The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  Joanna did not say that she believed that when Richard was engaged in battle, he thought of nothing but that battle. She had always guessed he would be a neglectful husband, but it was sad that Berengaria must discover this so soon.

  How could this girl so newly a wife be satisfied with anything but the undivided attention of the husband she adored?

  Joanna watched a green lizard dart across the grey stone wall and disappear within it. What peace there should be in this garden where there were bushes of brightly coloured flowers and the pomegranates grew in abundance among the ever present palms. So quiet it was and yet not far away there was bitter fighting. Isaac would not give in easily even though he must know that he could not stand out against Richard.

  ‘I heard a rumour last evening,’ said Berengaria.

  ‘What was this?’

  ‘That Isaac has a daughter who is the most beautiful girl on the Island. She is very young and she has been held as a hostage.’

  ‘It is inevitable that she should be.’

  ‘She will be . . . with Richard?’

  Joanna looked astonished. Berengaria could not be jealous of Isaac’s daughter!

  ‘I doubt not that she will be well guarded.’

  ‘We have not heard from him for so long.’

  ‘Come, tell me what you have heard about Richard and Isaac’s daughter.’

  ‘That she enchants him. Joanna, can it be for this reason that we have heard nothing of him?’

  Joanna laughed. ‘My dear sister, do you imagine Richard sporting with this girl while the enemy is at the door?’

  ‘There must be some lulls in the fighting.’

  ‘You have much to learn,’ Joanna smiled. ‘Listen to me, Berengaria. Isaac’s daughter may be the most enchanting creature in the world, but I’ll swear Richard would hardly be aware of this.’

  ‘Surely any man would be.’

  ‘Not Richard.’

  ‘You seek to comfort me.’

  ‘So that is what has been ailing you. You have been jealous. You have listened to malicious gossip. I’d be ready to swear that Richard is aware only of Isaac’s daughter as a hostage.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that. But we have not heard for so long.’

  ‘Berengaria, now that you are married to Richard you will have to understand that there may be long periods when you hear nothing from him and have no idea where he is. He is a soldier . . . the greatest living soldier . . . and he will always be engaged in some conflict. Now it is the conquest of Cyprus. Later it will be an even greater enterprise. You will need much patience and loving understanding. You must realise that.’

  ‘I do. I do. But we have not heard and there is this girl. She is with him. People are talking.’

  ‘People will always talk. Heed them not. Love Richard, and most of all never question him. He would not like that. He must be free. If you would lose his regard the quickest way to do so is to make yourself a burden to him. He has put you . . . indeed both of us . . . in a safe place. That was his great concern. Be grateful that he is so anxious for our welfare. It is the measure of his affection for us. I would be ready to wager a great deal that there is nothing in this gossip. I know Richard . . .’

  She stopped and looked at Berengaria rather sadly. What if she told Berengaria the real reason? What if she said: Richard is not like some men who think that women are part of a conquest. Richard is not very interested in women.

  No, she could not tell her that. All she could do was comfort her.

  ‘There is always gossip about royal people,’ she said. ‘We look at a man or a woman and people immediately decide to bed us. Remember this, Berengaria. Stop fretting. Richard is engaged in a bitter struggle. You will hear from him as soon as he is free to think of us.’

  ‘I had hoped he would be thinking of me constantly . . . as I am thinking of him.’

  ‘My dear sister, he has a mighty war to fight. You have but to sit here with your embroidery. You must see the difference.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ cried Berengaria. ‘I’m afraid I am foolish.’

  ‘You are inexperienced of the ways of the world and of men,’ said Joanna.

  ‘How grateful I am that you are with me. You teach me so much.’

  ‘I have been a wife and a widow, remember. These experiences tell.’

  And while they sat in the garden they heard the arrival of horsemen.

  Berengaria started up, her eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘It is messages from Richard at last.’

