by Ann Turner
The wedding banquet was loud, with plenty of food and wine for all to drink. Richard drunk heartily, while Berengaria picked at her food and sipped nervously at her wine. She was dreading the night to come; her dreams of courtly love and chivalry were all very well, but now the moment was approaching, she was fearful. Aubrette attempted to look happy, so as not to distress the new queen with her own sadness. She would have revelled in Simon paying attention to her or if she felt the smallest trace of affection for her husband, who was now intently shovelling food into his mouth as though nothing else in the room mattered more. She felt totally alone amid the jollity and ribald hilarity surrounding her.
When the tables were moved back by servants and musicians struck a chord, Richard led his bride onto the floor to start the dancing. The comparison in their heights was commented on. Some of the men coarsely joked that Richard would smother his new wife in his chest when he mounted her, and that the queen wouldn’t be wide enough for the king to squeeze his member into her parts. These men, heads close together, giggled like errant schoolboys; their shoulders heaving and tears of amusement running down their faces.
The king and queen could dance well and, for the first time, Berengaria felt she could relax and began to enjoy her evening. Behind the newly married couple, the guests lined up and fell in step with the dance. Neither Aubrette or Hugh could talk their way out of being encouraged to join in and, without attempting to hide his distaste, Hugh led his wife to stand behind the other dancers. The music began. He was a fine dancer and very graceful, with light steps, and Aubrette was able to follow him with her own buoyant pace. The only section of the dance that neither enjoyed was when Hugh had to hold her waist and lift her high. Apart from their enforced intimacy, it was the only time Hugh had put his hands on her. Aubrette could hear the queen and her sister laughing as Richard and Simon swung their wives higher than any other women in the hall.
Eventually, the queen was ceremonially escorted from the hall, with the men bowing low and the women curtsying deeply. For her, the fun was over. It was now that her wedding day was to get serious.
The new Queen of England sat in the large bed feeling very small. The room was full of onlookers ready to observe the formal “putting to bed” of the newly married couple. They would watch to see the King of England and his new queen consummate their marriage, so as to ensure he was capable of performing his duty and that she had come to her husband pure and untouched. The thought of this assemblage troubled Berengaria. What was to occur should be private – not a show of amusement for an expectant audience. And what was even more troubling was that her sister-in-law, Joanna, was also required to watch. She would witness their coming together for the consummation and then would write to Eleanor about the event.
Berengaria was concerned by the night to come and her future life as Queen of England and Duchess of Normandy. She knew her husband was not willing to participant in this marriage and, if she was honest, neither was she. However, having been born a princess, Berengaria knew that this was her future; she was a vessel to grow and produce the future king of her adopted country. And at least Richard was young, handsome, strong and virile, as she could so easily have been married off to an old king with wrinkled skin, stinking breath and bony hands. One who needed to replace a dead or barren wife and, with his shrivelled, dried and useless pod hanging limp between his legs, would huff and puff in vain.
The door opening caught Berengaria’s attention and Richard, in his nightshirt, entered, closely followed by his men of the bedchamber. He was looking reluctantly towards her; she knew the following procedure would be as distasteful to him as it would be to her.
He formally bowed to his sister and to the gathered audience, before crossing to the bed and climbing in beside his wife. They sat awkwardly, stiffly side by side, not speaking and not touching. The priest came to the bed and recited prayers for the fruitful union of the royal couple, blessing them for the night to come and sprinkling Holy Water over the bed. He then made the sign of the cross on their foreheads, before taking his seat with the others. He would also be one of the many watching the couple that night, praying for the queen to be receptive and to conceive.
