Lionheart A Novel

Chapter 16

MAY 1191

Akrotiri Bay, Cyprus





The women’s buss dared to venture closer to shore after the arrival of the royal fleet. Blessed with calmer waters and no longer fearful of the Cypriot emperor’s treacherous intentions, they enjoyed their first night’s peaceful sleep since the Good Friday storm. So they were still abed the next morning when Alicia darted into their tent, exclaiming that they must come out on deck straightaway. Making themselves presentable in record haste, they emerged into the white-gold sunlight, only to halt in shock, for the bay was afloat with small boats, all heading toward the barricaded beach.

Stephen de Turnham’s knights were lined up along the gunwale, watching and cheering as if they were spectators at a game of camp-ball. Stephen himself was in a far more somber mood. He turned at once, though, to greet Joanna and Berengaria with deference and, in response to their alarmed questions, he answered concisely and candidly.

“The king sent two of his knights and an armed escort ashore at dawn, along with a man fluent in Greek, for he’d prudently thought to ask Tancred for a translator. They carried a message to Isaac, seeking redress for the harm done to his shipwrecked men, who’d been robbed as well as imprisoned. They soon returned, reporting that they thought Isaac must be mad, for his response was an amazingly rash one to make to a justly aggrieved king with an army at his command. They said he blustered and ranted, insisting that a mere king had no right to make demands upon an emperor. When they asked if that was truly his reply, he spat out a one-word Greek oath. Tancred’s man was not sure how to translate it into French, but he said it was highly insulting. When this was told to our king, he showed that he could be just as terse as Isaac. His response: ‘To arms!’”

Joanna and Berengaria shared the same conflicted emotion, pride in Richard warring with concern for his safety. Joining Stephen at the gunwale, Joanna soon noticed his tension; he’d kept his eyes on the shore even while answering their questions, one hand clasping and unclasping the sword hilt at his hip, almost as if acting of its own volition. “It must be hard for you,” she said sympathetically, “having to stand guard over us instead of taking part in the invasion.”

He acknowledged her perception with a crooked smile. “I cannot deny, Madame, that if I’d had my choice, I’d be at my king’s side, especially here, especially now.”

“Is this so dangerous, then?” she asked in a low voice and when he nodded, she felt a chill that not even the sun’s sultry heat could vanquish. “Can you tell me why, Sir Stephen? And please, treat me as you would a man and answer me truthfully.”

“No one would ever mistake you for a man, my lady,” he said, with a surprise flash of gallantry. “But I will honor your courage with the honesty you seek. The king is attempting one of the most dangerous and difficult of military actions—landing upon an unfamiliar beach occupied by an enemy army on their own ground. Our men are not at their best, not after so much time at sea, and those skiffs and snekas offer little protection from the Cypriot crossbowmen.”

“Are you saying that they will be defeated?”

“Indeed not, my lady!” He sounded genuinely affronted. “We will prevail, for I trust in the Almighty and King Richard. But men will die this day and there will be sights not suitable for female eyes. It might be best if you and your ladies retire to the tent until the fighting is over.”

Joanna took him at his word and bade Hélène take Alicia back into the tent, much to the girl’s distress. But she did not follow, for she could not believe that an All-Merciful God would allow her brother to die before her eyes. While there was a corner of her mind that recognized the lack of logic in such a conviction, she did not let herself acknowledge it. If she stayed out on deck, she’d be assuring his safety.

Her throat closed up, though, when she saw the Cypriot galleys raise anchor, for how could the small landing craft fend off those sinister sea wolves? Stephen seemed to read her mind, for he pointed out that the first rows of their boats were filled with crossbowmen and archers. She saw that he was right, and as soon as the enemy galleys went on the attack, Richard’s arbalesters unleashed a withering fire. Joanna had often heard men claim that they’d seen the sky darken as arrows took flight, but she’d always dismissed it as hyperbole—until now. The men on the galleys were shooting back, and she watched in horror as bodies fell into the bay, the bright blue water taking on a red tinge where they splashed and sank. But the crossbowmen in the skiffs were coordinating their attacks; as men loosed their bolts, they ducked down to reload while the second row rose to take aim. The result was that arrows and bolts were smashing into the galleys in waves, one right after another, giving the men no chance to reload their own weapons. The knights on Joanna’s ship were cheering wildly now. She was slower to understand. It was not until several men jumped into the sea to evade the lethal bolts raining down upon them that she realized the galleys had been effectively taken out of the action.

For a moment she forgot that men were dying, feeling only a fierce surge of pride. “Stephen, they are winning!” Getting a more measured response from him, a “Not yet. But we will.”

