The Heart of the Lion - Plaidy Jean (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений txt) 📗

Immediately behind the King came the cavalry followed by the infantry with their bows and arrows. They divided and placing themselves so that the watching enemy could have a good view, they remained still while the two thousand five hundred Moslem prisoners were brought out. Their hands were tied behind their backs and cords held them all together.

There they stood in wretched knowledge of their fate.

The Mohammedans watched in incredulous horror while the cavalry advanced on the prisoners and drawing their swords, decapitated every one of them.

Saladin called to his troops. This hideous spectacle enraged them; he gave the order to advance on the enemy, but before they could collect themselves for the advance every one of the Moslem prisoners was dead. Richard then shouted to his men to prepare for the battle.

Saladin’s army and Richard’s armies met, but the attack was indecisive. Saladin was horrified by the result of his delaying tactics; Richard was remorseful. In a moment of fury he had commanded his men to do this bloody deed and he felt that it would live with him for ever. He must ask himself what Saladin would think of the man whom previously he had so much admired.

The skirmish was over and the two armies retired to their camps.

As was to be expected before long there was news that Saladin had slaughtered Christian prisoners as a reprisal.

Richard’s great desire was to leave Acre. Sometimes he believed he would never forget that place. He would never be able to get out of his nostrils the smell of decaying bodies; he would never be free from haunting memories of brave men who stared death in the face unflinchingly. Philip had perhaps been wise to leave.

The men were sullen; they had not wished to leave Acre, where they had lived in comfort within a city. They had food, wine and women, and no doubt believed that all they had suffered was worthwhile for this spell of luxurious living. But it was not what they had come crusading for.

They must march on. They had eighty miles to cover between Acre and Jaffa. It was not really a great distance, but when it was considered that Saladin’s army would harass them all the way, and they would be equally tormented by the heat and pests, it was a formidable undertaking.

When Richard told Berengaria that his stay in Acre was coming to an end, she said: ‘I shall be glad to leave this place.’

And he knew that she too was thinking of the slaughtered Moslems.

‘You will have to stay here,’ Richard told her. ‘It is unthinkable that you should undertake the march.’

‘Oh, no, Richard,’ she cried, ‘I want to be with you. You may need me.’

‘My dear wife, if you were with me, I should suffer such anxieties as would take my mind off my armies.’

She was pleased at the implication, but sad because she was aware that he had made up his mind not to take her.

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘you will stay here in the palace. You will be well guarded. Joanna and the little Cypriot Princess will be with you.’

‘Oh, Richard . . .’ she began sadly.

But he waved his hand to imply that the subject was closed. He must move on with his armies. She must remain in safety.

They had been together so little since their marriage. She knew of course that he had to devote himself to his armies; but could he not have spared a little time to be with her? She thought of the soldiers carousing with their women in the town. They had time for pleasure, why not Richard?

Alone in his apartment he thought of Berengaria and wished that he could have felt more tender towards her. But soon he dismissed her from his mind and was thinking of the march to Jaffa. He must set out soon, for to delay was dangerous. He thought of Saladin’s armies which would be waiting for him. What had Saladin thought when he saw his fellow countrymen slaughtered? But he had promised the ransom; the date for its delivery had passed. He would have learned by now that Richard was a man of his word. And he had retaliated by slaughtering the Christian prisoners in his camp. How many lives had been lost in this dispute?

Richard did not want to think of that. All the Christians who had died would now be in Heaven. And what of the Moslems? Had he sent them to Hell? Well, they would have gone there in any case.

He wondered what Philip’s verdict would have been. He had to stop thinking of Philip, and what would happen when he reached France. But he knew he could not trust him.

What was happening in England? A king should govern his own land, said Philip. But what if he had made a vow to restore the Holy Land to Christianity?

He was perplexed and ill at ease. Then he heard the strumming of a lute and a high treble voice singing a song – one of his, Richard’s, own compositions.

What a pleasant voice – so fresh, so young! On such lips the song sounded better than before.

He rose and went to the anteroom. There on a stool sat a fair youth gracefully playing his lute as he sang the words.

Suddenly he was aware of Richard. He started to his feet, flushing with embarrassment.

‘My lord, I fear my song disturbed you.’

‘Nay,’ said Richard, ‘it pleased me.’

‘’Tis a beautiful song, Sire.’

‘My own,’ answered the King. ‘I never heard it sung better.’

The boy lowered his eyes; there was delight in the gesture. It was as though he feared to gaze at such a dazzling figure.

‘Come,’ said the King, ‘let us sing it together. You take the first verse and I will answer you in the next.’

The boy lost his nervousness when singing, and together they harmonised.

Richard patted the boy’s flaxen curls.

‘Tell me your name,’ he said, ‘that I may ask for you to come and sing to me when I wish it.’

‘I am Blondel de Nesle, Sire,’ answered the boy.

None who had taken part in the march from Acre to Jaffa would ever forget it. The heat was intense, being one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade; armour became so heated by the sun that it burned the skin and gave additional torture to that suffered by the bites and stings of insects. The men’s dress was most unsuitable. The gambeson, a quilted garment made of linen, and sometimes leather, was padded with wool; over this was worn a hauberk with long sleeves and made of chain mail, attached to which was a hood which could be pulled up to cover the head. Beneath the hood a skull cap of iron was worn for protection and over this was a cone-shaped headpiece covering the wearer’s face with only a slit through which he could see. Beneath the armour was a long linen tunic, and in addition to these garments, the knight had his weapons to contend with. The sword, with its broad blade and square hilt, which was strapped to his side, was heavy; and very often in addition to his sword he would carry an iron hammer.

To march so accoutred added to the soldiers’ discomfort, and the watching Saracens were delighted to see the enemy so burdened that their speedy elimination seemed inevitable. In their own loose flowing robes, and accustomed to the weather as they were, they believed they were much better equipped for victory.

Richard, however, was not known as the greatest living general for nothing. He assessed the situation. His men would be protected in some measure by their heavy clothing and armour and if they marched but two miles a day and rested frequently they could endure the strain. He sent orders to the galleys containing food and other stores to sail along the coast keeping pace with the army. Thus what was needed would always be available during the journey.

No sooner had the march begun than the Saracens started their harassing tactics. To endure the terrific heat, the persistent thirst, the torment imposed on them by the insects would have been unbearable but for the courage of their leader who was always there to spur them on; and his knights seeking to emulate him were of great value to the King.