Frankish demon - a bloody lawless person or a noble knight? Escalation of confrontation with Saladin

Participation in wars: War with Byzantium. Wars with Saladin.
Participation in battles: Battle on the outskirts of the Taurus Mountains. Naval raid on the Saracen coast. Defense of Krake Moab. Battle of Hattin

French knight, member of the Second Crusade, Prince of Antioch (1153-1160)

Renault was born in 1125. On the campaigns Louis VII in 1147 - 1149 he took part already as an adult, that is, at the age of about twenty years. Place of birth, most likely Gien-on-the-Loire or Châtillon-on-Loing; his father was the owner of these estates. Renault didn't have great prospects in the Motherland, because he was only the second son, and therefore the East became his fate.

Probably at first, Renault took part in the raids Prince Raymond to the border Muslim Aleppo, along with other knights from across the sea and, apparently, showing themselves with better side, gave rise to Raymond's sympathy.

Soon becoming a mercenary in the service of King of Jerusalem Baudouin III, Renault was torn between the call of the heart and duty, and also because the duty had to be fulfilled far in the south, where the siege of Ascalon had been going on since the beginning of 1153, and far in the north - in Antioch, Renault liked the widowed princess. In addition, he seems to have developed decent connections among the local nobility. His matchmaking was successful, despite the fact that Constance, a widow, formally did not have the right to make decisions in her marriage matters herself. She had two overlords: a cousin, Emperor of Byzantium Manuel I Komnenos And King Baudouin III. The first even offered his candidate.

In 1153, Renault married Constance and became Prince Regent for her eldest son.

In the period from 1153 to 1156. Reno, being the lord, populated mainly by Armenians and Greeks, of Antioch, was in vassalage Byzantine Emperor Manuel. After the defeat of the Armenian prince Andronik, Manuel Komnenos, being unable to personally get involved in the conflict, in 1156 set two neighbors against Toros: first the Seljuks, whose troops were defeated by the Armenians on the outskirts of the Taurus mountains, and then the prince of Antioch Renaud de Chatillon. The crusader, after the Byzantine emperor did not keep his promises, went over to the side of the Armenian prince. The Antiochian and Armenian troops, acting together, successfully carried out a number of military operations, as a result of which the strategist Mikhail Vrana was defeated in battle and captured by Reno and Thoros. In 1158, Manuel Komnenos already himself, led the 3rd and last company in Syria and Cilicia. The invading Greek troops take possession of the Cilician plain with battles, as a result of which Thoros, retreating, fortifies himself in the mountains. Immediately after this, Renaud de Châtillon takes the oath to the Byzantine emperor. After some time, Hummock and Manuel conclude a peace treaty, according to which the Armenians receive part of the imperial lands, while in Cilicia, according to the same agreement, a Byzantine protege with a Greek garrison must constantly arrive.

However, the emperor soon left, but the enemies and debts remained. Renault began to raid the relatively impoverished Turkish lands. Gold, apparently, was sorely lacking, and it was brought farther and farther to go for prey. One of the raids in 1160 became fatal: 120 horsemen and 500 foot soldiers, led by Renault, found themselves surrounded. The prince fought until the horse fell under him. Even opponents could not refuse Renault courage.

Soon in Aleppo, they began to seek associations with the Franks. All noble captives were released from captivity. Reno - the last and for the largest ransom - one hundred and twenty-five thousand gold.

Constance was long dead, and his stepson ruled in Antioch. Renault moved to Jerusalem. There ruled a sixteen year old Baudouin IV suffering from leprosy. He granted Reno a substantial seigneury - the most remote southern outpost of the kingdom, Transjordan.

In 1177, Renault married the heiress of the Transjordan seigneury, Etienne de Mile, the daughter of one of the masters of the Templars and the mother of the grandson of the permanent constable of the 3 Jerusalem kings Humphrey II de Thorona, young Humphrey IV.

Owning the fortress of Krak de Moabit and, accordingly, Transjordan, Renaud becomes the most powerful baron in the kingdom.

The state of the army, the conditions of the terrain, the incredible heat even for those places, and, finally, the lack of cohesion and a real leader in the ranks of Christians led to the fact that the entire army of the kingdom fell into a trap, from which, in addition to some lucky ones, only detachments of old friends managed to get out Saladin — Balian of Ibelin And Raymond III. Everyone else - including King Guy, his brother Amory, master Gerard and, of course, Renaud de Chaition- fought to the last surrounded by the so-called Horns of Hattin a few miles from Tiberias, until the afternoon of the Fourth of July, the horses fell and the faithful bodyguards died or collapsed from fatigue.

Renault was executed by Saladin's executioners. His head was carried around the Saracen lands for a long time to show the faithful that the master keeps his word, and their worst enemy no longer breathes.

Robert Howard

Warrior

- Agnes! Red-haired brat of the devil, where are you? - it was the cry of the father - in a different way he did not address me.

I tossed my sweat-drenched hair out of my face and slung a bunch of brushwood over my shoulder. I rarely took a break.

Father parted the bushes and went out into the clearing - tall, thin, angry. His face was dark from the tan acquired during numerous military campaigns, and covered with scars received in the service of greedy dukes. When he saw me, he frowned - perhaps if there had been a different expression on his face, I would not have recognized him.

- Where are you chilling? he roared.

“You yourself sent me to the forest for brushwood,” I answered sullenly.

“Did I send you for the whole day? he barked, trying to hit me on the back of the head, which I dodged with dexterity acquired by much experience. Have you forgotten that today is your wedding day?

At these words, my fingers unclenched helplessly, and the twine slipped out of my hands, the whole bunch of brushwood scattered on the ground. It seemed to me that even the sun somehow dimmed, and the birds sang sadder.

“I forgot,” I whispered through suddenly dry lips.

“Come on, gather your branches and go home,” my father said angrily. “The sun is already setting. You ungrateful bastard, you damned brat, your father has to drag his old bones through the woods to bring you to your husband.

- To my husband! I muttered. Is this for Frankus? Damn it!

- Oh, you rubbish, you dare to remember the devil? roared the father. - Teach you again? Do you dare to neglect the person I chose for you? Francus is the most beautiful young man in all Normandy!

"He's a fat pig," I whispered. - Champing, always chewing, blunt-nosed pig!

- Shut up! cried the father. He will be my support in my old age. I can no longer walk behind the plow. Old wounds are making themselves felt. Your sister Isabelle's husband is a dog, he is no help to me. Frankus is not like that. He will tame you. He will not indulge you like I do. He'll break you down, my beauty.

Hearing this, I felt that the blood in my veins began to boil, and a bloody veil shrouded my eyes. This always happened when talking about the need to subdue me. I threw the branches that I had mechanically collected and tied up to the ground, and all my rage poured out into a cry:

“Let him rot in hell, and you with him!” I won't marry him. Beat me, even kill me! Use it however you like, but I will never share a bed with Frankus!

My father's eyes lit up with such anger that I would have trembled, if not in the rage that seized me. His gaze reflected the flame of rage, violence, what lived in his father when he robbed, killed and raped, being a warrior of the Free Detachment. He rushed at me and tried to punch me in the head. I dodged, he hit with his left, but again missed. So he pounded the air until, with an animal cry, he caught my hair and wound it around his hand, jerking my head back and almost breaking my neck. Then he punched me in the chin with his right fist, and the light faded before my eyes.

I must have been unconscious for some time, long enough for him to drag me from the forest to the village. It wasn't the first time I'd come to my senses after being beaten, but now I felt sick, my head was spinning, and my whole body ached from abrasions and bruises received while my father was dragging me along the ground. I was lying in our miserable shack. When I got up with difficulty and sat down, I found that instead of a simple woolen dress, I was wearing a wedding dress. I swear by St. Dionysius, to feel it on myself was more disgusting than the slippery touch of a snake, I was trembling, I wanted to tear it off me, but again nausea and dizziness set in, and I fell to the floor with a groan. And again darkness fell on me, even blacker than the previous swoon, and I saw myself in a trap from which there was no way out. Strength flowed out of me; I would cry if I could. But I had never been able to cry, and now I was too weak to curse my father. I just lay there, staring blankly at the rat-gnawing logs of our shack.

Then I felt that someone entered the room. From somewhere in the distance, conversations and laughter were heard, as if a crowd was gathering somewhere. It was Isabelle who came to me carrying her youngest child. Isabelle looked down at me. I thought about how she stooped, how her fingers twisted from hard work, and how her face was covered with wrinkles from constant fatigue and pain. Festive clothes emphasized everything that I had not noticed before, seeing her in an ordinary peasant dress.

“Everything is ready for the wedding, Agnes,” she said in her usual timid voice.

I was silent. She sat the child on the floor and knelt beside me, looking into my face with a strange sadness.

“You are young and strong and fresh, Agnes,” she said, as if she were talking more to herself than to me. “Almost beautiful in this wedding dress. Aren't you happy?

I closed my eyes wearily.

“You must laugh and have fun,” she sighed; the sigh was more like a groan. “It only happens once in a girl's life. You don't love Frankus. But I don't like Guillaume either. The life of a woman is difficult. Your slender flexible body will bend and shrivel, like mine, from bearing children, your fingers will curl, and your consciousness will be distorted and clouded from overwork, fatigue and the face that you hate forever standing before your eyes ...

I opened my eyes and looked at her in surprise.

“I'm only a few years older than you, Agnes,” she whispered. - Do you want to be like me?

What can a girl do? I said helplessly.

There was a sudden flash of fire in her eyes that I had seen so often in my father's eyes.

- Only one! she whispered. “There is only one thing a woman can do to free herself. Don't cling to life to become like our mother, like your sister, don't live to be like me. Leave while you are strong and beautiful. Hold on! - she quickly leaned over, put something in my hand and, grabbing the child, left. I stared fixedly at the thin-bladed dagger in my palm.

Looking up at the dirty beams of the shack, I realized what Isabelle was offering me. My fingers gripped the thin hilt of the dagger, and strange new thoughts entered my mind. The touch of the hilt caused a thrill in the veins and a strange feeling of recognition, as if in the depths of the soul vague memories rose that cannot be explained, but can only be felt. Before, I had never held any weapon in my hands, except for an ax for chopping wood and a kitchen knife. This thin, deadly blade, shining in the palm of his hand, seemed like an old friend who had returned after a long separation.

Outside the door, the voices grew louder, my feet shuffled, and I quickly tucked the dagger into my bodice. The door swung open and several strange faces glared at me. I saw my mother, hardened and colorless, a working animal, devoid of all senses, and behind her shoulder, my sister. Disappointment and anguish flickered across Isabelle's face when she saw that I was alive. She turned away.

The others burst into the shack and pulled me off the bench, laughing and shouting something. Whether they mistook my reluctance to go for girlish shyness, or whether they knew about my hatred of Frankus, one way or another, this did not stop them. The iron hand of my father grabbed my wrist, and the paw of a fat, noisy aunt took hold of the other hand, and they dragged me out of the house into a circle of screaming, laughing peasants, already quite drunk. The crowd poured out rude jokes and dirty remarks. I writhed like a wild animal, blind and mad with rage, and my captors had to do their best to guide me. My father cursed me under his breath and twisted my arm so that he almost broke it, but all he achieved was a curse thrown through his teeth and a wish for hell to his soul.

A priest came out to meet us, a shriveled, blinking fool, whom I hated as much as I hated them all. Frankus came up to me. He wore a new leather jacket and breeches, and a garland of flowers hung around his fat neck. He smirked smugly, making me tremble in disgust. He stood grinning like a brainless monkey, with a vengeful victorious look and a carnivorous expression in the eyes of a pig.

At the sight of him, I suddenly stopped struggling, as if stricken with tetanus, and my tormentors loosened their grip and moved away. So I stood face to face in front of him for a moment, silently staring at him with hatred, bending over, as if wanting to crouch on the ground.

Kiss her, man! - someone's drunken cry was heard, and then, like a tight spring unfolding, I grabbed the dagger from my corsage and hit Frankus. The blow was lightning fast, and these stupid fools could neither predict it nor prevent it. The dagger plunged into the fat heart of the unsuspecting Frankus, and I, squealing with wild amusement, saw a stupid, bewildered expression on his face, replaced by an expression of pain, pulled the dagger from his chest. He fell, choking on blood like a slaughtered pig. Blood streamed through his fingers pressed to his chest, and the petals from the wedding garland stuck to them. What happened is a long story, but in fact it all happened in one second. I jumped, stabbed with a dagger and ran away - all in an instant. Father, a former soldier, smarter and more agile than the rest, cried out and wanted to grab me, but he caught empty air. I flew through the dumbfounded crowd and rushed into the forest. When I reached the trees, my father grabbed his bow and fired. I jumped to the side, and the arrow pierced the tree.

- Drunk fool! I laughed wildly. “You’re already out of your mind if you could miss such a target!”

- Come back, you bastard! he yelled fiercely.

“Only to hell and with you,” I answered, “let the devil feast on your black heart!” - These were mine. last words father. I turned and ran into the forest.

