Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,125

the beach, Petros turned back to his attentive audience. “I told him what you said, my lady, throwing in a few sweeteners by calling Isaac all the high-flown titles I could think of. The lackey was not pleased, as you could see. He said he’d tell Isaac of your request for water. He also said that he hoped you’d reconsider, for his emperor might well take your refusal as an insult. I got the sense,” Petros said somberly, “that he was speaking for himself then. I’d wager Isaac is not one for rewarding failure.”

It was quiet for a time after that. Hugh made a point of telling Joanna that he thought she’d refused Isaac’s offer very tactfully, and with luck, that might well be the end of it. They both knew better, though.

ISAAC’S MAN WAS BACK the next morning, this time requesting permission to come aboard their buss. He was conspicuously ill at ease, obviously fearing that he might be held hostage by these alien barbarians. Stephen would have considered it had he thought Isaac actually cared about the welfare of anyone but himself. But when Isaac had defied the Greek emperor Andronicus, the two kinsmen who’d stood surety for his good faith had been put to a gruesome death by impaling, and there was no evidence that their fate had weighed upon Isaac’s conscience. His messenger was bringing gifts from the emperor for Joanna and Berengaria: Cypriot wine and bread and ram’s meat.

Joanna had to stifle a hysterical giggle. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. When he again urged the women to come ashore, she told him that they dared not, for they could not leave the ship without the permission of her brother the king. No man had ever looked at her as he did now, with utter and implacable hatred. Even though she knew he dreaded returning to Isaac with another refusal, she found it unsettling, nonetheless. He did get the last word, though, telling them brusquely that his emperor had refused to give them permission to replenish their water supplies, saying there would be water in plenitude in the royal palace.

After his departure, there was nothing to do but stare out to sea. But in late afternoon, a flurry of activity began on the beach. Men rowed out to the wrecked ships and began chopping at the broken masts. Others were bringing carts from the direction of Limassol, the nearest town, and whipping heavily laden small donkeys. As those on the ships watched, the doors of houses and shutters and planks were piled onto the sand, soon joined by barrels and fence rails and large shields, even benches. A barrier was being constructed out of whatever materials the Cypriots could lay their hands upon. Their barricade might be makeshift, but there was no mistaking the intent. These were preparations for war.

THEIR FIFTH MORNING at Cyprus dawned in a sunrise of breathtaking beauty, pale gold along the horizon, and a rich, deep red above as clouds drifted into the sun’s flaming path; for a timeless moment, it looked as if the earth itself were afire. Then as if by magical sleight of hand, the vivid colors disappeared and the sky took on the same brilliant blue as the foam-crested waves below, the clouds now gliding along like fleecy white swans in a celestial sea. Enticing scents wafted out into the bay, the fragrances of flowers and oranges and sandalwood, the sweet balm of land, almost irresistible to people trapped in seagoing gaols, ships they’d come to hate for the fetid smells and lack of privacy and constant rolling and pitching, even at anchor. This Sunday gave promise of being a day of surpassing loveliness and Joanna hated it, caught up in a sense of foreboding so strong that she could almost taste it. Something terrible was going to happen today.

She had not long to wait before her premonition took tangible shape and form: five large ebony galleys. At first some of the others had been excited by the lookout’s shout, but they soon realized that these galleys came from the wrong direction, from the east. They anchored close to shore and several armor-clad men embarked in small boats, on their way to confer with the man who commanded these deadly instruments of war.

Within the hour, Isaac’s envoy was making his by-now familiar voyage out to their ship. This time, his little boat did not anchor, the men resting on their oars as he shouted across the water. Petros