For a moment she forgot that men were dying, feeling only a fierce surge of pride. “Stephen, they are winning!” Getting a more measured response from him, a “Not yet. But we will.”
There was such confusion and dismay on the beach that it was obvious its defenders had been expecting the galleys to wreak havoc with the small boats of the invading force. But when Richard’s crossbowmen and archers now turned their fire upon them, they hastily retreated to their wooden barricade and began to shoot back. Once again the sun seemed to dim behind clouds of shafted death. Even to Joanna’s untutored eye, it appeared as if the men in boats were making no progress toward shore, the skiffs wallowing in the surf. Turning toward Stephen, she saw her own apprehension mirrored on his face. Gripping the gunwale until his knuckles whitened, he leaned forward, his body rigid, and she realized that victory hung in the balance.
“Stephen, what if . . . what if they cannot land?”
“He’ll not let that happen,” he insisted, just as the knights began to shout and pump their fists in the air. Joanna squinted to see, half blinded by the glare of sun on water. One of the snekas had shot through a gap between boats, its crew straining at the oars as it headed straight for the beach. Joanna gasped, her eyes locking upon the armed and helmeted figure standing in the prow, unable to choke back a muffled protest as he jumped from the boat into the water and began to wade through the shallows toward shore. All around her, men were yelling, cursing, laughing. Her courage finally failing her, she spun around and buried her face in Stephen’s shoulder, not even aware of what she did, knowing only that she could not bear to watch her brother die.
“You need not fear, my lady. They are following him. Look for yourself!”
Stephen had expected to see tears streaking her face. When she raised her head, though, her eyes were dry. But they were still filled with fear as she turned back toward the beach. “Blessed Mother Mary,” she breathed, for Stephen was right; dozens of knights had leapt from their skiffs, heedless of their armor, and were splashing after their king. Richard had already reached the shore. If he was aware of his vulnerability in that moment, he gave no indication of it, raising his shield to deflect arrows and then swinging around to confront the armed rider bearing down upon him. Joanna’s mouth was too dry for speech. She heard a woman’s scream behind her, and for an anguished moment, her eyes and Berengaria’s caught and held. When she dared to look again, a riderless horse was rearing up, a body lay crumpled at Richard’s feet, and the sand was rapidly turning red. By now his knights were scrambling onto the beach, and when Richard charged toward the barricades, they raced to catch up with him, flashes of light reflecting off raised swords and shields, shouting like madmen.
Stephen glanced at Berengaria, who was clinging to the rail as if her knees could no longer support her, and he blamed himself for not insisting that she retreat to the tent, for he thought she would have been more biddable than Joanna, more likely to have heeded him. Women were not meant to see bloodshed. As little as he liked to criticize his king, they ought not to be here at all. “The worst is over now,” he said calmly. “The king won his victory as soon as he set foot upon the beach.”
“How can you be so sure? They have much larger numbers. Even I can see that.”
He was surprised by the steadiness of Berengaria’s voice, but pleased, too, for he knew she’d have need in Outremer for all the strength she could muster. “It matters for naught if we’re outnumbered, my lady. We know more of war than they do.”
Stephen proved to be an accurate seer. The hand-to-hand combat on the beach was fierce but brief, and the emperor’s men were soon in flight, with Richard’s knights in close pursuit. The rest of his boats were landing now, some of the soldiers pausing to loot the bodies of the slain before climbing over the broken barricade and disappearing from sight. Several ships had already corralled the drifting Cypriot galleys, sailors nimbly leaping onto the bloodied decks and flinging anchors over the side. Joanna averted her gaze as they began to dump bodies overboard, and Berengaria shuddered.
“Will it be like this in the Holy Land?” she asked, and Joanna had no answer for her.
