The Heart of the Lion (11 page)

Richard’s journey was taking longer than he had planned it should. He must make sure that his lands were well guarded against attack while he was away. He refused to listen to those advisers who suggested that having inherited the throne but a few months before it was a little soon to leave it. There were not many who put forward this view. They were afraid to. Giving voice to such an opinion could offend two mighty powers – Richard and Heaven – and both were believed capable of dire revenge.

There were some who raised their voices in criticism though. Fulke of Neuilly, although in favour of the crusade, doubted whether Richard was the man to lead it. That he was a great general, the finest soldier known to Europe, was accepted. But, preached Fulke, this was a holy war. How holy was Richard? There were certain ugly rumours about his private life. His passionate friendship with the King of France was remembered. And these two were the leaders of their crusades! True enough it was meet and fitting that such enterprises should be led by kings, but should not those kings mend their ways before they set themselves up as Heaven’s generals?

Richard was present when Fulke was preaching and Fulke fearlessly ended his fiery sermon by crying out: ‘Thou hast three dangerous daughters, oh Prince. They are leading you to the brink of a precipice.’

‘You are a mistaken hypocrite,’ responded Richard. ‘I have no daughters.’

‘Indeed you have,’ retorted Fulke. ‘They are Pride, Avarice and Lasciviousness.’

The King threw up his arms and cried to the assembly of peers who were present. ‘Is it so then? I will give my Pride to the Templars and Hospitallers, my avarice to the Cistercian monks and my lasciviousness to the prelates of the Church.’

There was a murmuring among the congregation and it was of approval for the King, for although he might be proud was he more so than the Templars? The Cistercians were noted for their greed; and immorality was rife in the clergy. The titter of amusement, the applause of his friends and the discomfiture of the preacher made of that occasion a victory for Richard.

The proposed crusade was very popular. On his progress throughout Normandy people came out to wish him well and many to join his ranks. It was unthinkable that the Holy City should remain in the hands of the Infidel. Those who delivered it would be for ever blessed.

There was an uncomfortable incident at Tours where the Archbishop, when blessing the proposed crusade, presented Richard with the pilgrim’s staff and wallet. Richard unfortunately leaned on the staff and as he did so it broke under his weight.

There was a cry of dismay from the watching crowd, who took it as a sign that no good would come of the crusade.

Richard wondered what his great ancestor would have done. He remembered then that when William the Conqueror had landed in England he had slipped and fallen, and with great presence of mind had seized a handful of the sand and declared that the land was already his.

Now he laughed aside the broken staff. It was a sign of his great strength, he said. It was a signal that nothing was strong enough to stand against him and everything would be broken by the weight of his strength.

This crusade must succeed, thought Richard. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong with it. He had a great adversary he knew in the form of the Sultan Saladin. Saladin it was who had taken Jerusalem and had held it now for several years. He was a great warrior it was said. Well, Richard swore, there should be a greater, and that should be himself, and he longed to come face to face with Saladin.

But there must be no hurrying over preparations. Many an expedition had failed for just that. There was often a lack of discipline in such enterprises, and Richard was determined that his crusade should not fail for that reason. So many men joined the company not for religious reasons but for love of gain. They looked for rich spoils; they wanted to fight because fighting could unleash their natural cruelty; the greatest sport in their minds was the pillaging of towns and the raping of terrified women and children; but perhaps above all they wanted the rich ornaments, the fortune that could come to them through war. To be able to enjoy all this under the guise of religion was a heaven-sent opportunity. The Infidel on the other hand was the defender of what he believed was his by right and this gave him the advantage. Many of them were protecting their homes and their religious motives were as strong as those of the Christians. Richard knew full well that they would never be easily conquered. But he was determined that his armies should be as efficient as he could make them, and he saw that this could only be achieved by a fierce discipline. He had discussed this with Philip. Philip was too lenient with his armies he said. Philip’s answer was that men should not follow their leader through fear. They should do so through affection.

Richard would not have conflict within his own ranks. He had made new laws for his crusading armies and he was determined that they should be enforced. If two men fought together and one killed the other, he should die in the following manner: if they were on board ship, the survivor should be bound to the dead man and the two of them thrown overboard; if the fight was on land, they should be bound together in the same way and buried together. Any man who drew a knife against another or struck another and drew blood was to have his hand cut off. If no blood was drawn the miscreant was to be thrown into the sea and if he could save himself he should be thrown in again twice more. If he managed to survive after three immersions he would be considered to have paid for his crime. The penalty for uttering foul language was a fine of an ounce of silver. A thief should be shaved, tarred and feathered, boiling pitch poured over his head and a feathered pillow be shaken over him and he should be set ashore on the first land the ship touched.

Each man knew that these punishments would be carried out if he offended, for Richard was not a king to show mercy. Therefore there was little trouble in the ranks of his followers by the time he had reached Marseilles.

It was a great disappointment to discover that the fleet he had expected to find waiting for him had not yet arrived. He waited in great impatience for a week, after which he could endure the delay no longer. It seemed almost certain that Philip, in taking a more overland route, had been wiser. It was all very well for the English to sneer at the French and murmur that they were afraid of the sea. At least Philip had had the good sense not to expose his men to that uncertain element. What had become of his navy? wondered Richard and he was frustrated and anxious. In desperation he engaged twenty galleys and ten busses which could transport him with a proportion of his army, and set out, leaving the rest to wait for the navy and follow with it.

