hard biscuit and a soup of beans and salt pork, so competition was keen to buy the horses slain by the Saracens. But the knights were pricing them beyond the reach of most men, and this was generating resentment and ill will. When André told him how much horsemeat was now selling for, Richard shook his head impatiently.
“I am putting a stop to this now. Get the word out that I will replace any knight’s horse slain in combat—provided that he then donates the dead animal to the men-at-arms.”
“Even French knights?” Henri asked mischievously. “That is an excellent idea, Uncle, and the soldiers will love you for it. I’ll see to it straightaway.”
They were interrupted then by the arrival of Guy de Lusignan, followed by the Bishop of Salisbury, Jacques d’Avesnes, the Earl of Leicester, and other visitors too highborn to be turned away. Hours passed before Richard was finally able to get to bed. And there he found himself unable to sleep, for although his body was utterly exhausted, his brain continued to race. After passing through sand dunes and hill country, the terrain was changing. Ahead lay more than twelve miles of oak woods, known as the Forest of Arsuf, and to get back to the coast, they would have to pass through it. It would be an ideal opportunity for an ambush and he thought Saladin would likely take advantage of it. They were locked into a war of wills as well as weapons, the sultan set upon battle and he just as determined to avoid one. So far his men had shown remarkable discipline under constant provocation. But how much longer could their restraint last? He tossed and turned for hours, wincing every time he forgot and rolled onto his side. Did Saladin lie awake, too, this night? Did he also feel overwhelmed at times, knowing how much was at stake?
THE NEXT MORNING Richard was much more stiff and sore than he was willing to admit, and he was glad Wednesday was to be a day of rest. He made a point, though, to be a very visible presence in the camp, reassuring his men that his injury had been a minor one. He soon discovered that they were uneasy about the Forest of Arsuf, too, and when he learned rumors were rampant that the Saracens would set fire to the woods once they’d entered it, he knew he had to act. That afternoon he summoned Humphrey de Toron and instructed him to ride out to the enemy under a flag of truce, telling them that the English king wanted to discuss peace terms with the sultan’s brother.
Humphrey was astounded, but he did as he was bidden and carried the message to Salah al-Dīn’s advance guard. Their commander, Alam al-Dīn Sulaymān ibn Jandar, wasted no time relaying word to the sultan. Salah al-Dīn was no less startled than Humphrey had been, but he was quite willing to accede to the request, telling his brother, “Try to protract the negotiations with the Franks and keep them where they are until we receive the Turcoman reinforcements we are expecting.” It was agreed therefore that Richard and al-Ᾱdil would meet the following day at dawn.
THE SKY WAS the shade of misty pearl as Richard and Humphrey rode out of camp with only a handful of knights, heading for the designated meeting place with al Malik al-’Ᾱdil. When they saw Saracen riders approaching, Richard told his men to wait, and he and Humphrey slowed their mounts to a walk. “I was surprised that Saladin did not insist upon an interpreter of his own,” Richard said, after some moments of silence. “He must consider you very trustworthy, lad.”
Humphrey was sorry the English king had brought the subject up, but it never occurred to him to lie. “I was captured at Ḥaṭṭīn my liege,” he said quietly. “My lady mother offered to yield her castles at Kerak and Montreal if Saladin would set me free. He agreed, but the castle garrisons would not obey her command. Since we’d not fulfilled our part of the bargain, I returned and surrendered to the sultan. He said I’d acted honorably and freed me without a ransom a few months later.” He looked over at the other man then, bracing for mockery, but Richard was smiling.
“Well done,” he said, and Humphrey flushed, so unaccustomed was he to praise.
“Some . . . others insisted that an oath given to an infidel counted for naught,” he confided, “and