The Heart of the Lion

Chapter VI THE FRUITS OF CYPRUS

When Richard heard that his men had been imprisoned and their goods stolen, he was enraged. He did not however, as might have been expected, let loose the notorious Plantagenet temper.

He was seriously studying the position. He had suffered considerable delay in Sicily and did not want the same thing to happen in Cyprus if he could help it.

He knew that Isaac Comnenus was no friend to the crusaders. Indeed it was said that he was in league with the Mohammedan Princes and that the favourable position of the island on the route to the Holy Land, the perpetual violence of the storms which blew up suddenly in the area and his unscrupulous nature had brought riches to him and disaster to many a pilgrim or crusader. It was even said that if the opportunity arose his people would lure ships to disaster that they might rob them; and that any survivors were hastily thrown back into the sea so that they could tell no tales.

This might have happened to other fleets but it was not going to happen to Richard’s.

His first act was to send a message to Isaac Comnenus demanding the return of all his seamen and reparation for the goods that had been stolen.

Contemplating the state the fleet must be in after battering its way through storms, realising that Richard’s men must be weary and many suffering from seasickness, Isaac was truculent.

He would not free his prisoners, he said. He would not return what he had taken. Anything that was washed up on his shore, he considered was his, and Richard should take care, for it seemed likely that he might soon join his friends in their prison and his treasure ship become the property of the Emperor.

No reply could have angered Richard more.

He spoke through his trumpet. He knew his men were suffering from fatigue but they would want to fight this arrogant Emperor, a friend of the Saracens who had been responsible for the death and imprisonment of many of their comrades.

‘We are a little weary after all that has befallen us,’ said Richard. ‘You are tired and so am I. But by God’s eyes, when I think of what this wicked man has done to those who trusted me and you, I am ready to go in and do battle as I never did before. I shall not rest until every living man who sailed with me is free and all that for which we have worked has been restored to us. You will follow me, I know, for God’s honour and your own.’

A shout of approval went up. Yes, they were tired, they wanted nothing but to feel the dry land beneath their feet, they wanted to sleep off their weariness, rid themselves of their sickness, but when Richard commanded them, they would always follow.

The battle had begun. It was brief, for the Cypriots were useless against the practised skill of Richard’s men. They quickly realised their inferiority and as they had little heart for the fight they dropped their weapons – which were only stakes of wood and knives – and ran.

Richard stepped ashore and, seeing a peasant with a horse, a sack, its saddle and stirrups of rope, he seized it and rode along the shore shouting to his men to follow him, for he saw at the head of a band of horsemen an impressive figure which he knew at once was the Emperor.

He shouted: ‘’Tis you then, Isaac Comnenus? Come then! You who have so boldly imprisoned my men and robbed them of their goods, come and we will joust. Fight me singlehanded.’

Because Richard was to tall and because he had a bearing which none other could rival, because his fame had travelled before him, Isaac began to tremble with terror. Confronted by this man who was a legend he saw death staring him in the face for he knew that Richard would have no mercy on his enemy, particularly one who had insulted and ill-treated crusaders.

Richard exulted when Isaac turned his horse and fled. He would have liked to give chase but on such a horse he saw that was useless.

Soon his horses would be brought ashore and then he would tackle the Cypriots in earnest. It was however dark before fifty of the horses could be brought on land.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘We will charge them with this small band.’

‘Sire,’ said a timid voice at his elbow, ‘they are a large force and we shall be but fifty.’ The voice belonged to a certain Hugo de Mara who was a clerk and had joined the crusade rather as a pilgrim than a fighter.

Richard turned on him angrily. ‘You are fit only for clerking,’ he said. ‘Go back to your scriptures and leave matters of chivalry to me.’ He turned and cried: ‘Who is ready to follow me?’

Cries of: ‘I am!’ came from fifty throats.

Exultantly, perhaps a little delighted that his force was so small, for theirs would be the greater victory, they rode to the top of the hill. Below them in the valley were Isaac and his men. Shouting his rallying cry Richard galloped downhill and with great uplifting of his spirits, a feeling which was always with him on such occasions – and there had been many – he had the satisfaction of seeing his enemies scatter in all directions and the Emperor himself take to his horse, with the one desire to put as far between himself and Richard as possible.

Richard did not follow them. He contented himself with capturing Isaac’s banner – a beautiful object wrought in gold. Nor was that all. The Emperor had left his treasures behind him, eager only to save his life. There were armaments and rich garments, food and wine. Taking these and several prisoners, Richard went in triumph back to the fort of Limassol.

There he made a proclamation to the people. He had not come in war. He had merely come to take back what had been taken from him. He had no quarrel with the people. Only with their Emperor. All citizens might go about their business in peace. If any of his followers subjected them to insult or ill-treatment, those of his men should be punished. He came in peace on his way to fight a Holy War. If the people of Cyprus showed friendship to him they had nothing to fear.

There was rejoicing among the people. They were not very happy under their Emperor who could be tyrannical. Many of them now came to the camp Richard had set up to present him with gifts. Cyprus was noted for its delicious wine so this was brought for the King and crusaders. There was also corn and oil, plump poultry and meat.

The men who came with these gifts assured Richard that the fact that he had put the Emperor to flight was a delight to them and they offered to help him in his conflict with Isaac Comnenus.

Richard accepted the food with appreciation and the offers of help with caution. But it was a good beginning. His hungry men could feast as they had not done since leaving Messina; he had kept his image clear for them – in fact perhaps he had added an extra lustre to it.

He was not displeased with the day’s work.

He looked out to sea and saw the ships lying there. His next task must be to bring Berengaria and Joanna ashore.

Richard stood on the shore and looked out at the ships. There on the most elaborate of the Dromones were Joanna and Berengaria. They must be conducted ashore immediately and he would himself go out to their vessel and bring them in. There had been a time when he had thought they might be lost and if they were would there be some recrimination from Berengaria’s father because he had delayed his marriage and he and she had been obliged to sail on different ships. He realised that there could be no more prevarication and the wedding must take place before they left Cyprus.

He climbed on to the deck where they were standing waiting to receive him. Joanna gave Berengaria a little push forward. Berengaria would have knelt but he raised her up and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.

