The year was 1187, and the Jerusalem sun burned over a land at war....

Richard’s might was likened to a force of nature, a king who reaped men as if harvesting wheat, his sword flashing like divine judgment upon all who dared oppose him.
An arrow struck him while he besieged a castle, and though he pulled it free, infection set in. As he lay dying, he forgave the archer who had shot him, showing the nobility that even his fiercest enemies had come to respect.





















