now must be given to Outremer. He returned to his own pavilion at sunset in a grim frame of mind, only to find Joanna and Berengaria anxiously waiting for him. Richard was always closemouthed, Joanna conceded; she’d never seen him like this, though. He was obviously greatly troubled, but he’d brushed aside all their questions and concerns, pulling back like a turtle retreating into its shell. “What has happened, Henri? What do we need to know?”
Henri told them about the dire news from England and then about the decision to march on Jerusalem. He had just finished when a summons came from Richard. Joanna and Berengaria accompanied him; he wasn’t about to rebuff his aunt and decided it was up to Richard to dismiss the women if he did not want them present. Richard did not seem disturbed to see them; he did not even seem surprised. Seeing his uncle through Joanna and Berengaria’s eyes, Henri could understand why they were so worried. Richard looked haggard, even haunted, like a man who’d become a stranger to sleep. His gaze flicked from face to face, his own face inscrutable, his thoughts shielded. When he did not speak, Henri prompted, “You wanted to see me, Uncle?”
Richard nodded then, almost imperceptibly. “I have decided not to return to England. Whatever messages come, whatever happens, I pledge to remain in the Holy Land until next Easter.”
Henri felt a great surge of relief, followed by guilt. Joanna’s emotions were less ambivalent; she did not think it was fair that Richard should be asked to sacrifice so much more than the other crusaders. Berengaria crossed to her husband’s side, looking up at him with a smile so joyful that she seemed to be glowing; at that moment, Henri thought she was beautiful. “Does this mean you will be laying siege to Jerusalem, Richard?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding very weary. “I will tell the others tonight and then have my herald proclaim it to the rest of the camp on the morrow.”
Henri kept silent, not sure what to say. Nor did he meet his uncle’s eyes, for he knew what he’d see in them. It would have been like looking into his own soul on the night he’d returned to Tyre, knowing his choices were illusory, knowing he was trapped.
RICHARD DISPATCHED HENRI to Acre to corral the last of the deserters and to find reinforcements in Tyre and even Tripoli, for if they were going to march on Jerusalem, they would need every single soldier they could round up. Because Richard did not think it was safe for the women to remain at Ascalon without him, he asked Henri to escort them back to Acre. He then led the army to Bait Nūbā, the village that was just twelve tantalizing miles from the Holy City. There they set up camp to await Henri’s return and to fend off Saracen raids and hit-and-run attacks.
THEY’D BEEN AT BAIT NŪBĀ two days when one of Richard’s spies reported that Saracens were lying in ambush at the spring of Emmaus. Richard set out at dawn with some of his knights, took their foes by surprise, and in the fight that followed, twenty Turks were slain and Salah al-Dīn’s own herald captured. When the surviving Saracens retreated, Richard set off in pursuit. He was mounted on Fauvel and soon overtook a man on a rangy bay stallion. Fauvel screamed a challenge, lengthening stride, and the Saracen swung his horse around to meet the attack. He charged, wielding a spear that was deflected by Richard’s shield, and took the full thrust of the king’s lance. Reining Fauvel in, Richard leaned from the saddle to make sure the other man was dead. When he looked up, his eyes widened. “Jesu!”
It was then that André caught up with him. He’d seen Richard go chasing off after the Saracens and followed, for even Richard’s lethal skills could be overcome by sheer numbers. Pulling up alongside his cousin, he barely spared a glance for the body sprawled nearby; in the fifteen years he’d fought at Richard’s side, Death had ridden with them so often that they’d come to take its presence for granted. He was more concerned with Richard’s odd immobility; he seemed frozen, scarcely breathing.
“Richard? Are you hurt? I do not see any blood. . . .”
“Look,” Richard said huskily, never taking his eyes from the dream-like vision that seemed to be floating on the horizon, shimmering in a golden haze of heat.
André raised his hand to