Crowner's Crusade Read online

  ‘I know that after Cyprus, the king has decided to follow the coast as far as Rhodes,’ replied de Wolfe. ‘But I don’t think any decision has been made yet as to where we go from there.’ He knew the small group who advised Richard, of which he was a member, were concerned about the dangers of virtually all the possible routes back to Normandy and England.

  As if reading his mind, a figure rose from one of the nearby groups on the main deck and ambled across to them, still nibbling at a chicken leg until its bare remains were tossed over the side to follow Gwyn’s mutton bone.

  ‘Well, John, we’re on our way – though only God knows where we’ll end up!’ Echoing their discussion, Baldwin of Bethune squatted down between them and nodded amiably at Gwyn before continuing. ‘At least we can take stock when we reach Limassol in a day or two. The Templars there should have had some news from Sicily or Corfu by now.’

  Baldwin came from a prominent family in Artois in north-eastern France and was a couple of years older than de Wolfe. He was a good-looking man with a tendency to dress in mildly dandyish fashion – which did not prevent him from being a fearless fighter when the occasion demanded. Baldwin had become a firm friend of the Lionheart, who valued his help and opinions, especially as Baldwin had trained as a lawyer in his early years.

  Gwyn found a spare mug and poured the newcomer some of the indifferent wine. ‘We were just speaking of the problems of finding a route home, Sir Baldwin,’ he said respectfully. Though the Cornishman was a mere commoner and always deferred to his Norman masters, he was no craven peasant. His well-known devotion to John de Wolfe and his almost manic prowess in battle with sword and mace, had gained him the respect of all the Crusaders.

  Baldwin nodded gravely. ‘Everyone aboard has the same concerns, Gwyn. The obvious way would be to go back to Marseilles and then ride north into Aquitaine, but now Provence is in the hands of Raymond of Toulouse, who’s no friend of ours since the king’s brother-in-law Sancho invaded his lands.’

  Sancho the Strong of Navarre was the brother of Berengaria, Richard’s new, and somewhat neglected queen.

  ‘Could we not land on the Spanish coast and aim for Navarre and then over the mountains into Aquitaine?’ asked Gwyn. This large Duchy in south-western France was Richard’s homeland, as, though born in Oxford, he was its Duke, where he had been brought up as a young man. The marriage of his mother, the doughty Eleanor, to King Henry II had linked Aquitaine to Normandy and England.

  ‘We’ve discussed that option in our council,’ answered de Wolfe. ‘But the east of Spain is all hostile – the Moors in the south and in the north, Aragon and Catalonia favour Philip of France. No doubt they have been bribed by him to arrest Richard if he sets foot anywhere between Barcelona and Provence.’

  They sat glumly sipping their wine, unable to think up any more cheerful news than the fact that at least the island of Sicily was a safe haven, thanks to their king’s intervention there on the outward voyage. He had supported the new Sicilian ruler Tancred against the prospect of being displaced by Henry of Germany, whose wife Constance was next in line to rule the island after the death of her father, King William of Sicily. In the convoluted liaisons between European rulers, William had been married to the Lionheart’s sister Joanna – who Richard had even tried to marry off to Saladin to obtain a treaty, until she flatly refused to be wedded to a Muslim!

  The three men sat discussing the problem until the wineskin was empty, by which time it was totally dark. Their king had come down from the sterncastle and was in his spartan cabin, with a pair of Templar knights guarding the door. The Franche Nef steadily ploughed northwards, the sailing master steering by the stars and the occasional glimmer of light from headland beacons on the distant shore.

  Baldwin of Bethune, already feeling a little sick from the motion of the ship, returned to his other friends, who included Brother Anselm and Philip of Poitou. They settled themselves down for the night, laying on a mixture of blankets, cloaks and thin mattresses, which though not particularly comfortable, were far better than many a night spent in the arid wastes of Palestine.

