So Henry left for Acre and Richard continued to make his preparations.

Each day he watched for the return of Henry with the reluctant crusaders. The time was passing. One, two, three weeks. What was happening in England? All these weeks Saladin would be making Jerusalem stronger.

Henry of Champagne was not finding his task an easy one. Living was good in Acre. How different from the discomforts of the march, harassed by Saracens and perhaps even worse by the plagues of the land, and men found it hard to choose between the combined displeasure of Richard and Heaven and all the easy comfort of Acre.

The waiting was irksome, and all the time Richard was tortured by the thought of what was happening in England.

There were forays with the enemy; Richard now and then led a raid against the Saracens. They were bringing supplies into Jerusalem by various routes and when news of them was brought to Richard he would take some of his men and make a raid. This kept the men in fair spirits and Richard knew well enough that there was nothing so dangerous as boredom.

On such an occasion he went to the stronghold of Emmaus which he very successfully raided, killing twenty Saracens and taking possession of their camels and horses as well as supplies. The rest of the garrison, who had been deluded into thinking that Richard’s entire army was with him, fled in disorder.

As they paused to view the spoils one of Richard’s knights rode to him and said: ‘Sire, if you will ride to the top of yonder hill I will show you Jerusalem.’

Richard rode to the top of the hill but when he reached the summit he pulled his surcoat across his eyes.

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘I will not look . . . yet. Fair Lord God,’ he went on, ‘I pray Thee that thou suffer me not to behold Thy Holy City if so be that I may not deliver it out of the hands of Thy enemies.’

And he refused to look on the city.

They were long delayed at Beit Nuba. By this time Henry of Champagne had arrived with those crusaders who had finally been persuaded to return with him. Richard looked at them with contempt. Such men could scarcely be expected to fight as he knew they would have to.

All the time there hung over him the shadow of events in England. He was unhappy knowing that Philip had broken his word. That John was a traitor was not surprising. He had been spoiled by their father and led to believe he would one day inherit the throne.

When an opportunity came to intercept a caravan which was travelling from Egypt to Jerusalem with supplies for the Saracens, Richard seized it joyfully. It would give the men the excitement they so badly needed and help to keep up their spirits. Saladin’s spies were everywhere and it soon reached his ears that Richard intended to waylay the caravan. He sent men out to protect it and when Richard’s force came to that spot in the Hebron Hills known as the Round Fountain, because of the spring where the horses were brought to drink, he found the Saracens there.

A great battle took place in which many on both sides were killed; but the Christians were victorious and the spoils were great. There were almost five thousand camels as well as mules, horses, gold, silver and rich materials, besides foodstuffs such as flour and barley and skins for carrying water.

In Jerusalem Saladin mourned the loss of the caravan and fervently prayed that Richard should never know how weakly the city was defended. That he did not know was obvious as he was delaying the attack. Saladin did everything possible to let everyone believe that he was confident in his strong defence, but this was not the case and he knew very well that Richard’s greatest mistake was in delay.

He sent his spies into Richard’s camp with rumours that he, Saladin, had poisoned the wells outside Jerusalem; and Richard decided that without water they must retire from Beit Nuba and fall back on Jaffa.

Great was the jubilation in Jerusalem.

‘Praise be to Allah,’ cried Saladin, ‘He has saved Jerusalem for me.’

There was another enemy which raised its head against Richard: the ever-recurring fever.

He knew now that it had laid him low that he must return to England. He was tortured by nightmare dreams of what was happening at home. Not in this crusade was he to have the glory of winning back the Holy City.

Saladin was too mighty a foe. They were too much alike. They were the two greatest warriors of the age pitted against each other, and it seemed that neither could conclusively defeat the other. They respected each other. Richard thought: I can never take Jerusalem while Saladin lives. And Saladin thought: I can never drive the Christians out of Palestine while Richard the Lion-hearted leads them. We two should have been friends. We have too much respect for each other to be enemies. There is love of a strange kind between us.

There were times when Richard thought he was dying of the fever, but in his more lucid moments he realised that if he recovered there was nothing to be done but leave for home, his task incomplete. This, which was to have been the most glorious crusade, was to end in failure. He must go back, make his kingdom and his dukedom safe and come again with more men and more supplies. At least he had gained experience. Somewhere in his mind was the thought that Saladin could not live for ever and that he must wait for his death before he could conquer the Saracens.

There was ill news of the Duke of Burgundy, who had returned to serve under Richard after the death of Montferrat. He had an attack of fever and it seemed unlikely that he would recover. This gave the French the excuse they wanted to retire. Richard knew that all these men who had come out with such high hopes were now weary of the battle; they all longed to go home. They missed their families and their native land; they had dreamed of glory and found overpowering heat, devastating cold and poisonous insects.

‘It is time to go,’ Richard told himself. ‘I will come again and next time I shall succeed.’

Saladin was an honourable man. Perhaps he could make a truce with him. He would tell him the truth, for if he did not, Saladin would discover it. He was sick; there was trouble in his realm; while he fought in this land half his thoughts were of his home.

He called messengers to him and sent them to Saladin. Would Saladin consider a truce?

There was in fact nothing Saladin wanted more. His men, too, were weary of the fight. They, too, longed for their homes. They had suffered terrible losses and they greatly feared Richard the Lion-Heart.

Most willingly would he come to terms.

It was decided that the truce should last three years, three months, three weeks and three days starting from the following Easter. Part of the coast was to remain in Christian hands; and during the time of the truce Christians might have free passage and safe conduct to Jerusalem and be allowed to worship at the Holy Sepulchre. But they must come in peace and in small parties.

Richard knew that Saladin would keep his word.

‘Is it not strange,’ he said, ‘that I should know this and trust a heathen, when he who declared himself my good friend and ally, the Christian King of France, should conspire with my own brother against me?’

And he thought often of Saladin as Saladin thought of him; each was aware of the almost mystic bond between them.

In the palace at Acre the two Queens heard of his illness and that preparations were to be made for them to leave.

Joanna, watchful of her sister-in-law, noticed that she did not express the usual anxiety for Richard’s health. She was sorry. She had to admit that Richard had neglected Berengaria shamefully. True he was engaged on a mighty venture, but he made no effort to be with her and there surely must have been occasions when it was possible.