by Jean Plaidy
Richard was eager for the meeting too and it was arranged.
Donning his wedding finery Richard rode out to the field and when he reached it he saw that on the far side Isaac waited with a company of men.
Richard dismounted and his magnificent Spanish steed was led before him as it had been when he was on his way to the church for his wedding. He had never looked so glitteringly godlike and formidable. At his side hung his tempered steel sword and he carried a truncheon. He came as the conqueror and Isaac quailed before him.
Isaac knelt and Richard inclined his head.
‘You sue for peace,’ said Richard. ‘That is well but I shall expect recompense for what you have taken from my men.’
‘I shall be happy to give it, my lord,’ said Isaac humbly.
‘My men have been shipwrecked and their goods taken from them. Many have suffered imprisonment.’
‘’Tis true, I fear, my lord.’
‘These wanton acts deserve punishment.’
Isaac studied the King. There was an innate honesty in those blue eyes. The King of England it was said was very different from the King of France. Richard was direct – Yea and Nay, they called him, and that meant that when he said something he meant just that. There was no subterfuge about him. In a king this could be naïve, and Isaac was far from naïve. He was in a difficult position. He had made a great mistake when he had allowed his people to plunder Richard’s ships. He should have welcomed them, curried favour with Richard; but how was he to have known that Richard would arrive in Cyprus? He might so easily have been drowned. He should have waited though and made sure.
Now here was Richard, the legend, the unconquered hero. One only had to look at him to see that he was a dangerous man to cross.
Thus it seemed to Isaac that there was only one course open to him. He must be humble, never forgetting that the weakness in Richard’s armour was his inability to dissemble; his knowledge of warfare was great but his understanding of people non-existent. He made the great mistake, characteristic of his kind, in thinking everyone reacted and behaved as he did.
‘Alas, my lord,’ he said, ‘my people have sinned against you and I must take responsibility for their acts.’
‘You yourself have shown me no friendship.’
‘For that I am at fault.’
‘Then we are of one mind. As I said I shall need reparations.’
‘That is to be expected. I will pay you twenty thousand marks in gold as recompense for the goods which were taken from the shipwrecks.’
‘That is well but not all,’ said Richard.
‘I have thought a great deal about your mission to the Holy Land. I shall pray for your success.’
‘I need more than your prayers, Isaac. This is a costly enterprise.’
‘The twenty thousand marks will doubtless be of use to you.’
‘They will, but I need men. You must come with me. I doubt not your sins are heavy and you are rich . . . or you were until you fought against me and my holy project. This will be a lesson to you, Isaac. Not only did you work against me but against God. You must ask forgiveness for your sins and the only manner in which you can do this is by joining my army.’
‘My lord, I have my island . . .’
‘Nay, Isaac. You no longer have an island. I have been crowned King of Cyprus and your people were very willing that it should be so. You will join my company and bring with you one hundred knights, four hundred cavalry and five hundred armed footmen.’
‘I have not these men.’
‘You can find them. You will find them. For these services I will appoint you the Lord of Cyprus, my vassal ruler. You will rule Cyprus in my name. If you do not agree to these terms you have lost Cyprus for ever.’
‘But if I am to rule in your place how can I do this if I am fighting in the Holy Land?’
‘You will name a deputy. He will rule under you who in your turn rule under me. I have had to appoint deputies to rule for me in England.’
‘I see that it must be so,’ said Isaac. Then realising that it was no use pleading with Richard and that the King believed that if he had made a promise he meant to keep it he began to talk enthusiastically of what he would take with him on his journey to the Holy Land.
Richard said: ‘You have a daughter.’
‘My only child,’ answered Isaac. ‘She is very young.’
‘And your heiress.’
‘I fear to leave her,’ began Isaac.
‘She must be placed in my care,’ said Richard. ‘I will see that no harm comes to her and when the time is ripe arrange a good marriage for her.’
Isaac bowed his head. ‘I know that I can trust my child with you,’ he said.
‘I think we have settled everything,’ answered Richard.
Even he, however, was not entirely sure of Isaac. He told him he would have him lodged within the English lines and make sure that he was treated according to his rank.
Isaac thanked him for his consideration.
‘It makes me happy,’ he said fervently, ‘that you and I are no longer enemies.’
Richard lay beside Berengaria in the silken tent which was part of the spoils he had taken from Isaac. He looked at her innocent face and felt suddenly tender towards her. He could be fond of her for she was gentle and undemanding. He supposed that, since he must have a wife, he could not have a better one.
He thought of Philip and his Isabella. Philip had his son, young Louis, and was proud of the boy. Perhaps he would be proud of a boy, if there was one.
There was nothing now to keep him in Cyprus and he could think of leaving very soon. Now that Isaac had made his terms and was ready to accompany him, he could be pleased with the manner in which everything was going. It was mid May – a long time since he had left England, but his mother might well be there by now and he need have no qualms for his realm. She would keep him informed of what was happening. And soon he would be at Acre. He would be with Philip. Together they would storm the place as they had always planned to. He would arrive richer than he had set out for he had treasure from Sicily and more from Cyprus. He had added another crown to that of England. It had been worth the delay.
