Chapter Three
By the afternoon, the weather seemed to be trying to make amends for its previous treachery. The sun shone from a cloudless sky and there was little wind. Out on the hills beyond the walls of Limassol, goats wandered with their keepers. Distantly the sound of their pipes could be heard from the ships. The city was quiet; as in Sicily, Joanna thought, everyone rested between Sixte and Nones. On board ship, they were resting, too. There was little else to do. Joanna sat beneath a canvas awning spread to keep the sun off the women. The gentle sound of the waves lapping the hull and the rhythmic creak of the anchor chain were soporific. Her eyes closed.
In her dreams, as she often did, she returned to France. She was in Poitiers, in her mother’s rose garden. The sun shone on the silken canopy overhead; she could feel its heat. The skirts of the ladies swished rhythmically along the stone steps as they passed up and down, and the players of the vielles kept tuning their instruments, which sounded squeaky and shrill. They were waiting for something or someone. Was it her mother or her half-sister Marie? Or perhaps it was Richard who was coming home and there would be a feast and Master Hubert would make a subtlety of spun egg whites and honey.
Something was wrong. The ladies were murmuring in alarm. Her father was coming, that was it. She could hear his soldiers in the distance now, hear their shouts. He had come to put an end to the court of Poitiers, to scatter them all, to take Joanna and her mother to distant, cold England and shut her mother where she would never see her again.
Joanna opened her eyes suddenly. Her heart was pounding and her palms were clammy. She sat dazed, unable to focus. The sun was too bright and it took her seconds to make the leap across seventeen years from that sunny rose garden in Poitiers to the hot deck of the dromon off the coast of Cyprus. Her women were running to the rail with exclamations of alarm. The sailors were raising the anchor. Up on the forecastle Robert shouted orders but there were other shouts to be heard, from the city itself. She moved swiftly to the rail. Her women jabbered at her.
“My lady, they broke out …”
“That fort, there, near the marketplace, do you see?”
“They’re our men …”
“But no arms! They must be desperate!”
Joanna half listened as she stared at the distant marketplace. A fight was in progress. Men swirled back and forth, stalls were knocked over and a red silk canopy streamed to the ground. From a guardhouse further away, soldiers were pouring out. She gripped the rail, trembling. Dear God! Their men would all be killed.
The ships around them were moving in, too. On board, there was frenzied activity. The knights were hastily arming, yelling at their squires. The rowers pulled frantically. Sweat ran down their naked burnished backs and their shoulder muscles bunched as they strained. Near the harbor the boats put out from the ships, with some of the knights on board still buckling their sword-belts or pulling on their helmets. The dromon stood furthest off, keeping its royal passengers out of arrow range. The other ships had gone in closer and their landward rails were lined with archers. The archers were hesitating to shoot however, as in the hand-to-hand fighting on shore it was impossible to distinguish Cypriot from English. It seemed to Joanna that the English, or some of them at least, had bows. She could see them turning to shoot as they ran for the harbor.
“Look, that must be one of our men. He’s got a horse!” Berengaria shouted at her side.
The man she pointed to was riding down the Cypriots, wheeling constantly and giving the other English a better chance to escape. The first hail of arrows came from the Cypriot solders and Joanna clasped her hands in anguish for the brave man on horseback. He was not hit; he wheeled again and knocked down two Cypriots who were pursuing the fleeing English. Now the men from the boats had landed and were running, clumsy in their armor, up from the harbor to the marketplace. Joanna could hear them shouting as they ran, a sustained roar of “St. Geo … oo … oorge.” Waving their battle-axes and swords above their heads, they burst into the marketplace. The Cypriots were no match for them. As Joanna watched, men crumpled and fell, smudges of red appeared on arms and chests, choked-off screams mingled with the cries of seabirds.
The Cypriots fled. From her vantage point on the dromon, Joanna could see them here and there running up the narrow streets of the city, hidden from view from the marketplace no doubt. The English knights pursued them a little way, but soon fell back. Now they were all retreating to the harbor, some leaning on others, some limping or clutching an arm, but most were shouting and gesticulating triumphantly. Behind them in the marketplace, among the smashed stalls and trodden awnings, men lay still and here and there Joanna could see a severed limb in a pool of blood.
The survivors were brought on board. While the surgeons cared for the wounded, the ship’s company gathered in a circle to hear the rescued men tell their tale. Miraculously the man who had found a horse and ridden down the Cypriots was unhurt.
