Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,121

the emperor, so his ambitions may well extend to the Greek Empire itself. But he has Cyprus in a stranglehold, maintaining power by hiring Armenian routiers and terrorizing the local population. He is loathed and feared by the Cypriots for arbitrarily seizing their property and imposing high taxes. And he has a truly vile reputation where women are concerned; even respectable wives and daughters are not safe from his lustful attentions.”

Berengaria glanced toward the rolling hills now silhouetted against the sky. After so long at sea, Cyprus looked like a veritable Eden, but the snake in this Eden sounded more lethal than any viper. She was puzzled that this was the first she’d heard of Isaac Comnenus, given that his island was a rendezvous point for their fleet. “I am surprised,” she confessed, “that Joanna did not mention this man to me.”

“She was ashamed to do so,” Mariam said bluntly, “for Isaac Comnenus was her husband’s ally.” She smiled, somewhat sadly, at Berengaria’s shocked expression. “My brother had a good heart, but his judgment was flawed. So great was his hatred of the Greek Empire that he’d have allied himself with Lucifer himself to bring Constantinople down. As for Isaac, he realized the new Greek emperor would seek to reclaim Cyprus, so he made overtures to all of the empire’s enemies. He benefited far more from this alliance than Sicily did, for when Constantinople sent an invasion force, the fleet of William’s admiral, Margaritis, easily scattered them. After stories began to trickle back to Palermo of Isaac’s cruelties, I think William had second thoughts, but he was too stubborn to admit it. And by then it was too late for my half-sister Sophia, who’d been packed off to Cyprus as Isaac’s bride. Fortunately for me, I was wed when Isaac proposed that marital pact. But Sophia fancied the idea of being an empress. . . .” Mariam suppressed a sigh. Did a crown truly matter if she reigned in Hell?

Berengaria blinked in surprise. “I did not know you’d been married. Did your husband . . . ?”

Mariam was amused by that delicate pause. “My husband died after four years of marriage. He was a good man, albeit old enough to be my father, and I had no complaints as his wife. But widowhood is the only time when a woman is not under a man’s thumb, first as daughter and then as wife, and I like the freedom—”

Mariam cut herself off so abruptly that Berengaria instinctively turned to see what had caught the other woman’s attention. And then she, too, gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth as she looked toward the Cypriot coast.

AS SOON AS SHE WAS ALONE, Joanna slumped down onto her bed, keeping her eyes tightly shut so no tears could squeeze through her lashes. She would not cry for her brother; that would be a betrayal of faith, an admission that he could be dead. But where was he? Surely the fleet would not have sailed on to Outremer? Did he think they’d perished in that accursed storm? No, he would not give up hope that easily, not Richard. When Star, her favorite hound, put a paw on the bed and whined, she rolled over and gathered the dog into her arms. “Sweet girl, you hate the sea, too. How dreadful it must be for the poor horses. . . .”

“Joanna!” Mariam pulled the tent flap aside. “You need to come back out on deck.”

With Mariam’s help, Joanna got to her feet. She asked no questions, already sure she’d not like the answers. They were well into the bay by now, and the hills seemed beautiful beyond words after endless vistas of nothing but sky and sea. A ship was anchored not far from shore, a buss like theirs. Its deck was filled with waving, shouting men, but the passengers on Joanna’s ship were staring past them at the shredded sails, broken masts, and shattered timbers scattered along the beach, skeletal remains partially buried in the sand, washed by the waves, a scene of destruction and death looking eerily peaceful in the bright May sunlight.

“Dear God . . .” Joanna made the sign of the cross with a hand that shook. “How . . . how many?”

Stephen de Turnham shook his head, unwilling even to hazard a guess, but after studying the wreckage with a grim, practiced eye, the master said, “Two ships, mayhap three.”

The other buss had erupted into frantic activity, and their longboat was