dispersal of this dangerous tension. He knew, even if he feared his king did not, that their hopes of recovering Jerusalem rested upon the military expertise of the English king, and for that, Druon was willing to overlook Richard’s arrogance and bravado, even his regrettable alliance with Guy de Lusignan.
Richard raised a hand for silence. “Go back to Philippe, Sir Druon, and tell him that I will not leave for Acre until I have secured Cyprus for the Holy Land. Remind him that a king does not give orders to another king. Now return to your ship and pass the night. But at dawn, set sail for Outremer, for I want this man gone from here by the time I rise from my bed tomorrow.” And with that, he deliberately turned his back on the bishop and walked away.
Joffroi de Lusignan had pulled his raging brother aside, and although the bishop seemed inclined to continue the confrontation, Druon and the French knights were already withdrawing, giving him no choice but to follow. Jaufre took it upon himself to make sure Beauvais would actually return to his galley and hastened after them. Richard was still infuriated and was giving voice to his wrath before a very receptive audience. But slowly calm began to settle over the hall again.
The aged Archbishop of Cyprus and Abbot Nilus had been dumbfounded witnesses from their seats upon the dais. As they exchanged glances now, the archbishop suggested that they summon one of the Greek-speaking Italian merchants so they could find out what had caused this ugly scene. Nilus shrugged, shaking his head in bemusement. “Does it truly matter? If I were the Sultan of Egypt, I’d be sleeping soundly at night, knowing that the Christians will never be able to retake Jerusalem, for they would rather fight one another than the Turks.”
Barnabas sadly concurred. “Well, at least some good has come out of this. Whatever happens in Outremer, Cyprus has been freed of a tyrant, and for that we must thank the God of our Fathers, His only-begotten Son, and the holy Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary.”
Abbot Nilus murmured his agreement. But as grateful as he was to be rid of Isaac Comnenus, he would reserve judgment as to the future of Cyprus under the Latins. His was a sorrowfully cynical view of his fellow men and he knew sometimes the cure could be as bad as the disease.
THEY’D BEEN TOLD the flat, bleak plain was called the Mesaoria, a Greek term meaning “between the mountains.” Warned that it would be desolate, Richard had ordered his men to carry enough rations for several days, and they were glad of it, for it was soon apparent that no army could live off this land. They passed an occasional deserted hamlet, its inhabitants gone into hiding. Even before they’d left Famagusta, they’d gotten reports from locals that Isaac had gathered a force of seven hundred lightly armed horsemen called turcopoles, and so Richard insisted that they maintain a tight formation as they marched, entrusting the vanguard to the de Lusignans and taking the rear guard himself, for he thought that would be the likely target of an ambush.
It was hot and dusty, the road little more than a narrow mule track, and the few streams they found were dried up; it was hard for Richard and his knights to believe this arid area would be transformed into vast, marshy quagmires by heavy winter rains. There were no trees in sight, and the only signs of life were several hawks lazily circling in a sky as empty as the plain below them. The men were uniformly glad when they reached the abandoned village of Kalopsyda, for there the road veered toward the northwest, and the tedious monotony of the landscape gave way to an occasional gully carved out by winter floods. If Isaac meant an ambush, it would be in one of these deep, dry riverbeds, and they found themselves almost looking forward to the prospect, for at least some action would ease the boredom of the march.
Off to the east, they could see mud-brick buildings far in the distance. Shading his eyes against the sun’s merciless glare, Richard decided this must be Tremetousha. He’d met its bishop in Famagusta, and he marveled now that this isolated village could be the seat of a prelate of the Greek Orthodox Church. “There is a monastery there,” he told Jaufre, “and we can halt to rest awhile.” He eased his Spanish