Berengaria stirred and his attention was drawn back to her. He had forgotten her in his contemplation of the battle to come.
She would always be there in his life to come; he would have to think of her occasionally. It had been less onerous than he had feared it would. He could accept Berengaria. She need not take up too much of his time and he would do his duty now and then; they would have sons and his mother and the people would be satisfied.
He rose and left his tent. It was early morning yet but he liked to be astir soon after dawn. He wanted to get on with his plans for departure for the weather was favourable and there was now no longer any reason why he should delay.
He would go to Isaac’s tent and awaken him. He wanted to talk to him about an early departure. He felt sure that Isaac had little knowledge of what equipment he would need.
He noticed that there was a deserted air about that part of the camp in which Isaac and his followers had been lodged so he went into Isaac’s tent. It was empty.
While he stood looking around he saw that Isaac had left a message for him.
Isaac had gone, the note told him. Surely Richard did not imagine that he could agree to the harsh terms that had been imposed. He had in any case changed his mind and was determined that he would keep no peace nor enter into any agreement with the English King.
Richard’s fury was great. He had been deceived. Isaac was no doubt laughing at him now, but he would not laugh for long.
There was no time now for wedding celebrations.
Richard marched across the island towards the capital Nicosia. He found the Greek style of fighting strange and it was not easy at first to adjust himself to it. They did not face him and fight; they sniped at the flanks of the army, and having shot their arrows fled. As he had led his army he could not at first see the
enemy so he immediately placed himself at the rear where he could more easily detect the marauding bands and whenever he caught sight of them prepared to charge.
It was unsatisfactory but in a way exhilarating as any new techniques in fighting must be to him.
At one time he caught sight of Isaac. A small party of Greeks had come up from behind and suddenly becoming aware of them Richard had turned to see Isaac himself but a short distance away. Before he could act Isaac had shot two arrows at him. They missed by inches . . . poisoned arrows which would most certainly have killed him. Exhilarated to be so near his enemy Richard immediately gave chase, but Isaac’s steed was especially fleet and he got away.
A horse made for running away, commented Richard, but he was a little shaken that the enemy had been able to creep up on him in such a manner.
He hurried on to Nicosia, the inhabitants of which surrendered immediately.
This was victory. When his capital fell to Richard, Isaac must realise he was defeated. In fact only a fool would have attempted to hold out against such a superior foe.
There was one thing which was troubling Richard. When he had started his advance he had felt the first signs of fever. It may well have been due to this that Isaac had almost succeeded in killing him with his poisoned arrows, for had he been as alert as he usually was, he would have been more prepared.
He trusted that he was not going to have one of the old bouts of fever, but as the days passed it became more and more certain that this was exactly what was going to happen.
To be ill at such a time could be disastrous.
He asked Guy de Lusignan to come to his camp. There was something about the young man that he liked. His nature seemed to be as frank and open as that of Richard himself, and the King felt that they were two of a kind.
Guy looked at him with real concern.
‘Why, Sire, what ails you?’ he asked.
‘I fear it is a return of an old complaint.’
‘You are often ill like this then?’
Richard laughed grimly. ‘I know it seems incredible, but this fever has dogged me for years. It started through sleeping on damp earth when I was quite young. You know how it is. One is careless. One fancies one is above the common ailments of the body. Alas, it is not so.’
‘Will it soon pass?’
‘I doubt not it will be worse before it is better. That is why I have asked you to come to me. In a day I may not be able to leave my bed. The fever will run its course. I want you to take over command of the army.’
Guy was astounded. He could not believe that the man on the bed, his face pallid, cold sweat on his brow was the great and glorious warrior who such a short time ago had been married to the Princess Berengaria.
Guy said: ‘Should not the Queen be told? She will wish to look after you.’
‘Neither Queen must be told – my wife nor my sister. I do not wish them to pamper me as though I am a woman. I know this fever well. It comes and it goes. I must keep to my bed until it passes; but we cannot wait for that to subdue this island. So, my friend, I wish you to take over. The time has come to conquer the entire island. We must not be satisfied with Nicosia. We must show Isaac that he has lost everything.’
‘I will do exactly as you wish,’ answered Guy.
‘Then having taken possession of Nicosia we shall be lenient with those who thought they could stand out against us. There is only one order I give: All the men must shave off their beards. This I demand for it will show their humility. If any man defies me then he must lose not only his beard but his head with it. Make that clear. And once an order is given it must be obeyed. There must be no leniency. That is the secret of good rule. All must know that when the King speaks he means what he says.’
Guy listened attentively. He would let the King’s command be known throughout Nicosia and then he would set out to subdue the rest of the island.
Richard trusted him. He liked the man. Guy would serve him well not only because he was an honest man but because he needed Richard’s support against Conrad de Montferrat, the candidate for the crown of Jerusalem whom the King of France was supporting.