There was such confusion and dismay on the beach that it was obvious its defenders had been expecting the galleys to wreak havoc with the small boats of the invading force. But when Richard’s crossbowmen and archers now turned their fire upon them, they hastily retreated to their wooden barricade and began to shoot back. Once again the sun seemed to dim behind clouds of shafted death. Even to Joanna’s untutored eye, it appeared as if the men in boats were making no progress toward shore, the skiffs wallowing in the surf. Turning toward Stephen, she saw her own apprehension mirrored on his face. Gripping the gunwale until his knuckles whitened, he leaned forward, his body rigid, and she realized that victory hung in the balance.

“Stephen, what if . . . what if they cannot land?”

“He’ll not let that happen,” he insisted, just as the knights began to shout and pump their fists in the air. Joanna squinted to see, half blinded by the glare of sun on water. One of the snekas had shot through a gap between boats, its crew straining at the oars as it headed straight for the beach. Joanna gasped, her eyes locking upon the armed and helmeted figure standing in the prow, unable to choke back a muffled protest as he jumped from the boat into the water and began to wade through the shallows toward shore. All around her, men were yelling, cursing, laughing. Her courage finally failing her, she spun around and buried her face in Stephen’s shoulder, not even aware of what she did, knowing only that she could not bear to watch her brother die.

“You need not fear, my lady. They are following him. Look for yourself!”

Stephen had expected to see tears streaking her face. When she raised her head, though, her eyes were dry. But they were still filled with fear as she turned back toward the beach. “Blessed Mother Mary,” she breathed, for Stephen was right; dozens of knights had leapt from their skiffs, heedless of their armor, and were splashing after their king. Richard had already reached the shore. If he was aware of his vulnerability in that moment, he gave no indication of it, raising his shield to deflect arrows and then swinging around to confront the armed rider bearing down upon him. Joanna’s mouth was too dry for speech. She heard a woman’s scream behind her, and for an anguished moment, her eyes and Berengaria’s caught and held. When she dared to look again, a riderless horse was rearing up, a body lay crumpled at Richard’s feet, and the sand was rapidly turning red. By now his knights were scrambling onto the beach, and when Richard charged toward the barricades, they raced to catch up with him, flashes of light reflecting off raised swords and shields, shouting like madmen.

Stephen glanced at Berengaria, who was clinging to the rail as if her knees could no longer support her, and he blamed himself for not insisting that she retreat to the tent, for he thought she would have been more biddable than Joanna, more likely to have heeded him. Women were not meant to see bloodshed. As little as he liked to criticize his king, they ought not to be here at all. “The worst is over now,” he said calmly. “The king won his victory as soon as he set foot upon the beach.”

“How can you be so sure? They have much larger numbers. Even I can see that.”

He was surprised by the steadiness of Berengaria’s voice, but pleased, too, for he knew she’d have need in Outremer for all the strength she could muster. “It matters for naught if we’re outnumbered, my lady. We know more of war than they do.”

Stephen proved to be an accurate seer. The hand-to-hand combat on the beach was fierce but brief, and the emperor’s men were soon in flight, with Richard’s knights in close pursuit. The rest of his boats were landing now, some of the soldiers pausing to loot the bodies of the slain before climbing over the broken barricade and disappearing from sight. Several ships had already corralled the drifting Cypriot galleys, sailors nimbly leaping onto the bloodied decks and flinging anchors over the side. Joanna averted her gaze as they began to dump bodies overboard, and Berengaria shuddered.

“Will it be like this in the Holy Land?” she asked, and Joanna had no answer for her.



IN MIDAFTERNOON, Richard sent word to Stephen that he was to bring the women ashore. They discovered, though, that it was much more difficult to leave the ship than it had been to board it, for they’d been able to cross a gangplank from the dock to the deck in Messina and now they had to be lowered into a sagitta, which rode so low in the water that they were soon drenched with spray and Joanna had to fight off a recurrence of nausea in the pitching, rolling waves. They were not rowed toward the beach at Amathus, Stephen explaining that Limassol lay a few miles to the east, and it was there that they’d find shelter. Even though it meant a longer trip in that accursed small galley, the women were glad to be spared the sight of Amathus, where the fighting had occurred. They’d already seen more bodies in one day than they’d expected to see in their entire lifetimes.

