The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  There was rejoicing among the people. They were not very happy under their Emperor who could be tyrannical. Many of them now came to the camp Richard had set up to present him with gifts. Cyprus was noted for its delicious wine so this was brought for the King and crusaders. There was also corn and oil, plump poultry and meat.

  The men who came with these gifts assured Richard that the fact that he had put the Emperor to flight was a delight to them and they offered to help him in his conflict with Isaac Comnenus.

  Richard accepted the food with appreciation and the offers of help with caution. But it was a good beginning. His hungry men could feast as they had not done since leaving Messina; he had kept his image clear for them – in fact perhaps he had added an extra lustre to it.

  He was not displeased with the day’s work.

  He looked out to sea and saw the ships lying there. His next task must be to bring Berengaria and Joanna ashore.

  Richard stood on the shore and looked out at the ships. There on the most elaborate of the Dromones were Joanna and Berengaria. They must be conducted ashore immediately and he would himself go out to their vessel and bring them in. There had been a time when he had thought they might be lost and if they were would there be some recrimination from Berengaria’s father because he had delayed his marriage and he and she had been obliged to sail on different ships. He realised that there could be no more prevarication and the wedding must take place before they left Cyprus.

  He climbed on to the deck where they were standing waiting to receive him. Joanna gave Berengaria a little push forward. Berengaria would have knelt but he raised her up and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.

  ‘My Queen,’ he said,

  Berengaria was enraptured. This was so much like an incident from her dreams. He had come and he was a godlike hero; he was all that she had dreamed he would be. She forgot his reluctance which had forced her to face the perils of the sea without his support; she forgot that he had somewhat churlishly postponed their marriage; she only knew that at last they were together, that the wedding was imminent and he was the greatest hero she had ever known.

  How handsome he looked! The coldness had gone from his blue eyes and they were shining with pleasure. It could have been because of his recent triumph over Isaac Comnenus but Berengaria believed it was for her.

  ‘And my dearest sister.’

  They embraced.

  ‘It will always be wonderful to see you, Richard,’ said Joanna. ‘But never could it be more so than at this time.’

  ‘My poor dear ladies! It has been a trying time for you. But you never doubted, did you, that I would come for you?’

  ‘Never,’ said Berengaria fervently.

  ‘Now we will leave this ship and go ashore. I have had a lodging made ready for you.’

  ‘And the Emperor?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘He is cooling his anger some miles away. He dare not come too near. His people do not greatly love him. I have had very little difficulty in making friends with them.’

  ‘Did we do right not to go ashore?’ asked Berengaria.

  ‘Indeed you did. He would have made you hostages. I should soon have rescued you, there is no doubt of that; but by staying on board you have saved me that trouble.’

  ‘I am so glad we did,’ said Berengaria.

  Richard watched her stealthily. He thought: She will be docile. If I must marry, Berengaria is as good as any wife could be.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I wish you to be luxuriously housed. I have ordered that a banquet be prepared for you. This is a fruitful island and the people live well here. I want to compensate you for all you have endured at sea for my sake.’

  ‘We are amply repaid by having you here with us,’ replied Berengaria.

  Joanna asked when the wedding was to take place.

  ‘It will be here in Cyprus,’ said Richard. ‘I cannot risk having you two sailing in any ship but my own from henceforth.’ He turned to his sister. ‘How happy I am that you are with Berengaria. It was a thought which gave me great comfort. It was sadness which brought you with us, of course, for had you been a wife instead of a widow you must have remained in Sicily. But then had your husband not died we should not have lingered in Sicily. We should be at Acre by now. But what is the use of saying if this and if that. So it is and so we must accept it. But, sister, you give me comfort.’

  ‘My dearest brother, then I am as happy as it is possible for me to be in these circumstances. I am a widow but I have my uses, and your bride and I love each other already as good sisters.’

  He slipped an arm about both of them and they made their way to the waiting boat.

  They were quickly rowed ashore.

  One of the noblemen of the island had put a house at Richard’s disposal and in this he installed the ladies. It was luxurious.

  Berengaria and Joanna shared a room, for they agreed they would feel uneasy if they were separated.

  ‘But, my dear sister,’ said Joanna, ‘you have Richard to protect you from now on.’

  Richard slept that night in the magnificent tent which he had captured from Isaac Comnenus. Made of silk, it was the finest he had ever seen.

  He did not, however, pass a restful night. Sleeping on foreign soil he must be constantly alert. It was hardly likely that Isaac would allow things to remain as they were and there would most certainly be a counter attack, and when it came he must be ready. He was not unduly disturbed on this score. Battle was his life; it thrilled him, stimulated him, made life exciting as nothing else could, and he had little doubt that when the time came to do battle the Emperor would be vanquished.

  There was another matter which gave him great uneasiness. His marriage! There would be no avoiding it now. He had gained a brief respite but there could be no more procrastination. Already people were asking why he had not married Berengaria in Messina. Why had he not? Even he did not quite know the answer. He had intended to marry her. He must marry her. He was thirty-four years of age and he must get a son. It was expected of him.

