Lionheart (41 page)

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.”