Limassol was a small town of undistinguished appearance—houses of sundried brick, dusty, deserted streets, no signs of life. It looked forlorn, abandoned, and above all, vulnerable, for it lacked walls, although it did have a paltry, neglected citadel at the mouth of the River Garyllis. But Limassol also looked peaceful, and for that they were thankful. Isaac’s self-proclaimed palace could not begin to compare with the royal palaces in Palermo and Messina. After almost four weeks at sea, it still seemed like paradise to the women, and they set about exploring it with zest, laughing at the antics of the dogs, for they had yet to regain their landlegs, and exclaiming in delight when they discovered fruit trees in the courtyard. They also found two servants cowering behind a wall hanging. Fortunately, Joanna had thought to bring Petros along. He’d been sulking, unhappy that Richard had chosen to rely upon Tancred’s interpreter. Being asked to communicate with these terrified girls cheered him up considerably, and he was successful in reassuring them that these “barbarian women” would treat them well. They scurried away and returned with flagons of wine, bread, figs, olives, dates, goat cheese, and oranges. Joanna’s appetite had yet to return, but the others fell upon the food with gusto, marveling that their prospects could have improved so dramatically in just one day.

A twilight sky had shaded from violet to plum when Jaufre and Morgan arrived, sent by Richard to make sure the women were safely settled in. They were in high spirits, eager to share stories of the day’s events. By now Joanna understood that men were often euphoric in the aftermath of battle, but it was a learning experience for Berengaria, who was bewildered that they could shrug off death and bloodshed with such apparent ease.

Isaac’s men had scattered like chickens when a hawk flies overhead, they reported gleefully, and Richard had turned Amathus over to his soldiers as their reward. Not that there was much worth taking; Amathus had once been an important city back when the Persians and the Romans ruled Cyprus, yet it was a pitiful place today, a ghost of its former greatness. Some of the knights had hoped to find better pickings in Limassol, they admitted. But there were large communities here of foreign merchants from the Italian city-states of Genoa and Venice, and they’d greeted the king like a liberator. So Richard had ordered that it not be sacked.

Neither man could remember when he’d last eaten, so they finished the food as they told the women how they’d pursued the fleeing Griffons through Amathus and into the hills beyond. At one point the king had even encountered Isaac himself and challenged him to combat. But the tyrant had run for his life, they chortled, whilst Richard fumed that he had no horse to give chase. Then he spotted a pack horse and vaulted onto its back. It did not even have proper stirrups, just hemp cords, and he had no chance of catching Isaac, who was mounted upon a handsome dun stallion, said to be faster than a lightning bolt. When they continued to dwell upon the attributes of this wonderful horse, Joanna finally had to interrupt, asking the one question that mattered. Where was Richard and could they expect to see him that evening?

Jaufre and Morgan glanced at each other and shrugged. The king had gone back to the beach whilst more of his men came ashore, giving orders to tend to the wounded and bury the dead, then met with the merchants again to assure them that their families and property would be safe, and sent out scouts to discover the whereabouts of Isaac’s army. At this point, Joanna raised a hand to cut off their recital, for their meaning was clear enough. Richard would get to them when he could; at the moment, they were not a high priority.

Morgan then redeemed himself by making a suggestion that was both intriguing and vaguely scandalous. Would they like to make use of the public baths? The women looked at one another, seriously tempted. But none of them had ever been to a public bath before. Was it something that respectable, well-bred women did? As a queen, Joanna had greater liberty to defy conventions. She knew, though, that she was too exhausted to take another step, and started to shake her head when she remembered that Isaac was said to love luxury. Surely he’d have a bath somewhere in his palace? The little Greek servingmaids quickly confirmed that it was so, and after that, the women could not wait for their guests to leave, so eager were they to wash away the grime of their voyage in perfumed, warm water.

By the time they’d gotten some of their guards to haul and heat water and then took turns soaking in Isaac’s large copper bathing tub, it was full dark. Wrapped in bedrobes, Joanna and Berengaria towel-dried and brushed out each other’s hair, the easy familiarity reminding them both of their childhood and sisters they might never see again. It was Berengaria who gave voice to their shared nostalgia, confiding, “I do not think I could have endured this voyage without you, Joanna.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit, for you are stronger than you think.” Joanna could not help adding, then, with a rueful smile, “If you’d known what lay ahead, I daresay you’d have run for the nearest nunnery when your father broached the matter of marriage with my brother. And who could blame you?”

Berengaria wondered if she’d ever get used to Angevin candor. Richard and Joanna were constantly saying aloud what other people did not even dare to whisper. There had indeed been times when she’d yearned for her tranquil, lost world of Navarre, not sure if a crown was truly worth so much misery. “I admit I did not bargain on an Isaac Comnenus. But till the day I draw my last breath, I will remember the sight of Richard’s galley against that sunset sky, like the champion in a minstrel’s chanson. What woman would not be proud to have such a man for her husband?”

