All she wanted was time to be with King Richard, to show him she could be a good wife and queen. Surely he was bound to appreciate that. She had often wondered why he had delayed his marriage to Princess Alys all these years, and now she knew. Joanna had revealed to her that Alys had betrayed him, had bedded with his own father, and Berengaria was more than willing to soothe his wounded ego.
She really wanted to stay on deck and watch the waves, but Joanna did not stop, just made her way straight to the cabin below. She was already looking pale and they had not yet cast off from shore, but Berengaria had no intention of leaving her.
Joanna ate nothing during the journey, but she prayed a lot, prayed that the seas would remain calm. They sat together on a large bed built into the structure of the ship, and it was not long before a loud noise rumbled through the air, quickly followed by a flash of lightening.
Joanna gripped her companion’s hand so tightly, her fingernails dug into the soft palm, leaving a small bubble of red. She desperately wanted to pull her hand away, to soothe the wound, but her friend was shivering in fear and her complexion was tinged with green.
The ship rocked about, worse than anything Joanna had suffered before. Both women expected any moment to be tossed on their heads, expected the vessel to sink beneath the crashing waves and drown them both.
They lay down on the bed, that being the only place where they were unlikely get thrown onto the floor. Finally, Berengaria managed to release her hand from Joanna’s grasp and pull her into her arms, smearing her gown with the blood from her wounded hand. She opened her eyes to see that Joanna’s were closed and her lips moved in silent prayer.
Berengaria peered over Joanna’s shoulder out of the porthole to see that the sea had calmed a little. She also saw land, which sight lifted her spirits. She could see that the helmsman was steering them towards the land, but then they heard men’s voices, loud and shouting.
They were speaking a language that neither princess understood, but then a reply came in French from one of their own guards.
“You must allow us to land,” he shouted. “Our ships are damaged, and people injured.”
Joanna silently thanked the Lord that the guard hadn’t thought to tell them who their passengers were. More shouting in what sounded like Greek, then the ship stopped rocking, scraped along the seabed and the cabin tilted, throwing the two princesses onto the floor, bruising their backs. The handle turned then the door dropped down into the tilted cabin and a swarthy face appeared in the gap.
“We thought it was only the treasure,” a voice said in French. “But it seems we have a bonus.”
“Where are we?” Asked Joanna.
“You are on the island of Cyprus,” the man replied. “I did not expect to find women here. Who are you?”
“We are...” Berengaria began to speak, but Joanna’s fingers pinched her into silence. She thought they would be safer if these men had no idea who they were.
“Very well,” he said. “Come. You must leave the ship. My Emperor will want to meet you.”
Joanna felt so ill she almost agreed to go with him. To settle on dry land was more than tempting, but she dared not. Whoever this ‘emperor’ was, once he knew that he had captured the bride and sister of the King of England, they would not be safe.
“We are staying here,” Joanna said. “Where are our guards?”
She managed to climb to her feet and see outside to where their cargo ships were being boarded by more of the swarthy Greek sailors.
The sound of fighting from the deck answered her question, the man at the cabin door disappeared and the clash of steel told the women their guards were still alive and doing their best to protect their charges.
Then one of their own guards appeared and fell into the cabin through the upturned door. He landed with a loud yelp on the floor and pulled himself up, rubbing his arm to soothe it.
“You will be safer here, Highnesses,” he said. “Those men have stolen King Richard’s gold plate; they will have no compunction in holding you to ransom. While they believe you are of no importance, you are safe, but it cannot be long before they discover the truth.”
“Too late for that,” said a new voice. “The Emperor commands that you come ashore. He is expecting a hefty ransom for you two from the King of England.”
“What should we do?” Berengaria asked.
“When the King realises you are not with the rest of his fleet, he will turn back for you,” the guard replied. “All we need do is keep safe until he gets here. And when he does, woe betide Isaac Komnenus.”
The ship rocked a little and the face which appeared now at the doorway was cleaner than the others, the man better dressed. “I am Emperor Komnenus,” he said. “Come, let me care for you. We are famed for our wine. I am sure you will enjoy it.”
“No,” Joanna said. “We will stay here.”
“You will get no wine unless you come ashore.”
“We don’t want your wine,” said Berengaria. “We need fresh water. Would you send us water, please.”
“No. You must come ashore.”
The ship was tilted in such a way as to make it impossible for anyone to get into the cabin safely, as was proved by the entry of their escort. It also made it impossible for the ship to leave the shore. They could do nothing but shut themselves in and wait, hope they did not die of thirst before the King arrived.
What little food they had in their cabin lasted no more than a few hours and they were beginning to weaken rapidly from lack of water. Dizziness overcame them both. Once more Joanna called out for water.
“Come ashore,” came the reply. “Then you can have water. We want to give our best hospitality to the sister and bride of the King of England.”
