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  Just before he embarked for home Philip swore that he would not attack Richard’s lands or people while he was away—as a crusader, in theory, the king of England’s territory was under the protection of the Church. As time would show this was not a promise that Philip kept, and the threat of his interference in Angevin lands proved a constant distraction for Richard over the next couple of years. The bulk of the French crusaders remained in the East, now under the command of Duke Hugh of Burgundy.

  As Richard oversaw the reconstruction of Acre’s defenses the Muslims dragged out fulfilling the terms of surrender. Saladin seemed in no hurry to gather the Frankish prisoners together or to locate and hand over the True Cross. Several weeks passed by and after repeated requests for information, Richard believed that Saladin was simply playing for time. The longer Richard remained at Acre, the better the sultan could prepare his defenses elsewhere and gather more men to attack the crusaders on their march south. Around August 19 Richard called a council to debate the matter and the meeting resolved to kill all the Muslim prisoners, excepting the most important who could be ransomed. The following day 2,700 men were marched out in front of Saladin’s camp and beheaded in cold blood. The stark, straightforward brutality of this act is one of the most controversial incidents of the entire crusading period. One hundred years later, in June 1291, the slaughter of Christians at Acre was justified by the Muslims as revenge for Richard’s actions; modern commentators also cite it as a landmark of western savagery.40 Why, then, did the king and his council order such an act? Some writers state that it was done to avenge the thousands of Christians who died at the siege of Acre between 1189 and 1191, although this seems rather a long delay between the capture of the city and the executions for such an emotional response. Practical strategic reasons were probably more prominent—even Beha ad-Din mentioned both Saladin’s hesitation and the fact that the Christians would not want to guard and feed so many prisoners with the main army absent to the south.41 With every passing day the king could see the impetus from his victory ebbing away. The chance to capitalize on this hammer blow to Saladin’s prestige was fading and the Muslims were obviously steeling themselves to make his next task even harder. Seen in these terms, Saladin’s delaying tactics gave the crusaders little choice. While one could indicate that the sultan had butchered knights of the Military Orders after the Battle of Hattin, his eventual decision to show mercy to the inhabitants of Jerusalem was some form of counterbalance. Some westerners condemned the episode; for example, Ansbert, the author of an account of Frederick Barbarossa’s crusade, and Sicard of Cremona argued that they should have been made slaves.42

  To the watching Muslims the slaughter of their friends and coreligionists was an appalling and horrific experience. While the struggle at Acre had been extraordinarily hard there is no doubt that the massacre of so many prisoners in such a terrible fashion ratcheted up the religious intensity of the conflict considerably. Over the next few months, any crusaders—men or women—unfortunate enough to fall into Muslim hands were summarily executed—this need for vengeance demanded an outlet.43

  Within Acre itself, boredom had taken hold of the crusaders. Churchmen complained that the men became consumed by lust: prostitutes were readily available and this, combined with heavy drinking, had brought on a collapse in morality. The authorities acted and when the orders to march south were given the only women permitted to travel were elderly laundresses and flea-pickers.44

  THE MARCH TO JAFFA AND THE BATTLE OF ARSUF

  On August 22 the host set out along the coast in immaculate formation. King Richard was in the vanguard, King Guy and the Military Orders were in the center with the French contingent at the rear. A baggage train marched between the fighting men and the sea, and those who carried the equipment often swapped duties with colleagues in the main force to share the burden. Alongside the army a fleet provided essential supplies; this in itself was a feat worthy of praise because the prevailing wind in the eastern Mediterranean runs from south to north, requiring the ships to tack into the breeze.

  The conditions on the march were terrible—the heat was oppressive and there was constant harassment from the Muslims. Ambroise vividly described the Muslim way of fighting, praising their horses: “there are no better anywhere in the world; they seem to fly like swallows,” and cursing their tactics: “When the Turk is followed he cannot be reached. Then he is like a venomous fly; when chased he flees; turn back and he follows.”45 Beha ad-Din admired the Christians’ stoicism as they endured a relentless series of forays and suffered constant bombardment with arrows and missiles, a scene played out to a constant throbbing drumbeat and the braying of bugles. Losses of horses were particularly grim and the crusaders themselves began to resemble pincushions with as many as ten arrows or crossbow bolts protruding from their chain mail. Ambroise claimed that “never did rain or snow or hail falling in the heart of winter fall so densely as did the bolts which flew and killed our horses—many would know if I was lying; there you could have gathered the bolts in armfuls like the gleaners gathering the corn in cut fields.”46 The need to remain fully armed caused sunstroke to become commonplace and more and more men were evacuated to the ships. Yet the crusaders trudged onward and as the army moved past Haifa, Mount Carmel, and Caesarea, Saladin realized that he needed to halt its progress sooner rather than later.

