Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,120

any of them had ever heard: “Land on the larboard side!”

At first, the passengers could see nothing. But then the smudged shadows along the horizon slowly began to take shape. In the distance, the sea was changing color, shading from deep blue to turquoise as the water grew shallower. “Is that Cyprus?” Berengaria asked, and when the master said it was, her murmured “Gracias a Dios” needed no translation, found echoes in every heart. She turned then, intending to thank the master, too, for they’d survived because of his seamanship. But at that moment, Joanna appeared on deck.

It was the first time she’d left the tent in days, and she blinked and squinted in the blaze of midday sun. As much as they’d all suffered during their ordeal, none had been as desperately ill as Joanna. She’d lost so much weight that she seemed alarmingly frail, her collarbones thrown into sudden prominence, her gown gaping at the neckline, and her chalky-white pallor made the dark shadows under her eyes look like bruises. Berengaria started toward her, but Stephen de Turnham and Mariam reached her first. She was too unsteady on her feet for false pride, and allowed them to guide her toward the gunwale. She was soon swallowing convulsively and when Berengaria took her hand, it was clammy to the touch. But she kept her eyes upon the horizon, watching with a painful intensity as the coast of Cyprus gradually came into view.

“Oh, no!” Joanna’s murmur reached no farther than Berengaria’s ears, more like a broken breath than a cry. They looked at each other in dismay and then back at the beautiful, blue-green, empty sea. For by now they ought to have seen a floating forest of timber masts, sails furled as the ships rode at anchor offshore. An involuntary groan burst from dozens of throats, so sure had they all been that they’d find the royal fleet awaiting them in Cyprus. None voiced their fears aloud, though, for the knights did not want to alarm the women, and Joanna and Berengaria’s ladies-in-waiting dared not speak out, for their mistresses had entered into a conspiracy of silence, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that Richard’s ship might have gone down in that Good Friday gale.

The silence that settled over the deck was a strangled one, therefore, fraught with all that they dare not say. When she saw Uracca struggling to stifle a sob, Berengaria forced a smile and offered the only comfort she could, saying with false heartiness, “How wonderful it will be to set foot on land again.”

She was taken aback by Joanna’s vehement reaction to that innocuous comment. “No!” Seeing Berengaria’s lack of comprehension, Joanna drew a bracing breath before saying, more calmly, “Cyprus is ruled by a man unworthy of trust. Isaac Comnenus seized power six years ago and dares to call himself emperor. But he has no honor, no scruples, and no mercy. We cannot go ashore.”

“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