His name was Roger de Hardecurt and he and his friend, another Norman, William de Bois, who had backed him up by shooting arrows incessantly at their attackers, told the story. They spoke alternately with frequent humorous glances at each other. Joanna was irresistibly reminded of two jesters at a feast.
“When we saw the ship was going on the rocks, we decided to swim for it, so we jumped together …”
“I can swim, you see, learned as a boy in Normandy …”
“His mother threw him in a duck pond when he was an infant and who can blame her!”
Roger aimed an affectionate cuff at his friend, but William avoided it, grinning.
“We had to leave everything behind, of course, but our daggers and bows …”
“William can’t swim, but we held hands as we jumped and I kept him afloat, though God knows why as he doesn’t deserve it.”
“And God knows I wouldn’t have trusted you if I’d had any choice.”
“We made it to shore, though most didn’t.”
They were momentarily grave, looking out across the sea to where the wrecked ship was clearly visible, tilted against the rocks.
“Then those damned Griffons came down. We thought they were there to help us and they did pull us through the surf when we were too exhausted to make it on our own. But the first thing they did was to strip us of what arms we had …”
“They didn’t get my bow, though. It’s a small one and in the dark I put it under my shirt and they never noticed it.”
“He walked all bent over as though he had the belly ache,” Roger laughed, “crossing his arms to hide the bow.”
“They marched us into the city and threw us into the fort and locked us in. So much for succour. No food, no cloaks. Nothing but water.”
“And God knows we’d had enough of that!”
“This morning they interrogated us, made out they thought we were spies …”
“We said we were shipwrecked pilgrims, thrown on their mercy and they had no right in Christian charity to abuse helpless men …”
“They argued that we had come armed and they could not tell whether our ships had come to attack their island and, in any case, they would hold us until they knew the Emperor’s will.”
“Luckily for us there was one among us who knew the Greek tongue, Humphrey de Chanceas. He overheard two guards talking and heard they planned to keep captive those who could be held to ransom and kill the rest.”
“We talked it over and decided we’d rather stand the hazard of a fight, even unarmed, than die of starvation shut in the fort by those infidels.”
“So, when all was quiet and we fancied only a small guard was left, we feigned a breakout at the window at the back of the fort. The guards rushed round there and we broke out at the front.”
William grinned. “Wouldn’t have broken out of a good Norman fort like that. Damned Griffons don’t know how to keep anything in good repair, luckily for us.”
“We only had three bows between us and no arrows, but we were too many for the guards and overpowered them.”
“Killed them, in short.” William smiled reminiscently and hooked his elbow round his friend’s throat as if to demonstrate.
“We had their weapons then, but the noise had roused the rest of the guards. Of course, they were all asleep and unarmed, which gave us some time. Heathen custom, sleeping in the middle of the day. You wouldn’t catch Norman soldiers sleeping like babes in broad daylight.”
“The rest I think you saw. We fought in the marketplace. Roger here caught a mare from somewhere and mounted her and rode down as many of the Judas dogs as he could.”
“And William used the guards’ arrows on their companions to some effect. They made a great mistake in capturing the three-time archery champion of East Normandy, eh, William?”
“I knew all that practice would come in handy someday, though I thought it would be against the Saracens, not fellow Christians.”
“Call those Griffons Christians?” Roger spat. “They’re damned infidels.”
* * *
Towards evening, the Emperor arrived. From the ships, they could see the procession winding its way down the hillside to the city. The sun, low in the sky, glittered on hauberks and helmets. To Joanna it seemed a great force streaming behind the Emperor’s banner. The jingling of their bridles and the pounding of their horses’ hoofs could be heard clearly from the dromon. Master Robert, standing beside her, was unimpressed.
“If the fleet were here, the King would snap them up like a fly and never even notice it.” He snapped his fingers in the air. “Why, we could probably take them ourselves with the men we have here.”
“When do you think my brother will come?”
“Hard to tell, my lady. Depends how far ahead of us he was. Within the week, for sure. But he will come, never fear. And then Isaac will regret he ever offered violence to our men.”
Emperor Isaac lost no time in communicating with them. Early in the morning a boat pulled out from the harbor. Joanna thought for a moment, seeing the sailors point and hearing their shouts, that it was an attack, but even the Cypriots would not be so rash. She finished drinking her ale, which had gone flat during the voyage, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she went to the rail to see. One boat, two envoys, and an escort of oarsmen. She took in the envoys’ finery and her eyes narrowed.
“Berthe!” she called, wheeling from the rail and snapping her fingers. “Get my jewel case. I want a coronet and a good brooch for my cloak and the largest ring you can find. And look sharp about it!”
