Jerusalem depended on their bravery. Few survived the battle. Those who did – especially the Templars and Hospitallers, who the Muslims fear and despise – were beheaded in mass executions. Despite a courageous final redoubt around the True Cross, Guy of Lusignan, King of Jerusalem, and Gerard of Ridefort, Master of the Templars, were captured and taken prisoner. Raynald of Chatillon was executed by Saladin in person for his previous crimes of cruelty. The Bishop of Acre was killed and the True Cross was defiled. It was tied upside down on a cart pulled by donkeys and sent back to Jerusalem.
‘Raymond, Lord of Tiberias, and Balian of Ibelin escaped – Raymond to his castle at Tripoli, and Balian to Jerusalem – to begin the process of defending the city. It is said that when he reached the city, he found only twelve knights to add to the two who had escaped the battle with him.’
There was a silent disbelief in the room. Father Alun paused for several moments before delivering the final, shocking piece of information.
‘There are almost no knights left in Palestine to defend the remaining citadels. Jerusalem only has its walls to protect it. This noble knight here before you, who fought at Hattin and has travelled to Paris with the news, says that every acre of the Holy Land will be under Saladin’s heel by Christmas.’
Philip Augustus ordered that the Templar knight be cared for by the monks of Paris and immediately sent heralds around his French realm to order a gathering of all the magnates of France. Richard did the same for Aquitaine and sent word to his father in Caen.
Within a month, a new tax had been agreed, the Saladin Tithe, to pay for a new Crusade. Word also arrived from Aachen that the Emperor Barbarossa would take the cross and join the Crusade.
News from the Levant continued along its inevitable path. Beirut and Sidon fell; Saladin then moved south, taking Caesarea, Arsuf and Jaffa. Ascalon capitulated, leaving the ring around Jerusalem complete. The holiest place of them all was now at the Sultan’s mercy. Previously an open city under Muslim rule, after slaughtering its inhabitants the Christians had closed it to Muslims for the last ninety years. The world waited for Saladin to exact his revenge.
When the end came, it was a different story. The Muslim attack began on 26 September 1187. It was said that Saladin’s army was so numerous that the dust from their marching obscured the midday sun and that the hail of Muslim arrows was so dense that not even a finger could be raised above the city’s walls without being hit.
Balian of Ibelin, who had escaped from Hattin, had taken charge of the defence of the city. A fine and chivalrous soldier, he had given the population hope; to bolster its manpower, he had made knights of merchants, artisans, old men and young boys. After several days of fighting, Jerusalem’s walls began to crumble under the relentless barrage from Saladin’s siege engines. When it was clear that the city could hold out no longer, Balian rode out himself to plead for the innocents within its walls. Saladin, recognizing a fellow man of honour, put to one side the crimes previously committed in Jerusalem by the Christians and agreed to the city’s surrender. On 1 October 1187, the Christian population of Jerusalem began to leave the city and head for the coast.
The next day, Saladin marched his army into the holiest city in the world. Many of his emirs and clerics begged him to destroy the Holy Sepulchre and to defile the site of Calvary, but he refused, ordering only that the doors to the Sepulchre be locked.
Three days later, he ordered that they be opened again and that Christians be allowed to enter if they wished to. He also issued invitations to Jews to return to the city, in the hope that it would become the free city it had been before.
The only act of retribution he allowed was the removal of the gold cross from the top of the Dome of the Rock. This was sent as a gift to the Grand Caliph of Baghdad, who had it embedded in the steps of the city’s mosque, so that the faithful could walk on it on their way to prayers. By the end of 1187, only the citadels in the coastal cities of Tyre, Tripoli and Antioch were still in the hands of Latin princes.
None of this chivalrous generosity of spirit made much difference in Europe, where the mood was one of outrage and vengeance. Stirred up by Rome and every priest in his pulpit, the Church preached that soldiers of Christ must take up arms to slaughter the Muslims.
By contrast, as Father Alun pointed out, when Muhi al-Din, the Grand Caliph of Baghdad, gave the first Muslim sermon in Jerusalem in three generations, he said: ‘Beware, lest Satan make you imagine that this victory was due to your sharp swords, your fleet steeds and your fearlessness in battle. No, by Allah! Victory cometh not from the Mighty, but from the Wise.’
It was reminiscent of what the Abbess Hildegard had said in Rupertsberg, and we all remembered it well – especially the Lionheart. Duke Richard took the cross in Tours, in the autumn of 1187, in the new cathedral that was rising above the old one. His father was horrified to hear the news. With old age looming, he faced the prospect of his heir leaving for the Holy Land, just at the time when he would be needed to bring stability to the Plantagenet Empire.
While the Saladin Tithes were being collected and we prepared our armies for the Third Great Crusade, we spent the next year dealing with new squabbles in the south, especially with Raymond, Count of Toulouse.
All the while, the Lionheart’s martial skills improved and his generalship matured. He remained an unpredictable mix of ruthlessness and generosity, and his temperament continued to be volatile. But he was learning to unleash his anger only in extreme circumstances. Alun’s calming influence grew all the time, and he was often able to bring the Duke back from the brink.
Count Raymond repeatedly asked King Philip for aid and, occasionally, the goodwill we had built up with Philip Augustus became strained. There was much posturing, threats were made by both sides, and there were small-scale skirmishes. But the situation in the Holy Land stopped the pot from boiling over, and our friendship with the King of the Franks survived.
The issue of Richard’s intended marriage to Alyse, Philip’s sister, and the settlement of her disputed lands in Berry and the Vexin, still churned away beneath the surface, and Philip would not let it rest. Old King Henry tried to interfere, sometimes as peacemaker, sometimes as agent provocateur. But either way, he invariably made matters worse.
The once great master of the chess game of European politics was losing his cunning. He had sent Queen Eleanor back to England, where her movements were restricted and she was closely watched. His suspicions about her loyalty and her intentions towards him had surfaced once again.
King Henry spent the Christmas of 1188 in Saumur. Few of his magnates responded to his invitation to join him. They knew that the future was in the hands of the young Lionheart and the even younger Philip Augustus. The King had become a broken man, unable to cope with the waning of his powers and the growing influence of Richard and Philip.
The bickering went on into 1189. Finally, at Easter, a papal legate, John of Anagni, arrived to organize a peace negotiation. It was held near La Ferte-Bernard, in Maine, twenty-five miles north-east of Le Mans, and was arbitrated by a council of wise men. John of Anagni was joined by the archbishops of Rheims, Bourges, Rouen and Canterbury. The Pope’s intention was to man the council with enough ecclesiastical muscle to make even kings take notice and, possibly, to make them behave themselves. All three protagonists brought personal bodyguards who were heavily armed; the atmosphere was tense.
After we had made camp, the Lionheart called us together. As always, he was very clear with his instructions.
‘Father Alun, I want you at my right elbow at all times. Ranulf, stay close, my father is bitter and unpredictable and King Philip has lost patience with both of us over Princess Alyse. But you both need to know this: I have already come to an agreement with Philip Augustus. I will marry Alyse and acknowledge her rights in the disputed estates; King Henry will acknowledge me as his heir; and my brother John will take the cross and accompany me to the Holy Land.’
The Lionheart had a self-satisfied look on his face. Not so Father Alun, who was exasperated.
‘Sire, I wish you would consult me before agreeing to things like that.’
‘Why, it solves all the problems!’
‘No, sire, it does not. If anything, it’s likely to make matters much worse.’
The Lionheart looked perplexed, and his anger began to flare.
‘Explain yourself!’
‘My Lord, first of all, it gives King Philip exactly what he wants, something you and your father have denied