Where I ran, I don't know. Behind me I heard the cries of the peasants following me clumsily, then only exclamations, distant and indistinct, which soon died away. Most of my brave villagers did not have the courage to go into the depths of the forest at dusk. I ran until my breath caught and my knees buckled. I fell flat on the soft, leafy ground and lay half-awake until the moon rose. The moon silvered the branches above, and the shadows of the trees began to emerge even brighter. I could hear rustling and movement all around me, indicating the presence of beasts, and possibly something worse—werewolfs, goblins, and vampires, for all I knew. However, there was no fear. Before, I had slept in the forest more than once, when the night caught me far from the village with a load of brushwood, or when my father, drunk, drove me out of the shack.

I got up and walked through the moonlit forest, carefully following my direction to get as far away from the village as possible. In the pre-dawn darkness, I was exhausted, I fell on the grass and fell into a deep sleep, not caring if a beast or a ghost would attack me before the dawn came.

But I met the day safe and sound, feeling terrible hunger. I sat up and at first could not understand where I was, but the torn wedding dress and the dagger on my belt, stained with blood, brought me back to reality. I laughed, remembering the face of the dying Francus, I was seized by an indomitable delight of freedom, I wanted to sing and dance like crazy. But I wiped the dagger on the leaves and went where my eyes look - towards the sun.

Soon I came out onto the forest road and was glad because my wedding shoes made of shoddy were almost falling apart. I was used to walking barefoot, but even my feet could not bear the wild rose and the woods.

The sun had not yet risen high, when, having reached the turn of the road, which in fact was nothing more than a forest path, I heard the sound of hooves. My instinct told me to hide in the bushes, but something stopped me. I looked for signs of fear in my soul and did not find it. So I stood in the middle of the path, motionless, dagger in hand, when a rider rode around the bend and pulled the reins, cursing in amazement.

He stared at me, and I silently stared at him. He was handsome - but such beauty is called "vicious" - of medium height and slender. He rode a beautiful black horse, brimmed with red leather and gleaming metal; he was dressed in silk breeches and a velveteen camisole, slightly worn; a scarlet cloak fluttered behind him, and a feather protruded from his hat. He wore no baldric, only a sword at his belt in a worn leather scabbard.

I swear by Saint Dionysius! he exclaimed. - What kind of forest fairy or goddess of the dawn is in front of me?

Who are you to ask? I answered, feeling neither fear nor embarrassment.

"Well, I'm Etienne Villiers of Aquitaine," he said, and then he bit his lip and shook his head, as if angry with himself for saying so. Then, looking at me from the tips of my feet to the top of my head and back, he laughed.

“What crazy fairy tale did you come here from?” - he asked. - A red-haired girl in a torn wedding dress with a dagger in her hand in the middle of the forest at dawn! It's more than romantic! Come here, my dear, tell me what the joke is.

“There is no joke,” I replied grimly.

– But who are you? he insisted.

“My name is Agnes de Chatillon,” I said.

He laughed again, slapping his thighs.

“A noble lady in disguise,” he laughed. “Saint John, the story is getting spicier!” From what shady cloister, from what castle guarded by giants, did you escape in that peasant attire, my lady? and he bowed, waving his hat.

“I have as much right to that name as all those who hold high pompous titles,” I said angrily. - My father - illegitimate son peasant woman and the Duke de Chatillon. The father always bore the name that his daughters inherited. If you don't like it, go your own way. I didn't ask you to stop and make fun of me.

“No, I'm not making fun of it,” he protested, greedily examining my figure from head to toe. “I swear by Saint Trinyan, a noble name suits you better than many high-born ladies who coy and sigh under his burden. Zeus and Apollo, you are a tall and flexible charm - a Norman peach, I swear! I'll be your friend. Tell me why you are alone in the forest at this hour in a tattered wedding dress and shoes with holes in them.

He deftly jumped off his tall horse, holding his hat in front of me. Now he did not smile, his dark eyes did not mock, but it seemed to me that some strange light flashed in their depths. Villiers' words suddenly revealed to me how lonely and helpless I was and that I had no one to turn to. Perhaps that is why I opened up so easily to the first friendly stranger; in addition, Etienne Villiers knew how to win over women in such a way that they trusted him.

“I ran away from the village of La Fere last night,” I said. “They wanted to marry me to a man whom I hated.

“And you spent the night alone in the woods?”

- What's wrong here?

He shook his head as if he couldn't believe it.

"But what are you going to do now?" - he asked. – Do you have friends nearby?

“I have no friends,” I replied. “I will keep going until I starve or something else comes crashing down on me.

He pondered for a while, tugging at his clean-shaven chin between thumb and forefinger. Three times he raised his head and looked at me, and once I noticed how a shadow ran over his features, for a moment changing his face so much that it seemed to be a different person in front of me. Finally he said:

“You are too beautiful a girl to die in the forest or fall into the hands of robbers. If you like, I will take you with me to Chartres, where you can get a job as a maid and make a living from it. Can you work?

“No man in La Fère can do better than me,” I replied.

“By Saint John, I believe you,” he said, nodding his head admiringly. “There's something almost pagan about you, about being tall and lithe. Let's go, will you trust me?

“I don't want to give you trouble,” I said. “People from La Fère are after me.

- Nonsense! he snorted contemptuously. “Has anyone heard of a peasant moving more than a league away from the village?” You are safe.

“Not from my father,” I said grimly. - He is not a simple peasant, but a soldier. He will follow me to the end until he finds me and kills me.

“In that case,” suggested Étienne, “we must find a way to fool him.” Ha! Invented! It seems to me that less than a mile ago I passed a young man whose clothes will suit you. Wait for me here. We'll make a boy out of you! - With these words, he turned his horse and sped away.

I looked after him and wondered if I would see him again, if he was laughing at me. I waited, and the sound of hooves died away in the distance. Silence fell over the forest. Once again, I experienced bouts of severe hunger. After what seemed to me an endless time, the sound of hooves was heard, and Étienne Villiers galloped up to me, laughing merrily and waving a bunch of clothes.

- Did you kill him? I asked.

- No, I let him go on all four sides, however, naked, like Adam. Now go to that grove over there and quickly change your clothes. We must hurry, Chartres is many leagues away. Throw me your dress, I will throw it on the bank of the river that flows not far from here. Perhaps your clothes will be found and they will think that you drowned.

He returned faster than I had finished dressing in my new unaccustomed outfit, and we were talking through the bushes.

“Your venerable father will be looking for a girl,” he laughed, “not a boy. When he asks the peasants if they have seen the tall red-haired girl, the peasants will only shake their heads in confusion. Ha ha ha! Good joke on an old scoundrel!

I stepped out from behind the bushes, Villiers examined me carefully. I felt strange in a shirt, pants and hat, but at the same time I felt a freedom that I had never experienced in a skirt.

- Zeus! Villiers muttered. “Changing clothes didn't help much. Only a hopelessly stupid, blind, village idiot will not realize that you are not a man. Listen, let me cut off these red curls with a dagger. Maybe this will help.

But, grabbing my mane to the shoulders, he shook his head again.

“Even so, you are a woman from head to toe,” he said. “Well, maybe a random passer-by, passing by quickly, will not notice anything. Let's hope so.

"Why are you so worried about me?" I asked, because I was not used to being treated kindly.

- Why, my God? he wondered. “Would any person worth talking about leave a young girl to wander and starve in the woods?” There is more copper in my purse than silver, and my jacket is worn, but Etienne Villiers sets his honor as high as any knight or baron, and will not allow to mock the defenseless as long as there is at least a coin in his purse and a sword in his scabbard.

Hearing these words, I felt unusually embarrassed and bewildered, as I was illiterate and untrained, and did not know the words to express my gratitude. I mumbled something awkwardly, and he smiled and gently ordered to be quiet, explaining that he did not need gratitude and that goodness in itself was a reward for those who did it.

He jumped on his horse and gave me his hand. I sat down behind him and we started down the path. I held on to his waistband and wrapped myself halfway in his wind-blown cloak. I felt certain that any passerby we passed would indeed think that a man and a youth were jumping, and not a man and a girl.

My hunger increased, but I did not complain, as I was used to it. We drove south-east, and it seemed that the farther, the more obvious Étienne's anxiety became. He spoke little and tried to keep to the less crowded road, constantly turning onto horseback trails or lumberjack trails that wound through the trees. We met only a few people: two or three peasants with an ax on their shoulder or a bundle of brushwood, who were staring at us and pulling worn hats off their heads.

It was already noon when we stopped at a tavern - a forest inn, not crowded, standing on the outskirts, with shabby, faded walls. Etienne called it "Fingers of the Rascal". The owner came out to meet us, wiping his hands on a dirty apron and silly nodding his head. He was stooped, clumsy, with slanting evil eyes.

“We wish to eat and sleep,” Étienne announced loudly. “I am Gerard de Bretan of Montauban, and this is my younger brother. We were in Cana and now we are going to Tours. Take care of the horse and fetch a roasted capon, master.

The owner nodded and muttered something, taking the horse's reins, and looked at me for a suspiciously long time when Étienne lowered me from the saddle, as my arms and legs were numb from the long ride. I wasn't sure that the clothes didn't give me away.

Entering the tavern, we saw only one person at the table, he sipped wine from a leather skin. It was a fat man with a fat belly hanging down. He looked at us and opened his mouth to say something, but Étienne looked at him meaningfully, and it seemed to me that they silently exchanged knowing glances. The fat man, without saying anything, again began to drink wine, and Etienne and I sat down at a table, where a slovenly dressed maid brought the ordered capon, peas, bread, Kan tripe in a huge dish and two jugs of wine.

I greedily pounced on food, helping myself with a dagger; Étienne ate little, turning the pieces in his hands and now and then looking from the fat man, who now seemed to be sleeping, sitting with his back to me, at the dirty diamond-shaped windows and even at the smoky beams under the roof. He drank a lot, filling the jug again and again, and at the end of the meal he asked why I had not touched my jug.

“I was too busy eating to drink,” I replied, and hesitantly lifted the wine to my lips—I had never tasted it before. Every liquor that somehow ended up in our miserable shack was drunk by my father. I emptied the whole jug at once, as my father did, coughed and choked, but the wine was to my taste. Étienne whispered in surprise:

“I swear by Saint Michael, I have never seen a woman drink a whole jug of wine like that!” You get drunk, girl.

“You forgot that from this day on I’m not a girl,” I reminded her just as quietly. - Well, let's go further?

He shook his head.

We will stay here until morning. You must be tired and need a rest.

“My body is numb because I am not used to riding, but I am not tired.

“Nevertheless,” he said impatiently, touching my arm, “we are staying here until tomorrow. I think it will be safer this way.

“As you wish,” I agreed. “I am completely in your hands and I want to obey you in everything.

“That’s good,” he said, “nothing makes a girl more beautiful than a willingness to obey.” He called the owner, who had already returned from the stable and was now hovering around the table. “Master, my brother is tired. Take him to a room where you can sleep. We have come from afar.

Yes, your honor! – the owner nodded and muttered something, rubbing his hands. Étienne's demeanor gave the common people the impression of importance, as if he were at least a count. But more on that later.

The owner, shuffling his feet, led us through a low-ceilinged room adjoining the bar, which led to another, larger room. It was under the roof, sparsely furnished, but it seemed to me the most refined of all the rooms that I had ever seen before. There was only one door in the room - for some reason I instinctively began to pay attention to such details - leading to the stairs, and only one window, too narrow even for me. There was no bolt on the inside of the door. Étienne frowned and cast a suspicious glance at the host, but he did not seem to notice this and, rubbing his hands, painted the beautiful virtues of the closet into which he had led us.

“Sleep, brother,” said Étienne, so that the master could hear. As he left, he whispered in my ear, “I don’t trust him, we’ll leave here as soon as it gets dark.” Rest for now. I will come for you.

Either from wine, or really from fatigue, I fell asleep the very second, as soon as I lay down, without undressing, on a straw mattress.

I was awakened by the soft sound of the door opening. I opened my eyes and saw only darkness and a couple of stars in a tiny window. Everything was quiet, but someone was moving in the darkness. I heard the floorboards creak, and I thought I caught the sound of holding my breath.

Is that you, Etienne? I whispered. There was no answer, I asked a little louder: - Etienne! Is that you, Etienne Villiers?

Again I thought I heard a soft sniff, then the floorboard creaked again, and the door quietly opened and closed. I realized that I was alone in the room again. I jumped up and grabbed the dagger. It was not Étienne who promised to come for me at night. I wanted to know who was trying to sneak up on me in the dark.

Slipping to the door, I opened it and peered into the darkness of the lower room, but nothing could be seen, as if I were looking into a well, but I could hear someone creeping down below, and then the front door slammed. Taking the dagger in my teeth, I slid down the railing of the stairs so easily and silently that I was surprised myself. When my feet touched the floor, I grabbed my dagger and froze in the darkness. The front door swayed open, and for a second a shadow flickered in the opening. I recognized the stooping, large-headed figure of the innkeeper. He breathed so noisily that he could not hear my approach. The owner clumsily but quickly ran to the backyard of the hotel and disappeared into the stable. I strained all my eyes and saw that he came out with a horse by the bridle. But he did not sit on it, but led him into the forest, trying not to make noise. After a while, I heard the sound of hooves in the distance. Obviously, moving to a safe distance, he jumped into the saddle and rushed to some unknown goal.

All I could think was that the owner somehow recognized me and now galloped off to tell my father about me. I opened the door to the bar: there was no one there except a maid sleeping on the floor. The candle was burning on the table, and midges swirled around it. From somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of voices.

I slipped out of the tavern and stalked around it. Silence enveloped the black forest, only occasionally a night bird screamed and hoofed the horse in the stall.

