before we act and always take decisions carefully.’
The Lionheart was pleased with himself and smiled at us both. He then reached out and included me in his embrace before turning to stare out to sea.
‘We face as great a challenge here in the Holy Land as any men have ever faced. Our enemy is a great general and, I am told, a fine man. His army is a match for any. Our Christian forces will be riven by jealousy and intrigue. Lusignan is already at odds with Montferrat, and I heard today that Philip Augustus is offering my knights three bezants to fight for him. And all of this is before the Germans arrive! Marshal and the others will always support me, but I want you two to know I would like you to be at my side at all times. I am easily seduced by fanciful words like those of Joachim of Fiore. I need you to remind me of the more considered words of Hildegard.’
The three of us began to walk back towards the camp, at the edge of which we passed two of our heavily bearded Bretons guarding the perimeter. They snapped to attention as we passed. Typically, the Lionheart paused to talk to the two men, encouraging them to stay alert as Alun and I walked on. We were soon met by Mercadier, Godric and the Little Quintet, who were on their way to join the drinking.
The air was cooling rapidly; it had become a characteristically beautiful Mediterranean evening, with a cloudless sky bristling with countless stars, one of which shot across the horizon like a burning arrow.
Suddenly, the harsh reality of the cruel world we had arrived in breached the peace. One of the perimeter guards came staggering towards us; it was barely possible to tell that he was the same man we had seen only moments earlier. His face was obliterated by the blood that spewed from his neck; his beard was crimson, drenched by the torrent that he was trying to spit from his mouth. He had been sliced from ear to ear; he could not speak, nor could he gesture. Both hands were clasped to his throat as he tried in vain to stem the ebbing tide of the last few seconds of his life. He took only two more swaying steps before collapsing into the dirt.
‘Assassins!’ shouted Mercadier.
The other guard was nowhere to be seen, but the Lionheart was about fifteen paces from us. He had drawn his pugio and was peering into the darkness.
Godric bellowed, ‘
Three cloaked black shadows seemed to glide towards the King. They moved quickly but without a sound; only their silhouetted outlines were visible in the moonlight. We all raced towards the Lionheart as the three shadows closed to within a few paces of him.
As they did so, an arrow cut through the air from Rodor, who had assumed a kneeling position to our right. The arrow struck the trailing shadow with such force that the victim’s torso twisted sideways as he recoiled from the impact. He fell to the ground and, without uttering a sound, squirmed in agony.
The two leading attackers reached the King together. The first had the thrust of his knife parried by the Lionheart’s powerful forearm as he plunged his pugio deep into the man’s midriff. Again, there was no cry from the stricken man, only the dull thud of his body hitting the ground. The final intruder leapt over his fallen comrade, his dagger already making its strike, aiming for the throat of the King. But as he flung himself forwards, the blade fell short. The two clashed heads as they fell in a heap. The King was unconscious before he hit the ground, but his would-be killer was only stunned and held on to his dagger as he rolled away from his fallen victim.
Just as we reached the scene, the killer got to his haunches, steadied himself and raised his weapon to strike at the prostrate body in front of him. In the same moment, Alun grasped the end of the man’s trailing cloak and pulled with all his might. This caught him off balance, and he toppled backwards. Although he jumped to his feet again with the alacrity of an acrobat, Alun’s instinctive action had bought a vital few seconds. Before the hooded shadow could strike again, the figure was confronted by an arc of pointed lances. The cornered man backed away as Mercadier and my men closed in. In desperation, he flung himself at Mercadier, who thrust his sword into his chest almost to its hilt.
The man was motionless for a second, before he sagged in that limbo between life and death, then fell to the ground. The King’s momentarily still form began to rouse itself and he started to get up, aided by Godric and myself. Mercadier put his foot on the dead man’s chest to ease out his sword, and then spat on him.
‘These three look like Assassins. Their owners rip out their tongues when they are boys so they have no future, other than under the protection of their sadistic masters. They feed them well, give them women and hire them out to the highest bidder. The next fiend could be a yellow-skinned bowman from the east who can skewer a man from two hundred paces, or perhaps a coward with a serpent in a basket, who crawls into camp on his belly like the creature he carries.’
The King, shaken and woolly-headed, asked the obvious question.
‘Sent by whom?’
‘Not by Saladin; it’s not his way. My geld would be on that snake, Philip.’
The Lionheart looked dumbfounded.
‘We’re supposed to be allies!’
‘I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you for not marrying Alyse. Besides that, he wants to take the glory here and claim the Holy Land for the Franks.’
‘But I like him.’
‘You’re going to have to learn to like him less. As long as he rules in Paris and you rule in Caen, you will always be enemies.’
We all learned a salutary lesson that night. Within moments of the King asking me and Alun to stay close to him in the months ahead, the significance of those words had been made all too obvious.
Alun had saved the life of the Lionheart, something he never forgot.
Saladin had entrusted his bravest and most resourceful commander – the Atabeg, Baha al-Din Qaragush – with the defence of Acre, and his garrison was full of quality troops. He sent out elite butescarls who slipped into the harbour to sabotage Christian ships; they would risk the depths of the water in the middle of the night with a sack of silver strapped to their backs to pay the soldiers. They also used small dhows to run the Christian blockade of the harbour to try to get food and ammunition into the city.
Qaragush used homing pigeons to carry messages to Saladin, and hurled missiles and incendiaries at his Christian besiegers at all hours using a range of improvised ballista. He sent skirmishers out from his walls, sometimes in the glare of the middle of the day, to wreak havoc in the Christian camp. Even though they were almost always suicide missions, they kept coming.
As the hot days of June passed, Qaragush’s position worsened. Not only had the Lionheart’s troops tightened the noose around the Muslim lines of supply and increased the frequency and scale of projectiles raining down on them, but more Latin troops were arriving all the time.
Henry of Champagne, the grandson of Queen Eleanor from her first marriage to the King of France, arrived with 1,000 knights and 10,000 infantry. He was also accompanied by several dignitaries, including Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, who brought a gold dish from Glastonbury, which he claimed was the Holy Grail mentioned in the
Large contingents of Danes, Frisians, Flems and North Saxons appeared, as did new recruits for the Hospitallers and the Templars. And finally, at the end of June, the 5,000 survivors of the huge army that had left Germany with the Emperor Barbarossa arrived under the command of Leopold V, Duke of Austria.
Our mighty Christian army of the Third Great Crusade against the infidel was complete. I tried to count our numbers, but it was almost impossible; the pennons were so numerous they merged into a sea of colour and extended as far as the eye could see. Mercadier guessed that we numbered 50,000; William Marshal said closer to 75,000 if we included all the non-combatants. Most significantly, we had over 12,000 knights, each with at least one of the heavy destriers the Muslim faris feared so much.
But Saladin’s army was also being reinforced. Saladin had renewed his call for Jihad and sent messengers to every corner of the Muslim world. One of the messengers had been captured and the King had the message he carried read out to him.
The Latins have spared no effort and withheld not a dinar. Now their mightiest kings are here. We must cast off our lethargy; all believers who have blood in their veins must answer this call. As long as the seas bring reinforcements to the enemy our country will continue to bring suffering to our land and our hearts will bleed. I call
