The King's Witch (4 page)

“The Templars will be hard masters,” Humphrey said. “They have not been the same since Hattin. The best of them were slaughtered at Hattin. And even the Master de Ridford is gone now.”

“Who are the captains at Acre?”

“There are many noble fighting men at Acre; I can hardly list them. Crusaders have been coming to join Guy since he went down there. It was a noble act, a kingly act, he and Sibylla, with a few hundred men, riding against a huge city like Acre.”

“But the other King. Conrad. He’s in Tyre.”

At the mention of Conrad of Montferrat, Humphrey’s eyes gleamed and he smiled, not pleasantly. “Yes. He has the French King’s support. You should know that the King of France, Philip Augustus, has few good things to say about your cousin Richard.”

Rouquin scratched his beard. Richard and King Philip had been friends once, when it suited them, but now they hated each other, which suited them better. Richard called Philip the Gnome. “He’s at Acre,” he said.

“Yes. But he cannot win it by himself. I promise you this eats him like a canker, and King Conrad, too. They need Richard, even as they hate him.” He smiled at Rouquin and lifted his cup. “To the Crusade,” he said, and drank.

They spoke a little longer, about the wealth and condition of Cyprus, and Rouquin wandered away, his mind full. He saw the purpose in Humphrey’s chatter. He thought,
That’s why he’s here. Not just to get us behind Guy. To make sure we know that the Gnome is on Conrad’s side, and so to pit us against Conrad.

He turned, looking for Richard, and saw him all the way across the room on his throne, one foot up on the treasure chest, laughing.

Rouquin got a cup of wine from one of the army of servants. Everything had seemed much simpler back in France: the prize, the glory, what they would have to do, who would be their friends, who their enemy. The closer they got to the Holy Land, the more it all opened up like a nest of snakes. Now already he saw two sides among the Crusaders, and they hadn’t even gotten there yet. Likely by the time they reached Acre, there would be more sides than two. All of these men were honing their own swords. In his mind his thoughts shifted. He scanned the room and found Humphrey, now standing by the table, talking to a gaunt old man in blue silk.

As he watched, Humphrey’s head turned, and he looked across the room toward Richard, and just for an instant, over by the throne, Richard raised his head and looked back.

That’s why, too
, Rouquin thought, and drank the wine down in a few gulps.

Later, when he had gone out to check on his horses, he came back into the hall and Richard called him over. Everybody else was gone and the servants were cleaning up; all the lamps but two were out.

Richard said, “Listen, Rouq’, I want you to take Guy de Lusignan along when you go after Isaac.”

Rouquin jerked up his head in a surge of temper. “He outranks me.”

“Yes, well, I need to do something with him. You take care of the work and let him—”

“You promised me this command.”

“That was before he came.”

“He’s a fool! He admits it!”

Richard shrugged, undisturbed. “You aren’t. You’ll catch Isaac. Just—”

“And he’ll get all the glory.”

“Rouquin.” The King’s voice slapped across his angry outburst; he stared him in the eyes. “I want you to do this. That’s all.” Turning on his heel, he walked away.

Rouquin bit his teeth together, a baffled fury roiling in his belly; when they were boys, he would have knocked Richard down and rubbed his face in the dirt for something like this. Instead his face was in the dirt, because now Richard was King, and he was nobody. He stood for a moment, as if he had no will, as if he meant nothing and was nothing. He went off to find something to hit.

Johanna’s nursemaid Gracia had gone with her when they were children to Palermo and considered it her privilege to fuss around her still, straightening her skirts, and bringing cushions for the hard bench. They were sitting on a wagon by the city gate to watch the army leave. Richard had already sailed that morning with the fleet to conquer the coasts of Cyprus, and the rest of the army would soon ride out to chase down Isaac. Edythe felt useless and in the way, pushed herself into a corner, and watched the others.

Gracia was a round little woman with a baggy face, always smiling. The other maid, Lilia, who was younger and slim and very pretty, leaned out over the wagon’s side to look up the street.

Already a crowd was gathering along it, more people pushing up every moment; these must be the Cypriots, come back into the town. Of course they could not stay away long. Edythe wondered what this looked like to them, what she and Johanna looked like to them.

Lilia cried, “Where are they? Oh! I can’t wait.”

Gracia gave a little cough. “Get yourself busy, that will help. Bring me the basket there. Yes, that one, Lilia, don’t be a giddygadder, please.”

Lilia brought her the basket, full of food and wine. “Gracia, you are such an old woman.” She fished out a cup. “My lady, may I give you to drink?”

Johanna sat straight on her bench, her hands in her lap and her cheeks red with excitement. “Yes. I think the men are coming.”

Edythe, in the corner, craned her neck to see down the street. A noisy pack of horsemen was striding toward her, in the lead a knight in a helmet with a tall red plume and a crown, a yellow banner floating above. Lilia was trying to pour wine and see the oncoming parade at the same time, and Johanna took the cup from her.

