Roselynde (49 page)

Her lips fell awry in the dark, touching the side of his jaw where
the flesh was ridged and knotted by an old scar. She moved her mouth and found
his and they kissed. Richard's voice filled their silence:

"Twyfold hauberk doth he don

Firmly braced the helmet on

Girt the sword with hilt of gold

Horse doth mount, and lance doth wield

Looks to stirrups and to shield

Wondrous brave he rode to field

Dreaming of his lady dear

Setteth spurs to destrier

Rideth forward without fear

Through the gate and forth away

To the fray."

It was a favorite piece of the King's, one of the few he sang that
he had not himself written, from an old lay, "Aucassin and
Nicolette," but it was a little too close to the personal situation for
Alinor. Richard would send his letter at first light the next day. Comnenus
would reject the terms; they were not only impossible but couched in the most
insulting manner Richard could devise, and Richard was an old experienced hand
at devising insults. Then they would fight.

"Simon," she murmured against his mouth, "oh,
Simon, I do not want you to be a coward, but have a thought to me. If you
should strive so hard to win me that you should catch your death, how will I
live? How will I bear that knowledge?"

He moved her aside, rose to a sitting position, and caught her
into his arms, so that she was sitting on his lap in what seemed like a single
movement. "Now, now," he soothed softly, "nothing worse is like
to befall me than a few scratches. Besides, I will have no chance to display
myself tomorrow. I will have enough to do to keep up with the King. He is
bitterly angry. Do not let that sweet singing fool you. He sings to keep
himself from raging. He will fight like a man possessed tomorrow."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" Alinor sighed, half
laughing, half crying.

"Come," Simon urged, "do not weep. Will you not be
ashamed to show a tearstained face when the Lady Berengaria can smile?"

"Oh, tra la," Alinor whispered bitterly, "she and I
have different needs. For her it is enough to dream of love. For me it is
needful to bed my man and bear his children. Her love is fulfilled already in
that they are betrothed. If the King should die in battle, she can live on
dreams. She— Oh, curse my tongue and my temper. She is a good, sweet maiden. I
have no right to missay her."

There was a silence and then Simon asked in an undertone,
"Have you missaid her?"

The question could not be mistaken. Simon was asking for serious,
probably political information. Alinor drew her scattered wits together and
considered what she had said in political terms.

"I think not," she murmured. "It is difficult to
say. We were raised so differently—I, to speak my mind, and she, to speak what
is proper. I cannot be certain, but if you are asking me whether she will urge
the King to do his marital duty—"

"In God's name, what makes you say a thing like that?"
Simon muttered in her ear. "Why should you think he will need
urging?"

"Why should you once have said, 'if the King is earnest in
his work' when you were speaking of filling Berengaria's belly. Oh, Simon, let
it be. I know why you drank and whored away so long in Sicily. To the point— I
do not think she will urge him. She does not think of the need for an heir; she
is too much filled with romances to think in terms of babes. Perhaps if he were
to give her a taste for futtering— But, Simon, if he has not taste for it
himself, how can he breed that in her? He will haste to do his business and be
gone, and she—"

"By God," Simon grated furiously, but managing to keep
his voice low enough not to disturb the King's singing, "you know a great
deal of the matter. More, it seems to me than any maiden can know."

"Do not be a fool," Alinor responded just as low and
just as hotly. "I am a clean maid. I am telling you what I was told by a
woman very wise in such matters. She did not wish me to be affrighted by the
pain I must suffer at first nor to lose, through fear, the pleasure love can
bring. Can I not speak wisely of war? Have I ever gone mailed with sword and
lance in hand? Bide your time. You will know what I am."

"I wish I could know what you are now," Simon said in
her ear.

The complete change of tone made Alinor giggle. Simon turned his
head, kissed her quickly and then bit her chin. Alinor wriggled in his lap.

"Stop that, you little devil," he hissed. "Can you
not see the torches are guttering. The King will rise to go at any
moment."

"So?"

"So, if you do not sit still, you—and all the other ladies—
will see me displayed like a rutting stallion."

That made Alinor giggle again, although the reminder that they
would soon have to part and that soon after the parting would come the fighting
brought a tight, cold knot into her breast. Almost on Simon's words, Richard's
song ended and, to the pleadings that he sing again, he shook his head.

"You may lie softly abed," he said, kissing Berengaria's
hand, "but I have a trifling piece of work to do on the morrow and I must
be well rested for it."

In the morning it looked as if it might be more than a trifling
piece of work. Comnenus's men had been busy through the afternoon and night.
They had blocked the port with every sort of obstacle they could find. Old
galleys and abandoned vessels laid the foundation for heaps of casks with
hoops, wood, benches, ladders, and even doors and windows wrenched from the
portside houses. The King glanced at the barricade while he was washing and
combing his hair, rinsed his mouth with wine, and spat over the side.

"Send me Roger de Hardicurt and William du Bois," he
said, grinning nastily. "I think it only fitting that they be our heralds
on this occasion."

Simon passed the order, also smiling. It seemed properly humorous
to him that those Comnenus had despoiled should carry the message that would
bring about his destruction. When the men came, Richard warned them that the
letters they bore were not designed to induce calm in the self-styled Emperor.

"It would not matter, except that a beast who wars on women
might well not respect a herald, either," the King growled.

Both gentlemen set the danger at naught with one voice and eagerly
accepted the commission, thanking Richard profusely for the favor. Hardicurt
offered to spit in Comnenus's face and du Bois to pluck his beard in addition.
The King laughed, but with hot eyes, and bade them do nothing to increase their
peril since he wished to have the use of their strong arms in the coming
battle. As an afterthought he bade them remember that they were gentlemen, even
if Comnenus was not.

