The Kings of Vain Intent

by The Kings of Vain Intent (retail) (epub)

  As he turned away, Queen Eleanor detached herself from the group and put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Richard?’ She kept her voice low, so Berengaria could not hear. ‘Richard, walk with me. That girl dotes on you.’

  ‘Does she? Then I’m flattered—’

  She clicked her tongue and admonished, ‘Do better, when you say it to me. I have come a long way that you two might be united. You’re not flattered. You’re scarcely conscious of her presence. In truth, you mean to say you’re bored.’ She guided him along the quay, then out along the harbour wall. He glanced back to see Berengaria reluctantly mount one of the waiting horses.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s not true. Not bored. Do you know Philip set sail today?’

  ‘And you don’t want him to get too far ahead, is that it?’

  Richard nodded. ‘If it weren’t for that, I’d spend more time with Berengaria.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. There, you have it flat.’ With sudden spite she asked, ‘This desire to chase Philip, does it have any personal significance? Is there someone in his entourage who attracts you? Some man?’

  He said, ‘No, there is not.’ It sounded offhand, and he added, ‘I don’t know why you would ask a question like that.’

  ‘Don’t you? Then I’ll ask another. Name your women for me.’

  ‘What women?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes, it is a short list, isn’t it?’ She looked away at the sea breaking against the outer edge of the wall. ‘I was wrong,’ she said. ‘I allowed my hopes to grow without sustenance. I thought that, after Pamplona – Well, dear son, you must admit you paid considerable court to her at that time. You behaved then like – a man?’

  Richard stopped. A slight whine crept into his voice as he said, ‘She’s changed. She’s not as I remember.’

  ‘She’s a very attractive woman.’

  ‘Perhaps, but she’s so, hell, maternal. Not what I remember.’

  Eleanor smiled, pushing her desperation to the corners of her mouth. ‘And no doubt you find one mother enough, eh?

  They turned sharply as spray flew up above the wall. Richard said, ‘Let’s go back; you’ll catch a chill.’

  ‘I’m nearly seventy,’ she reminded him. ‘Drops of water won’t finish me. Though you might.’ It was an old woman’s threat, and she was ashamed of herself for resorting to it. But the situation was serious. She had tied her hopes to Berengaria, but now it seemed that Richard would once again cut them through. ‘The princess may not exactly match your memory. No one does. When I set eyes on you earlier, you were taller than I remembered, and fuller in the face. Give her time. Give her your attention. You can do nothing wrong in her eyes.’

  ‘I’ll visit her,’ Richard said. ‘As soon as I’ve completed the arrangements for embarkation, I’ll go and see her.’

  Eleanor knew she would have to be satisfied with that. She told him she had brought a wedding outfit for him. ‘It was very expensive,’ she said shrewdly. ‘It should not go to waste.’

  Richard grunted. ‘Will you come with us to Cyprus? We’ll have to stop there to take on provisions.’

  No, I’m anxious to be back in England. There are things – they need not concern you now – but I want to make certain that the dust on the throne remains undisturbed. I’ll keep the throne vacant for you; in return, you can marry Berengaria and regain the Holy Land.’

  ‘I will, be assured.’

  ‘You will what?’

  ‘Regain the—’ He caught her eye. ‘Yes, and make Berengaria my queen. Why not? Thirty-four is as good an age as any to be married.’ He laughed, but gave himself away, for his head did not rock, his body did not shake.

  * * *

  On 4th April, Eleanor of Aquitaine started for England. Next day, Richard visited King Tancred and signed a peace treaty with him. Tancred had learned his lesson. He had misjudged Cœur-de-Lion and suffered for it. Now he agreed to Richard’s demands – English observers who would remain on the island; a fixed income to help defray the expenses of the Crusade – and showed himself to be a model of contrition and humility. Richard was tempted to project the scene a few months into the future, with Tancred’s stunted body replaced by the thin, dark-skinned figure of Sultan Saladin. If God willed it, the Moslem, too, would end up on his knees.

