Lionheart (73 page)

It was not a victory, but for the men sure they were facing death or capture, it was even sweeter—a reprieve, a rescue against overwhelming odds. When word spread of Richard’s defiant vow that he’d never let them die alone, even those who usually disapproved of his bravura exploits were impressed, and to the disgust of Richard’s most implacable foes, the November 6 battle burnished the growing legend of the Lionheart even more brightly.

RICHARD HAD so exhausted himself with his exertions, though, that he had to be bled by his physicians the next day, and so it was not until the following day that he was able to meet with al-’Ādil at the latter’s camp.

ANDRÉ AND HENRI were among the very few whom Richard had taken into his confidence about the proposed marital alliance, and they accompanied him to the meeting. André was not completely comfortable to be drinking and eating with men who may have been among those seeking to kill him two days ago at Ibn Ibrak, but the bizarre aspects of the event appealed to Henri’s quirky sense of humor and he enjoyed himself thoroughly.

Al-’Ādil welcomed the English king and his companions as graciously as if they were esteemed allies and not men who’d shed so much Saracen blood. Richard had earlier sent al-’Ādil a magnificent stallion, and the sultan’s brother now reciprocated with seven camels and a splendid, spacious tent. The Saracens took the obligations of hospitality seriously and Henri would later tease Joanna that she’d be well fed if she married al-’Ādil, for he set a sumptuous table. He explained that he could not offer them wine, as it was
haraam
, forbidden by the
Qur’an
, but they were served delicious fruit drinks cooled with snow and rosewater
julabs
. His guests politely hid any disappointment over the lack of wine and complimented the variety of dishes put before them, grateful that al-’Ādil had remembered they could eat no meat, it being a Friday, and savoring cuisine they’d never tasted before: yogurt, couscous, a fried pistachio crepe called
qatayif
. Richard had brought samples of the food found on Frankish tables, assuring his host that he’d included no meat dishes since he knew their dietary laws held that animals had to be ritually slaughtered. Henri thought there was always some rivalry in any encounter involving royalty, and it amused him that his uncle and al-’Ādil seemed to be vying with each other to show how well they’d prepared for this occasion.

Humphrey de Toron was again acting as interpreter, seated between Richard and al-’Ādil so they could converse easily. He had one awkward moment early on, when Richard protested about his men being ambushed at a time when the two sides were conducting peace talks and al-’Ādil responded with a matter-of-fact reminder that they were at war, mentioning that they’d lost three Mamluks dear to Salah al-Dīn at Ibn Ibrak. Humphrey knew Richard had himself killed one of them during the battle, but he thought it wise to keep that to himself ; nor did he translate al-’Ādil’s comment about the slain men.

Otherwise, he thought the discussions were conducted with remarkable cordiality. He’d not expected the two men to have such a rapport, but for this one day at least, what they shared—a love of horses and hawking, a mutual respect for each other’s courage and battle skills, a similar ironic sense of humor—was enough to bridge the great gap that separated Christians and Muslims, men sworn to holy war and
jihad
.

They had a lively conversation about horse breeding and the different riding styles of the Franks and the Saracens, followed by a discussion of hunting; Richard was fascinated to learn al-’Ādil used trained cheetahs. Eventually, of course, the talk turned to a more controversial topic—the marriage proposal.

“I was desolate,” al-’Ādil said blandly, “to hear that your lovely sister is loath to become my wife.”

“All is not lost,” Richard assured him. “But she does have qualms about wedding a man not of her faith. Mayhap there is a way to resolve this, though. Would you consider becoming a Christian?”

Al-’Ādil nearly choked on his
julab
, but recovered quickly. “Mayhap the lady would consider becoming a Muslim,” he parried, and when his gaze met Richard’s, they shared a smile of perfect understanding.

“Alas, there have been further complications,” Richard confided. “Our bishops and priests are adamantly against the match, so it will be necessary to secure the approval of the Pope in Rome. It will take about three months to get his response, but if he consents and my sister is happy about it, then well and good.”

“And if he refuses?”

“We can still get it done. My sister, as you know, is a widow, and so we need papal consent for her marriage. That is not true, however, for a virgin maid. So I could offer you my niece as a bride. She is very young still, but of high birth, the child of my brother and the Duchess of Brittany.”

“I will pass your message on to my brother,” al-’Ādil promised, and Humphrey sighed with relief, hoping this would be the end of the marriage talk, for he’d been hard put to remain impassive as Richard lied about the supposed outrage of their clerics, none of whom knew anything about the marriage proposal, and then proceeded to rewrite Church canon law to suit his own purposes. Despite his fluency in Arabic, Humphrey had not often been called upon as a translator in such highlevel conferences, and he feared he might inadvertently give something away by his reaction to what was said. It was fortunate, he thought, that al-’Ādil and Richard were having too much fun with their verbal swordplay to pay him any mind.

Al-’Ādil finished his drink. “I hope we can come to terms,
Malik Ric
. For if we do not, the sultan may have to listen to other offers.”

