Виктория Холт - The Heart of the Lion

At Ramleh Richard discussed the position with the dukes and the knights. Those who knew something of the Palestine winter were certain that they must wait for the spring. An army could not progress through such rain as was customary in this land and the cold would be intense, also. Richard decided that they would spend the winter repairing the walls of cities which Saladin’s army had destroyed, while doing so making ready for the spring offensive.

It was depressing. He had reckoned on taking Jerusalem before Christmas and here he was in January still far from achieving that purpose.

They were in need of food and he believed that their ships would be lying off the coast of Ascalon so he ordered that they should leave at once for that town.

The journey was even worse than they had anticipated. The men were blinded by the rain; again and again their baggage sank in the mud; they cursed the climate and asked themselves which was worse, the heat of summer or this devastating rain, snow and cold which seeped into their bones.

Their spirits were not lifted when they arrived at Ascalon. The walls were in complete ruin, for Saladin, guessing they would wish to use this town, had done his best to make it uninhabitable. There was one hopeful sign. The supply ships had arrived but alas even in that they were thwarted, for it was impossible for the ships to land on account of the stormy weather.

So there they were, a dejected army – with food and other supplies in sight but unable to reach them.

Richard, always at his best in adversity, ordered them to occupy the town. They would take what was there, repair the walls and make the place habitable. The storms must subside at some time and then they would have their provisions.

They settled in and to inspire his men he himself joined them in the manual labour of repairing the walls.

Inspecting the men, taking a share in the work, he encouraged them to carry on and it was comforting to see a revival of spirits. He noticed however that Leopold, the Duke of Austria, was not working with the rest.

Coming face to face with the Duke who was strolling in a leisurely manner close to the wall where men were working, Richard said to him: ‘I do not see you joining with us in this necessary work, my lord Duke.’

‘You do not see me because I do not do it,’ answered Leopold. ‘My father was not a mason and I am not a carpenter.’

The Plantagenet temper boiled over. This was the kind of incident Richard was most anxious to avoid. The soldiers had suffered great hardship and he wanted them to know that this was understood and appreciated and shared by them all.

In a sudden rage he kicked the Duke of Austria on the shin so fiercely that he fell sprawling on the ground.

This affront to his dignity infuriated the Duke. He scrambled to his feet, scarlet with rage. Richard by now had stalked away.

‘A curse on you!’ shouted Leopold.

A few days later he and his men, which meant the German contingent, had left the crusade.

* * *

That was a dispiriting winter. The departure of Leopold of Austria in high dudgeon was followed by that of the Duke of Burgundy who, finding himself short of money, had asked Richard to lend him some. He had believed, he explained, that he would have had his share of the ransom for the prisoners of Acre which he had been relying on. Now that it was lost, because in his wrath Richard had slain the prisoners of that city there was no money forthcoming from Saladin, and Burgundy, like many others, was finding himself in difficulties.

Richard who had lent him money at Acre and not been repaid refused to help him. So infuriated was the Duke that he went off taking the French contingent with him and declaring his intention to join Montferrat.

His plans going wrong, victory seeming far away, Richard longed for an end of inactivity.

With the coming of the spring he would go forward to Jerusalem; surely this year would see victory.

Letters came from Queen Eleanor. The news they contained was very disturbing. She expressed her fears with vehemence. There was trouble in England. The people deplored the long absence of their King. Philip of France was being over friendly with Richard’s brother John; and there was no doubt that John had his eyes on the throne and had a good chance of getting it if Richard did not come home to prevent him.

‘You cannot wish to lose your crown,’ wrote his mother, ‘and if you want to keep it you must come back to England without delay. There is no time to lose.’

When Richard read those letters he was thrown into a state of terrible indecision. At one moment he was almost on the point of returning home; at another he was telling himself it would be folly to go now that he was so near to Jerusalem.

While he was pondering on this Conrad de Montferrat asked for an audience and Richard immediately granted it.

What hatred Montferrat harboured against him! He could sense it. He felt weary. This man had made a split in the crusaders’ army.

‘You came,’ said Richard, ‘not to fight for God but for yourself.’

‘Who does not?’ replied Montferrat. ‘Some achieve great conquests like the Island of Cyprus. Others are content with less. And we do our duty to God at the same time as to ourselves.’

‘You must know that before the King of France left we made a treaty that Guy de Lusignan should be King of Jerusalem during his lifetime and then you and your heirs should follow him.’

‘I wish to be King of Jerusalem during my lifetime.’

‘And if I do not agree?’

‘Many of your men are already with me. I have the Dukes of Austria and Burgundy with their followers to swell my ranks. There are others.’

Yes, thought Richard sadly, there are others.

He curbed his temper and instead of shouting abuse at Montferrat which he might have done a short time before, he said: ‘I will consider this matter.’

When Montferrat had left him he thought of the trouble in England and he knew that his mother was right when she said he should come home.

What if he should reconquer Jerusalem and lose England?

I will not, he assured himself fiercely; but something within him told him he could not have both ... not yet.

