Lionheart (37 page)

“I am so sorry, my liege. But one of the missing ships is the buss carrying Queen Joanna and the Lady Berengaria.”

CHAPTER 15

MAY 1191

Off the Coast of Cyprus

All of the passengers of the buss had crowded to the gunwales, so hungry were they for their first glimpse of land in more than two weeks. The Good Friday storm had swept their vessel far out to sea, almost to the African coast, where they’d then been becalmed for some nerve-wracking days, dreading both pirates and Saracen ships. Then their attempt to sail to the fleet’s first rendezvous, Rhodes, had been defeated by contrary winds. The buss’s master had finally decided to head for the next gathering point at Cyprus, charting his course by the sun’s position in the heavens and a floating magnetized needle that pointed toward the pole star. As a courtesy, he’d first consulted Stephen de Turnham, the English baron charged to see to the safety of Richard’s women. Stephen was wise enough to defer to the master’s far greater knowledge of the sea, and his faith was justified on the first of May when a sailor up in the rigging called out the sweetest words any of them had ever heard: “Land on the larboard side!”

At first, the passengers could see nothing. But then the smudged shadows along the horizon slowly began to take shape. In the distance, the sea was changing color, shading from deep blue to turquoise as the water grew shallower. “Is that Cyprus?” Berengaria asked, and when the master said it was, her murmured
“Gracias a Dios”
needed no translation, found echoes in every heart. She turned then, intending to thank the master, too, for they’d survived because of his seamanship. But at that moment, Joanna appeared on deck.

It was the first time she’d left the tent in days, and she blinked and squinted in the blaze of midday sun. As much as they’d all suffered during their ordeal, none had been as desperately ill as Joanna. She’d lost so much weight that she seemed alarmingly frail, her collarbones thrown into sudden prominence, her gown gaping at the neckline, and her chalky-white pallor made the dark shadows under her eyes look like bruises. Berengaria started toward her, but Stephen de Turnham and Mariam reached her first. She was too unsteady on her feet for false pride, and allowed them to guide her toward the gunwale. She was soon swallowing convulsively and when Berengaria took her hand, it was clammy to the touch. But she kept her eyes upon the horizon, watching with a painful intensity as the coast of Cyprus gradually came into view.

“Oh, no!” Joanna’s murmur reached no farther than Berengaria’s ears, more like a broken breath than a cry. They looked at each other in dismay and then back at the beautiful, blue-green, empty sea. For by now they ought to have seen a floating forest of timber masts, sails furled as the ships rode at anchor offshore. An involuntary groan burst from dozens of throats, so sure had they all been that they’d find the royal fleet awaiting them in Cyprus. None voiced their fears aloud, though, for the knights did not want to alarm the women, and Joanna and Berengaria’s ladies-in-waiting dared not speak out, for their mistresses had entered into a conspiracy of silence, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that Richard’s ship might have gone down in that Good Friday gale.

The silence that settled over the deck was a strangled one, therefore, fraught with all that they dare not say. When she saw Uracca struggling to stifle a sob, Berengaria forced a smile and offered the only comfort she could, saying with false heartiness, “How wonderful it will be to set foot on land again.”

She was taken aback by Joanna’s vehement reaction to that innocuous comment. “No!” Seeing Berengaria’s lack of comprehension, Joanna drew a bracing breath before saying, more calmly, “Cyprus is ruled by a man unworthy of trust. Isaac Comnenus seized power six years ago and dares to call himself emperor. But he has no honor, no scruples, and no mercy. We cannot go ashore.”

“The queen is right,” Stephen de Turnham said, swiftly and very firmly, wanting to head off any arguments. “Ere we left Messina, we were told to sail for Cyprus if our ships became separated. But the king said that if we arrived first, under no circumstances were we to land. We must await the arrival of the fleet.” Another silence fell at that. But while none were willing to say it aloud, the same thought was in all their minds.
The fleet ought to have been here by now. What if it never comes?

THE REALIZATION that her brother was still missing seemed to have sapped the last of Joanna’s strength and she asked Stephen to escort her back to the tent. Berengaria would have liked to escape the scrutiny of the others, too, but she sensed that Joanna needed some time to herself. Instead, she drew Mariam aside. “Can you tell me more of this man? Joanna called him Isaac Comnenus. Is he a member of the Royal House of Constantinople?”

“Yes, he was a kinsman of the old emperor. He has good bloodlines, but a dubious past. Cyprus was a possession of the Greek Empire, and seven years ago, Isaac showed up on the island, claiming to be its new governor. I’ve heard it said that his documents were forged; be that as it may, his claim was accepted. The following year, that monster Andronicus was overthrown and slain, and Isaac took advantage of the chaos in Constantinople to declare himself the Emperor of Cyprus. Actually, he just calls himself the emperor, so his ambitions may well extend to the Greek Empire itself. But he has Cyprus in a stranglehold, maintaining power by hiring Armenian routiers and terrorizing the local population. He is loathed and feared by the Cypriots for arbitrarily seizing their property and imposing high taxes. And he has a truly vile reputation where women are concerned; even respectable wives and daughters are not safe from his lustful attentions.”

Berengaria glanced toward the rolling hills now silhouetted against the sky. After so long at sea, Cyprus looked like a veritable Eden, but the snake in this Eden sounded more lethal than any viper. She was puzzled that this was the first she’d heard of Isaac Comnenus, given that his island was a rendezvous point for their fleet. “I am surprised,” she confessed, “that Joanna did not mention this man to me.”