Richard wished he knew precisely what that Judas in Tyre was offering. “Tell me this, my lord. Would you ever disavow your God?”

Al-’Ādil was no longer smiling. “No, I would not.”

“Nor would I. But a man who’d turn upon those of his own faith is doing just that. So why would you or your brother trust such a man?”

“An interesting question,” al-’Ādil said noncommittally. “I will pass that on to the sultan, too.”

“If we could meet as I’ve requested, I could ask him that myself,” Richard suggested.

“Ah, but as my lord brother has told you, kings ought not to meet with other kings until peace has been made between them.”

“Yet you and I are meeting.”

“I am not a king,” al-’Ādil pointed out amicably.

“You could be, if you accept my peace terms.”

The other man merely laughed, and clapped his hands, for Richard had earlier expressed an interest in hearing Saracen music. Much to the surprise of the Franks, their entertainment proved to be a young woman, carrying a harp. Richard had been told the Saracens were very protective of their women, shielding them from the eyes of other men, and he was curious about her appearance, unveiled, in their midst. He leaned over to ask Humphrey if there was a tactful way to find out, but the
poulain
had no need to put such a question to al-’Ādil, for he already knew the answer. “She is a slave, my liege,” he explained, so nonchalantly that Richard and his companions exchanged glances, reminded again that the Christians of Outremer were closer in some ways to the Saracens than to their European brethren.

Richard was delighted with the girl’s songs, and the visit ended on a high note, with an exchange of compliments and a promise to meet again. On the ride back to their camp, Henri speculated aloud about the lovely slave’s fate, suggesting that one of them ought to buy her and grinning when Richard asked if he’d have been so sympathetic had she not been so fair. He retaliated by teasing his uncle about his offer of a substitute bride, wondering aloud whom Constance of Brittany would find more objectionable as a husband for her young daughter—a Saracen or an Englishman.

“We are talking of a crown, Henri. What woman would not want to be Queen of Jerusalem?”

“Aunt Joanna,” Henri retorted, and they both laughed.

Humphrey was close enough to hear their conversation, but he found no humor in it. He’d been stunned when Richard had first confided in him, and then euphoric, for this was the first glimmer of hope he’d been given in two years. If Joanna were to wed al-’Ādil and become queen, then Isabella’s claim would be superseded. Since Conrad had twice discarded wives when they no longer were of use to him, surely it was possible that he might repudiate Isabella, too, if she could not secure him the crown. For a fortnight, Humphrey had allowed himself to believe in miracles—the restoration of his wife and his stolen life. But he’d slowly come to doubt the sincerity of Richard’s offer, and he’d found the sudden mention of the king’s niece to be troubling. It was true that Saracen girls could be wed at very young ages, with consummation usually postponed until she’d begun her flux, just as in Christian realms, so a marriage between al-’A
^-
dil and the little Breton princess could still quash Conrad’s claim to the throne. He had not been reassured, though, by the tone of the colloquy between Richard and al-’Ādil, for it had not seemed to him that either man was taking the marriage proposal seriously.

Humphrey did not dare to question Richard directly about his intentions, but he’d always found the Count of Champagne to be very affable, and upon their return to Yāzūr, he sought Henri out. “May I ask you something, my lord count? Do you think the Lady Joanna’s marriage to al-’Ādil will ever come to pass?”

Henri had an unease of conscience where Humphrey was concerned. He’d supported Conrad’s marriage to Isabella because he’d been convinced by the
poulains
that the kingdom was doomed as long as Guy de Lusignan ruled over them. He could not help pitying Humphrey, though, for it had been obvious to anyone with eyes to see that he’d been in love with his beautiful young wife. It was obvious, too, what had motivated Humphrey’s question, and he hesitated, finally deciding that honesty was the greater kindness now.

“No,” he said, “I do not.” He turned away, then, giving Humphrey the only solace he could—privacy to grieve for a shattered dream.

THE FRENCH WERE NOT the only ones displeased by Richard’s cordial dealings with the sultan and his brother; many of his soldiers were also unhappy about it, and after his day-long visit with al-’Ādil, some were emboldened to speak out, saying it was not proper for a Christian king to exchange gifts and courtesies with the enemies of God. When he became aware of the growing criticism, even from men who’d always admired his prowess on the battlefield, Richard was both frustrated and angry, but he realized the danger in letting this sore go untreated. If it was allowed to fester, it could undermine his command. He chose to reassure his army with his sword, by adopting a bloody custom that had long been followed by both sides in the Holy Land. The chronicler of the
Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi
would report approvingly that “To remove the stain of disgrace which he had incurred, he brought back countless enemy heads to display that he had been falsely accused and that the gifts had not encouraged him to be slow in attacking the enemy.” But although he’d calmed the furor for now, the backlash had brought home to Richard a disturbing truth—that a holy war was indeed unlike other wars and he could not rely upon this motley mix of crusaders to give him the unquestioning loyalty he’d come to expect from his own vassals and lords.