Candlelight flickered in a small room on the other side of the tavern. This room was separated from the common living room by a short corridor. As I passed the window, I suddenly froze in place because I heard my name. I leaned against the wall, eavesdropping without embarrassment. It was Étienne's quick, distinct, though muffled, whisper:

“...She said, Agnes de Chatillon. What difference does it make what a peasant woman calls herself? Isn't she a beauty?

"I've seen prettier ones in Paris, and in Chartres too," another voice answered loudly. I was sure it belonged to the fat man we saw in the tavern.

- Pretty! exclaimed Étienne contemptuously. - The girl is more than pretty. There is something wild and wild about her, something fresh, full-blooded, I tell you. Any worn noble lord will pay you dearly for her; she will restore youth to the most jaded lecher. Listen, Tybalt, I would not offer you such a price if it were not so risky for me to go with her to Chartres. Besides, this dog, the owner, suspects me.

- If he really recognized in you the person whose head the Duke d "Alenson is hunting for ... - Tybalt said.

- Quiet, fool! Etienne hissed. “That's another reason why I need to get rid of the girl. I accidentally gave her my real name. But I swear by all the saints, Tybalt, a meeting with her would disturb the rest and the righteous! I turned down the road and drove straight into it: tall, standing against the backdrop of a green forest, in a torn wedding dress, with burning blue eyes and with the rays of the sun flashing in the red hair and on the bloodstained dagger! For a second I even doubted that she was human, and a fear came over me, almost horror.

“The country girl on the forest road frightened Etienne Villiers, the libertine of the libertines,” Tybalt snorted and took a noisy sip from the jug.

“You don’t understand,” Étienne persisted. There was something fatal about her, like the heroine of some tragedy, something terrible. It is pure, but there is something strange and dark about it that I can neither explain nor understand.

“Enough, enough,” Tybalt yawned. “You spin a whole novel around a Norman slut. Let's get down to business.

“I just got to the point,” said Étienne sharply. “I was going to bring her to Chartres and sell her to a brothel owner I know. But in time he realized his stupidity. I would have to pass too close to the Duke of Alençon if he knew I was nearby...

“I know,” Tybalt grumbled. “He would pay dearly for information concerning your whereabouts. He openly dares not arrest you; it is more convenient for him to kill you with a dagger from behind a corner or a shot in the back. He would shut your mouth secretly and quietly if he could.

“Yes,” said Étienne, with a shudder. “I'm a fool for driving so far east. By morning I won't be here anymore. But you can take the girl to Chartres without any danger, you can even go to Paris, no matter where. Give me the price I ask and it's yours.

"It's too expensive," Tybalt protested. “I suppose she fights like a wild cat?”

“That is your concern,” Étienne replied rudely. “You've tamed enough girls that you should be able to handle this one as well. Although I warn you, this girl is on fire. But that's up to you. You said your companions are in a nearby village now. Let them help you. If you cannot get a tidy sum for it in Chartres, Orleans or Paris, then you are even more stupid than I am.

“All right, all right,” Tybalt grumbled. “I'll try, after all, that's what a business man should do.

I heard the sound of coins falling on the table, and it seemed to me like a death knell for my life.

And in fact it was my funeral, because, standing under the window of the hotel, having found out what awaits me, the girl that I was died, and in her place a woman was born, such as I am now. All my weakness vanished, and the cold fury made me hard as steel and pliable as fire.

"Let's drink to seal the deal," said Étienne. “And I have to go. When you follow the girl...

I jerked open the door. Étienne's hand with the cup froze at the very lips. Tybalt rolled his eyes at me. The smile vanished from Étienne's face, and he turned pale as he read the death sentence in my eyes.

- Agnes! he exclaimed, rising.

I stepped over the threshold, and my dagger pierced Tybalt's heart before he could get up. A death rattle twisted his thick lips, and he fell off the bench, choking on blood.

- Agnes! Étienne shouted again, holding out his hands as if trying to push me away. - Wait, girl...

"You're a lousy dog," I yelled, falling into a rage. You are a pig, a pig, a pig! “Only my insane rage saved him from death.

Before I could hit him, he had spun around so that the dagger had only peeled the skin from his ribs. Three times I hit him, silently and inevitably, but he somehow avoided a blow to the heart, although both his arm and shoulder were covered in blood. He desperately grabbed my wrist, trying to break my arm. We grappled and fell on the table. Étienne leaned me over the edge of the table, trying to overcome, but in order to grab my throat, he had to remove his hand from my wrist. Then I wrenched myself out of the weakened grip and plunged the dagger into Étienne's chest. The blade slid over the iron buckle and cut a lacerated wound across the chest; blood gushed, there was a groan. Étienne released me, I wriggled out from under him and punched him. Étienne's head snapped back, blood spraying from his nostrils. I jumped on him and pressed my fingers into his eyes, but he pushed me away with such force that I flew across the room and, hitting the wall, fell to the floor.

I felt dizzy, but jumped up, grabbing the broken table leg. With one hand Étienne was wiping the blood from his eyes, and with the other he was looking for a sword. He again miscalculated the speed of my attack, and the table leg came crashing down on his head with force, ripping the skin off his skull. Blood rushed to his face, he covered himself with his hands, and I continued to shower him with blows. He, half-bent, blind, backed away until he fell on the wreckage of the table.

“God, girl,” he groaned, “will you kill me?

- With a light heart! I laughed like I had never laughed before, and hit him above the ear, again throwing him onto the broken table, from which he struggled to get up.

A groan escaped Étienne's distorted lips through tears.

“In the name of God, girl,” he pleaded, blindly stretching out his hands to me, “be merciful!” Stop in the name of the saints! I'm not ready to die!

He tried to get on his knees. The blood gushing from his broken head stained his clothes.

“Stop, Agnes,” he muttered. “Spare me, in the name of God!”

I hesitated, glaring at him grimly, then tossed my club aside.

“Live,” I said contemptuously. “You are too insignificant to get your hands dirty about you. Get out!

He tried to get up, but couldn't.

"I can't get up," he moaned. - The room is floating, and it's dark in the eyes. Oh Agnes, you gave me a bitter kiss! God is merciful, but I'm dying in sin. I laughed at death, and now that it is near, I am afraid. Oh my god, I'm scared! Don't leave me, Agnes! Don't let me die like a dog!

“For what reason?” I asked angrily. - I trusted you, I thought that you were more noble ordinary people listening to your false words of chivalry and honor. Ugh! You would sell me into slavery, which is more disgusting than the Turkish harem.

“I know,” he moaned. “My soul is blacker than the night that approaches me. Call the owner, let him bring the priest.

“He left on some business of his own,” I replied. He crept through the back door and galloped towards the woods.

“He has gone to betray me to the Duke of Alençon,” Étienne whispered. “He did recognize me. I really disappeared.

I guessed that this was due to the fact that in the dark I called Etienne by name - so the owner became aware of the real name of my fake friend. Therefore, if the duke arrests Étienne, it will be because of my inadvertent betrayal. Like most village people, I felt only fear and distrust for the nobility.

“I'll take you out of here,” I said. “According to my will, even a dog will not fall into the hands of the law.

I hurried from the tavern to the stables. The slovenly maid was no longer there; she might have run into the woods too, if she wasn't too drunk to notice. I saddled Etienne's horse. The horse twitched its ears, gnawed on the reins and kicked, but I led him to the door. Entering Etienne, I saw that he really was a terrible sight: all bruised and bruised, in a torn camisole and a shirt covered in blood.

“I brought your horse,” I said. - Be patient, I'll carry you.

“You can’t do this,” he protested, but I, without listening to the end, put him on my shoulders and carried him to the horse. In fact, I could hardly move, because his body was completely limp, as if dead. With great effort I laid him across the saddle and tied him up.

I hesitated for a while, not knowing where to go. He probably sensed my indecision and said:

“Ride the road west to Saint-Giraud. There's a tavern a mile out of town called the Red Boar. The owner of the tavern is my friend.

During the night as we rode west, I spoke little. We met no one on the road, enclosed by the black walls of the forest and lit only by pale stars. My hands became sticky with Étienne's blood, as his many wounds began to bleed again because of the jump, and he himself began to rave, mumbling incoherently about times and people unknown to me. Soon he began to list the names that I heard - lords, ladies, soldiers, robbers and pirates. He choked, whispering about dark deeds, vile crimes and strange heroic deeds. At times he sang excerpts from military, drinking songs and obscene ballads, love lyrics, chattering in languages ​​unknown to me. Since that night I have traveled many roads, but this race in the forest of Saint-Giraud was unforgettable.

As I approached the tavern Etienne spoke of, dawn broke through the branches of the trees. Judging by the structure, it was her, and I called out to the owner. A village boy came out on the threshold in a nightgown, yawning and rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. Seeing a huge horse and a rider covered in blood, he was dumbfounded with fear and surprise and darted out the door. A minute later, a window upstairs cautiously opened, from which a nightcap poked out and the barrel of a powerful arquebus.

“Go your way,” said the cap, “we don’t deal with bandits and murderers.

“There are no bandits here,” I replied angrily, feeling tired and impatient. “This is a man who was attacked and almost killed. If you are the owner of the Red Boar, then this is your friend - Etienne Villiers from Aquitaine.

- Etienne! the owner exclaimed. - I'm going down now. Why didn't you say it was Etienne?

The window slammed shut, and the sound of feet running up the steps could be heard. I jumped off my horse, picked up Etienne's falling body and laid him on the ground. The master and servants ran towards us with torches.

Etienne lay as if dead. His face was deathly pale where it wasn't stained with blood, but his heart was beating normally and he was half conscious.

Who did this, sir? the owner asked in horror.

"Me," I replied curtly. The owner, pale in the torchlight, looked at me.

- Good God! A young man who... Protect us, Saint Dionysius! This is a woman!

- Enough talking! I got angry. “Take him upstairs and put him in a better room.

“B-b-but…” the owner stammered, still dumbfounded.

I stamped my foot and scolded him, as I always do on such occasions.

“Death of the devil and Judas Iscariot!” I exclaimed. “You will let your friend die while you stare and stare at me!” Carry it! I put my hand on the dagger at my belt, and the servants obeyed hastily, squinting at me as if I were the daughter of the devil himself.

“Etienne is always welcome here,” the host muttered, “but the she-devil in the trousers…”

“You'll keep your pants on longer if you talk less and work more,” I assured him, grabbing a wide-muzzle pistol from the belt of one of the servants, who was so frightened that he forgot about his weapon. “Do as I say, and there will be no more murders today. Fast!

Truly, the events of this night have hardened me. I haven't quite been reborn as a grown woman yet, but I was close to it.

They took Étienne to what Ducas (that was the owner's name) called the best room in the tavern, and, in truth, it was much more comfortable than any room in the "Fingers of the Rascal". It was upstairs, facing the front staircase, and had a window of the right size, though it didn't have a second door.

Ducas claimed that he was the same doctor as any in the area, but we undressed and began to treat Etienne. In fact, I have never seen a more inept care of a person, not to mention the fact that Etienne was seriously injured. But when we washed off the blood and dirt from him, we found that none of the wounds touched the vital organs, the skull was also intact, although the skin on the head was damaged in several places. The right arm was broken, the other blackened with bruises. We put a tourniquet on the broken bone. I helped Ducas with everything, as accidents and injuries were common in La Fère.

When we bandaged his wounds and put Etienne into a clean bed, he came to his senses so much that he was able to drink wine and asked where he was. Learning that it was the "Red Boar", he whispered:

“Don't leave me, Agnes. Dukas is a rare person, but I need a woman's soft hand.

“Spare me, Saint Dionysius, from such a soft hand as that of that rabid cat,” Dukas muttered under his breath.

“I will stay until you get back on your feet, Étienne,” I said, he seemed to be glad to hear this, and fell asleep peacefully.

I asked for a room for myself. Ducas sent a boy to take care of the horse, and I was led into a room adjoining Étienne's, but not connected by a door. By the time I got into bed, the sun was already rising. Not only have I never laid on a featherbed before, but I have never even seen her. I slept for many hours.

When she awoke, she went to Étienne and found him fully conscious and calm. Then people were truly iron and, if their wounds were not initially fatal and, due to the frivolity and ignorance of the doctors, did not begin to fester, they quickly recovered. Dukas did not have any of the nauseating and stupid drugs praised by doctors, he collected healing herbs in the depths of the forest. He said that he learned this art from the Saracen people of the Khakims while traveling in his youth. Dukas turned out to be a man of many unexpected virtues.

We took care of Étienne together and he recovered quickly. Étienne talked to Dukas for a long time, but most of the time he just lay there and silently looked at me.

Dukas sometimes talked to me too, but he seemed to be afraid of me. When I asked him how much he owed him, he replied that not at all, and that food and lodging would be free for me as long as Étienne enjoyed my presence. However, Dukas was very afraid that I would let someone in the town know that Étienne Villiers was here. The servants, in his opinion, were absolutely reliable. I didn’t ask Ducas anything about the reason for the Duke d’Alenson’s hatred of Etienne, but Ducas once said:

“The duke has a special score with Étienne. When Etienne was in the retinue of this noble gentleman, he was not wise enough and did not fulfill one very delicate assignment of the duke. D "Alenson is ambitious; they say that only a position no less than a constable of France can satisfy him. He is now in great favor with the king, and the brilliance of his position may fade if it becomes known what letters the duke and Charles of Germany once exchanged, who is now known nations as Holy Roman Emperor.

