Lionheart

warriors, but our ranks were paying a heavy price from Muslim missiles – especially without our maille hauberks. As I watched the Lionheart ahead of me, oblivious to the arrows and javelins that flew all around him, I thought again of the Archangel Michael. Perhaps the lore was true; maybe he was God’s warrior, immune from the weapons of mortal men.

Marshal and I called out to everyone to form a vanguard behind the King. By the time he reached the first Muslim defenders, we had formed a solid wedge of men behind him. Then the crash of clashing blades began, a sound that soon spread along the beach. The fighting was fierce – hand-to-hand at close quarters – but it was an exhilarating running battle, at a furious pace.

The Lionheart, with never any hint of fatigue, kept shouting to us and encouraging the men.

‘Keep moving!… Don’t let them form up!… Don’t stop!… Keep them on the run!’

For the first time, my fabricated arm and modified shield were given a severe test, the worst part of which was the strain on my upper arm from repeated blows to my shield. I was under much more pressure than I had ever experienced before, and I found it difficult to keep up with the King. I missed Godric and the men; they would have got me through this.

Suddenly, I was confronted by three Muslim infantrymen, one of whom was a giant of a man. Their blows made me falter, then step backwards. I fell to my knees as the giant hit my shield with an almighty blow. The Lionheart saw me stumble and immediately came to my aid, bringing William Marshal with him. My attackers fled as soon as they saw our own pair of giants bearing down on them.

Marshal helped me to my feet, and the King shouted, ‘Stay close, get in behind me!’ before he tore off again into the fray.

It was, of course, paradoxical that I should need the King’s help. Once I had been his guardian; now he was having to protect me.

After a few minutes, the tide of the encounter began to turn in our favour. Cutting through the melee, we could hear a repeated cry of alarm ahead of us.

‘Melek-Ric!’, ‘Melek-Ric!’

Even though our force was vastly outnumbered, the enemy were fleeing in front of us in droves, the panic spreading through them like a plague of fear. Once again, the Lionheart’s valour and his legendary reputation had created havoc in the enemy ranks. The entire Muslim army began to retreat, granting us an opportunity to enter the streets of the burning city. We could see Saladin on his grey mount in the far distance, trying to turn his men, but to no avail. It was the only time we ever cast eyes on the revered Sultan.

The King called out to Marshal, ‘Get the gates of the citadel open! Bring some pitch and plenty of flame; we must destroy the Muslim catapults.’

Baldwin and Robert had joined us. With a group of Templars, the King led us off to seize the Muslim ballista. There was little resistance, and Marshal arrived several minutes later with the materials needed to incinerate Saladin’s siege towers and mangonels.

Against overwhelming odds, another remarkable victory had been achieved.

A triumphant procession into the citadel followed, where hundreds of citizens, packed in tightly with the garrison, had sought safety. People cheered from every vantage point and hollered in several languages, but they all meant the same thing.

‘Praise the Conquering Hero!’

Some fell at the Lionheart’s feet, and women rushed to kiss his hand. Children were held up high to see Richard, ‘Coeur de Lion’, who had rushed from Acre to save them – just as everyone had prayed he would.

He was a living Alexander, Arthur or Alfred. No one doubted it.

But there was still more to be done. Just as we began to relax and rest on our laurels, the King summoned us all together.

‘Gentlemen, you remember what we achieved at Ascalon. Working parties are to be ready at first light tomorrow. We will begin repairing the city’s walls; everyone works, no concessions. When the main army arrives, put them to work too.’

As ordered, work started on Jaffa’s walls in earnest early next morning. As it did so, the Lionheart, already in the garb of an artisan, sent for me.

‘Is Benoit of Geneva with us?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Tell him to contact Saphadin’s man… what is his name?’

‘Abu Bekr.’

‘Yes, tell him I would like to talk to Emir Saphadin about the situation at Jaffa.’

Two days later, a reply came back.

Please convey my warm regards to Melek-Ric. It is with regret that I cannot meet with you at the moment. The Sultan Saladin wishes to discuss Ascalon before we will discuss Jaffa.

The reasons for the refusal became clear on the evening of 4 August. Our groups repairing Jaffa’s walls had just finished their day’s work on walls that were far from secure. The Lionheart suddenly looked towards the east. I saw the alarm on his face, then I heard the distinctive rumble of massed horses. He barked his orders at me in quick succession.

‘Form a defensive line ten yards from the wall, with pikes firmly anchored in the ground, shields raised and locked like the English! Tell William to deploy the arbalests and archers behind us. Robert is to organize secondary positions in the gaps on the walls, and Mercadier will form a third redoubt outside the citadel gates. Baldwin must get everything valuable and all civilians inside the citadel and close the gates. Only on my signal will we fall back to each defensive position, as required.’

The King had been presented with a sudden emergency and, as always, had responded with a military solution as elegant and sound as any great general of the past could have devised. Harold of England, who made the shield wall legendary, and Hereward of Bourne, who stood with him behind the mighty shield wall of the English housecarls at Senlac Ridge, would have been proud of him.

Within minutes, our bulwark of spears and shields was ready. Many men had not had the time to don their hauberks, but our wall was solid. It had the appearance of a giant hedgehog as the Muslim cavalry came into view.

They were a terrifying sight as they bore down on us. Closely packed with lances couched, it looked like they would overwhelm us. But at thirty yards, the King ordered the first volley of arrows and quarrels. They caused mayhem when they struck, bringing almost all of the front rank of horses crashing to the ground. The fallen bodies then disrupted the momentum of those behind. Significantly, the men and their mounts could see our bristling spears, adding more hesitation. As the first wave of riders tried to regain momentum, the ranks of cavalry behind began to careen into them.

Eventually, some order returned and the attack resumed, but not with the same power or direction. Another volley of arrows did more damage. By the time the wave of horses reached us, few of them made any impact; several men and beasts just impaled themselves on our lances.

As soon as the Lionheart saw how weak their charge was, he ordered that we break our wall and strike out. He also had the horns sounded to call forward our other defensive lines to join our counter-attack. Inevitably, he led from the front, ruthlessly pulling a man from his rearing horse before running him through with his sword. He then jumped on to the mount, raised his sword and gave the crusaders’ cry.

‘For St George!’

By being the only Christian on a horse, and by loudly declaring his presence, the King had made himself the easiest target imaginable. But as the thrust of his sword reached its zenith, the setting sun caught the edge of his blade and cast a brilliant gleam into the eyes of the Muslim cavalry. Their reaction was astonishing; they must have thought they had seen a sign, a bolt of lightning from God, and they began to run like horses in a stampede. Some threw down their weapons, a few even fell to their knees and began to pray.

We all waited for the order to attack, but it did not come. Instead, the King dismounted, walked over to the Muslims who were praying and raised them to their feet. Those fleeing saw what he was doing and stopped, looking back in awe. The Lionheart, half a head taller than the men around him and looking glorious in his