So later when he was urged by his counsellors to forget his promise to Guy de Lusignan and bestow the crown of Jerusalem on Conrad de Montferrat he surprised himself by his agreement.

He sent for Guy and wearily told him what he had agreed to.

‘But, my friend,’ he said, ‘do not despair. The crown of Jerusalem has yet to be won and it would have been yours but for a lifetime. I have a better proposition for you. Suppose you were King of Cyprus now, and your heirs followed you to the throne. Would that please you as much as the crown of Jerusalem?’

Guy replied that spiritually nothing could compare with the crown of Jerusalem; but he believed he would please God best by pleasing his King, for his duty was to serve him while he was on earth. He would accept the crown of Cyprus and he could see that by bestowing the as yet unattained crown of Jerusalem on Montferrat Richard had taken from a treacherous enemy a reason for breaking away from the crusading army.

Richard embraced Guy. He had always known that he could rely on him.

Richard firmly believed that, when shortly after this Conrad de Montferrat was murdered, this was by the hand of God who had no wish to see him reign over the Holy City.

There was a strange company of men and women who lived in the Lebanese mountains. They had a religion of their own and over them ruled a despotic dictator whom none of them dared disobey. Any who did so was instantly killed; and this did not only apply to those of his own sect. Occasionally they came down from the mountains and took a part in affairs which were likely to affect them.

They were called the Hashashen; this implied that they took a certain drug which was reputed to give men twice their normal strength and to rob them of all fear.

It was unwise to offend them – a fact which Montferrat had chosen to ignore, for while he was in control of Tyre one of the ships belonging to the Head of the Hashashen, who was generally known as The Old Man of the Mountains, had been in trouble off the coast. Instead of going to its rescue Montferrat and his men had refused help to the ship and had, moreover, robbed it of its cargo and allowed its sailors to drown.

The ‘Old Man’ was a title which was handed down from one head of this Ismaelite tribe to another. It meant the supreme head, whose word was law. The tribe was notorious throughout the middle east, for it was one of the most powerful sects in that area.

There were many legends about the tribe. They had existed it was said in the days of Christ and their way of life had remained unchanged through the centuries. Another legend – but this was said to be true – was that the Old Man had created a Garden which was a replica of the Mohammedan paradise. In the most exquisite setting were flowering trees and luscious fruit growing in abundance. Palaces of great beauty had been erected there. Among the trees wandered the most beautiful girls, to dance, to sing or to delight in any manner possible. Delicate perfumes wafted through the air. Everything that could enchant had been thought of.

It was ancient custom to seek through the world certain young men whose characters indicated that they would best serve the tribe. These would be brought to the Old Man to sup with him and during the meal the visitors would fall into a heavy sleep. They would wake up in the garden and there they would live for several weeks until one day they would once more go into a heavy sleep, awaking from which they would find themselves shut out of the Paradise Gardens.

After experiencing paradise there was no peace to be found outside.

‘You can earn your way back,’ said the Old Man, ‘by fulfilling a task I shall set you.’

The task was invariably murder. Someone had offended the Old Man and must be removed. When the murder had been satisfactorily committed the murderer would be given another spell in the gardens before being sent out on a new task.

The result was that the Old Man had his assassins planted in all manner of places and none felt safe from him.

The kings and rulers of the neighbourhood paid tribute to the Old Man knowing full well that if they did not comply with his wishes disaster would fall upon them.

Thus the sect grew rich and powerful and more and more young men were carried to the garden so that any offence committed against the Old Man brought its swift retribution.

Montferrat should have known better than to steal the cargo of the ship; had he gone to the succour of that sinking ship, had he done his best to salvage the goods, he would not have suffered an untimely death just as he was about to realise his ambition.

Montferrat had dined rather well with the Bishop of Beauvais and was going home to his palace with a few of his close friends who had been with him throughout the evening.

As he was about to enter the palace two shadowy shapes emerged from behind a pillar. They fell upon the Count and plunged their daggers into his body.

The palace guards quickly killed one of the assassins, but the other escaped – not with any hope of getting away, for he hid behind the altar in the nearby church and when the body of Montferrat was carried in he rushed from his hiding place and thrust his dagger again and again into the dead body.

The assassin was seized and submitted to horrible torture with rack, screw and fire but he refused to say a word nor did he utter a cry of protest.

There were many who believed that Richard had ordered the deed to be done, but the manner of the crime and the fact that the Old Man of the Mountains had a grudge against the Count made it almost certain that he was behind the attack.

With Montferrat dead Richard wondered whether it would be wise to bestow on Guy de Lusignan the as yet unconquered Jerusalem; but another claimant had come into the picture. This was Count Henry of Champagne who, since he was the nephew of both Richard and Philip of France, seemed the ideal successor. He was popular, too, and when it was suggested that he should marry Montferrat’s widow this seemed a happy solution to the affair.

Richard was agreeable, for he knew that he could trust Henry of Champagne as he never could have trusted Montferrat and as Guy was satisfied with Cyprus, the assassination of Montferrat brought nothing but good to Richard – which was probably why the rumour started that he – not the Old Man of the Mountains – had been responsible for the murder.