Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,136

more alive than dead.”

Richard looked down at their new hostage. “He speaks French?”

“A little, lord king,” the man said quickly; having decided that he was not willing to die for the fugitive emperor, his only other choice was to ingratiate himself with the barbarians and hope they’d find him useful enough to spare his life.

“Take him back with us,” Richard said, and dispatched Leicester to find out how many casualties they’d suffered. All around him, his soldiers were enthusiastically looting the camp. He found himself unable to share their elation, not when he’d come so close to ending it here and now. He should have known that Isaac would be too craven to fight like a man. “You,” he said curtly, pointing to the prisoner. “You know the emperor’s dun stallion?”

“Yes, lord.” The man nodded vigorously. “That is Fauvel. Very fast. None catch him.”

“Fauvel,” Richard repeated. Isaac did not deserve a horse like that. Nor did he deserve a crown. And God willing, he’d soon lose both.

“STOP SQUIRMING, LAMB.” Beatrix’s voice sounded muffled, for she was holding pins in her mouth as she marked where the seams of Joanna’s bodice would have to be taken in.

“I still do not think this is necessary,” Joanna complained. “Now that I’m on the mend, surely I’ll gain back the weight I lost.”

“And until then walk around in gowns that fit you like tents? I do not think so,” Beatrix said firmly, hers the self-assurance of one who’d been tending to Joanna since the cradle.

Joanna sighed, feeling like an unruly child instead of a grown woman, wife, and widow. Casting a mischievous glance toward her future sister-in-law, she said, “I was thinking, Berengaria, that we ought to visit a public bath this afternoon. Donna Catarina—the wife of that Venetian merchant—says this particular one is delightfully decadent, like the bathhouses in Constantinople, with scented oils and pools of hot and cold water. I suppose I can go with Mariam if you think your duennas would not approve . . . ?”

Berengaria had been frowning over a parchment, trying to compose a letter to her family that would be honest without giving her father an apoplectic seizure; it was too delicate a task to entrust to Joanna’s clerk. She glanced up quickly, but realized that she was being teased, and said composedly, “I am beginning to think you’re more in need of duennas than I am, Joanna. As for Mariam, she appears to have other matters on her mind than public baths. It certainly sounds that way.”

As laughter was floating into the open window from the courtyard, Joanna could not argue with that. Tilting her head to listen, she said with a smile, “For years I’ve watched men flirt with Mariam, but I’ve never known her to flirt back—until now. Of course if he were not my cousin, I might be tempted to flirt with Morgan, too.”

Alicia was kneeling in the window-seat, playing with the dogs. Looking out, she reported, “Lady Mariam and Sir Morgan are seated together on a bench. I think he is teaching her a game, for they are throwing dice.” She giggled then, saying, “She just accused him of cheating.” Twisting around on the window-seat, she said, “I like it here in Cyprus, my lady. Do you think we will be staying long?”

“I do not know, Alicia,” Joanna admitted. “But I will ask my brother when I see him next—whenever that may be.” She at once regretted that mild sarcasm, for she was not being fair to Richard. It was true they’d seen him only once in the past three days, but that was hardly his fault. After defeating Isaac at Kolossi, he’d put out an edict by public crier that the local people who wanted peace had nothing to fear, that his quarrel was only with Isaac. Since then, Cypriots had been flocking to his camp, many with stories to tell of the emperor’s cruelties and grasping ways. Cyprus had a surprising number of bishoprics for such a small island��fourteen in all—and several of these prelates had come to seek assurances from Richard, too. And she knew he continued to be occupied with military matters, sending out scouts to keep track of Isaac’s whereabouts, and meeting with the Knights Hospitaller, a martial order of warrior monks almost as celebrated as the Templars, who’d established a presence in Cyprus before Isaac’s usurpation. It was still frustrating, though, to know so little about what was occurring, and she worried lest Berengaria feel neglected,