Then, while the heralds were rowed ashore and conducted to the
palace, Richard's army made ready so that, when Hardicurt and du Bois returned
with the expected defiance, the King had no more to say than,
"Aux armes!"

The cry echoed from ship to ship. Men tumbled eagerly into small
boats and barges. The tale of deceit, murder, pillage, and the cruel treatment
of the King's ladies had been swiftly spread. For those who were not
sufficiently spurred by these matters, there was the knowledge that Cyprus was
rich and King Richard was angry. The combination meant freedom to loot and much
booty to be garnered.

Each boat had its complement of slingers and archers. According to
plan, fire was directed first at every ship that did not belong to Richard's
fleet. So devastating was the cloud of missiles they sent up, that Comnenus's
archers, accustomed as they were to attacking the ill-armed peasants, scarcely
returned the volleys. By threes and fours, they leapt from their perches either
to hide on the decks or, completely panicked, into the sea. With that defense
gone, it was easy enough for small groups to seize the ships themselves.

Free of hindrance, it was possible for the archers to turn their
attention to the richly clad armed force Comnenus had led to the shore. Here
lay the greatest danger. Comnenus's troops were mounted and Richard's men would
have to fight afoot. Their horses could not be brought ashore safely and, even
if it had been possible, the animals would have been of little use because they
were stiff and feeble from long confinement aboard ship.

Again the clouds of arrows flew, but Comnenus had archers, too,
and an answering salvo came. The barges inched further in, the archers loosed
more shafts. The troops ashore retreated somewhat to take better cover. Richard
laughed, drew his sword, and went over the side, belly deep, holding his shield
over his head both to ward off flying bolts and to keep it from hindering his
struggles with the waves. With an oath induced by a vivid memory of his near
drowning on Alinor's estate, Simon went over, too. The entire troop on the
barge followed, ashamed to hold back, and soon the water was filled with
struggling, splashing men fighting the surf and blessing the archers who were
keeping the horsemen from wading in and dispatching them wholesale.

Richard was first over the barricade—by courtesy as due a King.
Otherwise one would have had to admit that he and his shield bearer went over
shoulder to shoulder. Beyond in the open space they paused to take breath,
wondering why Comnenus had taken the trouble to build the barricade if it was
not to be defended. However one does not long question a gift of God, like bad
tactics. Thus far, nothing had come at them beyond a few arrows and shrieks,
growls like those of a mad dog, and terrible threats.

"Come then," Richard bellowed. "Come and give your
noise substance."

The only reply was a further shower of abuse. Richard roared with
contempt and signaled his troops, now streaming over the barricade, forward.
Like the archers, Comnenus's grand army was accustomed to facing unarmed and
desperate peasants. The disciplined advance of a steel-clad, well-armed,
determined body of men was something with which they had little experience. A
few brave men stood their ground, but the greater number retreated, believing
mistakenly that they would be safer among the narrow streets and crooked
buildings. Thus they cast away their greatest advantages: that they outnumbered
Richard's forces two to one and that in the open their horses gave them speed
and maneuverability footmen could not match.

Joyfully, Richard's men took up the pursuit into the city where,
remembering the lessons they had learned in Sicily, they took the town without
the least trouble. Richard himself ranged back and forth, calling aloud for
Comnenus to show himself. Twice Simon tried to reason with him and at last
managed to get across the idea that one who uses deceit and torture as his
common tactics is not usually eager to engage in personal combat. In his
opinion Comnenus had fled.

There, however, Simon guessed wrong. As he, Richard, and the small
party of knights who always fought by the King made their way toward the
central passage into the town, a group distinguished by a more brilliant set of
pennons, more gilded armor, and more exquisite horses flashed from a byway.
Richard and his men set up a shout of mingled thanksgiving and surprise,
believing that Comnenus had come at last to challenge them. They charged
forward, only to stumble against each other in amazement as the Emperor and his
suite veered off and rode away, some even dropping their elaborate beribboned
lances for fear they would impede the speed of the mounts. Trailing behind,
caught up in the rush, was some poor common soldier's horse. With a roar of
joy, Richard leapt for the cord reins, seized a cast-away lance, and vaulted to
the sack saddle.

"My lord!" Simon screamed.

That was a waste of breath. Simon ran, laboring under the weight
of arms that was never meant to be carried afoot. He could hear Richard
shouting a challenge to single combat and mentally cursed the King who could
always judge correctly when an army should charge or wait but flung himself
into terrible danger without a single thought. Then, just before his heart
burst with the strain, there was another horse. With one last desperate effort,
Simon seized the reins, made it into the saddle, and roweled the frightened
beast into movement. He could only pray he was following Richard. There was
only blackness hot with lurid streaks of red before his eyes and an unnatural
roaring in his ears.

Eventually Simon's vision cleared a little. He was covered in cold
sweat and deadly sick. Clinging to the saddle with his left hand, he leaned
over to the side and vomited. When he was able to straighten up, he could
really see again. Ahead, Richard still pursued the retreating Emperor and his
suite. By the mercy of God, the distance between them was widening. If he had
to fight Simon knew he would die. His arms were like lead. He doubted he could
have found the strength even to lift the sword around which the fingers of his
right hand were frozen; certainly he could never strike with it. Soon it became
apparent to the King that his spavined mount would never overtake the chargers
of Comnenus's group. Moreover, as more of his men found horses and rode
frantically after him, the chance that the Emperor would believe he could take
Richard at a disadvantage disappeared. Therefore, the chance that Comnenus
would stand and fight also disappeared. The King pulled his mount to a halt,
turned, and rode back toward the city that was already occupied by his forces.