‘My Queen,’ he said,

Berengaria was enraptured. This was so much like an incident from her dreams. He had come and he was a godlike hero; he was all that she had dreamed he would be. She forgot his reluctance which had forced her to face the perils of the sea without his support; she forgot that he had somewhat churlishly postponed their marriage; she only knew that at last they were together, that the wedding was imminent and he was the greatest hero she had ever known.

How handsome he looked! The coldness had gone from his blue eyes and they were shining with pleasure. It could have been because of his recent triumph over Isaac Comnenus but Berengaria believed it was for her.

‘And my dearest sister.’

They embraced.

‘It will always be wonderful to see you, Richard,’ said Joanna. ‘But never could it be more so than at this time.’

‘My poor dear ladies! It has been a trying time for you. But you never doubted, did you, that I would come for you?’

‘Never,’ said Berengaria fervently.

‘Now we will leave this ship and go ashore. I have had a lodging made ready for you.’

‘And the Emperor?’ asked Joanna.

‘He is cooling his anger some miles away. He dare not come too near. His people do not greatly love him. I have had very little difficulty in making friends with them.’

‘Did we do right not to go ashore?’ asked Berengaria.

‘Indeed you did. He would have made you hostages. I should soon have rescued you, there is no doubt of that; but by staying on board you have saved me that trouble.’

‘I am so glad we did,’ said Berengaria.

Richard watched her stealthily. He thought: She will be docile. If I must marry, Berengaria is as good as any wife could be.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I wish you to be luxuriously housed. I have ordered that a banquet be prepared for you. This is a fruitful island and the people live well here. I want to compensate you for all you have endured at sea for my sake.’

‘We are amply repaid by having you here with us,’ replied Berengaria.

Joanna asked when the wedding was to take place.

‘It will be here in Cyprus,’ said Richard. ‘I cannot risk having you two sailing in any ship but my own from henceforth.’ He turned to his sister. ‘How happy I am that you are with Berengaria. It was a thought which gave me great comfort. It was sadness which brought you with us, of course, for had you been a wife instead of a widow you must have remained in Sicily. But then had your husband not died we should not have lingered in Sicily. We should be at Acre by now. But what is the use of saying if this and if that. So it is and so we must accept it. But, sister, you give me comfort.’

‘My dearest brother, then I am as happy as it is possible for me to be in these circumstances. I am a widow but I have my uses, and your bride and I love each other already as good sisters.’

He slipped an arm about both of them and they made their way to the waiting boat.

They were quickly rowed ashore.

One of the noblemen of the island had put a house at Richard’s disposal and in this he installed the ladies. It was luxurious.

Berengaria and Joanna shared a room, for they agreed they would feel uneasy if they were separated.

‘But, my dear sister,’ said Joanna, ‘you have Richard to protect you from now on.’

Richard slept that night in the magnificent tent which he had captured from Isaac Comnenus. Made of silk, it was the finest he had ever seen.

He did not, however, pass a restful night. Sleeping on foreign soil he must be constantly alert. It was hardly likely that Isaac would allow things to remain as they were and there would most certainly be a counter attack, and when it came he must be ready. He was not unduly disturbed on this score. Battle was his life; it thrilled him, stimulated him, made life exciting as nothing else could, and he had little doubt that when the time came to do battle the Emperor would be vanquished.

There was another matter which gave him great uneasiness. His marriage! There would be no avoiding it now. He had gained a brief respite but there could be no more procrastination. Already people were asking why he had not married Berengaria in Messina. Why had he not? Even he did not quite know the answer. He had intended to marry her. He must marry her. He was thirty-four years of age and he must get a son. It was expected of him.

Oddly enough the thought of a son did not excite him very much. Most men – and perhaps in particular kings – passionately desired sons, in fact considered them necessary for they were eager to see the direct line of succession carried on. Yet he felt indifferent.

What if he died without sons? There was Arthur, his brother Geoffrey’s son, whom he had made his heir. The English would not care for him though, because he would not seem English to them. He had a foreign mother, Constance of Brittany, whom Geoffrey had married for the sake of her estates, and the boy would have lived most of the time far from England. But besides Arthur there was his brother John.

Ah, that was the darker side of the picture. John was in England and doubtless casting covetous eyes on the throne. John was not meant to be a king. He was sure of that. There was a cruel streak in John; there was a selfishness, a ruthlessness, an indifference to public opinion ... all characteristics which would not make a good ruler.

Perhaps he should order Constance to take Arthur to England so that the boy could be brought up in the court there.

What thoughts were these for a youngish man to have on the eve of his wedding! He was strong and lusty, and Berengaria was a healthy young woman. Why should he be considering his brother’s son, even if the boy concerned was the true heir to the throne?

He knew the answer which was that he did not want to marry. He did not care for women and he did not particularly want children. Was he thinking of his own family ... that brood of sons, of which he was one, who had fought against their father and made his life an unhappy one? No, it was not that. He was a man who loved to go into battle. The feel of a horse beneath him, the sight of the enemy in full flight, conquest – and best of all a Holy Enterprise. This was what he wanted ... this and this only.

He seemed to see Philip smiling at him slyly.

This only, Richard?

He must face the truth. He had been guilty of lewd pleasure. There were times when he indulged without restraint in orgies which later filled him with shame. He would repent and for a while he would care for nothing but his battles. He was a great soldier – none could deny that – the greatest of his day. It was what he wanted to be; and more than anything in the world he wished to be known as the man who drove the Saracens from the Holy Land and brought it back to Christianity.

‘And certain friendships are good to have.’ He could almost hear Philip speaking.

Why had he allowed Philip to go on to Acre without him? What when they met there? He could picture the sly smiling eyes of the King of France.

‘And your marriage, Richard, how was it?’

And all the time Philip would know full well that there had rarely been a more reluctant bridegroom than the King of England.

He slept at last. Day had broken when he awoke. There were noises outside his tent, the sound of excited chattering voices.

He dressed hastily and went out to see what was the cause of the excitement.

No sooner had he appeared than several of his knights came hurrying to him.

