Lionheart (47 page)

“Richard!” André reined in beside him. “You were not hit by those arrows?”

“No . . . why? Even if his aim had been better, I doubt the arrows would have penetrated my hauberk.” Richard shifted in the saddle to look at his friend. “Why the sudden concern for what would have been a minor wound at most, André?”

“Because one of the captured
turcopoles
told de Lusignan that Isaac is known to use arrows tipped in poison.”

“Isaac is beginning to annoy me exceedingly.” Richard was still staring after the dust trail churned up by the fleeing emperor as Joffroi and Guy de Lusignan rode over to him. When they asked if he wanted to continue pursuit, he shook his head. “What would be the point? He’s astride Fauvel.”

IT HAD NOT BEEN an easy time for Berengaria and Joanna, left behind in Limassol waiting for word. They’d learned that there had been no fighting at Famagusta, but after that, there was only silence. Joanna now understood that this was a foretaste of their life in the Holy Land; she was not sure if Berengaria had realized it yet, too. So Guilhem de Préaux’s arrival was eagerly welcomed by both women, for he bore a message from Richard.

He told them about Isaac’s thwarted ambush outside Tremetousha. Editing his account to be suitable for a female audience, he neglected to mention that the emperor had shot poisoned arrows at Richard, instead stressing the low casualties and the ease of their victory. “Nicosia surrendered at once,” he reported exuberantly. “The king received them in peace, but ordered the men to shave their beards as a symbol of their change of lordship. People continue to seek out the king and disavow their allegiance to Isaac, much to his distress and fury. So it will be over soon. The king has sent Guy de Lusignan to besiege the castle at Kyrenia, which holds the emperor’s treasure and his family, and he has set Stephen de Turnham’s brother Robert to patrolling the coast in case Isaac tries to flee to the mainland—”

“Why?”

“My lady?” Guilhem regarded Joanna so innocently that he confirmed all of her suspicions.

“Why has Richard entrusted Guy with the assault upon Kyrenia? Why is he not leading it himself?”

Guilhem had hoped the women would not pick up on that. “The king has been unwell, so he remained at Nicosia whilst he recovers.” He tried then to divert the conversation into more innocuous channels, but they were having none of it, and he reluctantly admitted that upon his arrival in Nicosia, Richard had come down with a sudden fever. Despite his best efforts to make it sound like a minor matter, Joanna and Berengaria knew that Richard must have been afire with fever for him to have taken to a sickbed instead of pursuing Isaac, and they immediately began to lay plans to hasten to Nicosia.

“You cannot do that!” Guilhem cried, shaking his head vehemently. “The king forbids you to leave Limassol.” They did not look at all pleased and Joanna seemed on the verge of mutiny, so he hastily explained that Richard felt it would be too dangerous to undertake an inland journey as long as Isaac remained on the loose. “The king is not seriously ill, my lady queens, and it is better that he recovers on his own. Men are notoriously poor patients,” he joked, “and the king is not taking this disruption of his plans with good grace. Indeed, he has been so bad-tempered that you’d surely want to smother him with a pillow, and think what a scandal that would cause!”

His attempt at humor fell flat. “Do you swear he is not gravely ill?” Berengaria demanded, and when he offered an eloquent avowal upon his very soul, she and Joanna conceded defeat. Guilhem had no time to savor his victory, though, for after thanking him for being honest with them, Berengaria then asked, “Did my lord husband give you a letter for me?”

Guilhem opened his mouth, shut it again. He knew it was safest for him if he simply told the truth, but he could not bring himself to do it, for he thought her brown eyes were as soft and trusting as a fawn’s. “Of course he did, Madame. A long one it was, too, and he wrote it in his own hand instead of dictating it to a scribe, since it was meant for your eyes only. But . . . and I hope you can forgive me . . . I no longer have it. We had a mishap fording a river. The water was much deeper than we’d expected and I was drenched to the skin. To my dismay, I later discovered that the king’s letter had gotten soaked, too, and the ink had run so badly that it was totally unreadable. I am indeed sorry for my clumsiness.”

Berengaria’s good manners prevailed over her disappointment and she assured him that he had no cause for reproach. She soon excused herself, saying that she wanted to offer up prayers for Richard’s quick recovery and victory over the Cypriot emperor. Guilhem escorted her to the door and then returned to bow over Joanna’s hand in his most courtly fashion. But as their eyes met, she said, too softly for her ladies across the chamber to hear, “You are a gallant liar.”

“What do you mean, Madame?”

“I’ve been here long enough now to learn something about Cyprus. Did you know it has no navigable rivers? And whilst they are prone to flooding during the rainy season, they dry up into mudholes during the summer months. So any rivers you encountered between Nicosia and Limassol would have been too shallow to drown a snake.”

Guilhem was stricken into silence, not knowing what to say. His relief was considerable, therefore, when she smiled. “Moreover, I know my brother, know how single-minded he is when he is in the midst of a campaign. I wish he’d spared a thought for his new bride, but in fairness to Richard, he is a battle commander, not a court poet.”

Guilhem returned her smile, pleased that she understood. “I am grateful that you are not angry with me for lying, my lady.” He hesitated a moment. “Do you think she believed me?”