She’d inadvertently touched upon a tender spot. As she’d grown into womanhood, Joanna had done her best to deny her qualms about a husband who sent other men out to die without ever putting himself at risk. But Richard’s flashy heroics had done much to tarnish William’s memory, casting a sad shadow over her marriage, reminding her that her father had always led his troops into battle, as had her brothers. Even Philippe did so. Only William had stayed at home, William who’d yoked Constance to a hateful husband so he could pursue his foolish dreams of destiny, willing to spill any blood but his own to lay claim to Constantinople. She lowered her head, hiding the tears that suddenly burned her eyes. Was that all her life in Sicily had amounted to—a husband she could not respect and a son whose tiny tomb she might never see again?

Berengaria sensed that something was wrong. She was not sure what to do, though, for she was developing with Joanna something she’d never had before—a friendship between equals—and she fretted that questions borne of empathy might be taken as intrusive. She was not given the chance to make up her mind, for at that moment Richard made one of his typical entrances, unexpected and unannounced.

Joanna’s ladies were amused by his brash invasion of the women’s quarters; Berengaria’s were horrified. Midst laughter and shrieks, they retreated into the inner sanctum, the bedchamber set aside for their mistresses. Joanna was already on her feet. She was about to embrace him when she realized that he was still wearing his hauberk. Her eyes drawn irresistibly to the dried blood caked on some of the iron links, she said, as calmly as she could, “I trust none of that is yours?”

“From a skirmish like that? I’ve not so much as a scratch.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gazed down intently into her face. “Well, at least you are not as pale as yesterday. You gave me quite a scare, you know.”

“I gave you a scare? How do you think we felt, Richard, watching you take on all of Isaac’s army by yourself?”

“I knew my men would follow,” he said, dismissing the danger with a negligent gesture. “And I knew, too, that Isaac’s men were likely to be ill-trained, poorly paid, and not eager to die on his behalf.”

Joanna was not won over by that argument and was about to remind him that it would have taken only one well-aimed arrow. But he was already turning his attention toward his betrothed.

While he’d been greeting Joanna, Berengaria had belted her bedrobe. Remembering then that her hair was tumbling down her back, she looked around hastily for her veil. When she would have snatched it up, Richard reached out and caught her hand. “Do not cover your hair, Berenguela. I like it loose like this.”

Berengaria let the veil flutter to the floor at her feet. She knew it was not seemly that he should see her like this until they were wed. But as their eyes met, she realized that if he meant to share her bed this night, it would not be easy to deny him. Moreover, she was not sure that she’d want to say no. Shocked by her own thoughts, she forced herself to wrench her gaze away from his. Because of her discussions with Joanna, she no longer worried that she’d be imperiling her soul by finding pleasure in her husband’s embrace. But she knew that what she was contemplating now was most definitely a sin.

He still held her hand and she found herself staring at their entwined fingers, imaging his clasped around a sword hilt. What he’d done this day was both exhilarating and terrifying. As much as she’d feared for his life, she’d been thrilled, too, for would Almighty God have blessed him with such lethal skills if he were not destined to be the savior of Jerusalem?

“I am truly sorry that you both had to endure so much,” he said, glancing from one woman to the other. “But I promise you that you’ll never face danger like this again.”

While Joanna did not doubt his sincerity, that was not a promise he could keep. Not even Richard could exert royal control over the forces of nature, over another Good Friday storm or a plague stalking the siege camp at Acre. She would never point that out to him, though, and said lightly, “As long as you keep riding to our rescue in the nick of time, we will have no complaints.”

Spying a flagon of wine, Richard strode over and poured wine for them. “My little sister is too modest,” he said to Berengaria. “I’d wager that she’d have been more than a match for Isaac. For certes, she had Stephen de Turnham quaking in his boots.” Seeing her lack of comprehension, he grinned. “Ah, she did not tell you about that?”

Returning with the wine, he took obvious pride in relating Joanna’s ultimatum to Stephen. He brushed aside their questions about the fight on the beach, insisting that it was more of a brawl than a genuine battle, an argument that would have been more persuasive had they not been eyewitnesses. He told them that Philippe had safely arrived in Outremer, for they’d encountered a dromon from Acre after they’d left Rhodes, and he expressed concern that the city might fall ere he reached the siege, saying, “God forbid that Acre should be won in my absence, for it has been besieged for so long, and the triumph, God willing, will be so glorious.” And when they asked him why only part of the fleet was with him, he said he’d sailed against the wind after hearing that a large buss had been spotted off the coast of Cyprus, revealing how seriously he’d taken the threat posed by Isaac Comnenus. But he asked few questions about their own ordeal. They were glad of it, though, not wanting to add to his burdens.

