Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,175

have been in danger of being mobbed, for people were eager to see her close at hand, to admire her fine silk gowns and soft skin untouched by the hot Outremer sun, to ask for alms. While they seemed friendly enough, she still felt as if she were on constant display, like the royal cheetahs paraded on jeweled leashes in Joanna’s stories about life in the palaces of Palermo.

Her ladies were even more discontented, complaining constantly that the soldiers were too familiar, that they could not sleep at night because of the bombardment of the trebuchets, that the camp was infested with lice and fleas and terrifying, huge, hairy spiders. While Berengaria soon grew tired of their whining, she could not blame them for their misery. They’d never expected to hear the screams of wounded or dying men, the wailing of their grieving wives and bedmates. Not a day passed without sad processions to the cemetery. Soldiers were struck by rocks launched from Saracen trebuchets and pierced by the arrows of Saracen bowmen. They died in vain assaults upon the city walls, coughed up blood in the hospital tents, burned with fever that blistered their skin and lips, crying out to God or absent loved ones as their lives ebbed away, far from the hallowed walls of Jerusalem. Nor were women and children spared when Death stalked the siege. They, too, died of the bloody flux and tertian fevers and Arnaldia, and Berengaria had seen the bodies of a woman and infant unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, crushed under plummeting stones hurled by the enemy’s trebuchets. While she knew that her life was in God’s Hands, she was beginning to realize how much Richard had put her safety at risk by taking her with him to the Holy Land.

She’d hoped that his presence would banish some of her qualms, for his supreme self-confidence was contagious. But that had not proved to be the case, mainly because she’d seen so little of him. She’d known that they’d not be lodged in the same tent; even in palaces, kings and queens had their own quarters. She’d expected, though, that he’d want to share her bed as often as possible; they were newlyweds, after all. And she’d hoped that they could have evening meals together, establishing a small island of calm midst the turmoil of this alien sea. Yet in the sixteen days since Richard’s arrival at Acre, she’d found herself relegated to the perimeters of his world, treated as an afterthought. He’d come occasionally to her bed, but rarely met her for meals, and usually seemed distracted, focused upon the siege to the exclusion of all else, including his lonely young bride.

She’d tried to be understanding, telling herself that her needs were unimportant when compared to the fate of Acre and Jerusalem. Then he’d stopped coming to her tent at all; it had been four days now without even a message from him. She’d have suffered in silence. That was not her sister-in-law’s way, though, and Joanna had insisted that they go to him if he would not come to her, pointing out that she was his wife and queen, not a concubine to be ignored with impunity. Berengaria had allowed herself to be persuaded, for Joanna could be as forceful as her brother, albeit with more finesse.

A glorious sunset was flaming into the sea, and the sky seemed streaked with fire as they made their way toward Richard’s pavilion. They were welcomed enthusiastically by his household knights, who were happy to put aside their worries and flirt with Joanna and Berengaria’s ladies; despite her youth, Anna had quickly become a camp favorite. But Richard was obviously not pleased to see them, his greeting so terse that Morgan took it upon himself to confide quietly to Berengaria that the king had gotten bad news that day. There had been a rebellion in Cyprus, led by a monk claiming to be kin to Isaac Comnenus. It had been quickly put down, the would-be emperor summarily hanged, but that it had happened at all was troubling, evidence that their occupation of the island would not be as easy as first thought. And this afternoon a message had arrived from Saladin, refusing Richard’s request for a personal meeting.

“Saladin replied that kings do not meet unless an agreement has been reached, saying it is not good for them to fight after meeting and eating together. He said an agreement