It sounded like the Emperor. It seemed that he was still waiting, holding them under a siege of sorts until they could stand the thirst no longer and agreed to go with him. They clung to each other, their tongues doing their feeble best to wet their dry mouths and praying that Richard would soon arrive.
It seemed like days before the sounds of the massacre only thinly penetrated the semi-conscious state of the two women, so weak were they. It was Richard himself who jumped down into the cabin and gathered them both into his arms.
He called out for help from his men.
“Quickly. We need water. There is not a moment to lose.”
The water revived them enough to realise who it was who had come to their rescue. Joanna reached up and kissed her brother’s cheek, an act she had performed many times during her lifetime, but Berengaria waited. She had never been this close to him before and now here he was, his arm around her, his lips pressed against her temple.
“We must leave this vessel,” he said. “Hopefully, it can be salvaged and be fit to follow the fleet when it leaves Cyprus. You might want to cover your eyes as we go ashore.”
Both women expected a to be met with a ghastly sight, since this man who had come to their rescue was known for his savage temper and the tyrant who controlled this island had shown his disrespect. He had had the audacity to imprison two of the women most important in the life of the King of England and he would not escape without paying the price.
But even they were shocked by the blood which soaked into the sand of the beach, which coloured the edge of the sea where they passed in their little rowing boat. The heat here was dry and fierce, the flies that gathered on the sliced corpses thick and black.
Berengaria shuddered, buried her face beneath the arm of the King. She had heard tales of his savagery when crossed, but she wondered if such slaughter was really necessary. She would not question him and a small voice inside told her he had done it for her, that his fragile temper had taken him this far for her sake. It was a comforting thought, the only comfort she had then and while she was not yet his wife and should not question his actions, Joanna would have no such qualms. Yet she said nothing, which made Berengaria believe she approved wholeheartedly of her brother’s actions here t
his day.
He took possession of Komnenus’ palace and it was not long before he had taken control of the entire island and had little opposition from the natives, who were all weary of Komnenus’ tyranny.
Berengaria felt safe at last and now she was installed in lodgings far more suited to her royal status. She and Joanna salvaged what they could of their clothing but that was not very much. The beautiful bridal gown she had brought with her, designed to enchant Richard at their wedding, was lost along with most of her other clothes.
“Do you think there will be time, before we marry, to have a new gown made?” She asked her companion. “We Navaresse like to dress up for our wedding. I had my gown made with gold threading and a veil to match.”
She had shed no tears for all she had endured since leaving Pamplona, but now she shed them for a lost gown. She wiped them away with her fingers, feeling foolish.
Joanna came and put an arm around her.
“You would look beautiful in anything,” she said. “And I do not believe you could appear in any garment which would make my brother love you less.”
“Do you think so?” She answered quietly.
She wondered if this would be a good time to voice the worry that had been nagging away at her since Sicily. She loved this woman, but she was the King’s sister and as loyal to him as any sister could be. Was it possible she would get the truth from her? Was it even possible that she knew the truth?
“I know it,” Joanna replied. “Just between the two of us, I believe he was relieved when he learned of our father’s betrayal with the Princess Alys.”
“Relieved? How could that be?”
“Because he had already fallen in love with you and he was looking for a valid reason to reject her. Were it not for that, he would have felt duty bound to proceed with the marriage and two people would have spent their lives resenting each other.”
“So I should thank her for being a whore?”
“You should, but don’t be too harsh in your judgement of her. I spent some years of my childhood with her and she was just a pawn in everyone else’s game, just as I was, just as most of us royal women. She did not have a father like yours, nor a brother either, who would be certain of your happiness no matter what it cost them.” She paused, let out a small sigh. “I don’t know what lies my father told her to tempt her into his bed, but I can be sure they were plausible ones. He likely told her he loved her and she needed that. I doubt she had ever heard the words before.”
“You, too, were sent away to marry a stranger when you were but a child. It didn’t make you offer yourself to the first man who asked.”
“No, but I had a family who loved me. My mother was always good to me, and my elder brothers always protected me. Besides, William was kind to me.”
“I heard he was unfaithful.”
“He was, but it hardly mattered. They were slave girls who had little choice, and I did not love him. I wasn’t even fond of him, but I cannot complain of his treatment of me.”
Berengaria decided not to ask any more questions, at least not yet. She wanted nothing to interfere with her coming marriage. She loved this man, longed for his touch. How would he react should he learn that his bride had asked about the rumours, those ugly rumours to which she should give no credence? She had seen evidence of his anger; she had no wish to see more of it.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she glanced up to see the object of those thoughts standing in the doorway, reminding her of just why she loved him. He was freshly bathed, his suit of light brown suede, the laces on the jacket only coming as far as his breast which showed naked and hard. The breeches were also laced down the length of each leg at the sides, laced so tightly a small part of his flesh could be seen as he moved, which he now did to gather her into his arms.
He kissed her lightly, then turned to embrace his sister. He had held her with such great affection, those ugly rumours were immediately ejected from her mind.
