From Caesarea they proceeded with caution because of Turks who rode up to whistle and scream insults and launch arrows. These unbelievers carried only a light spear, a bow, or a mace with sharp teeth and by the quickness of their motion would come very near the ranks. Also there were black Muslims from Nubia who carried little round shields and scimitars and could whirl and flee with the agility of ghosts.
Two days out from Caesarea adherents of the devil swept down like a storm but left stretched on the field an emir of stupendous girth who was called Ayas Estoï because that was the name of his famous lance, heavier than two Frankish lances. This emir was reputed to be of such strength that no one could topple him. Now the Turks seeing their champion fall, his brawny arm at rest, his proud head rolling across the sand, yelped with grief and cropped the tails of their horses.
God’s army came next to the forest of Arsuf, which they thought infested with blackfaced misbelievers who would burn down the trees to roast them. In close order they marched through, prepared for battle, and marched by the mountain to open country, each expecting to lose his head because of Saracens rising on every flank. That day the Templars rode in front. Next came Angevins, Bretons, Normans, English, Hospitalers last. It is said the high lords rode so close packed that an apple could not be thrown without hitting man or beast. Those of a lineage rode together and the Christian host appeared so bound that no heathen force could rend it. Here was the count of Leicester who would not in any wise have been elsewhere. Alongside rode Huon de Gournai with others of equal renown, William Borriz who was raised in that land, and James d’Avesnes. They advanced almost at leisure, King Richard astride Fauvel, which he got on Cyprus, other valiants going before the host, in back, right or left, to watch for what the spirit of darkness might do.
Now all at once two thousand pagans came sweeping through the sunlit dusk launching arrows, others assigned no task but to pound drums or skip and screech. With these rode Duquedin, joined through blood to Saladin, whose astonishing standard flaunted a pair of breeches. Duquedin of all Turks most fiercely hated Christians. He rode up leading his squadrons trailing yellow banners, pennoncels of divers shape and color, with great speed and clattering hooves. And savage blackamoors, Saracens of the heath, hideous to face, blacker than soot, each with his bow and round buckler, nimble, swift, eager to strike those who believed in Jesus Christ. How thunderous were these pagan drums? One could not have heard God’s own thunder, sang Ambroise the jongleur. To fend off this devil’s pack the Hospitalers marched backward and shouted with clear voices to Saint George for help. Few in the host did not wish this journey ended, knowing how they stood on slippery points. Bearded Turks that dismounted to shoot would get their heads sliced off, so palmers and filthy Muslims bundled together on the hard ground thick as stooks at harvest. Banners falling down and the windrow of heathen dead stretched half a league. So many sharp swords could be gathered, so many darts, arrows, maces, bolts enough to load a score of wagons. And the misbelievers fled yelping, climbed trees to escape, screeched worse than goblins when Franks levied them out to chop off their heads. Many cast themselves shrieking from cliffs. Everywhere these misbegotten dogs that would not accept Jesus Christ fell wounded, groaned, lamented their fate, weltered in gore, expelled one last breath, which mightily pleased the Lord.
Yet among these bloody heaps was found the body of James d’Avesnes about whom they said he was superior to Nestor in counsel, to Achilles in valor, to Regulus in faith. Round about him fifteen slain Turks, though not until his face was bathed could he be recognized. And there narrowly grouped three from his household asleep in our Lord. On that day a mettlesome knight looked toward Paradise and chose a place beside Saint James the Apostle whom he held to be his patron. Never was heard more lament, such mourning, not on the death of any man since Adam bit the apple, for James d’Avesnes did serve his God right well.
And the sultan told of his choice troops scattered was wrathful. He summoned his emirs to upbraid them. Ho! said he, addressing them with contempt. How splendid, how marvelous the feats of this army! Have my comrades profited from defiant boasting? Behold the Christian host wandering about Syria as it pleases. You found the battle you lusted for, but where is the victory you trumpeted? How low have we sunk beneath our noble ancestors, who waged such war against Christians, whose deeds will not be forgotten. Beside them we are not worth an egg.
At this reproach his emirs stood silent.
Now the host came down to Joppa and here was a port engorged with scabby women from Europe as though to divert them from the journey, to roil them, foment lust, multiply misdeeds. Whores established pavilions, beckoned stray birds to the nest, exchanged smooth bodies for gold, hoisted their ankles above their ears and caught with little screams the horns of butting rams. Ah! Ah, mercy! cries the jongleur. Should our Christian faith be reclaimed by such naked weaponry?
In November at Joppa it happened that King Richard wished to take the air with his falcons and went hawking. He meant also to note the proximity of Turks, should there be any, and seize them if he could. Anon he dismounted to rest awhile, as did those in his small company, and he went to sleep. Some Turks
