It is claimed that Philip might have taken Acre. When he first arrived he rode about to measure the defense. He set up iron screens, having them tinned until they gleamed like silver to reflect sunlight, as protection for crossbowmen, archers, and miners burrowing at the wall. He directed that volleys of arrows and quarrels be launched until not a Turk dared show a finger. He put miners to work at the wall where it abuts the Maudite Tower. Soldiers from Pisa rolled up a cat, but Turks set this ablaze and threw down hams, oil, and fish to make things worse so all beneath it met the Lord. However, a section of the wall collapsed. Then a company of knights got through, albeit they were driven back. Those inside Acre had flags for signaling and a basket they raised above the church of Saint Lawrence, which they had converted to a mosque. These signals appealed to Saladin for help. Now they ran up their flags and the basket to say they felt hard pressed. They struck timbrels, pounded on basins and platters to alert Saladin. Thus, many argue that Philip would have taken the city. But he decided to wait upon King Richard because they had agreed to share the joy of conquest.
Ambroise sang high praise of Richard, singing of how he did not shirk from carrying burdens on his shoulder half a league across the sand as if he were not a king but a mule dripping sweat. By all accounts his strength was fearsome, a graceful man with long and flexible arms, auburn hair, a taste for poetry and handsome looks gained from his mother, from the house of Poictou. That he could be subject to quick or violent rage was no secret. It happened once outside Messina that Richard and Philip had ridden together in friendly diversion, each accompanied by his entourage. Along came some rustic whose donkey was heaped high with reeds and various nobles to amuse themselves took reeds for jousting. King Richard and a valiant knight in the service of Philip, Guillaume des Barres, charged one another. Both reeds splintered. But the king’s head-gear broke, at which he set himself upon the French knight, seeking to overthrow him without success. And the king’s saddle slipped and he went down quicker than he liked.
Get thee hence, said he to Guillaume des Barres. Take care not to appear in my presence, for I am from this moment an enemy to thee.
Now off went the Frank to his lord Philip for aid and counsel regarding what had fallen out, much aggrieved by this royal indignation. Then the king of France went to Richard, asking for peace and mercy. Richard would not listen. Next day here came the bishop of Chartres, the count of Nevers, the duke of Burgundy, and other nobles on behalf of Guillaume des Barres, casting themselves at Richard’s knee. He would have none of it. Some time after, when they would embark for the Holy Land, here was the French king once more with his archbishops and bishops and counts and barons and beseeched King Richard. With much trouble they got him to consent, Richard undertaking to do this knight no harm nor proceed against him while both were busied in the service of Jesus Christ.
Or it may be, as the narrator of Reims declares, they were not at Messina but riding through the midst of Acre. Richard being thick with anger toward the Franks set himself against Guillaume to strike him out of the saddle with a truncheon. But on the passage Guillaume seized Richard by the neck, hauled him loose, flung him down grievously against the paving stones. There lay the mighty king of England in a swoon without pulse or breath while Guillaume rode at once to tell King Philip how it was. So the French king ordered his folk to arm themselves, that much did he mistrust Richard. Next here came Lionheart recovered from his stupor to assault the French. It is said they defended themselves sturdily. Now all at odds, they appointed a truce of three days during which the matter was accommodated.
Whatever the circumstance, this rowdy Plantagenet was at a single breath several men, cautious or bold, brutal or kind, crafty or generous with equal measure. Having learnt how Philip promised three gold pieces a month to any English knight that would enlist beneath the Frankish banner, Richard offered six to any Frank that fought beneath the lion standard. Nor was it secret how he could manage this extravagance. He had sold the ravaged island of Cyprus to knights of the Temple.
He was not long in Acre when he fell sick with what common people call arnoldia, which is produced when foreign climate despoils the blood, wasting the lips and face. Despite this illness he caused mangonels and petraries to be erected and built a fort. One mangonel flung stones so far they crashed into the marketplace or butchery. And he brought from Messina such a pebble as squashed eight Turks. Further, he set up a belfrois with steps, protected from top to bottom with hides and ropes against Greek fire. During this time he was languid and faint, almost unable to rise from his pallet. Saladin also had fallen ill, gruesome carbuncles circling his waist, and could hardly rest or sleep.
King Philip meanwhile busied himself with engines. He built a device that would creep forward and cling to the wall. And at great expense a cercleia, which is a hurdle of twigs protected with hides and clay. He himself would crouch beneath this hurdle to shoot at pagans who showed themselves. Or he would throw darts from a sling. But one day the