“Yes, my lady.” Berthe scurried down into the hold.
Joanna heard the boat bump against the dromon’s side.
“Permission to come aboard to talk with your captain?”
The voice reminded her of Nicholas, the sly, elegant Byzantine who had for a while been treasurer at William’s court in Panorme. She smiled to herself, thinking, If only these envoys could see me in Sicilian regalia, with the Byzantine-style crown, how startled they would be.
Berthe had returned with her things. She kept her back turned as she held out her hand for the ring. Her women clustered round her, pinning a great gold and ruby brooch to the front of her cloak and removing the utilitarian bronze one.
“Yes, I am the master of this ship.” That was Robert’s voice.
“Your rank, sir?” That was typical of the Byzantines, she thought. They did not know how to behave until they ascertained your exact standing.
“I am a knight of Normandy.”
There was a short exchange in Greek, then the envoy spoke again. “You are flying three royal flags at your masthead, Sir Robert.”
Joanna judged her moment had come. She turned and, standing tall and straight, faced the envoys. They were taken aback. She saw it distinctly and smiled inwardly.
“This lady,” Robert said, “is sister to King Richard of England and widow of King William of Sicily. And this lady is the affianced bride of King Richard.”
The merest suggestion of a glance passed between the two envoys. Were they calculating the size of the ransom they could get for such inestimable prizes? Joanna advanced on them and stopped a good two yards distant. She was tall for a woman but not as tall as the men and did not want to be put at a disadvantage by looking up at them. She held out her hand, pointed low towards the deck. The two men came forward and knelt to kiss her hand. Over their heads, she saw Robert grinning but her expression remained haughty. She did not tell the men to rise.
“Your Highness, we are deeply honored …” the first man murmured.
“Our master the Emperor Isaac will be distressed to hear of your accommodation here so inferior to your rank. Had we known of your presence on board …”
“Tell your master that I greet him in the name of King Richard,” she said noncommittally. “What is your message?”
They glanced at each other again, uncomfortable remaining on one knee but tied by their Byzantine code of etiquette.
“Your Majesty, our imperial master sends us to make apologies for his men’s behavior. He greatly regrets the incident and the men concerned have been punished. He, and they, intended no disrespect to the great King your brother. Our men mistook yours for spies. Not for worlds would he have held prisoner the servants of his fellow monarch and one who sails moreover under the banner of Christ. He bade us urge you all to come ashore and enjoy his hospitality. All the more so since Your Majesty—Your Majesties are on board. I know the Emperor would wish us to convey you to his own palace where he can receive you with all the honors befitting your exalted station.”
“Tell your master that we are sensible of the honor he does us and most grateful for his kind invitation.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Robert had stopped smiling and was watching her anxiously. “We should indeed be happy to accept …” She paused momentarily.
“Your Highness is …”
“However, in the circumstances,” she went on, noting with amusement that they were confused as to what title they should accord her; so much easier in France and England where every woman from Queen to knight’s lady was addressed simply as “my lady,” “I am sure you will understand that in my brother’s absence, we think it better not to leave the ship and go ashore. My sister and I will await the coming of the King here on board. Then, if it is his pleasure, we shall accompany him to your master’s palace.”
“Does Your Majesty not think the King your brother, when he comes, would not prefer to see you comfortably installed in a royal palace than living roughly on a …” he looked around contemptuously, “… a simple dromon? We should not like to think we had been lacking in proper hospitality toward Your Majesties.”
“I think the King my brother will be able to value your hospitality as it deserves.”
“Then, if you are determined to stay aboard yourselves, perhaps we could entertain some of your noble knights? A dozen today, a dozen tomorrow … In this way we could make amends for yesterday’s unfortunate incident.”
“So the men may enjoy comforts that my sister and I have denied ourselves? Do you think that would be fitting, sir? No, either we all come or we all stay, and until my brother comes, we all stay.”
“Is it arranged then that the King comes here? At our last report, his ship was well beyond Cyprus on its way to Acre.”
“He will come. And then we shall speak again. You have our leave to go now.”
The envoys kissed her hand again and rose. She had left them no choice. From the deck of the dromon the ship’s company watched in silence as they scrambled down the ladder to the waiting boat. When they had pulled away, Joanna laughed.
“Bring me a stool and some wine. I need to get the taste of this morning’s foul ale out of my mouth and also the taste of those fawning, ingratiating knaves. Did they think we would be so simple as to taken in by that?”
