King Richard invited the couple to Ascalon but Henry chose to loiter where he was, having at once fallen in love with his pregnant bride.
Now came news of Saladin distracted by revolt in Mesopotamia. Richard therefore thought to take advantage of the moment and attack Daron six or eight leagues down the coast. By sea and land he advanced toward Daron and of a Sunday pitched his tent. Saracens emerged from the fort shouting insults but prudently retired to bar the gates. In a little while English ships arrived with catapults and other engines, all disjointed. Richard and his lords did not shrink from carrying some piece of timber half a league. When this machinery was in place they undertook to destroy the fort.
After much pounding a gate broke apart. Many Turks fell groaning on the earth. Three vile misbelievers came out to sue for peace, offering to yield in exchange for their lives, but Richard would not. Defend yourselves, said he. And beneath heavy blows a tower fell, which brought forth God’s enemies scrambling like mice in all directions. Some got away, but first cut the sinews of horses to render them useless. Now the living host entered Daron. First came Seguin Borret, followed by the equerry Ospiard who carried his armor. Next, a Gascon named Peter. As to the next, chronicles are silent. Turkish banners came down while that of Stephen de Longchamp unfurled, that belonging to the earl of Leicester, that of Andrew de Chavegui. Next the Pisans and Genoese lifted standards. Forty Christian captives were discovered languishing in shackles. Some three hundred enemies had sought refuge in the principal tower and Richard set close guard around them. Whitsuntide he ordered them out, hands strapped behind their backs so tight they roared with pain. Many tasted the sword, others hurled into the ditch.
So quickly did Richard take this fort that his pilgrims were encouraged. They spoke of marching a second time against Jerusalem, English and Franks together. But there was disquieting news from England. A cleric arrived to say the king’s brother fomented treason, abetted by Philip Augustus. Chancellor William was driven out of the realm into Normandy and the king’s exchequer emptied, save what might be concealed in churches.
With the army bivouacked at Ybelin, near that valley where Anna the grandmother of Jesus was born, Richard took himself wearily to bed. And while he lay pensive in his tent, not knowing what course to follow, he noticed the chaplain William of Poictou. It appeared that the chaplain wept. And having asked the cause, King Richard was told that throughout camp were muttered rumors of his leaving.
Ah, Sire, may the day never come, said William. May never this reproach be charged against thee. On how many occasions hath God honored thee, since first I saw thee count of Poitiers. Dost recall the great emprises? The multitude of captives? Messina, which thou didst seize, and when thou overcame the Grecian rabble. But fifteen days it took to conquer Cyprus, which none other dared essay. Recall, too, the mighty Saracen vessel in Acre’s harbor that thou took with little galleys, at which time the serpents drowned. How often hath God succored thee! Sire, dost understand why God spared thee the sickness which prevailed, that was named Leonardie, against which no physician helped, and other princes died? Recall these things, Richard, King of England, and so guard this holy land whereof thou hast been appointed guardian. For all did He commit to thee since the French king departed. Now do all that love thy honor say of one accord, great or small, that thou art wont to be father to Christendom. And do thou forsake this land, then is Christendom betrayed.
Thus the chaplain had his say and took the king to school, such a sermon was he preached. To it Richard answered not a word, nor did they that sat in his pavilion open their mouths unless to wonder. But the king thought hard against himself and his heart changed. He returned to Ascalon with his army, camping among the orchards. There he told the duke of Burgundy and other high lords that not for any need that would arise, nor any message or messenger, nor upon any quarrel, would he depart the land before Eastertide. He summoned Philip the herald, publisher of his bans, causing it to be cried throughout the city that all should prepare themselves, with all that God bestowed, for straightway against Jerusalem would they go and lay siege.
Pilgrims held up their hands while they listened to the herald. O God, they prayed, we adore Thee and thank Thee that we shall come to Jerusalem where the Turks have dwelt so long! Deserved have been our tribulations, our sufferings! Yet shall we be recompensed by the sight of the Holy City!
Such were the prayers they lifted to heaven. Each got himself ready for the campaign, humble pilgrims fastening bags of food about their necks. All seemed in harmony with their intent.
Sunday at dawn, Octave of the Holy Trinity, they went out from Ascalon, a chosen people nobly arrayed, issuing slowly because of the heat. Banners and pennons flew, men from varied nations bearing arms of different shape, crested helmets alight with jewels, gleaming mail, shields embossed with lions rampant, flying dragons. And sumpter beasts burned with indignation at being checked, so eager were