‘Three galleys have just come into sight, Sire. Look. You can see them ... out there on the horizon.’

Richard could see them.

‘By God’s eyes,’ he cried, ‘whose can they be?’

For the moment he had felt a wild excitement, for he had thought that they might well be Philip’s. The storms which had beset him would have worried the French fleet and the French were not as good sailors as the English. They lacked that passion for the sea which most Englishmen felt, and preferred to travel by land when possible.

But it was clear that they were not French ships.

‘I myself will go out and see who comes into Cyprus,’ said Richard.

His friends began to dissuade him but he waved them aside. He wanted to know who the visitors were and was too impatient to wait on shore while someone else was sent out to discover.

He was rowed out to the galleys, taking his trumpet with him.

When he approached the first of the galleys, he shouted through the trumpet: ‘Who is this who comes to the Island of Cyprus?’

Someone was standing on the deck shouting back.

‘This galley belongs to the King of Jerusalem.’

The King of Jerusalem! thought Richard. Alas, it was now an empty title. But he guessed that this was Guy de Lusignan who had been deposed when the Saracen armies had captured Jerusalem. Saladin now reigned in the place which had once been Guy’s.

‘And what do you here?’

‘I come seeking the King of England.’

‘Then your search is ended,’ replied Richard. ‘The King of England is here before you.’

‘Praise be to God. Will you come aboard?’

‘Aye, I will,’ said Richard.

When he stood on the deck, Guy de Lusignan knelt and kissed his hand.

‘The Lord is with me at last,’ he said. ‘I knew that you were on your way to Acre and I hoped to intercept you.’

‘You have come from Acre?’ said Richard.

‘I have. The French King is already there.’

‘Has he made many conquests?’ asked Richard jealously.

‘Nay, he is no great soldier. But he is a great schemer as I know to my cost.’

‘How is that?’ asked Richard.

‘He works against me.’

‘How can that be? His aim is to take the crown from Saladin and restore it to a Christian king.’

‘A Christian king, my lord, but he has chosen his own man, whom he will support. If we regain the Holy City ... when we regain the Holy City he will nominate Conrad de Montferrat as King in my place.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because Montferrat would be his man.’

‘Philip is a statesman. He thinks always of the advantage to France.’

‘He has shown himself to be my enemy. I have come to you. I wish to put my services at your command. If you will support my claim I would snap my fingers at the King of France.’

Richard said slowly: ‘My friend, we must talk of these matters.’

He did, but his main preoccupation now must be his wedding, never forgetting of course that Isaac had been driven back only a few miles and could at any time muster his forces for an attack. Nevertheless the people of the island were clearly friendly and the prospect of a royal wedding delighted them. Such was Richard’s personality that although he had come to their island a short while before and was now installed as a conqueror they were ready to accept him and share in his wedding celebrations.

His own chaplain Nicholas was to perform the ceremony and Richard smiled grimly to think how chagrined the Archbishop of Canterbury was going to be because it was a prerogative of that Archbishop to officiate at the weddings of England’s Kings. It was certainly going to be an unconventional wedding.

Still, the circumstances were such as made that necessary, and although Richard would have been prepared to postpone the wedding until his return to England he realised that was quite out of the question.

In their apartments Joanna helped prepare Berengaria for her wedding. She was a beautiful bride. Her long hair was parted in the centre and fell on either side of her face; a transparent veil covered the hair and this veil was held in place by a jewelled diadem. She looked serene and happy and even more than usually elegant in her long clinging white gown.

Joanna studied her with pleasure. What a relief that the marriage was at last going to take place! Surely nothing could happen to prevent it now. Would Isaac Comnenus decide to attack while the ceremony was in progress? No, he was in no position to attack. He had been driven away and Richard was so confident that he had been beaten that he was considering having himself crowned King of Cyprus. He had the people with him and now Guy de Lusignan had come with his three galleys full of men to support him. No, Isaac would not be so foolish and the marriage must go through without a hitch.

‘You are happy, Berengaria?’ said Joanna.

There was no need for Berengaria to answer that. ‘Richard is so wonderful,’ she said. ‘I never cease to marvel that I should be his chosen bride. From the moment I first saw him when he came to my father’s court I loved him. I had never seen such a handsome, such a chivalrous knight. And then ...’

‘You waited,’ said Joanna. ‘You waited a long time for him, Berengaria.’

‘But the waiting is over now.’

‘May you be very happy,’ said Joanna fervently.

‘I shall. I know I shall.’

‘Amen,’ whispered Joanna.

‘Joanna, I wonder what Alice is doing now. I wonder what she will think when she hears ...’

‘She will be going back to her brother’s court now I doubt not.’

‘Poor Alice!’

‘Do not pity her too much, Berengaria. Perhaps she was happy while the King lived.’

‘But the shame of it!’

‘Perhaps she did not feel the shame.’

‘How could she not when it was there?’

‘It may not have seemed so to her.’

‘Oh, but it must have, Joanna.’

Joanna thought: How innocent she is! May all go well with her.

She wondered whether she had heard the whisperings about Richard and whether she would have understood them if she had.

When Richard rode out to his wedding the people stared in astonishment at this splendid figure.

This was to be a double celebration. First the wedding and then the coronation for he had decided to have himself crowned King of Cyprus. The island was rich; its people were dissatisfied with Isaac Comnenus and he, Richard, was in a position to defeat Isaac utterly. What treasure would be his! He could install a deputy of his own choosing to hold the island for him when he went on his way to the Holy War. He had done very well in Sicily but he would do even better in Cyprus.

Because this was his intention he had exploited to the full that which he knew to be one of his major assets – his dazzling appearance. He appeared as a god and was accepted as such; his height and fair good looks gave all that was necessary to add to the illusion. So he rode out in a rose-coloured tunic, belted about the waist. His mantle was dazzling, being of silver tissue patterned with stripes and decorated with half moons of silver brocade. His head-dress was scarlet decorated in gold. He shone; he glittered; he was indeed like a being from another world.

He did not ride but walked to the church, his Spanish horse being led before him by one of his knights also splendidly garbed though of course in a fashion not to be compared with that of the King. The horse’s saddle was decorated with precious stones and gold, and never before had the Cypriots seen such glory.

