he knew there had been no love lost between the king and his brothers. But Guilhem and his brothers had always been as close as peas in a pod, and he found himself feeling an unexpected flicker of sympathy for Guy de Lusignan. “So we have captured Isaac’s treasury?”
Richard confirmed it with a coolly complacent smile. “And whilst that loss probably pains Isaac the most, we now have his wife and daughter, too. The way his luck is going, Isaac may well end up with just enough Cypriot land for a burial plot.”
AFTER KYRENIA HAD SURRENDERED, Guy laid siege to the nearby castle at Deudamour, but so far he’d made no progress. Richard was not surprised, for this was one of the most formidable mountain citadels he’d ever seen; its north, west, and south sides were made inaccessible by sheer cliffs, and its eastern approach was protected by three walled baileys, with two towers perched even higher up. After consulting with Guy’s captains, Richard left some of his men to assist in the siege and rode the few miles to Kyrenia.
Richard’s first sight of Isaac’s seacoast stronghold convinced him that Guy could never have taken it so rapidly had its garrison not been too disheartened to offer resistance. Situated between two small bays, the castle reminded him of English shell keeps: high walls enclosed a large inner bailey, with sturdy corner towers, a barbican, and two-story gatehouse. He was pleased to see his royal lion flying from the highest tower rather than the golden crosses of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, a diplomatic gesture he’d not have expected from Guy.
Guy was waiting to welcome them as soon as they emerged from the barbican, and as he escorted them toward the great hall nestled along the west wall, he boasted of his triumph with an almost boyish glee. But Richard was willing to indulge him, for however he’d done it, the capture of Kyrenia had dealt Isaac Comnenus a mortal blow: How could he hope to continue the fight now that his treasury was in his enemy’s hands?
Guy wasted no time giving a report on the riches stored in Kyrenia’s coffers. Almost as an afterthought, he revealed that Isaac’s wife and daughter and their women were being held in the southwest tower, where they could be comfortably but securely guarded. Isaac had intended for them to flee to the mainland of Cilicia if it looked as if the castle might fall but, like so many of Isaac’s plans this May, that one had been thwarted by the arrival of Richard’s galleys, which had easily bottled up the harbor, making a sea escape impossible. Richard was not looking forward to his audience with them for, like most men, he was not comfortable dealing with hysterical women. A pity, he thought, that Joanna and Berenguela were not here to assure them that they were in no danger.
Wine was served in Isaac’s goblets of silver studded with gems, and the wine itself was excellent, more than justifying the reputation of Cypriot vineyards. After savoring the taste, Richard asked if Sophia knew anything useful about her husband’s whereabouts. Guy seemed surprised by the question, reminding the English king that he’d had no Greek translators with his army. Now it was Richard’s turn to be surprised. “Why did you not try French?”
Among the disadvantages Guy labored under, he’d been cursed with a transparent face, his thoughts easily read by friends and foes alike. It was obvious now that he was perplexed by this question. “Why would she speak French? She is an Armenian princess.”
Richard was beginning to understand why Joffroi de Lusignan held his youngest brother in so little regard. “No, Guy, she is not. Isaac’s first wife was the Armenian princess. His current wife is a bastard daughter of the Sicilian king William I, so we can safely assume that she speaks French as well as we do.”
Guy did not seem convinced, and was arguing that she’d spoken only Greek at Kyrenia’s surrender when the women were ushered into the hall. Rising to his feet, Richard started toward them, wondering how Guy could ever have imagined they were blood-kin. Sophia was short and dark and plump, whereas her stepdaughter, although only about thirteen, was already the taller of the two, slender and willowy, with white-blond braids that reached to her hips. They embarrassed him by sinking down in deep, submissive curtsys, and he hastily took Sophia’s hand to raise her up; he did not offer assistance