  Just through the forest north of Arsuf lies a plain and there Saladin massed his forces, gathered from Egypt (the crusaders marveled at the black-skinned Nubians), the Jazira, and all across Syria. With the drums, cymbals, and trumpets at full volume, thousands of Muslims hammered through the dust toward the crusader army. Again and again they charged up, poured their arrows into the Christian host, and wheeled away. Saladin’s holy men roused the jihad spirit in his troops and for a while the sultan believed that he had his enemy cornered.47 This was certainly the most intense bombardment faced by the crusaders and the discipline required not to react tested the knights’ patience to its absolute limits. Their sense of honor screamed at them to cast aside strict military protocol. The Hospitaller master shouted: “St George, will you let us be defeated like this?” He rode up to Richard and complained about the shame of the situation, as well as marking the huge losses of horses. “Put up with it, Master,” was the curt response. Richard recalled the need for caution instilled into him as a youth, and he did not want to respond to the Muslims because a shapeless pursuit would break his ranks and present Saladin with an opportunity to obliterate the crusader forces. The king wanted to charge on his terms and had prepared a prearranged signal—yet he did not get to use it: a Hospitaller and an English knight charged of their own accord. So tense were the nearby units that they followed suit and hurled themselves after the enemy. Richard reacted immediately: even though his plan was in ruins he was sharp enough to realize that a charge from only one section of the Christian army would likely be defeated and he too thundered into the Muslims “faster than the bolt from a crossbow,” as Ambroise eulogized.48 The massive impetus of the crusader charge, so potent in theory, but so rarely unleashed in the Levant, smashed into Saladin’s troops and its impact was devastating. Richard himself “did such deeds at that time that all around him, behind and beside were the bodies of Saracens who fell dead.”49 The center of the Muslim army was punched back and the survivors took to wholesale flight leaving a trail of slain soldiers and horses. Some rallied, however, most notably Saladin’s own elite Mamluk units, marked out by their yellow banners, and these men offered fierce resistance and killed a number of knights. Another push by the crusaders inflicted further losses on the Muslims and by then the Christians had the field of battle to themselves. While the Muslim casualties were nowhere near enough to break Saladin’s strength, once again the sultan’s aura of success had been breached and his despondency and frustration were manifest to all in his entourage.

  The crusaders reached Jaffa (just south of modern Tel Aviv) where they had to make an important strategic decision—s
hould they carry on south and take the mighty fortress of Ascalon, thus threatening Saladin’s communications with Egypt, or should they go directly to Jerusalem? Richard, ever the strategist, opted for the former, but the French forces and the majority of the army wanted to aim for the holy city itself. Jaffa was refortified—although in the course of this work boatloads of prostitutes arrived from Acre to bring “an increase in the army of sin and filth, ugly deeds and lust . . . what bad shields and defences with which to reconquer the land and heritage of God,” complained Ambroise.50

  THE FIRST ATTEMPT ON JERUSALEM: THE LIONHEART THWARTED

  Over the next few weeks, Richard’s caution was again manifest. To ensure the advance on Jerusalem could be properly sustained he carefully rebuilt several fortresses along the route. As he inched toward the holy city an intense diplomatic exchange began to take place; in tandem with the bloodshed of holy war a dialogue proposed a peaceful settlement. Admittedly, the agendas of the various parties were wildly different. Beha ad-Din reported that Saladin really favored the continuation of the jihad because he feared that if he died the Franks would ignore any deal and carry on fighting. The Christians were deeply divided: Conrad of Montferrat negotiated with Saladin to try to enhance his power and he even raised the prospect of attacking the crusaders left in Acre. For his part, Richard was probably most concerned to discover any weaknesses in the Muslim camp. At times his proposals for the division of Jerusalem—such as shared custody of the city and a corridor of land to the coast—have a surprisingly modern ring to them. He was certainly in close contact with Saladin’s brother, Saphadin. The two men met on several occasions, exchanging gifts and learning of their mutual love of music. They were described as parting “in amity and in good spirits as firm friends,” and at one event Richard knighted some of Saphadin’s Mamluks, bestowing the ultimate honor for a western knight on his opponent’s finest troops.51

  Probably Richard’s most outlandish scheme involved the marriage of his sister, Joan, to Saphadin. The couple would rule the coast, the castles of the land, and Jerusalem, but the Military Orders were to hold all the villages and Richard was to return home. Saladin himself was skeptical as to the seriousness of the idea but agreed to it anyway; the one person not consulted was Joan and she, predictably, was furious. She demanded that Saphadin convert to Christianity before they were wed—how else could she allow him to have carnal knowledge of her? The plan never progressed far but the principle of shared ownership of the land and Richard’s insistence on a Christian presence in Jerusalem while the Muslims kept the Dome of the Rock would be endlessly revisited over the next few months. Both sides were feeling the pressure of this sustained conflict; physically, financially, and politically (in terms of keeping their forces together) this was a struggle of epic proportions.

  Between October 30 and December 22, 1191, the crusaders advanced only about forty miles. Torrential rains and cold brought great misery to both sides with more losses of animals and supplies. Just before Christmas they reached Beit Nuba, a day’s ride from Jerusalem. There was a burst of optimism: “God, we thank you! Now we will see your Sepulchre!”52 But the local Franks and the knights of the Military Orders began to express ever deeper reservations about the wisdom of laying siege to the city. The Christians were scared that Saladin would surround them as he had done at Acre; they also feared that their supply lines to the coast would be cut. Furthermore, they suggested that if they gained control of the holy city it would be very hard to hold on to; by definition, crusading was a temporary condition—after fulfilling his vow the crusader returned home, leaving insufficient men to reinforce Jerusalem. One alternative was to refortify Ascalon, thereby damaging Saladin’s contact with Egypt and confirming Frankish control of the seaboard.

