er. He had little or no
transport, nor could expect food by the way, for Saladin had seen to
that. The ships had to work down level with him, with reserves of men
and stores; and even so the thing had an ugly look. The mountains of
Ephraim, not very lofty, were covered with a thick growth of holm-oak:
excellent cover, wherein, as he knew quite well, the Saracens could move
as he moved, choose their time, and attack him on front, rear, or left
flank, wherever chance offered. It was a journey of peril, harassing,
slow, and without glory.

For six weeks he led and held a running battle, wherein the powers of
earth and air, the powers of Mahomet, and dark forces within his own
lines all strove against him. He met them alone, with a blank face, eyes
bare, teeth hard-set. Whatever provocation was offered from without or
within, he would not attack, nor let his friends attack, until the enemy
was in his hand. You, who know what longanimity may be and how hard a
thing to come at, may admire him for this.

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