Etienne alone knew all the ins and outs of this treason. Therefore, d "Alenson longs for his death, but does not dare to attack openly. He wants to strike quietly and secretly, from around the corner - it will be a dagger, poison or an ambush. While Etienne is within reach of the duke, the only salvation for him it is secrecy.

“I suppose there are others like the scoundrel Tybalt?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Dukas, “of course, there are those among the gallows gang who will bite for profit, but they have a rule of honor not to betray their own. And Étienne in times past was one of them - a thief, a kidnapper of women, a robber and a murderer.

I shook my head, reflecting on the strangeness of people: Dukas, an honest man, is a friend of the bandit Etienne and knows well about his crimes. Perhaps many of the honest people secretly admire the robbers, seeing in them what they would like to be if they had the courage.

So, for now, I've been fulfilling all of Dukas's wishes. Time passed slowly. I rarely left the tavern, only at night to wander through the forest without fear of meeting people from the village or the city. Anxiety and a feeling arose in me that I was waiting for something, I myself did not know what, and that I had to do something - I did not know what. So a week passed, and then Giscard de Clisson appeared.

One morning I entered the tavern after a morning walk through the forest and saw a stranger sitting at the table, enthusiastically nibbling on a bone. When he noticed me, he stopped chewing for a second. He was tall and powerfully built. His thin face was scarred, his gray eyes were cold as steel. He really looked like a man of steel in his cuirass, loincloth and legplates. His broadsword lay on his knees, and his helmet lay beside him on a bench.

“I swear to God,” he said. - I wish I knew. Are you a man or a woman?

- What do you think? I asked, leaning my hands on the table, looking down at him.

“Only a fool would ask such a question,” he said, shaking his head. “You're a woman from head to toe, but a man's outfit looks weird on you. And the gun on my belt, too. You remind me of a woman I used to know. She went camping and fought like a man and died from a bullet on the battlefield. You are light, she was dark, but you have something similar to her in the line of the chin, in the posture - no, I can’t explain what. Sit down, let's talk. I am Giscard de Clisson. Have you heard about me?

“Many times,” I replied, sitting down. “There are many stories about you in my native village. You lead the mercenary troops and the Free Companions.

“When men have the courage to lead them,” he said as he drank from the pitcher and handed it to me.

“Hey, I swear on the guts and blood of Judas, you drink like a man!” Perhaps women are compelled to become men, for I swear by Saint Trinyan, men are becoming women these days. I have not recruited a single recruit for my campaign in this province, where in not so distant times men fought for the honor of following a mercenary captain. Death of Satan! When the emperor gathers his accursed landsknechts to expel de Lautrec from Milan, and the king is in such need of soldiers - not to mention the rich booty in Italy - every able-bodied Frenchman is obliged to go on a campaign to the south, I swear to God! Oh, for the former strength of the spirit of true men!

Looking at this scarred veteran, listening to him, I felt my heart beat faster and filled with strange desires, it seemed to me that I heard, as I always heard in my dreams, the distant thunder of drums.

- I'm going with you! I exclaimed. “I'm tired of being a woman. I'll be part of your campaign!

He laughed as if at the funniest joke in the world.

“I swear by St. Dionysius, girl, you have the right temperament, but you need to have more than a pair of trousers to become a man.

“If the woman you were talking about could fight, then so can I!” I exclaimed.

“No,” he shook his head. “Black Margot from Avignon was one in a million. Forget your fantasies, girl. Put on a skirt and become an exemplary woman again. Then... well, in your true form, I would be happy to take you with me!

Shouting a curse that startled him, I jumped up, pushing the bench so that it fell with a crash. I stood in front of him, clenching my fists, breathing the rage that always ignited in me with lightning speed.

- Men always come first! I spoke through my teeth. - A woman should know her place: let her milk the cows, spin, sew, bake pies and carry children, let her not go beyond the threshold and not order her master and master! Yes?! I spit on all of you! There is no man in the world who would meet me with a weapon in his hands and remain alive, and before I die, I will prove it. Women! Slaves! Moaning, groaning serfs, groaning under blows, avenging themselves by suicide - as my sister pushed me to do. Ha! Are you denying me a place among men? I swear to God I will live as I please and die as God wills, but if I am not a man's comrade, at least I will not become his mistress! So go to hell, Giscard de Clisson, and let the devil break your heart!

I turned around and left proudly, and he looked after me, his mouth gaping. When I went up to Étienne, I found him in bed, almost recovered, though pale and weak, with a bandaged arm that had not yet healed.

- How are you? I asked.

“Not bad,” said Étienne, and looking intently, he asked: “Agnes, why did you leave me life when you could have taken it?

“Because of the woman inside of me,” I replied sullenly, “who cannot bear it when a helpless wretch begs for mercy.

“I deserve death at your hand,” Étienne whispered, “more than Tybalt. Why did you care and take care of me?

“I did not want you to fall into the hands of the duke through my fault,” I said, “because it was I who inadvertently betrayed you. Now that you have asked me about this, I also want to ask you one question: why do you need to be such a notorious scoundrel?

“Only God knows,” he replied, closing his eyes. “For as long as I can remember, I have always been like this. My memory takes me back to the slums of Poitiers, where as a child I ate crusts and cheated for a few pennies, and there I learned my first life lessons. I have been a soldier, a smuggler, a pimp, a thug, a thief - always the worst villain. Saint Dionysius, some of my deeds are too dirty to speak of. And yet, in the depths of my being, the true Etienne Villiers has always been hidden, untainted by this abomination, and this Etienne suffers from remorse and fear. That's why I prayed for life when I should have died, and that's why I'm lying here telling you the truth instead of weaving nets to seduce you. If in I could be wholly pure or wholly corrupt!

A cheeky, swaggering group burst into the room, led by a fat-bellied scoundrel in huge boots. His team consisted of four ragged vagrants, scarred, ears cut off and noses broken. They glared at me, then at Étienne.

“So, Etienne Villiers,” said the fat man, “we have found you!” It's not as easy to hide from us as it is from the Duke d'Alençon, yes, dog?

- What's the tone, Tristan Pellini? asked Étienne, genuinely surprised. Did you come to greet a wounded comrade or...

“We have come to exact retribution on the rat!” boomed Pellini. He turned to his team and began to poke a thick finger at everyone: - See, Etienne Villiers? Jacques Worths, Gaston Volk, Jean Cornouchiy, Konrad Nemec and I, the fifth, we good people and once, in fact, your comrades, but now they have come to execute judgment on you - a dirty murderer!

- You are crazy! exclaimed Étienne, trying to raise himself on his elbow. “Who did I kill to make you so furious?” When I was one of you, did I not always share equally with you the hardships and dangers of theft, and did I not fairly share the booty?

“Now we’re not talking about loot!” Tristan thundered. “We are talking about our comrade Tybalt Bazas, who was dirtyly killed by you in the tavern "Finger's Fingers"!

Étienne froze, mouth open, looking at me dumbfounded, then closed his mouth again. I stepped forward.

- Fools! I exclaimed. “He didn't kill that fat swine of Tybalt. I killed him.

- Saint Dionysius! Tristan laughed. “That’s the girl in the pants the maid was talking about!” Did you kill Tybalt? Ha! A pretty lie, but not convincing to those who knew Tybalt. The maid heard that they were fighting, and fled in fright into the forest. When she made up her mind to return, Tybalt lay dead, and Étienne and the witch rode off together. No, it's all too clear. Étienne killed Tybalt, no doubt because of this very whore. Great, when we get rid of him, we'll take care of his whore, right, guys?

They nodded in agreement at the scoundrel's dirty suggestion.

“Agnes,” said Étienne, “fetch Ducas.”

“Damn it,” Tristan said. “Ducas and all the servants in the stable are grooming Giscard de Clisson's horse. We'll finish our job before they get back. Let's tie this traitor to that bench over there. Before I slit his throat, I will gladly try my knife on other parts of his body.

He pushed me away contemptuously and stepped towards Étienne's bed. Etienne tried to get up, and Tristan hit him with his fist, and he fell back onto the pillow. At that moment, my blood boiled. Jump - and Etienne's sword was in my hand. When I felt the hilt of the sword in my palm, strength and unusual confidence filled my veins like fire.

With a ferocious cry, I flew up to Tristan, and he retreated, stumbled over his sword. With a short blow to the thick neck, I silenced him. He fell, gushing blood, his head hanging from a piece of skin. The rest of the bandits screamed like a pack of greyhounds and stared at me with horror and hatred. Remembering the gun, I drew it and, without aiming, fired at Jacques' face, turning his head into a red mess. In the pistol smoke, the three remaining rushed at me, cursing.

There are things for which we are born and in which talent is higher than experience. I, who had never held a sword before, felt that it seemed to come to life in my hands, controlled by an unknown instinct. I discovered in myself a quickness of eyes, hands and feet that could not be compared with the clumsiness of these fools. They only mooed and blindly cut the air, losing strength and speed, as if they were fighting not with swords, but with wood splitters, while I struck silently and with deadly accuracy.

I don’t remember much of that fight: everything was mixed up for me in a crimson fog, against which only a few details stand out. My brain worked too fast for the actions to be fixed in memory, and now I don’t remember exactly with what jumps, bends, sideways steps I parried sword attacks. I only know that I smashed the head of Konrad the German like a melon, and his brains hung on the blade of the sword. I remember that the one called Gaston the Wolf trusted too much in his chain mail under the rags, my blow pierced the rusty iron, and he collapsed to the floor with his intestines spilling out. In the red mist, one Jean was advancing on me, and I touched his right wrist with my sword, cutting off the hand holding the sword, a crimson fountain of blood gushed out. Jean stared stupidly at the bleeding stump, and I pierced his chest with such fury that I fell to the floor with him.

I don't remember how I got up and pulled the sword from the corpse. Stepping over bodies, dragging my sword, I hobbled to the window and leaned against the sill. Deadly weariness overwhelmed me, along with violent vomiting. Blood was flowing from a wound in my shoulder, and my shirt was in tatters. The room swam before my eyes, the smell of fresh blood was disgusting. As if through a haze, I saw Etienne's white face.

Then there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Giscard de Clisson ran in, sword in hand, and Ducas. They stared at the spectacle as if in a tetanus, de Clisson cursed in disgust.

- What did I tell you? Dukas almost choked. - Devil in pants? Saint Dionysius, what a massacre!

- What's your job, girl? Giscard asked strangely quietly. I tossed back my wet hair and swayed to my feet.

- Yes. It was a debt that I had to pay.

- My God! whispered Giscard, looking around the room. “There is something dark and strange about you, for all your purity!”

“Yes, Dark Agnes!” said Étienne, propping himself up on his elbow. - The star of darkness shone at her birth, the star of darkness and restlessness. Wherever she goes, there will be bloodshed and men will die. I realized this when I saw her standing against the backdrop of the sunrise, which highlighted the blood on her dagger.

“I paid my debt to you,” I said. “If I risked your life, I paid the debt with blood.” And throwing my sword at his feet, I turned to the door.

Giscard, who had been watching all this with a face stupid with amazement, shook his head and, as if in a trance, stepped towards me.

- Devil's claws! - he said. - What happened radically changed my mind! You are the second Black Margot from Avignon. A real woman of the sword is worth two dozen men. Do you still want to ride with me?

“As a comrade in arms,” I replied. “I won’t be anyone’s mistress.

“No one but death,” Giscard said, looking at the corpses.

A week after the battle in Étienne Giscard de Clisson's room and I left the Red Boar Inn and took the road east. I sat on a hot warhorse, dressed as befits a comrade de Clisson - in a corduroy doublet, silk breeches and long Spanish boots. Under my doublet, my body was protected by a simple steel coat of mail, and on my head was a shining helmet. Pistols protruded from his belt, and a sword hung from a richly embroidered baldric. Above it all fluttered a cloak of crimson silk. All this was bought for me by Giscard, who began to swear when I protested against his extravagance.

“You can pay me with the booty we take from Italy,” he said. “But Giscard de Clisson’s comrade must travel smartly dressed!”

Sometimes I doubted that Giscard would accept me as a man to the full extent that I wanted. Perhaps secretly he was still cherishing his original thought. But it didn't matter.

The past week has been very busy. For several hours every day, Giscard taught me the art of swordsmanship. He himself was considered the best swordsman in France, and he swore that he had not yet met a student more capable than I. I learned the intricacies of sword fighting as if I were born to do it, and the quickness of my eyes and hands often plucked an astonished exclamation from Giscard's lips. In addition, he taught me how to shoot a target with a pistol and showed me many skillful and incredible tricks in a one-on-one battle. No newcomer has ever had a more knowledgeable teacher, and no teacher has ever had a more aspiring student. I was burning with the desire to comprehend everything related to this skill. It seemed that I was reborn into this new world, destined for me from birth. Past life turned into a dream that will soon be forgotten.

So one early morning, before sunrise, Giscard and I mounted our horses in the yard of the Red Boar, and Dukas wished us a fair wind. We had already turned out of the yard when a voice called my name and I saw a white face in the window above.

- Agnes! shouted Étienne. Are you leaving without even saying goodbye to me?

