Richard started from Marseilles; Philip Augustus from Genoa; Frederick Redbeard from Germany followed the old course of Bulgaria and Asia Minor. He had with him a hundred thousand men; and he refused to allow any man to join the army who was not possessed of at least three marks of silver. Frederick had the courtesy to send an ambassador to Saladin, announcing his intention of making war upon him.
He fought his way across Asia Minor to Iconium, which surrendered. The old terror which Godfrey and Baldwin had been able to inspire among the Saracens was inspired again by Frederick. The Mohammedans expected his arrival in Syria with the liveliest apprehensions. But he never got there, for bathing in the river Selef he was seized with a chill, and died. After his death large numbers of his men deserted; the rest fought their way under the Duke of Swabia; and at length, out of the one hundred thousand who had followed Frederick, there entered into Palestine six hundred horse and five thousand foot.
Saladin, meantime, had besieged Tyre and Tripoli, both ineffectually. He had, however, got possession of the strong post of Kerak, after a siege of more than a year. The Christian defenders actually sold their wives and children to the besiegers, in order to save them from starvation. Saladin gave them back again after the capitulation. He also, in 1189, two years after his capture, restored liberty to Guy de Lusignan, on his taking a solemn oath never to go to war with him. Guy swore, and directly after he returned to Christian soil got the oath annulled, and returned to besiege Acre. This was the crime which, above all things, enraged the Saracens, and made a man like Saladin unable to understand a religion which permitted it. Here was a captive king released from his prison by the clemency of his conqueror, and without ransom, solely on the condition that he would leave it to others to make war upon him. Yet the very first thing he does is to break his oath, and get up an army to attack him. Conrad de Montferrat, who was in Tyre, refused to admit Guy, not thinking it necessary to acknowledge a king who was unable to defend himself. But Guy, who was not without courage, found means to raise a small army, and with it sat down before Acre. He nearly took it by assault, when an alarm was spread that Saladin was coming, and his men fled in a panic. It was not Saladin who was coming from the land, but the first reinforcement of the Crusaders from the sea. The Frisians and Danes, twelve thousand in number, came first, and camped with Guy. Next came the English and the Flemings. And then Saladin, becoming aware of the new storm that was rising against him, came down from Phœnicia, and prepared to meet it. Every day the Crusaders arrived; before Richard and Philip were even on their way there were one hundred thousand of them, and the hearts of the Mohammedans sank when they beheld a forest of masts, always changing, always being renewed as the ships went away and others came. The Christians, on the other hand, were confident of success; a French knight, looking on the mighty host about him, is reported to have cried out, blasphemously enough, “If God only remains neuter the victory is ours.” Saladin forced on a battle, and experienced a disastrous defeat. The Saracens fled in all directions, and already the Christians were plundering their camp, when a panic broke out among them. Without any enemy attacking them, they threw away their arms, and fled. Saladin stopped his men, and turned upon them. The rout was general, and victory remained with Saladin, but a victory which he could not follow up, in consequence of the confusion into which his camp had been thrown. He withdrew, and the Crusaders, recovering from their panic, set to work, fortifying their camp, and besieging Acre. They passed thus the winter of 1189-90, without any serious success, and contending always against Greek fire, which the besieged threw against their movable towers. In the spring came Saladin again; the Crusaders demanded to be led against the Saracens, the chiefs refused; the soldiers revolted, and poured forth against the enemy, only to experience another defeat, exactly similar to the first. And then the leaders, despondent at their ill-success, endeavoured to make peace with Saladin, when the arrival of Henry, Count of Champagne, followed by that of Frederick, Duke of Swabia, raised their hopes again. But then came famine, winter, and disease. Worse than all these, came dissension. Queen Sybille died with her two children. Conrad of Tyre resolved to break the marriage of her sister Isabelle, now the heiress to the crown of Jerusalem, with Humphrey de Toron, and to marry her himself. He did so, and claimed the throne; so that the camp was split into two parties, that of Guy, and that of Conrad. It was resolved to submit the matter to the arbitration of the kings of England and France. The two kings were quarrelling on their way. Richard refused to espouse Alice, Philip’s sister, to whom he was betrothed, and married in her place Berengaria. He further offended Philip by his conduct in Sicily, and by his conquest of Cyprus, which island he refused to share with Philip. Of course, therefore, directly Richard declared for Guy, Philip took the part of Conrad; and it was not till after long discussions that it was decided that Guy should hold the crown during his life, after which it was to descend to Conrad and his children. Then both kings fell ill; Saladin also was ill, with continual fevers, and constant messages were sent to and from the Christian and Saracen monarchs, which were construed by the savage soldiers into proposals of treachery. Acre fell, after a two years’ siege, and the loss of sixty thousand Christians by the Saracens’ swords. Philip went home after this, and Richard, pleased to be left without a rival, began his ferocious course in Palestine by the cold-blooded slaughter of two thousand seven hundred Saracens.