  John de Wolfe and Gwyn, who after many years of campaigning across Europe, could have slept on a bed of nails, soon followed their example. Within minutes they were asleep, Gwyn to dream of playing dice in an Exeter tavern and John to lying in a Devon hay barn, his arms around Hilda, the lover of his youth.

  The shipmaster had been correct with his forecast of their arrival at the Cypriot port of Limassol, as it was the early morning of the third day when the Franche Nef dropped two of her many anchors in the bay. John de Wolfe leaned on the port bulwark with Gwyn and William de L’Etang, looking across at the small town a quarter of a mile away.

  ‘Not much of a place, but the wine was better,’ observed William, recalling the weeks they had spent there on the outward journey. King Richard had rapidly conquered the island to depose the tyrant Isaac Commenus, a renegade Byzantine. Then he sold it to the Templars as a base for their operations, before getting married to Berengaria in the Chapel of St George in Limassol. His bride had arrived from Sicily before him on a different ship, being chaperoned by his sister Joanna. Their honeymoon had been brief, as news arrived from Tyre that Philip of France had already arrived outside Acre. Richard, dubious about Philip’s intrigues and abilities, had hurried away in his fast galley, the Tranche Mer, to join in the siege, leaving his wife and sister to follow with the main fleet. Now he was back again in Cyprus.

  ‘If our lord is in such a hurry to get home, why did he want to stop here?’ asked the ever-curious Gwyn. ‘We’ve surely got supplies enough to last us until Rhodes.’

  ‘Money, that’s the reason for most things!’ replied William. ‘The king will need plenty of coin for hiring and bribing on our journey, as well as for feeding us and our horses.’

  ‘So why come here? asked John de Wolfe, who had also been wondering about this diversion to Limassol. De L’Etang was a closer confidant of the king and knew much more about the intriguing that went on.

  ‘When he sold Cyprus to the Templars, they failed to pay him the full amount. Now that he’s given the island to Guy of Lusignan to compensate him for losing the kingship of Jerusalem, Guy owes him the balance of the money, so I’m sure he’s called here to collect an instalment.’

  ‘And we need to get the latest news of our enemies,’ came a voice from behind them. Baldwin of Bethune had approached to join them, resplendent in a bright green surcoat over his long red tunic. ‘Tancred promised to send regular messengers to our main ports of call with reports on what those bastards in France and Germany are up to.’

  Gwyn raised his arm to point shoreward. ‘There’s a boat coming out already. Looks like some Templars are aboard.’

  As it came nearer, they could see a skiff pulled by four oarsmen and, in the stern, two men with the familiar red cross on their belted white tunics. Baldwin hurried across to the cabin under the sterncastle, the door guarded by another pair of Templars, a knight in a white surcoat and a sergeant in a brown uniform, both emblazoned with the eight-pointed cross. Baldwin vanished into the king’s quarters and within a few minutes, emerged with Richard, dressed more grandly than usual in a long white tunic, a jewelled velvet belt and large sword, with a narrow gold circlet around his head suitable for a visit to the nominal ruler of the island.

  Behind him came another of his small band of retainers, Robert de Turnham, an English knight who was the king’s High Admiral. A burly man with a pock-marked face, he was an administrator rather than a sailor, responsible for the fleet of vessels that had brought the crusading army to Palestine and was now doing his utmost to see that his monarch was returned safely. His elder brother Stephen was also an admiral, now charged with organizing a fleet to get the remaining troops back to Sicily, together with Richard’s new queen and his sister, chaperoned by the Bishop of Salisbury, the king’s second-in-command at the Crusade.

  The trio went to the rail to join de Wolfe and William de L’Et
ang, who each gave a quick bow of deference, as Gwyn backed away to a respectful distance, though Richard acknowledged him with a wave and a grin. Aboard ship, with its tight little community cramped together for many weeks, the formalities of the court were greatly relaxed, even more so than during the eighteen-month campaign up and down the Holy Land. Though the Lionheart was a stickler for discipline and etiquette, with moods that swung from light-hearted banter to towering rages, the harshness of life on the battlefield or in the privations of long marches in near-desert conditions, had discouraged a strict adherence to the usual separation between king and subject.