Now was the time that the observers had been waiting for and that Berengaria had feared. She awkwardly lay back in the bed and Richard turned hesitatingly to her, moving clumsily on to her and pushing her legs apart. Under the sheets, he pulled her nightdress up, cupped her buttocks in his hands, pulled her lower body upwards and pushed into her with a grunt of exertion. Berengaria gritted her teeth and tensed her body. She was determined to remain silent and not show anyone that Richard was hurting her. She would endure the procedure – for that is all it was: a procedure, with no love and no affection. She felt as if she were a performing animal, accomplishing tricks for the pleasure of others. Thankfully, it did not take long and Richard sighed with conclusiveness, before rolling from his wife. There was a round of applause and the new queen was requested to raise herself up, so that the sheet she had laid on could be removed and shown to everyone present. She had bled onto it, which was proof of her virginity. It would be hung outside their bedchamber, so that anyone could come and have a look at the blood-stained sheet. Now that the formality had been completed, the people filed from the bedchamber and left the newlywed couple alone.
Richard glanced at his wife. ‘Did I cause you any pain?’ he asked.
Berengaria nodded. ‘A little,’ she answered, shyly.
‘It will hurt less next time. Goodnight,’ her husband replied and turned aside to fall asleep.
Berengaria did the same. So, that was her wedding night. One fumbled act for an audience, and then nothing. She drifted to sleep wondering how often her husband would come to her bed with the obligation to sire an heir. His uninspired performance showed he would not visit her frequently out of love alone.
The next morning, attendants, including Rowena and Aubrette, came into the bedchamber to wake the king and queen. They discovered them in an act of intimacy that had as much passion as the night before. Seeing her attendants, Berengaria wanted her husband to stop, yet he mulishly continued and she had no option but to endure it. When Richard had finished, he glanced unperturbed at the embarrassed attendants, who quickly bowed and went about their duties in order to get the royal couple ready for the day. Rowena held a wrap for the queen to slip into and they entered an ante-chamber, where she could wash and then dress in a simple gown for the day.
‘It was not what I expected,’ Berengaria whispered to her ladies, fearing being overheard by her new husband, who was being attired by his own attendants. ‘He did not seem to be in the least interested in me. It was though he was just doing it for his own gratification.’
‘You are both new to this,’ Aubrette said, attempting to cheer her mistress up.
The queen next sat in a chair, while her long dark hair was brushed and shoes were put on her feet. She did not have the glow of a happy newlywed bride; her mouth was down-turned and her cheeks were pale.
‘I am, but I know Richard is not. He is a man and all men have knowledge in that kind of thing,’ she said, with a childlike innocence.
‘You will become accustomed to your new life and you will wonder why you ever worried. I know I was like that when I first married Simon. We have two sons now and they are our blessing.’
Rowena was aware of Aubrette silently shooting her a look of heartfelt emotion. The queen felt reassured by her words.
There was to be no honeymoon period, as news was brought to the king of the whereabouts of Isaac’s daughter. With his army marching behind, he set out for Kyrenia where the young woman was in hiding.
She conceded her freedom to him with no bloodshed to either side and was placed in the care of Berengaria and Joanna, who both welcomed her kindly. The next target was to be her father, Isaac. He was at the abbey of Cape Saint Andrea, close to Karpass, and had bee
n attempting to charter a boat to get him to the mainland. However, he was captured with ease by Richard’s men and returned to Limmasol in chains to await his fate.
In the great hall, the king stood in full armour and stared down at the humbled prisoner, shackled in iron chains, standing hunched in front of him. What had Isaac been thinking, attempting to outwit the might of the English crusaders with his pathetic excuse for an army? Usually, the king would have shown no mercy to those who opposed him. He would have instructed Isaac to be executed, and have done the deed himself with his broadsword – the man’s corpse hung on the gatehouse wall of the castle until it rotted away and crows pecked the putrid flesh. However, he was feeling surprisingly mellow in his new status as husband and instead sentenced Isaac to imprisonment.
To everyone’s surprise, Isaac’s daughter burst into the hall, with Berengaria chasing after her. As the girl ran, Berengaria kept calling her back and apologising to her new husband for this intrusion. Everyone turned to look as the girl ran to the king and threw herself at his feet.
