brought news that set the entire camp into an uproar. A supply caravan was on its way from Egypt to Jerusalem, laden with treasure, weapons, and thousands of horses and camels. It would be an incredibly rich prize if they could take it, and its loss would deliver a great blow to Saladin. Richard had ridden out that very night to intercept it, taking five hundred knights and a thousand men-at-arms, as well as the French. They laughed at Henri’s startled expression, explaining that Hugh of Burgundy had actually agreed to take part in the raid, but only if the French were allotted fully a third of the booty.
“If that man had not been so highly born, he’d have made a good outlaw,” Morgan said with a grin. “But at least for now, the excitement over the caravan has united us, for Richard promised that the spoils would be shared with all, whether they took part in the raid or stayed behind to guard the camp.”
“So now we’re waiting with bated breath to hear if it was successful. The timing has to be perfect. Fortunately, our king is good at this sort of thing.” Warin laughed and began to tell Henri the rest of their news, what he blithely described as “the usual bloodshed.”
“We had two fierce skirmishes with the Saracens,” Warin reported between bites of bread. “The first one occurred on June twelfth when the Saracens lured some French troops away from camp. Things were going badly for them until the Bishop of Salisbury and the Count of Perche rode to their rescue. The second one began when the Turks ambushed one of our supply caravans from Jaffa.” He paused to finish his food before relating a sad story about Baldwin de Carew, who’d been unhorsed in the battle and commandeered his squire’s mount, only to see the squire struck down and beheaded soon thereafter.
Henri had no liking for Baldwin, who’d been one of the two knights who’d broken formation at Arsuf, forcing Richard to commit to a premature charge. Henri would have offered his own horse to his uncle in a heartbeat; he’d even do it for Philippe, who was his liege lord. But he hoped he’d not accept another man’s horse, knowing it could mean the other man’s death. Because he considered Morgan, Warin, and Pierre to be friends, he felt comfortable enough to say as much. They looked at him in surprise before Morgan reminded him, as gently as possible, that he’d be shirking his royal duty to refuse such an offer, for a slain king was the worst of calamities. Henri frowned into his wine cup, wondering how long it would take for him to feel at ease with his new rank.
By now the meal was done, but they lingered by the fire, savoring the simple pleasures of wine and conversation. They commiserated with Pierre de Préaux, whose heroic brother Guilhem remained in captivity, for Saladin still refused to ransom him, and Henri good-naturedly endured the usual bridegroom jests. They were lamenting the recent deaths of two knights from snakebites when the sentries warned that riders were approaching.
They got quickly to their feet, reaching for weapons in case it was a Saracen raid. But they soon heard cries of “The king!” and so were ready to welcome Richard and his men when they rode into the camp. There was no need to ask if the ambush had been successful, for it looked as if thousands of beasts—camels, horses, mules, asses, and donkeys—were being herded by downcast Saracen drovers. The pack animals were heavily laden, and Richard’s elated knights were eager to boast of their plunder. They told Henri that they’d seized gold, silver, brocaded silks, spices, sugar, purple dye, wheat, barley, flour, Saracen mail shirts, weapons, and large tents, all intended for Saladin’s army at Jerusalem. They’d captured almost four thousand camels, they bragged, and as many mules and donkeys, also taking five hundred prisoners and killing many, men now lost to the sultan. It was, they proclaimed to Henri with what he thought was pardonable pride, a great victory for the Franks, a great defeat for the Saracens.
Henri soon realized that Richard was not joining in the jubilation. He answered questions readily enough, accepted their compliments with a smile, and agreed that it had been an outstanding success. But he seemed to be doing what was expected of him, not really sharing in the rejoicing. His behavior was so out of character to Henri that he seized the first opportunity to draw Richard aside for a private word.
“The celebrating is likely to go on far into the night. Even the French are well satisfied; it is the first time I’ve seen Burgundy smile in months. So why are you not better pleased about it, Uncle?”
“I am pleased,” Richard insisted, and Henri shook his head.
“You ought to be triumphant. You dealt Saladin a grievous wound, gained enough pack animals for a campaign in Egypt, and gave the Saracens another story to tell around their campfires about Malik Ric.”
“But it has changed nothing, Henri. I could have captured every blessed beast from Dārūm to Damascus and it would not matter, for the French will never agree to a campaign in Egypt and I cannot convince them of their folly.”
Henri
could not dispute that. “At least you’ve kept them from besieging Jerusalem.”
