The Loves of the Lionheart

by Margaret Brazear

He leaned in close and kissed her lips, his warm fingers resting gently on her cheek.

  “Good,” he said. “Since we have that out of the way, what shall we do now?”

  He smiled playfully, then his fingers stroked her body, from her neck down to her breasts and beyond, his lips met hers and kissed her in a way she had never imagined. She shivered with delight, kissed him back, wrapped her legs around him and felt him stir against her.

  Celebrations were still going on in the palace and throughout the Angevin Empire. In England Eleanor had arranged a banquet, in Pamplona King Sancho was toasting the happiness of his eldest daughter as that daughter lay here in the arms of a man she had loved for years and would love for many more.

  PRINCESS ALYS WAS TOLD only last night that she was leaving Normandy and returning to Paris, to her brother’s royal court. After all this time, someone had finally remembered her, shut away in her castle gaol at the pleasure of the King of England.

  Now her brother wanted her back. For what? He must have some scheme in mind where she could play a part, be of use. There seemed no other reason for him to suddenly remember his sister and take her back to live in Paris.

  She had heard that he was away on crusade in the Holy Land, so she would be spared a lecture from him at least.

  One of her ladies came into the chamber with a travelling box in which to pack her gowns and other garments, her face aglow with the prospect of returning to court.

  “Why now, Anne?” Alys asked. “I have been in limbo, betrothed to the King of England and with no word from him. Am I now to know where my life is leading?”

  Lady Anne took her hand and squeezed it. Alys’ face was showing fine lines now, her youth squandered to the lust of mighty men, and Anne would have given her own freedom to be able to tell her she was being given back her life. But she could not; she knew none of the answers herself.

  “I am not sure if my answer will be welcome,” Lady Anne replied hesitantly.

  “Go on,” said Alys.

  “This week,” said Anne, “on the island of Cyprus, King Richard was married to Princess Berengaria of Navarre.”

  Why those words distressed Alys so, she could not have said. Richard meant nothing to her, not now. He had made it quite clear how he felt about her, with what disdain he regarded her. It was true he had treated her well during her captivity here in Normandy, had spared no expense in providing for her comfort. Certainly she had fared better than her brother’s poor wife, Ingeborg, when he discarded her.

  Why should it be that a pang of jealousy stabbed her heart to know that Richard loved another? She might take comfort from believing that he did not love her, that she was a bride of convenience just as Alys herself would have been, but somehow that mattered not at all.

  He should have been hers. She should have been Queen of England, not some other princess, but after the jealousy had faded, she realised that it was of no importance. All she wanted was someone who would love her, someone who would really love her not just lust after her as Henry had and not someone who would use her for his own ambitions.

  She thought it unlikely that she would ever be granted such a wish.

  “I wish them every happiness,” she said at last. “I wonder if he loves her.”

  “People say he does, My Lady. I hear he has taken her with him to the Holy Land.”

  She made no reply, only watched as her clothes were folded and packed into the travelling boxes. A few more days would take her to Paris, to the French court and who knew what might be awaiting her?

  Her brother’s letter arrived only yesterday, a letter he had written from Sicily when Richard told him why she would never be his wife. It was a letter she had been expecting to receive for many years, but like everything else with Philip, he refused to believe what it didn’t suit him to believe, even though the whole of Christendom had heard about Alys’ affair with King Henry. It was only now, when Richard was wed to another and the hope of a union had gone forever, that he was forced to believe what he had been told years ago.

  The letter was written in anger, written in a blind rage in which Philip called her every evil name he could think of. She was a whore, a trollop, a prostitute and worse. She was a fornicator, an adulterer; she should be publicly flogged until her flesh bled and poured into a red puddle about her feet.

  She shivered as she looked from the window and recalled his words. He would do it too. Was this why he wanted her back in Paris?

  She could never forget how he had treated his Danish bride, who had committed no crime, who had come here full of hope to marry the King of France and make him a good wife, give him sons and learn to love him. The whole of Europe still reeled at the whole sorry episode, how he had first demanded that she be returned to Denmark and an annulment granted and when that did not happen, how he had locked her in a cold, damp castle without proper clothing nor adequate food.

  Philip had applied to the Pope for an annulment, claiming non-consummation, and one thing Alys had never understood was Ingeborg’s insistence that the marriage had been consummated. Why would she do that? Why would she want to stay with a man who despised her so? Was this where pride had taken her, because she was too proud to admit the truth?

  Thinking about her, Alys felt that her own life, miserable though it had been, was paradise compared to hers. She had at least known hope and she had known love for a few years. Now she knew a new hope, hope that her brother would get himself killed in the Holy Land and never return, for she very much feared a similar fate awaited her.

  DURING THE THREE DAYS of the wedding celebrations, Richard rarely left the side of his lovely new bride. He spent vast amounts of money on the celebration and was more than happy that he had reclaimed his stolen gold plate for the feast, the gold plate that was left to him by Joanna’s late husband and stolen by Komnenus during the shipwreck off the coast of Cyprus.

