The young damoiseau of Beaumanoir had grown very sick of it all since the royal dromonds first swung into Limasol Bay.

He had seen his friends die like flies of strange maladies, while the host waited on Hugh of Burgundy.
Egypt was but four days off across the waters, and on its sands Louis had ordained that the War of the Cross should begin.
...

But the King seemed strangely supine.

Each day the enemy was the better forewarned, and each day the quarrels of Templar and Hospitaller grew more envenomed, and yet he sat patiently twiddling his thumbs, as if all time lay before him and not a man's brief life.

And now when at long last the laggards of Burgundy and the Morea were reported on their way, Sir Aimery had to turn his thoughts from the honest field of war.
Not for him to cry Montjole St.Denis by the Nile.