When he suddenly rose and bade them good night, they were caught by surprise. Joanna protested, sure that he’d not had a proper meal all day, and he allowed that was true. “But I cannot spare the time. My scouts told me that Isaac has committed yet another astonishing blunder and his army is camped just a few miles to the west of Limassol. The fool thinks he is safe there, for he also thinks that we have no horses. So I plan to unload some of them tonight and pay him a visit on the morrow.”

Leaning over, he dropped a playful kiss on the top of Joanna’s head, then pulled Berengaria to her feet. But while his mouth was warm on hers and he took care to not to embrace her too tightly, murmuring he did not want her to be scratched by his hauberk, she sensed his distraction; his mind was already upon that moonlit beach and the surprise he had in store for the Cypriot emperor.

And then he was gone, as quickly as he’d come, leaving the two women to look at each other in bemusement. Berengaria wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed; some of both, she decided. “I know,” she told Joanna, with a rueful smile of her own. “I know . . . hold tight and enjoy the ride.”



UNDER RICHARD’S SUPERVISION, fifty horses were unloaded from a tarida and exercised upon the beach to ease their stiffness and cramped muscles. He then returned to the army camp they’d pitched on the outskirts of Limassol and got a few hours’ sleep. Early the next morning, he inspected their defenses, wanting to make sure that they were safe from enemy attack in his absence. Since he thought a clash was likely, he ordered a number of knights and men-at-arms to follow on foot. And then he rode out with more than forty knights and a few clerks to see Isaac’s army for himself.

His scouts had reported that the emperor was camped some eight miles east of Limassol, near the village of Kolossi. The countryside was deserted, no travelers on the roads, no farmers tending to their fields, for most of the people had fled to the hills with their livestock and what belongings they could carry away. Richard and his knights kept their mounts to an easy canter, wanting to spare their seabattered horses as much as possible. Despite the taut anticipation of battle, the men found themselves enjoying the warmth of the sun, a wind that carried the fragrance of flowers and myrtle rather than the salt tang of the sea, and the familiar movement of their stallions between their legs instead of the alarming pitching and rolling of galley decks slick with foam. Soon afterward, as they passed through an olive grove, they encountered a few of Isaac’s soldiers.

The Greek horsemen at once retreated. Richard and his men followed, and before long they could see the Cypriot encampment in the distance. Their approach caused a commotion, and as they reached the mouth of the valley, they saw Isaac’s men massing behind the stream that separated the two forces. The emperor’s pavilion was visible behind the army lines, a splendid structure that irresistibly drew the eyes of Richard’s knights, wondering what riches lay within. Isaac himself was nowhere in sight and they joked among themselves that he must be sleeping late this morn.

Richard paid no heed to their edgy banter, studying the enemy with a growing sense of disgust. When André drew rein beside him, he said, “Have you ever seen such a pitiful sight? Where are their sentries? Where are their captains? Look at the way they are milling around, more like a mob than an army. Isaac ought to be ashamed to put men such as this in the field. Whilst we were in Rhodes, I was told that he has to rely upon Armenian routiers from the Kingdom of Cilicia, and it is obvious he has hired the dregs. No surprise there, for would you sell your sword to a man like Isaac if you could find service elsewhere?”

Some of the others saw only the size of the army, not its lack of discipline. Hugh de la Mare, one of Richard’s clerks, nudged his mount to the king’s side. “Come away, sire,” he entreated. “Their numbers are too overwhelming.”

The knights close enough to hear grinned and looked at Hugh with sardonic pity, knowing what was coming. Richard turned in the saddle and, for a long moment, stared at the other man as if he could not believe his own ears. “Tend to your books and Scriptures, sir clerk,” he said icily, “and leave the fighting to us.”

As Hugh hastily fell back, André laughed. “Say what you will of clerks, Cousin, they can count. He is right that we’re greatly outnumbered.”

Richard took no offense, for he knew that an experienced soldier like André would not see numbers as the only factor that mattered. “But look at them,” he said, gesturing scornfully toward their agitated foes. “Are they making ready to charge? Lining up in battle array? No, they are huddling behind that shallow stream as if it were a raging torrent, wasting arrows since we’re out of range, whilst shouting and cursing as if we could be slain by their insults alone. And where is their noble commander? Watching from yonder hill instead of being down there with his men.”