“What are these ceremonies between us for? I asked. “Neither you nor I owe each other anything. And, as far as I know, there is no friendship between us. You are well enough to take care of yourself and no longer need my help.

Without saying another word, I let go of the reins, and Giscard and I galloped along the forest road, driven by the wind. He looked at me from the side and shrugged.

“You are a strange woman, Dark Agnes,” he said. - You seem to move through life like a parka - always the same, inexorable, marked with a fatal seal. I think the men who are next to you will not live long.

I did not answer, and so we silently rode through the green forest. The sun has risen, flooding the golden branches swaying in the wind. A deer swept across the road ahead, the birds chirped a song of the joy of life.

We were following the same road I had taken Etienne after the battle at Rascal's Fingers, but at noon we turned onto a wider one that sloped south. Before we could turn off, Giscard said:

Peace is where there is no man. And now what?

A country lad sleeping under a tree shuddered as he woke up and stared at us, then jumped aside and dived into the thicket of oak that surrounded the road. I only had time to catch a glimpse of him: he was wearing a woodcutter's shirt with a hood, he gave the impression of a notorious villain.

“Our belligerent appearance scared that redneck,” Giscard laughed. But a strange anxiety seized me, which made me peer uneasily into the forest thicket all around.

“There are no bandits in this forest,” I muttered. “He had no reason to run away from us. I do not like it. Listen!

From somewhere behind the trees came a high, shrill, iridescent whistle. A few seconds later another, very distant, answered him. I strained my ears and seemed to catch a third whistle, even farther away.

“I don't like it,” I repeated.

“The bird is calling its friend,” Giscard waved him off.

“I was born and raised in the forest,” I said impatiently. - It's not a bird. These are people in the forest giving each other signals. It seems to me that this is connected with the villain who fled from us.

“You have the instinct of an old soldier,” Giscard laughed, removing his helmet from his sweaty head and hanging it on the pommel of his saddle. – Suspicion, alertness is good. But they are useless in this forest, Agnes. I have no enemies here. On the contrary, I am well known here and a friend to everyone. And since there are no robbers around, we have nothing to fear.

“I'm telling you,” I disagreed, “I have an overwhelming premonition that not everything is all right. Why did the guy run away from us and then whistle to someone hidden in the depths of the forest? Let's turn off the road onto the path.

By this time we had traveled some distance from the place where we heard the first whistle and came to an open area around a small river. Here the road seemed to widen, although it was still surrounded by thick bushes and trees. On the left side, the bushes were thicker and closer to the road. On the right, a sparse shrub grew, fringing the rivulet, on the opposite side of which the bank rested against bare rocks. The space between the road and the river, overgrown with low bushes, was about a hundred paces.

“Agnes, girl,” said Giscard, “I tell you, we are as safe as...

Bach! A roaring salvo came from the bushes to the left, covering the road in puffs of smoke. My horse whinnied piercingly and shied away. Giscard threw out his hands and fell in the saddle, and his horse fell under him. I saw all this for only a short moment, as my horse rushed like an arrow to the right, tearing through the bushes. The branch knocked me out of the saddle, and I, stunned, collapsed to the ground.

Lying there, unable to see the road because of the thick grass, I heard loud, rough voices of men coming out of ambush onto the road.

“Dead like Judas Iscariot!” one yelled. - Where did the girl go?

- Her wounded horse rushed there, across the river, with an empty saddle, - answered the other. She fell somewhere in the bushes.

“If only we could take her alive,” said a third. She would provide rare entertainment. But the duke said it's better not to risk it. Ah, Captain de Valenza is here!

Hooves pounded along the road, the rider shouted:

- I heard a volley, where is the girl?

“She is lying dead somewhere in the bushes,” they answered him. - Here's a man.

A moment later, the captain shouted:

- Thousand devils! Idiots! Muddlers! Dogs! This is not Etienne Villiers! You killed Giscard de Clisson!

There was an uproar, curses, accusations and excuses rained down, drowned out by the voice of the one who was called de Valenza.

“I tell you, I would recognize de Clisson even in hell, it's him, despite the fact that instead of a head he has a bloody mess. Oh idiots!

“We were only obeying orders,” another voice roared. “When you heard the signal, you sent us into an ambush and ordered to shoot whoever passed along the road. How did we know who was to be killed? You did not mention his name, our business was only to shoot whoever you point to. Why didn't you stay with us to see how the order was carried out?

“Because I'm in the duke's service, you fool! shouted de Valensa. “They know me too well. I can't risk being seen and recognized if the case fails.

Then they attacked someone else. There was a sound of impact and a cry of pain.

- Dog! yelled de Valensa. "Didn't you give the signal that Étienne Villiers was coming this way?"

- I am not guilty! howled the guy - a peasant, judging by the pronunciation. “I didn't know him. The owner of "Fingers of the Rascal" ordered me to watch a man galloping with a red-haired girl in a man's dress, and when I saw her on horseback next to a soldier, I thought that this must be Etienne Villiers ... ah ... Sorry!

There was a shot, a piercing scream, and the sound of a falling body.

“We'll be hanged if the duke finds out about this,” said the captain. - Giscard enjoyed great favor with the Viscount de Lautrec, ruler of Milan. D "Alenson will hang us to appease the viscount. We must take care of our necks. Let's hide the bodies in the river - we can't think of anything better. Go into the forest and look for the girl's corpse. If she is still alive, we must close her mouth forever.

Hearing this, I began to slowly crawl back to the river. Looking around, I saw that the opposite bank was low and flat, overgrown with bushes and surrounded by rocks, which I mentioned, and among them something similar to the entrance to the gorge could be seen. It seemed that the gorge showed the way to retreat. I crawled almost to the very water, jumped up and ran to the river murmuring along the rocky bottom. In this place, she was no higher than her knees. The bandits scattered in a crescent shape, rummaging through the bushes. I heard them behind me and away from me, on the other side. Suddenly one yelled like a hound that saw game:

- There she goes! Stop, damn it!

The matchlock clicked, the bullet whizzed past my ear, but I kept running. They were catching up, rumbling and screaming, pushing through the bushes behind me - a dozen men in helmets, cuirasses, with swords in their hands. The one who was shouting saw me when I had already entered the water. Fearing a blow from behind, I turned towards him in the middle of the river. He walked towards me, raising spray, huge, mustachioed, armed with a sword.

We grappled with him, hacking at each other, knee-deep in water. The water was numbing my legs. His sword landed on my helmet and sparks shot from my eyes. I saw that the others were surrounding me, and threw all my strength into a desperate attack. My sword swiftly passed between the teeth of the enemy and pierced his skull through the edge of the helmet.

He fell, turning the river crimson. I yanked the sword out of my body just as a bullet hit me in the thigh. I swayed, but did not fall and quickly jumped out of the water onto the shore. The enemies ran clumsily across the water, shouting threats and brandishing their swords. Some fired pistols, but the target was too mobile. I reached the rock, dragging my wounded leg. The boot was full of blood, the whole leg was numb.

I rushed through the bushes to the entrance to the gorge - and cold despair suddenly squeezed my heart. I was trapped. It turned out not to be a gorge, but just a wide, several yards wide cleft in the rock, which narrowed to a narrow cleft. It formed a sharp triangle, the walls of which were too high and smooth to climb even with healthy legs.

The bandits realized that I could not escape, and approached with triumphant cries. I rushed behind the bushes near the crevice, drew my pistol and shot the head of the nearest of them. Then the rest crouched down to the ground to take cover. Those that were on the other side of the river scattered into the bushes near the bank.

I reloaded my gun and tried to keep my head down while they talked and fired at random. But the bullets whistled high above my head or flattened against the rock. One of them crawled out into the open, and I shot him, the rest screamed bloodthirstyly and increased the fire. There was too much distance from the other side of the river to shoot accurately, and the rest of them were aiming badly, as they did not dare to lean out of cover.

Finally one shouted:

“Why don't one of you idiots go down along the river and look for a place where you can climb the rock and get to the girl from above?

"Because it's impossible to come out of hiding," said de Valenza. She shoots like the devil himself. Wait! Soon it will be dark, and in the dark she will not be able to aim. She can't run away. We'll catch her at dusk and finish this business. The bitch is hurt, I know. Let's wait!

I fired in the direction where de Valensa's voice was coming from, and from the exploding curse I knew that my lead was close to the target.

Then the waiting stretched out, during which shots were occasionally heard from behind the trees. The wounded leg ached, the flies hovered over me. The sun was setting, it was getting dark. I was tormented by hunger, but soon a severe thirst drove out all thoughts of food. The sight and murmur of the river drove me crazy. The bullet in the thigh caused unbearable suffering, I managed to cut it out with a dagger and stopped the bleeding by pressing the wound with crushed leaves.

I didn't see a way out; it seemed that here I was destined to die with dreams of brilliance, glory and amazing adventures. The drumming that I wanted to follow faded away, turning into a death knell, prophesying death and oblivion.

But I found no fear, no regret, no sadness in my soul. Better to die here than live and grow old like the women I knew. I thought of Giscard de Clisson, lying with his head in a pool of blood beside his dead horse, and regretted that death had overtaken him in this way - not in the way he wished, not on the battlefield with the banner of the king flying above him, among the roar of battle horns.

The hours ticked by slowly. Once I thought I heard the sound of a galloping horse's hooves, but the sound quickly faded. I moved my numb leg and cursed at the mosquitoes. I wanted the enemies to attack me as soon as possible while there was still enough light to shoot.

They talked in the deepening twilight. Suddenly, I heard a voice from above and turned around sharply, raising my gun. I thought they had climbed the rock after all.

- Get back, fool! I exclaimed. "They'll shoot you like a chick!"

“You can’t see me from their side,” he said confidently. - Be quiet, girl. Look, I'm lowering the rope. She has knots. Can you climb it? I can't pull you out with one hand.

- Yes! I whispered. - Descend quickly and reinforce the end well. I hear them walking along the river.

The rope snaked down to me. Grabbing her with bent knees, I rose on my hands. It was hard, because the lower end dangled like a pendulum, in different directions. I couldn't help myself with my legs, because my injured thigh was completely numb, and my Spanish boots were not designed for rope climbing.

I climbed to the top of the cliff at the moment when the sand creaked under my boots on the shore and the tinkle of steel was heard almost nearby.

Étienne quickly coiled the rope and, making a sign to me, led me through the bushes. He spoke in a quick, restless half-whisper:

I heard shots as I was driving down the road. Having tied my horse in the forest, I crept forward to see what was going on. I saw the dead Giscard and from the cries of these warriors I understood that you were in trouble. I have known this place since ancient times. I returned to my horse again and galloped along the river until I found a place where I could ride on the rocks through the gorge. I made a rope from a cloak, tearing it and tying the pieces with a belt and harness. Listen!

Behind them came a furious roar and curses.

- D "Alenson really wants to get my head," Etienne whispered. reported to the duke that I was in this part of the kingdom.

Now you, too, will be persecuted. I know Renaud de Valenza, the captain of this gang. As long as he's alive, you won't be safe, as he needs to destroy all evidence that it was his thugs who killed Giscard de Clisson. Here is my horse. We can't waste time.

"But why did you follow me?" I asked.

He turned to me, a pale shadow instead of a face in the twilight.

“You were wrong when you said there were no debts between us,” he said. “I owe you my life. It was because of me that you fought and killed Tristan Pellini and his thieves. Why do you hate me? You are completely avenged. You accepted Giscard de Clisson as a comrade. Let me go to war with you.

“As a friend, no more,” I said. Remember, I'm not a woman anymore.

“Like a brother in arms,” he agreed.

I held out my hand, he held out his, our fingers closed.

“We will ride on the same horse again,” he laughed and sang a cheerful song of old times. “Let’s go fast before those dogs find their way here.” D "Alenson blocked the roads to Chartres, Paris and Orleans, but the world belongs to us! I think glorious deeds, adventures, wars and booty await us! Forward to Italy! Long live the brave adventurers!

