the castle garrison to surrender ere Richard could come to their rescue, and he tried to rein his men in, without much success. But I’ll let Richard tell you about that.”
He was clambering over the rocks toward a gaping hole in the wall and Henri followed. “Where is he?” When André said he was in his command tent, Henri felt a chill of alarm. “Is he ailing?” he exclaimed, for it was very unlike Richard to be in his tent in the middle of the afternoon. He was greatly relieved when André shook his head, for he thought a man could sicken merely from breathing the fetid air that overhung Jaffa. It was, he thought with a shudder, like a plague town.
“He’s well enough,” André said and then glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “He has guests.” And he laughed outright at the baffled expression on Henri’s face, refusing to explain as they made their way toward the camp set up outside the walls.
As they approached Richard’s tent, Henri could hear animated voices coming from within. When they entered, he was confronted by a scene that was surreal, for his uncle was entertaining some of Saladin’s emirs and Mamluks, seated cross-legged on cushions as they laughed and shared platters of figs, dates, pine nuts, and cheese. Richard sprang to his feet with a delighted cry. Welcoming Henri with an affectionate embrace, he took advantage of the hug to murmur a question pitched for his nephew’s ear alone, and flinched at the whispered answer. But when he turned back to his Saracen guests, his smile was steady, utterly unrevealing.
“You know my sister’s son, the Count of Champagne,” he said genially, “now the Lord of Jerusalem.”
Henri had met them all before, for these were men who’d remained on amicable terms with the English king even in the darkest days of the holy war between their two peoples. Abū-Bakr was the chamberlain of Saladin’s brother al-’Ādil; he and Richard had become quite friendly during the off-and-on peace talks. Aybak al-’Azīzī was a Mamluk who’d been escorting the caravan Richard had raided, but he apparently held no grudges. Sani’at al-Dīn was al-’Ādil’s scribe and Badr al-Dīn Dildirim al-Yārūqī was the lord of Tell Bāshir, an influential emir who stood high in the sultan’s favor. They greeted Henri affably and, not for the first time, it struck him that his uncle got on better with his Saracen enemies than he did with his French allies.
“I was just telling them that Islam has no greater prince than their sultan,” Richard explained to Henri, “so I did not understand why he’d departed as soon as I arrived. I said that I’d not even been fully armed, that I was still wearing my sea boots.”
“And how did they respond to that?” Henri asked, for he knew not all appreciated the Angevin sense of humor. For certes, Philippe had not.
“Oh, they laughed,” Richard said, and Henri marveled that they could be trading jests when yesterday they might have been trading sword thrusts. He found it heartening, for surely mutual respect was a good foundation for building a peace, and he very much wanted peace for Outremer, convinced that it was the only way to ensure the survival of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
The conversation continued in this vein, half joking, half serious, Geoffrey, the Templar turcopole whom Richard used when Humphrey de Toron was unavailable, translating for both sides. Richard expressed concern when told that al-’Ādil had been taken ill and wished Abū-Bakr a speedy recovery when he revealed that his limp was due to an injury he’d suffered during the siege. They in turn complimented Richard upon the prowess he’d displayed in retaking Jaffa and joked that they’d have spared a few kegs of wine for him had they only known he’d be arriving so soon. The mood in the tent was polite and playful and held so many undercurrents that Henri thought a man might drown in them if he made a misstep.
But when his Saracen guests made ready to depart, Richard became serious. Turning to Abū-Bakr, he said, “Greet the sultan for me and tell him we must make peace. My lands over the sea are in peril and I know his people are suffering, too. This war is harming us both and it is up to us to put an end to it.”
Abū-Bakr responded with equal gravity, promising that he would convey Richard’s message to his sultan, his courtesy as polished as any courtier’s, his