  He apparently wanted to show off, his golden plate and his golden Queen. She was so beautiful, dressed in the best finery he could find on the island for her, but to him she was even lovelier lying naked beside him.

  Their lovemaking brought them to heights of ecstasy he had never known before and he secretly thanked his father for giving him an excuse to break his betrothal to Princess Alys. He had ordered her release when he paid her brother to free him from his promise and he wished her well. He did not blame her; it was partly his own fault for neglecting her for so long, for letting her know that he had no real desire for her. He was content; there was no reason why she should not also be content and he hoped Philip would get over his outrage and treat her kindly.

  On the fourth day, Richard brought to their lodgings a little girl, hair as black as jet and eyes to match. She was no more than six or seven years old, if that, she spoke only Greek and she looked terrified.

  “What is this?” Berengaria asked her husband.

  “This is the daughter of Komnenus, the man who calls himself Emperor of Cyprus. She is to stay with us, as hostage to his good behaviour.”

  “With us, Richard?”

  “Yes. I want her kept safe, and try to cheer her up. She will likely never see her father again.”

  He laughed then, a joyous laugh as though he had heard some hilarious jest. She frowned at him, waiting to discover if he would share the joke with her.

  “What is amusing you so, Richard?” Joanna’s voice came from behind her brother.

  She had appeared in the room, unnoticed, and hoping her brother had not inflicted some awful injury on the father of this child. It was the sort of thing he might well find amusing, given the right mood.

  “The so-called Emperor begged me not to put him in iron chains,” he answered. “I have had silver ones made for him instead.”

  He laughed even louder, Joanna sniggered, but Berengaria could find nothing to amuse her. She had little enough time to spend with her new husband as it was, and here he had presented her with a child to care for.

  “What is to become of the child?”
She asked.

  “She will stay here with you and my sister.”

  “Did you not think to ask if I wanted to raise a foreign child?” She said angrily. “What is her name?”

  He shrugged.

  “Who knows? She speaks no French or Spanish, only Greek. We will give her a name; you and Joanna can think of something. Tomorrow, we leave for Acre. She will be practice for you, should you prove to be with child.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Caged Queens

  THE CRUSADERS’ ARRIVAL in Acre was met with celebration by all the Christian inhabitants of that town. Despite being night, every detail of the welcome could be seen from the ships. The town was lit up so brightly with candles strung across the beach, torches carried to the seashore and singing that could be heard out to sea. Cheering got louder as they drew closer and the two queens on board smiled. The little princess pointed and laughed, as any child would, and Berengaria was pleased that she did not seem to be missing her father in the least.

  It was all so exciting, they could not help but feel the joy from the townsfolk. Richard waved at the people on the beach, then jumped into a little boat and rowed himself to the shore. His wife and his sister watched indulgently as he hugged these people to him, like a little boy at Christmas.

  Once the women had been rowed to shore by one of the crew, they were guided to a large house and on the way there, Berengaria felt a heavy dread, a portent for the future as she watched her husband climb to take down the standard of the Emperor of Austria and replace it with his own. It was a premonition, that this action would come back to haunt them all.

  The house was large by middle eastern standards, made of sand bricks and designed for the hot weather. They were comfortable enough, but as they settled into their new dwelling, they looked in vain for Richard. There was no sign of him that night, which his wife understood. He would want to establish his command among the men and especially with the other crusade leaders, the Emperor of Austria, whom he had already offended, as well as Philip Augustus, the King of France who had not yet forgiven him for rejecting his sister.

  The following day, Richard sent a note, informing his wife of only a few days that he would be staying in the tents with his men. He did not think it right, he wrote, that he should be in a comfortable dwelling with his wife, while his men had no such luxury.

  He also wrote that his wife and sister, along with the Cypriot princess, were not to leave the surrounding grounds of their residence. It was too dangerous, he said, for two western women to be seen outside. They were too valuable as hostages to risk their safety and they were to stay where they were.

  Berengaria stared out of the upstairs window at the desolate piece of land around the house, at the high walls which surrounded it and depression settled over her. There would be no riding, as there was no room for horses, there was little in the way of materials to paint or fabrics to embroider. They could not be allowed to practice their archery, because the local people guarding their safety might misinterpret that as them having weapons.

  Berengaria already felt that she was in a cage, that someone would be watching her every movement and her joy at the King wanting her company on his crusade, faded rapidly.

  “So, I am not to see my husband at all,” Berengaria protested. She flapped the letter in the air, then crunched it up and tossed it on the floor. “I have been his wife for but four days and that is all I am to have, just four days.”

  “I am sure it is for the best,” Joanna replied. “He wants to be sure we are safe. That makes sense does it not?”

  “Safety is one thing, but he neglects me. He prefers to sleep in the filthy tents with his soldiers, than in a soft bed with his wife.”

  Joanna took her hand and held it gently.

  “He will visit, I am sure,” she said soothingly. “But he is a warrior, one of the greatest military leaders of all time so they say. It is natural that, when he is preparing for battle, he would stay with his men, that he would want nothing to distract him from his strategies. And you cannot deny that you are a distraction.”

