The Heart of the Lion (35 page)

‘You came,’ said Richard, ‘not to fight for God but for yourself.’

‘Who does not?’ replied Montferrat. ‘Some achieve great conquests like the Island of Cyprus. Others are content with less. And we do our duty to God at the same time as to ourselves.’

‘You must know that before the King of France left we made a treaty that Guy de Lusignan should be King of Jerusalem during his lifetime and then you and your heirs should follow him.’

‘I wish to be King of Jerusalem during my lifetime.’

‘And if I do not agree?’

‘Many of your men are already with me. I have the Dukes of Austria and Burgundy with their followers to swell my ranks. There are others.’

Yes, thought Richard sadly, there are others.

He curbed his temper and instead of shouting abuse at Montferrat which he might have done a short time before, he said: ‘I will consider this matter.’

When Montferrat had left him he thought of the trouble in England and he knew that his mother was right when she said he should come home.

What if he should reconquer Jerusalem and lose England?

I will not, he assured himself fiercely; but something within him told him he could not have both . . . not yet.

So later when he was urged by his counsellors to forget his promise to Guy de Lusignan and bestow the crown of Jerusalem on Conrad de Montferrat he surprised himself by his agreement.

He sent for Guy and wearily told him what he had agreed to.

‘But, my friend,’ he said, ‘do not despair. The crown of Jerusalem has yet to be won and it would have been yours but for a lifetime. I have a better proposition for you. Suppose you were King of Cyprus now, and your heirs followed you to the throne. Would that please you as much as the crown of Jerusalem?’

Guy replied that spiritually nothing could compare with the crown of Jerusalem; but he believed he would please God best by pleasing his King, for his duty was to serve him while he was on earth. He would accept the crown of Cyprus and he could see that by bestowing the as yet unattained crown of Jerusalem on Montferrat Richard had taken from a treacherous enemy a reason for breaking away from the crusading army.

Richard embraced Guy. He had always known that he could rely on him.

Chapter XI

THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS

R
ichard firmly believed that, when shortly after this Conrad de Montferrat was murdered, this was by the hand of God who had no wish to see him reign over the Holy City.

There was a strange company of men and women who lived in the Lebanese mountains. They had a religion of their own and over them ruled a despotic dictator whom none of them dared disobey. Any who did so was instantly killed; and this did not only apply to those of his own sect. Occasionally they came down from the mountains and took a part in affairs which were likely to affect them.

They were called the Hashashen; this implied that they took a certain drug which was reputed to give men twice their normal strength and to rob them of all fear.

It was unwise to offend them – a fact which Montferrat had chosen to ignore, for while he was in control of Tyre one of the ships belonging to the Head of the Hashashen, who was generally known as The Old Man of the Mountains, had been in trouble off the coast. Instead of going to its rescue Montferrat and his men had refused help to the ship and had, moreover, robbed it of its cargo and allowed its sailors to drown.

The ‘Old Man’ was a title which was handed down from one head of this Ismaelite tribe to another. It meant the supreme head, whose word was law. The tribe was notorious throughout the middle east, for it was one of the most powerful sects in that area.

There were many legends about the tribe. They had existed it was said in the days of Christ and their way of life had remained unchanged through the centuries. Another legend – but this was said to be true – was that the Old Man had created a Garden which was a replica of the Mohammedan paradise. In the most exquisite setting were flowering trees and luscious fruit growing in abundance. Palaces of great beauty had been erected there. Among the trees wandered the most beautiful girls, to dance, to sing or to delight in any manner possible. Delicate perfumes wafted through the air. Everything that could enchant had been thought of.

It was ancient custom to seek through the world certain young men whose characters indicated that they would best serve the tribe. These would be brought to the Old Man to sup with him and during the meal the visitors would fall into a heavy sleep. They would wake up in the garden and there they would live for several weeks until one day they would once more go into a heavy sleep, awaking from which they would find themselves shut out of the Paradise Gardens.