Karak, Summer

It is clear why Muslim historians call Count Renaud de Chatillon a treacherous robber, adventurer and ruthless killer. Still so far - this is the only insolent in the world who did not have enough just one day to destroy the entire Muslim world. But what makes Christian researchers consign to oblivion the legendary figure, who all his life preferred to die, but not betray the faith and heroically died for it, remains a mystery. Most likely, a dizzying career "from rags to riches", full of unpredictable falls and fantastic ups, as in our pragmatic times, causes burning hatred among contemporaries. A victim of medieval PR. We became interested in the fate of this character after the first visit to the grandiose fortress of Karak in Jordan. Each time, wandering through the endless galleries and impregnable walls of this real "Die Hard", one wonders why, for the entire 800-year history, this fortress is associated exclusively with Rene de Chatille. And since most of our trips to Jordan are accompanied by tourist groups, each time preparing for a lecture about these places, we managed to learn more and more interesting facts about this outstanding person. This story began in distant France, or rather in the county of Champagne at the beginning, the XII century in the castle of Chatillon su Maire or Chatillon on the Loing in the glorious de Chatillon family. This surname gave the world two legendary people: Pope Urban II (aka Otto de Chatillon), who raised the whole of Europe to the First Crusade to "save" Jerusalem from the Saracens, and Renaud de Chatillon - the "pop star" of the Second Crusade and, according to generally accepted opinion , responsible for the fall of the First Kingdom of Jerusalem. But let's get it right. Renault was the youngest, second son in the family of "middle nobles" Lord Henry de Chatillon. Despite relative poverty, education was respected in the family and Renault studied all the sciences necessary for a knight: horseback riding, fencing and even literacy. (in the figure - the family coat of arms of Chatillons of that time) However, the prospects for a rich and happy life at that Time of Troubles, Renault practically did not have. Grandfather René de Chatillon on the left. Being the youngest, the inheritance did not shine for him even in the form of a cowshed. The family did not have enough money even for basic uniforms and in search of a better fate (namely, quick enrichment), Renaud de Châtillon joined the army of Louis VII in the Second Crusade. In the campaign, Renault has established himself as a valiant and fearless warrior. He was among the few who managed to get to the Holy Land. To understand what is medieval knight, first of all, we must take into account that in those days the amount of armor had a direct proportional effect on survivability in battle. Sometimes knights (the same Richard Lion Heart) came out of the battle like hedgehogs studded with fragments of arrows. But the full armament weighed 50-60 kg and it was extremely difficult to maneuver with such a mass, and therefore the konb was the most critical and expensive part of the knight's equipment. Just in case, there should have been two war horses, which were used only during the battle. They moved between battles and cities on two more ordinary horses. Since the spear is the most terrible weapon of the knight and the horse could suffer in a frontal attack (with one blow the knight took out up to 8 fighters from the infantry!), Each knight was supposed to have at least 2 squires, who also had either a horse or a mule. This whole little squad transported tons of their equipment, food and other amenities on wagons, so the equipped knight was actually a whole squad that needed to be fed and maintained. Once in Antioch in 1147, Renault settled in the service of the prince of Antioch, Raymond de Poitiers. The prince liked this tall, athletically built young man, besides, Renault had more than enough desire to “kick Muslim asses”, and some sources say that he participated in the infamous battle of Aleppo, in which Raymond de Poitiers died, leaving in Antioch wife with 4 children. Muslim sources even say that Renault was captured, but escaped and reappeared in Antioch. By that time, the relatives of Constance of Antioch were looking for a new couple for her (it was believed that a woman could not be in power). From all over the Christian world, princes, princes and eminent barons came to Antioch. But the princess flatly refused everyone. One of the suitors, according to the chronicler, even took monastic vows after her refusal. Renault decided to "strike while the iron is hot" and, to the surprise of all high-ranking officials, charmed the princess. Reno never went into his pocket for a word, and the princess fell head over heels in love with this great merry fellow. As a relative of the Jerusalem king Baldwin III and a vassal of the Byzantine emperor Manuel Komnenos, Constance needed their mutual blessing for marriage. Accordingly, everyone was against it. At this very time, King Baldwin was besieging Muslim Ashkelon. Reno immediately understood what the king's location could cause, mounted a horse and, having covered more than 500 km, showed up at the walls of the besieged city. His valor and heroism in battle, as well as his contribution to the capture of the city, naturally had an effect on the king, and he blessed Renault to marry Constance. Ek, what a macho! The wedding was played modestly and in secret from all enemies. The Patriarch of Antioch, Emery de Limoges, had the imprudence to joke about this unequal wedding, for which he immediately "received" from Renault, who had already tasted power. The latter put the ill-fated patriarch in an iron cage, smeared it with honey and put it on the main square of the city. Wasps and horseflies flocked to the "freebie", and the swollen and deified bishop excommunicated Renault from the church. However, this was the first excommunication in the track record of the newly minted prince of Antioch. Agree that if this man had such a nasty reputation that historians attribute to him, he would hardly have been able to charm the impregnable Princess of Antioch so quickly, especially since the customs of that time were quite severe. Widows were obliged to marry only a knight, and she was given one year and one day to think. After that, the king gave her three candidates. Princess Antiochskaya 20!!! fought off any parties for years !!! And choose the poor newcomer Rene de Chatillon - life is full of real dramas ... In the first years of Antioch's reign, Renaud behaved rather modestly and fought on the side of his overlord Manuel Kominin and the Templars against the Armenian king For. The population of Antioch was predominantly Orthodox and Byzantine, so the interests of Chatillon and Byzantium coincided for some time. For the taming of Fora, Comnenus promised Renault a large sum of money. He naively believed and invested most of his budget in the equipment of the military expedition. However, Komnenos did not compensate for the huge costs of the war with a single coin. Renault, deeply in debt, had to find a way to return the money to creditors, and therefore decided to take his due salary from Byzantium by force. Teaming up with former enemy Forom, he equipped a pirate raid on Cyprus, which was the personal seigneury of the emperor. The goal was chosen just perfectly: the rich lands of Cyprus fully compensated for all the costs of Chatillon in addition to the rich extraction of gold, slaves and livestock. The prince of Antioch, together with the Armenian king, “travelled” across the entire island from south to north, destroying and plundering everything that came to hand on their way. The chroniclers left a rather detailed account of his atrocities, terrifying our contemporaries. The economic effect of this event exceeded all expectations, and the status of Renault, despite the condemnation of all parties, both Byzantine and Frankish, increased markedly. Isn't it very similar to modern concepts: the lad was thrown and he adequately punishes the delinquent ... Manuel, however, did not consider himself obliged to pay the bills, and vice versa, who considered the campaign against Cyprus a personal "spit in the face", equipped a rather impressive army on Antioch. In addition, the Jerusalem king Baldwin was involved in the matter, who clearly did not want a direct confrontation with Byzantium. At a general meeting in Kusht, Renault was brought by force and forced to repent before the emperor, as well as to return all the loot in Cyprus. And Chatillon had to moderate his ardor somewhat. In one shirt, with a sword tied to his neck, he walked along the main aisle of the church, where Komnenos and Baldwin were, knelt down and delivered a speech about forgiveness and pardon. This was a serious disgrace to the crusaders. Reno, according to the ceremonial charter, was forgiven, his big Cypriot jackpot was taken away. Manuel, with a sense of accomplishment to his Orthodox subjects, withdrew to Constantinople. And Reno remained with his debts and already numerous enemies he had made. Debts are not forgiven even now, and even then, it could cost a life, so Reno chose the only right way for him to tie up ends meet - raids for the purpose of robbery. This time he chose the neighboring rather poor Turkish territories adjacent to Antioch. But they did not bring the proper income, and each time I had to go further and further for luck. Chatillon was at home less and less often, which caused a noticeable relief in the ranks of the Antiochian aristocracy and his own wife. However, in 1160, one of his raids on Aleppo proved fatal. Encircled by Nurradin's army, Chatillon fought to the last, until he lost his horse. And he was taken prisoner. In captivity, Chatillon spent a long 16 years. None of his former allies, including his own wife, lifted a finger to release him and ransom him. According to the chronicler, "a deep sigh of relief swept through the whole East." For his bravery in battle, he received a great honor, and they even built a small church for him to pray. In general, it is not known what Renault has been doing all these long years, but one thing is clear - he knew Arabic perfectly and learned the manners and character of his captors very well. He also developed a deep dislike for them. In 1176, Nurradin was no longer alive, and several of his generals fought for the throne. Some of them were looking for an alliance with the crusaders in support, so many rich Frankish captives were released. The latter was released by Renaud de Chatillon, for whom the Jerusalem king Baldwin IV the Leper paid a ransom of 120,000 gold, a huge amount of money even at that time. There was no point in returning to Antioch. Constance died many years ago, Baudouin, the eldest son, reigned on the throne, while the youngest, also Baudouin, whom some historians consider Reno's own son, dies in a battle in the ranks of the Byzantine army in the same year. There was no chance to return Antioch even in dreams. Therefore, Chatillon sent the horse to Jerusalem, to King Baldwin IV, who suffered from leprosy since childhood, but was a wise politician and a brave warrior. Baldwin had heard about the "merits" of Chatillon, and therefore decided to send him as far as possible from the Kingdom of Jerusalem. A successful marriage option turned up under the arm with a representative of the rich and influential family of de Milla - Etienne (or Stephanie), who had been a widow for a couple of years. Well, what a passage! Rene acts as such a Middle Eastern heartthrob, especially since the issue of putting on (fief) in the scanty Middle East was very painful. In the middle of the 13th century, about 100 knights stood in line for allotments (who received a salary from the king at court). So getting yourself Transjordan in the fief is something more than just charming another princess... Etienne's family was from the "pioneers" of the crusades and had a huge influence at court. In addition, the lordship of Transjordan with the impregnable fortresses of Krak de Moab and Montreal was the largest lordship of the kingdom. It simply couldn't be better. The wedding was played modestly without too much noise, and now, having gained power and wealth, Renaud de Chatillon spun to its fullest... East under one roof and return Jerusalem to the Muslims. Saladin decided to attack the Franks from the south and quite quickly and almost unhindered reached Mongisar, the seigneury of the counts de Ibelins (aka Tel Gezer). Having a large army at hand, Saladin practically had no doubts about his victory, but then the military tactics of the crusaders played, headed by our Renault, by the way, next to the king. On November 25, 1177, a small handful of knights and several hundred foot soldiers simply put thousands of Saracens to flight. The victory was so unexpected and quick that it inspired the crusaders for a long time, and this confidence in quick victory further rendered a disservice to the country. King Baldwin IV foresaw his imminent death, and therefore, he wanted to ensure the rule of his nephew, Baldwin V, the son of Sybil's sister. Renaud de Chatillon was appointed regent. After successful and not very successful battles (the crusaders lost to the army of Saladin in the battle of Beit Shean), Reno returns to his destiny. He did not know how to do housework, and attractive, loaded with all sorts of goods, caravans from Damascus to Cairo passed by. And Reno decides to "shake the old days" or in other words, take up the old and earn a living by robbery. The trade route from Damascus to Cairo becomes very dangerous, while, according to Chatillon, “small” robberies did not satisfy his desires. And he decided to play big. The hatred for the Saracens of all stripes, acquired over 16 years of captivity, leads him to a completely unthinkable idea. He decides to capture Mecca and Medina - the shrines of the Muslim world, and of course, not sickly to get rich. Mecca is the spiritual heart of Islam. And, if Allah allowed its desecration by the infidels, and even more so, the destruction of such a shrine as the Black Stone there, then this would not lead to a general unification of Muslims, but to a total civil war and the Muslim world in this situation would most likely degrade into a horde of semi-savage nomadic tribes. However, the idea fell on fertile soil and, deciding to change tactics, Renault gathers the best carpenters and seamen in the country to build 5 large galleys in Kerak. In the autumn of 1182, the ships were built and tested in the waters of the Dead Sea. Then they were taken apart, placed on camels and the caravan set off towards the Red Sea. His first goal was to recapture the fortress of Eilat from the Saracens, which had already been taken from the Transjordan seigneury for 13 years long before Renault became its prince. At that time, the Saracens were not in the fortress itself in Eilat, but on the pharaonic island off the coast of Aqaba. 2 out of 5 ships simply and without a fight laid siege to the island and everyone who was there. Accordingly, there was nowhere to run away, there was still enough food and drink, therefore, while the galleys of Chatillon remained at the fortress to wait starvation besieged, the rest sailed south, to the magical land of Hijaz (now Saudi Arabia). Of course, it was impossible to sail like that without incidental robbery and robbery of local ships with pilgrims on board. The Arabs were simply horrified. They had never seen the Franks in their lives, and they couldn’t really see them, because they were interrupted like rabbits by the Châtillon thugs. For 4 months, Renault sailed the Red Sea, collecting the necessary information about the passages to Medina and Mecca and enriching his holds with gold, incense, silk and spices. He managed to negotiate with the local Bedouins, who promised to lead him to Mecca if he shared with them part of the loot from the pilgrims. However, a day's journey from Medina, the Châtillons were surrounded by the army of Salahadin's brother, Malik al Adil. Their "comrades-in-arms" Bedouins, sensing something was wrong, immediately went over to the side of the Arab brothers and drew their blades. Bedouins do not change for thousands of years. Until now, their motto has remained: "Push the falling one, cling to the one taking off" It was almost impossible to fight with difficult desert conditions. Water supplies were running out, soldiers were suffering from malaria, the heat was taking away last strength. All 900 pirates were captured and executed in public in Cairo and Alexandria. There is a very detailed testimony of the Arab historian Ibn Jubair about this execution. However, by some devilish miracle, Reno manages to stay alive. The only one of all his gang. And he returns to Kerak Castle. A robber, and now also a corsair, but nevertheless the only person who decided to turn the world over... After such a frank claim for the destruction of the Muslim shrine, Salahadin could not help but declare Reno enemy number 1 and "persona non grata." He tried to get Chatillon in his own castle twice: in 1183 and at the end of the summer of 1184), but both times he suffered an unworthy defeat for the Sultan. Renault was worth his team and his team consisted of the same desperate and courageous associates. In 1183, Salahaddin broke through to the gates of the fortress with a swift throw and, in order to give his comrades the opportunity to raise the gate, one of the knights, skillfully fencing with swords in both hands, died at the cost of his life on a pile of corpses. I can't believe that people sacrificed themselves so heroically for the sake of a bunch of robbers and outlaws. It was hard to break Renault, besides, Salakhadin clearly did not want to deal directly with the "iron people", however, in order to avoid a world war, Baldwin IV arrived on the battlefield and changed the Sultan's anger to mercy. During one of the sieges, the wedding of the king's sister, Isabella, and Renaud's stepson, Humphrey IV of Toron, took place in the castle. At the request of the groom's mother, Salakhadin ordered not to aim at the tower in which the couple spent their wedding night (or wedding according to another version), and for this they brought him drinks and food from the wedding table. King Baldwin IV died soon after. In his place was the young Baldwin V, and our Renault was appointed regent. It hardly seems that the regent of the kingdom of Jerusalem will be a cruel and stupid person, although anything can happen ... But the boy, having lived only a few years, dies. His mother, Princess Sibylla, who was married to Guy de Lusignan - a kind of Brad Pete of the Christian East. Even Muslim enemies wrote enthusiastically about his beauty. But were there brains ... They were not. Guy was not stupid, but spineless. He could fight, but he did not know how to govern the country and did not understand anything about politics. Guy became the new king. However, Renault and his party of "locals" (born in Palestine) crowned Humphrey IV of Toron, Renault's stepson and husband of Sibylle's younger sister Isabella. The locals wanted a revolution, but it did not happen. Humphrey turned out to be even spineless than Guy, he escaped from the "local" camp and took homage (oath of allegiance) to Sibylla and her husband. Even at the request of King Baldwin IV, for the sake of peace with the Saracens, Renault vowed to calm down and not touch the trade caravans passing in his possessions. And he stayed for three years. And only somewhere at the beginning of 1187, dying from inactivity and everyday boredom, Renault could not help but attack a huge caravan that was not passing by, moving to Egypt, with the richest gifts and the sister of Salahadin himself on board. The proceeds from the raid amounted to more than 200,000 gold coins and the sister herself. According to one version, Reno raped her and killed her, according to another, he sold her into slavery, according to the third, he only touched her with his finger, which was already considered by Muslims as a desecration of honor. It doesn't matter which of the options we like best - there was only one conclusion - Salakhadin declared Jihad to Renaud de Chatillon. And in this second attempt, Renaud de Châtillon made an unthinkable throw of eight hundred kilometers across the desert to the Hijaz, burning the cities of Tabuk and Taimu. There was very little left to Medina, and Salahaddin desperately entered the territory of Kerak and Montreal, which forced Renaud de Chatillon to postpone his plan to a later date. Especially not discouraged, on the way back, Renaud de Chatillon captured the richest sacred caravan, which, leaving Damascus, was heading for Mecca. This trifle brought him two hundred thousand gold Byzantine coins, a serious deterioration in relations with the king, who signed peace with Salahaddin. King Gi was unable to save the situation. famous phrase Renault "I am the master in my land, like a king in his" - clearly shows Renault's attitude to international politics, and most importantly, to his king and his desires. Salahadin invaded the Kingdom of Jerusalem on May 1, 1187 and captured Tiberias with all the inhabitants and the family of Count Raymond of Tripoli (Tiberias too). The crusader army gathered in the summer of 2 July 1187 near the lakes of Tzipori to discuss a plan of action. The whole color of the Latin crusade gathered there - the masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, and counts from all over the country (for example, Ibelins), Renaud de Chatillon, of course, and Raymond of Tripoli himself and others. Raymond's proposal was tactically correct and was supported by the wise half of the barons. He proposed to move the entire army to Akko and force Salahadin to move through the desert and waterless paths of Jezreel. With supplies of water and weapons, a good rear and sea support, the Christians could easily defeat the proud sultan. The king agreed with this decision. However, at night, the master of the Templars, Gerard de Vidfort, entered the king’s tent, whose hands itched to lather the turbans of the Saracen warriors, and he convinces the king and changes his mind: the Army goes to Tiberias immediately. This was Guy's most fatal mistake. Despite the protests of other barons, the army is removed from the camp in Zippori and goes on a campaign. July 4 is described in all chronicles as a surprisingly hot day. Water supplies quickly decreased, the infantry began to simply fall and die on the spot. The knights clad in iron also did not escape the mortal fate. Severe burns, dehydration, it's amazing how they even started fighting the Muslims who went on the attack at Karnei Chitin, not far from Tiberias. The knights simply fell into a trap between the two hills of Hatin, where a rain of arrows and spears fell on them from above. A handful of crusaders led by Raymond of Tripoli and Balian Ibelin managed to avoid the massacre. Salahadin ordered his soldiers not to attack them in the hope that they would die on their own without reaching the water sources, poisoned in advance. But they still escaped. The rest, after several hours of stubborn battle, literally to the last breath, were taken prisoner. Among others were the Master of the Templars, Gerard de Vidfort, King Guy de Lusignan, and our Renaud de Chatillon. Salahadin obviously did not expect such luck. He expressed his admiration for the fact that such noble persons were in his hands. But Renault, according to his promises, he had to kill with his own hand, only the reason was not immediately found (strange, isn't it? How about a sister? There are several versions of the reason for Reno's murder. According to one version, Renault refused to convert to Islam and then Salahadin killed him. According to the second version, Salahadin asked Renault what he would do if the Sultan himself turned out to be his prisoner. To which Renault calmly replied that he would cut off his head. Which is what was done to him. According to the third version, King Guy, who was given a bowl of sherbet, handed it to Reno, Salahadin became angry as he was not going to water his sworn enemy and instantly swung his sword at his neck. Be that as it may, de Chatillon was beheaded. And he died without blinking an eye and without repenting of his deed. According to Kurdish custom, Salahadin drew a bloody streak on Reno's forehead with his finger as a sign of accomplished revenge (apparently, all the same for his sister). According to Islamic chronicles, the head of Renaud de Chatillon was still carried to large Muslim cities of the East, and therefore put up on the main square of Damascus, as a warning to those who dare to rise up against the Sultan and as a sign of his complete victory over Christianity. By the way, in Damascus there really is a monument to Salahadin, where reverse side Guy de Lusignan and Renaud de Chatillon are depicted as defeated by Islam. This ended the fascinating and full of extreme events life of the “Frankish demon”. However, his name did not die with him. His daughter, Agnes de Chatillon (by her marriage to Constance of Antioch) became Queen of Hungary, and another daughter, Alice, became the wife of the noble baron Azzo V de Est. One gets the feeling that all his life, and especially in the last moments of her Renaud de Chatillon, he himself was looking for death, and certainly not an easy life. Perhaps he deliberately provoked Salahaddin, perhaps he did not want to be left with nothing at the age of 57, perhaps he wanted to remain in the memory of young people as a martyr for the faith, it is difficult to say about this now. One thing is clear, that this man lived an amazingly extraordinary life, and history has undeservedly forgotten him.