  They went out into the courtyard and there seated on a horse was a very young girl, a child merely. Her dark hair, thick and luxuriant, fell about her shoulders; her deep set eyes were dark, black-lashed and at that moment apprehensive.

  On either side of her rode two knights and one of them had a message from Richard.

  He wanted his wife and his sister to take this girl into their household. She was a Cypriot Princess, daughter of Isaac Comnenus. They were to treat her well for it was no fault of hers that her father had deceived the King.

  Berengaria laughed with pleasure. The newcomer was an innocent child.

  ‘Let the Princess dismount,’ she cried.

  Joanna said: ‘We will ourselves look after her and see that she is treated in accordance with her rank.’

  The girl stood before them and they were both filled with compassion for this poor child whose home was now in the possession of a conqueror. They determined to look after her. Indeed that was what Richard had ordered, but they would give her that especial care to make her feel she had nothing to fear.

  Together they took her into the house. A room should be prepared for her near theirs. She should be their companion. They would tell her about their homes and she should tell them about hers.

  The girl seemed comforted.

  As for Berengaria, one sight of this child, so young and helpless, had dispelled the jealousy which had tormented her since she had heard that the beautiful daughter of Isaac Comnenus was in Richard’s hands.

  She asked her: ‘Did you see King Richard?’

  ‘But briefly. I was taken before him. My father was there and he held me in his arms and begged the King not to harm me. Then King Richard ordered that I be sent to you.’

  Berengaria said gently: ‘Have no fear. We will look after you and see no harm befalls you.’

  ‘There is my father . . .’ said the little girl, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Try not to fret. He had defied the King but you are not to blame. I am glad that my husband has sent you to us.’

  Indeed she was, for the coming of the child had made Berengaria realise how false were the rumours. Later that day, Joanna heard her singing softly to herself, and the song she sang was one which Richard himself had composed.

  The fever was passing, but it had left Richard emaciated and he was careful not to mingle too freely with his men. The image of superhuman being must not be tarnished. Of course that he could be assailed by illness and emerge as strong as ever was in itself worthy of him, but he would wait until he was full of the old vitality before he would let his humbler followers see him.

  He was grateful to Guy de Lusignan. But for him events might have turned out differently. It was well to have near him someone whom he could trust and he fancied that it was not only because of the support he could give his claim to the crown of Jerusalem which had inspired Guy. Guy was a great warrior.

  He must rest awhile. He must suppress the almost irrepressible desire to be up. He had suffered so many bouts of this fever that he knew the course it would take and that he must be careful that there was not a relapse.

  And as he lay there messengers came from the King of France. Richard received them eagerly. News of Philip always excited him and he had been wondering what was happening in the French camp. Fervently he hoped that Philip had not succeeded without him; on the other hand he felt apprehensive as to his rival’s safety. Philip had declared to him when they parted that he would not
take Acre until Richard joined him. It was to be a joint venture. This he had sworn, but Richard was wondering how far he could trust him. If the opportunity arose surely the desire to take the city and glean the accompanying glory would be too much for Philip to resist.

  But apparently the opportunity had not occurred.

  ‘How fares the King of France? Is he in good health?’ he asked the envoys.

  ‘The King of France is in good health,’ was the reply.

  ‘And what military success has been his?’

  ‘There have been many skirmishes and he has made useful progress,’ was the guarded answer. Ah, thought Richard exultantly. He has not progressed far. He needs me beside him.

  ‘Our lord frets at your dalliance and commands the Duke of Normandy to come to him without delay.’

  Richard’s temper flared. It was always so when Philip reminded him that he was his vassal for Normandy.

  ‘Pray tell the King of France,’ he replied haughtily, ‘that the King of England will leave when it pleases him.’

  ‘The King of France was emphatic that the Duke of Normandy should come at once. His presence is needed at Acre. The King of France thinks that the Duke of Normandy forgets the purpose of this enterprise which is not to indulge in facile conquests on the way but to restore the Holy Land to Christianity.’

  Richard rose; he tottered slightly. It was as much with rage as with weakness.