“And half the army will never forgive me for it.”
Henri started to speak, then stopped himself, for he could not dispute that either.
RICHARD DISTRIBUTED the camels to his knights and the donkeys to the men-at-arms, and the chroniclers reported that all rejoiced. The euphoria did not last long, though, and soon some were complaining because such a large number of pack animals had sent the price of grain soaring. But the underlying cause of their discontent was the decision not to besiege Jerusalem, and the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais seized the opportunity to argue again for an assault upon the Holy City. The debate ended when Richard’s Syrian spies reported that Salah al-Dīn had poisoned the wells and destroyed all the cisterns within two leagues of Jerusalem in anticipation of a siege, for no army could hope to prevail without water. The French then set up their own camp apart from the others, and Hugh wrote a satiric song about Richard, annoying the latter so much that he retaliated in kind and composed a mocking song of his own. By now it was obvious to all that such deep divisions could not be healed, and the decision was made to withdraw from Bait Nūbā and head back to Jaffa. It was July 4, the fifth anniversary of the calamitous Christian defeat at Ḥaṭṭīn.
HENRI SPURRED HIS STALLION to catch up to Richard. The day was utterly still, with not even a vagrant breeze, the sky devoid of clouds or birds and leached of color; it seemed almost white to Henri every time he squinted up at the blinding blaze of the sun. The heat was brutal, but they no longer needed to fear burns and peeling; by now even men as fair-skinned as Richard and Henri were deeply tanned. He could hear the drone of insects, the plodding of hooves, but no other sounds, for the army was marching in eerie silence. He found himself thinking that it was as if these thousands of unhappy men had become ghosts, trapped in a waking dream. He knew it was not a good sign when he was getting so morbidly fanciful and he glanced over at his uncle. “What now?” he asked, his mouth and throat so dry that the words emerged as a croak.
Richard kept his eyes on the road ahead. “We reopen talks with Saladin,” he said, “and hope that he is as war-weary and discouraged as we are.”
HUMPHREY DE TORON was very busy for a fortnight, going back and forth between Jaffa and Jerusalem. Richard and Salah al-Dīn had been able to agree upon the basic terms fairly quickly, for they were not that different from those Richard had originally proposed to al-’Ādil. The land was to be divided, with the Saracens retaining the “mountain castles” and the Franks holding on to Richard’s coastal conquests, with the area in between to be shared by both. Salah al-Dīn and his council were willing to give Richard the Holy Sepulchre and to allow Christian pilgrims free access to Jerusalem, the sultan promising “to treat your sister’s son like one of my own sons.” But Ascalon was to be the rock upon which the peace negotiations foundered, for Salah al-Dīn insisted that Ascalon be destroyed, and Richard was not willing to agree to this.
RICHARD HAD DISPATCHED Humphrey back to Jerusalem in one last attempt to reach an accord. Learning that Richard had returned to Jaffa that afternoon, Henri was heading for the castle. It heartened him to see how much progress the city had made in the nine months since they’d ridden into desolate ruins. Once they’d rebuilt the walls, many of the former residents came back; at least the Christians did. It was Henri’s hope that the day would come when Saracens and Franks could once more dwell in the towns and countryside in relative harmony, for the kingdom could not survive without cooperation between the various peoples who laid claim to its hallowed, blood-soaked soil. It had happened before, so why not again? Henri tried to convince himself that eventually they’d have to end the war, if only because both sides were too exhausted to keep fighting. But by then, what would be left of Outremer?
There was a reassuring air of normalcy about the recovering city: women marketing, children playing in the streets, vendors hawking their wares on spread-out rugs. There was also a thriving traffic in sin. The contingent of prostitutes who’d followed the crusaders from Acre to Jaffa had stayed even after the army left, for there were always plenty of soldiers there—men convalescing from wounds and sickness, deserters, those in need of a brief respite from the war. Leaning out of upper-story windows, some of these ladies of ill repute called out to Henri and his escort as they rode by, promising all sorts of carnal delights for the right price. Henri just laughed and called back, “Sorry, sweethearts, I’m a married man now,” but a few of his knights cast wistful looks over their shoulders as they passed.
When they reached the castle, Henri was told Richard was abovestairs in the solar, and he headed in that direction. But as he opened the door to the stairwell, he found himself face-to-face with Humphrey de Toron. They both came to an abrupt halt. Henri had done his best to avoid just such an encounter, and he’d been so successful that he suspected Humphrey had been dodging him, too.
