Lionheart (45 page)

By now she was thoroughly confused. “I do not understand. You want to fight him? Why?”

“It is quite simple, Berenguela. With favorable winds, a ship can sail from the port at Famagusta to the Syrian coast in just a day.” He could see that she still did not comprehend, and said with rare patience, “It is not enough to retake Acre or even Jerusalem. Then we have to hold them in a land where we are vastly outnumbered, and we cannot do that unless we can keep the kingdom supplied with food, weapons, and soldiers. That means relying upon other Christian countries for such aid. As soon as I looked at a map, I saw that Cyprus would make an ideal supply base for the Holy Land. It would be an invaluable ally—if it were not ruled by a renegade, a man suspected of conniving with Saladin.”

She was staring at him. “Are you saying you planned to take Cyprus?”

“Well, the thought did cross my mind. How could it not? Its strategic importance was obvious to any man with eyes to see. And the more I heard about Isaac—a man so hated that he’d not be likely to have the support of the Cypriots—the more convinced I became that Cyprus would benefit as much as Outremer if he were deposed. Whilst I did not sail from Messina with the intent of taking Cyprus from him, I did mean to seize the opportunity if one presented itself.”

Berengaria was dumbfounded. “Is that why you chose Cyprus as a rendezvous point for the fleet? And why you asked Tancred for a Greek interpreter?”

“No to your first question, yes to your second. Cyprus was the logical choice, indeed the only choice, for there were no other islands beyond Rhodes. Of course I did not expect the fleet to be scattered and for certes I did not expect your ship to reach Limassol on its own.”

“But . . . but why did you agree to make peace with Isaac, then?”

“Because it seemed like I might get what I wanted without having to fight for it. He agreed to swear fealty to me and pledged his full support to recapture Jerusalem. If he honored the terms, we’d have gotten a thousand men, the promise of Cypriot harvests, and money I could put toward the cost of the campaign. Naturally, I trusted him about as much as I’d trust a viper, so I demanded his daughter as a hostage and the surrender of his castles. If he’d kept faith, I’d have been satisfied with that.”

“Did you think he would keep faith?”

He smiled without answering and went to the door to admit his squires. Jehan and Saer were so excited they could barely contain themselves, seeming so young and eager to Berengaria that she felt a pang. “I’ll wait to arm myself until after I meet with my commanders,” Richard decided, but when the boys objected, protesting that Isaac might well seek to win by treachery what he could not win on the field, he agreed to wear his hauberk. Berengaria had not even considered the dangers of a hidden crossbowman and she reached for the coverlets, pulling them up around her shoulders to combat a sudden chill.

His squires had assisted Richard with his hauberk and he was buckling his scabbard. She was still trying to come to terms with this new knowledge, that Richard had been two steps ahead of the Cypriot emperor from the very first. If Isaac were not such a monster, she might have felt a twinge of pity for him. But she did not doubt he deserved whatever Richard had in mind for him, and now that it had been explained to her, she could see that holding Cyprus would be very beneficial to the Holy Land. Yet how could Richard spare the time to defeat Isaac when they were awaiting him at the siege of Acre?

Coming back to the bed, Richard leaned over and kissed her. “Keep that oil handy,” he said. “I’ll send your women in so you can dress.”

“What of the men at Acre, Richard? Will they not be upset by this delay?”

“It will not take that long.”

“How long would it take to conquer an entire country?” She’d not realized she’d spoken the words aloud, not until Richard paused on his way to the door.

“Well,” he said, “I wagered André that we could do it in a fortnight.” And then he was gone, leaving her alone in their marriage bed, a bride of four days, staring at that closing door.

CHAPTER 18

MAY 1191

Famagusta, Cyprus

Jaufre did not know what to expect as their army approached the town called Ammokhostos by the Greek-speaking Cypriots and Famagusta by the “Latins,” the term for those who adhered to the Pope in Rome rather than the Patriarch in Constantinople. Richard had quickly learned that Isaac had fled toward Famagusta, for the Cypriot emperor was now reaping the hatred he’d sown for the past seven years, and his long-suffering subjects were willing, even eager, to provide information that might mean his downfall. Leaving Berengaria and Joanna in Limassol under the protection of the Prince of Antioch and the Armenian prince Leo, Richard entrusted Guy and Joffroi de Lusignan to lead his army overland while he sailed along the coast to Famagusta with some of his fastest galleys.

So Jaufre was sure that the king would already have reached Famagusta. But what sight would await them? A city under siege? Charred houses and still smoldering ruins? Instead they came upon a scene of surprising tranquility. Richard’s galleys rode at anchor in the harbor, and his army was encamped upon the beach, soldiers strolling about as if they hadn’t any fears for their safety. The town itself seemed no less peaceful. It looked like a mere village to Jaufre, with narrow streets and alleys and small houses with flat, tiled roofs. He could not imagine how Isaac had hoped to hold it, for it lacked walls like Limassol, and the buildings he could see were simple structures; he was truly amazed to be told that one of them was the residence of the Archbishop of Cyprus.