  On January 13, 1192, the retreat was announced—a calamity to the rank and file. They had struggled so hard to get (literally) within sight of their goal, and to reject what appeared a real chance to regain Christ’s sepulchre for the faithful caused profound melancholy and mutters of discontent. Most of the French left immediately and went to Acre. Richard moved down to Ascalon where his fractious army tried to rebuild the city. The Pisans and the Genoese, allies of Richard and Philip respectively, also came to blows, demonstrating further the frustrations and tensions that permeated throughout the Christian forces.

  The spring sailing season brought bad news. Messengers from England announced that Prince John was trying to take control of the land and had removed all the king’s counselors and ransacked the treasuries. Richard’s departure would have brought the campaign in the Holy Land to a grinding halt; without his powerful personality and leadership qualities the will to fight on would disappear. The need to consider a peaceful settlement became even more pressing, therefore. On top of this, the situation among the nobles of Jerusalem had also deteriorated. In spite of the agreement that Guy could remain king for life it was apparent that he enjoyed little confidence from the local nobility. Conrad, for all his double-dealing, was a man who they believed understood war. They pleaded with Richard to change the earlier agreement and to become reconciled with the marquis, who it must also be remembered was a clear partisan of the French. Ever the pragmatist, Richard reluctantly acknowledged the desires of the Frankish nobility and dispatched messengers to tell Conrad of his change of heart. The news was greeted with considerable enthusiasm in the Frankish cities and gave the Christians a renewed sense of purpose for the forthcoming campaigning season—perhaps with greater unity they might achieve some success. Guy was not left entirely empty-handed because Richard managed to sell him Cyprus. The Templars had proven heavy-handed rulers and the locals attempted to massacre the garrison of Nicosia. The master realized his men could not control the island and he turned it over to Richard, who promptly made a deal with Guy, who retained his royal status and began a period of Lusignan rule on the island that would last until the 1470s.53

  Conrad himself was understandably delighted but, on the evening of April 28, as he took a stroll along the streets of Tyre following dinner with the bishop of Beauvais, two men set upon him. The marquis was caught entirely unawares and his assailants slashed and stabbed at him. People rushed to help and one of the attackers was killed, but it was too late and Conrad died of his wounds. The other assailant claimed that he worked for the Old Man of the Mountains, the master of the Assassins, who held a longstanding grudge against the marquis for seizing one of their ships at the port of Tyre. Other sources suspected Richard’s involvement, but simply murdering the marquis would have been an extremely foolish way to nullify the recent arrangements. Given the inevitable backlash it was unlikely that the king really was responsible; nonetheless, his well-known animosity toward Conrad and the hatred of Leopold of Austria and Philip of France ensured that “news” of his complicity in the murder soon became commonplace around Europe.

  One further consequence of Conrad’s murder was that Isabella—as the surviving member of the ruling house of Jerusalem—was obliged to face a third marriage. Count Henry of Champagne was a prominent crusader and he was a nephew of both King Richard and King Philip. This, combined with his experience and popularity, meant that he was an ideal candidate to rule Jerusalem. Richard consented to the plan, although he was not convinced that Henry should marry Isabella because of the immorality of her marriage to Conrad; presumably the king was worried about the legitimacy of any offspring. The Franks of the Holy Land had no such concerns and they urged Henry to wed the heiress. Isabella was famed for her beauty: “as fair as a gemstone,” avowed Ambroise, and the count stated his desire to marry her. “I would have done the same,” volunteered Ambroise, making his own feelings toward the princess perfectly clear.54 A French bishop performed the marriage and the citizens of Acre gave Henry a rapturous reception. The streets were hung with drapes, censers full of incense dangled from the windows, and the city’s clergy escorted him to the main church, presented him with relics, including a piece of the True Cross, and then led him to his palace.


  Throughout the early summer of 1192 messengers continued to arrive from Europe bearing the tidings that John, encouraged by Philip of France, persistently stirred trouble in England and Normandy. Richard was downcast by these stories and feared that if he did not depart soon he would lose his kingdom. The other crusader nobles decided to march on Jerusalem regardless of Richard’s mood, and when they broke this news publicly the Christian forces were suffused with enthusiasm. The king continued in his depression: the prospect that he would leave, for whatever good reason, was highly unpopular and he was the subject of much criticism. Yet a monarch’s primary duty was to his kingdom, and this pressure—when combined with the strategic concerns of the Holy Land—undoubtedly, and understandably, trapped him. Eventually a Poitevin priest talked to Richard, reminded him of his previous achievements, and stressed his duty to those he could help most easily: “now everyone . . . says that you are the father and brother of Christianity and if you leave her without help now, then she is dead and betrayed.”55 Such talk pulled the king out of his lethargy and he called for his crier, who announced his lord would remain in the Holy Land and that all should prepare to march.