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Page 433
that number were wounded. If Richard's army wept with weariness where they stood, they still stood and, as far as Saladin could see, would stand for all eternity. The Moslem horns sounded; the leaders of the forcethose still alivegathered what remained of their men and rode away. There was no question of pursuit. Richard's men could barely stand, and his knights fell from their saddles like dead men as soon as they knew the need to fight was over. Yet the Moslem troops withdrew all the way to Jerusalem.
It was as well for the Crusaders that they did, that Saladin did not intend to try again. He would almost certainly have succeeded the next time. Although he bore no major wounds, Richard was nicked and scored all over and his exertions had been superhuman. In fact, what was true of the King was true of all. Sickness swept through the camp. Even Simon, who had thus far escaped all the ills that attacked newcomers to the area, was laid low with a fever and dozens of festering sores. For a week he could barely drag himself from his bed to attend to Richard who was even sicker.
The King muttered. Simon groaned and rolled to his side. An equally sick squire crawled from his pallet. The King's voice rose. Simon levered himself upright and staggered to the bed. Slipping to his knees, he took the cup of watered wine from the squire's shaking hand and lifted Richard's head. The King's eyes opened, clear and sensible. Simon bit back the order that would have sent the squire away.
"You are very faithful, are you not, Simon?" Richard whispered.
"To the best of my ableness," Simon replied wearily.
"I love you well," the King continued.
His voice was a little stronger. Simon handed the empty cup back to the squire and waved the boy away. His head was dizzy with fever and he wondered for a moment whether Richard was going to make an indecent proposal to him.

 
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