The siege lasted ten days or more with varying successes.  Day and night in the city they heard the drums beat to arms, the cries of the Sheiks, and more piercing, drawn-out cries than theirs.  To the nightly shrilled pronouncement of the greatness of God came as answer the Christian’s wailing prayer, ‘Save us, Holy Sepulchre!’ The King of France had an engine which he called The Bad Neighbour, and did well with it until the Turks provided a Bad Kinsman, much bigger, which put the Neighbour to shame, and finally burned him.  King Richard had a belfry, and the Count of Flanders could throw stones with his sling from the trenches into the market-place; at any rate he said he could, and they all believed him.  The Christians caused the Accursed Tower to totter; they made a breach below the Tower of Flies, in a most horrible part of the haven.  Mine and countermine, Richard on the north side worked night and day, denying himself rest, food, reasonable care, for a week forgetful of Jehane and her hope.  The weather grew stiflingly hot, night and day there was no breath of wind; the whole country reeked of death and abomination.  Once, indeed, a gate was set fire to and rushed.  The Christians saw before them for the first time the ghostly winding way of a street, where blind pale houses heeled to each other, six feet apart.  There was a breathless fight in that pent way, a strangling, throttled business; Richard with his peers of Normandy, swaying banners, the crashing sound of steel on steel, the splash of split polls:  but it could not be carried.  The Turks, surging down on them, a wall of men, bodily forced them out.  There was no room to swing an axe, no space for a horse to fall, least of all for draught of the bow.  Richard cried the retreat; they could not turn, so walked backwards fighting, and the Turks repaired the gate.  Acre did not fall by the sword, but by starvation rather, and the diligent negotiations of Saladin with our King.  Richard’s terms were, Restore the True Cross, empty us Acre of men-at-arms, leave two thousand hostages.  This was accepted at last.  The Kings rode into Acre on the twelfth of July with their hosts, and the hollow-eyed courtesans watched them furtively from upper windows.  They knew their harvest was to reap.

Harvest with them was seed-time with others.  It was seed-time with the Archduke.  King Richard set up his household in the Castle (with a good lodging for Jehane in the Street of the Camel); King Philip, miserably ill, went to the house of the Templars; with him, sedulously his friend, the Marquess of Montferrat.  But Luitpold of Austria proposed himself for the Castle, and Richard endured him as well as he could.  But then Luitpold went further.  He set up his banner on the tower, side by side with Richard’s Dragon, meaning no offence at all.  Now King Richard’s way was a short way.  He had found the Archduke a burdensome ass, but no more.  The world was full of such; one must take them as part of the general