“But, Joanna,” Berengaria protested in her soft voice, “was it wise to refuse? I’m not just thinking of my own comfort, though heaven knows how good it would be to stand on dry land again and eat fresh meat. But would not Richard want us to accept Isaac’s hospitality? And have we not perhaps offended Isaac by refusing?”
“My dear Berengaria,” Joanna was amazed by her naiveté, “can you imagine what a ransom he could ask for the two of us?”
“Ransom?” Berengaria was appalled. “But he sent his apologies. It was a mistake. Wasn’t it?”
Robert growled, “No mistake. They saw our flags before the storm. They knew we were no spies, but crusader ships. In your place, my lady, I’d have ordered the varlets thrown overboard and made no bones about it.”
“An open declaration of war? To what end? To encourage them to attack our ships with all their strength before Richard comes? To allow them time for a general muster to resist Richard? No, no, Robert, better to keep them guessing. They will arm anyway, in case Richard attacks, but they cannot be sure they have not fooled us.”
Robert stared at her. “Very good, my lady, very good. If it were not an insult, I’d say you were every bit as subtle as the Byzantines themselves.” He laughed and Joanna smiled, but Berengaria sat silent.
When Robert had left, Berengaria turned to Joanna in distress.
“I feel so stupid. I took the message at face value and believed them when they offered hospitality. And you—you look so regal. I would never have thought of putting on my jewels or thought it necessary. But it did impress them, I could see that. I shall never be worthy of Richard. What would he have thought of me?”
Joanna thought it wiser not to answer that. In truth, Berengaria looked far from regal at this moment. She sat hunched over on her stool, small, slender, her dark hair roughened by wind and salt and dragged back into an untidy bun. Her clothes were bedraggled and dirty and she wore no jewels except one ring that Richard had given her and that she would not remove.
“We had many Greeks at the Sicilian court,” Joanna said. “I learned to read them.”
“But would they dare insult the sister and the—the bride of King Richard the Lionheart? Are you sure they were not trying in earnest to propitiate us?”
“Not entirely sure, no, but I’d stake a great deal on their intentions being treacherous.”
“And Richard—they said his ship was well beyond here. Joanna—what if he is waiting for us at Acre? Would he not expect us to hold our course and meet him there?”
“No. He will come for us; I am sure of that.”
The next morning, new envoys arrived. They brought with them fresh-baked bread and ram’s flesh and Cyprus wine, saying the Emperor hoped they might change their minds and accept more lavish hospitality ashore, but if not, these gifts would at least ease their situation. Joanna thanked them politely, accepted the gifts, and sent the envoys back.
The wine was good and the food welcome after weeks of salt meat and hard tack. There were arguments on board. Joanna heard them though they were never in her presence and she questioned Robert about it.
“Some of the men think, my lady, that we should take a chance on going ashore. Our supplies are low and we have little fresh water left.”
“What do you think yourself, Robert?”
“I’m with you. We must wait for the King and I’d not trust that devil Isaac if my life depended on it.”
“And I think we should go ashore. There are enough armed knights to give them a good fight if they try anything …” William de Bois thrust his jaw out pugnaciously.
“I agree,” his friend Roger said. “One taste of that good ram’s meat and I realize what we’ve been missing all these weeks. If they mean what they say, why, we get better than that. If they don’t, it’s a good honest fight and better than sitting around here getting seasick.”
“We are enormously outnumbered, Roger,” Robert said. “It might start as a fight but it would end as a massacre. Besides, my first charge is the King’s ladies. I cannot expose them to such danger.”
“If we agreed to go,” Joanna said impatiently. “I was a prisoner in a royal palace once and I tell you, I would rather stay here and eat salt meat.”
“We may be eating less than that soon, my lady, and no water to wash it down unless we re-provision.”
“Do we have enough to get to Acre?” Roger asked.
“The King will come,” Joanna said curtly, understanding the drift of his question.
But she was touched with a cold doubt. Perhaps Richard had gone on to Acre and was waiting for them there. She knew already, having asked Robert, that they did not have enough supplies to get to Acre. And only enough water to hold out here for three more days. Surely Richard should have found them by now? His mariners knew where they were when the storm came up, knew which way the wind was blowing. If he did not come …
On the fifth day, the envoys came again.
“Our imperial master is distressed to think of the discomforts Your Majesties must be suffering here. He wishes to assure you on his honor that he has nothing but respect for the great King your brother and urges you to reconsider your decision. There are chambers awaiting you with the best linen sheets on the beds, and warm scented baths. His Imperial Majesty would put his serving women at your disposal, and horses for your men to ride …”
Joanna’s head went up involuntarily and her gaze wandered over the Cypriot hillsides. Yes, one could gallop across that flat expanse there. Ah, Cigale, where are you now?
