The Heart of the Lion - Plaidy Jean (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений txt) 📗

‘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.’