“But why ... why?”

“You are a great warrior.”

“Better for your cause that I should die here miserably like this.”

“No. You may die in battle. So may I. That is what is intended for us. I want to face you out there. It is decreed that we shall be enemies. We might have been friends ... and for this night we are. You serve your God and I serve mine. Perhaps it was your God who sent me here tonight and my God who bade me come.”

He laid a cool hand on Richard’s brow.

“You speak strange words,” said Richard, “but I feel the fever going out of me.”

“So should it be.”

“You are a brave man to come through our camp.”

“Allah protected me.”

“I shall add my protection to his. You shall not be harmed when you go back. Shall we meet again?”

“It is in the hands of Allah and perhaps your God. And now I shall go. I believe you will find the fever is past.”

Richard called his guard and told him that the messenger was to be escorted from the camp, and if any harm came to him, whoever caused it would be answerable to him.

All were surprised when that very night Richard slept peacefully, and next morning the fever was gone.

He might have thought he had had a dream, but gifts began to arrive that day. There were grapes, dates and young chickens with the compliments of the Sultan Saleh-ed-Din.

When I heard that story, I was amazed. It seemed to me so strange. I could have believed that Richard had suffered a hallucination. But then Saladin was an unusual man, as Richard was. There was some bond between them. Richard had always been an admirer of his own sex. Perhaps there was some invisible rapport between such men. They were two of the great heroes of the day. One worshipped Allah, the other the Christian God. Perhaps the two were not so very far apart. If that were so, why this war? Why could we not sit down and come to terms about the differences? If the Saracens owned Jerusalem, why should not the Christians be able to visit the shrines in peace? And if the Christians owned it, why should they shut it to the Saracens?

However, that almost mythical meeting between the two leaders made me ponder. I must confess I doubted its authenticity, but the fact remained that from that time Richard began to recover.

Anselm’s story continued. The King of France also became ill. He had been less affected than Richard but made far more of his illness. In Anselm’s view he was getting very tired of the campaign. It was always thus with the crusades. People set out with such fervor, dreaming of the glorious deeds they would perform and the recognition they would get in Heaven; but when the reality was thrust upon them, it must occur to them that there were easier ways of earning eternal salvation.

As soon as Richard was well, the storming of Acre began; there were great losses on both sides; but the town, in due course, surrendered and Saladin was in retreat.

I wondered what his thoughts were at that time, and if he regretted saving Richard’s life, as he appeared to have done. It was inexplicable. It was obvious that Richard was the leading spirit in the battle, and victory would not have been certain without him.

There was still the battle for Jerusalem to be fought.

An unpleasant incident occurred. When he was inspecting the walls of the city, Richard noticed the flag of Austria flying there. He demanded that the Duke of Austria be brought to him and before his eyes tore down the flag and ground his heel on it. The Duke of Austria was naturally furious at the insult, but Richard said: “We come as Christians; we are one army; we cannot have every leader who has brought a handful of men claiming victory for his country.”

The Duke of Austria went away muttering that he would remember the insult. Richard had made a bitter enemy.

It was Philip Augustus who claimed his attention. The French King had been very ill and wanted to go home. He came to Richard and told him that he was worried about his country. A king could not remain away for so long and expect all to be well. That was true enough. I wished Richard had felt the same. Philip Augustus was longing for home. He hated being in this inhospitable land. The flies pestered him; the mosquitoes were dangerous; many had suffered from them; then there were the accursed tarantulas. Philip Augustus said that if they remained here one of them would die, and he did not intend it to be himself. He went on to say that he loved his country and his duty lay there. He was beginning to see that the task they had taken on was hopeless.

“Hopeless!” cried Richard. “When we have just taken Acre!”

“These Mohammedans are great fighters,” argued Philip Augustus. “Sometimes I think they are invincible.”

“We have a cause,” Richard reminded him.

“Have they not? Their Allah seems often to work better for them than God does for us.”

“That could be called blasphemy.”

“Then blasphemy is truth. I believe this man, Saladin, is a very wise one.”

“I would agree with that.”

“He is a noble enemy.”

“But the Saracens are in possession of Jerusalem. If you go now, you will break your oath.”

Philip Augustus called attention to the weight he had lost, to his thinning hair and his broken nails. “All this I have suffered. It is God’s way of telling me to go home.”

“I have been in a worse state than you have.”

“You have always suffered from the ague.”

“Philip Augustus, tell me, have you made up your mind to go home?”

“I will leave you some of my knights to command when I go.”

“I thought you were my friend who would want to be with me.”

“I would be no good to you dead. And what of this Saladin? Why did he send food to you when you were ill?”

“I do not know,” said Richard.

Philip Augustus looked at him suspiciously. “They say he is a very noble-looking creature.” Richard was silent.

“And you met him?” asked Philip Augustus.

Richard told him of his experience.

“He came to your tent by night ... uninvited?” said Philip Augustus suspiciously.

And after that there was a great coolness between them. Richard said that he could see that Philip Augustus was going to break his oath.

The French King said that his country was more important to him than anything else. “To stay would be to condemn myself to death. I will leave you to make friends with our enemy. What of Tancred? You became friendly with him too.”

“You have a jealous nature.”

Their friendship was considerably strained when they parted.

It became clear that Richard missed the French King. He tried to console himself with music and became greatly pleased by a young boy named Blondel de Nesle who was an excellent musician; he and Richard composed songs which they sang in harmony.

While Richard was repairing the walls of Acre, Saladin attempted to bring about a truce and sent his brother Malek Adel to Richard’s camp to discuss terms. It was while he was there that Malek Adel had seen Joanna and been so impressed by her charms that he wanted to marry her. That Richard should find such a suggestion feasible told me a good deal about his respect for the Saracens. Joanna, naturally, had been indignant and the project came to nothing. There was no truce, and the battle for Jerusalem persisted.

There was a great deal of trouble among the crusaders. I suppose that was inevitable when there were so many nations involved, each trying to claim credit for his own country’s achievements. Richard, as leader, managed to engender a certain amount of enmity and venom, and the task of delivering Jerusalem—daunting as it would have been without any of these disturbances—became almost impossible.

Meanwhile Richard was receiving urgent messages from me which must have given him anxiety. He had to fortify the towns he captured and garrison them to make them safe for pilgrims. It was a great task he had undertaken, and plagued as he was by bouts of recurring fever, life was not easy.

He was depressed. He was discovering more and more how formidable were his foes; and in Saladin they had a leader equal to himself. Moreover, the climate could be more easily borne by the Saracens. It was another enemy. The heat brought the perpetual flies, the poisonous insects, and with the passing of the summer came the torrential rains and the mud.

However, Richard continued to conquer towns and make them safe for pilgrims; and all the time he was plagued by my entreaties to return home.

I, who understood him so well, suffered with him. I could picture his frustration. He had thought to capture Jerusalem long before this, but Saladin was there, with a skill and valor which matched Richard’s own.

There came a time when Richard intercepted a caravan full of food and ammunition on its way to Saladin’s camp. That was a great achievement and must have cost the Saracens much anguish. Soon after this a great battle took place at Hebron Hills. The crusaders won the day and captured five thousand camels and mules laden with gold and silver as well as provisions.

After winning such prizes it seemed that the way was open to Jerusalem, and Richard believed he was on the point of taking the city and bringing the crusade to a glorious end. But Saladin was too clever to allow this happy conclusion to come about. He spread rumors throughout the Christian camp that, fearing their advance, he had poisoned all the drinking wells outside the Holy City.

It turned out to be not so, but Richard could not ignore such a rumor. He returned to Jaffa and by doing so lost his great chance.