of camp. Guy de Lusignan’s hold upon power had always been precarious, given his widespread unpopularity, but with the death of his queen and daughters, he was rendered truly superfluous, for the bloodright to the throne had been vested in Sybilla.
“Who does the crown pass to now, then?” Leicester asked, for he was quite unlike his late, unlamented father and, having no false pride, was willing to ask if he did not know. “Does Sybilla have any other kin?”
“Yes, a younger half-sister, Isabella. But she was wed to a man even less respected than Guy de Lusignan, a lord named Humphrey de Toron who’d long been regarded as a weakling and milksop. Knowing that none wanted to see Humphrey crowned, Conrad of Montferrat saw his chance and seized it. Conspiring with the Bishop of Beauvais and Isabella’s mother, Queen Maria, who is now wed to one of the powerful Ibelin family, he argued that Isabella’s marriage to Humphrey was invalid because she’d been only eight when the marriage was arranged and eleven when it took place.”
“And how did Conrad benefit from this?”
André smiled. “Ah, Morgan, you Welsh do get right to the heart of the matter. Conrad offered to wed Isabella himself once she was free of Humphrey—for the good of the kingdom, of course. I daresay he’d have taken her if she’d been a misshapen, poxed hag, but Conrad has always had the Devil’s own luck, for the girl is just eighteen and said to be a beauty. Humphrey balked, though, and so did Isabella, saying she’d freely given her consent. There was some sympathy for Humphrey at first, but he lost it all when one of Conrad’s men challenged him to a duel to settle the matter and he refused. Isabella showed more backbone, insisting she loved her husband and did not want to be parted from him. But Conrad and her mother eventually bullied her into going along with it, arguing that only a strong king could save Outremer from Saladin. The Archbishop of Canterbury was made of sterner stuff, though, and flatly refused to annul the marriage, saying it was valid in the Eyes of God. But then he was stricken with the plague. As soon as he died, Conrad got the Archbishop of Pisa to annul Isabella’s marriage and they were quickly wed by Philippe’s cousin, the Bishop of Beauvais. So now Conrad is claiming the crown as Isabella’s husband and Guy de Lusignan is entreating Richard to come to his aid as soon as possible, arguing that he is the rightful king.”
There was silence after he was done speaking, for they understood the implications of Guy’s plea. Conrad was cousin both to the French king and the new Holy Roman Emperor, while Guy was Richard’s vassal, with the right to claim his liege lord’s protection. They could well end up fighting one another instead of the Saracens.
RICHARD WAS STILL in a foul mood the next day, infuriated that these political rivalries were putting the crusade at risk. Rather than brooding about it, he decided to exercise his stallion, setting out along the coastal road with his cousins and some of his household knights. It was remarkably mild for Candlemas, the sea shimmering like blue-green glass, the sun warm on their faces, their horses eager to run, and by the time they headed back toward Messina, Richard was in better spirits.
“Guy says that Conrad bribed the archbishop and others to gain their support,” he told André and Morgan, “and he claims Conrad was not even free to wed, having left a wife back in Montferrat and another one in Constantinople. Of course Conrad swore that they both were dead,” he said, with such obvious skepticism that Morgan saw he’d already made up his mind. He was going to support his vassal, just as Philippe would surely support Conrad, his cousin. As he glanced over at the English king, a Welsh proverb popped into Morgan’s head. Nid da y peth ni phlyco warned it was a bad bow that would not bend. From what he’d so far seen in Sicily, neither Richard nor Philippe were ones for bending.
“As if you did not have troubles in abundance,” André sympathized, “now you must quickly act to fill the vacancy at Canterbury. Lord knows who those fool monks would elect if left to their own devices.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that for some time,” Richard admitted. “Archbishop Baldwin was elderly, not in good health, and likely to die in