The palace guards quickly killed one of the assassins, but the other escaped – not with any hope of getting away, for he hid behind the altar in the nearby church and when the body of Montferrat was carried in he rushed from his hiding place and thrust his dagger again and again into the dead body.

The assassin was seized and submitted to horrible torture with rack, screw and fire but he refused to say a word nor did he utter a cry of protest.

There were many who believed that Richard had ordered the deed to be done, but the manner of the crime and the fact that the Old Man of the Mountains had a grudge against the Count made it almost certain that he was behind the attack.

With Montferrat dead Richard wondered whether it would be wise to bestow on Guy de Lusignan the as yet unconquered Jerusalem; but another claimant had come into the picture. This was Count Henry of Champagne who, since he was the nephew of both Richard and Philip of France, seemed the ideal successor. He was popular, too, and when it was suggested that he should marry Montferrat’s widow this seemed a happy solution to the affair.

Richard was agreeable, for he knew that he could trust Henry of Champagne as he never could have trusted Montferrat and as Guy was satisfied with Cyprus, the assassination of Montferrat brought nothing but good to Richard – which was probably why the rumour started that he – not the Old Man of the Mountains – had been responsible for the murder.

FAREWELL JERUSALEM

Richard was depressed. He had just conquered Darum, a walled city which had presented little difficulty. Some fury had suddenly possessed him as his stone-casters had gone into action; he had felt an intense anger against the Saracens who were beginning to make him feel that they were invincible. He had planned to take Jerusalem before Christmas and here they were hampered by the terrible winter and no nearer to their goal than they had been since the fall of Acre.

So few were to be trusted. He had quarrelled with many. The French had always been uneasy allies. It had not happened as he had believed it would when he had made his glorious plans and dreamed what now seemed an impossible dream.

And as his troops had stormed the city and the citizens had cried for mercy he had shown none. In lust for vengeance on a fate which had denied him the victory he had craved he had struck off heads right and left with no consideration for the age or sex of his victims. The wild Plantagenet temper had charge of him and had demanded blood.

His men, as always taking their cue from him, inflicted ruthless horror on that town. And now it lay in ruins and of what good to the cause had that senseless slaughter been?

What had come over him? he asked himself. Was this Christian behaviour? Would God ever deem him worthy to enter Jerusalem?

Would he for ever after have moments when he remembered the cries of old men, women and children, their hands tightly bound behind them, as they were marched off to be sold as slaves?

I am fighting a desperate war, he excused himself.

But his conscience would not accept that.

As though in retribution for what had happened at Darum, as he rode out to Gaza messengers from England met him, with letters from his mother.

Apprehensively he read them.

‘You must return at once. Your kingdom is in acute danger. John is conspiring with the King of France. If you do not come back you will lose England and Normandy.’

The news spread through the camp. ‘Richard is leaving us. The news from England is so bad that he plans to go back.’ The King of France had long gone. The governing of his country being more important than the capture of Jerusalem. Now it was the turn of the King of England.

Richard paced up and down. Again and again he cried out: ‘Guide me, oh God; give me a sign. Tell me what I must do. Why did You not let me take Jerusalem before Christmas? Then I could have returned with a good heart.’

God remained silent under these reproaches mingled with pleas for guidance; and Richard’s terrible dilemma continued.

So near to the capture of Jerusalem and yet so far.

He re-read Eleanor’s letters. There was no mistaking their urgency. Philip, who said he had loved him! John, his own brother! Whom could one trust?

In deep melancholy he remembered his father who had complained so bitterly when his sons had fought against him. He understood something of his feelings now.

I did not deserve this though, thought Richard; and he seemed to hear his father’s voice echoing from the tomb: ‘Did you not, my son? There is something you have to learn. You cannot hold a kingdom by going off to do your pleasure.’

‘My pleasure! This was a holy crusade.’

‘Your pleasure, my son. A king’s duty is to his kingdom.’

‘But I am so near,’ he murmured.

His army knew of his quandary. There had been other letters from home. Most people had known that John would seize the first opportunity to play the traitor. Why hadn’t Richard? Philip and he had been strange friends; love such as theirs turned to hate. Philip would never forget that he was the King of France whose rival was the King of England and Duke of Normandy and when Richard was not there to remind him that he was also his beloved friend, the King of France would forget that.

‘I must go home,’ thought Richard. ‘But how can I when Jerusalem is within my grasp?’

He had made his decision. He would stay and make his assault on the town. He would put from his mind the warnings. He would capture Jerusalem and then go back to England and deal with John. If he was the one to set the Christian flag flying once more from the walls of the Holy City men would revere him throughout Christendom; they would flock to his banner, seeing in him the saviour of the Christian world. He would quickly regain anything that Philip or John had taken from him.

June had come and with it a return of the heat. As the rain and snow had hindered, so now did the heat. The pests returned – the sandstorms, the flies, the mosquitoes, the tarantulas. Another had appeared – poisonous snakes whose sting was death.

But we are close now to Jerusalem, thought Richard, and he thrilled at the prospect of the coming conflict with Saladin who was himself in Jerusalem, as determined to hold it as Richard was to take it.

Reports came in of the supplies which were reaching the city. Saladin’s army was waiting to attack hidden away somewhere in the neighbourhood. There were great numbers of Saracens.

Richard sent for Henry of Champagne, a man whom he believed he could trust not only because he was his nephew but also because he had put nothing in the way of his becoming King of Jerusalem. His desire to regain the city must be as great as Richard’s own.

‘I need all the men I can muster,’ said Richard. ‘This attack must not fail. We have to face Saladin’s might and we known by now that he is one of the greatest generals.’

‘No match for yourself, Sire,’ said Henry dutifully.

‘Let us not underestimate him,’ replied Richard. ‘I have great respect for him. Many of our men deserted as you know and went back to Acre. I want you to go and tell them that we are on the point of attacking, make them see that they will regret it to the end of their days if they are not with us.’

‘I will go, with all speed,’ said Henry.

‘Do not delay. The sooner we make the attack the better.’