  ‘The King of France must learn that one of the reasons for the fall of Jerusalem is the hostile treatment crusaders receive on their way to the Holy Land. I have subdued Isaac Comnenus who was no friend to the Christians though he ought to have been. It is my belief he accepted bribes from the Saracens to delay us all he could. Tell the King of France that he robbed my sailors, stole my stores and imprisoned my men. Does the King of France expect me to allow that to pass? Perhaps the King of France would. Perhaps that is why the Christians were short of provisions and weapons and the Saracens had the opportunity to take the Holy City.’

  The messengers were taken aback and did not know what to say, but they felt that they had Philip’s authority to remind Richard that as Duke of Normandy, he must bow to the wishes of his suzerain.

  ‘We but repeat the orders of the King of France,’ they muttered.

  ‘Then return to him and tell him that the King of England does not receive orders from the King of France and that he will stay in Cyprus until that time when he feels the island to be completely subdued. Thus it will be a port of call for crusaders in days to come. Here they will rest in safety and comfort. They will be provided with the rich fruit of this island and we shall not have men arriving in Palestine emaciated and sick from a long sea voyage. Nor shall we lose them to the greed and villainy of rapacious islanders. Go now and tell this to the King of France. Tell him I shall join him in my own good time.’

  When they had gone he lay on his bed exhausted.

  He smiled slowly, contemplating Philip. Philip wanted him there. He knew he could not take Acre without him. If he had been able to he would have done so. Philip wanted the glory of victory. The man who restored the Holy City to Christianity would be received with acclaim everywhere in the Christian world – not excluding Heaven itself.

  It was an honour all crusaders sought.

  But it was more than that. Philip wanted to see him.

  And he wanted to stand with Philip before the wall of Acre. Together they would take it, just as they had planned a long time ago, when he had been a hostage in Philip’s hands during the lifetime of his father – and they had gone everywhere together, riding, walking, playing, dreaming and lying in bed together talking of the glorious deeds they would perform when they went on their crusade.

  Times had changed – they were no longer king and hostage; they were two kings of countries where rivalry was inevitable. Was it possible for the King of England to be friendly with the King of France? Normandy stood between them. Philip could never forget it. He would, like all the kings of France, for ever remember how the Norseman Rollo had ridden along by the Seine and taken possession of that strip of land which became known as Normandy. Richard was of Norman stock. This stood between them now and it always would.

  They were natural enemies and yet they were beloved friends. They yearned to be together but they must constantly seek ways of scoring over each other.

  It was an exciting relationship.

  And now Philip was commanding him to leave Cyprus, and for that reason he would stay longer than he had intended.

  He talked the matter over with Guy who had become his constant companion. Philip would be jealous of Guy. The thought amused Richard. Philip had already set himself against Guy by offering his support to another candidate for the crown of Jerusalem when that city should be brought back to Christianity: Conrad de Montferrat. Why was Philip supporting him? Because he thought it would be to the advantage of France to do so. Always Philip thought of the good of France. Richard thought very little of the good of England. He was pleased to leave the governing of that country in his mother’s capable hands.

  ‘Guy,’ he said, ‘this island is now in our hands. Isaac is in his silver chains. His daughter is with the two Queens; the people like to live in peace and get on with their daily lives. We shall have no trouble here while Isaac is in captivity. It is merely a matter of appointing regents to hold the island in my absence.’

  ‘That’s so, Sire,’ replied Guy. ‘Have you any in mind for this task?’

  ‘There are two Englishmen whose conscientious work has singled them out to me. I would trust them. They are Robert of Turnham and Richard de Camville.’

  ‘I have noticed these men. I think they would serve you well.’

  ‘Then you endorse my choice.’

  ‘I do, my lord.’

  ‘Go and bring them to me that I may put the matter to them. I will explain their duties and that I trust them to be good servants. They will administer the island and make sure that crusaders can always be sure of fresh meat, fruit and wheat when they arrive here on their journey.’

