Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,160

the sincerity of the tyrant’s affection for his child.

Exchanging bemused looks with André, Richard shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, “even a wolf can care for his cubs.” And André nodded, for that seemed as good an explanation as any for this unexpected and unlikely end to their Cyprus campaign.

SINCE GIRLHOOD, Joanna had sought to vanquish fear or worries by shaming herself into letting them go. Upon their arrival in Famagusta, she was trying it again, mentally enumerating all that she had to be thankful for. Glancing about the sunlit courtyard of the Archbishop of Cyprus’s residence, she added a sisterly reunion to the list, for Mariam and Sophia seemed genuinely delighted to see each other. Anna was seated beside them on a marble bench, and the sight of the girl stirred Joanna’s maternal instincts anew. Anna’s rescue was surely cause for gratitude, too. Joanna had no doubts whatsoever that Isaac’s daughter would be better off away from his baneful influence, and she meant to do all in her power to make sure Anna thrived in her new world.

Richard was the center of attention, as usual. But Joanna was pleased to see that he’d drawn Berengaria into the circle, an arm draped possessively around her shoulders as he bantered with André and Jaufre. Richard was being properly attentive to his new wife and her dark eyes never left his face. Joanna had overheard him murmuring to her about a Michaelmas goose, and while that meant nothing to her, it obviously did to Berengaria, who’d blushed and then laughed. Joanna thought it was a very encouraging sign that they already shared private jokes, for she took it as an indication that their marriage was getting off to a good start.

Continuing to tally up her reasons for gratitude, she added the capture of Cyprus, for Outremer would benefit greatly, now and in years to come; some of their ships were already loaded with wheat, sheep, chickens, and wine. Richard’s soldiers were also contented with their Cypriot campaign, for Richard was always generous about sharing booty with his men. And she thought the Cypriots had reason for rejoicing, too, freed from Isaac’s yoke. Richard had chosen two trusted castellans to govern the island until he could make long-term provisions for its future, and he’d agreed to issue a charter confirming the laws and rights as they’d been in the days before Isaac’s seizure of power, although he’d exacted a steep price for this privilege; he’d imposed a levy of half of the possessions of the Cypriots to help finance the crusade. Joanna had enough experience with governing to know this would be highly unpopular with the local people, but she still felt that her brother was leaving Cyprus better off than he’d found it.

So she had much to be thankful for and she ought to be counting her blessings. But the lecture did nothing to ease the hollow, icy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The voyage from Limassol to Famagusta had been tolerable, for they’d hugged the shore. But on the morrow their fleet would head out into the open sea. Berengaria and Mariam kept reassuring her that this would be a much quicker passage, for ships could sail from Cyprus to the Syrian coast in just a day. But Joanna knew better. Storms could strike at any time, blowing them far off course, and she knew that she would suffer grievously again in heavy seas; her memories were still so graphically vivid that she found herself shivering under a hot Cypriot sun.

“Whatever you are thinking about, stop.” Richard was standing over her. “You look positively greensick, Little Sister.” Holding out his hand, he said, “I’ve something to show you and Berenguela.”

Berengaria shrugged her shoulders, indicating she did not know what he had in mind, and Joanna let Richard steer them across the courtyard, several of their knights protectively trailing at a discreet distance. He led them into the archbishop’s gardens, a shaded refuge from the summer heat, and then out a postern gate, refusing to reveal where they were going. When Berengaria congratulated him upon winning his wager with André, he made a mock grimace and said he’d lost, for the campaign had actually taken fifteen days. He’d already alerted them that he would be remaining in Cyprus for a few days after the fleet sailed, as he had arrangements still to work out with Stephen de Turnham’s brother Robert, one of the men he’d entrusted with the governance of Cyprus.