IN MIDAFTERNOON, Richard sent word to Stephen that he was to bring the women ashore. They discovered, though, that it was much more difficult to leave the ship than it had been to board it, for they’d been able to cross a gangplank from the dock to the deck in Messina and now they had to be lowered into a sagitta, which rode so low in the water that they were soon drenched with spray and Joanna had to fight off a recurrence of nausea in the pitching, rolling waves. They were not rowed toward the beach at Amathus, Stephen explaining that Limassol lay a few miles to the east, and it was there that they’d find shelter. Even though it meant a longer trip in that accursed small galley, the women were glad to be spared the sight of Amathus, where the fighting had occurred. They’d already seen more bodies in one day than they’d expected to see in their entire lifetimes.
Limassol was a small town of undistinguished appearance—houses of sundried brick, dusty, deserted streets, no signs of life. It looked forlorn, abandoned, and above all, vulnerable, for it lacked walls, although it did have a paltry, neglected citadel at the mouth of the River Garyllis. But Limassol also looked peaceful, and for that they were thankful. Isaac’s self-proclaimed palace could not begin to compare with the royal palaces in Palermo and Messina. After almost four weeks at sea, it still seemed like paradise to the women, and they set about exploring it with zest, laughing at the antics of the dogs, for they had yet to regain their landlegs, and exclaiming in delight when they discovered fruit trees in the courtyard. They also found two servants cowering behind a wall hanging. Fortunately, Joanna had thought to bring Petros along. He’d been sulking, unhappy that Richard had chosen to rely upon Tancred’s interpreter. Being asked to communicate with these terrified girls cheered him up considerably, and he was successful in reassuring them that these “barbarian women” would treat them well. They scurried away and returned with flagons of wine, bread, figs, olives, dates, goat cheese, and oranges. Joanna’s appetite had yet to return, but the others fell upon the food with gusto, marveling that their prospects could have improved so dramatically in just one day.
A twilight sky had shaded from violet to plum when Jaufre and Morgan arrived, sent by Richard to make sure the women were safely settled in. They were in high spirits, eager to share stories of the day’s events. By now Joanna understood that men were often euphoric in the aftermath of battle, but it was a learning experience for Berengaria, who was bewildered that they could shrug off death and bloodshed with such apparent ease.
Isaac’s men had scattered like chickens when a hawk flies overhead, they reported gleefully, and Richard had turned Amathus over to his soldiers as their reward. Not that there was much worth taking; Amathus had once been an important city back when the Persians and the Romans ruled Cyprus, yet it was a pitiful place today, a ghost of its former greatness. Some of the knights had hoped to find better pickings in Limassol, they admitted. But there were large communities here of foreign merchants from the Italian city-states of Genoa and Venice, and they’d greeted the king like a liberator. So Richard had ordered that it not be sacked.
Neither man could remember when he’d last eaten, so they finished the food as they told the women how they’d pursued the fleeing Griffons through Amathus and into the hills beyond. At one point the king had even encountered Isaac himself and challenged him to combat. But the tyrant had run for his life, they chortled, whilst Richard fumed that he had no horse to give chase. Then he spotted a pack horse and vaulted onto its back. It did not even have proper stirrups, just hemp cords, and he had no chance of catching Isaac, who was mounted upon a handsome dun stallion, said to be faster than a lightning bolt. When they continued to dwell upon the attributes of this wonderful horse, Joanna finally had to interrupt, asking the one question that mattered. Where was Richard and could they expect to see him that evening?
Jaufre and Morgan
glanced at each other and shrugged. The king had gone back to the beach whilst more of his men came ashore, giving orders to tend to the wounded and bury the dead, then met with the merchants again to assure them that their families and property would be safe, and sent out scouts to discover the whereabouts of Isaac’s army. At this point, Joanna raised a hand to cut off their recital, for their meaning was clear enough. Richard would get to them when he could; at the moment, they were not a high priority.
Morgan then redeemed himself by making a suggestion that was both intriguing and vaguely scandalous. Would they like to make use of the public baths? The women looked at one another, seriously tempted. But none of them had ever been to a public bath before. Was it something that respectable, well-bred women did? As a queen, Joanna had greater liberty to defy conventions. She knew, though, that she was too exhausted to take another step, and started to shake her head when she remembered that Isaac was said to love luxury. Surely he’d have a bath somewhere in his palace? The little Greek servingmaids quickly confirmed that it was so, and after that, the women could not wait for their guests to leave, so eager were they to wash away the grime of their voyage in perfumed, warm water.
