Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,264

the boar charged right at me. So I did the only thing I could—I spurred Fauvel and he soared over it as if he had wings. The only damage done was a rip to his rear trappings where the tusks caught the material. That gave me time to draw my sword and when it charged again, I struck it in the neck, which stunned it enough for me to complete the kill.”

Henri burst out laughing. “You make it sound like just another hunt. But I can tell you for certes that not one man in a hundred would have dared to jump over an enraged boar! That is quite a feat of horsemanship, Uncle, even for you.”

“Let’s give credit where due, Henri . . . to Fauvel.” Richard leaned over to pat the stallion fondly, and Henri laughed again, pleased that he’d been so successful in raising his uncle’s spirits. But it was then that one of their scouts came into view, with several Saracens in close pursuit.

They reined in at sight of the crusaders, wheeled their mounts, and made a hasty retreat. The scout, one of the Templar turcopoles, headed toward Richard. “There is a large infantry force camped outside the walls, my lord king, between the castle and the village. There seemed something odd about them, though, so I came closer to see—too close, obviously,” he said with a wry smile. “I cannot be sure, for I was still some distance away when I was spotted. But I think they are Christian prisoners.”

“Let’s go find out, then,” Richard said, and signaled to his knights to array in battle formation. Riding stirrup to stirrup, lances couched, they soon saw Dārūm Castle looming against the horizon. There were a number of white tents and smoldering campfires, some Saracen horsemen milling about in obvious agitation, but no sign of any Christian captives. “God curse them, we’re too late,” Richard swore. “They were taken into the castle.” For an angry moment, he considered an assault upon it, but they had no siege engines with them. At least they could exact vengeance on behalf of the prisoners, and they charged their foes, shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House.

The Saracens rode out to meet them, an act of undeniable courage, yet a foolhardy one, too, for they were badly outnumbered. When the fighting was done, several Muslims were dead and twenty of them had been compelled to surrender. While all were disappointed that they’d missed a chance to rescue some of their Christian brethren, the knights were pleased that they’d profit so handsomely from this scouting mission, already counting the horses seized and speculating about the ransom demands. Richard was puzzled, though, that the castle garrison had not sallied forth to join in the fray. He was searching the battlements for signs of activity when one of his men let out a shout, pointing toward the village.

It had appeared deserted, for its inhabitants, both Muslims and Christians, had either fled at their approach or barricaded themselves in their houses. But now the door of the church opened and men burst out, laughing and weeping. Some of them had managed to cut their bindings; others were still roped together. They were ragged and dirty and gaunt, but they were also euphoric, all talking at once, thanking God and Richard for their deliverance. When he dismounted, he was mobbed, and it took a while before he could make himself heard above the din.

“Choose one to speak for you,” he ordered. “Are any of my soldiers amongst you?”

A few men shouldered their way toward him, identifying themselves as sergeants captured during a foraging expedition near Ramla in December. Gesturing at the others, they said these were men taken during the siege of Acre, unlucky pilgrims, and local Syrians.

“All Christians, though, my lord, even the ones who follow the Greek Church,” one of the sergeants assured him. “We’ve been held in Jerusalem, forced to labor for the infidels, digging ditches and strengthening the city walls. They no longer needed us for that and we were being taken to Egypt to be sold in the slave markets there. . . .” His voice thickened. “I admit I’d given up hope. But God had not forsaken us. . . .” He choked up then, unable to continue, and Richard raised a hand for silence.

“I do not understand why you were not taken into the castle. How did you get away from your guards?”

“It was because of you,