Lionheart's Scribe (16 page)

Meanwhile King Richard is busy having his coat of arms chiseled into the walls throughout the city and King Philip is just as industriously inscribing his. King Richard's lions and King Philip's fleursde-lis sit defiantly next to each other in some places and menace each other from opposing sides of archways in others. I have begun to see another emblem as well, one that is not so controversial. It shows two arms, crossed, with the palms of the hands open and facing forward. Between the hands sits a cross with four smaller crosses filling the spaces between its branches. People are calling it the Crusader Cross. It is a pleasing emblem, I think.

The twenty-ninth day of July

King Philip is ill. He is talking about leaving!

The thirty-first day of July

King Philip has left Acre. Conrad has gone with him to Tyre, then King Philip will set sail for France. His departure is being looked upon by most of the crusaders as a treacherous desertion and a cowardly failure to fulfill his pilgrim's vow. I hear talk that he has been even more traitorous and has been secretly negotiating a treaty with Salah-ud-Din. King Richard does not believe this to be true, however, as King Philip took only three galleys with him and left the rest of his army and treasure here for Duke Hugh of Burgundy.

King Richard, in fact, does not seem as angry as he might have been. He is now the supreme commander of all the crusading forces and, in his own words, King Philip was to him “like a hammer tied to the tail of a cat.” A weapon that was often out of control.

All efforts are now being made to see that Salah-ud-Din implements the terms of the treaty made by his officers at Acre. I wonder if Rashid is there. If he is, I know he will be working to ensure that his fellow soldiers are released as soon as possible. Why is Salah-ud-Din taking so long? Perhaps he is having trouble collecting such a large sum of money and bringing together all of the prisoners captured by the Muslim forces. The first installment of the ransom must be paid by the twentieth day of August, however. King Richard is inflexible about that.

The nineteenth day of August

We have had nothing to do but wait these past weeks. I have not even written in this journal as I keep expecting something to happen, but there has been no move by Salah-ud-Din to pay the ransom or release the prisoners. Indeed, a rumor is running wildly through our camp that he has killed them all. I do not believe it. The mood here is ugly, however. King Richard is champing at the bit to leave Acreand march on to Jerusalem, but he cannot leave three thousand Muslim soldiers here as prisoners. There would simply not be enough men to guard them. Also, Salah-ud-Din holds the True Cross from Jerusalem in his possession and he steadfastly refuses to even discuss returning it. The cross is too good a bargaining tool, it seems.

King Richard has been conferring with the other nobles late into the night. I was dismissed shortly after they arrived. That is unusual. What is transpiring that the king wants no record of?

The twentieth day of August

I do not know how to write this. Indeed, King Richard has not asked me to and I wonder if he will. But I have to record what has happened, even though to do so causes me anguish. I will set down an account here in my own journal.

It seems that the king's council last night came to a terrible decision. By noon today, the deadline, Salah-ud-Din's envoys had not appeared with either ransom or prisoners, much less with the True Cross. At that hour trumpets sounded and King Richard marched his army out of Acre. They formed what looked to be a guard of honor on the fields outside the walls. I ran to a spot I know of on top of one of the walls where I could see what was going on. I had no idea what would happen next.

What did happen was that all three thousand prisoners were marched out and arranged in rows before the soldiers. The wounded were dragged out on litters. They stayed there, in the searingmidday heat, for several long moments. No one moved. I could not believe the silence that descended on the field. Then the trumpets sounded again and with ear-splitting war cries the soldiers fell upon the prisoners. They hacked and slashed. The prisoners screamed. I watched, unable to turn my head away, until not one Muslim soldier was left alive.

The priests, at mass this evening, explained it to us. “The lives of unbelievers are of no account,” they said. “They are, in any case, doomed to hell.” It seemed that they even believed there to be virtue in our hastening the process. “The Christian glories in the death of a pagan,” Father Aimar preached, “because thereby Christ himself is glorified.”

I think about the gentle teaching of our Lord Jesus, the Christ, and I cannot believe this. I must weep.