Following the direction of Richard’s gaze, André and the Earl of Leicester saw that he was right. Horsemen were gathered on a nearby slope, and one of the riders was mounted on a magnificent dun stallion. As he snorted and pawed the earth, Richard said, “At least Isaac’s destrier is eager to fight. But he looks to be the only one.” And with that, he gave the signal his men had been expecting. Shifting his lance from its fautré, he couched it under his right arm and spurred his horse forward, shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House, “Dex aie!”

There were few sights more impressive or more daunting than a cavalry charge of armed knights, especially to men unaccustomed to this form of warfare. The ground trembled under the hooves of their stallions, such thick clouds of dust kicked up in their wake that they seemed to be trailing smoke. Archers watched in dismay as their arrows bounced off shields or embedded themselves harmlessly in mail hauberks. There was disbelief at first, shock that these lunatic barbarians would actually dare to attack when they were vastly outnumbered. Even as some of their equally astonished captains rallied and began to shout orders, most of the routiers continued to gape at the oncoming wave and then, self-preservation prevailing over training, they scattered to avoid being trampled underfoot.

Richard had already selected his opponent, a man on a raw-boned chestnut, and leveled his lance as he braced himself for the impact. It struck the other rider in the chest, flinging him backward in a spray of crimson. Dropping his shattered lance, Richard slid his left arm through the straps of his shield and unsheathed his sword. A soldier ran at him, axe raised high. He smashed his attacker in the face with his shield and, as he went down, Richard’s destrier rode right over him, screaming in rage at the sight of another stallion. This horseman was swinging a sword with a curved blade. He missed. Richard did not.

All around him, his knights were either closing with foes or looking for men to attack, for the ragged Cypriot line had broken just as he’d expected it would. Once they discovered that staving off these battle-seasoned veterans was not as enjoyable as terrorizing defenseless civilians, many of Isaac’s routiers lost interest in fighting and fled. His crossbowmen had already sensibly faded away, as had the local men forced to fight for the emperor. Ahead of Richard loomed the emperor’s luxurious pavilion, but that was not his target. Spurring his destrier, he struck down the banner-bearer who’d courageously held his ground in defense of the imperial standard. Reining in before the wooden cart that anchored it, Richard grasped the staff, jerked, and cast the flag to the ground as nearby knights cheered.

Guilhem de Préaux appeared beside him. He was drenched in other men’s blood; even the nasal guard of his helmet was splattered. But his smile was jubilant. “Well done, sire! We’ve got them on the run. Can we claim our rewards now?”

Richard’s gaze swept the Cypriot camp, by now empty of all but bodies, trampled tents, smoldering fires, a few riderless horses, and dropped or discarded shields, swords, and slings. At the head of the valley, rising puffs of dust signaled the imminent arrival of the rest of their men. “Yes, you’ve earned it, Guilhem, all of you. But not the standard. That is mine, so guard it well.”

“I will, my liege,” Guilhem promised. “You were right about Isaac’s hired men—a worthless lot. No tears will be shed for them—” But Richard was no longer there, for he’d spotted the small band of riders cutting across the battlefield, protectively surrounding a man on a tall dun stallion. With a defiant yell, Richard took off after them, his destrier responding gallantly to his urging, and at first the distance seemed to be narrowing. But after that one brief spurt, his mount faltered, shortening stride, and he was forced to ease up, realizing the horse was in no condition for an all-out pursuit after a month at sea. Reaching over to stroke the animal’s lathered neck, he watched and cursed as Isaac’s destrier bore him to safety, his hooves skimming the ground so smoothly he seemed to be flying.

“Sire?” The Earl of Leicester had ridden after Richard, and now pulled up alongside him. “Is that the emperor?”

“Yes, God rot him,” Richard said savagely. “If I’d just seen him sooner . . .” Leicester didn’t think the king had any reason to reproach himself, not after winning two such spectacular victories in the span of one day. “Our men have never been so happy,” he said, gesturing around the camp, “for never have they found such rich booty. Horses, oxen, cows, sheep, goats, weapons, armor, wine, food, and in Isaac’s tent, gold and silver plate, fine clothes, silken bedding. I had no idea that Cyprus was so wealthy.”

“My liege!” This time it was Baldwin de Bethune and Morgan. Coming from the direction of Isaac’s plundered tent, they were prodding a man forward with their swords. Reaching Richard, they forced their prisoner to his knees. “This one claims to be a magistros, one of Isaac’s court officials, so we thought he’d be worth more alive than dead.”

Richard looked down at their new hostage. “He speaks French?”

“A little, lord king,” the man said quickly; having decided that he was not willing to die for the fugitive emperor, his only other choice was to ingratiate himself with the barbarians and hope they’d find him useful enough to spare his life.

