were delighted by the bedchambers, which were spacious and golden with sunlight, for they had walk-in bay windows that could be opened like doors. One of the chambers had a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and Berengaria and Joanna immediately began to argue over which one should occupy it; much to Henri’s amusement, each woman insisted the other ought to have it.
Stepping out onto the balcony, Berengaria at once beckoned to Henri. “Is that the Duke of Austria below with Richard?”
Henri and Joanna joined her, gazing down at the scene below them in the courtyard. The duke was a compact man in his early thirties, dressed more appropriately for his court in Vienna than the dusty streets of Acre, his tunic of scarlet silk, his cap studded with gemstones, his fingers adorned with gold rings. Both men were keeping their voices low, but it was obvious to their audience that Leopold was very agitated; he was gesturing emphatically, at one point slamming his fist into the palm of his hand, his face so red that he looked sunburned. Richard seemed more impatient than angry, shaking his head and shrugging and then turning away. Leopold’s mouth contorted and he lunged forward, grabbing for the other man’s arm. The women and Henri winced at that, knowing what was coming. Richard whirled, eyes blazing. Whatever he said was enough to silence Leopold, who was ashen by the time the English king was done berating him. He did not protest this time when Richard stalked off, but the expression on his face was troubling to Berengaria, and as soon as they withdrew from the balcony, she asked Henri why the duke was so wroth with Richard.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’ve had no problems dealing with him. We dined together upon his arrival at Acre this spring, and he was pleasant company, liking troubadour music as much as I do. He is very prideful and concerned about his honor, but what man isn’t?”
Henri’s favorable impression of Leopold only deepened the mystery for the women. They were still inspecting the chamber, admiring the glazed green and yellow oil lamps and ivory chess figures when Richard strode in. He was still flushed with anger, but he made an effort to conceal it, asking Berengaria what she thought of the room. “I was told the Saracen commander al-Mashtūb occupied this chamber. The carpet is his, and that chess set. You can decorate however you want, of course.”
Berengaria assured him that she was very pleased with the chamber. She was quite curious about his quarrel with Leopold, but she did not want him to think she was prying into matters best left to men.
Joanna had no such compunctions. “What was that dispute with the Austrian duke all about?”
Richard grimaced. “He was enraged because some of my men took his banner down from the city walls.”
Joanna blinked in surprise. “I assume you assured him that the offenders would be punished. Was that not enough for him?”
“I have no intention of punishing my men. I told them to remove his banner.”
Seeing that Berengaria and the other women shared Joanna’s puzzlement, Henri took it upon himself to explain, knowing Richard was in no mood to do so. “By flying his banner over Acre, he was claiming a share of the spoils. It is understandable, though, Uncle, that Leopold would be aggrieved about it. He’s sensitive to slights, real or imagined. Do you want me to talk to him, see if I can smooth his ruffled feathers?”
“No need to bother.” Richard bent over to stroke Joanna’s ever-present Sicilian hounds. “Let him stew in his own juices. You’ll not believe what he dared to say to me. After I pointed out that he was in the wrong, not my men, he accused me of being high-handed and unfair, as when I ‘maltreated’ Isaac Comnenus! It seems his mother is Isaac’s cousin. I told him . . . well, I’ll leave that to your imaginations,” he said, with a glimmer of his first smile since entering the chamber.
A silence fell, somewhat awkwardly, for both Joanna and Henri felt that Richard ought to have been more diplomatic with the duke; why make enemies needlessly? Berengaria’s natural instincts were for conciliation, too, but she was indignant that Leopold would dare to blame Richard for deposing Isaac Comnenus, who still flitted through her dreams on bad nights. Going to her husband’s side, she said tartly, “He ought to be ashamed to admit kinship to such a