could, but our rations were reduced to a broth, which became thinner and thinner, supplemented by whatever bread could be baked from our diminishing supplies of flour. At least with very little to eat, the diarrhoea became easier to bear. I am sure any other army would have buckled under the burden, but with the Lionheart’s fortitude to cling on to, the men held firm.
The King called a council of war and sought the advice of the Templars, the Hospitallers and the Palestine- born lords who knew the territory better than anybody. Their assessment was depressing to hear.
The biggest problem was the size of our army. We needed to keep a substantial number of men in Jaffa to protect our rear and our supply line to the sea. We also needed to deploy a large number to protect the road to the coast, which Saladin was already harrying relentlessly. We had ridden as close to Jerusalem as possible and the Lionheart had done detailed calculations with his siege engineers regarding the men and resources needed to surround the city and breach its walls. He knew what the arithmetic added up to.
‘We are five thousand men short for an assault on Jerusalem; it’s as simple as that. What say you all, gentlemen?’
Henry of Champagne nodded reluctantly, as did Hugh of Burgundy. The masters of the military orders added their assent, as did the men of the Grand Quintet.
‘Very well, we return to the coast for the winter. We will rebuild Ascalon, bide our time until the spring, and then launch our attack on Jerusalem when we have more men. I have written to the Abbot of Clairvaux asking that he issue a call to every Christian in Europe to come to our aid. Let us pray that the response is positive. In the meantime, we will also keep threatening to attack Egypt, and keep Saladin on his toes.’
We reached Ascalon on 12 January 1192. The army’s sorry state had not improved. Our provisions were almost non-existent, the mud had become deeper and our horses, even without the weight of a man on their backs, found it hard to cope.
When we reached the coast, although our English contingent remained resolute, there were numerous desertions, especially from among the men of the French crusaders, whose King had long since left the Holy Land.
I was as tired as most. I had lost track of my age, but during my recovery in Jaffa – and especially when I felt how hard it was to regain my strength – my years caught up with me and I remembered that I was in my forty-first year, an age when most knights would be hoping to retire. The King, at the age of thirty-five, was no longer the strident youth I had first met.
However, like the rest of the men, it was the Lionheart who lent me the fortitude to carry on. It was astonishing; every time my head dropped, or my shoulders drooped, and I looked to the King for encouragement, he was riding tall in his saddle, or striding forwards purposefully. He seemed only to have two moods: he was either smiling happily, cajoling us all to press on; or his jaw was set firmly, his eyes focused, demanding that we do the same. Never once did he look dejected or hesitant; we would have followed him to the fiery pit of Hades if he had asked us to.
I organized a roll call a few days later. It made for depressing reading for the Lionheart. Through death, sickness and desertion, we had lost almost 4,000 men, 280 knights and 400 horses.
When I presented the figures to the King, he made a very telling point.
‘When King Philip and I left Vezelay, with the Emperor Frederick on his way down the Danube, our joint army was close to a hundred and fifty thousand men. Now, with Saladin at our mercy, we are not many more than fifteen thousand. Do you think God really wants the Holy Land back?’
22. Ascalon
We spent the rest of the winter rebuilding Ascalon. The Lionheart issued orders that every man had to work on the fortifications, including knights, lords and dukes. At least it kept us warm. He led by example and, wearing the simple clothes of an artisan, carried stone and mixed mortar like everyone else.
Thanks to so much labour, the citadel rose remarkably quickly, an achievement that pleased the Lionheart immeasurably. Modelled on castles he had rebuilt in Aquitaine, it was a fine fortification. He had a keen eye for military architecture and designed everything himself, down to the smallest detail.
As the King had said we would, we also made sorties to the south. We captured Darum and made a reconnaissance visit to Gaza, an ancient city on the road to Sinai and Egypt – a land we were sorely tempted to visit, if not to conquer. Again, on more than one occasion, the King put himself at risk by leading charges and getting involved in the thick of the fighting. So astounding were his exploits, the conviction became widespread, among friend and foe alike, that he was not a mortal man and that God’s warrior angel, the Archangel Michael, sat on his shoulder. Some even believed that he
At dusk on the first evening after our arrival in Gaza, the King asked Blondel and myself to walk with him along the beach. The sun was setting and, to its south, lay Egypt.
The Lionheart looked wistful.
‘Great empires come and go. Over there, many years ago, there was one of the mightiest of them all. But, eventually, it fell – first to Alexander, then to Rome. In turn, they collapsed. My so-called Empire is only a generation old and my family have only been kings for four generations; my great-great-grandfather was a mere duke. Not much of a lineage compared to the pharaohs of Egypt, who ruled for thousands of years.’
Blondel started to hum his melodies. However, I felt compelled to answer.
‘But, sire, your blood goes back many hundreds of years. Your English heritage goes back to Alfred the Great and beyond.’
‘I suppose so, but I never think of myself as English. You remind me of Alun; I miss his words of wisdom, his everlasting patience and his love of England and its history.’
‘There are many great warriors in your bloodline besides Alfred the Great. There is the Conqueror, and his Viking ancestors – and others you know, such as Charlemagne, and some you don’t.’
‘That sounds like another tempting yet mysterious morsel of the sort that Alun would offer.’
I came close to telling the Lionheart what I knew, but realized that it would all mean a lot more if I could tell him after I had been to Rome. So I changed the subject.
‘Sire, did Alun tell you about Queen Berengere’s lineage?’
‘That she is the grand-daughter of the Cid? Yes, he did.’
‘What young warriors you two will produce.’
‘I hope so, but she is not yet pregnant; not surprising, I suppose, as we are always apart.’
As the King was in a reflective mood, and I felt I had replaced Alun as his mentor, I tried to say something wise, just as my friend would have done.
‘Sire, do you remember what Abbess Hildegard said in Rupertsberg? I think it was something like this: Your mind is much more powerful than your sword arm. That is why, when soldiers fight wars, they win land and riches. But when thinkers fight wars, they win men’s minds. You can’t change the world with land and wealth, but you can with men’s minds.’
‘I do remember, Ranulf. I often think of her words, and those of Alun and Earl Harold…’
He paused and turned to stare towards the north-west, in the direction of home.
‘Come, let’s eat and drink some wine; I think Blondel has a tune for us.’
We returned to Ascalon with thoughts of a glorious conquest of Egypt fuelling the King’s imagination. But at Easter, the Lionheart’s mood darkened as events in Palestine and at home in Europe brought depressing news. In the Holy Land, word came from Acre that rather than help fight for the Christian cause, Conrad of Montferrat, Marquis of Tyre, and Guy of Lusignan, ostensibly King of Jerusalem, were again squabbling over the Holy City’s throne.
Not only that: Lusignan had recruited the Pisans to his cause, while Montferrat had allied himself with the Genoese, thus splitting two of Richard’s most important allies. The King was furious and sent Robert Thornham to Acre to point out to both of them that, until Saladin was removed from Jerusalem, there was no throne to fight
