Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,261

already labored under?

RICHARD MOVED his army headquarters after Christmas to Bait Nūbā, just twelve miles from Jerusalem. The winter weather remained wretched, yet skirmishing continued. Richard interrupted a Saracen ambush on the third day of the new year, but they fled upon recognizing his banner. Not long afterward, he escorted his wife and sister back to the greater safety of Jaffa. By now he was convinced that it would be madness to advance upon Jerusalem under the circumstances and, upon his return to Bait Nūbā, he confronted the issue head-on.

THEY MET in Richard’s command tent during yet another pelting hailstorm, the wind keening in an eerie accompaniment to the rising voices. As soon as Richard broached the subject of turning back, he was assailed by his French allies, accused of betraying their holy quest. Determined to hold on to his temper, he sought to counter their passion with what he saw as irrefutable facts.

“Look at this,” he demanded, pointing toward the map he’d laid out upon a trestle table. “I asked men personally familiar with the city’s defenses to draw it for us. Jerusalem’s walls are more than two miles in circumference and enclose an area of over two hundred acres. We do not have enough men to securely encircle the city. We’d be stretched so thin that they’d be able to send out sorties and break through our lines whenever they wanted. Saladin has been preparing for a siege for months, so I daresay they have food stockpiled. Nor are they going to run out of water; their cisterns must be overflowing by now!” he said, with an angry, ironic gesture toward the rippling walls of the tent, billowing with each powerful gust of the storm battering Bait Nūbā. “Even if we had an army twice as large, it would be sheer folly to begin a siege in weather like this!”

“I cannot believe that you are balking again!” Hugh of Burgundy glanced disdainfully at the map, shaking his head. “We are twelve miles from the Holy City—only twelve miles!”

“Our men did not come so far to turn tail and run.” The Bishop of Beauvais had not even bothered to look at the map, keeping his eyes accusingly upon Richard. “Why did you take the cross if you were not willing to fight God’s enemies?” Henri and André both jumped to their feet. But for once the Angevin temper did not catch fire. Richard did not even bother to defend himself, overwhelmed by the futility of it. Christ’s Blood, he was so bone-weary of all this. No matter what he said, they’d not heed him. It was as if the past four months had never been and they were back at Jaffa, making the same arguments and aspersions that they’d made then.

He was wrong, though; this was not to be another repeat of their Jaffa confrontation. Hugues de Tiberias had been standing in the rear, but now he pushed his way to the front of the tent. “It is ridiculous to accuse the English king of lacking the heart to wage war against the Saracens,” he said scornfully. “If I thought you truly meant that, my lord bishop, I’d wonder if you’d been afflicted by some malady that scrambles a man’s wits. Who got us safely to Jaffa? Who won the battle of Arsuf? Not you, my lord bishop or you, my lord duke. Why must we constantly waste time with these petty squabbles instead of talking about what truly matters? Can we take Jerusalem?”

When they would have interrupted, he flung up a hand for silence. “No, by God, you’ll hear me out! Some of you use the term ‘poulain’ as an insult, at least behind our backs. Well, I am proud to call myself poulain. I know far more about fighting in the Holy Land than men who’ve lived all their lives in the fat, green fields of France, and I say the answer is no. We cannot take Jerusalem. Now are you going to accuse me, too, of not wanting to win this war? This is my home, not yours, and after you’ve all gone back to your own lands, I’ll still be here, struggling to survive against a foe who is not going anywhere, either.”

“We do not doubt your good faith or your courage,” Hugh insisted. “But we cannot give up now. Jerusalem is within our grasp!”

“No, my lord duke, it is not.” Garnier de Nablus remained seated on a coffer, arms folded across his chest, but