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fair to Simon, as if the King were making an easier point. A body is so large, he thought, misjudging the distance of an opponent so that his sword sheared away chin and jaw instead of severing the neck, that the King can hardly miss. |
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Soon the laughter stopped. Simon had no breath to spare. There were 480 of them against the whole Moslem army. Fortunately numbers counted for little in the crooked streets of Jaffa. in their surprise, Saladin's men had made the same mistake as Comnenus'. By sundown, Saladin realized he could not rally his men and ordered retreat. His order was somewhat behind the situation; he could not stop his fleeing army until they were five miles from the Frankish demon. |
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That was the result of shock, however, not cowardice. When they had gathered their wits, Saladin's officers burned to avenge the shame. A conference was held. There was no other way, they decided, but to capture the King himself. On the night of August 4, a huge raiding party, seven divisions of a thousand men each, crept toward the camp Richard had established outside the walls of Jaffa. Their single purpose was Richard's tent. |
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Simon had slept very ill since the battle. He dreamed constantly, vividly, and in color. In one dream, he and Alinor had walked lovingly entwined, in the courtyard garden of the palace, and Alinor had innocently inquired of him why all the fountains were red. Through other dreams rolled bearded heads; he and Alinor were playing at catch and kickball with one when it suddenly began to laugh and cried out, "Ware! Arms!" Sweating and shuddering, Simon started awake, and into reality the cry came again. |
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"My lord," Simon gasped, but Richard was already sitting up and reaching for his armor. |
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A minute to pull on their hauberks, to seat their helms on unlaced hoods, grab up swords and shields, and they were out. The squires startled awake by |
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