dimples deepening in sudden comprehension. “Ah . . . I see. You fear for Malik Ric.” This was how the Saracens referred to Richard, and Anna had begun to use the name, too, much to Richard’s amusement. “He would be healed for another . . .” She paused, frowning as she sought the right word. “Another attack . . . that is it, no?”
“Yes, that is it,” Joanna confirmed, exchanging silent sympathy with Berengaria. While Richard was regaining strength with each passing day, he was by no means physically up to taking part in a battle, and yet they feared he would want to do just that; he’d been very frustrated at not being able to join his men in yesterday’s assault. Although they felt confident that Henri and the Bishop of Salisbury and Richard’s friends would not permit him to risk his life so foolishly, they well knew how stubborn he could be, and so both women were praying that today would end the siege.
They were about to send one of Joanna’s household knights back to the Templars’ tent to learn how the negotiations were proceeding when they heard it—a sudden roar, as if coming from thousands of throats, even louder than the sound Greek fire made when it streaked toward its target, trailing a flaming tail. Mariam darted toward the entrance and was back in moments, smiling. “Either they’ve come to terms or the whole camp has gone stark mad, for men are shouting and cheering and all the whores are hurrying out to help them celebrate!”
Joanna and Berengaria were on their feet now, embracing joyfully, determined to ignore the fact that this was but a respite, that Acre’s fall was only the first in a series of bloody battles on the road leading to the Holy City.
Within the hour, the noise level suddenly increased, alerting them that Richard must be approaching. He was flanked by Henri and the Earl of Leicester, with friends and lords following jubilantly in his wake. He still looked like what he was, a man recently risen from his sickbed, his cheekbones thrown into prominence by his weight loss, his complexion unnaturally pale for one with such high coloring. But his smile was dazzling and he appeared as happy as either woman had ever seen him.
“It is done,” he said huskily. “Acre is ours.”
THE ACRE GARRISON agreed to surrender the city and all of their weapons and siege engines, including the seventy galleys of Salah al-Dīn’s fleet, anchored out in the harbor. They promised on the sultan’s behalf to pay two hundred thousand dinars, and to return the Holy Cross. Fifteen hundred Christian prisoners were to be freed, as were one hundred men specifically named. Conrad of Montferrat was to receive ten thousand dinars for his help in negotiating the settlement. The garrison was to be held as hostages until the terms were met, and then they and their families would be freed. When the news reached Salah al-Dīn, he was horrified, and after consulting with his council, he determined to send a swimmer back after dark to the beleaguered city, telling the garrison that he could not accept such terms. But he soon learned it was too late, for at noon his men saw the “banners of unbelief ” raised over the walls of Acre.
CHAPTER 22
JULY 1191
Acre, Outremer
Acre was divided between Richard and Philippe, as were the garrison hostages. This did not please those crusaders who’d been at the siege since the beginning and had expected to benefit when it finally fell. After they’d complained vociferously, the two kings agreed to give them a share of the spoils, but not all trusted in royal promises and some ill will lingered. Nor was Philippe happy with the division, for Richard had insisted upon taking the half of the city that contained the citadel, wanting to lodge his wife and sister there, and Philippe had to make do with the Templars’ house. Remembering how he’d been the one to occupy the royal palace in Messina, this seemed like further proof that his status was being deliberately diminished, and he began to nurse yet another grievance against Richard.
Richard paid no heed to these grumblings of discontent and forged ahead, concerned only with making Acre secure as soon as possible, for once the Saracen garrison was ransomed by Salah al-Dīn, he meant to lead his army south. But first the Archbishop of Verona and the other bishops had to reconsecrate the churches, many of which had