“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.
JOANNA’S COMPANIONS were convinced that her weakened state was due in large measure to her inability to keep fluids down or to get the rest her ailing body ne
eded. Mariam had brought along a store of useful herbs and persuaded her friend to take a sleeping draught after drinking a cup of seawater, which was said to aid those suffering from mal de mer. Whether it was because they were now anchored in the relative calm of the bay or because she’d reached her breaking point, the draught worked and Joanna fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted almost eighteen hours. When she finally awakened, she was surprised to discover it was now late afternoon on the following day and even more astonished to learn that she’d slept through a gaol break and a rescue mission.
Much to Joanna’s relief, she found that she needed a chamber pot for its proper purpose and not because she was overcome by nausea again. Beatrix and the young widow Hélène helped her to dress as Mariam perched on their clothes coffer and told her of the day’s eventful happenings.
“Whilst it was still dark and there were no sentries on the beach, Stephen had Petros rowed ashore. He seemed remarkably cocky for one going alone into the lion’s den, but young men ofttimes seem to have more courage than common sense. It was arranged to pick him up at nightfall, but he suddenly appeared on the beach in midmorning, astride a mule. He rode it right past the startled guards and out into the bay! At that point he and the mule had a difference of opinion, the mule wanting to return to shore and Petros to continue on. The mule won. But Petros slid off into the water and swam like a fish toward Hugh’s ship, which was closer than ours. I do like that lad’s style,” Mariam said with a grin before continuing.
“When he was pulled onboard, he said that he’d found our men being held in a house on the outskirts of Amathus, that village off the beach. It did not seem to him as if they were well guarded, and when he saw several of them at an upper window, he said he acted on impulse, yelling out in French that a second buss had dropped anchor offshore. Soon thereafter, he heard shouting and thumping and realized they were trying to overpower their captors, so he raced back to the beach, ‘borrowing’ the mule along the way. Stephen and Hugh at once ordered their knights and crossbowmen into our longboats and they rowed for shore, where they found the prisoners had broken out and were being chased by the villagers. Their arrival tipped the scales in our favor, and after some fighting which we could actually see from our buss, our men reached safety on our ships. That noise you hear is the victory celebration. It was,” Mariam concluded, eyes sparkling, “well done, Joanna, well done, indeed!”
Joanna agreed that it was, hoping that this bold sortie would raise morale. She did not ask about the missing fleet, for Mariam’s silence on that issue was an answer in itself. Instead, she managed to swallow a little wine and even a few bites of bread, the first solid food she’d had in days, and then ventured out onto the deck with Mariam unobtrusively bracing her on one side and Beatrix on the other.
Her appearance was welcomed with boisterous enthusiasm, and she had to listen again to an account of the day’s events, this one offered by the participants themselves. Petros was the hero of the hour, obviously enjoying his well-earned turn on center stage, and much praise was also lavished upon Roger de Harcourt, a Norman knight who’d managed to seize a local man’s mare, charging into the crowd of pursuers and riding down those who were not agile enough to jump out of the way. Now that they had an audience of highborn women, the men were only too happy to gloss over the very real dangers they’d faced and the blood spilled on both sides, dwelling instead upon the sweet taste of their triumph and the individual heroics of men like Petros and Roger. Joanna and Berengaria and their ladies played their part, too, with sincere exclamations of admiration and approbation and, for a time, all were able to ignore the realities of their plight, stranded in the domains of a man said to surpass Judas in faithlessness and Ganelon, the betrayer of Roland, in treachery.
The respite soon came to an end. While the men were laughing and teasing Roger for having ridden a mare, a mount deemed unmanly for knights, Stephen quietly drew Joanna and Berengaria aside. “Isaac knew of your presence in the fleet, and when the shipwrecked men were interrogated, they were asked many questions about you both. You can be sure he now knows that it is your ship out in the bay, for the people on shore will have told him they’ve seen women aboard. I daresay Isaac can scarce believe his good luck, and like as not, he is already wondering how much ransom to demand.”
Joanna was expecting news like this, but Berengaria was shocked. “Surely he could not be that foolhardy? He must know that even if Richard paid to get us safely back, he’d then wreak a terrible vengeance upon Isaac and Cyprus.”
“From what I’ve heard, Isaac Comnenus is both arrogant and stupid, a dangerous combination.” Stephen hesitated before deciding that they deserved to know the full extent of the danger they were facing. “I am sure he has heard what happened in Messina and he must be uneasy about the arrival of an army led by a soldier king. He may well be thinking that you ladies could prove to be very useful hostages. There have been rumors for years of Isaac’s clandestine contacts with the Saracens. What would King Richard do if Isaac threatened to turn you over to Saladin?”