  Berengaria forced a smile. She knew what her friend was trying to say, but she had thought herself fortunate to be marrying the man she loved. Now she was not so sure he loved her the same. Still, this was a holy war and she should, like Richard, put that first.

  “Of course, you are right,” she said. “Once he has recaptured Jerusalem, he will have more time for me. It is simply a disappointment and I should be ashamed.”

  The fighting could be heard from the house, every day the clash of steel, the shouts and screams of the injured and dying. But it was all in the distance, far away from where the Queens spent their days in discussion of their early lives. For they had little else to occupy them.

  They had known similar upbringings, except that Berengaria had been raised in a court of music and beauty, whereas Joanna had been raised to impress a future husband. She remembered little of her childhood, but even after her marriage to the King of Sicily, she learned about music and art. William was not a faithful husband, but he was a refined man who treated his Queen with kindness and respect.

  Joanna was never comfortable with his paramours though, because they were slave girls who had no choice. She would have felt happier had he enticed some free woman to his bed, someone who had the power to refuse him should she so wish. That was a privilege even his wife did not have within her power.

  But that was not how it was to be and, hearing how some wives of sovereigns had been treated, she felt herself fortunate. She married King William to form an alliance between the Angevin Empire and Sicily, to give them free trade and travel through each other’s territories.

  That was the purpose of princesses; she sometimes wondered if things would ever be any different.

  Acre fell and the queens hoped they could move to a more liberal place, but they were to be disappointed. Richard promised freedom to the city’s defenders, provided the Christian hostages were returned and a large sum in gold was paid to the King, but Saladin, the Muslim leader, failed to fulfil any of his promises. Despite his victory, despite the walls of the city having fallen to his siege engines and his archers, the promises were never kept.

  While they waited, a chilling silence fell over the town of Acre, a silence that told them all was not well. If demands were not met, the amicable treaty would not last.

  Berengaria and Joanna heard only rumours that Richard’s rage was terrifying, until the screams of terror drew their attention. The little Cypriot Princess folded herself up beneath her bed in fear, until Joanna coaxed her out and comforted her.

  They had found a local woman to care for the child and she was there now, more afraid than any of them since she had no idea if her own family was safe. But she took the child away while the two queens went to the upper floor of the house, where they stood on benches and on tiptoe in an effort to see what all the noise was about.

  “This is hopeless,” Berengaria said. “We’ll have to climb up to the roof.”

  Joanna caught her arm to stop her, but she frowned and pulled herself away.

  “We should stay here,” Joanna said. “It is best we do not see.”

  “Why? Do you believe the rumours then, that Richard’s fury is out of control? How can you believe that?”

  “Because, sister, I have seen his rage before. It is not pretty.”

  “I need to see that for myself. I’ll not believe the man I love is the cause of those cries of terror and pain, not unless I see it with my own eyes.”

  “And if you do see it, you will never feel the same about him again.”

  But Berengaria would not be deterred and she hurried to the narrow door which opened onto a ladder leading up to the flat roof of the building. She stood mesmerised as Joanna came behind her and put her arm around her. The screams were far enough away to be but a dull, yet terrifying noise, but despite that, the sight which met the eyes of the two queens caused their stomachs to heave.

&nb
sp; They were a long way away, but still they could see the blood that splashed into the air like a red fountain. Nearly three thousand men, the defenders of Acre whose freedom was promised them, awaited their fate, waited and watched their colleagues as they were beheaded one by one in the gruelling heat, by the so-called holy warriors. The massacre went on for hours.

  “Come away,” said Joanna.

  Berengaria’s head shook slowly in denial.

  “Who has ordered this?” She demanded, her eyes filling with tears. “When Richard learns of this his rage will know no bounds.”

  “Come away, please,” Joanna repeated.

  “No. Not until I know who is responsible. I must get word to the King; I must tell him what is happening here while there is still time to stop it.”

  Joanna touched her friend’s arm gently. She was finding it hard to believe what she knew to be the truth; she wasn’t sure she had the strength to impart that truth to her brother’s wife.

  BERENGARIA WAS DESPERATE to see her husband, to speak to him and hear from his own lips that it was not he who had ordered the barbarous massacre at Acre, but her wish was not granted. She was still unable to leave the compound for fear of her safety, and Richard made no attempt to visit her or explain.

  This hurt her more than anything, as he must have known the things she was hearing. Did he not think it mattered to her, what people were saying about him? And if such gossip was true, did he think she could still love him? Or perhaps that was of no importance to him.

  Either way, she cried herself to sleep at night, quietly so as not to wake Joanna and the fact that Richard’s sister believed the tales so readily was another piece to the gathering heartache she was feeling.

  A few days later, some soldiers arrived to escort the two queens to Arsuf where they were once again confined for their own safety. The tedium and lack of freedom was beginning to irritate them; this was not what either of them were accustomed to. Even Joanna, when she was the Queen of Sicily and her husband lived, had been free to go about as she pleased. The Cypriot princess was still with them. Perhaps Richard thought having a child to care for would give them occupation enough.