‘Great lord, great King Richard, I beg you not to harm my father!’ she wept, kissing his armoured foot. ‘He is my father, and I honour and love him. I beg that you do not keep him in the chains of criminals. He was only protecting his island from invaders. He is not an evil man.’
Berengaria helped the girl to her feet and moved her away, whispering reassuringly in her ear and casting an apologetic glance at her husband. The king looked at the girl, her eyes limpid with tears, her lower lip trembling, and then the imploring face of his new wife. A wave of affection suddenly swept over him for Berengaria; this sensation was a novelty for Richard and what surprised him was that it felt pleasurable.
‘I am not the animal you assume I am. You honour your father and do him proud in your defence of him. I admire honour in all of its forms. He shall not be chained in irons for his life, though he will remain our prisoner at a location of our choosing,’ Richard announced.
The Cypriot girl pulled free from the queen and once again threw herself at Richard’s feet, sobbing in gratitude on her knees – even Isaac smiled and relaxed. His life would no longer be intolerable, as Richard was a slave to honour and a man who kept his word. He said there would be no iron chains to weigh him down, so there would be none. Isaac would have his freedom curtailed, but he would be able to live the rest of his life in comfortable captivity. Richard looked again at the Cypriot princess, lent down and raised the girl to her feet, smiling benignly at her.
‘Thank you, my lord. God bless you always.’ The girl wept in gratitude.
The king looked towards his wife and signalled for her to return the girl to her apartments. He had plans for Isaac and would keep his word – when did he not? This prisoner would have no cause to complain about his imprisonment.
33
The crusaders soon set sail from Cyprus for the final leg of their voyage to the Holy Land. Richard had amassed the treasures from Isaac, adding to Joanna’s dowry from Sicily. All of it would help with the expense of the crusade, so he was very pleased with the outcome of the invasion of the two Mediterranean islands. Isaac was on board with him and, although he did not know it, he was destined to end his days in a prison in Syria. Unknown to his daughter, Isaac was in silver chains. Richard contented himself by telling himself that that wasn’t a falsehood.. Yes, Isaac was in chains, but they were not iron.
King Richard watched the skies. Clouds were gathering, and it was growing dark and ominous. Another storm was brewing and Richard did not want his fleet scattered again. He was so close to the coast now that it was visible on the horizon in the distance. He was becoming impatient to see Philip; it had been too long since they had last met and enjoyed a stimulating argument together. Philip would remind Richard that as Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, Count of Anjou, he was a vassal to the French King. Richard would then counter and remind Philip that they were equal as the Kings of England and France. This banter had continued for years since they had both been young men, and long before Richard had ascended the throne. It had given them both a thrill. Now, however, the altercations took on a more serious perspective, which roused emotions of love and hate in equal parts. Still, he was looking forward to it. He would soon be with Philip and together they would conquer the Holy Land, after which they would receive accolades and blessings, and their places in heaven would be guaranteed.
The king again insisted that the two queens travel to the Holy Land in a separate ship. His wife had wanted to be with her husband; however, his insistence proved to be a wise decision as a storm did hit.
The ships were tempest-swept and tossed about by the ferocious gales and waves, which knocked them around like a child’s toy. Below deck, Berengaria felt horribly seasick and retched into a bowl that her woman, swallowing hard herself, held unsteadily in front of her. Aubrette, Rowena and the other women were thrown around by the violent pitching and squealed in terror. Joanna, bracing herself against the cabin wall, scolded the queen and said that she would not die, and should not be so soft. With her natural Plantagenet exuberance, Joanna desired to be on the deck to experience the storm full on; she wanted to feel the howling wind whip her hair across her face and the rain sting against her skin.
