and children. How many of them had died when the town had fallen? Would any of them be able to avoid the slave markets in Cairo and Damascus by offering ransoms? Saladin had been vengeful on occasion, as when he executed the Templars and Hospitallers after Ḥaṭṭīn. But he was also known to be merciful, and Richard kept reminding himself of that as he watched the sultan’s soldiers celebrating a well-earned victory, one that would have reverberations throughout Christendom for years to come.
When the Earl of Leicester and André finally joined him in the prow and asked what he wanted to do, he could not bring himself to give the order to raise their anchors, not yet. André, who knew him better than he knew himself, thought that by remaining on the scene, he was doing penance for failing to get there in time. He did not try to persuade Richard to go, though; that would be for naught.
“Look!” Richard said suddenly, pointing toward the castle. Turning, they saw the figure of a man balancing upon the wall, waving his arms frantically; he was shouting, but his words were drowned out by the pounding of the surf and the cries of the Saracens on the beach. He appeared to be wearing a priest’s habit. As they watched, he made the sign of the cross and then leaped from the wall. Fortunately, his fall was cushioned by the sand and he scrambled to his feet, apparently unhurt. Pulling his ankle-length garment over his head, he sprinted toward the water. By now he’d been noticed by some of the Saracens. They seemed amused by the sight of this paunchy, pallid enemy clad only in braies and a shirt, and just one made an attempt to stop him, sending a poorly aimed arrow his way as he plunged into the sea and began to swim toward the ships.
Richard whirled, but there was no need to give the command; they were already hauling on the anchor chains. His galley shot forward, the sailors straining at the oars. The priest’s flailing arms showed that he was not a strong swimmer and he had begun to tread water as the galley drew up alongside, grabbing gratefully at an outstretched oar. Once he’d been hauled aboard, he collapsed onto the deck, shivering so violently that one of the knights hastily fetched a blanket and draped it around his trembling shoulders.
“My lord king, save us!” he gasped. “You are our only hope!”
Richard’s hand closed on the priest’s arm in a grip that would leave bruises. “Some are still alive? Tell me—and quickly!”
“You’d have been proud of them, sire, for they fought valiantly. For three days, we held them off. Even when part of the wall fell by the Jerusalem Gate, we built a bonfire in the gap to keep them out. But yesterday their sappers and trebuchets brought down a large section of the wall. We retreated into the castle and agreed to surrender today if no help had come by then. After your galleys were spotted this morning, Saladin said we must leave the citadel straightaway and some of the men agreed, for they did not think there were enough ships to make a landing. When you stayed offshore, the patriarch and castellan went to see Saladin, thinking all hope was lost. But then I realized why you’d not tried to land—you did not know the castle was still held by the garrison! So I . . . I committed myself to the Almighty’s Keeping and jumped from the wall,” he concluded, sounding astonished by his own courage.
“You are a brave man. God will reward you for what you did today and so will I.” Richard had knelt to hear the priest’s story. As he rose to his feet, his eyes swept the deck, moving from one face to another. “I cannot promise victory,” he said. “But I will either prevail or die in the attempt. Eternal shame to any man who balks, for glory or martyrdom awaits us. God’s Will be done.” He gestured then to his trumpeter. The man at once blew the signal to advance, and as it echoed out across the water, the decks of the galleys erupted into frantic activity. Forgotten now, the priest huddled in his blanket and began to pray.
Richard’s royal galley was as conspicuous as he could make it, painted a red hue brighter than blood; the canopy tent was crimson, too. Even the surcote Richard wore over his