Then the sultan threatened to torture Louis to make him yield.
‘I am the sultan’s prisoner,’ said the king; ‘he can do with me as he will.’
He was so calm and firm that a Moslem who stood by said: ‘You treat us, sire, as if you had us in prison instead of our holding you.’
But though the sultan spoke of torturing King Louis, he did not do it except by making him watch the men of his army as they died before him. When he found that the king would not yield he gave in himself, and agreed to accept Damietta in return for the king, and a large sum of money for those of the army who still lived.
But the knights would not let Louis wait to see the men set free. A vessel lay waiting at the mouth of the Nile. As soon as he and his queen were on board, it sped out to sea, and ere long King Louis was once more in France.
He was a great ruler as well as a great fighter, and he thought of the needs and duties of those whose king he was, as none in that land had ever done before. While he made France strong and its people happy, Bibars, who had so cleverly trapped Robert at Mansourah, became sultan, and laid waste the Holy Land. The news of this reached the northern lands from which the crusading armies had gone forth in former days, and once more the great longing to save Jerusalem took hold of Louis. His nobles sat in council. He came to them bearing a crown of thorns in his hands. Again he fastened the cross of war on his shoulder. He had heard that a great king in Africa was willing to become a Christian, and as he thought of this he dreamed bright dreams. He thought that he might bring this desert king and his dark followers to join his faith and his army, and that with them to aid him, he might even yet conquer the Moslem armies and win Jerusalem and Palestine.
His fleet sailed for the African coast. The army landed and marched into the desert. The hot sand blew about them and choked them. They found no friendly welcome, but only messages of blood and war from the king whom Louis had hoped would join him in battle against the Moslems. Illness and death swept through the army. One of the first to die was a son of King Louis. Soon the king himself lay dying in his tent in the hot desert camp.
‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem,’ he cried, ‘we will go to Jerusalem!’ His couch was very comfortless, but it was not so humble as Louis wished it to be. He bade them spread ashes on the ground and lay him there. When they had done this, they saw his lips move. They bent to listen, and heard these words:
‘Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.’
Then he fell asleep. The sleep grew deeper and deeper, and soon the men who watched him there knew that he would never wake on earth again.