The Heart of the Lion (37 page)

In the palace at Acre the two Queens heard of his illness and that preparations were to be made for them to leave.

Joanna, watchful of her sister-in-law, noticed that she did not express the usual anxiety for Richard’s health. She was sorry. She had to admit that Richard had neglected Berengaria shamefully. True he was engaged on a mighty venture, but he made no effort to be with her and there surely must have been occasions when it was possible.

Berengaria had changed a little; her lips had tightened. Perhaps she was no longer in love with the romantic warrior.

Joanna was sad. She had to admit that Richard was ruthless. Had he not tried to marry her off to a Saracen? Yet he had made no effort to force her. She would have done anything rather than agree to such a marriage and he knew that. Poor Berengaria! She was learning with bitterness that there were often disadvantages in being born a princess.

The little Cypriot in her role of watcher asked herself whether there was not after all something to be said for being a dispossessed princess. No one would try to force her into marriage; and if marriage was not for her how could she have a neglectful husband to make her unhappy?

Berengaria said to Joanna, ‘When Richard comes I would speak to him alone.’

‘But of course you will be alone with him. You are his wife.’

A hard smile curved Berengaria’s lips. ‘None would believe it,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I find it difficult to do so myself.’

Joanna did not pursue the subject. She wanted to turn away from it. Perhaps some day Berengaria would confide in her when the wounds were less fresh.

Richard arrived, looking pale and somewhat hollow-eyed but considering the malignancy of the fever far better than might have been expected.

He asked the two queens to come to him and was surprised when Berengaria came alone. She thought how magnificent he looked. Illness could not destroy the appearance of great strength and virility.

‘So,’ she said, ‘we are to leave here.’

‘The news has come in advance of me?’

‘It is customary, my lord, to hear news of you not from your lips but those of others.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There is so much to occupy me.’

‘That I know well and the company of others is preferable to that of your wife.’

He looked astonished. ‘Why say you so?’ he asked.

‘Indeed why, since it is truly unnecessary to voice such an obvious fact,’ she replied. Then she burst out passionately: ‘How think you I endure the pity of those around me?’

‘Pity, Madam?’ he said in surprise. ‘Should you be pitied . . . here in this comfortable palace? I and my soldiers should be the ones who are given that . . . marching in the heat or the mud, tormented by noisome insects . . .’

‘And your friend Blondel de Nesle?’ she asked. ‘Does he suffer so?’

‘The minstrels accompany the army. They have their work as do the others.’

‘I trust this Blondel is happy with his work.’

‘He would seem so.’

‘So much enjoying the favour of his master.’

He pretended not to understand. He said: ‘Music is an essential part of our army. A minstrel’s songs can lighten the spirit and put heart into weary men.’

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

‘I am no wife to you,’ she said.

‘Is that your wish?’ he asked, almost eagerly.

‘If it be yours,’ she answered.

‘This seems to me a fruitless conversation,’ he said. ‘You are the Queen. I am the King. We are married whether we call it so or not. I am much pressed for time. I wished to see you and my sister that I might arrange for our departure.’

‘We shall not, of course, travel with you?’ She could not look at him. She fixed her eyes on the glittering belt he wore about his waist. She had seen it before for it was a favourite of his. It was an object of startling beauty, set with unusual gems.

‘It is wiser not,’ he said.

She laughed bitterly. ‘For our comfort or yours?’

He looked surprised, wilfully misunderstanding her. ‘For yours of a certainty.’ He looked at her coldly. ‘I think you are unaware of what is happening in my kingdom. My mother writes to me that traitors plot against me. I must go back by a quicker route and that may be a dangerous one. You and my sister will travel with the fleet to protect you. I am putting you in charge of my faithful knight Stephen of Turnham whom I would trust with my life.’

‘It is good of you,’ she said, ‘to take such care of me.’

He bowed his head and answered: ‘I would speak with my sister. There are many plans to be made.’

She went to her chamber and there lay on her bed.

The Cypriot Princess crept silently into her room and knelt by her bed. She took her hand and held it.

The little Princess saw that the tears were on Berengaria’s cheeks.

On the first day of October the fleet with the two queens and the Cypriot princess set sail. Richard remained for nine more days. He said he must wait for those days to regain fully his strength for the journey.

He stood on the prow of the small ship which was carrying him and a few of his attendants away from Jerusalem.