She did not drink of it but leaned forward, her brows pulled down over her nose. “That is Guy de Lusignan,” she said. “Where is my cousin? I know Richard sent Rouquin on this quest.”

Edythe went to her and took the cup before she spilled it; the other women were also canted forward to see the men pass. As he rode by them, the red-plumed knight raised his arm and shouted, “God wills it!” and all the women cheered and the people on either side whooped and yelled, happy enough to see them leave.

Johanna said, “He had better have Rouquin with him, or he’ll get tossed in a bramble.” Now ranks of men on foot tramped by, irontipped sticks tilted against their shoulders, bows strapped to their backs. Edythe sat next to the Queen with the cup, her eyes following the marching men; did any of them think he might die? Many of them would likely die. She reminded herself this was the Crusade; they would go straight to heaven.

Lilia cried, “There he is!” She lifted her scarf and waved it. “Rouquin! My lord Rouquin!”

In a loud clopping of hooves more knights were passing, among them the Queen’s cousin, his head turned to talk to the swarthy man riding beside him. Johanna sipped from the cup, gave it back to Edythe, and pointed. “That’s his officer, Mercadier.” Rouquin paid no heed to the women, although Lilia screamed his name again and fluttered her scarf above her head.

Johanna said, amused, “She shouldn’t set her lures for him; he’s light with women, he’ll give her nothing but a lot of trouble.” She took the cup and drained it. “Well, I think we’re done here. Let’s go back to the palace.”

Johanna was receiving the important local men as one by one they came in to submit to Richard’s rule. She wore a gown of blue silk stitched with gold and a gold crown on her head. Under the full skirt she slipped off the shoes, which pinched her feet. When she had seen a few of the Cypriots, accepted their tribute, and proclaimed them under Richard’s protection, she called for a moment to herself, the steward shut the doors, and the pages brought out dishes of dates and bread and wine. Her women sat around her and they ate.

Lilia said, “These people have such lovely clothes.”

Johanna had been thinking much the same thing, that the ordinary merchants of this little island were more richly arrayed than even she, the Queen of Sicily. “It’s all the fabrics, which are very fine. I hear the Emperor himself oversees the weaving of it in Constantinople.”

Berengaria came in with her women, and they made room so she could sit beside Johanna. They had not yet decided the issue of precedence, but Johanna meant to keep a strong hand on this and watched for her chance. Gracia said, “My lady, I have heard there is a market now, in the town, down by the beach.”

“Oh,” Johanna said, clapping her hands, “we should go.” She turned to Edythe; the doctor had found a book somewhere and was reading it in her lap. “You’ll come. You said you needed honey.”

Edythe straightened up, her eyes wide. “Yes. I will. Thank you, my lady.” She closed the book, but Johanna marked that she kept a finger between the pages, holding her place.

Johanna turned toward her brother’s wife. “Will you join us, my lady Berengaria?”

The little Queen straightened, blinking. The blue veins showed at her temples; she seemed frail enough to break. She said, “Go out, to street?” as if Johanna were proposing she fly.

“To the market,” Johanna said. “We’ll buy everything they have. Hear all the news.”

Berengaria lowered her eyes. “I stay, lady. My place here.”

Johanna glanced meaningfully at her own women. “Very well.” They all turned pitying looks on Berengaria, except Edythe, who was staring down at the book in her lap. Johanna laughed, and when the woman twitched upright, looking guilty, she nudged her.

“Oh, read it, my dear, go on. I shall see you happy.” She clapped her hands together. “We shall be a merry band in the Holy Land, I promise you.” She turned her gaze on Lilia. “You know, King Philip Augustus is there.” She put much into her voice as she said the name.

Even without looking at her, she felt Edythe startle at that. But when she glanced over, Edythe was looking down at her book again.

Gracia said, “Yes, he is supposed to be.” Lilia giggled, her hand to her mouth.

Johanna turned to Berengaria. “The King of France was in Palermo before we left, and he wooed me so ardently my brother sent me away.” She and Lilia traded another meaningful look; Lilia had been much involved in that trysting.

Berengaria tipped her head to one side. “My King want not you Queen of France?”

“You don’t understand.” Johanna gave her a sideways, disdainful look. “They are enemies, Philip and my brother. Philip wants my brother’s lands. Richard wouldn’t take the cross at all unless Philip did, too, so he couldn’t meddle behind his back.” She wagged her head. Let Berengaria know how little she understood, and how much Johanna herself was part of it.

Berengaria seemed not to be noticing that. Her pale eyes were thoughtful. “You did not be Queen of France.”

Johanna said, “When you see him, you’ll know why I’m not.”

Berengaria murmured. She had brought in some handwork and turned to it now, one maid holding out a threaded needle, the other a band of cloth. Johanna felt that this had slipped away from her, but she couldn’t say how. She turned back to Edythe.

“What is that, some scripture?”

Edythe straightened, lifting the book so that Johanna could see it: a plain board-bound book with a Latin name. “It’s an herbal, my lady. I found it in the chapel library.”