Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,330

dangerous for him if he delayed by another week or two.

And he had more to fear than storms at sea. As a man who’d taken the cross and fought for Christ in the Holy Land, he was under the protection of the Church, but she feared that would matter little to his enemies . . . and he had so many. The French king. The Holy Roman Emperor. The Duke of Austria, said to still be nursing a grudge over his dishonored banner at Acre. The brother of Conrad of Montferrat, who’d been told that Richard was responsible for Conrad’s death. The Count of Toulouse, an old foe who was conspiring with the French to do Richard harm. And the Bishop of Beauvais, who’d already sailed and would be slandering Richard with every breath he drew. Like the trail of slime that marked a snail’s passing, Beauvais would be leaving venom in his wake as he moved from court to court, and she was not sure the truth could ever catch up to all those lies.

“I wish you were coming with us, Richard.”

“I would if I could, Berenguela. But you’ll be safe with André and Leicester, and Tancred will provide you with a large escort on your way to Rome.” Richard knew she was shy of public displays of affection, but when he kissed her, she returned the embrace with unexpected ardor, hoping that last night God had finally heeded her prayers and let her conceive. If she could depart the Holy Land with his child in her womb, it would be proof of divine favor, proof that the Almighty was not wroth with Richard for his failure to take Jerusalem.

Berengaria and Joanna were not the only ones to be worried that Richard was delaying his departure. Mariam was very unhappy about it, too, for Henri and Joanna had asked Morgan to wait and sail with Richard, both of them concerned that he was still suffering from the aftereffects of that near-fatal bout of quartan fever. Morgan was trying to coax her into a better humor, joking that it was for the best. “If we sailed together, think how difficult it would be for me, cariad, having you close at hand and yet out of reach. I’d be like a man parched and half mad with thirst, chained to a keg of Saint Pourçain wine and not being able to drink a drop of it.”

Mariam was not mollified, but they’d already had this argument and she did not want their last words to be quarrelsome. Morgan squeezed her hand, and then turned as Joanna approached. “Keep my brother out of trouble, Cousin Morgan,” she said, with strained playfulness. He promised that he would, even though he thought that was a task beyond his capabilities. But he knew she was nervous that Richard would be traveling without André, who was probably the only man able to rein in the king’s more reckless impulses.

The lighters were waiting to ferry them out to their ships. But Joanna had been entrusted with a private message for Humphrey de Toron and she drew him aside to say that Isabella had heard he’d accepted Guy de Lusignan’s invitation to settle in Cyprus and she wished him happiness in his new life. “Thank you, Lady Joanna,” he said, and she found herself thinking again that he was a remarkably handsome man, with one of the saddest smiles she’d ever seen.

Most of the farewells had already been said. André and Richard joked as if they were not facing dangers as daunting as any they’d confronted in the Holy Land, and no one listening to their banter would ever have suspected that Richard might be sailing home to a lost kingdom, a realm in ruins. Henri kissed all the women with great gallantry and Joanna nearly wept, for it was unlikely she’d ever see him again. Richard hugged his sister so tightly that she thought he might have cracked a rib, kissed his wife, and promised they’d all be together to celebrate Christmas or, at the latest, Epiphany. “If Philippe took four months to get home, I can damned well do it in three,” he said with a smile, and lifted Berengaria into the lighter before she could ask if he truly meant that.

The barge rocked as it rode the waves out to their waiting ship, and Joanna started to look greensick. Berengaria reached over and squeezed her hand, all the while gazing back toward shore. The sky was