  Oddly enough the thought of a son did not excite him very much. Most men – and perhaps in particular kings – passionately desired sons, in fact considered them necessary for they were eager to see the direct line of succession carried on. Yet he felt indifferent.

  What if he died without sons? There was Arthur, his brother Geoffrey’s son, whom he had made his heir. The English would not care for him though, because he would not seem English to them. He had a foreign mother, Constance of Brittany, whom Geoffrey had married for the sake of her estates, and the boy would have lived most of the time far from England. But besides Arthur there was his brother John.

  Ah, that was the darker side of the picture. John was in England and doubtless casting covetous eyes on the throne. John was not meant to be a king. He was sure of that. There was a cruel streak in John; there was a selfishness, a ruthlessness, an indifference to public opinion . . . all characteristics which would not make a good ruler.

  Perhaps he should order Constance to take Arthur to England so that the boy could be brought up in the court there.

  What thoughts were these for a youngish man to have on the eve of his wedding! He was strong and lusty, and Berengaria was a healthy young woman. Why should he be considering his brother’s son, even if the boy concerned was the true heir to the throne?

  He knew the answer which was that he did not want to marry. He did not care for women and he did not particularly want children. Was he thinking of his own family . . . that brood of sons, of which he was one, who had fought against their father and made his life an unhappy one? No, it was not that. He was a man who loved to go into battle. The feel of a horse beneath him, the sight of the enemy in full flight, conquest – and best of all a Holy Enterprise. This was what he wanted . . . this and this only.

  He seemed to see Philip smiling at him slyly.

  This only, Richard?

  He must face the truth. He had been guilty of lewd pleasure. There were times
when he indulged without restraint in orgies which later filled him with shame. He would repent and for a while he would care for nothing but his battles. He was a great soldier – none could deny that – the greatest of his day. It was what he wanted to be; and more than anything in the world he wished to be known as the man who drove the Saracens from the Holy Land and brought it back to Christianity.

  ‘And certain friendships are good to have.’ He could almost hear Philip speaking.

  Why had he allowed Philip to go on to Acre without him? What when they met there? He could picture the sly smiling eyes of the King of France.

  ‘And your marriage, Richard, how was it?’

  And all the time Philip would know full well that there had rarely been a more reluctant bridegroom than the King of England.

  He slept at last. Day had broken when he awoke. There were noises outside his tent, the sound of excited chattering voices.

  He dressed hastily and went out to see what was the cause of the excitement.

  No sooner had he appeared than several of his knights came hurrying to him.

  ‘Three galleys have just come into sight, Sire. Look. You can see them . . . out there on the horizon.’

  Richard could see them.

  ‘By God’s eyes,’ he cried, ‘whose can they be?’

  For the moment he had felt a wild excitement, for he had thought that they might well be Philip’s. The storms which had beset him would have worried the French fleet and the French were not as good sailors as the English. They lacked that passion for the sea which most Englishmen felt, and preferred to travel by land when possible.

  But it was clear that they were not French ships.

  ‘I myself will go out and see who comes into Cyprus,’ said Richard.

  His friends began to dissuade him but he waved them aside. He wanted to know who the visitors were and was too impatient to wait on shore while someone else was sent out to discover.

  He was rowed out to the galleys, taking his trumpet with him.

  When he approached the first of the galleys, he shouted through the trumpet: ‘Who is this who comes to the Island of Cyprus?’

  Someone was standing on the deck shouting back.

  ‘This galley belongs to the King of Jerusalem.’

  The King of Jerusalem! thought Richard. Alas, it was now an empty title. But he guessed that this was Guy de Lusignan who had been deposed when the Saracen armies had captured Jerusalem. Saladin now reigned in the place which had once been Guy’s.

  ‘And what do you here?’

  ‘I come seeking the King of England.’

  ‘Then your search is ended,’ replied Richard. ‘The King of England is here before you.’

  ‘Praise be to God. Will you come aboard?’

  ‘Aye, I will,’ said Richard.

  When he stood on the deck, Guy de Lusignan knelt and kissed his hand.

  ‘The Lord is with me at last,’ he said. ‘I knew that you were on your way to Acre and I hoped to intercept you.’

  ‘You have come from Acre?’ said Richard.

  ‘I have. The French King is already there.’

  ‘Has he made many conquests?’ asked Richard jealously.

  ‘Nay, he is no great soldier. But he is a great schemer as I know to my cost.’

  ‘How is that?’ asked Richard.

  ‘He works against me.’

  ‘How can that be? His aim is to take the crown from Saladin and restore it to a Christian king.’

  ‘A Christian king, my lord, but he has chosen his own man, whom he will support. If we regain the Holy City . . . when we regain the Holy City he will nominate Conrad de Montferrat as King in my place.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Because Montferrat would be his man.’

  ‘Philip is a statesman. He thinks always of the advantage to France.’

