Falconer and the Death of Kings

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Edward stared moodily out of the narrow window of his Outremer fortress in Acre. The brightness of the Holy Land sunlight contrasted starkly with the gloom of his private room high above the arid lands that rolled away to the horizon beyond his gaze. He squinted, and around his eyes the lines that were now permanently etched in his otherwise young-looking face were furrowed deeper. His holy campaign had been a failure. It irked him that petty feuding, greed and treachery had marked the behaviour of his fellow Christian fighters. Even his position as King Henry of England’s son and heir had failed to work in his favour. In despair, he had resorted to sending an embassy to the Tartar khan to the north. Advisers told him these Tartars, who some called Mongols, were the very forces of Prester John, the great Christian lord of the East who it was said would save the Latin Christians at a time of their greatest need. God knows, that need was now. The Tartar hordes had scared the very Devil out of the West some years back, but even they had been turned aside by the forces of Baibars, leader of the Mohammedans. The situation had been so desperate a month ago that King Hugh of Cyprus and Jerusalem had signed a ten-year truce with Baibars. Edward had remained defiant, but he now found himself bottled up in Acre, the last Christian stronghold in the Holy Land.

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