the sultan are partners in a vast conspiracy to conquer Christendom for Islam.”
“They do not care about proof,” Jaufre said, with enough bitterness to show Henri that some of the French crusaders were very unhappy with their commanders. By now they were approaching the harbor and Henri felt a vast relief when he saw men waving and smiling at the sight of his blue, white, and gold banner, for there was none of the panic that he’d have seen on their faces if his uncle had died while he was at Caesarea.
SOME OF THE SOLDIERS still camped in tents, convinced that the air of Jaffa was unhealthy. But Richard had been moved into the castle for greater safety; they feared the ailing king might have proven to be an irresistible target for his Saracen foes. As Henri was escorted into his uncle’s chamber, he came to an abrupt halt, for the atmosphere was stifling. Despite the summer’s heat, several coal braziers were smoldering, and one glance at the blanketed figure in the bed was enough to explain it. The cycle had begun again—severe chills, to be followed by a high fever and sweating. Richard was shaking so badly that his teeth were chattering, but he put out a trembling hand to beckon Henri forward.
“No . . . luck?” The voice did not sound like Richard’s at all, slurred and indistinct.
“I’m so sorry, Uncle. I truly tried. But Beauvais ordered them in Philippe’s name to remain in Caesarea. Whilst I doubt Hugh of Burgundy would have been any more reasonable, he’d gone back to Acre after taking sick.” Hoping it might cheer Richard up, Henri embellished the truth, saying that he’d heard Burgundy had been “puking his guts out” and had made the trip to Acre “clutching a chamber pot as if it were the Holy Grail.”
The corner of Richard’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but he closed his eyes then and Henri took the hint. He knew his uncle did not like others to see him so sick, so helpless, and he thought that was one reason why Richard had forbidden him to let Berengaria and Joanna know of his illness. He’d said Jaffa was much too dangerous for them, and Henri could not dispute that. But as Richard’s condition worsened, Henri feared that his uncle’s wife and sister might be denied the chance to bid him a final farewell. After exchanging glances with Master Besace, who merely shrugged his shoulders, indicating Richard was in God’s Hands, Henri made a quiet departure.
THEY’D GATHERED in a tent close to the Jerusalem Gate to hear Henri’s report: the poulain lords Balian d’Ibelin, Hugues de Tiberias and his brother William; the Grand Masters Robert de Sablé and Garnier de Nablus; and the men closest to Richard—André de Chauvigny, the Earl of Leicester, and Hubert Walter, the Bishop of Salisbury. While they’d been expecting bad news, a gloomy silence still fell once Henri was done speaking.
“There are rumors that Saladin means to make another assault on Jaffa now that the English king is incapacitated,” Garnier de Nablus said bleakly. “Under the circumstances, it would be astonishing if he did not, yet if he does, God help us all.”
“His men showed they had no stomach for fighting,” Leicester pointed out, but without much conviction.
“They had no stomach for fighting Richard,” Balian corrected. “Since he’s bedridden, they might recover some of their lost courage. Moreover, Saladin has fresh troops now, the reinforcements from Egypt.” Balian paused, looking around at the circle of grim faces. “We need to make peace—for all our sakes. And there is only one way to do it. I’m guessing most of you are chess players, no? Well, any chess piece except the king can be sacrificed, and I think it is time to sacrifice one. We must give up Ascalon if we have any hope of winning this game.”
The other poulains were nodding in vigorous agreement, but Richard’s men looked dubious. Henri was the one to give voice to their misgivings, admitting that he was not sure Richard would ever agree.
“We cannot hold it without Richard,” Balian said bluntly. “So unless he plans to renounce his own domains and remain here to defend it, it makes no sense to let Ascalon wreck this last chance of peace.” He paused again, this time looking directly at Henri and André. “You must convince your king. If he will not consent, the best we can hope for is that the war