She dragged a complaining Berengaria onto the deck, failing to notice that the new English Queen shivered with cold and fright. The rain and the waves crashing over the deck drenched them both. Joanna, exhilarated, laughed in maniacal pleasure, stretching out her arms and raising her face to the angry sky. Berengaria pleaded with her to return to her cabin; she was feeling nauseous again. Ignored, she slipped away down the steps to hide under the sheets of her bed in her cabin, while her ebullient sister-in-law revelled in the fierce storm.
Gradually the storm abated, calm returned and the fleet regrouped. The coast was now more defined and expectation rose through the crusaders. The adventure was about to begin and soldiers on all of the ships could be heard singing rousing war songs, preparing themselves for battle and glory. Richard, with his fine tenor voice, stood on the prow of his galleon, singing loudly.
Acre stood solidly in front of them as the great ships glided on the tide towards the city. The women stood watching from the deck of their ship, aflutter with excitement as they drew closer. The great sand-coloured walls of Acre bore the scars of the siege and the women watched in fascination as a catapult fired a missile at the walls. The sound of stone whistling through the air before crashing into stone reached them seconds after the impact. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measures.
Richard stood tall on his ship, shouting instructions through a giant horn. His loud, booming voice carried on the clear sea air. Berengaria wished that he showed as much enthusiasm in the marital bed as he had done leading his fleet. She could count on one hand the number of times he had visited her bed while in Cyprus. He would arrive and strip naked, commanding her to remove her night shift. He would then climb onto her and guide himself in, propping himself up on his hands so that his body did not have to touch her flesh. Berengaria could recite the Lord’s Prayer in the time it took him to thrust rapidly forward and perform his duty. Once finished, he would pull back, rise from the bed and return to Hugh.
She secretly hoped he would become the husband she desired once he had fulfilled his vow to save Jerusalem from the infidel. It was then, she believed, that their children would be born, but Hugh would have to be removed first. Wherever the king was, Hugh Fulbert was a step behind. She had seen them, heads close together, giggling like schoolboys over some private and childish joke. Hugh had the king’s protection and Berengaria had to try to compete with him, knowing she would never win against that pampered lapdog. She now realised Aubrette had been unfortunate in her marriage to him and saw how unhappy she was. Berengaria vowed to find a way to release her lady from Hugh and find a more suitable knight for her to marry – someone handsome, like her own Richard, or his good-looking
and loyal half-brother, Simon. Berengaria had noticed Aubrette looking wistfully at her brother-in-law, as if she was in love with him. Could Simon feel for Aubrette, as well as his love for his own wife?
She looked across at Richard and saw that Hugh was standing close to him. He was being over-familiar, and had a gloved, jewelled hand on Richard’s shoulder as they exchanged words. Richard covered Hugh’s hand with his own and looked at him with a warm smile. I am Queen of England and a Royal Duchess now; could I use my position to have Hugh Fulbert removed permanently? Berengaria thought, briefly, and immediately knew what a ridiculous idea that was. Richard loved Hugh more than anyone except his own mother. She would have to share her husband with his paramour.
Her attention reverted back and, with Joanna, was requested to be escorted to the side of the galleon, where a rope ladder had been thrown over the side for them both to climb down into a small boat. There, they sat straight-backed and regal as the sailors began to row steadily to the beach. On the shore, soldiers, who were waiting for their arrival, waded into the shallows to carry them to the beach. With great care, they set the women down and they took their first steps on the sand. Two of the soldiers returned to carry the Cypriot Princess to land, leaving Aubrette, Rowena and the remaining women to wade ashore by themselves, getting the hems of their dresses and shoes wet.
They waited for Richard’s boat to beach and watched, amused, as he jumped with a splash knee deep into the water and waded boldly ashore like an overexcited boy. He shouted instructions for his horse and his armour to be made ready, because he wanted a memorable and unforgettable entrance for the crusaders camped outside Acre. When those Saracens learnt that King Richard of England had arrived, they would tremble in their shoes. His reputation would have preceded him. He knew that King Philip of France would see the fleet docking and would be waiting with excited eagerness to see the man who was both his beloved friend and bitter enemy.