The Crusades to the Holy Land, which began at the end of the 11th century, became a real Klondike for many European knights. First of all, the younger sons of noble families benefited from them. At that time, hereditary practice provided for the transfer of inheritance to eldest sons. The younger ones didn't get anything. They were initially doomed to poverty and had to earn their wealth, name and fame from scratch.

This apparent injustice was eliminated by the Crusades. They provided the disinherited people with unlimited opportunities. The knights who arrived in Palestine at first had only swords and rusty chain mail. But in a few years they rapidly grew rich, became owners of lands and castles. A prominent representative of such people, who started from scratch and achieved everything, is the French knight Renaud de Chatillon (1124-1187).

Knights in Palestine

This man was a descendant of the House of Chatillon, who had been famous since the 9th century. But the representative of a noble family had no prospects, since he was the second son. Therefore, the young man had no choice but to go on the Second Crusade (1147-1149), which was led by King Louis VII of France. The crusaders at that time had already been in Palestine for half a century and were constantly fighting with the Arabs, who were trying to expel the Christian conquerors from their lands.

In the Holy Land, Renault immediately established himself as a brave and skillful warrior and attracted the attention of the Prince of Antioch, Raymond de Poitiers. Therefore, when the French king departed for his native lands, the knight who had nothing for his soul remained in the service of the prince. He had a young beautiful wife, Constance, which also played a role in his desire to stay in Antioch.

Soon Raymond de Poitiers died, and in 1153 Renault married Constance. After that, the knight became the prince-regent for the eldest son of this woman, that is, in fact, he became the ruler of Antioch. So the life of the unknown young man changed drastically. He turned into an influential prince who owned a large territory.

In the next few years, Renault de Châtillon behaved militantly and self-confidently. He began to intervene in the feuds between byzantine empire and Armenian Cilicia, regularly raided the possessions of the Seljuk Turks. They began to call him Prince Arnaut, changing the name Reno in their own way. In 1160, a detachment under the command of a self-confident prince was surrounded and destroyed. The ruler of Antioch himself was captured by the Syrian Muslims and spent 16 years in it.

Only in 1176 de Chatillon was redeemed from captivity, having paid a large amount of gold for him. It is quite understandable that the prince of Antioch was not delighted with his fellow crusaders, since they could not release him for 16 whole years. Meanwhile, clouds gathered over the main stronghold of the Crusaders, the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Muslims have got strong leader. His name was Sultan Salah ad-Din. The Christians called him Saladin.

And Renault, being at large, went to Jerusalem, since Constance died long ago, and her son from her first marriage ruled in Antioch. In Jerusalem at that time Baldwin IV the Leper sat on the throne. He needed an experienced warrior who could take on Saladin. Therefore, it was decided to send the knight freed from captivity south to Transjordan. Stephanie de Milli was a widow there, and her family was extremely wealthy and influential.

The former prince of Antioch tied the knot with Stephanie and settled in the castle of Krak Moab. From there, he began to raid Muslim lands. With his detachment, de Chatillon robbed trade caravans, attacked villages, fortresses, and mercilessly destroyed the Muslims taken prisoner. By 1180, the formidable and energetic prince brought fear to the entire nearby territory belonging to Muslims.

In 1182, several ships were built on the Dead Sea at the initiative of Renault. They were dragged to the Red Sea, and these ships began to attack the ships of the Muslims. This went on for 6 months, until the Seljuks destroyed the ships of uninvited guests.

Sultan Saladin, King Guy de Lusignan defeated by him (sitting nearby), and captured knights

Meanwhile, Saladin set himself the task of uniting the entire Middle East under his rule. The first time he moved to Jerusalem in 1177, but was defeated by the crusaders in the battle of Montgisard. Renault also took part in this battle. Some sources claim that it was thanks to him that the knights defeated Saladin. The next campaign against the Christians was organized in 1179. This time the crusaders were defeated, but not fatally.

Restless Renaud de Chatillon was very disturbing to the newly appeared Sultan. Twice Saladin besieged the fortress of Krak Moab, but both times the siege ended unsuccessfully for the Muslims. And life went on as usual, and in 1186 the Jerusalem king Baldwin V died. At the time of his death, he was only 8 years old. The royal throne, after palace intrigues, was occupied by Guy de Lusignan. But undercover fuss and the struggle for power weakened the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Saladin decided to take advantage of this. He moved his army to the lands of the crusaders, and on July 4, 1187, the famous battle of Hattin took place. In this battle, the Christians suffered a crushing defeat, and King Guy de Lusignan, Renaud de Chatillon and many other noble knights were captured. They were brought to the Sultan, who, seeing that the king of Jerusalem was suffering from thirst, handed him a goblet of water. The King took a sip and handed the goblet to Reno, who stood beside him.

Sultan Saladin cuts off the head of the captive Renaud de Chatillon (picture from the annals of William of Tire)

To this Saladin remarked: "You did not ask me for permission to give him a drink, and therefore I am not obliged to keep him alive." After these words, the Sultan waved his sword and cut off the head of de Chatillon. She was taken around the cities for a long time and shown to the Muslims, as if emphasizing that even the terrible prince Arnaut could not resist Saladin.

As for Guy de Lusignan, he was released in 1188, because the Sultan declared that the king could not kill the king. But the city of Jerusalem fell on October 2, 1187. Together with him, the kingdom itself ended its existence. All these events provoked the Third Crusade, which began in 1189. But subsequent events no longer concerned the deceased Renaud de Chatillon, whose fate was not much different from the fate of other knights who were born as younger sons in their families.

(1187-07-04 ) Genus: House de Chatillon Father: Heinrich (Henri) de Chatillon Mother: Irmengard de Monge Spouse: (1) Constance
(2) Stephanie deMilli

Renaud de Chatillon and the Patriarch of Antioch (miniature from a 13th-century manuscript)

Renault de Chatillon(also Rainald, Renold, etc. de Chatillon; fr. Renaud de Chatillon, in old transcriptions Renauts, Rainaults etc. de Chastillon) (- July 4) - French knight, member of the Second Crusade, Prince of Antioch (1153-1160).

Childhood and youth

Almost nothing is known about this period of Renault's life. Renault was born around 1125 (1126). During the campaign of King Louis VII of France in 1147-49. he participated already as an adult, that is, at the age of 20 years or a little older. Place of birth, most likely Châtillon-on-Loing or Gien-on-Loire; his father owned both these estates. Renault did not have great prospects at home, since he was the second son, and therefore fate itself showed him the way - to the East.

Pious Pilgrimage

Renault was among those lucky few who were lucky enough to get to Syria, where in March 1148 his overlord found a hospitable welcome from Raymond de Poitiers (his wife's uncle) and his young wife, Constance, granddaughter of the founder of the Principality of Antioch, Bohemond I. Probably, Renault participated in the raid of Prince Raymond on the neighboring Muslim Aleppo (present-day Aleppo), along with other knights from across the sea, and, obviously, having shown himself on a good side, aroused Raymond's disposition.