And in the church he was married to Berengaria. She felt exultant, for this was like a dream coming true – a dream that had haunted her since she had seen this perfect knight ride into the joust with her favour in his helmet.

Not only was she Richard’s wife, she was also Queen of England and Cyprus, and the heavy crown that was placed on her head when the diadem was removed was a double crown.

How the people cheered them – not only the crusaders but the islanders.

With Richard she sat at the table and the feasting began. There was merrymaking, songs and dancing; and Richard himself played his lute and sang a song of his own composing.

This, thought Berengaria, is the happiest day of my life.

When night fell he conducted her to their bedchamber. He was not an ardent lover but she did not know this. To her he was the most perfect being the world had ever known and she was in a state of bliss because fate had made her his bride.

The day after the wedding, messengers came from Isaac. He craved a meeting with the King of England and their meeting place should be in a field near Limassol. He wanted to treat for peace.

Richard was eager for the meeting too and it was arranged.

Donning his wedding finery Richard rode out to the field and when he reached it he saw that on the far side Isaac waited with a company of men.

Richard dismounted and his magnificent Spanish steed was led before him as it had been when he was on his way to the church for his wedding. He had never looked so glitteringly godlike and formidable. At his side hung his tempered steel sword and he carried a truncheon. He came as the conqueror and Isaac quailed before him.

Isaac knelt and Richard inclined his head.

‘You sue for peace,’ said Richard. ‘That is well but I shall expect recompense for what you have taken from my men.’

‘I shall be happy to give it, my lord,’ said Isaac humbly.

‘My men have been shipwrecked and their goods taken from them. Many have suffered imprisonment.’

‘’Tis true, I fear, my lord.’

‘These wanton acts deserve punishment.’

Isaac studied the King. There was an innate honesty in those blue eyes. The King of England it was said was very different from the King of France. Richard was direct – Yea and Nay, they called him, and that meant that when he said something he meant just that. There was no subterfuge about him. In a king this could be naïve, and Isaac was far from naïve. He was in a difficult position. He had made a great mistake when he had allowed his people to plunder Richard’s ships. He should have welcomed them, curried favour with Richard; but how was he to have known that Richard would arrive in Cyprus? He might so easily have been drowned. He should have waited though and made sure.

Now here was Richard, the legend, the unconquered hero. One only had to look at him to see that he was a dangerous man to cross.

Thus it seemed to Isaac that there was only one course open to him. He must be humble, never forgetting that the weakness in Richard’s armour was his inability to dissemble; his knowledge of warfare was great but his understanding of people non-existent. He made the great mistake, characteristic of his kind, in thinking everyone reacted and behaved as he did.

‘Alas, my lord,’ he said, ‘my people have sinned against you and I must take responsibility for their acts.’

‘You yourself have shown me no friendship.’

‘For that I am at fault.’

‘Then we are of one mind. As I said I shall need reparations.’

‘That is to be expected. I will pay you twenty thousand marks in gold as recompense for the goods which were taken from the shipwrecks.’

‘That is well but not all,’ said Richard.

‘I have thought a great deal about your mission to the Holy Land. I shall pray for your success.’

‘I need more than your prayers, Isaac. This is a costly enterprise.’

‘The twenty thousand marks will doubtless be of use to you.’

‘They will, but I need men. You must come with me. I doubt not your sins are heavy and you are rich ... or you were until you fought against me and my holy project. This will be a lesson to you, Isaac. Not only did you work against me but against God. You must ask forgiveness for your sins and the only manner in which you can do this is by joining my army.’

‘My lord, I have my island ...’

‘Nay, Isaac. You no longer have an island. I have been crowned King of Cyprus and your people were very willing that it should be so. You will join my company and bring with you one hundred knights, four hundred cavalry and five hundred armed footmen.’

‘I have not these men.’

‘You can find them. You will find them. For these services I will appoint you the Lord of Cyprus, my vassal ruler. You will rule Cyprus in my name. If you do not agree to these terms you have lost Cyprus for ever.’

‘But if I am to rule in your place how can I do this if I am fighting in the Holy Land?’

‘You will name a deputy. He will rule under you who in your turn rule under me. I have had to appoint deputies to rule for me in England.’

‘I see that it must be so,’ said Isaac. Then realising that it was no use pleading with Richard and that the King believed that if he had made a promise he meant to keep it he began to talk enthusiastically of what he would take with him on his journey to the Holy Land.

Richard said: ‘You have a daughter.’

‘My only child,’ answered Isaac. ‘She is very young.’

‘And your heiress.’

‘I fear to leave her,’ began Isaac.

‘She must be placed in my care,’ said Richard. ‘I will see that no harm comes to her and when the time is ripe arrange a good marriage for her.’

Isaac bowed his head. ‘I know that I can trust my child with you,’ he said.

‘I think we have settled everything,’ answered Richard.

Even he, however, was not entirely sure of Isaac. He told him he would have him lodged within the English lines and make sure that he was treated according to his rank.

Isaac thanked him for his consideration.

‘It makes me happy,’ he said fervently, ‘that you and I are no longer enemies.’

Richard lay beside Berengaria in the silken tent which was part of the spoils he had taken from Isaac. He looked at her innocent face and felt suddenly tender towards her. He could be fond of her for she was gentle and undemanding. He supposed that, since he must have a wife, he could not have a better one.

He thought of Philip and his Isabella. Philip had his son, young Louis, and was proud of the boy. Perhaps he would be proud of a boy, if there was one.

There was nothing now to keep him in Cyprus and he could think of leaving very soon. Now that Isaac had made his terms and was ready to accompany him, he could be pleased with the manner in which everything was going. It was mid May – a long time since he had left England, but his mother might well be there by now and he need have no qualms for his realm. She would keep him informed of what was happening. And soon he would be at Acre. He would be with Philip. Together they would storm the place as they had always planned to. He would arrive richer than he had set out for he had treasure from Sicily and more from Cyprus. He had added another crown to that of England. It had been worth the delay.

