Directly the Christians were over the brook Belus, their difficulties were upon them.  The way was through a pebbly waste of beach and salt-grass, and a sea-scrub of grey bushes.  A mile to their left the rocks began, spurs of the mountains; the shrubs became stunted trees; the rocks climbed, the trees with them; then the forest rose, first sparsely, then thick and dark; lastly, into the deep blue of the sky soared the toothed ridges, grey, scarred, and splintry.  Scurrying horsemen, on beasts incredibly sure of foot, hung on the edge of these fastnesses, yelling, whirling their lances, white-clad, swarthy and hoarse.  They came by fifties, or in clouds they came, swept by like a windstorm, and were gone.  And in each shrill and terrible rush some stragglers, be sure, would call upon Christ in vain.  Or sometimes great companies of Mamelukes in mail, massed companies in blocks of men, stood covered by their bowmen as if offering battle.  If the Christians opened out to attack (as at first they did), or some party of knights, more adventurous than another, pricked forward at a canter, and hastening as their hearts grew high cried at last the charge, ‘Passavant!’ or ’Sauve Anjou!’ out of the wood with cries would come the black cavalry, sweep up behind our men, and cut off one company or another.  And if so by day, by night there was no long peace under the large stars.  Desperate stampedes, the scattering of camp-fires, trampling, grunting in the dark; ghostly horsemen looming and vanishing suddenly in the half-light; and in the lull the querulous howling of wild beasts disappointed.

To their full days succeeded their empty days, when they were alone with the desert and the sun.  Then hunger and thirst assailed them, serpents bit them, stinging flies drove men mad, the sand burnt their feet through steel and leather.  They lost more this way than by Saracen ambush, and lost more hearts than men.  This was a time for private grudges to awaken.  Hatred feeds on such dry meat.  In the empty watches of the night, in the blistering daytime, under the white sky or the deep violet, Des Barres remembered his struck face, De Gurdun his stolen wife, Saint-Pol his dead brother, and the Duke of Burgundy his forty pounds.

It must be said that Richard stretched his authority as far as it would go.  His direct aim was to reach Joppa with speed, and thence to strike inward over the hills to the Holy City.  It was against sense to attack this enemy hugging the woody heights; but as time went on, as he lost men and heard the muttering of those who saw them go, he understood that if he could tempt Saladin into close battle upon chosen ground it would be well.  This was a difficult matter, for though (as he knew) the Saracen army followed him in the woods, it kept well out of sight.  None but the light horsemen showed near at hand, and their tactics were to sting like wasps, and fly—­never to join battle.  At last, in the swamp of Arsuf, where the Dead River splays over broad marshes, and goes in a swamp to the sea-edge, he saw his chance, and took it.