  ‘He has shown himself to be my enemy. I have come to you. I wish to put my services at your command. If you will support my claim I would snap my fingers at the King of France.’

  Richard said slowly: ‘My friend, we must talk of these matters.’

  He did, but his main preoccupation now must be his wedding, never forgetting of course that Isaac had been driven back only a few miles and could at any time muster his forces for an attack. Nevertheless the people of the island were clearly friendly and the prospect of a royal wedding delighted them. Such was Richard’s personality that although he had come to their island a short while before and was now installed as a conqueror they were ready to accept him and share in his wedding celebrations.

  His own chaplain Nicholas was to perform the ceremony and Richard smiled grimly to think how chagrined the Archbishop of Canterbury was going to be because it was a prerogative of that Archbishop to officiate at the weddings of England’s Kings. It was certainly going to be an unconventional wedding.

  Still, the circumstances were such as made that necessary, and although Richard would have been prepared to postpone the wedding until his return to England he realised that was quite out of the question.

  In their apartments Joanna helped prepare Berengaria for her wedding. She was a beautiful bride. Her long hair was parted in the centre and fell on either side of her face; a transparent veil covered the hair and this veil was held in place by a jewelled diadem. She looked serene and happy and even more than usually elegant in her long clinging white gown.

  Joanna studied her with pleasure. What a relief that the marriage was at last going to take place! Surely nothing could happen to prevent it now. Would Isaac Comnenus decide to attack while the ceremony was in progress? No, he was in no position to attack. He had been driven away and Richard was so confident that he had been beaten that he was considering having himself crowned King of Cyprus. He had the people with him and now Guy de Lusignan had come with his three galleys full of men to support him. No, Isaac would not be so foolish and the marriage must go through without a hitch.

  ‘You are happy, Berengaria?’ said Joanna.

  There was no need for Berengaria to answer that. ‘Richard is so wonderful,’ she said. ‘I never cease to marvel that I should be his chosen bride. From the moment I first saw him when he came to my father’s court I loved him. I had never seen such a handsome, such a chivalrous knight. And then . . .’

  ‘You waited,’ said Joanna. ‘You waited a long time for him, Berengaria.’

  ‘But the waiting is over now.’

  ‘May you be very happy,’ said Joanna fervently.

  ‘I shall. I know I shall.’

  ‘Amen,’ whispered Joanna.

  ‘Joanna, I wonder what Alice is doing now. I wonder what she will think when she hears . . .’

  ‘She will be going back to her brother’s court now I doubt not.’

  ‘Poor Alice!’

  ‘Do not pity her too much, Berengaria. Perhaps she was happy while the King lived.’

  ‘But the shame of it!’

  ‘Perhaps she did not feel the shame.’

  ‘How could she not when it was there?’

  ‘It may not have seemed so to her.’

  ‘Oh, but it must have, Joanna.’

  Joanna thought: How innocent she is! May all go well with her.

  She wondered whether she had heard the whisperings about Richard and whether she would have understood them if she had.

  When Richard rode out to his wedding the people stared in astonishment at this splendid figure.

  This was to be a double celebration. First the wedding and then the coronation for he had decided to have himself crowned King of Cyprus. The island was rich; its people were dissatisfied with Isaac Comnenus and he, Richard, was in a position to defeat Isaac utterly. What treasure would be his! He could install a deputy of his own choosing to hold the island for him when he went on his way to the Holy War. He had done very well in Sicily but he would do even better in Cyprus.

  Because this was his intention he had exploited to the full that which he knew to be one of his major assets �
� his dazzling appearance. He appeared as a god and was accepted as such; his height and fair good looks gave all that was necessary to add to the illusion. So he rode out in a rose-coloured tunic, belted about the waist. His mantle was dazzling, being of silver tissue patterned with stripes and decorated with half moons of silver brocade. His head-dress was scarlet decorated in gold. He shone; he glittered; he was indeed like a being from another world.

  He did not ride but walked to the church, his Spanish horse being led before him by one of his knights also splendidly garbed though of course in a fashion not to be compared with that of the King. The horse’s saddle was decorated with precious stones and gold, and never before had the Cypriots seen such glory.

  And in the church he was married to Berengaria. She felt exultant, for this was like a dream coming true – a dream that had haunted her since she had seen this perfect knight ride into the joust with her favour in his helmet.

  Not only was she Richard’s wife, she was also Queen of England and Cyprus, and the heavy crown that was placed on her head when the diadem was removed was a double crown.

  How the people cheered them – not only the crusaders but the islanders.

  With Richard she sat at the table and the feasting began. There was merrymaking, songs and dancing; and Richard himself played his lute and sang a song of his own composing.

  This, thought Berengaria, is the happiest day of my life.

  When night fell he conducted her to their bedchamber. He was not an ardent lover but she did not know this. To her he was the most perfect being the world had ever known and she was in a state of bliss because fate had made her his bride.

  The day after the wedding, messengers came from Isaac. He craved a meeting with the King of England and their meeting place should be in a field near Limassol. He wanted to treat for peace.