Berengaria stirred and his attention was drawn back to her. He had forgotten her in his contemplation of the battle to come.

She would always be there in his life to come; he would have to think of her occasionally. It had been less onerous than he had feared it would. He could accept Berengaria. She need not take up too much of his time and he would do his duty now and then; they would have sons and his mother and the people would be satisfied.

He rose and left his tent. It was early morning yet but he liked to be astir soon after dawn. He wanted to get on with his plans for departure for the weather was favourable and there was now no longer any reason why he should delay.

He would go to Isaac’s tent and awaken him. He wanted to talk to him about an early departure. He felt sure that Isaac had little knowledge of what equipment he would need.

He noticed that there was a deserted air about that part of the camp in which Isaac and his followers had been lodged so he went into Isaac’s tent. It was empty.

While he stood looking around he saw that Isaac had left a message for him.

Isaac had gone, the note told him. Surely Richard did not imagine that he could agree to the harsh terms that had been imposed. He had in any case changed his mind and was determined that he would keep no peace nor enter into any agreement with the English King.

Richard’s fury was great. He had been deceived. Isaac was no doubt laughing at him now, but he would not laugh for long.

There was no time now for wedding celebrations.

Richard marched across the island towards the capital Nicosia. He found the Greek style of fighting strange and it was not easy at first to adjust himself to it. They did not face him and fight; they sniped at the flanks of the army, and having shot their arrows fled. As he had led his army he could not at first see the enemy so he immediately placed himself at the rear where he could more easily detect the marauding bands and whenever he caught sight of them prepared to charge.

It was unsatisfactory but in a way exhilarating as any new techniques in fighting must be to him.

At one time he caught sight of Isaac. A small party of Greeks had come up from behind and suddenly becoming aware of them Richard had turned to see Isaac himself but a short distance away. Before he could act Isaac had shot two arrows at him. They missed by inches ... poisoned arrows which would most certainly have killed him. Exhilarated to be so near his enemy Richard immediately gave chase, but Isaac’s steed was especially fleet and he got away.

A horse made for running away, commented Richard, but he was a little shaken that the enemy had been able to creep up on him in such a manner.

He hurried on to Nicosia, the inhabitants of which surrendered immediately.

This was victory. When his capital fell to Richard, Isaac must realise he was defeated. In fact only a fool would have attempted to hold out against such a superior foe.

There was one thing which was troubling Richard. When he had started his advance he had felt the first signs of fever. It may well have been due to this that Isaac had almost succeeded in killing him with his poisoned arrows, for had he been as alert as he usually was, he would have been more prepared.

He trusted that he was not going to have one of the old bouts of fever, but as the days passed it became more and more certain that this was exactly what was going to happen.

To be ill at such a time could be disastrous.

He asked Guy de Lusignan to come to his camp. There was something about the young man that he liked. His nature seemed to be as frank and open as that of Richard himself, and the King felt that they were two of a kind.

Guy looked at him with real concern.

‘Why, Sire, what ails you?’ he asked.

‘I fear it is a return of an old complaint.’

‘You are often ill like this then?’

Richard laughed grimly. ‘I know it seems incredible, but this fever has dogged me for years. It started through sleeping on damp earth when I was quite young. You know how it is. One is careless. One fancies one is above the common ailments of the body. Alas, it is not so.’

‘Will it soon pass?’

‘I doubt not it will be worse before it is better. That is why I have asked you to come to me. In a day I may not be able to leave my bed. The fever will run its course. I want you to take over command of the army.’

Guy was astounded. He could not believe that the man on the bed, his face pallid, cold sweat on his brow was the great and glorious warrior who such a short time ago had been married to the Princess Berengaria.

Guy said: ‘Should not the Queen be told? She will wish to look after you.’

‘Neither Queen must be told – my wife nor my sister. I do not wish them to pamper me as though I am a woman. I know this fever well. It comes and it goes. I must keep to my bed until it passes; but we cannot wait for that to subdue this island. So, my friend, I wish you to take over. The time has come to conquer the entire island. We must not be satisfied with Nicosia. We must show Isaac that he has lost everything.’

‘I will do exactly as you wish,’ answered Guy.

‘Then having taken possession of Nicosia we shall be lenient with those who thought they could stand out against us. There is only one order I give: All the men must shave off their beards. This I demand for it will show their humility. If any man defies me then he must lose not only his beard but his head with it. Make that clear. And once an order is given it must be obeyed. There must be no leniency. That is the secret of good rule. All must know that when the King speaks he means what he says.’

Guy listened attentively. He would let the King’s command be known throughout Nicosia and then he would set out to subdue the rest of the island.

Richard trusted him. He liked the man. Guy would serve him well not only because he was an honest man but because he needed Richard’s support against Conrad de Montferrat, the candidate for the crown of Jerusalem whom the King of France was supporting.

He lay on his bed, tossing this way and that, the fever taking possession of him. He was a little delirious. He thought that his father came to him and told him that he was a traitor.

‘That I never was,’ he murmured. ‘I spoke out truly and honestly. I fought against you because you tried to deprive me of my rights ... but I never deceived you with fair words ...’

And as the waves of fear swept over him he asked himself why his father had always been against him. He seemed to hear the whispered name: ‘Alice ... it was Alice ...’

Alice! He thought he was married to Alice; she had become merged in his delirious imaginings with Berengaria. Alice, the child; Alice, seduced by his father in the schoolroom. An echoing voice seemed to fill the tent. ‘The devil’s brood. It comes from your Angevin ancestors. One was a witch. She went back to her master the devil but not before she had given Anjou several sons. From these you sprang. You ... your brothers Henry, Geoffrey, John ... all of them. There was no peace between them nor in the family.’

It was as though Philip were speaking to him, mocking him.

This accursed fever! Philip had said: ‘How will you be in the hot climates? Shall you be able to withstand the sun?’

‘As well as you will,’ he had answered.

Philip had said: ‘I believe you have had bouts of this fever for years. It’s the life you have led.’

But if he remained in his bed the violent sweating fits would pass and with them his delirium. His brain would be clear again. It was only a matter of time.