“… and of course, for you too, Your Highness. The hunting here is not good but there is a royal game preserve not many miles distant and I am sure my master would be happy to give you the freedom of it or to escort you there himself.” The envoy was eyeing her, aware that he had at last hit on a temptation.
Joanna came back to the present. “Your master is most kind. Yes, indeed, life on board ship grows tedious. We should be happy to avail ourselves of the Emperor’s hospitality. A bath … a comfortable bed … a gallop across terra firma.” She smiled at them, a woman weakening, about to change her mind. The envoys watched her eagerly. Their eyes gleamed. “But I should not like to incur the King my brother’s displeasure. I should wait until I hear his decision.” A timorous woman, unused to responsibility. “Of course, he may not come for days. If at all.” She hesitated, made a final compromise. “You may tell your master that if the King does not come tomorrow, we shall place ourselves at his disposal.”
The envoys had to be satisfied with that and left with many protestations of their master’s goodwill and the splendor of the reception he would surely prepare for them on the morrow.
“And if I am right, that reception is more like to be confinement in one room until ransom or rescue comes,” she said, watching their boat pull away.
“Then why, my lady,” Robert asked. “I don’t understand why you have agreed to go ashore tomorrow. He will be as much a villain tomorrow as today.”
“We are still aboard, are we not, Robert? Tomorrow we shall see. Perhaps I, or Berengaria, will regrettably be too sick to endure the boat ride. Or I shall change my mind again. Or, God willing, Richard will come. I will not go tomorrow.”
With all her heart, she willed Richard’s coming. She heard the grumbling of the men. They were on low rations now and a watch had been set on the water supply. In the city, in full sight of the ships, business in the marketplace went on as usual. Sides of meat were hung up, baskets of fresh fruit were carried on porters’ heads, and smoke rose from stalls selling hot pasties. The men had little else to do but watch and fall into fights with one another.
Even Joanna’s lady-in-waiting Berthe had complained. “I’d rather go,” Berthe insisted. “I’m sick of sleeping on a pallet in the hold, sick of maggoty hard bread and tough salt meat and stale beer. So what if they shut us up? They’d feed us at least. And when your brother comes, he’ll rescue us. I’d rather be trapped in a palace room than trapped on this ship, I tell you.”
Joanna was losing her confidence. More and more of the men were beginning to favor going ashore and taking their chances. They would wait another day, but if she refused again tomorrow … She paced the deck restlessly and stared out at the empty horizon.
The long day wore on. The sun rose to its zenith above the mast and began to descend. Seabirds wheeled shrieking overhead. The sailors dozed in shady comers or played at dice. The dromon rocked gently.
“Ship ahoy!”
The cry from the crow’s nest brought every man to his feet. “Two ships, sir, east-south-east. Coming on fast.”
“The flag, man. Can you make out the flag?”
“Not yet, sir.”
The dromon tilted in the water as everyone on board lined the rail, searching anxiously. Joanna found Berengaria was clutching her arm as she stood on tiptoe.
“Oh God, please let it be, please let it be him,” she prayed.
In a while they could see them, two tiny dots on the horizon.
“Send Will Hawkeye aloft,” Robert ordered.
Will shinned eagerly up the mast. He shook his head to clear his vision and shaded his eyes.
“There are more ships behind them, sir. I see—I would say—a half a dozen ships now. Can’t tell what flag yet, sir.”
At the rail, they still strained to see. The tension grew.
“It’s red, sir. A scarlet flag.”
“Red!”
Someone started to cheer and the men were shouting.
Up aloft, in the crow’s nest, Will Hawkeye had a hard time making himself heard.
“Three lions, sir, on a scarlet flat. It’s the King!”
Tears were running down Joanna’s face.
“Richard! He’s coming!” She hugged Berengaria, unable to say anything more, and together they did a little dance. “Thank God, thank God! At last!”
Now they could see them, sailing swiftly towards them, two galleys in the lead, some six or seven behind them, and spread out behind them again, the whole fleet was coming on. At first no bigger than crows in the distance, they grew rapidly larger, riding the summit of the curling waves, until the waiting crowd on the dromon could see the rows of shields lining the rails and, flying out at the masthead, above the lantern, the golden lions of England.
A roar went up from the ships around them, a deep full-throated roar of exultation.
“King Richard! The King has come!”