Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,154

stallion so he could unhook his wineskin from the saddle pommel, grimacing at the taste of the warm liquid as it trickled down his throat.

“Your cool head was useful last night, Jaufre. Whilst I cannot imagine anyone mourning that misbegotten hellspawn, I suspect the new pontiff would not have been happy if I’d sent one of his bishops to eternal damnation. For certes, my mother would not have been pleased with me. After all, I’d asked her to get to Rome with all haste so she could gain the new Pope’s favor.”

“Well, my ‘cool head’ did not avail me much later, Uncle. When Beauvais berated me for sailing with you instead of Philippe, I was sorely tempted to push him over the side of his galley.” Jaufre glanced at Richard with a grin. “A dislike of the good bishop seems to run in our family. Druon de Mello told me that my father and Beauvais almost came to blows at Acre when the bishop told him he ought to be ashamed to have a son like me!”

But he no longer had Richard’s attention. The other man was gazing toward the gully looming ahead of them. “If I were planning to entrap Isaac, that is where I’d do it, for yonder hollow offers the best cover we’ve so far seen. You think Isaac is clever enough to figure that out?”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than they heard the sound so familiar to them all, the battle cries of men on the attack. Richard began to curse. “Bleeding Christ! I was so sure that craven swine would hit us from the rear! Take over, Jaufre!” And with that, he was off in a cloud of dust as Jaufre began to shout commands to the men left in his charge.

By the time Richard caught up with his vanguard, the attack had been repulsed. A seasoned soldier like Joffroi de Lusignan had no difficulty in keeping his troops in formation, and once they’d broken out of the ravine, he turned them upon Isaac’s turcopoles. When Richard came upon the scene, some individual clashes were still taking place, but the thrust of Isaac’s assault had been blunted, and his lightly armed horsemen were retreating before the charging knights.

Midst the confusion on the field, Richard detected a flash of purple, the color worn only by Greek royalty. Isaac had donned a silk surcote over his hauberk to proclaim his imperial rank, and it drew the English king now like a beacon in the dark. The emperor was armed with a Damascus bow, and if Richard had not been so set upon running him through, he might have admired the other man’s dexterity with the weapon, for shooting from horseback was a skill few Latins had mastered. Isaac was shouting in rage, obviously urging his troops to regroup, when he suddenly sensed danger and turned in the saddle to see Richard bearing down upon him.

As soon as he was within range to strike, Richard rose in the stirrups, leveling his lance at the emperor’s chest. He was too close to miss and so he was stunned when he did. But Isaac jerked on the reins and Fauvel responded like a great, graceful cat, swerving out of harm’s way just in the nick of time. When Richard swung his horse about for another run, Isaac was almost a bowshot length away. So sure was he of Fauvel’s superior speed that he dared to slow down and shoot two arrows in quick succession. The first one bounced off Richard’s shield; the second sailed over his head. As he spurred his steed forward, Isaac gave Fauvel his head and the dun stallion once again showed that he was as fast as he was agile, pulling away from Richard’s horse with infuriating ease.

The Spanish destrier was as frustrated as his rider, eager to close with the other stallion, and it took Richard several moments to bring the lathered animal to a full stop. By then, Isaac was disappearing into the distance and, as at Kolossi, all Richard could do was watch and indulge in some creative cursing.

“Richard!” André reined in beside him. “You were not hit by those arrows?”

“No . . . why? Even if his aim had been better, I doubt the arrows would have penetrated my hauberk.” Richard shifted in the saddle to look at his friend. “Why the sudden concern for what would have been a minor wound at most, André?”

“Because one of the