There was good news from Guy. He had taken the castles of St Hilarion and Buffavento with very little trouble and in that of Kyrenia he had found Isaac’s young daughter. He was awaiting Richard’s instructions as to what should be done with her. Clearly she must not be allowed to go free, for she was Isaac’s heiress.

All was well. He had been right to trust Guy. The fever was beginning to pass but he knew from experience that it would be folly to rise too soon from his bed.

He had given instructions that the news of his sickness was not to be bruited abroad. He did not want his enemies to set in motion a rumour that he was a sick man which they would be only too happy to do.

Soon he would rise from his bed; and if by that time Cyprus was completely subdued he would be able to set out on his journey to Acre.

When one of his knights came in to tell him that Isaac Comnenus was without and begging to be received, he got up and sat in a chair.

‘Bring him in,’ commanded Richard.

He remained seated so that Isaac should not see how weak he was.

Isaac threw himself at Richard’s feet where he remained kneeling in abject humility.

‘Well, what brings you here?’ asked Richard.

‘I come to crave mercy and forgiveness.’

‘Dost think you deserve it?’

‘Nay, Sire. I know I do not. I have acted in great error.’

‘And bad faith,’ added Richard.

‘I come to offer my services. I would go with you to the Holy Land.’

‘I do not take with me servants whom I cannot trust,’ answered Richard tersely.

‘I swear ...’

‘You swear? You swore once before. Your swearing had little meaning.’

‘If you will forgive me ...’

‘The time for forgiving is past. I should be a fool to forget how you swore to recompense me for your misdeeds and then tried to kill me with poisoned arrows. I would never trust you again, Isaac Comnenus.’

Isaac was terrified. If he had hoped to deceive Richard as he had before, he had misjudged the King. Having cheated once he would never be trusted again.

All his bravado disappeared. ‘I entreat you to remember my rank.’

‘Ah, an emperor – self-styled! I call to mind how you felt yourself superior to a mere king.’

‘None could be superior to the King of England.’

‘You are a little late in learning that lesson.’

‘I beg of you, do not humiliate me by putting me in irons. Anything ... anything but that. Kill me now ... if you must, but do not treat me like a common felon.’

‘I will remember the high rank you once held.’

‘I thank you, my lord. All Cyprus is yours now. You know how to be merciful. Have I your word that you will not put me in irons?’

‘You have my word.’

‘And all know that the word of the English King is to be trusted.’

‘You shall not be put in irons,’ affirmed Richard. He called to his knights. ‘Take this man away. I have had enough of him.’

When he had gone he sat their musing and, remembering how he had been deceived by Isaac, he laughed aloud.

He called in two knights.

He said: ‘I want Isaac Comnenus to be kept a prisoner until the end of his days. He can never be trusted while he is free. I have promised him that he shall not be put in irons. Nor shall he be. But he shall be chained nevertheless. See that he is made secure and that he is in chains. But the chains shall be of silver. Thus I shall keep my word to him. Chained not in irons but in silver.’

Richard was amused and suddenly pictured himself telling the story of Isaac Comnenus to Philip of France.

No word from Richard. Where could he be? Why did he not send a message to them? Surely he knew how anxious they had been.

Joanna tried to soothe Berengaria. He was engaged on a dangerous enterprise, she explained. It would need all his skill to subdue Cyprus. He knew they were safe and they must not expect him to be sending messages to them describing every twist and turn of the battle.

They sat together in the gardens of the house where he had lodged them.

‘Here we are,’ said Joanna, ‘in this comfortable house. We can enjoy these lovely gardens. We should consider ourselves fortunate that he is so concerned for our well-being.’

‘I know,’ said Berengaria, ‘but I think of him constantly. I wonder if he thinks of me.’

Joanna did not say that she believed that when Richard was engaged in battle, he thought of nothing but that battle. She had always guessed he would be a neglectful husband, but it was sad that Berengaria must discover this so soon.

How could this girl so newly a wife be satisfied with anything but the undivided attention of the husband she adored?

Joanna watched a green lizard dart across the grey stone wall and disappear within it. What peace there should be in this garden where there were bushes of brightly coloured flowers and the pomegranates grew in abundance among the ever present palms. So quiet it was and yet not far away there was bitter fighting. Isaac would not give in easily even though he must know that he could not stand out against Richard.

‘I heard a rumour last evening,’ said Berengaria.

‘What was this?’

‘That Isaac has a daughter who is the most beautiful girl on the Island. She is very young and she has been held as a hostage.’

‘It is inevitable that she should be.’

‘She will be ... with Richard?’

Joanna looked astonished. Berengaria could not be jealous of Isaac’s daughter!

‘I doubt not that she will be well guarded.’

‘We have not heard from him for so long.’

‘Come, tell me what you have heard about Richard and Isaac’s daughter.’

‘That she enchants him. Joanna, can it be for this reason that we have heard nothing of him?’

Joanna laughed. ‘My dear sister, do you imagine Richard sporting with this girl while the enemy is at the door?’

‘There must be some lulls in the fighting.’

‘You have much to learn,’ Joanna smiled. ‘Listen to me, Berengaria. Isaac’s daughter may be the most enchanting creature in the world, but I’ll swear Richard would hardly be aware of this.’

‘Surely any man would be.’

‘Not Richard.’

‘You seek to comfort me.’

‘So that is what has been ailing you. You have been jealous. You have listened to malicious gossip. I’d be ready to swear that Richard is aware only of Isaac’s daughter as a hostage.’

‘I wish I could believe that. But we have not heard for so long.’

‘Berengaria, now that you are married to Richard you will have to understand that there may be long periods when you hear nothing from him and have no idea where he is. He is a soldier ... the greatest living soldier ... and he will always be engaged in some conflict. Now it is the conquest of Cyprus. Later it will be an even greater enterprise. You will need much patience and loving understanding. You must realise that.’

‘I do. I do. But we have not heard and there is this girl. She is with him. People are talking.’

‘People will always talk. Heed them not. Love Richard, and most of all never question him. He would not like that. He must be free. If you would lose his regard the quickest way to do so is to make yourself a burden to him. He has put you ... indeed both of us ... in a safe place. That was his great concern. Be grateful that he is so anxious for our welfare. It is the measure of his affection for us. I would be ready to wager a great deal that there is nothing in this gossip. I know Richard ...’

