grabbed the fallen standard and ordered his men to charge.
We could hear the cry: ‘
The saint had been our crusader hero ever since it was said he appeared before the Christian army at the Siege of Antioch, ninety years earlier, during the First Great Crusade.
I looked at William Marshal who, in turn, stared at Hugh of Burgundy. Both men looked perplexed, but Henry of Champagne had not hesitated and was already off in pursuit of the Hospitallers. All eyes turned to the Lionheart. He was at least 250 yards away, but we could see him standing high in his stirrups, surveying what had happened.
Moments later, he raised his sword and thrust it in the direction of Saladin. We could not hear his battle cry, but the six strident blasts from the trumpets came immediately. The wave of noise from the mass charge of his vanguard swept over us like a roll of thunder. The rest of the army wheeled left en masse and moved off to the east.
It was an exhilarating sight, a huge tide of men and horses washing over the parched earth. It took the Muslims by complete surprise. Although Master Garnier had flagrantly disobeyed an order, the Lionheart had, within moments, realized what he had to do and had grasped the initiative. It had given us a vital advantage.
After hours of pent-up anguish and anger, our cavalry careered into the Muslim ranks ferociously, our huge destriers creating mayhem. With our blades swinging freely and repeatedly, we cut down the fleeing foot soldiers as if we were reaping a harvest. The ground behind us was littered with bodies, many dead, but those still alive were first trampled by the hooves to the rear of our conrois, then were easy pickings for our infantry. Few, if any, survived.
I looked to my right, to the south, where the King was leading the charge from our vanguard. They were scything through our enemies like a squall of wind flattening tall grass. The Lionheart was at the apex of the charge, distinctive with his flowing ruddy-blond locks. High in Fauvel’s stirrups, he swung his longsword on both sides of his saddle like a villein cutting hay. To my left, the Hospitallers had charged into the Muslim ranks for over 300 yards and were still pressing on. Saladin and Saphadin were gathered up by the Sultan’s personal bodyguard, and were escorted to the rear. The Muslim army was in full retreat, losing hundreds of men as it fled.
I lost count of the number who fell to my sword. My heart pumped from the thrill of it, an energy that did not abate until both my horse and I came to a stop from sheer exhaustion. Ahead of me was just a wall of dust as the enemy disappeared into the hinterland; behind me, the sun was beginning to fall towards the horizon, making the Mediterranean glisten. The low sun also started to cast long shadows over the battlefield. There were bodies as far as the eye could see. A few were moving; maimed horses limped and stumbled; and one man, with his arm almost severed and blood pouring from a gash across his face, was attempting to kneel, facing east to pray. Another, badly cut across his chest, was staggering from one stricken comrade to another trying to rouse them. It was a pitiful sight.
Then I heard our trumpet horns sounding the recall; the Lionheart wanted us to form up defensively and make camp before nightfall. We collected quivers of arrows, pikes and lances and other useful weapons for our supplies, while some men took swords and daggers and signet rings as souvenirs.
We made camp around the walls of Arsuf, and there were raucous celebrations long into the night.
In the early hours, the Lionheart rode through our section of the camp to thank the men. He was effusive in his praise and generous with everyone. Behind him were carts of food and drink, which his stewards threw to the throng. Flasks of beer and leather sacks of wine, flitches of bacon, legs of lamb and roast birds of all kinds were gratefully received.
There was much banter – especially about the precipitous act by Garnier of Nablus. One burly Breton arbalest shouted out as the King passed.
‘My Lord, when is Master Garnier going to be flogged for his disobedience?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, the Lionheart’s reply came back.
‘At dawn, just after you!’
Although there was no question of Garnier being flogged, William Marshal was later at pains to point out that the King had intended to attack about thirty minutes after the Hospitallers’ impulsive charge.
Importantly, the Lionheart’s plan had involved a more compact cavalry thrust. His aim had been to cut right through the heart of the Muslim army and attack Saladin’s central command, in the hope of confronting the Sultan face to face.
Whether the King’s plan would have worked was a moot point. But when the casualty figures became known the next day, it was clear that the bulk of the Muslim army remained intact. Over 7,000 bodies were counted, including more than 30 emirs; it was a large number, but wise judges in our ranks suggested that Saladin’s force still outnumbered ours by a third.
Muslim morale had been dented: their route to the sea had been cut and Saladin’s reputation sullied. But the road to Jerusalem was still blocked by a huge army. And the Holy City’s walls were still amongst the most steadfast in the world.
21. Return to the Colours
After the calamity of Arsuf, Saladin realized how prodigious his enemy was and adopted different tactics to thwart the Lionheart. He had already destroyed the citadel at Jaffa and immediately set about dismantling Ramla and Lydda, both on our route to Jerusalem. He also continued his policy of ridding the land of anything useful to us on our path to the Holy City and thus putting us at the mercy of the unforgiving heat and dust and dependent entirely on our own lines of supply.
We reached Jaffa on 10 September 1191, an arrival that prompted great celebration, despite our weariness. After a night of much revelry, there was more good news for the army. With one of the Holy Land’s most important ports at our backs, and its ships plying us with supplies from Acre, Genoa and Pisa, the Lionheart ordered that we make camp among the olive groves so that we could rest and recuperate for some time.
The King had allowed only ‘elderly’ laundresses to accompany the army as camp followers on the march from Acre, so the men were starved of female company. This was an irritation he now rectified by sending ships to Acre to bring the younger camp followers south, a cause for yet more celebration – especially after he also issued a bonus to his men in gratitude for their exploits.
The Lionheart used this time to begin the rebuilding of Jaffa’s citadel and to re-equip his baggage train for the assault on Jerusalem. To the horror of the Grand Quintet and his senior commanders, he also went hunting – despite the obvious dangers, and against vociferous advice – and frequently joined patrols deep into Muslim territory.
I decided that the King’s forays might give me the opportunity to be reconciled with him, and sought William Marshal’s advice.
‘Yes, it’s possible; he’s in a good mood at the moment. We’re going hawking on Sunday, with Mercadier. You can join my retinue; but keep your face obscured until I break the ice.’
When Sunday came, it arrived with an autumnal wind, which blew the dry sand of the summer into clouds of dust, making hunting unpleasant and unrewarding. Undeterred, the Lionheart changed his plan and announced that we would ride to Emmaus, on the road to Jerusalem. It was a journey of over twenty miles and into the hills close to the Holy City, from where he could see the disposition of Saladin’s forces. Both Marshal and Mercadier were adamant that it was too dangerous without two conrois of bodyguards. The Lionheart would not hear of it, so we rode out in a group of just twelve men.
We cantered through olive and citrus groves at a distance of about a mile from the old Roman road to Jerusalem and saw along it many groups of Saladin’s men making their way back and forth. The dust was excessive, so I was able to keep the ventail of my maille coif tied across my face without attracting any attention.
By early afternoon, the Lionheart had seen all he wanted to see. We had eaten a good lunch of cold meat and wine, in the shade of a picturesque grove of lemon trees. I thought about Alun; he would have cherished the setting and would certainly have wondered whether Christ might have relaxed amidst groves like these, perhaps
