It was toward the close of this siege that the great dispute arose which alienated Richard Cœur-de-Lion and Leopold, duke of Austria. Cœur-de-Lion, who sometimes returned from an assault so riddled with arrows that he looked like a pin-cushion, as his historian says, was justly proud of his courage and strength. Leopold, who was equally proud, had his flag hoisted over the city which he had just entered with Richard. Richard might have put his own flag beside that of Duke Leopold, but he preferred to take down the Austrian flag and throw it into a ditch. All the Germans revolted and wished to attack the king in his quarters; but Leopold opposed this.
A year later, as Richard did not wish to return to his domain through France, owing to his differences with Philippe-Auguste, he travelled through Austria in disguise; but he was recognized in spite of it, made prisoner, and incarcerated in the castle of Durenstein. For two years no one knew what had become of him; this thunderbolt of war had been extinguished like a meteor. There were no traces left of Richard Cœur-de-Lion.
A gentleman of Arras named Blondel undertook to find him; and one day, without having the least idea that he was so near the English king, he sat down at the foot of an old castle, and began to sing the first verse of a couplet which he had composed with Richard. Richard, by the way, was a bit of a poet in his leisure moments. When he heard the first verse of this couplet which he and Blondel had composed, he suspected the latter's presence and replied with the second.
The rest of the story, which has furnished Grétry with a theme for his masterpiece, is well known.
Ptolemais surrendered to the Christians, as we have said, after a siege of two years. The garrison were promised their lives on condition that they surrender the True Cross, which was captured at the battle of Tiberias. It is needless to say that, once at liberty, the Saracens forgot all about their promise.
A hundred years later, Ptolemais was recaptured from the Christians, never to be given up to them again.
This siege also had its chroniclers, its sudden turns of fortune, which rent all Europe and Asia, and its devotion, which was marked in more than one instance by heroism and self-abnegation.
Saint Antonius relates a curious legend in reference to this siege.
"There was," he says, "a celebrated monastery of nuns at Saint-Jean d'Acre belonging to the order of Saint Claire. When the Saracens entered the town, the abbess ordered the convent bell to be rung, and assembled all the community.
"Addressing the nuns, she said: 'My dear daughters and beloved sisters, we have promised the Lord Jesus Christ to be his spotless wives. We are at this moment in twofold danger—danger to our lives and danger to our purity. Those enemies of our bodies and of our souls as well are close at hand, who, after dishonoring those whom they meet, run them through with the sword. If we cannot escape them by flight, at least we can do so by taking a painful but invincible resolve. It is woman's beauty which attracts men most frequently. Let us despoil ourselves of this attraction. Let us use our faces as a means of preserving our moral beauty, our chastity, intact. I will set you the example. Let those who wish to appear spotless before their spotless Spouse imitate their mistress!'