How will Rashid feel when he hears about this? He will think he deserted his fellow soldiers and left them to their deaths. For the rest of his life he will carry with him the guilt of having escaped this execution. And he will blame me. He will never forgive me for helping him escape. When he thinks of me now, it will be with hatred because of what I persuaded him to do.

The twenty-first day of August

We march tomorrow for Jerusalem. King Richard will wait no longer for Salah-ud-Din to honor the truce agreement. Indeed, after the massacre of the Muslim soldiers, there is no possibility of his doingso. This means, of course, that the Christian prisoners held by the sultan will probably be massacred as well.

I was summoned to the king's pavilion early this morning. He was unshaven—very unusual for him—and very curt with me.

“Write this,” he commanded. “On the twentieth day of August, after we had waited in vain for the Muslim Salah-ud-Din to exchange prisoners according to the terms of the truce agreement, the Muslim prisoners were executed.”

“That is all?” I stammered.

He glared at me. “That is all. What more is there?” Then he dismissed me.

What more is there? The bodies of the Muslim soldiers lie rotting in the sun outside our gates. No doubt the bodies of our soldiers lie dead in the hills above us. All these men, some no older than I, slaughtered. Those details may not be important enough to be recorded in King Richard's history, but they will be in mine.

The twenty-second day of August

King Richard led the crusading army out of Acre this morning. It was an impressive sight. Trumpets sounded, banners flew. The procession was colorful, gaudy and noisy. Triumphant. We picked our way around the bodies.

I was called to the king's pavilion at the break of day. There, a surprise awaited me.

“I must have you by my side,” the king said. “Can you ride?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered. Actually, I can't, but I figured riding couldn't be too hard. Get up on the back of a horse and just sit there. I know now that there is a deal more to it than that. Fortunately I did not fall off, but I had to hang on for my life whenever the beast broke into the least kind of a trot, and I will sleep on my stomach tonight. I have blisters the size of copper coins on my backside. How I will ride again tomorrow I do not know, but I will. To ride at the side of the king of England—never in my wildest imaginings could I ever have thought of that.

My mind is in a welter of confusion though. I still admire King Richard. He is the world's greatest soldier, I believe that. But how could he murder those men? Death in battle I can begin to understand, but a cold-blooded execution such as that?

We must get on with the crusade. I know we could not have left those prisoners behind in Acre. My mind can provide all the rational arguments, but it also shows me pictures of death.

King Richard, it would seem, thinks no more about it. Only about the path we must take now.

The twenty-third day of August

I am in such pain that I cannot think. I had to take the king's dictation this evening standing up. He raised his eyebrows at that, but said nothing. He did, however, direct me to speak to his doctor when we were finished. The healer gave me a salve which is helping, I hope.

The twenty-fourth day of August

The pain has subsided somewhat. The blisters are healing.

The twenty-sixth day of August

My backside is toughening up. I am also finding it easier to ride my horse and roll with the motion. Now that my brain is not totally centered on the pain in my rear I find that riding is most enjoyable. I am even sitting as I write this—on a pillow, mind, but sitting.

King Richard has chosen to lead us down the coast to Jaffa. From there we will head inland to Jerusalem. It would have been foolhardy to head directly for the Holy City, he explained. The land is hilly and we depend on the ships that follow along beside us for our supplies. We are no longer safe behind fortifications or walls, however, and it is certain that the Turkish cavalry is keeping pace with us in the hills on the landward side. I am hearing tales from the old campaigners about the renown of this Turkish cavalry. Everyone who has come up against it speaks of it with awe. The Turks never had a real opportunity to demonstrate their cavalry skills at Acre, but here, in open country, we are at their mercy. How long will they allow us to proceed before they attack? I cannot help thinking that this time, if there is a battle, I will not be watching from a hilltop or a parapet. I will be in it.

The king has not allowed any women other than washerwomen to accompany us. The two queensand, of course, Yusra have stayed in Acre. I hope Yusra will do nothing foolish.

