He hurried his vessel forward, leapt into the water breast-high, dashed upward on the shore, ordered his immediate followers to raise a bulwark of casks and beams to protect the landing of the rest, and, rushing up a flight of steps, entered the city alone. “St. George! St. George!” That cry dismayed the Infidels; and those in the town, to the number of three thousand, fled in the utmost confusion, and were pursued for two miles by three knights who had been fortunate enough to find horses.
Richard pitched his tent outside the walls, and remained there, with so few troops that all were contained in ten tents. Very early one morning, before the King was out of bed, a man rushed into his tent, crying out, “O King! we are all dead men!”
Springing up, Richard fiercely silenced him. “Peace! or thou diest by my hand!” Then, while hastily donning his suit of mail, he heard that the glitter of arms had been seen in the distance, and in another moment the enemy were upon them, 7,000 in number!
Richard had neither helmet nor shield, and only seventeen of his knights had horses; but undaunted, he drew up his little force in a compact body, the knights kneeling on one knee, covered by their shields, their lances pointing outward, and between each pair an archer, with an assistant to load his cross-bow; and he stood in the midst, encouraging them with his voice, and threatening to cut off the head of the first who turned to fly. In vain did the Saracens charge that mass of brave men, not one-seventh of their number; the shields and lances were impenetrable: and without one forward step, or one bolt from the crossbows, their passive steadiness turned back wave after wave of the enemy. At last the King gave the word for the crossbowmen to advance, while he, with seventeen mounted knights, charged lance in rest. His curtal axe bore down all before it, and he dashed like lightning from one part of the plain to another, with not a moment to smile at the opportune gift from the polite Malek-el-Afdal, who, in the hottest of the fight, sent him two fine horses, desiring him to use them in escaping from this dreadful peril. Little did the Saracen prince imagine that they would find him victorious, and that they would mount two more pursuers! Next came a terrified fugitive, with news that 3,000 Saracens had entered Joppa! He summoned a few knights, and, without a word to the rest, galloped back into the city. The panic inspired by his presence instantly cleared the streets, and, riding back, he again led his troops to the charge; but such were the swarms of Saracens, that it was not till evening that the Christians could give themselves a moment’s rest, or look round and feel that they had gained one of the most wonderful of victories. Since daybreak Richard had not laid aside his sword or axe, and his hand was all one blister.
No wonder the terror of his name endured for centuries in Palestine, and that the Arab chided his starting horse with, “Dost think that yonder is the Malek Rik?” while the mother stilled her crying child by threats that the Malek Rik should take it.
These violent exertions seriously injured Richard’s health, and a low fever placed him in great danger, as well as several of his best knights. No command or persuasion could induce the rest to commence any enterprise without him, and the tidings from Europe induced him to conclude a peace, and return home. Malek-el-Afdal came to visit him, and a truce was signed for three years, three months, three weeks, three days, three hours, and three minutes—thus so quaintly arranged in accordance with some astrological views of the Saracens. Ascalon was to be demolished, on condition free access to Jerusalem was allowed to the pilgrims; but Saladin would not restore the piece of the True Cross, as he was resolved not to conduce to what he considered idolatry. Richard sent notice that he was coming back with double his present force to effect the conquest; and the Sultan answered, that if the Holy City was to pass into Frank hands, none could be nobler than those of the Malek Rik. Fever and debility detained Richard a month longer at Joppa, during which time he sent the Bishop of Salisbury to carry his offerings to Jerusalem. The prelate was invited to the presence of Saladin, who spoke in high terms of Richard’s courage, but censured his rash exposure of his own life.
On October 9th, 1193, Coeur de Lion took leave of Palestine, watching with tears its receding shores, as he exclaimed, “O Holy Land! I commend thee and thy people unto God. May He grant me yet to return to aid thee!”
The return from this Crusade was as disastrous as that from the siege of Troy. David, Earl of Huntingdon, the Scottish King’s brother (the Sir Kenneth of the Talisman), who had shared in all Richard’s toils and glories, embarked at the same time, but was driven by contrary winds to Alexandria, and there seized and sold as a slave. Some Venetian merchants, discovering his rank, bought him, and brought him to their own city, where he was ransomed by some English merchants, and conducted by them to Flanders; but while sailing for Scotland, another storm wrecked him near the mouth of the Tay, near the town of Dundee, the name of which one tradition declares to be derived from his thankfulness—Donum Dei, the Gift of God. He founded a monastery in commemoration of his deliverance.
The two queens, Berengaria and Joan, were driven by the storm to Sicily, and thence travelled through Italy. At Rome, to their horror, they recognized the jewelled baldric of King Richard exposed for sale; but they could obtain no clue to its history, and great was their dread that he had either perished in the Mediterranean waves, or been cut off by the many foes who beset its coasts.
His ship had been driven out of its course into the Adriatic, where the pirates of the Dalmatian coast attacked it. He beat them off, and then prevailed on them to take him into their vessel and land him on the coast of Istria, whence he hoped to find his way to his nephew Otho, Count of Saxony, elder brother of Henry, King of Jerusalem. This was the only course that offered much hope of safety, since Italy, France, Austria, and Germany were all hostile, and the rounding Spain was a course seldom attempted; so that it was but a choice of dangers for him to attempt to penetrate to his own domains. Another shipwreck threw him on the coast between Venice and Aquileia; he assumed a disguise, and, calling himself Hugh the Merchant, set out as if in the train of one of his own knights, named Baldwin de Bethune, through the lands of the mountaineers of the Tyrol. The noblesse here were mostly relatives of Conrade of Montferrat; and Philippe Auguste having spread a report that Richard had instigated his murder, it was no safe neighborhood. He sent one of his men to Count Meinhard von Gorby, the first of these, asking for a safe-conduct, and accompanying the request with a gift of a ruby ring. Meinhard, on seeing the ring, exclaimed, “Your master is no merchant. He is Richard of England: but since he is willing to honor me with his gifts, I will leave him to depart in peace.”