By the time they’d gotten some of their guards to haul and heat water and then took turns soaking in Isaac’s large copper bathing tub, it was full dark. Wrapped in bedrobes, Joanna and Berengaria towel-dried and brushed out each other’s hair, the easy familiarity reminding them both of their childhood and sisters they might never see again. It was Berengaria who gave voice to their shared nostalgia, confiding, “I do not think I could have endured this voyage without you, Joanna.”
“You do not give yourself enough credit, for you are stronger than you think.” Joanna could not help adding, then, with a rueful smile, “If you’d known what lay ahead, I daresay you’d have run for the nearest nunnery when your father broached the matter of marriage with my brother. And who could blame you?”
Berengaria wondered if she’d ever get used to Angevin candor. Richard and Joanna were constantly saying aloud what other people did not even dare to whisper. There had indeed been times when she’d yearned for her tranquil, lost world of Navarre, not sure if a crown was truly worth so much misery. “I admit I did not bargain on an Isaac Comnenus. But till the day I draw my last breath, I will remember the sight of Richard’s galley against that sunset sky, like the champion in a minstrel’s chanson. What woman would not be proud to have such a man for her husband?”
She’d inadvertently touched upon a tender spot. As she’d grown into womanhood, Joanna had done her best to deny her qualms about a husband who sent other men out to die without ever putting himself at risk. But Richard’s flashy heroics had done much to tarnish William’s memory, casting a sad shadow over her marriage, reminding her that her father had always led his troops into battle, as had her brothers. Even Philippe did so. Only William had stayed at home, William who’d yoked Constance to a hateful husband so he could pursue his foolish dreams of destiny, willing to spill any blood but his own to lay claim to Constantinople. She lowered her head, hiding the tears that suddenly burned her eyes. Was that all her life in Sicily had amounted to—a husband she could not respect and a son whose tiny tomb she might never see again?
Berengaria sensed that something was wrong. She was not sure what to do, though, for she was developing with Joanna something she’d never had before—a friendship between equals—and she fretted that questions borne of empathy might be taken as intrusive. She was not given the chance to make up her mind, for at that moment Richard made one of his typical entrances, unexpected and unannounced.
Joanna’s ladies were amused by his brash invasion of the women’s quarters; Berengaria’s were horrified. Midst laughter and shrieks, they retreated into the inner sanctum, the bedchamber set aside for their mistresses. Joanna was already on her feet. She was about to embrace him when she realized that he was still wearing his hauberk. Her eyes drawn irresistibly to the dried blood caked on some of the iron links, she said, as calmly as she could, “I trust none of that is yours?”
“From a skirmish like that? I’ve not so much as a scratch.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gazed down intently into her face. “Well, at least you are not as pale as yesterday. You gave me quite a scare, you know.”
“I gave you a scare? How do you think we felt, Richard, watching you take on all of Isaac’s army by yourself?”
“I knew my men would follow,” he said, dismissing the danger with a negligent gesture. “And I knew, too, that Isaac’s men were likely to be ill-trained, poorly paid, and not eager to die on his behalf.”
Joanna was not won over by that argument and was about to remind him that it would have taken only one well-aimed arrow. But he was already turning his attention toward his betrothed.
While he’d been greeting Joanna, Berengaria had belted her bedrobe. Remembering then that her hair was tumbling down her back, she looked around hastily for her veil. When she would have snatched it up, Richard reached out and caught her hand. “Do not cover your hair, Berenguela. I like it loose like this.”
Berengaria let the veil flutter to the floor at her feet. She knew it was not seemly that he should see her like this until they were wed. But as their eyes met, she realized that if he meant to share her bed this night, it would not be easy to deny him. Moreover, she was not sure that she’d want to say no. Shocked by her own thoughts, she forced herself to wrench her gaze away from his. Because of her discussions with Joanna, she no longer worried that she’d be imperiling her soul by finding pleasure in her husband’s embrace. But she knew that what she was contemplating now was most definitely a sin.