I wonder now about this Holy War we have embarked on. “God wills it!” is the battle cry we ride with. We must believe that. If we do not, it is all insanity.

The twenty-seventh day of August

Salah-ud-Din attacked this morning! We had just set out and the sun was beginning to burn when suddenly, out of the hills, came a tremendous blaring of horns and screaming. Almost before we could tighten our ranks a band of horsemen swept down upon us. The famous Turkish cavalry! The sight was enough to panic anyone and it certainly panicked me. My first instinct was to flee, but I was riding right in the center of the column, just behind King Richard, and I was surrounded by men. There was nowhere to go even if I could have figured out how to make my horse go there.

The attack lasted but a few minutes—it was more of a skirmish than a battle—then the horsemen wheeled their mounts around and disappeared back into the hills. One of the foot soldiers who guard our left flank was pierced by an arrow, but he survived. No one was killed. Throughout the day, however, the attacks became more frequent and we suffered more casualties. Although those of us who ride in the center of the column are out of range of the arrows—the flanking soldiers bear the brunt of the attacks—my heart still leaped into my throat atevery new onslaught. War is not something one gets used to.

I am beginning to learn a little about the tactics of warfare. The king has organized the knights in three divisions and has protected our left flank with the infantry, both spearmen and bowmen. I can see that this strategy is the most logical. The problem, however, is that we must go at the foot soldiers' pace, which is excruciatingly slow and makes us easy targets for the Turks. It is hard to move along so sluggishly, just waiting for each attack. Because the Turks are on horseback, they use light bows and their arrows cannot pierce through the knights' mail, but they stick in. I saw a knight this morning riding on the left flank who had so many arrows protruding from his armor that he looked like a hedgehog. Unperturbed, however, he simply pulled them out one by one and tossed them to the nearest of our archers. The horses are more vulnerable, however, as they are less well armored. Our archers, not being mounted, carry heavier bows and more powerful arrows, but the Turkish horsemen dart in and out again so quickly they have little time to shoot.

The foot soldiers wear no mail, only thick leather jerkins and tunics. This clothing is heavy enough to deflect most of the Turkish arrows, but the men are still suffering casualties. For this reason the king has divided them into two groups. One group marches on the left and shields us. The other group marches on the right and has an easier time of it, walking beside the baggage train between the knights and the sea. Then the two groups alternate. King Richard has passed down strict orders that the army is to keep in close formation and ignore all provocations. No one is to break ranks. These are obviously good tactics, but they seem to wear on the men's patience.

The Knights Hospitaler and the Knights Templar are protecting our rear, as these are the soldiers with the most experience of warfare in this country. They are formidable men. I have heard much about them. Both these orders were originally created in connection with the Temple and with the Hospital of St. John in the early days of the Christian Kingdom of Jerusalem. The men who belong to them now, therefore, have been born and brought up in this land and know it well. At first they helped and protected pilgrims. The orders were originally composed of monks who employed knights to guard the travelers, and then the knights themselves joined. Now, I understand, there are practically no monks left within the Knights Hospitaler and Templar at all, and they have become great military armies—the chief fighting force in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, in fact, and the best of all possible fighters. They are haughty and proud men, however, and do not associate over much with the king's regular knights and nobles. Even though they are King Guy's vassals, they will not acknowledge obedience to him, but only to their own Grand Masters.

I must confess I am in awe of them and keep well out of their way. They are not above striking down any unfortunate person who gets in their path.

The twenty-ninth day of August

We have marched past Haifa and over the ridge of Mount Carmel to Caesarea. The heat is intense and our heavily armored men are suffering badly. The horses are not doing well either. They are huge beasts and not accustomed to this weather. Salah-ud-Din has been before us wherever we go. All the fortresses have been burned to the ground and the crops destroyed. It is fortunate that we have the ships to supply us. Many men have succumbed to sunstroke, however, and I am also sick, but not too sick to perform my duties. Every evening I attend the king and faithfully record the number of casualties we are experiencing.