After experiencing paradise there was no peace to be found outside.

‘You can earn your way back,’ said the Old Man, ‘by fulfilling a task I shall set you.’

The task was invariably murder. Someone had offended the Old Man and must be removed. When the murder had been satisfactorily committed the murderer would be given another spell in the gardens before being sent out on a new task.

The result was that the Old Man had his assassins planted in all manner of places and none felt safe from him.

The kings and rulers of the neighbourhood paid tribute to the Old Man knowing full well that if they did not comply with his wishes disaster would fall upon them.

Thus the sect grew rich and powerful and more and more young men were carried to the garden so that any offence committed against the Old Man brought its swift retribution.

Montferrat should have known better than to steal the cargo of the ship; had he gone to the succour of that sinking ship, had he done his best to salvage the goods, he would not have suffered an untimely death just as he was about to realise his ambition.

Montferrat had dined rather well with the Bishop of Beauvais and was going home to his palace with a few of his close friends who had been with him throughout the evening.

As he was about to enter the palace two shadowy shapes emerged from behind a pillar. They fell upon the Count and plunged their daggers into his body.

The palace guards quickly killed one of the assassins, but the other escaped – not with any hope of getting away, for he hid behind the altar in the nearby church and when the body of Montferrat was carried in he rushed from his hiding place and thrust his dagger again and again into the dead body.

The assassin was seized and submitted to horrible torture with rack, screw and fire but he refused to say a word nor did he utter a cry of protest.

There were many who believed that Richard had ordered the deed to be done, but the manner of the crime and the fact that the Old Man of the Mountains had a grudge against the Count made it almost certain that he was behind the attack.

With Montferrat dead Richard wondered whether it would be wise to bestow on Guy de Lusignan the as yet unconquered Jerusalem; but another claimant had come into the picture. This was Count Henry of Champagne who, since he was the nephew of both Richard and Philip of France, seemed the ideal successor. He was popular, too, and when it was suggested that he should marry Montferrat’s widow this seemed a happy solution to the affair.

Richard was agreeable, for he knew that he could trust Henry of Champagne as he never could have trusted Montferrat and as Guy was satisfied with Cyprus, the assassination of Montferrat brought nothing but good to Richard – which was probably why the rumour started that he – not the Old Man of the Mountains – had been responsible for the murder.

Chapter XII

FAREWELL JERUSALEM

R
ichard was depressed. He had just conquered Darum, a walled city which had presented little difficulty. Some fury had suddenly possessed him as his stone-casters had gone into action; he had felt an intense anger against the Saracens who were beginning to make him feel that they were invincible. He had planned to take Jerusalem before Christmas and here they were hampered by the terrible winter and no nearer to their goal than they had been since the fall of Acre.

So few were to be trusted. He had quarrelled with many. The French had always been uneasy allies. It had not happened as he had believed it would when he had made his glorious plans and dreamed what now seemed an impossible dream.

And as his troops had stormed the city and the citizens had cried for mercy he had shown none. In lust for vengeance on a fate which had denied him the victory he had craved he had struck off heads right and left with no consideration for the age or sex of his victims. The wild Plantagenet temper had charge of him and had demanded blood.

His men, as always taking their cue from him, inflicted ruthless horror on that town. And now it lay in ruins and of what good to the cause had that senseless slaughter been?

What had come over him? he asked himself. Was this Christian behaviour? Would God ever deem him worthy to enter Jerusalem?

Would he for ever after have moments when he remembered the cries of old men, women and children, their hands tightly bound behind them, as they were marched off to be sold as slaves?

I am fighting a desperate war, he excused himself.

But his conscience would not accept that.

As though in retribution for what had happened at Darum, as he rode out to Gaza messengers from England met him, with letters from his mother.

Apprehensively he read them.

‘You must return at once. Your kingdom is in acute danger. John is conspiring with the King of France. If you do not come back you will lose England and Normandy.’