  ‘You have already served the cause well, my lord. If you did nothing more crusaders would be grateful to you for ever.’

  ‘The King of France does not share your opinion. He thinks I dally here and am more interested in making conquests than sailing on to Palestine.’

  ‘The King of France is doubtless envious of your fame.’

  ‘That may be. But I will not take orders from him although he continually reminds me that he is my suzerain through Normandy.’

  ‘I doubt not that my lord reminds him that the King of England enjoys as great a name throughout the world as that of the King of France. Aye, and becoming greater every month.’

  ‘I intend it to be so, Guy. Well then, we shall appoint our regents and then set sail. The ships should be well stocked with the good things of this island. What a fruitful place it is! A paradise! I confess I could linger here awhile. But on the other hand I feel the urge to go forward. I long to be storming the walls of Acre.’

  ‘I doubt not, my lord, that you will soon have brought the siege to an end.’

  ‘That shall be my endeavour.’

  In the next few days Richard had fully recovered his health.

  He immediately gave a banquet to celebrate his possession of Cyprus. The people came out of their houses to cheer him as he rode by. They liked the look of him; he was stern but just; and they were heartily tired of Isaac.

  Richard had seen little of Berengaria. He sent a message to her and to Joanna to tell them that he was very much engaged with preparations for departure, but would come to them when it was possible.

  When he did arrive he embraced them both rather absent-mindedly and told them to make their preparations to leave.

  Berengaria looking up at him adoringly said that she always looked for his own ship, Trenc-the-mere, when she was near the sea and she was delighted because now that she was his wife she would sail with him in it.

  ‘
You cannot guess, Richard, the anxieties we suffered,’ she told him. ‘Not knowing where you were . . . whether you were dead or alive.’

  Richard was thoughtful. ‘I have been thinking,’ he said, ‘that after all it would be most unwise for you to travel on Trenc-the-mere.’

  ‘Oh but that is where I want to be. I want to be with you, Richard.’

  ‘That is a good wife,’ he said indulgently. ‘But as a good husband I am concerned for your safety.’

  ‘My great concern is yours.’

  ‘Nay,’ he said firmly, ‘you cannot sail with me. What if already you are carrying our child, the future King of England!’

  ‘We have been so little together,’ she said mournfully.

  ‘Oh, it is enough. I have hopes.’

  ‘Could we not . . . ?’

  His lips smiled but his eyes were cold. ‘I am a king, Berengaria. I have my duties. I am not even in my own country. Responsibilities are heavy on my shoulders. I have just conquered Cyprus, which is going to make a great difference to crusaders. Think of them hungry, racked by storm, all those days at sea and then coming to the haven of Cyprus where there will be fresh meat and fruits for them. They will bless King Richard.’

  ‘There are already many who have reason to do that,’ she said.

  ‘It may be. But my orders must be obeyed. I cannot have you or Joanna exposed to the dangers which could befall my ship. As we progress our journey becomes more hazardous. There is one whom these people will seek first to destroy. I am that one.’

  ‘Oh, Richard, let us come with you. The dangers will be nothing compared with our anxieties.’

  ‘Nay, the dangers will be great. You will obey my orders, Berengaria. I say that you shall sail in another ship. Do not look so disconsolate. Joanna will be with you . . . Joanna and the little Princess from Cyprus.’

  He doesn’t want me, she thought sadly. Why? What is wrong with me?

  Chapter VII

  THE KING AND THE SULTAN

  The June sun blazed down on the fleet of ships – one hundred and fifty of them. They were on their way to Acre and leading them was Trenc-the-mere. Shouting orders through his trumpet, commanding that none was to attempt to pass him, sailing close to the arid land, Richard’s spirits soared. He would soon be in Acre. Before he had left Cyprus he had heard that Philip had broken the siege and filled with dismay he had hastened his preparations to depart. It had been a great relief to learn that the news was false.