She stopped and looked at Berengaria rather sadly. What if she told Berengaria the real reason? What if she said: Richard is not like some men who think that women are part of a conquest. Richard is not very interested in women.

No, she could not tell her that. All she could do was comfort her.

‘There is always gossip about royal people,’ she said. ‘We look at a man or a woman and people immediately decide to bed us. Remember this, Berengaria. Stop fretting. Richard is engaged in a bitter struggle. You will hear from him as soon as he is free to think of us.’

‘I had hoped he would be thinking of me constantly ... as I am thinking of him.’

‘My dear sister, he has a mighty war to fight. You have but to sit here with your embroidery. You must see the difference.’

‘Oh, I do,’ cried Berengaria. ‘I’m afraid I am foolish.’

‘You are inexperienced of the ways of the world and of men,’ said Joanna.

‘How grateful I am that you are with me. You teach me so much.’

‘I have been a wife and a widow, remember. These experiences tell.’

And while they sat in the garden they heard the arrival of horsemen.

Berengaria started up, her eyes alight with excitement.

‘It is messages from Richard at last.’

They went out into the courtyard and there seated on a horse was a very young girl, a child merely. Her dark hair, thick and luxuriant, fell about her shoulders; her deep set eyes were dark, black-lashed and at that moment apprehensive.

On either side of her rode two knights and one of them had a message from Richard.

He wanted his wife and his sister to take this girl into their household. She was a Cypriot Princess, daughter of Isaac Comnenus. They were to treat her well for it was no fault of hers that her father had deceived the King.

Berengaria laughed with pleasure. The newcomer was an innocent child.

‘Let the Princess dismount,’ she cried.

Joanna said: ‘We will ourselves look after her and see that she is treated in accordance with her rank.’

The girl stood before them and they were both filled with compassion for this poor child whose home was now in the possession of a conqueror. They determined to look after her. Indeed that was what Richard had ordered, but they would give her that especial care to make her feel she had nothing to fear.

Together they took her into the house. A room should be prepared for her near theirs. She should be their companion. They would tell her about their homes and she should tell them about hers.

The girl seemed comforted.

As for Berengaria, one sight of this child, so young and helpless, had dispelled the jealousy which had tormented her since she had heard that the beautiful daughter of Isaac Comnenus was in Richard’s hands.

She asked her: ‘Did you see King Richard?’

‘But briefly. I was taken before him. My father was there and he held me in his arms and begged the King not to harm me. Then King Richard ordered that I be sent to you.’

Berengaria said gently: ‘Have no fear. We will look after you and see no harm befalls you.’

‘There is my father ...’ said the little girl, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Try not to fret. He had defied the King but you are not to blame. I am glad that my husband has sent you to us.’

Indeed she was, for the coming of the child had made Berengaria realise how false were the rumours. Later that day, Joanna heard her singing softly to herself, and the song she sang was one which Richard himself had composed.

The fever was passing, but it had left Richard emaciated and he was careful not to mingle too freely with his men. The image of superhuman being must not be tarnished. Of course that he could be assailed by illness and emerge as strong as ever was in itself worthy of him, but he would wait until he was full of the old vitality before he would let his humbler followers see him.

He was grateful to Guy de Lusignan. But for him events might have turned out differently. It was well to have near him someone whom he could trust and he fancied that it was not only because of the support he could give his claim to the crown of Jerusalem which had inspired Guy. Guy was a great warrior.

He must rest awhile. He must suppress the almost irrepressible desire to be up. He had suffered so many bouts of this fever that he knew the course it would take and that he must be careful that there was not a relapse.

And as he lay there messengers came from the King of France. Richard received them eagerly. News of Philip always excited him and he had been wondering what was happening in the French camp. Fervently he hoped that Philip had not succeeded without him; on the other hand he felt apprehensive as to his rival’s safety. Philip had declared to him when they parted that he would not take Acre until Richard joined him. It was to be a joint venture. This he had sworn, but Richard was wondering how far he could trust him. If the opportunity arose surely the desire to take the city and glean the accompanying glory would be too much for Philip to resist.

But apparently the opportunity had not occurred.

‘How fares the King of France? Is he in good health?’ he asked the envoys.

‘The King of France is in good health,’ was the reply.

‘And what military success has been his?’

‘There have been many skirmishes and he has made useful progress,’ was the guarded answer. Ah, thought Richard exultantly. He has not progressed far. He needs me beside him.

‘Our lord frets at your dalliance and commands the Duke of Normandy to come to him without delay.’

Richard’s temper flared. It was always so when Philip reminded him that he was his vassal for Normandy.

‘Pray tell the King of France,’ he replied haughtily, ‘that the King of England will leave when it pleases him.’

‘The King of France was emphatic that the Duke of Normandy should come at once. His presence is needed at Acre. The King of France thinks that the Duke of Normandy forgets the purpose of this enterprise which is not to indulge in facile conquests on the way but to restore the Holy Land to Christianity.’

Richard rose; he tottered slightly. It was as much with rage as with weakness.

‘The King of France must learn that one of the reasons for the fall of Jerusalem is the hostile treatment crusaders receive on their way to the Holy Land. I have subdued Isaac Comnenus who was no friend to the Christians though he ought to have been. It is my belief he accepted bribes from the Saracens to delay us all he could. Tell the King of France that he robbed my sailors, stole my stores and imprisoned my men. Does the King of France expect me to allow that to pass? Perhaps the King of France would. Perhaps that is why the Christians were short of provisions and weapons and the Saracens had the opportunity to take the Holy City.’

The messengers were taken aback and did not know what to say, but they felt that they had Philip’s authority to remind Richard that as Duke of Normandy, he must bow to the wishes of his suzerain.

‘We but repeat the orders of the King of France,’ they muttered.

