Deus Lo Volt! by Evan S Connell

Author:Evan S Connell [Connell, Evan S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781619026933
Publisher: Counterpoint
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Soon enough, as expected, the rains of November came slanting down. Five leagues nearer Jerusalem the army halted. On the eve of Saint Thomas the Apostle it happened that Richard with a small retinue moved toward Blanchegarde, for what purpose is not known, perhaps to reconnoiter. Midway he paused, overcome with foreboding, and returned to camp. That same hour he learned that Saladin had despatched three hundred troops to Blanchegarde. What is this but divine intervention?

Now the earl of Leicester with a few knights essayed to punish an arrogant and boastful company of Turks passing by. The infidels fled, pursued by three knights on swift chargers. But in doing so the knights found themselves encircled. Then the earl of Leicester spurred forward to rescue them, followed by Henry de Mailoe and Saul de Bruil and others. Yet here came more Turks as though summoned by the Devil, flourishing reed lances tipped with steel. Garin Fitz-Gerald, toppled from his mount, was beaten almost to death with iron maces. Drogo de Fontenille Putrell was struck down, likewise Robert Nigel. The earl of Leicester was unhorsed, savagely beaten and came near drowning in the river. They say he was a little man, although not small in courage, for never did a man so slight perform such feats of bravery. Those at camp heard noise and charged toward the battle with King Richard in front, his gold crown flashing. Chronicles relate that some wished to dissuade him, fearing he would be killed, but he answered that he had sent the earl of Leicester forward and if these knights died alone he would not be called king again.

So the Turks, finding how unwise it could be to engage Richard Lionheart on the plain, retreated toward Jerusalem. The living host continued on its way. As they drew near the mountains it began to hail and rain fiercely. Horses drowned, tent pegs tore loose from the earth. Pork and biscuit spoiled, clothing rotted, armor rusted. Disconsolate pilgrims held up their hands. Yet in their hearts they felt joyous at the prospect of beholding Jerusalem and toward this end they comforted each other. Those on litters began to exalt God, praying only for a glimpse of the Sepulcher before they died. Turks lay in ambush for these caravans of the mortally sick, fell upon them like the wind, slaying those too weak to rise and all who carried them. Yet it is certain that our Lord, looking down, exchanged the brief agony of these pilgrims for eternal bliss.

Now began the Leap Year 1192, having D for its canonical letter.

On the third day after the circumcision of our Lord a company of Saracens attacked, slaying those Christians foremost in advance. Richard pursued God’s enemies and they, recognizing his banner, took flight. Eighty rode toward Mirabel but he caught up with them and by himself despatched two before his knights arrived.

Meantime the Jerusalemfarers polished swords, helmets, and coats of mail lest some blemish discolor the brilliance when after so many trials they should approach the Holy City.

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