He still held her hand and she found herself staring at their entwined fingers, imaging his clasped around a sword hilt. What he’d done this day was both exhilarating and terrifying. As much as she’d feared for his life, she’d been thrilled, too, for would Almighty God have blessed him with such lethal skills if he were not destined to be the savior of Jerusalem?
“I am truly sorry that you both had to endure so much,” he said, glancing from one woman to the other. “But I promise you that you’ll never face danger like this again.”
While Joanna did not doubt his sincerity, that was not a promise he could keep. Not even Richard could exert royal control over the forces of nature, over another Good Friday storm or a plague stalking the siege camp at Acre. She would never point that out to him, though, and said lightly, “As long as you keep riding to our rescue in the nick of time, we will have no complaints.”
Spying a flagon of wine, Richard strode over and poured wine for them. “My little sister is too modest,” he said to Berengaria. “I’d wager that she’d have been more than a match for Isaac. For certes, she had Stephen de Turnham quaking in his boots.” Seeing her lack of comprehension, he grinned. “Ah, she did not tell you about that?”
Returning with the wine, he took obvious pride in relating Joanna’s ultimatum to Stephen. He brushed aside their questions about the fight on the beach, insisting that it was more of a brawl than a genuine battle, an argument that would have been more persuasive had they not been eyewitnesses. He told them that Philippe had safely arrived in Outremer, for they’d encountered a dromon from Acre after they’d left Rhodes, and he expressed concern that the city might fall ere he reached the siege, saying, “God forbid that Acre should be won in my absence, for it has been besieged for so long, and the triumph, God willing, will be so glorious.” And when they asked him why only part of the fleet was with him, he said he’d sailed against the wind after hearing that a large buss had been spotted off the coast of Cyprus, revealing how seriously he’d taken the threat posed by Isaac Comnenus. But he asked few questions about their own ordeal. They were glad of it, though, not wanting to add to his burdens.
When he suddenly rose and bade them good night, they were caught by surprise. Joanna protested, sure that he’d not had a proper meal all day, and he allowed that was true. “But I cannot spare the t
ime. My scouts told me that Isaac has committed yet another astonishing blunder and his army is camped just a few miles to the west of Limassol. The fool thinks he is safe there, for he also thinks that we have no horses. So I plan to unload some of them tonight and pay him a visit on the morrow.”
Leaning over, he dropped a playful kiss on the top of Joanna’s head, then pulled Berengaria to her feet. But while his mouth was warm on hers and he took care to not to embrace her too tightly, murmuring he did not want her to be scratched by his hauberk, she sensed his distraction; his mind was already upon that moonlit beach and the surprise he had in store for the Cypriot emperor.
And then he was gone, as quickly as he’d come, leaving the two women to look at each other in bemusement. Berengaria wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed; some of both, she decided. “I know,” she told Joanna, with a rueful smile of her own. “I know . . . hold tight and enjoy the ride.”
UNDER RICHARD’S SUPERVISION, fifty horses were unloaded from a tarida and exercised upon the beach to ease their stiffness and cramped muscles. He then returned to the army camp they’d pitched on the outskirts of Limassol and got a few hours’ sleep. Early the next morning, he inspected their defenses, wanting to make sure that they were safe from enemy attack in his absence. Since he thought a clash was likely, he ordered a number of knights and men-at-arms to follow on foot. And then he rode out with more than forty knights and a few clerks to see Isaac’s army for himself.
His scouts had reported that the emperor was camped some eight miles east of Limassol, near the village of Kolossi. The countryside was deserted, no travelers on the roads, no farmers tending to their fields, for most of the people had fled to the hills with their livestock and what belongings they could carry away. Richard and his knights kept their mounts to an easy canter, wanting to spare their seabattered horses as much as possible. Despite the taut anticipation of battle, the men found themselves enjoying the warmth of the sun, a wind that carried the fragrance of flowers and myrtle rather than the salt tang of the sea, and the familiar movement of their stallions between their legs instead of the alarming pitching and rolling of galley decks slick with foam. Soon afterward, as they passed through an olive grove, they encountered a few of Isaac’s soldiers.