  Six days after Eleanor’s departure, the English ships weighed anchor and sailed down the straits of Messina. The fleet had grown in strength since leaving Marseilles. It now contained one hundred and eighty craft, with the war galleys acting as shepherds to the clumsy cogs and busses.

  On the morning of 12th April, as the fleet was passing north of the island of Crete, a sudden storm swept up from the south. The leading vessels, including the buss that carried Queen Joanna and Princess Berengaria, were blown onward, well ahead of the fleet. A massive storm lantern was lighted on the foredeck of Trenchemer, though even if the English captains could have seen it in the darkness of the storm, they were unable to keep their craft in formation. Some were driven towards the island of Rhodes. Others sought shelter along the north-east coast of Crete. The ship that bore Joanna and Berengaria disappeared into the overcast…

  Chapter Eight

  Tyre, Cyprus, Acre

  April–June 1191

  In mid-April, French cousin met Italian cousin on the harbour wall at Tyre. While he had waited for King Philip to come ashore, Conrad had told his assembled barons, ‘As I said, as I said. I told you the kings would land here. It’s the French today, and before long it’ll be the English. As I said, my friends, under God.’ He had washed his hair for the occasion, and it stirred like a horse’s mane in the spring breeze. He had also ordered a new pair of boots, with high wooden heels; there was nothing modest, false or genuine, about Marquis Conrad of Montferrat.

  In contrast, Philip Augustus appeared wan and irritable. The sea voyage had not been calm enough to keep him from the rail. His stomach hurt, while the sour taste of vomit clung to his throat. He prayed that Conrad would keep the greetings brief. It would not do if the story got about that the King of France had taken two steps into the Holy Land, then fainted.

  * * *

  Of the three leading ships, two broke apart on the rocky southern coast of Cyprus. The remaining vessel, with Joanna and Berengaria aboard, rode out the storm, then limped as far as Limassol, where it anchored some way from the shore. Seawater had flooded the stores, and worse, fouled the supplies of fresh water. But when the queen and princess heard what had happened to the survivors from the other two ships, they decided to remain where they were and go thirsty.

  The island of Cyprus was ruled by an opportunist named Isaac, a self-styled Emperor. The situation was not unlike that which had faced Richard in Sicily, but for the moment there was no sign of Richard, nor the English fleet.

  Isaac, who had, in his time, made treaties with Tancred of Sicily, and with Sultan Saladin, had seized the survivors of the two English ships, imprisoned them and laid claim to everything that floated ashore from the wrecks, or could be salvaged from them. He had soon learned the identity of the passengers aboard the third ship and invited them to land at Limassol. But Joanna and Berengaria chose to stay aboard. Isaac dropped all pretence. He denied them food and water and posted guards along the shore. The women prayed that brother and husband-to-be would save them, and derived some comfort from the thought that, if any man could so so, it would be Richard Cœur-de-Lion.

  Limassol was a strongly fortified city, set high above the port. The city itself was dominated by a small but defensible castle built on a high, sheer-sided rock. Before long, adzed beams and tree trunks had been dragged across the entrance to the port and the approaches to the city. Then, while Isaac waited for some of his own galleys to come from Famagusta and surround the anchored buss, he attempted to lure the women ashore with a promise of safe conduct and an unexpected gift of fresh water, ram’s meat and local wine. Sensibly, the supplies were accepted, though the invitation was not. Isaac took their latest refusal in good spirit.
He could afford to, since there was still no sign of the English fleet, while Famagusta was less than a hundred miles distant…

  Aboard Trenchemer, Richard made his way to Rhodes. En route, he found ships anchored among the small islands between Crete and Rhodes, while reports reached him of others blown as far north as the Dodecanese. The English fleet gradually regrouped, though the storm had been over for ten days before Sea Slicer entered the harbour at Rhodes.

  On 24th April, a second storm ravaged the eastern end of the Great Sea. Egyptian ships were sunk at Alexandria and Damietta; Armenian craft foundered along the coast of Cilicia; Frankish huissiers ran aground at Antioch and Tyre. Fortunately for Joanna and Berengaria, the impartial storm wrecked the Cypriot galleys that were on their way from Famagusta. Isaac snarled with frustration. The queen and princess waited to be saved.

