Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,169

he even laid eyes upon Conrad. Until now, Richard’s opposition to the marquis had been political. After this, it would be personal, very personal. Marveling that men of obvious intelligence could be so foolhardy, Philippe said brusquely, “Let’s get this over with.”

As they emerged from Philippe’s pavilion, they paused in surprise, for the entire camp seemed to be in motion. Men were hurrying toward the beach, jostling one another in their haste to secure a good vantage point. There were a number of noncombatants at the siege—wives of soldiers and their children, the prostitutes drawn to an army encampment like bears to honey, servants, pilgrims, local vendors and peddlers. They were all running, too, eager to witness the English king’s arrival.

Watching in bemusement as this throng surged toward the sea, Conrad said scornfully, “Will you look at those fools? You’d think they hope to witness the Second Coming of the Lord Christ! What is there to see, for God’s Sake? Just some ships dropping anchor offshore.”

Philippe gave the older man a tight, mirthless smile, thinking that Conrad was about to get his first lesson in Ricardian drama. As some of their knights cleared a path through the crowd for them, he continued on at a measured pace, taking care to detour around occasional piles of horse manure. “Do you have troupes of traveling players in Montferrat, Conrad?”

The marquis was obviously puzzled by this non sequitur. “Of course we do. Why?”

Philippe ignored the question. “I imagine they are the same everywhere. As they approach a town, they do what they can to attract as much attention as possible. If there are tumblers or jugglers in their company, they’ll lead the way, turning cartwheels and juggling balls or even knives. They’ll blow their trumpets to draw a crowd, bang on drums, sing and banter with spectators, trot out dancing dogs or trained monkeys. Once I even saw a dancing bear. The bigger the spectacle they can make, the larger the audience for their performance.”

Conrad was making no attempt to hide his bafflement. “Cousin, whatever are you going on about?” But he got no answer, merely that odd, enigmatic smile again. Shaking his head, he followed after Philippe.

By the time they reached the beach, it looked as if every man, woman, and child in camp had gathered at the shoreline. To the west, the sun was setting in a blaze of fiery color, the sky and sea taking on vivid shades of gold and red, drifting purple clouds haloed in shimmering lilac light. The ships entering the bay were backlit by this spectacular sunset, and Philippe wondered if Richard had timed his landing for maximum impact. The sleek war galleys were slicing through the waves like the deadly weapons they were, the royal banners of England and Outremer catching each gust of wind, the oarsmen rowing in time to the thudding drumbeats, the air vibrating with the cacophony of trumpets, pipes, and horns. And just as he’d done at Messina, Richard was standing on a raised platform in the prow of his galley, a magnet for all eyes. When the crowds erupted in wild cheering, he acknowledged their tribute by raising a lance over his head and the noise level reached painful proportions, loud enough to reach the Saracen soldiers lining the walls of the city as they, too, watched, spellbound, the arrival of the legendary Lionheart.

Conrad was staring at the spectacle in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth open. When he finally tore his gaze away from the scene playing out in the harbor, he saw that the French king was watching him with a mordant, cynical smile, one that he now understood. “All that is lacking,” Philippe said, “is the dancing bear.”

CHAPTER 20

JUNE 1191

Siege of Acre, Outremer

��

Morgan had taken part in sieges before, but he’d never seen anything like the encampment at Acre. Two years had transformed it into a good-sized city, with tents and pavilions as far as the eye could see. It had an odd air of permanence, for cook-shops and baking ovens had been set up, as had public baths; bathing was an important aspect of daily life in the sultry climate of Outremer. There were even several hospitals, operated by the Knights Hospitaller. Like all the towns Morgan had known, this one was crowded and chaotic, its makeshift streets thronged with off-duty soldiers and their women. Morgan was accustomed to seeing females in an army camp, but they were always whores. Here there were wives, too, and even