by Jean Plaidy
‘It is time to go,’ Richard told himself. ‘I will come again and next time I shall succeed.’
Saladin was an honourable man. Perhaps he could make a truce with him. He would tell him the truth, for if he did not, Saladin would discover it. He was sick; there was trouble in his realm; while he fought in this land half his thoughts were of his home.
He called messengers to him and sent them to Saladin. Would Saladin consider a truce?
There was in fact nothing Saladin wanted more. His men, too, were weary of the fight. They, too, longed for their homes. They had suffered terrible losses and they greatly feared Richard the Lion-Heart.
Most willingly would he come to terms.
It was decided that the truce should last three years, three months, three weeks and three days starting from the following Easter. Part of the coast was to remain in Christian hands; and during the time of the truce Christians might have free passage and safe conduct to Jerusalem and be allowed to worship at the Holy Sepulchre. But they must come in peace and in small parties.
Richard knew that Saladin would keep his word.
‘Is it not strange,’ he said, ‘that I should know this and trust a heathen, when he who declared himself my good friend and ally, the Christian King of France, should conspire with my own brother against me?’
And he thought often of Saladin as Saladin thought of him; each was aware of the almost mystic bond between them.
In the palace at Acre the two Queens heard of his illness and that preparations were to be made for them to leave.
Joanna, watchful of her sister-in-law, noticed that she did not express the usual anxiety for Richard’s health. She was sorry. She had to admit that Richard had neglected Berengaria shamefully. True he was engaged on a mighty venture, but he made no effort to be with her and there surely must have been occasions when it was possible.
Berengaria had changed a little; her lips had tightened. Perhaps she was no longer in love with the romantic warrior.
Joanna was sad. She had to admit that Richard was ruthless. Had he not tried to marry her off to a Saracen? Yet he had made no effort to force her. She would have done anything rather than agree to such a marriage and he knew that. Poor Berengaria! She was learning with bitterness that there were often disadvantages in being born a princess.
The little Cypriot in her role of watcher asked herself whether there was not after all something to be said for being a dispossessed princess. No one would try to force her into marriage; and if marriage was not for her how could she have a neglectful husband to make her unhappy?
Berengaria said to Joanna, ‘When Richard comes I would speak to him alone.’
‘But of course you will be alone with him. You are his wife.’
A hard smile curved Berengaria’s lips. ‘None would believe it,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I find it difficult to do so myself.’
Joanna did not pursue the subject. She wanted to turn away from it. Perhaps some day Berengaria would confide in her when the wounds were less fresh.
Richard arrived, looking pale and somewhat hollow-eyed but considering the malignancy of the fever far better than might have been expected.
He asked the two queens to come to him and was surprised when Berengaria came alone. She thought how magnificent he looked. Illness could not destroy the appearance of great strength and virility.
‘So,’ she said, ‘we are to leave here.’
‘The news has come in advance of me?’
‘It is customary, my lord, to hear news of you not from your lips but those of others.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘There is so much to occupy me.’
‘That I know well and the company of others is preferable to that of your wife.’
He looked astonished. ‘Why say you so?’ he asked.
‘Indeed why, since it is truly unnecessary to voice such an obvious fact,’ she replied. Then she burst out passionately: ‘How think you I endure the pity of those around me?’
‘Pity, Madam?’ he said in surprise. ‘Should you be pitied . . . here in this comfortable palace? I and my soldiers should be the ones who are given that . . . marching in the heat or the mud, tormented by noisome insects . . .’
‘And your friend Blondel de Nesle?’ she asked. ‘Does he suffer so?’
‘The minstrels accompany the army. They have their work as do the others.’
‘I trust this Blondel is happy with his work.’
‘He would seem so.’
‘So much enjoying the favour of his master.’
He pretended not to understand. He said: ‘Music is an essential part of our army. A minstrel’s songs can lighten the spirit and put heart into weary men.’
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
‘I am no wife to you,’ she said.
‘Is that your wish?’ he asked, almost eagerly.
‘If it be yours,’ she answered.
‘This seems to me a fruitless conversation,’ he said. ‘You are the Queen. I am the King. We are married whether we call it so or not. I am much pressed for time. I wished to see you and my sister that I might arrange for our departure.’
‘We shall not, of course, travel with you?’ She could not look at him. She fixed her eyes on the glittering belt he wore about his waist. She had seen it before for it was a favourite of his. It was an object of startling beauty, set with unusual gems.
‘It is wiser not,’ he said.
She laughed bitterly. ‘For our comfort or yours?’
He looked surprised, wilfully misunderstanding her. ‘For yours of a certainty.’ He looked at her coldly. ‘I think you are unaware of what is happening in my kingdom. My mother writes to me that traitors plot against me. I must go back by a quicker route and that may be a dangerous one. You and my sister will travel with the fleet to protect you. I am putting you in charge of my faithful knight Stephen of Turnham whom I would trust with my life.’