Despite the apparent serenity of this Cypriot seaport, the English camp was well guarded. They were saluted cheerfully by men glad to have been spared that long, dusty journey, and the de Lusignans and Jaufre were escorted to Richard’s large pavilion. Once greetings had been exchanged, Richard explained that Isaac had retreated inland as soon as he’d gotten word of the fleet’s approach. Some of the citizens had fled, too, but others flocked to the harbor to welcome the invaders, reassured by what they’d heard about the treatment of Cypriots who’d offered no resistance.

“You’d best get a good night’s sleep,” Richard told the new arrivals. “We march at dawn for the interior of the island.” He had a map spread out upon the table, and showed them his intended target, the town called Lefkosia by the Greeks and Nicosia by the Latins. “We’ve had reports that Isaac is lurking in the vicinity of Nicosia, about forty miles east of here. So on the morrow, we go to find him.”

Peering over Richard’s shoulder at the map, Jaufre asked if Nicosia was walled; he’d been astonished that the Cypriot towns were so vulnerable to attack. “I thought the man was foolhardy beyond belief when he dared to defy you as he did. But now that I know his so-called empire is so defenseless, I think he must be mad.”

“According to what I’ve been told, there is a small fortress at Nicosia, but the town itself has no walls, so it is not likely that Isaac will try to make a stand there. My guess is that he will seek to ambush us on the road, and when that fails—as of course it will—he will then retreat to one of his citadels along the north coast. Apparently he does have several well-fortified castles there. The strongest is the one at Kyrenia.” Richard gestured toward a spot on the map. “Supposedly this is where he keeps his treasure and the local people say he sent his wife and daughter there for safety. He also has castles at Deudamour, Buffavento, and Kantara.”

Richard was interrupted then when one of his knights entered the tent to announce that some monks had ridden into the camp and were seeking an audience. “One says he is the abbot of . . . Mahera or Makera?”

Richard glanced toward one of Famagusta’s Venetian merchants for enlightenment. He was not disappointed, for the mercer was already nodding knowledgeably. “Makheras Monastery. That would be Abbot Nilus. You ought to see him, my lord king, for he is highly respected. Next to the archbishop and a revered hermit who lives in a cave near Paphos, Abbot Nilus wields great influence, even more so than most bishops.”

When Richard indicated he would see the abbot, his knight went to fetch him. As he ushered the monks through the camp, their long, bushy beards raised some English eyebrows, for this Greek fashion seemed bizarre to most of the soldiers, who were either clean-shaven or had closely trimmed beards like Richard. They were careful not to show any overt amusement, though, for the king had given orders not to harass the locals. But Abbot Nilus was aware of the disrespectful stares, the murmured jests about “Griffons,” and he hoped he’d not made a mistake in approaching the barbarians like this. At first he’d held back even as other bishops and abbots sought to make peace with these English invaders, for he’d known how vengeful Isaac would be once they were gone. It was only when it began to look as if the emperor might truly be deposed that he’d dared to seek English protection for his abbey. Now he was not so sure he’d made the right decision.

Some of his misgivings waned as he entered the king’s tent and saw so many familiar faces: Italian merchants who’d resided for years in Famagusta, the bishops of Kition and Tremetousha, and several highborn defectors from Isaac’s court. His pride was soothed, too, by his courteous reception, and when the English reassured him that they meant no harm to monasteries or churches, Nilus decided to trust this Latin warrior-king, at least enough to relay information that might hasten Isaac’s defeat. He’d been relying upon a Venetian merchant to act as translator, and he told the man now to ask the English king if he knew why Isaac had fled like a thief in the night.

“I do not think he ever meant to keep faith with our pact,” Richard said candidly, “though he hoped to fool us into believing he would. I admit I was surprised that he bolted within hours. I suppose he found the terms too humiliating even if he did not intend to abide by them.”

“That may well be. But I heard that he was warned to flee by one of your own.” Richard frowned as he glanced from the abbot to the interpreter. “Ask him what he means by that. Is he accusing one of my men of treachery?”

After a murmured exchange with Abbot Nilus, the merchant shook his head. “He meant a Latin, my liege. He says a lord from Outremer sailed for Cyprus as soon as they learned of your clash with Isaac. This man told Isaac that you meant to seize him come morning and this is why he ran as he did.” Anticipating Richard’s next question, he turned again to Nilus. “He says the name of this evil adviser is Pagan, the Lord of Haifa.”

The name meant nothing to Richard or his knights, but the de Lusignans and Humphrey de Toron reacted as if they’d been told Judas was in their midst. Pagan de Haifa, they told him, was a close ally of Conrad of Montferrat and a bitter enemy of the de Lusignans. It was obvious what Pagan hoped to do, Guy sputtered. He wanted Richard’s war with Isaac to drag on, keeping him occupied on Cyprus long enough for Conrad to seize Acre and gain all the glory for himself, thus making sure that few could oppose his claim to the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Glancing around, Nilus saw that most of the men shared Guy’s indignation. Richard alone looked amused. “If that is true,” he said, “it is indeed proof that the Almighty has a sense of humor, for by running away, Isaac provided me with the justification for taking Cyprus from him. I really ought to send Pagan and Conrad some of Isaac’s wine in appreciation for their help.”