“She was ashamed to do so,” Mariam said bluntly, “for Isaac Comnenus was her husband’s ally.” She smiled, somewhat sadly, at Berengaria’s shocked expression. “My brother had a good heart, but his judgment was flawed. So great was his hatred of the Greek Empire that he’d have allied himself with Lucifer himself to bring Constantinople down. As for Isaac, he realized the new Greek emperor would seek to reclaim Cyprus, so he made overtures to all of the empire’s enemies. He benefited far more from this alliance than Sicily did, for when Constantinople sent an invasion force, the fleet of William’s admiral, Margaritis, easily scattered them. After stories began to trickle back to Palermo of Isaac’s cruelties, I think William had second thoughts, but he was too stubborn to admit it. And by then it was too late for my half-sister Sophia, who’d been packed off to Cyprus as Isaac’s bride. Fortunately for me, I was wed when Isaac proposed that marital pact. But Sophia fancied the idea of being an empress. . . .” Mariam suppressed a sigh. Did a crown truly matter if she reigned in Hell?

Berengaria blinked in surprise. “I did not know you’d been married. Did your husband . . . ?”

Mariam was amused by that delicate pause. “My husband died after four years of marriage. He was a good man, albeit old enough to be my father, and I had no complaints as his wife. But widowhood is the only time when a woman is not under a man’s thumb, first as daughter and then as wife, and I like the freedom—”

Mariam cut herself off so abruptly that Berengaria instinctively turned to see what had caught the other woman’s attention. And then she, too, gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth as she looked toward the Cypriot coast.

AS SOON AS SHE WAS ALONE, Joanna slumped down onto her bed, keeping her eyes tightly shut so no tears could squeeze through her lashes. She would not cry for her brother; that would be a betrayal of faith, an admission that he could be dead. But where was he? Surely the fleet would not have sailed on to Outremer? Did he think they’d perished in that accursed storm? No, he would not give up hope that easily, not Richard. When Star, her favorite hound, put a paw on the bed and whined, she rolled over and gathered the dog into her arms. “Sweet girl, you hate the sea, too. How dreadful it must be for the poor horses. . . .”

“Joanna!” Mariam pulled the tent flap aside. “You need to come back out on deck.”

With Mariam’s help, Joanna got to her feet. She asked no questions, already sure she’d not like the answers. They were well into the bay by now, and the hills seemed beautiful beyond words after endless vistas of nothing but sky and sea. A ship was anchored not far from shore, a buss like theirs. Its deck was filled with waving, shouting men, but the passengers on Joanna’s ship were staring past them at the shredded sails, broken masts, and shattered timbers scattered along the beach, skeletal remains partially buried in the sand, washed by the waves, a scene of destruction and death looking eerily peaceful in the bright May sunlight.

“Dear God . . .” Joanna made the sign of the cross with a hand that shook. “How . . . how many?”

Stephen de Turnham shook his head, unwilling even to hazard a guess, but after studying the wreckage with a grim, practiced eye, the master said, “Two ships, mayhap three.”

The other buss had erupted into frantic activity, and their longboat was soon launched, men straining at the oars to close the gap between the two vessels. The master gave the command to drop their anchors, and as his sailors hastened to obey, a ladder was flung over the side. Joanna recognized Hugh de Neville, one of Richard’s household knights, as he scrambled up the ladder, and felt comforted by the sight of a familiar face in this alien, inhospitable environment.

Hugh seemed just as glad to see her. “Lady Joanna, thank God you’re safe!” Ever the gallant, he insisted upon kissing her hand before answering the questions bombarding him from all sides. “When the great storm hit,” he said, pausing to take deep, grateful gulps from a proffered wineskin, “our ship and three others managed to stay together. It was a week ago today that we were approaching Cyprus. A sudden squall came up and drove us toward the shore. Our ship’s anchors held, but theirs did not and they were swept onto the rocks and broke apart. Many drowned, may the Almighty have mercy upon their souls. Some clung to the floating debris and managed to reach the beach, battered and halfnaked from the waves. We could only watch as the local people—God-cursed Griffons—came out and took them away.”

Hugh paused to drain the wineskin. “King Richard had warned us that Cyprus was ruled by a tyrant, an ungodly man who preys upon pilgrims, extorting ransoms from the wealthy and enslaving the poor. So we feared for the survivors and sent a small landing party ashore at dawn, hoping to discover their whereabouts. By the Grace of God, the first one we encountered was an elderly priest. None of us spoke Greek, but he had a smattering of French. He managed to convey to us that our comrades had been taken prisoner. His agitation and his gestures made it clear that we were in great danger, so we retreated back to our ship. After that, all we could do was wait . . . and pray.”

“You acted wisely,” Stephen said, catching the undertones of remorse in the other man’s voice. “It would have served for naught to join them in their prison. One of our sailors is from Messina and Greek is his mother tongue. We’ll send him ashore after dark to see if he can learn where they’re being held. Once we know that, we can decide what to do next.”

Hugh’s face was sunburned and gaunt, a raw, red welt slashing across his forehead into his hairline. But his smile was radiant with relief. “When we saw your sail, we dropped to our knees and gave thanks to God for answering our prayers. Where is the fleet? When will the king get here?” His smile fading as his words were met with averted eyes and utter silence.