“Take him back with us,” Richard said, and dispatched Leicester to find out how many casualties they’d suffered. All around him, his soldiers were enthusiastically looting the camp. He found himself unable to share their elation, not when he’d come so close to ending it here and now. He should have known that Isaac would be too craven to fight like a man. “You,” he said curtly, pointing to the prisoner. “You know the emperor’s dun stallion?”

“Yes, lord.” The man nodded vigorously. “That is Fauvel. Very fast. None catch him.”

“Fauvel,” Richard repeated. Isaac did not deserve a horse like that. Nor did he deserve a crown. And God willing, he’d soon lose both.



“STOP SQUIRMING, LAMB.” Beatrix’s voice sounded muffled, for she was holding pins in her mouth as she marked where the seams of Joanna’s bodice would have to be taken in.

“I still do not think this is necessary,” Joanna complained. “Now that I’m on the mend, surely I’ll gain back the weight I lost.”

“And until then walk around in gowns that fit you like tents? I do not think so,” Beatrix said firmly, hers the self-assurance of one who’d been tending to Joanna since the cradle.

Joanna sighed, feeling like an unruly child instead of a grown woman, wife, and widow. Casting a mischievous glance toward her future sister-in-law, she said, “I was thinking, Berengaria, that we ought to visit a public bath this afternoon. Donna Catarina—the wife of that Venetian merchant—says this particular one is delightfully decadent, like the bathhouses in Constantinople, with scented oils and pools of hot and cold water. I suppose I can go with Mariam if you think your duennas would not approve . . . ?”

Berengaria had been frowning over a parchment, trying to compose a letter to her family that would be honest without giving her father an apoplectic seizure; it was too delicate a task to entrust to Joanna’s clerk. She glanced up quickly, but realized that she was being teased, and said composedly, “I am beginning to think you’re more in need of duennas than I am, Joanna. As for Mariam, she appears to have other matters on her mind than public baths. It certainly sounds that way.”

As laughter was floating into the open window from the courtyard, Joanna could not argue with that. Tilting her head to listen, she said with a smile, “For years I’ve watched men flirt with Mariam, but I’ve never known her to flirt back—until now. Of course if he were not my cousin, I might be tempted to flirt with Morgan, too.”

Alicia was kneeling in the window-seat, playing with the dogs. Looking out, she reported, “Lady Mariam and Sir Morgan are seated together on a bench. I think he is teaching her a game, for they are throwing dice.” She giggled then, saying, “She just accused him of cheating.” Twisting around on the window-seat, she said, “I like it here in Cyprus, my lady. Do you think we will be staying long?”

“I do not know, Alicia,” Joanna admitted. “But I will ask my brother when I see him next—whenever that may be.” She at once regretted that mild sarcasm, for she was not being fair to Richard. It was true they’d seen him only once in the past three days, but that was hardly his fault. After defeating Isaac at Kolossi, he’d put out an edict by public crier that the local people who wanted peace had nothing to fear, that his quarrel was only with Isaac. Since then, Cypriots had been flocking to his camp, many with stories to tell of the emperor’s cruelties and grasping ways. Cyprus had a surprising number of bishoprics for such a small island��fourteen in all—and several of these prelates had come to seek assurances from Richard, too. And she knew he continued to be occupied with military matters, sending out scouts to keep track of Isaac’s whereabouts, and meeting with the Knights Hospitaller, a martial order of warrior monks almost as celebrated as the Templars, who’d established a presence in Cyprus before Isaac’s usurpation. It was still frustrating, though, to know so little about what was occurring, and she worried lest Berengaria feel neglected, for a bride-to-be might reasonably expect more attention than a sister would.

Alicia was still spying on Mariam and Morgan, and she informed them now, “I think he is going to kiss her. But she—Oh! The king is here!” In her excitement, she almost tumbled out the window, for Richard’s rescue had convinced her that he was the greatest knight in all of Christendom. Joanna hastened over to put a steadying hand on the girl’s shoulder and to see for herself.

“Alicia is right. Richard has just arrived, with a few bishops and some of his knights. But he is talking to Mariam, so he will not be up straightaway,” she said, letting Berengaria know she’d have a few moments to adjust her veil or rub perfume onto her wrists. “Mariam is probably asking him if he has heard anything about her sister. Sophia is unlucky enough to be wed to the Cypriot emperor,” she explained to Alicia, who shivered and crossed herself for, if she now believed Richard could walk upon water, she was no less sure that Isaac was the Antichrist.