When he arrived at Genoa it was to learn that Philip was there. He was resting in one of the palaces which had been put at his disposal for he was recovering from a fever.

Richard at once went to see him, and found the French King looking pale and ill, but his face lit up with pleasure when he saw Richard.

‘I had thought you would be at Messina by now,’ said Richard.

‘Nay,’ replied Philip. ‘You see me laid low with this accursed fever.’

‘And I have been held up in Marseilles awaiting my fleet.’

‘It came to no ill, I trust.’ There was something in the French King’s eyes which betrayed his thoughts. He was hoping Richard’s fleet had met with some ill fortune – that he might come to his rescue. He would have been gratified to take him along with him in an inferior position and longed for their relationship to be as it had when Richard was a hostage in his camp and he had loved him dearly. He loved him still in a way. It was a strange relationship to exist between two rival kings.

Richard said firmly: ‘I doubt not it is now on its way to Messina. And your army, brother? I trust your men are not dispirited to see their leader in such sickness.’

‘They know I shall recover. I am not an old man. Ten years younger than you, remember.’

‘I remember it well,’ said Richard with a faint scowl.

‘Why when we first met I thought you were quite an old man. Thus do the young think of those who are ten years their senior.’

‘Age is a matter of health. If a man feels young then so he is.’

‘’Tis true and at this time I am the feeble one, you the strong. I remember when you had fits of fever. Pray tell me, Richard, have you had any bouts lately?’

‘Nay, nay. I know no discomfort save that of delay.’

‘You are too impatient, my dear friend.’

‘Are you not?’

Philip hesitated and Richard went on: ‘I fancy you have lost your passion for the fight.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Yet you seem less eager.’

‘My affairs have changed. You know what care I took to leave my realm in good hands. I trusted my Queen, Richard. I knew she would look after my affairs as none other could. There is Louis my little son. He is but a child. He needs paternal care. The Queen’s death has made me sad and sober. I think perpetually of France.’

‘But you have set up a Regency, have you not?’

‘Yes. My mother will serve me well as will my uncle the Cardinal of Champagne. But I could have wished that Isabella was there to care for our son.’

‘It is because you are weak that you fret. Wait until you are well, then you will forget these trifling matters. I do not fret for my kingdom. If I could win back the Holy City to Christianity I would ask nothing more in life. I would give everything I possess to do that.’

‘You,’ said Philip, ‘are a fanatic. I am merely a king.’

‘Which of us think you will be in Messina first?’ asked Richard.

‘You have the advantage now.’

‘What matters it? There we will meet. There we will make our further plans. We will sail together for Acre.’

Philip looked at Richard’s face and said simply: ‘It pleases me to see you. You have done me more good than all the doctors. You have aroused in me the determination to reach Messina before you.’

They kissed tenderly when Richard took his leave. Rivals, passionate friends and enemies.

Arrived at Naples the King disembarked and rested a while. He was expecting to hear news of the arrival of the fleet at Marseilles where he had left orders that when they came they were to go direct to Messina. It was important that he should not arrive before them with only the ships he had been able to muster.

It was while he was in this neighbourhood that he came near to losing his life through his own reckless folly. While he was out walking with but one attendant they passed through a hamlet and there he saw a peasant standing at the door of his cottage with a magnificent hawk. Passionate hunter that he was, Richard was immediately interested in anything concerning it and the hawk having caught his fancy he longed to possess it. Had he been with a party he would have commanded that the hawk be taken and the man given more than it was worth in money or goods. As he had but one attendant he went to the man and took the hawk meaning to bargain with him.

‘What a fine creature,’ he said to his attendant. ‘I shall enjoy testing it.’

The peasant, not realising who he was, began to shout to his neighbours that he had been robbed and in a very short while Richard and his attendant were surrounded by a vicious mob.

Richard drew his sword. The peasants armed with sticks sought to beat off the pair. Then one of the peasants drew a knife which he attempted to plunge into Richard’s heart.

Skilled in combat as he was, the King could have slain them all, but this he had no wish to do. He wanted to tell them that he would reward the owner of the hawk, but he saw at once that words were no use. Calling to his attendant not to kill any of them but to use the flat side of his sword, as he would, he began to fight his way through the mob.

With the flat side of his own sword he broke the knife in two and the peasants realised that this was clearly a knight practised in any form of warfare. Even so Richard needed all his skill to save them from the righteous wrath of the peasants.

Finally, hawkless, they managed to escape.

‘The fools,’ said Richard. ‘I would have given them two or three times what the bird was worth.’

‘They would never have believed that, my lord,’ said his attendant.

‘And now I shall never be able to test it.’

‘I am grateful, Sire, for your skill in bringing us safely out of that.’

‘Ah, you were afraid, my man. If they had harmed you I would have slain them all.’

And as they walked to their ships which lay at anchor he was thinking of what Philip would have said had he been there. He would have taunted him with making strict rules for his men which he himself flouted. Philip could never resist making a long discussion over such a point. There was little Philip liked better than an argument and the reason was that he always emerged the victor.

’Twas not robbery, Richard reminded himself. I would have paid the fellow. No one can accuse me of a lack of generosity.

‘It is not the point . . .’ He could almost hear Philip’s voice.

He must stop thinking of Philip. He should be preoccupied with thoughts of his bride, for by now his mother would be waiting with Berengaria for him to have extricated himself from the engagement with Alice so that he might, to the satisfaction of the world, take to be his bride the daughter of the King of Navarre.