Slaughter at the Horns of Hattin
And a thousand of England’s grand horse
And they marched to their doom, though in truth they knew not
Towards a Saracen army in wait.
On day one, our advance scouts came galloping back
And reported with unseemly haste
That an enemy force many thousands strong
Could be seen marching o’er the waste.
A royal cartographer in days long gone by
Had probably given the name
To the Horns of Hattin as they rose to the sky
On an otherwise featureless plain.
On day two, we arrived with our baggage in tow
With our horses, and armor, and men
And we gave praise to Allah that he had seen fit
To deliver the English heathen.
And the English, in forced march with little supply
Arrived on site the evening before
To their horror, the Moors led by Saladin encamped
Waiting there, clearly arrayed for war.
On day three, our enemies delivered themselves
To our ready and eager warbands.
Outnumbered they came, with supplies all but gone
To retake their precious Holy Land.
And the English, unready and thirsting, encamped
To a night full of worry and dread.
They’d outrun their supply line, and so had no water
To face the grim odds yet ahead.
On the morn of the fourth day the desperate ones came
To the stream, that they might quench their thirst.
Not a one made it back to his lines; nay, instead
We fell on them, and they came off worst.
And the cunning Saracens, with stratagem wise
Lit the countryside all round on fire
Thereby making the English affairs that much worse
Driving heat and their tempers much higher.
On noon of the fourth day the heathens sallied forth
Having already gambled, and lost
And the only thing left to take stock at day’s end
Was the bloody and horrific cost.
So the English, defeated, were sold off as slaves
Or worse yet, were put to the sword
Save the King of Jerusalem, one Guy by name
Ransomed for the price of a king’s hoard.