That stirred some amusement among his knights, but the de Lusignans continued to fume, fearing that this delay could prove fatal to Guy’s hopes of regaining his crown. Jaufre also worried that Richard may have bitten off more than he could chew. He did not doubt that Isaac would be defeated. Yet if Conrad took Acre whilst Richard took Cyprus, would it be worth it? “Are you sure, my liege,” he said, “that you can conquer the entire country ere Acre falls?”

Richard’s mouth quirked. “Well, it is a small country.” After the laughter subsided, he said, no longer joking, “Tell me this, Jaufre. How many men do you think are willing to die for Isaac Comnenus?” And when this was translated for Nilus’s benefit, the abbot smiled grimly, thinking that could well serve as the hated despot’s epitaph.

THE ELDERLY ARCHBISHOP BARNABAS shared the views of his compatriots—eager to see Isaac deposed, but eager, too, to see the English army sail for the Holy Land. So far Famagusta had been spared the usual misery that befell occupied towns and he meant to keep it that way, hosting an elaborate feast that evening in honor of his unwelcome guests. The meal had just ended when Richard got word that a galley had been spotted approaching the harbor, flying the flag of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

As the news rippled across the hall, Richard found himself struggling with conflicting emotions. He knew that as a Christian, he ought to be praying that Acre had fallen. But he dreaded to hear it, for he could not bear that the siege should have ended before he got there to take part in the assault. “Do you think it is a sin to hope that Acre holds out for another few weeks?” he asked his companions with a tight smile, and then crossed the hall to tell the archbishop and Abbot Nilus about the approaching ship.

His audience—Morgan, Baldwin de Bethune, and Jaufre—were equally ambivalent, especially after learning of Pagan of Haifa’s meddling. As they glanced around, they could see that the de Lusignans and Humphrey de Toron and their knights were making no attempt to hide their consternation. It seemed to take forever before one of Richard’s men hurried into the hall to announce that envoys from the French king had arrived. Realizing what they all were thinking, he shook his head emphatically, letting them know the siege of Acre continued.

Morgan recognized one of the lead knights, for Druon de Mello had been a member of the French king’s household during their stay in Messina. He did not know Druon’s companion, a stocky, powerfully built man in his early thirties who strode into the hall with the swagger of one accustomed to getting deference from others. He was clad in an obviously expensive hauberk, which was partially covered by an equally expensive surcote emblazoned with a coat of arms unfamiliar to Morgan. He was surprised that the stranger would come armed into the hall, for most men preferred to eschew the weight of their hauberks unless they expected to be in physical danger. And so he instinctively sensed that this man was bringing trouble into their midst even before he heard Jaufre’s dismayed hiss of breath.

“I cannot believe Philippe sent
him
!” Lowering his voice, Jaufre said, “That is Philip de Dreux, the Bishop of Beauvais and Philippe’s first cousin. He is also the man loathed by the de Lusignans almost as much as Conrad, for he connived with Conrad to steal Isabella from Humphrey de Toron and then performed the marriage ceremony himself.”

Morgan had heard of the bishop, who was said to love battles more than books and had won himself a reputation for being utterly fearless in combat. It astonished him that the French king would entrust a message to a man whose very presence was a provocation to the de Lusignans. Remembering, then, that there was said to be bad blood between Richard and Beauvais, too, he started hastily toward the newcomers. Jaufre and Baldwin and a number of Richard’s other knights were already in motion.

Richard’s greeting had been icy enough to put the bishop at risk for frostbite, and the latter’s response was so terse as to be downright rude. It was left to Druon de Mello to try to pass over the awkwardness with strained courtesy. Because he respected the older man, Richard thawed somewhat, but he pointedly addressed himself to Druon, all the while staring at Beauvais with a hawk’s predatory appraisal. The bishop glared back, conveying defiance with no need of words. It was then that Guy de Lusignan pushed his way through the crowd.

“First Pagan de Haifa and now Conrad’s tame bishop,” Guy said with a sneer. “Conrad must truly be desperate to keep us here in Cyprus.”

“I do not know what you are babbling about,” Beauvais said disdainfully. “I do indeed respect Conrad of Montferrat, but I do not do his bidding. I answer only to Almighty God.”

Guy feigned surprise. “God told you to marry Isabella to a man who already had a wife?”

“Conrad’s Greek wife was dead, so there was no impediment to his marriage with Queen Isabella.”

“The ‘Greek wife’ you dismiss so easily has a name and an identity of her own—the Lady Theodora, sister to the Emperor of the Greeks. Nor is she dead, as you so conveniently claim. She is well and living in Constantinople.” This challenge came from a new speaker, Humphrey de Toron, who was staring at the bishop with the frustrated fury of a man who realized that his words would be neither heard nor heeded.

Just as he feared, Beauvais did not even bother to deny his charge, for they both knew that the truth of it was irrelevant. “I am not here to argue a matter that was decided months ago. I bear a message from the king of the French.” His gaze flicking from Guy and Humphrey as if they were negligible, he turned his attention back to Richard, “He wants to know why you are tarrying here in Cyprus when there is such an urgent need for your presence at the siege of Acre.”