Deciding the least awkward approach would be to ignore the obvious, Henri said, as nonchalantly as he could, “I’d heard you were back from Jerusalem. Is Saladin still demanding that we raze Ascalon to the ground?”
“I regret so. With neither of them willing to compromise on this, the chances for peace do not look good. I did what I could to persuade the sultan, explaining the vast sums King Richard had spent on Ascalon, but to no avail. . . .”
Humphrey sounded as if he were blaming himself for the failure of the negotiations, and Henri wished he could assure him that he’d done the best he could under difficult circumstances, but he feared that Humphrey would take it as condescension. “My uncle has complete faith in you,” he said at last. He would have continued up the stairs then, but Humphrey was still blocking his way.
“Is she . . . well?” he asked, no longer meeting Henri’s gaze.
“Yes, she is.” Henri would have preferred to leave it at that, but he understood Humphrey’s concern. Deciding he owed it to the other man to ease his mind if he could, he said, “She is no longer troubled by early-morning sickness and her midwives have assured her that she is young and healthy and the pregnancy and birth ought to go as expected.”
Humphrey had lashes a woman might have envied, long and thick, veiling his eyes. But he could not control his face. Henri thought, Hellfire and damnation, and suppressed a sigh. “Humphrey . . . ”
Humphrey’s head came up. “No,” he said, “I do not blame you. The man I blame is dead and deservedly so.” He started to squeeze past Henri, but then stopped, the words coming out low and fast, as if escaping of their own will. “I will pray the child is a girl. I would not want to see a son of Conrad of Montferrat rule over Outremer.”
He didn’t wait for Henri’s response, was already gone before Henri said, very softly, “Neither would I.” He stood there for a time, thinking upon the odd turns and twists of fate that had brought him and Humphrey de Toron to this moment, and then took the stairs two at a time, his spurs striking sparks upon the stone grooves of the steps.
Richard and André were alone in the solar. “I was about to send word to you,” Richard said. “It will not be to your liking, though.”
“I know. I just met Humphrey de Toron downstairs. He said Saladin would not budge about Ascalon.”
“Neither will I,” Richard said, his voice flat and hard, “so the talks are done. On the morrow I want to send three hundred knights to Ascalon to strengthen its defenses and to destroy Dārūm. Is that acceptable to you, Henri?”
“Of course.” Henri looked around for a wine flagon, didn’t see one. “What is your plan?”
“Are you so sure I have one?”
“You always do.”
That earned him a fleeting smile from his uncle. “As it happens, I do. There is only one coastal port still under Saladin’s control. So let’s take it away from him.”
“Beirut?” Henri considered for a heartbeat or two and then smiled. “Beirut it is.”
“I thought you’d like that idea,” Richard s
aid dryly. Glancing over at André, he explained, “I daresay my nephew would agree to lay siege to Constantinople as long as it meant we’d be heading to Acre first.”
Understanding then, André grinned. “Of course, his bride is waiting for him at Acre!” Shaking his head in mock regret, he said, “Ah, youth . . . when a man is utterly in thrall to his cock.”
They both laughed, but Henri did not mind their teasing. He knew there was no malice in it. And because he was a secret romantic at heart, he even felt a twinge of sympathy for his uncle, sorry that Richard would never be as eager to be reunited with Berengaria as he was to see Isabella again.
CHAPTER 34
JULY 1192
Acre, Outremer
The last Sunday in July was unusually hot even for an Outremer summer, but in late afternoon a westerly wind began to stir the fronds of palms and to rustle the silvery-green leaves of the ubiquitous olive trees. To take full advantage of it, Isabella, Berengaria, Joanna, and their ladies retreated to the palace roof, sheltering from the sun under a canvas canopy as they enjoyed the feel of a cooling sea breeze on flushed, sweltering skin.
Isabella had made herself as comfortable as her pregnancy would allow, resting her feet upon a footstool, easing her aching back with several small pillows. She’d been stitching a chrysom robe for her baby while Mariam read aloud to them from Chrétien de Troyes’s Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart. She put her sewing aside when Mariam excused herself to go belowstairs, and Anna at once hastened over. She was always eager to engage Isabella in conversation, and Joanna and Berengaria suspected it was because a faint scent of scandal trailed in Isabella’s wake. So far Isabella had good-naturedly indulged the girl’s curiosity, but the older women kept a watch on her, knowing Anna’s exuberance could be misread as impudence.