The Heart of the Lion - Plaidy Jean - Страница 41
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All through the days that followed Richard’s arrival work went on to make these war machines ready for use. The spirits of all the Christians had been so lifted by the arrival of Richard that they forgot all they had suffered through the abortive attempts to take the city, even the discomforts of the khamsin and the devastating effect the terrific heat had on them. When he rode round the camps he was cheered by all nationalities and they all felt comforted by his presence. He was so certain of victory that he communicated his confidence to them. This uplifting of spirits was obvious even to the Saracens encamped beyond the city on the hill of Ayyadieh.
Saladin himself talked of it with his brother, Malek Adel. ‘What manner of man can this Richard be? They call him the Lion-hearted. They say he is brave and never knows defeat. There is a change in their ranks since he has come.’
Malek Adel replied that they would soon prove to the Christians that their hero was but human after all. He promised Saladin that he himself would bring him Richard’s head and that without his body.
Saladin shook his head. He was not given to such boasts nor did he care to hear his brother talk in such a fashion. He believed that Allah did not love the boastful; and he knew from experience that it was never wise to underrate an enemy.
His men looked to him and expected miracles from him and because they believed so fervently that these would come, they sometimes found their miracles. So must it be with this King Richard.
We are of a kind, he thought. It is a pity that we should fight against each other. But they were two men each with his fixed idea – Saladin’s to hold Jerusalem and Richard’s to take it.
In the midst of the activity Richard fell ill. The recurrent fever took possession of him and though he attempted to fight it off with all his strength, he failed to do so.
How maddening it was to be laid low where he could hear the noise from the anvils as the great war machines were perfected. The action would have to be delayed and this would give the Mussulmans time to prepare. They must have seen the swelling of the Christian ranks. Their spies would have taken back reports of the great war machines. And now the fever had come to torment him!
Berengaria came with Joanna to his tent. They were horrified at the sight of him.
‘I am not so ill as I look,’ said Richard. ‘I know this accursed fever by now. It will pass. It infuriates me, though, that it should come at this time.’
‘At least,’ said Berengaria, ‘now we can look after you.’
And they did. Through the haze of his fever Richard was aware of soft and gentle hands that smoothed the hair back from his face, and put cooling drinks to his lips.
When she could forget her anxieties for his health, Berengaria was happier than she had been since the first days of her marriage.
As the fever grew less virulent, he would ask anxious questions about what was happening outside his tent. She would soothe him and say: ‘All is well.’
How could it be, when he was on a sickbed? he demanded irritably. Who was going to break the siege?
‘The siege can wait,’ said Berengaria; and he sighed in exasperation at her feminine ignorance.
How could he talk with Berengaria? Joanna would have understood more readily. Joanna was there but she kept in the background knowing what pleasure it gave Berengaria to attend to her husband. He was also aware of a third figure – a very young girl of great beauty who seemed like Berengaria’s shadow.
Once he said: ‘Who is the girl?’
‘Isaac’s daughter.’
He was immediately alarmed. ‘What does she here?’
‘She is with us all the time. You gave her into our charge remember.’
‘Her father is my prisoner. She could be looking for revenge.’
‘Nay. We have taught her that you are the noblest king that ever lived.’
He was uneasy. But Berengaria soothed him. The little Cypriot Princess was innocent. She was with her and Joanna all the time. She was like a little sister. She would never harm any whom Berengaria loved. Moreover Berengaria herself prepared his food. She would trust no other to do so.
He watched the girl; it seemed Berengaria was right. None could imagine evil in such a dainty child. Berengaria became a little jealous.
‘You find her beautiful?’
‘The Cypriot women have a certain charm.’ He was suddenly remorseful for his neglect of Berengaria. ‘Not to be compared with those of Navarre,’ he added.
That contented her. It was easy to please her and he felt happy in his marriage for the first time. When he was well he would pay more attention to Berengaria. She was a good woman and by no means ill-favoured; he liked her natural elegance, and it was comforting to feel her there when the fever took possession of him.
Philip came to see him. He stood by the bed looking down on him.
‘So the fever can do what no human enemy can. My dear Richard, you look very ill.’
‘It will pass.’
‘This accursed climate! How do the natives endure it?’
‘They are accustomed to it, I doubt not. Their robes protect them from the sun and so they remain cool.’
‘How I hate it!’ cried Philip vehemently. ‘Flies and sand in everything . . . in one’s clothes, in one’s hair, in one’s food. The mosquitoes are a pest. Some of my men have died of their bites. The terrible spiders are a danger. Their sting is death. They come out when it is quiet and the men are asleep. Several men have been killed by these tarantulas. We have found that they dislike noise and it drives them away, and the men clash symbols before they lie down but they cannot continue this throughout the night and as soon as quiet falls the danger returns. Sometimes I think of home, of my fair land of France where it is never too hot, where there is no sand to plague me . . . no dust, no poisonous spiders . . . And now you are sick, Richard. In God’s name let us take this town and then go home.’
‘When we take this town that is but a beginning,’ protested Richard. ‘After that we have to march on to Jerusalem.’
Philip clenched his fists and was about to speak but he changed his mind.
After a pause he said: ‘And it grieves me to see you thus. You too need the temperate winds of home.’
‘We took an oath, Philip. We are soldiers of the Cross. Do not forget that.’
‘I forget it not. That is why we are going ahead with the assault on Acre.’
‘I am in no condition, I fear, and shall not be for a week or so. I know these bouts. The truth is, Philip, if I tried to stand on my feet I should fall.’
‘Then you must rest. In the meantime I shall begin the assault.’
‘But, Philip . . .’
‘I know we were to do it together. But Saladin is arming. He knows the assault is coming. We cannot delay further. You were so long in getting here. We dare not delay longer.’
Richard looked up at that sly clever face which he knew so well.
Perhaps somewhere in Philip’s mind was the thought that if he took Acre without Richard, to him would be the glory.
There was love between them, yes, but there was something else; this irrepressible rivalry. The desire to score over the other would always be there. They excited each other more than any other person could. There was a love relationship between them but sometimes there was something near to hate.
Richard who always said exactly what was in his mind burst out: ‘You want the honour for yourself. You do not want to share it.’
‘My dearest friend, get well. Join me. Nothing would please me more. But delay I cannot. Even for your sake I cannot run the risk of defeat.’
‘I forbid you to start without me. Oh I know what you will say. The Duke of Normandy forbids his suzerain!’
‘And you will say the King of England is perfectly entitled to challenge the King of France. Forget our ranks, Richard. Know this: I am going into battle. You are too ill to join the fight. Your men may. You will not hold them back. For I am going to take Acre and that within the next few days.’
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