From Acre, after a short rest, devoted to those very pleasures against which such stringent edicts had been passed, Richard led his army to Cæsarea. In the midst was a sort of caroccio, a sacred car, in which was the standard of the Cross, whither the wounded were brought, and where the army rallied. The Saracens hung upon the march, shooting their arrows into the ranks of the Christians. If one was killed he was buried there and then. At night, when the camp was fixed, a herald cried aloud three times, to remind the soldiers of their vows, “Lord, help the Holy Sepulchre.” And at break of day the march was resumed. They moved slowly, only performing about ten miles a day. And then came the great battle of Assur, when Saladin lost eight thousand of his men, and ought to have lost Palestine, if Richard had been as good a Crusader as he was a general. Had they marched upon Jerusalem there was nothing in their way. But they stopped at Jaffa. Richard made propositions to Saladin. Would he give up Jerusalem? The Saracen replied that it was impossible to abandon a city whence the prophet had mounted to heaven. Then Cœur de Lion made a proposition which called forth, to his extreme astonishment—for the strong-armed king had but little insight into the intricacies of theology—such vehement opposition, that he was forced to abandon it. It was nothing less than to marry his sister Jane, widow of William of Sicily, to El Melik el ‘´Adil, Saladin’s brother. Both were to govern Jerusalem together. El Melik el ‘´Adil, who was on terms of personal friendship with Richard, was perfectly willing to arrange the marriage; but it was impossible to meet the objections of imams as well as bishops, and the negotiations were broken off, Richard proving thereupon his zeal for the faith by murdering his captives. He then gave orders to march, declaring that he was going to deliver Jerusalem. They started, but on the way he changed his resolution, and determined to rebuild Ascalon, to the chagrin and even despair of the common soldiers. And then the chiefs quarrelled. Peace was re-established. Guy de Lusignan was made king of Cyprus, and Richard gave the crown of Jerusalem to Conrad of Tyre. But the latter was murdered by two emissaries of the sheikh of the Assassins, “the old man of the mountains.”[[73]] Henry of Champagne then married his widow Isabelle, and received the title of king.
The next winter passed, and in the spring Richard, who had spent his time in small skirmishes, whence he usually returned with half-a-dozen heads at his saddle bow, declared his intention of returning to Europe. He was persuaded to remain, and once more led the army in the direction of Jerusalem. But he stopped some twenty miles from the city. And the army, like the people of Israel, murmured against him. There must, it seems to us, have been some secret reason why he never marched upon Jerusalem. Could it have been some superstitious one? Joachim, the hermit of Calabria, had prophesied that Jerusalem should be taken seven years after its capture by Saladin. It was now only five years. Was he waiting for the fulfilment of the prediction? From his vacillation, it would almost appear so. One day he rode within sight of the city. And then this great knight, this type of his age; wild beast and murderer in and after battle; illiterate and rude; yet full of noble impulses, and generous above his peers, burst into bitter weeping, and covering his face with his shield, cried aloud that he was not worthy even to look upon the city of his Saviour. He could not bear the thought of giving up the conquest of the Holy Land. On the other hand, if we are right in our conjecture as to his motives for delay, he could not possibly, with everything in his own kingdom going wrong in his absence, wait two years more. He shut himself up in his tent and passed hours alone, with pale and gloomy countenance. A temporary relief to his sorrow was afforded by the successful cutting off of the caravans which were going to Saladin from Egypt. He got, too, a piece of the True Cross, which was paraded through the camp with great rejoicing.
Then, for the whole army looked to him for advice and guidance, he called a council, and exposed certain reasons which made him hesitate before advancing on Jerusalem. Of these, the principal were, want of knowledge of the country, and its arid and thirsty nature. He proposed to submit the matter to a council of twenty, of whom half should be Templars and Hospitallers, and to be guided by their advice; but the council could not agree, and dissension broke out between the Duke of Burgundy and King Richard. The design of besieging Jerusalem was given up, and the army slowly and sadly returned to Ramleh, and thence to Jaffa.
A peace was concluded shortly after between Richard and Saladin, in which it was agreed to destroy Ascalon entirely, by the joint labour of Christians and Mohammedans; the Christians were to have all the coast between Tyre and Joppa; peace was to be enforced in the north of Syria; pilgrimages were to be freed from the former tax, and a truce for two years was to be agreed upon.
The English Crusaders, divided into three bodies, all went up unarmed to Jerusalem. They were received with kindness, and the Bishop of Salisbury, who came last, with distinction, being entertained by Saladin himself, who showed him the wood of the True Cross, and granted him, as a favour, that two Latin priests should be permitted to serve at the Church of the Sepulchre. And then, all being arranged, Richard embarked at Acre. The people crowded to the shore, weeping and crying over the loss of their champion, the most stalwart warrior that ever fought for the Cross. The king himself could not restrain his tears. Turning to bid farewell to the country, he cried, “Oh, Holy Land! God grant that I may yet return to help thee!” And his last message was one to Saladin, telling him that he was only going home to raise money in order to complete the conquest of the land. “Truly,” said the courtly Saladin; “if God wills that Jerusalem pass into other hands, it cannot fall into any more noble than those of the brave King Richard.”
Such, briefly and baldly told, is the picturesque crusade of Cœur de Lion. Of the terror which his name inspired; of his many and valiant gests, of his personal strength, his chivalrous generosity, we have not room to speak. Nor can we do more than allude to those other qualities for which he made his name known; his ferocious and savage cruelty; his pleasure in fighting for love of mere butchery; the ungovernable rage which sometimes seized him; his want of consideration for others; his “masterfulness;” the way in which he trampled on, careless over whose body he passed, provided he attained his ends. For these, and the other stories which can be told about him, we refer our readers to the chronicles, and to that book on the Crusades which has yet to be written.