‘It is good of you,’ she said, ‘to take such care of me.’
He bowed his head and answered: ‘I would speak with my sister. There are many plans to be made.’
She went to her chamber and there lay on her bed.
The Cypriot Princess crept silently into her room and knelt by her bed. She took her hand and held it.
The little Princess saw that the tears were on Berengaria’s cheeks.
On the first day of October the fleet with the two queens and the Cypriot princess set sail. Richard remained for nine more days. He said he must wait for those days to regain fully his strength for the journey.
He stood on the prow of the small ship which was carrying him and a few of his attendants away from Jerusalem.
A great sadness possessed him. He had failed to achieve that which he had come so near to winning.
Leaning on the rail he cried: ‘Oh Holy Land, I commend thee to God. May He, of his mercy grant me such space of life that I may one day bring thee aid. For it is my hope and determination, by God’s goodwill, to return.’
Only with the belief that one day he would come back and win Jerusalem could he be at peace with himself.
The land faded from sight. The crusade was over. He would not brood on the number of lives which had been lost, the amount of blood that had been shed, the torture and agonies which had been inflicted on myriads.
He must think now of what was happening at home; he must make plans for defeating the traitors. But first of all there was the hazardous journey ahead of him.
Chapter XIII
THE ROYAL FUGITIVE
Rhe journey to Corfu was uneventful. During it Richard fully regained his health and had time to assess his situation.
The crusade had failed in its purpose. He might have left with Philip for he had gained very little by staying. Had he gone back to England then, he could have prevented whatever trouble was brewing with John, and he could have planned a greater crusade in the light of what he had learned from the last one.
He had emerged with b
ut little gain: merely the three years truce during which time Christians could visit Jerusalem. But his reputation as a soldier had grown to spectacular magnitude. Richard the Lion-hearted was known throughout the Christian world; minstrels sang of his prowess and his courage in battle. He was the greatest soldier of his age and yet he had not been able to vanquish Saladin. Perhaps in his heart he had not wanted to, and he believed that Saladin had not wished to destroy him. Saladin would have preferred to make him his hostage. He knew that, because there had been several attempts to take him when he was in a vulnerable position, perhaps in some lonely spot with but a few of his knights. He could visualise such a situation. The courteous treatment, the honours, the conversation, the growing friendship. It would have been as it had in those long ago days when he had been a hostage of Philip of France. He would not have believed it possible then that Philip who had loved him so dearly in those days should now be plotting against him.
He had many enemies. This journey of his could be full of dangers. If he were to be washed up on some alien coast defenceless, many willing hands would seize him, and not in order to honour him. The French hated him. They had never agreed during their sojourn in the Holy Land. How often they had shown their enmity. And the Germans disliked him. Henry the Emperor would not forgive him for making an ally of Tancred and Leopold had a personal grudge against him.
He must get back quickly, and to do so he must go as far as possible by land, for who could tell when the sea was going to make progress impossible. At any time ships could be driven on to a coast if they were lucky and kept there for months waiting for favourable winds.
Time was important. His mother had made it clear that urgency was needed; and even after receiving her warning he had delayed.
He would make the journey by land and as it was going to be a dangerous one it would be folly to let it be known that the traveller was Richard of England. He must disguise himself; it was not easy for a king. He could wear the clothes of a beggar but somehow the arrogance, the dignity, the kingly air would seep through and betray him.
Such were his thoughts as he sailed away from the Holy Land and a month after leaving he reached the Island of Corfu.
Two days out from Corfu Richard sighted two vessels on the horizon.
He shouted to his friends to come and see.
‘By God’s eyes,’ he cried, ‘I know not to which country they belong. They would seem to be pirates.’
‘Better pirates, Sire,’ said one of his friends, ‘than French or German.’
‘Be ready,’ cried Richard. ‘We may have to fight them.’
One of the ships came alongside. It was well armed and Richard regretted that his fleet was not with him. He would have made short work of the impudent fellows if it had been there.
The sailors were ready with arrows and stones but Richard did not give the order to attack. He said that first he would try to parley with the pirates.
Using his trumpet he did this. It was not easy. They spoke a variation of Turkish and Arabic; but the stay in Palestine had helped him to understand something of this language and it was just possible to make himself understood.
The vessels were indeed pirates, looking for booty.
Richard had an idea. He cried: ‘If you attempt to board my ship I will have the blood of every man of you. But there is a way in which you could gain a great deal of money without fighting for it.’
The pirate leader was interested and Richard said that he would board the larger of their vessels to parley with him, accompanied by only two of his knights.
The pirate leader was astonished that he could so trust them, and said so.
‘Why, fellow,’ said Richard, ‘if you attempted treachery we would sink your two ships and your men with them. Have no doubt of that. But you have given me your word and I have given you mine. Wise men know that it is never good policy to betray a trust. If you wish to fight and take the spoils of my ship, then I will return to it and we shall battle together. But you are not so foolish.’