He lay on his bed, tossing this way and that, the fever taking possession of him. He was a little delirious. He thought that his father came to him and told him that he was a traitor.
‘That I never was,’ he murmured. ‘I spoke out truly and honestly. I fought against you because you tried to deprive me of my rights . . . but I never deceived you with fair words . . .’
And as the waves of fear swept over him he asked himself why his father had always been against him. He seemed to hear the whispered name: ‘Alice . . . it was Alice . . .’
Alice! He thought he was married to Alice; she had become merged in his delirious imaginings with Berengaria. Alice, the child; Alice, seduced by his father in the schoolroom. An echoing voice seemed to fill the tent. ‘The devil’s brood. It comes from your Angevin ancestors. One was a witch. She went back to her master the devil but not before she had given Anjou several sons. From these you sprang. You . . . your brothers Henry, Geoffrey, John . . . all of them. There was no peace between them nor in the family.’
It was as though Philip were speaking to him, mocking him.
This accursed fever! Philip had said: ‘How will you be in the hot climates? Shall you be able to withstand the sun?’
‘As well as you will,’ he had answered.
Philip had said: ‘I believe you have had bouts of this fever for years. It’s the life you have led.’
But if he remained in his bed the violent sweating fits would pass and with them his delirium. His brain would be clear again. It was only a matter of time.
There was good news from Guy. He had taken the castles of St Hilarion and Buffavento with very little trouble and in that of Kyrenia he had found Isaac’s young daughter. He was awaiting Richard’s instructions as to what should be done with her. Clearly she must not be allowed to go free, for she was Isaac’s heiress.
All was well. He had been right to trust Guy. The fever was beginning to pass but he knew from experience that it would be folly to rise too soon from his bed.
He had given instructions that the news of his sickness was not to be bruited abroad. He did not want his enemies to set in motion a rumour that he was a sick man which they would be only too happy to do.
Soon he would rise from his bed; and if by that time Cyprus was completely subdued he would be able to set out on his journey to Acre.
When one of his knights came in to tell him that Isaac Comnenus was without and begging to be received, he got up and sat in a chair.
‘Bring him in,’ commanded Richard.
He remained seated so that Isaac should not see how weak he was.
Isaac threw himself at Richard’s feet where he remained kneeling in abject humility.
‘Well, what brings you here?’ asked Richard.
‘I come to crave mercy and forgiveness.’
‘Dost think you deserve it?’
‘Nay, Sire. I know I do not. I have acted in great error.’
‘And bad faith,’ added Richard.
‘I come to offer my services. I would go with you to the Holy Land.’
‘I do not take with me servants whom I cannot trust,’ answered Richard tersely.
‘I swear . . .’
‘You swear? You swore once before. Your swearing had little meaning.’
‘If you will forgive me . . .’
‘The time for forgiving is past. I should be a fool to forget how you swore to recompense me for your misdeeds and then tried to kill me with poisoned arrows. I would never trust you again, Isaac Comnenus.’
Isaac was terrified. If he had hoped to deceive Richard as he had before, he had misjudged the King. Having cheated once he would never be trusted again.
All his bravado disappeared. ‘I entreat you to remember my rank.’
‘Ah, an emperor – self-styled! I call to mind how you felt yourself superior to a me
re king.’
‘None could be superior to the King of England.’
‘You are a little late in learning that lesson.’
‘I beg of you, do not humiliate me by putting me in irons. Anything . . . anything but that. Kill me now . . . if you must, but do not treat me like a common felon.’
‘I will remember the high rank you once held.’
‘I thank you, my lord. All Cyprus is yours now. You know how to be merciful. Have I your word that you will not put me in irons?’
‘You have my word.’
‘And all know that the word of the English King is to be trusted.’
‘You shall not be put in irons,’ affirmed Richard. He called to his knights. ‘Take this man away. I have had enough of him.’
When he had gone he sat their musing and, remembering how he had been deceived by Isaac, he laughed aloud.
He called in two knights.
He said: ‘I want Isaac Comnenus to be kept a prisoner until the end of his days. He can never be trusted while he is free. I have promised him that he shall not be put in irons. Nor shall he be. But he shall be chained nevertheless. See that he is made secure and that he is in chains. But the chains shall be of silver. Thus I shall keep my word to him. Chained not in irons but in silver.’
Richard was amused and suddenly pictured himself telling the story of Isaac Comnenus to Philip of France.
No word from Richard. Where could he be? Why did he not send a message to them? Surely he knew how anxious they had been.
Joanna tried to soothe Berengaria. He was engaged on a dangerous enterprise, she explained. It would need all his skill to subdue Cyprus. He knew they were safe and they must not expect him to be sending messages to them describing every twist and turn of the battle.
They sat together in the gardens of the house where he had lodged them.
‘Here we are,’ said Joanna, ‘in this comfortable house. We can enjoy these lovely gardens. We should consider ourselves fortunate that he is so concerned for our well-being.’
‘I know,’ said Berengaria, ‘but I think of him constantly. I wonder if he thinks of me.’