Berengaria’s face was suddenly ashen. Joanna had not considered a threat like that, either. But she soon rallied her defenses and said briskly, “That will never happen. I have no desire to end up in a Saracen harim, which is likely even worse than a Sicilian one. Moreover, I would die ere I let Isaac use us as weapons against my brother like that. It is unthinkable that Richard should have to choose between rescuing us and recovering the Holy City.”
“I agree,” Berengaria said resolutely, and Stephen gave the women a tight smile that was both admiring and grim, assuring them that his men would fight to the death in defense of the king’s sister and betrothed. But after they were left alone by the gunwale, Berengaria said softly, “What now, Joanna?”
“We do what Hugh de Neville did. We wait and we pray that Richard arrives ere Isaac does.”
JOANNA’S PRAYER was not to be answered. The next day, the men and women on the two busses spent hours staring out to sea, but no sails appeared on the distant horizon. In the afternoon, though, there was a sudden commotion on the beach. Riders were being greeted by the sentries, and so much deference was paid to a richly clad man on a spirited dun stallion that few doubted they were looking upon the self-proclaimed Emperor of Cyprus.
Hugh had rowed over to Stephen’s ship, and when they saw a small boat launched from the beach, he said bleakly, “Here is trouble on the way.”
It drew so close to the buss that some of the crossbowmen had itchy trigger fingers and exchanged looks of resignation and longing. As soon as it had dropped anchor, a man rose and made his way to the prow. His clothing and sword proclaimed him to be a person of rank, as did the fact that he addressed them in French. It was so heavily accented, though, that they did not find him easy to understand, and Stephen beckoned Petros to join them at the gunwale.
Delighted to be the center of attention again, Petros called out in Greek. The man looked both surprised and relieved, and the two engaged in a conversation that was utterly incomprehensible to those listening; the only words they could make out was the name “Isaakios Doukas Komnenos.”
Stepping back from the rail, Petros rolled his eyes. “What a pile of—” Remembering that the queen and queen-to-be were listening, he censored himself and said with a shake of his head, “He was amazed that there would be one amongst the barbarians who could speak Greek. He claims to be some highborn local lord, but I think he is one of Isaac’s lackeys, so I paid no heed to his name or title. This is his message from his august emperor; Christ keep me if he did not call Isaac Kosmokrator!” Seeing the blank looks, he said with a chuckle, “It means ‘master of the world.’ Anyway, Isaac wants us to believe that he knew nothing about the imprisonment and deaths of our men. He says he was greatly displeased to hear of it and will punish the culprits severely. I was hard put to keep a straight face at that point, God’s Truth!”
But when Stephen prompted him to relay the rest of the message, Petros lost h
is jaunty demeanor. “He wants you to come ashore, my lady,” he told Joanna. “You and the ‘Damsel of Navarre.’ He says he will put his palace at Limassol at your disposal and do all in his power to make your stay in Cyprus a pleasant one. It was like watching a wolf trying to coax lambs into his cave, but this wolf is not going away.”
“Tell him,” Joanna said, “that we are greatly honored by his kind invitation. But we are awaiting the arrival any day now of my brother the English king and his fleet. King Richard, known throughout Christendom as the Lionheart in recognition of his great prowess on the battlefield, will gladly accept the emperor’s hospitality once he reaches Cyprus. Whilst we wait, we wish to send some of our men ashore to replenish our water supply. As we are pilgrims on our way to the Holy Land, I am sure that one as celebrated for his Christian faith and generous spirit as the illustrious Emperor Isaac will gladly grant our small request.”
Petros had listened intently, committing her words to memory, and then nodded, giving her an approving grin. “Well said, my lady.” Leaning over the gunwale, he spoke at some length and with considerable animation. The other man’s face was grim by the time he was done speaking and his own response was terse. As his boat headed toward the beach, Petros turned back to his attentive audience. “I told him what you said, my lady, throwing in a few sweeteners by calling Isaac all the high-flown titles I could think of. The lackey was not pleased, as you could see. He said he’d tell Isaac of your request for water. He also said that he hoped you’d reconsider, for his emperor might well take your refusal as an insult. I got the sense,” Petros said somberly, “that he was speaking for himself then. I’d wager Isaac is not one for rewarding failure.”
It was quiet for a time after that. Hugh made a point of telling Joanna that he thought she’d refused Isaac’s offer very tactfully, and with luck, that might well be the end of it. They both knew better, though.