One of the Muslim chroniclers mentions the participation of Reno in the fatal battle for Raymond with the troops of Aleppo atabek Nur ad-Din on June 29, 1149 and the short-term capture of Reno. He could well enter the service of Raymond after the failure of the 2nd Crusade (summer 1148) and the departure of Louis to France (after Easter 1149).

Miles gregarius

Miles gregarius- mercenary. In his chronicle, William of Tire “honored” Renault with this term (we have accepted William of Tire), but did not give his verbal portrait.

In the role of a mercenary in the service of King Baudouin III of Jerusalem (obviously, from 1149 after the captivity in Aleppo, if the fact took place at all), Renault very soon found himself in a rather difficult situation: he was torn between duty and the call of the heart, and also because duty had to be carried out far to the south, where the siege of Ascalon had been going on since the beginning of 1153, and the object of passion was in Antioch - also far, but in the north. Reno liked not only the now long-dead prince of Antioch, but also the princess. In addition, he seems to have good connections among the local nobility. His courtship was successful, despite the fact that Constance, a widow, formally did not have the right to resolve her marriage issues herself. She had two overlords: a cousin, King Baudouin III, and the Emperor of Byzantium, Manuel I Komnenos. The second even proposed his candidate.

In 1153 Renault married Constance and became Prince Regent for her eldest son. (In total, 25-year-old Constance had 4 children by that time: the youngest - he is sometimes mistakenly considered the son of Reno - died at the Battle of Myriokefal in 1176, fighting in the army of Manuel I.)

Prince of Antioch

However, the emperor left, and the debts and enemies remained, and Renault began to arrange raids on the relatively poor Turkish territories. Apparently, there was an acute shortage of money, and we had to go farther and farther for prey. According to one chronicler, the prince "did not take off his iron caftan." One of the raids in (sometimes called the 1161st) became fatal: 120 horsemen and 500 infantrymen, led by Renault, were surrounded. The prince fought until the horse fell under him. Even enemies could not refuse Renault courage. Misrepresenting a foreign name in your own way, Renaud they named him Prince Arnaut- Arno, or Arnaut. The name subsequently became a household name.

Nothingness

This is how you can characterize the period from 1160/61 to 1176 in the life of Renault, which the prince spent in Aleppo as a prisoner. During these 15 or almost 16 years a lot has happened and a lot has changed. By 1164, the neighboring rulers of Reno found themselves in Aleppo, including the count of Tripoli, located to the south, Raymond III. In 1174, Nur-ad-Din died, and civil war broke out among the Muslims of Syria and Egypt. In Aleppo, they began to seek an alliance with the Franks. All noble captives left the prison. Reno - the last and for the largest ransom - 120,000 gold.

Lord of Krak of Moab

Constance died long ago, his stepson reigned in Antioch. Renault went to Jerusalem. The 16-year-old Baudouin IV the Leper ruled there ( Le Mesel). He granted Renault (through marriage) an important seigneury—the kingdom's furthest southern outpost, Transjordan. There, in 1115, during a campaign in Arabian Petra, the first king of Jerusalem, Baldwin I, built the Castle on the Royal Mountain - Krak de Montreal and two outposts in Petra: the fortress of Al-Habis and the castle of Le Vaux Muaz (Al-Voyera). In 1142, one of the active courtiers and associates of the third king of Jerusalem, Fulk I of Anjou, Payen Le Boutillier ordered to build on the Desert Rock ( Petra Deserti) another castle - Krak, or Krak in the land of Moab (today El-Karak). He became the capital of the seigneury.

It was of vital strategic importance. So, later the crusaders, having lost Jerusalem, refused the chance to get it again because the treaties did not provide for the return of Transjordan to them.

In 1177, Renault married the heiress of the Transjordan seigneury, Etienne de Mili (Stefania de Milli), an important lady of the kingdom, the daughter of one of the masters of the Temple and the mother of the grandson of the permanent minister of war of the three Jerusalem kings, Humphrey II de Toron, the young Humphrey IV.

Owning the castle of Krak de Moabit and, by extension, Transjordan, or Transjordan, Renault became one of the most important, if not the most important, baron of the kingdom.

On the seal there is an inscription that says that Renault is the sovereign of the city of Petra, and Krak Castle is depicted. The bird on the obverse is believed to be the fairy griffon.

In addition to him, there was only one equally large and equally important secular lord - Raymond III, count of a separate state, Tripoli. In addition to the county, he, like Renault, through marriage owned a part of the Kingdom of Jerusalem - the Principality of Galilee with its capital in Tiberias on the shores of the Lake of Gennesaret.

Raymond was a descendant of a participant in the 1st campaign, Raymond de Saint-Gilles, or Raymond of Toulouse, was a relative of the ruling king (Baudouin IV's grandmother was the elder sister of Raymond III's mother). He, of course, did not consider Reno equal, as, however, "newcomers" and other "locals" were not highly valued - the nobility of the kingdom was divided into two parties.

"Locals" and "outsiders"

As the name implies, the "natives" party mainly consisted of those who were born and lived in the Holy Land. With strangers - strangers from across the sea - everything is somewhat more complicated: the nominal Count of Edessa Josselin III and his sister, the mother of King Baudouin IV and his older sister Sibylla, Agnes de Courtenay, were in the Renault party. Both Josselin and Agnes were born in the East. However, the party of “locals” also included Minister of War Amory de Lusignan, who arrived in the Levant only in the mid-70s (later King of Cyprus and nominally Jerusalem as Amory II).

Prominent figures from the truly local, in addition to the Count of Tripoli, in the party were the brothers Baudouin and Balian of Ibelin. For some reason, director Ridley Scott made the latter a bastard in his Kingdom of Heaven. However, the romance between Sibylla and one of the Ibelins, indicated in the film, was actually present, only not with the younger, Balian, but with the elder, Baudouin. If Baudouin had been luckier, the situation in the kingdom could have turned out differently. But the war intervened.

War with Saladin in the 1170s

In 1177, Salah ad-Din (better known as Saladin) set out from Egypt and tried to capture Jerusalem. The courage of the young king and the timely intervention of Renaud, then regent, led to a catastrophic defeat of the Egyptians at Montgisard on November 25th. Arab sources claim that the victory was won thanks to Renault.

A huge army perished, Saladin escaped by a miracle. However, by 1179 he had returned and began to operate from Damascus. In Galilee, luck favored him. On April 10, the Frankish army was defeated, although not fatally. However, many nobles were captured, including Baldwin de Ibelin.

He managed to redeem himself by borrowing money from Emperor Manuel, but Sibylla did not wait for him. Sibylla's mother, Agnes, stood in the way of Baudouin. She became friends with Amaury de Lusignan, who turned out to be ready to strengthen his own position at the expense of a step that was unfavorable for the “locals”. Amaury summoned his younger brother Guy (sometimes Guido) from the south of France. He managed to please Sibylla, and soon a wedding took place, bringing the "newcomer" Guy de Lusignan closer to the throne as the son-in-law of the king and stepfather of his nephew (Sybil's son from his first marriage).

War with Saladin in the early 1180s

Having retired to his inheritance, Reno began to attack Muslim caravans passing by Krak, and also began to raid enemy territory (once he even operated on the outskirts of Medina). In the autumn of 1182, Renault organized a daring sea raid.

Ships - and quite large ones - were built and tested on the waters of the Dead Sea, after which they were dismantled and transferred to the Red Sea coast with the help of camels. Three of the five large ships for about six months inspired fear and horror in the inhabitants of the primordially Muslim possessions, who had never seen the crusaders so close before. However, by the spring of 1183, Saladin's deputies in Egypt also built ships, launched them into the Red Sea, and soon forced the sailors and soldiers of Renault to land, where they (no more than 900 people) were eventually defeated in a three-day battle. The prisoners were then ceremonially beheaded in various cities of Saladin's empire.

Reno himself in Krak Moab had to endure two sieges by Saladin, who vowed to take revenge and kill the baron with his own hand. However, both attempts to take the stronghold (in the autumn of 1183 and at the end of the summer of 1184) were unsuccessful.

In addition to these two sieges, the first half of the 1180s is interesting for the key episode at the Pools, or Springs of Goliath in Galilee, in the first week of October 1183, in which Renault de Châtillon also participated. The large army of Saladin and the large (1,300 knights plus infantry) crusader army dispersed almost peacefully after a rather passive week-long confrontation.

Guy de Lusignan, the husband of Sibylla of Jerusalem, the stepfather of the young Baudouinette and the regent, turned out to be the last in this whole unsightly story. He was accused of cowardice by the traditionally moderate "locals" who were prone to compromise and caution. He heard the same thing, of course, from his party of "newcomers" and from the king. The latter removed Guy from his duties as regent of the kingdom.

Escalation of confrontation with Saladin

In 1186, the last hereditary and legally recognized 8-year-old king of Jerusalem, Baldwin V, died, outliving his uncle and namesake Baldwin IV by about a year. The throne turned out to be vacant, which had long been expected, some with fear, others with impatient lust.

The "outsiders" were in a better position and staged Guy's coronation. The “locals”, led by Raymond, chose Hunfroy as king as the husband of the younger - half-sister of Baudouin IV, Isabella of Anjou, or Isabella Komnenos. civil war it did not happen only because the candidate of the "locals", Humphrey, fled from Raymond's camp to Jerusalem to Sibylla and took the vassal oath to her and Guy.

In turn, Saladin, having finished with the subjugation of "his own", felt ready to fall upon the enemies of the faith with all his might, among whom he was known as a noble ruler and formidable neighbor. He, however, needed a reason. And he was found.

Either at the end of 1186, or at the beginning of 1187, Renault again robbed a rich Muslim caravan. The proceeds amounted to 200,000 gold. But most importantly, Saladin's sister followed the caravan, whom 61-year-old Reno brutally raped.

Even before, he had little respect for the immunity of Muslim merchants and pilgrims, responding to claims with a reasonable objection that the king, perhaps, had peace with the infidels, but he, Senor Krak, did not and could not have such peace. The same was now heard by the envoys of Saladin and King Guy, to whom Renaud reminded that he was "a master in his land, as a king is in his." Let us add to this the terrible stories about the fate of Muslim captives in Krak Moab (Reno put some in very tight pits, others he threw from the high walls of the castle). In a word, the villain had to be curbed.

Saladin, for his part, staged a raid on Christian territories in Galilee on May 1, 1187. After realizing that a clash was inevitable, the leaders of the Latins stopped strife and began to prepare for a decisive battle.

last fight

Death of Renaud de Châtillon

On July 2, 1187, in a camp set up in Sephoria (a suburb of Acre), Guy de Lusignan, apparently, did not forget the confrontation almost 4 years ago in the same Galilee, but again acted in accordance with his character - he said “yes” both the one and the other. At first agreeing to the wait-and-see tactics proposed at the military council by Raymond III, he then, in a behind-the-scenes conversation, yielded to the insistence of the Master of the Temple, Gerard de Ridfort, and gave the order to march towards Saladin.

The conditions of the terrain, the state of the army, the extreme heat even for those places, the disposition and, finally, the lack of unity and leadership in the ranks of the crusaders led to the fact that the entire army of the kingdom fell into a trap, from which, in addition to some lucky ones, only organized detachments"local", old friends of Saladin - Raymond III and Balian of Ibelin. All the others - including King Guy, his brother Amaury, Master Gerard and, of course, Renaud de Chaition - fought to the last surrounded at the so-called Horns of Hattin, a few kilometers from Tiberias, until the horses fell on the afternoon of July 4 and died or faithful bodyguards collapsed from exhaustion.

Not knowing, apparently, what to do in order to keep the oath to kill Renault with his own hand, Saladin began to openly provoke him: “But what, Mr. Renault, if I were now your prisoner, and not you mine, what would you do with me then? ". Renaud replied with his characteristic impudence: "If you were my prisoner, I would cut off your head."

Saladin did not manage to immediately cut off the head of the sworn enemy - the faithful Mamluks completed the work. But he was able to use the assassination for propaganda purposes. The head of Renaud de Chatillon was carried for a long time over the castles and villages in order to show the Muslims that the ruler keeps his word, and their worst enemy, Prince Arnaut, is dead and will not return.

see also

Notes

Sources

• Colin A. Lawyers of the Holy Sepulcher. - OCTO PRINT, 1998.
• Colin A. Prince Arnaut: East. adventurous. novel at 4 o'clock - M .: Terra - Book. club, 1999. - 432 p. - (Secrets of History: Century XII). - ISBN 5-300-02455-4
• Colin A. Z. Frankish Demon: [Novel]. - M .: Octo Print, 1998. - 542 p. - (Templars). - ISBN 5-85686-040-4
• Baldwin M.W. Raymond III of Tripolis. - Princeton, 1936.
• Duggan A. The Story of the Crusade. - London, 1963.
• Estoire d’Eracle… / (through quotes from authors of the 19th-20th centuries).
• Nicholson R.B. Joscelyn III & the Fall of the Crusaders States. - Brill, 1973.
• Runciman S. A History of the Crusades: 2 vol. - Cambridge, 1952.
• Schlumberger G. Renaud de Châtillon… - Paris, 1898.
• William of Tire. A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea = Historia rerum in patribus transmarinis gestarum / Per. E. Atwater Bablock, A. C. Krey. - New York, 1943.
• Terry J. The Crusaders. - BBC. - 1995.