‘You are a great lord,’ said the pirate. ‘What is your will?’
‘I wish you to take me on board and convey me and a few of my followers to a spot I shall choose on the Adriatic coast. If you will do this you will be amply paid. If you fail you will surely die with all your sins on you – and a pirate could scarcely pursue his trade without indulging in a goodly number.’
‘You are a brave man,’ said the pirate.
‘It has been said of me.’
‘There is about you a manner different from that of other men. I would say that only great lords and kings have such manners.’
‘Then perhaps you are a discerning man.’
‘There is news around,’ said the pirate, ‘that a great king is on his way back to England.’
‘You hear news then.’
‘We pick it up here and there. It is said that many great lords are looking for the King of England.’
‘For what purpose think you?’
‘That which would brook no good to him, I trow,’ said the pirate with a laugh.
‘And if they were to find him, I trow that would brook no good to them.’
‘He is a mighty man. One ’twould be good not to cross.’
Richard nodded and the pirate smiled slyly.
‘We will do your bidding, my lord,’ he said. ‘We will take you and some of your friends to the spot you choose and if you wish to reward poor men for the trouble they have had, they will be grateful.’
‘You shall be rewarded,’ said Richard. He looked down at the clothes he had adopted soon after leaving Corfu. They were those of a Templar. ‘You see me thus garbed.’
‘My lord, it does not become you as other garbs might.’
‘Then mayhap I should change it. I shall come to your ship as a palmer. Would that fit me better?’
The pirate shook his head. ‘Mayhap ’twill pass but I see you in shining armour, my lord, with a red cross on your breast.’
‘And I see you are a man of insight,’ said Richard, ‘which if it is tempered with discretion should serve you well.’
Thus Richard, in the garb of a humble pilgrim, and a few of his most trusted men boarded the pirate ship. His own he sent off to join his fleet if possible; if not to return to England.
The pirates treated him with a respect which grew during his voyage with them. That he was a man of great courage was obvious to them, that he was Richard the Lion-Heart was almost equally so. They knew they could trust him to reward them if they landed him safely for his honesty was as renowned as his courage. He was a guileless man in many ways; he gave a straight answer and he had so often been deluded because he had trusted others to be as frank as himself. Richard Yea and Nay was a man whose word was his bond.
When one of the ships ran into trouble and was forced on to the island of Lacroma he worked with the men during the violent storm in the hope of saving the ship. As this was impossible he with the other members of the crew transferred to the remaining ship and he travelled in that to Ragusa. There he took his leave of the pirates after paying them as he had promised and still dressed as a pilgrim, accompanied by a band of followers and with rich garments, jewels and money on pack mules, he began his journey across the land.
It was ill luck which had brought him to Ragusa, for the governor of that land was related to Conrad de Montferrat who had been murdered by the Old Man of the Mountains just as he had been declared King of Jerusalem.
When he landed Richard found a lodging which was not very grand, explaining that he was a merchant who was returning from pilgrimage. There he called his followers together and decided what must be done.
‘First, my friends, we must conceal our identity. Our party must consist of Sir Baldwin de Bethune and his retinue. I shall not be of that retinue for it seems to me that if I attempted to ape a servant I should fail in some way. For myself I shall take the role of a wealthy merchant from Damascus who had joined your party for company. My name shall b
e Hugo . . . Hugo of Damascus.’
‘Where shall we go from here, my lord?’ asked Baldwin.
‘We must make our way to the coast, avoiding French territory, for I should not care to fall into the hands of the King of France.’
‘Nor those of Leopold of Austria, my lord,’ said Baldwin.
‘I liked him not,’ said Richard. ‘An arrogant fellow who came to the crusade in no humble spirit. He sought only gain. Do you remember how he flew his flag on the walls of Acre and refused to help us rebuild the walls of the cities?’
‘Aye, Sire, I remember it well,’ answered Baldwin, ‘and doubtless he does.’
Their host chatted with them as they sat at his table. He had been told he would not regret his hospitality.
Richard asked if they had many pilgrims passing through the land.
‘Nay,’ was the answer, ‘they do not often come this way.’
‘Any Christian country would allow pilgrims to pass through unmolested, I believe,’ said Richard.
‘Nay, Master Hugo, that is not so. Those who wish us ill could so easily hide their identity behind the pilgrim’s robe and palm.’
‘’Tis true enough,’ said Richard, ‘and it may be that the most honest of merchants would be suspected.’
It was so difficult for him to deceive. He was not meant to play any role but that of a king. His manners would have betrayed him again and again to any who was suspicious.
‘We are watchful,’ said their host. ‘I shall be obliged to let it be known that a party of pilgrims has passed this way. Did you know that King Richard has left Palestine?’
‘Is that so?’ said Baldwin before Richard could speak.
‘He has to return to his kingdom where his brother is causing trouble and it seems that he made many enemies when he was in Palestine.’
‘It is difficult not to,’ began Richard.