‘Then return to him and tell him that the King of England does not receive orders from the King of France and that he will stay in Cyprus until that time when he feels the island to be completely subdued. Thus it will be a port of call for crusaders in days to come. Here they will rest in safety and comfort. They will be provided with the rich fruit of this island and we shall not have men arriving in Palestine emaciated and sick from a long sea voyage. Nor shall we lose them to the greed and villainy of rapacious islanders. Go now and tell this to the King of France. Tell him I shall join him in my own good time.’

When they had gone he lay on his bed exhausted.

He smiled slowly, contemplating Philip. Philip wanted him there. He knew he could not take Acre without him. If he had been able to he would have done so. Philip wanted the glory of victory. The man who restored the Holy City to Christianity would be received with acclaim everywhere in the Christian world – not excluding Heaven itself.

It was an honour all crusaders sought.

But it was more than that. Philip wanted to see him.

And he wanted to stand with Philip before the wall of Acre. Together they would take it, just as they had planned a long time ago, when he had been a hostage in Philip’s hands during the lifetime of his father – and they had gone everywhere together, riding, walking, playing, dreaming and lying in bed together talking of the glorious deeds they would perform when they went on their crusade.

Times had changed – they were no longer king and hostage; they were two kings of countries where rivalry was inevitable. Was it possible for the King of England to be friendly with the King of France? Normandy stood between them. Philip could never forget it. He would, like all the kings of France, for ever remember how the Norseman Rollo had ridden along by the Seine and taken possession of that strip of land which became known as Normandy. Richard was of Norman stock. This stood between them now and it always would.

They were natural enemies and yet they were beloved friends. They yearned to be together but they must constantly seek ways of scoring over each other.

It was an exciting relationship.

And now Philip was commanding him to leave Cyprus, and for that reason he would stay longer than he had intended.

He talked the matter over with Guy who had become his constant companion. Philip would be jealous of Guy. The thought amused Richard. Philip had already set himself against Guy by offering his support to another candidate for the crown of Jerusalem when that city should be brought back to Christianity: Conrad de Montferrat. Why was Philip supporting him? Because he thought it would be to the advantage of France to do so. Always Philip thought of the good of France. Richard thought very little of the good of England. He was pleased to leave the governing of that country in his mother’s capable hands.

‘Guy,’ he said, ‘this island is now in our hands. Isaac is in his silver chains. His daughter is with the two Queens; the people like to live in peace and get on with their daily lives. We shall have no trouble here while Isaac is in captivity. It is merely a matter of appointing regents to hold the island in my absence.’

‘That’s so, Sire,’ replied Guy. ‘Have you any in mind for this task?’

‘There are two Englishmen whose conscientious work has singled them out to me. I would trust them. They are Robert of Turnham and Richard de Camville.’

‘I have noticed these men. I think they would serve you well.’

‘Then you endorse my choice.’

‘I do, my lord.’

‘Go and bring them to me that I may put the matter to them. I will explain their duties and that I trust them to be good servants. They will administer the island and make sure that crusaders can always be sure of fresh meat, fruit and wheat when they arrive here on their journey.’

‘You have already served the cause well, my lord. If you did nothing more crusaders would be grateful to you for ever.’

‘The King of France does not share your opinion. He thinks I dally here and am more interested in making conquests than sailing on to Palestine.’

‘The King of France is doubtless envious of your fame.’

‘That may be. But I will not take orders from him although he continually reminds me that he is my suzerain through Normandy.’

‘I doubt not that my lord reminds him that the King of England enjoys as great a name throughout the world as that of the King of France. Aye, and becoming greater every month.’

‘I intend it to be so, Guy. Well then, we shall appoint our regents and then set sail. The ships should be well stocked with the good things of this island. What a fruitful place it is! A paradise! I confess I could linger here awhile. But on the other hand I feel the urge to go forward. I long to be storming the walls of Acre.’

‘I doubt not, my lord, that you will soon have brought the siege to an end.’

‘That shall be my endeavour.’

In the next few days Richard had fully recovered his health.

He immediately gave a banquet to celebrate his possession of Cyprus. The people came out of their houses to cheer him as he rode by. They liked the look of him; he was stern but just; and they were heartily tired of Isaac.

Richard had seen little of Berengaria. He sent a message to her and to Joanna to tell them that he was very much engaged with preparations for departure, but would come to them when it was possible.

When he did arrive he embraced them both rather absent-mindedly and told them to make their preparations to leave.

Berengaria looking up at him adoringly said that she always looked for his own ship, Trenc-the-mere, when she was near the sea and she was delighted because now that she was his wife she would sail with him in it.

‘You cannot guess, Richard, the anxieties we suffered,’ she told him. ‘Not knowing where you were ... whether you were dead or alive.’

Richard was thoughtful. ‘I have been thinking,’ he said, ‘that after all it would be most unwise for you to travel on Trenc-the-mere.’

‘Oh but that is where I want to be. I want to be with you, Richard.’

‘That is a good wife,’ he said indulgently. ‘But as a good husband I am concerned for your safety.’

‘My great concern is yours.’

‘Nay,’ he said firmly, ‘you cannot sail with me. What if already you are carrying our child, the future King of England!’

‘We have been so little together,’ she said mournfully.

‘Oh, it is enough. I have hopes.’

‘Could we not ... ?’

His lips smiled but his eyes were cold. ‘I am a king, Berengaria. I have my duties. I am not even in my own country. Responsibilities are heavy on my shoulders. I have just conquered Cyprus, which is going to make a great difference to crusaders. Think of them hungry, racked by storm, all those days at sea and then coming to the haven of Cyprus where there will be fresh meat and fruits for them. They will bless King Richard.’

‘There are already many who have reason to do that,’ she said.

‘It may be. But my orders must be obeyed. I cannot have you or Joanna exposed to the dangers which could befall my ship. As we progress our journey becomes more hazardous. There is one whom these people will seek first to destroy. I am that one.’

‘Oh, Richard, let us come with you. The dangers will be nothing compared with our anxieties.’

‘Nay, the dangers will be great. You will obey my orders, Berengaria. I say that you shall sail in another ship. Do not look so disconsolate. Joanna will be with you ... Joanna and the little Princess from Cyprus.’

He doesn’t want me, she thought sadly. Why? What is wrong with me?