A great sadness possessed him. He had failed to achieve that which he had come so near to winning.

Leaning on the rail he cried: ‘Oh Holy Land, I commend thee to God. May He, of his mercy grant me such space of life that I may one day bring thee aid. For it is my hope and determination, by God’s goodwill, to return.’

Only with the belief that one day he would come back and win Jerusalem could he be at peace with himself.

The land faded from sight. The crusade was over. He would not brood on the number of lives which had been lost, the amount of blood that had been shed, the torture and agonies which had been inflicted on myriads.

He must think now of what was happening at home; he must make plans for defeating the traitors. But first of all there was the hazardous journey ahead of him.

Chapter XIII

THE ROYAL FUGITIVE

R
he journey to Corfu was uneventful. During it Richard fully regained his health and had time to assess his situation.

The crusade had failed in its purpose. He might have left with Philip for he had gained very little by staying. Had he gone back to England then, he could have prevented whatever trouble was brewing with John, and he could have planned a greater crusade in the light of what he had learned from the last one.

He had emerged with but little gain: merely the three years truce during which time Christians could visit Jerusalem. But his reputation as a soldier had grown to spectacular magnitude. Richard the Lion-hearted was known throughout the Christian world; minstrels sang of his prowess and his courage in battle. He was the greatest soldier of his age and yet he had not been able to vanquish Saladin. Perhaps in his heart he had not wanted to, and he believed that Saladin had not wished to destroy him. Saladin would have preferred to make him his hostage. He knew that, because there had been several attempts to take him when he was in a vulnerable position, perhaps in some lonely spot with but a few of his knights. He could visualise such a situation. The courteous treatment, the honours, the conversation, the growing friendship. It would have been as it had in those long ago days when he had been a hostage of Philip of France. He would not have believed it possible then that Philip who had loved him so dearly in those days should now be plotting against him.

He had many enemies. This journey of his could be full of dangers. If he were to be washed up on some alien coast defenceless, many willing hands would seize him, and not in order to honour him. The French hated him. They had never agreed during their sojourn in the Holy Land. How often they had shown their enmity. And the Germans disliked him. Henry the Emperor would not forgive him for making an ally of Tancred and Leopold had a personal grudge against him.

He must get back quickly, and to do so he must go as far as possible by land, for who could tell when the sea was going to make progress impossible. At any time ships could be driven on to a coast if they were lucky and kept there for months waiting for favourable winds.

Time was important. His mother had made it clear that urgency was needed; and even after receiving her warning he had delayed.

He would make the journey by land and as it was going to be a dangerous one it would be folly to let it be known that the traveller was Richard of England. He must disguise himself; it was not easy for a king. He could wear the clothes of a beggar but somehow the arrogance, the dignity, the kingly air would seep through and betray him.

Such were his thoughts as he sailed away from the Holy Land and a month after leaving he reached the Island of Corfu.

Two days out from Corfu Richard sighted two vessels on the horizon.

He shouted to his friends to come and see.

‘By God’s eyes,’ he cried, ‘I know not to which country they belong. They would seem to be pirates.’

‘Better pirates, Sire,’ said one of his friends, ‘than French or German.’

‘Be ready,’ cried Richard. ‘We may have to fight them.’

One of the ships came alongside. It was well armed and Richard regretted that his fleet was not with him. He would have made short work of the impudent fellows if it had been there.

The sailors were ready with arrows and stones but Richard did not give the order to attack. He said that first he would try to parley with the pirates.

Using his trumpet he did this. It was not easy. They spoke a variation of Turkish and Arabic; but the stay in Palestine had helped him to understand something of this language and it was just possible to make himself understood.

The vessels were indeed pirates, looking for booty.

Richard had an idea. He cried: ‘If you attempt to board my ship I will have the blood of every man of you. But there is a way in which you could gain a great deal of money without fighting for it.’

The pirate leader was interested and Richard said that he would board the larger of their vessels to parley with him, accompanied by only two of his knights.

The pirate leader was astonished that he could so trust them, and said so.

‘Why, fellow,’ said Richard, ‘if you attempted treachery we would sink your two ships and your men with them. Have no doubt of that. But you have given me your word and I have given you mine. Wise men know that it is never good policy to betray a trust. If you wish to fight and take the spoils of my ship, then I will return to it and we shall battle together. But you are not so foolish.’