Balian over to introduce him to Joanna and Berengaria, he left his friend exchanging pleasantries with the women and hastened toward Richard, who was moving to intercept him, scowling. Before his uncle could challenge Balian’s presence, he took the offensive. “Yes, Balian d’Ibelin is Conrad’s adviser and friend. In fact, they are kin by marriage since Isabella is Balian’s stepdaughter. But I invited him here because you said you wanted to learn more of Saracen battle tactics and he is the ideal teacher. Not only did he grow to manhood fighting the Turks and often distinguished himself in combat, he was at Ḥaṭṭīn.”
“So were Guy and Humphrey de Toron.”
“Despite his training as a knight, Humphrey is no soldier. As for Guy, I suppose his experience could be useful—note whatever he advises and then do the opposite.”
Richard could not dispute Henri’s barbed assessment of Guy and Humphrey. Nor were there that many Ḥaṭṭīn veterans available for questioning, for hundreds had been slain on the field and the best fighters, the Templars and Hospitallers, had all died after the battle, executed by Saladin. “Well, as long as he’s here . . .” he said ungraciously and Henri went off, grinning, to fetch Balian.
Several hours later, Richard was glad he’d heeded his nephew. He was still mistrustful of Balian, who was too close to Conrad for his comfort and who was wed to a woman who could teach Cleopatra about conniving, Maria Comnena, a daughter of the Greek Royal House and former Queen of Jerusalem. But he’d forgotten about Balian’s dangerous Greek wife once the poulain began to talk about war in Outremer.
Balian confirmed all that Richard had been told about Turkish battle tactics. “The Saracens do not fight like the Franks,” he said, speaking to Richard as one soldier to another while ignoring the hostile glares he was getting from Guy. “They know they cannot withstand a charge by armed knights, and so they do their best to avoid it. They remain at a distance, for they have mastered a skill unknown to Franks—they can shoot a bow from horseback, on the run. When our knights attack, they retreat and regroup. When Franks are on the march, they swarm us like black flies, bite, and flit out of reach, again and again until our knights are so maddened they can endure it no longer. They break formation and charge, which is what the Saracens have been waiting for. Indeed, they are most dangerous when they appear to be in retreat, for too often our men lose all caution in the excitement of the chase, and by the time they realize they have been lured into an ambush, it is too late.”
“I’ve been told they ride as if they’ve been born in the saddle.”
“You’ve been told true, my lord king. They are fine horsemen and the horses they breed are as good as any to be found in Christendom. Their steeds are as agile as cats, as swift as greyhounds, and because their armor is lighter than ours, they can outrun us with infuriating ease.”
Richard nodded, remembering how Isaac Comnenus had outdistanced them again and again, invincible as long as he was mounted on Fauvel. “If they are not as well armored as our knights, then we’d have the advantage in hand-to-hand combat. So the key to victory would be to hold back until we are sure we can fully engage them.”
“Just so,” Balian agreed. “But few commanders can exert that sort of control over their men. Even such disciplined warriors as the Templars have been known to break ranks under constant attack by mocking foes who hover just out of range, such tempting targets that they can no longer resist hitting back.”
“Tell us more about their armor,” Richard directed, and Balian did, thinking that at least this arrogant English king was willing to learn about his foes; all too often, newcomers to Outremer assumed that, just as theirs was the one true religion, so, too, were they inherently superior to infidel Turks on the battlefield.
They stopped to eat when Garnier de Nablus arrived, and then began to study a map of the route Richard intended to take once they rode out of Acre, along the coast south toward Jaffa. Jacques d’Avesnes had been in Outremer long enough to have heard a number of legends and folklore, and when Baldwin de Bethune asked about a river marked on the map, Jacques was only too happy to share one of the more lurid stories.