CHAPTER TEN
Humble Queen of England
RICHARD TOOK THE HAND of Berengaria and pulled her to sit beside him, keeping hold of her hand. A glance at his sister told her he wanted this time alone with his betrothed and she was happy to comply.
“I’ll not risk your safety a second time,” he said. “You and Joanna must sail with me. I cannot protect you with miles of ocean between us.”
“But I cannot sail with you,” she objected. “You know that.”
“You can if we are wed,” he said. Her eyes met his, took in his warm smile. He lifted her hand to his lips and allowed them to rest there briefly. “We will marry here, in Limassol, then journey to Acre as husband and wife. You will also be crowned as Queen of England. How will that suit?”
“That will suit very well, Your Majesty,” she answered playfully.
On the other side of the open window, Joanna stood with a smile of pleasure lighting her lovely face.
IT WAS OF SOME REGRET for Richard that his mother had returned to England and was unable to attend, to see the magnificent sight her son presented as he rode up to St George’s Chapel on the island of Cyprus on a magnificent Spanish horse, richly decorated with silver chasing and velvet. Richard himself looked no less exotic, in his rose coloured suit, his silk mantle and his scarlet hat.
Berengaria, having lost her wedding gown to the storm, was more simply dressed than she would have liked, in a gown borrowed from Joanna, a gown of silk with long, pointed sleeves falling to her knees. Her hair, as befitted a virgin, fell over her shoulders beneath her veil and she need only look into the eyes of her bridegroom to see that she had made no mistake.
He loved her, that was obvious to all and this night she would give herself to him completely and utterly. The wedding feast would go on for three days, but this first day was the one from which she could not lift her mind. He danced with her and with his sister, he played his lute and he sang to her love songs he had written himself, just for her. She could not have been happier.
It was late in the evening when he took her hand and turned to the gathered guests, his voice loud and grave.
“I know you are expecting to witness the most important part of this marriage. It has been thus for many years, but not here, not now. My wife and I wish privacy. Nay, I order privacy.”
And he led her to their bedchamber, where he allowed the priest to bless the marriage bed then closed and locked the door behind him. The couple undressed down to her shift and his shirt, then they knelt beside the bed, their hands clasped together in prayer, their eyes closed as they prayed to the Lord that this night would bear fruit and give them an heir to the Angevin Empire.
Secretly and silently, Berengaria also prayed that her new husband would love her forever and that those ugly rumours were all lies, put about by his enemies to diminish him in the eyes of the world.
They removed the last of their clothing then lay down in the bed, a thin sheet covering them for the sake of modesty. Richard’s order that they were to be left alone to consummate their marriage should have endeared him to his new wife, but it had the effect of reminding her of that nagging doubt.
“Why did you want to keep the guests away?” She asked.
“Because I find the custom of an audience to such a private moment to be barbaric. The animals of the wild procreate in public; I think human beings should be afforded a little more dignity. Do you not agree?”
“It is a nice sentiment, Richard,” she answered. “But now they will be saying we have something to hide.”
There, she had said it and now there was nothing to do to catch back the words. Now all she could do was wait to hear if he knew what she meant.
“They likely will,” he said. “But no matter what we do, there will be someone who finds something wrong in it, something sordid.” He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close against him, the warmth of her breast touching his and making him stir. “I have many enemies, my love, every one of whom would like to find evidence with which to di
scredit me.”
“You know what I am talking about?”
“Indeed I do. I didn’t get as far as I have by ignoring gossip. I am a womaniser, I am a rapist, I have an unnatural liking for little girls and for other men. Do you believe any of them?”
She turned her head to touch his chest with her lips, wrapped her arm around him and drew closer.
“One of them,” she said at last. “The first.”
He laughed, a sound which sent a thrill of joy through her body.
“You would not be wrong,” he said. “I have two bastard children. Philip you know of; he is at school in England.”
“The other?”
“A daughter. She is being educated by the nuns at Godstow.”
“Her mother could not keep her?”
She felt sudden pity for this woman whom he had bedded and discarded. His son was given titles and honours as soon as Richard became King, given the finest education and sent to be raised with the finest family. But his daughter? No one even knew her name.”
“She died in childbirth,” Richard replied.
“Oh. I am sorry. Forgive me.”
“Speak nothing of it. She is cared for, my daughter, and always will be. I cannot give her the things I can give my son, but she will never go without.”
She snuggled closer to him, her mind set at rest by this brief conversation. He was right; people spoke ill of him wherever he went. Why should she take any of those ugly rumours and make it real?
“My ancestor, King William II of England, was homosexual and never tried to disguise the fact. He flaunted his lovers at court and refused to marry. Some of my enemies like to use him as proof that I am like him.”
She was silent, not knowing what answer to give.
“I am sorry I doubted you, but I needed to hear it from your own lips.”
The Loves of the Lionheart Page 12