“I do not know,” Joanna confessed. “I hope so.”

UPON HIS RETURN to Nicosia, Guilhem was delighted to find his king much improved and very flattered when Richard interrupted a strategy session to question him about his trip to Limassol. “Thank God,” he said candidly, after Guilhem explained that he’d been able to persuade the women that they could not come to nurse him back to health. He took the letters from his wife and sister and tucked them into his belt to be read when he had the time. He was turning away when Guilhem asked for a moment more. He dreaded telling Richard about that river-soaked letter, but he figured it would go worse for him if the king was ambushed and caught unaware by his queen, so he began to stammer out the story, watching nervously for any signs of Angevin anger. To his surprise, he caught an expression upon Richard’s face that he’d never seen before—guilt.

“God’s Blood,” Richard muttered. “I did not even think.... Were you able to make her understand?”

“Well . . . I did not try, my lord. I . . . I lied.” He saw Richard’s eyebrows shoot upward and said a silent prayer that he’d not done something his king would not forgive. But by the time he was done with his awkward confession, Richard was looking amused and—much to his relief—approving.

“That was quick thinking, Guilhem. Sometimes a kind falsehood is better than a hurtful truth. My queen does not yet know much about war or its demands. She’ll have to learn, of course. . . .” Just when Guilhem thought he’d been forgotten, the king smiled and said, “Come in. We are going over the latest reports by my scouts.”

Following Richard into his chamber, Guilhem felt a flush of excitement at the sight of the men gathered around a table littered with maps, for these were lords of rank and privilege: André de Chauvigny, the Earl of Leicester, Joffroi de Lusignan, Baldwin de Bethune, William de Forz, and Richard’s nephew, Jaufre of Perche. Thinking these were high-flying hawks for a Norman knight, Guilhem eagerly approached the table when Richard beckoned. “This is Deudamour,” he said, “which overlooks the road between Kyrenia and Nicosia. But now that we’ve taken Kyrenia, it cannot hold out for long.”

“Kyrenia has fallen?” Guilhem was pleasantly shocked, for the local people had been insisting it was impregnable.

Richard nodded. “Two days after you left for Limassol, the castle yielded to Guy de Lusignan.”

Guilhem whistled softly, rapidly reassessing his opinion of Guy. If the man could have captured a stronghold like Kyrenia with such ease, he was a better soldier than people thought. “I kept hearing that it could withstand a siege from now till Judgment Day!”

“Well, mayhap it could—if the garrison had offered any real resistance. I’d wager it fell into Guy’s lap like a ripe pear. How else explain his quick success?”

Guilhem was startled, not so much by that caustic appraisal of Guy’s military skills, as by the source—it had come from his own brother, Joffroi. He was not surprised that Richard seemed untroubled by Joffroi’s sarcasm, for he knew there had been no love lost between the king and his brothers. But Guilhem and his brothers had always been as close as peas in a pod, and he found himself feeling an unexpected flicker of sympathy for Guy de Lusignan. “So we have captured Isaac’s treasury?”

Richard confirmed it with a coolly complacent smile. “And whilst that loss probably pains Isaac the most, we now have his wife and daughter, too. The way his luck is going, Isaac may well end up with just enough Cypriot land for a burial plot.”

AFTER KYRENIA HAD SURRENDERED, Guy laid siege to the nearby castle at Deudamour, but so far he’d made no progress. Richard was not surprised, for this was one of the most formidable mountain citadels he’d ever seen; its north, west, and south sides were made inaccessible by sheer cliffs, and its eastern approach was protected by three walled baileys, with two towers perched even higher up. After consulting with Guy’s captains, Richard left some of his men to assist in the siege and rode the few miles to Kyrenia.

Richard’s first sight of Isaac’s seacoast stronghold convinced him that Guy could never have taken it so rapidly had its garrison not been too disheartened to offer resistance. Situated between two small bays, the castle reminded him of English shell keeps: high walls enclosed a large inner bailey, with sturdy corner towers, a barbican, and two-story gatehouse. He was pleased to see his royal lion flying from the highest tower rather than the golden crosses of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, a diplomatic gesture he’d not have expected from Guy.

Guy was waiting to welcome them as soon as they emerged from the barbican, and as he escorted them toward the great hall nestled along the west wall, he boasted of his triumph with an almost boyish glee. But Richard was willing to indulge him, for however he’d done it, the capture of Kyrenia had dealt Isaac Comnenus a mortal blow: How could he hope to continue the fight now that his treasury was in his enemy’s hands?

Guy wasted no time giving a report on the riches stored in Kyrenia’s coffers. Almost as an afterthought, he revealed that Isaac’s wife and daughter and their women were being held in the southwest tower, where they could be comfortably but securely guarded. Isaac had intended for them to flee to the mainland of Cilicia if it looked as if the castle might fall but, like so many of Isaac’s plans this May, that one had been thwarted by the arrival of Richard’s galleys, which had easily bottled up the harbor, making a sea escape impossible. Richard was not looking forward to his audience with them for, like most men, he was not comfortable dealing with hysterical women. A pity, he thought, that Joanna and Berenguela were not here to assure them that they were in no danger.