When Richard strolled into the chamber, Beatrix had already made a discreet departure, taking the reluctant Alicia with her, Joanna was removing the last of the pins from her bodice, and Berengaria was biting her lips surreptitiously to give them color. He shook his head at the sight of the dogs, saying, “Whenever I see those strange beasts, I think I’ve stumbled into a fox burrow.”

“I’ll have you know cirnecos are greatly valued in Sicily,” Joanna said, coming over to give him a quick hug and a critical appraisal. “Well, you do not appear to have suffered any injuries since we saw you last. Does that mean you’ve had no more ‘skirmishes’ with Isaac?”

“Nary a one,” he said, crossing the chamber to give Berengaria a casual kiss. “In fact, that is one reason why I stopped by—to tell you that the Hospitallers have brought me a message from Isaac. He is asking for peace, promising to meet whatever demands I make of him.” Richard’s smile was skeptical. “I put as much store in his sworn word as I would in Philippe’s. But we shall see.”

Both women were delighted, and Joanna moved to a table, pouring wine so they could celebrate Richard’s victory. They knew they would be fearing for his life day and night once they reached the Holy Land, but at least they could enjoy a brief respite until they left Cyprus. Sipping Isaac’s excellent red wine, Joanna realized that this truce would allow them to see some of the island, an appealing prospect after being stranded in Limassol for the past four days.

“The wives of the Venetian and Genoese merchants have been coming by to pay their respects and to tell us how happy their husbands were with your arrival; apparently the only thing that would make them happier would be if you dispatched Isaac to the Devil forthwith. They were telling us about a place called Kourion, a few miles east of Kolossi. It was once the site of an ancient city and there are many ruins still there, including a large amphitheater and a sanctuary for the pagan god Apollo. Could you take us to visit Kourion, Richard? I’ve seen an amphitheater in Sicily but Berengaria has not, and you’ve always been interested in history . . .”

Joanna halted then, for her brother was shaking his head, saying he did not think it would be possible. She was not willing to give up so easily, though. “If you cannot spare the time, then surely Stephen could accompany us? Or is it that you do not think we’d be safe even with his knights?”

“Most likely you would, but I’d as soon not take the risk.”

Joanna fell silent, suddenly realizing what life would be like for her and Berengaria in Outremer—as sequestered as William’s harim girls, under guard as if they were prisoners or hostages. At least her mother had gotten to see the great city of Antioch during her pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Almost at once, though, she chided herself for her lack of faith. Their seclusion would be a small price to pay for the opportunity to walk the hallowed streets of Jerusalem, to follow in the footsteps of the Blessed Lord Christ.

Setting his wine cup down, Richard looked from one woman to the other. “I have something else to tell you. I think Berenguela and I should get married on Sunday.”

They stared at him, eyes wide, mouths open. “Are you serious?” Joanna said incredulously.

“Very. Lent is over, so we are free to wed. And there are some compelling reasons for not waiting until we get to Acre. Do we really want Philippe lurking in the shadows, looking like a disgruntled vulture eager to pick my bones? And an army encampment is not the ideal site for a royal wedding. I could probably think of a few more reasons for wedding here and now,” he added playfully, amused by how easily he could make Berenguela blush. “But more to the point, I cannot think of any reasons why we should not wed in Cyprus.”

“Well, I can.” Joanna was regarding her brother in dismayed astonishment.

“That is two days hence, Richard! How could we possibly prepare for a royal wedding in so little time?”

“How hard could it be? I assume Berenguela did not intend to get married stark naked, so she must have a suitable gown in her coffers. I thought we’d have her coronation at the same time.” Richard glanced over at his mute betrothed and smiled. “I daresay you’ll be the first and the last Queen of England ever to be crowned in Cyprus, little dove.”

“But what about food? And entertainment? And—”

“I have complete confidence in you, irlanda, am sure you’ll do just fine. But it is only fair that we let the bride decide.” They’d been conversing in French. Richard switched now to lenga romana, a language more familiar to Berengaria. “So . . . what say you, Berenguela? Do you want to marry me on Sunday?”

Berengaria well knew what response was expected of her. For twenty-one years, she’d been taught that a highborn young woman must be demure and dutiful in the presence of men. She must keep her eyes cast down and not speak out of turn. Above all, she must be chaste and modest and guard against impure thoughts. The proper answer would be to defer to Richard as her lord and husband, to say she’d be guided by his wishes in this, as in all matters. But Joanna and Queen Eleanor were not at all demure or submissive, and it was obvious that he loved them dearly. She hesitated, sensing that she was at a crossroads, and then, disregarding the lessons of a lifetime, she followed her heart. Looking up into his face, she said, softly but clearly, “I would very much like to wed you on Sunday, Richard.”