  * * *

  A few days earlier, King Philip and Marquis Conrad had sailed down from Tyre, stepped ashore on the only beach under Frankish control and entered the camp at Acre. They were received with a mixture of delight and awe; so Conrad had spoken the truth, even though Philip’s arrival was four months later than anticipated. Well, better that he should come now than not at all. The French and Italians, along with the majority of the mercenaries, swarmed from their tents and trenches to welcome the twenty-five year old monarch. King Guy, Constable Amalric and Seneschal Joscelin relayed greetings to Philip and Conrad, but stayed put on Mount Turon. Guy was prepared to go down and welcome the Frenchman in person, but he was dissuaded by Amalric, who was still working on a protocol to govern a meeting between the King of Jerusalem and the King of France.

  Philip’s happiest reunion was with his champion, William des Barres, the knight who had been banished from Sicily by King Richard. William was pleased to rejoin his master, though unmoved to learn that Richard had forgiven him.

  ‘We made a fine fuss about it,’ Philip recounted. ‘He may not befriend you when he arrives, but he’ll know how high you stand in our esteem. It’ll teach him a lesson. He has all the airs of a god, and none of the graces.’

  In his scarlet tent on the summit of Mount Turon, King Guy felt progressively more lonely. Montferrat’s protector had arrived, yet there was no word from the man who could save Lusignan. Richard of England, like the warmth of spring that year, was overdue.

  * * *

  The midship rail creaked under Richard’s weight. He hooked his legs around the posts, leaned over the rail and reached down to help the two knights climb out of the skiff. The scrubbed wood pressed against his stomach, so he said nothing until he had hauled the men aboard. The crew of the Sea Slicer watched their king and nodded amongst themselves. He was a strong man, Richard of England, and didn’t he love to show it.

  The knights scrambled over the rail, while Richard unwrapped his legs from the posts.

  ‘Well, messires, does he offer a satisfactory explanation?’

  The taller of the pair said, ‘We were not satisfied with it. I don’t think you will be.’

  ‘What did he offer?’

  ‘Nothing. He said – and I use his words – he would not bow before the wishes of a common king.’

  ‘A common king?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘A common – In command of all this? He swung round, one arm outstretched. The gesture encompassed the re-formed English fleet, now anchored in three long lines opposite Limassol. The buss with Joanna and Berengaria aboard lay fifty yards from the flagship. Two of the largest war galleys were stationed between the buss and the island. With the sails and emblazoned banners it was an impressive sight, and Richard shook his head in amazement.

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He claims that where you have to answer to your people, he has the full confidence and authority of Heaven.’

  The shorter and younger of the pair interposed, ‘Somebody told us – boasted to us – that Isaac has drunk half a glass of Saladin’s blood in exchange for an equal measure of his own. He has the eyes of a pig. His voice is high, like a woman’s, and he dresses like one, with bracelets —’ He stopped as the senior knight nudged him.

  ‘The king will see all that for himself.’

  ‘Indeed I will,’ Richard growled. ‘What of the prisoners, those he took from the wrecked ships? And the stores and treasure that were aboard?’

  ‘He’s keeping them. He says the English, and in particular you, King, take but never pay.’

  ‘Does he? Then we will not disappoint him. We made Tancred see sense. We are bound to do as much for Isaac.’ The knights grinned at him, and were already nodding when he told them, ‘Stay with me, messires, and tell me in detail what you saw of the defences.’

  He spent a day and a night in conference with his leaders, who had been summoned aboard Trenchemer. Apart from a brief message of encouragement to his sister and his bride-to-be, he ignored the women in favour of his barons. At dawn the senior Crusaders returned to their ships. Before the sun had cleared the rim of the sea, a flotilla of skiffs, gigs and huissiers were making their way towards the port of Limassol.

