“I told them that I was willing for the money to be spent on renovating the cathedral, but only on two conditions. First, the Pope must consent to the change, for it was a holy vow, after all. Second, some of the funds must be used to rebuild the abbey church. And as a sweetener for the abbey, I suggested that the abbots of La Croma be allowed to say Mass in St Mary’s Cathedral every year at Candlemas to honor this generous concession.”
Richard’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “The best way to tell if a compromise is fair is if both sides are dissatisfied with it. In this case, there was some disappointment, but they could see the justice in my proposal, for they’d all benefit by it, too. It helped, of course, that the Ragusans are reasonable men. In other words, not French.”
They laughed, even though they knew there was no humor in that joke; Richard would never forgive his French allies for doing all they could to sabotage the crusade. Warin seized this opening to advance a supposition of his own.
“I’ve been thinking, my lord,” he began, jabbing Hugh de Neville in the ribs when he pretended to reel back in shock. “I know we’ve been worrying about the lies that the Bishop of Beauvais has been spreading about you on his way back to France—that you were conspiring with the Saracens and never wanted to retake Jerusalem, nonsense like that. But the Cypriot pirates and the citizens of Ragusa did not believe it, for they’d heard the truth from soldiers returning home. Is it not possible that the truth will prevail over the slanders even in Germany and France?”
Richard was surprised by the other man’s na?veté. “Philippe already knows the truth about what happened in Outremer, but that will not stop him from trying to brand me as a traitor to the Christian faith. As for Heinrich, he is as indifferent to truth as he is to honor. But if it is true that a man is judged by the enemies he’s made, I must be doing something right.”
They laughed again and their last evening in Ragusa ended on a grace note, all grateful for this brief respite from the harsh reality that awaited them on the morrow, when they left the city’s sheltered harbor for the open sea.
AFTER TAKING THE SEA-WOLF for a trial run, Georgios had concluded it was still not seaworthy, and so he took command of the Sea-Serpent, leaving some of his crew behind to recaulk the Sea-Wolf’s hull. Most of Ragusa’s citizens turned out to bid Richard farewell, cheering as the pirate galley unfurled its sails and raised its anchors. Richard waved from the stern, laughing and promising to come back to hear Mass in their splendid new cathedral. But he felt a chill when a cloud suddenly blotted out the sun, casting shadows onto the deck of the Sea-Serpent, for he sensed that it would be a long time before he saw such friendly faces again.
They were heading for the Hungarian port city of Zadar, about 175 miles up the coast, and Georgios said complacently that it ought to be an easy voyage, for a galley could cover a hundred miles a day if the winds were right. The more superstitious among Richard’s men thought that he’d jinxed them by such arrogance, for once they left Ragusa behind, the wind became fitful and they were soon becalmed. They were forced to drop anchor and await favorable winds. Instead, they awoke the next morning to find themselves shrouded in thick, smothering fog. It was unsettling and eerie, for all sounds were oddly muffled and they felt like blind men, trapped in a wet white cloud. The fog did not disperse until the third day, and they felt a surge of relief as the Sea-Serpent got under way. Once they reached Zadar, they would not have to set foot on an accursed ship again, at least not until they had to cross the Narrow Sea that lay between England and France.