The Red King by Robert Broomall

Author:Robert Broomall [Broomall, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Stone Media
Published: 2018-08-22T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Meanwhile the negotiations over Joanna’s marriage to al-Adil dragged on. Now there was something the Christian priests objected to, now there was something the Muslim priests—or whatever the pagans called their holy men—didn’t like. Then Pope Clement died, and was succeeded by a new Pope, Celestine. Plump Archbishop Ubaldo was replaced as Papal legate by the dour bishop of Verona, and he demanded to examine Richard’s plans for a peace settlement all over again. Why couldn’t they just agree and be done with it?

And, of course, the complaints in council continued.

“The road to Jerusalem is open,” shouted Henry of Deraa, “why aren’t we taking it?” Henry had become even more truculent since he had lost his son.

Balian of Ibelin agreed. “We need to get there before the winter rains come. There’s still time, but not much.”

“Every day we sit here is an extra day for Saladin to fortify the Holy City,” the bishop of Beauvais said.

“We will march when we are ready,” Richard told them. He hadn’t been attending the council meetings of late; he’d only come tonight because he needed to. “I’ve told you, we must secure our supply lines before we start for the Holy City. If the Saracens get behind us, they could cut us off.” The truth was, Richard suspected Saladin was baiting him, trying to lure him into the rugged hills that lay on the approach to Jerusalem. He suspected a trap.

“The supply route is as secure as it will ever be,” said Hugh of Burgundy. “We must march.”

“Let us give the negotiations more time,” Richard counseled.

“We’ve given them enough time,” Henry said. “If Conrad were here, the negotiation would be: Give us the city now, and we’ll let your people inside live. Otherwise we’ll kill them all.”

“That’s what the first crusaders did!” shouted the count of St. Pol.

Hugh needled Richard shrewdly. “Aye, they had leaders more interested in serving God than in riding into the hills and seeking their own glory.”

There were angry cries of agreement, and it was all Richard could do to hold his temper.

“Forgive me for being blunt, sire,” said Balian, “but this idea of marrying your sister to Saphadin is ridiculous. The Saracens will never agree to it.”

Richard smiled. “Won’t they?” He was tired of hearing about that boorish oaf Conrad, tired of hearing his motives questioned by his inferiors. He gave his reason for coming tonight. “It may interest you to know that al-Adil—whom you call Saphadin—has invited our chief barons to a banquet at Lydda three days hence. There we will review—and with good luck finalize—our proposal for peace.”

Richard had not seen al-Adil for some time. He missed him. He often wondered what would happen should they ever meet on the battlefield, and he prayed that would not happen.

Henry of Deraa was incredulous. “A banquet? We should be cutting these bastards’ heads off, not having a banquet with them.” Then his expression changed. “Tell me, will my dear friend the emir Qaymaz be present at this banquet?”

“He will,” Richard said, “and you will not.

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