  The Cypriots were ready, but they lacked two essentials – reliable weapons and a sense of discipline. The English suffered heavy casualties as they neared the barricaded harbour entrance, and for a while it seemed as though the invasion might be halted. Then, leaving the barricade untouched for the moment, the flotilla divided, moving left and right towards the nearby beaches. With a roar that drowned the splash of oars Richard leaped into the shallow water and struggled on to the western beach. He was armed with his favourite weapon, a double-bladed Danish axe. It was another illustration of his physical strength, for less than one Crusader in five could have handled it efficiently.

  After an hour’s bitter fighting the Cypriots were driven back, and Richard detailed men to re-open the harbour entrance. Even as this was being done, several English galleys were moving out of line and in the direction of Limassol.

  By midday the town had fallen to the Crusaders. Richard could be seen riding a stray horse bareback, using a rope for reins. As he quartered the town he shouted, ‘Single combat, my lord Emperor! Stay on and join me in single combat!’ But Isaac had already fled into the hills. From there he issued a challenge to Richard to come up and meet him in single combat. The news filled the streets of Limassol with derisive laughter.

  That night the king brought Joanna and Berengaria ashore. He installed them in the castle, which had surrendered before dusk. The Princess of Navarre waited patiently for Richard to visit her and set a date for their wedding.

  She told Joanna, ‘It is not my intention to press him, but if he could just say in a week, on Sunday, when we reach Palestine, then I could make some preparations.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Joanna said gently, ‘but you have arrived at a difficult time. You are in competition with his enemies, and from all I have heard about my brother, he pays closer attention to them than to his friends. He will fit you in, but don’t look for romantic preliminaries. It will not be in a week, or on Sunday. It will be today, this morning, the bishop is waiting.’

  Berengaria nodded. ‘In Spain – But then we are not in Spain.’

  The following afternoon, the Cypriot army advanced to within two miles of Limassol and were again routed by the well-established Crusaders. Having managed to remove the royal coffers before the city fell, Isaac was now forced to abandon them on the battlefield. The amount of booty encouraged Richard to continue the unexpected campaign; if there was this much treasure in Limassol, there might be as much, or more in Famagusta, Nicosia, Cerine and Saint Hilarion. The situation was as before. Joanna – and now Berengaria – had been insulted. Sicily had become Cyprus, while the stunted Tancred had been replaced by the effeminate Isaac. As for the money, silver was silver, whoever’s head was stamped on it.

  Before he left the field Richard informed Robert of Breteuil that he intended to remain in Cyprus until Isaac was in chains and the island under English rule.
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  ‘You’re misdirected,’ Robert told him. ‘Winning Cyprus will not win you Palestine. We’ve released the prisoners, unearthed enough provisions to feed three armies—’

  ‘You don’t understand. I am buying strength. This place is the perfect stepping-stone to the Holy Land. If we have Cyprus, we are ever a thorn in the ribs of Islam. The captain of Trenchemer says we’re less than one hundred and fifty miles from the coast.’

  ‘And I say that the thorn will go much deeper if we recapture Jerusalem.’

  ‘And we will. Do you know, Robert, for a loyal subject you cause me concern. Each time we fight, we learn more about ourselves. The way we took Messina, and now Limassol. These are rehearsals.’

  ‘Insults,’ Robert enumerated. ‘Thorns. Rehearsals. Stepping-stones. You have more reasons for delay – If I were you I would tour the island kingdoms of the world, set your sister and Princess Berengaria ashore, allow them to be mocked, or imprisoned, then go to their rescue. Sicily, Cyprus; what of Crete, Rhodes, then home by way of Sardinia and Corsica?’

  ‘Look,’ Richard grinned, ‘Isaac left some fine plate behind. And those chased vases, do you see them?’

  * * *

  Three days later Richard Cœur-de-Lion was visited by his senior vassal, Guy of Lusignan. The isolation on Mount Turon had proved too much for King Guy. Accompanied by Seneschal Joscelin, he had come to plead with Richard, and to explain with some embarrassment that he had lost all control of the army at Acre.