  ‘Sirs, I’m off to visit de Lusignan!’ he shouted robustly. ‘I’ll risk my life in that cockleshell down there and trust to those worthy knights to save me if it sinks!’

  The small boat pulled alongside and Robert de Turnham clambered down a ladder hanging over the side, closely followed by an agile king. Though he had been quite ill during the past weeks in Acre, a flux of his bowels bringing him very low, Richard now seemed quite recovered and his six foot two of muscular body, with his notably long arms and legs, swung easily over the rail. He shinned down without mishap, but all those clustered along the bulwarks were relieved to see the boat push off safely.

  ‘Thank God no one was wearing their hauberks,’ muttered de Wolfe. A coat of chain mail would send any man straight to the bottom, as the last Holy Roman Emperor had found to his cost after falling from his horse in a Turkish river. No one aboard wore their armour, unless an attack by another hostile ship was anticipated. Even their military monks, the Templars, stuck to their light tunics, as the daytime sun was still hot, even in October. They watched as the boat reached the stone jetty that stuck out from the beach and saw the passengers safely climb ashore. Even at that distance, they could see a reception party, with more Templars forming a strong guard.

  As they vanished into the town, John de Wolfe and the other knights settled down to more tedious hours of waiting. Even after only a few days of the voyage, boredom was already the main feature of the journey. Playing chess, cards or dice filled a few hours. Eating and sleeping occupied some of the remainder, together with singing, in which the Lionheart took part lustily, even singing solo, sometimes songs which he had composed himself. Twice a day, the chaplain Anselm held prayers on the main deck, with frequent celebrations of the Mass, where all on board prayed fervently each time for the preservation of their lives on that most dangerous of elements, the sea.

  Thankfully, during the first part of the voyage, the calm weather allowed the crew to cook, a charcoal fire being lit in a large iron pan secured on a slab of stone set in the deck. At noon, they would have spit-roasted chicken from the scores of fowls kept in a cage in the forecastle and soon, the enterprising merchants of Limassol were rowing out to the ship to sell fresh meat and fish, as well as bread, wine and a variety of fruits. Another boat provided kegs of fresh water which would keep them and the horses supplied for the next leg of the voyage to Rhodes.

  As the day wore on, there was no sign of the king returning and after their dinner of vegetable potage and chicken, de Wolfe, Baldwin, and de L’Etang sat in the shade of the aftercastle, drinking some of the better local wine that they had bought from a bumboat.

  ‘I wonder what we’ll find when we get back?’ mused Baldwin. ‘I live too damned near to the lands of Philip Augustus for comfort. He’s got his eye on Artois, just as he has on the whole of Normandy.’

  The King of France, though nominally overlord of a large area of the country, actually had control of only a relatively small area around Paris and was always seeking ways to enlarge his territory. Now that Richard Coeur de Lion was far away in the east, Philip Augustus was greedily eyeing Artois, which spread up to the coast at Boulogne and also the Vexin, the northern part of Normandy. Though the lands of absent Crusaders were supposed to be inviolate, Philip had tried to get Pope Celestine to lift the protection, but had so far been rebuffed.

  ‘The same is happening in England,’ grunted de Wolfe. ‘His treacherous brother John has been hoping that Richard would never return from the Holy Land. I’ll wager he prays every night for him to be struck down by a Saracen arrow or a rampant fever, so that he can take his crown.’

  They went again through the catalogue of men who wished the Lionheart ill will, from Philip Augustus and Henry of Germany, through Leopold of Austria to Raymond of Toulouse and the princes of Genoa and Pisa – all the adversaries that were now blocking their pathway home.

  The time passed slowly, Gwyn returning to his old profession for a while, as he took to fishing with hook and line over the ship’s side. Whether by luck or remembered skill, he landed half a dozen sizeable fish to add to their supper, until in the late afternoon, there was a cry from the lookout up in the barrel lashed to the mast above the spar for the single furled sail.

  ‘They are coming back, sirs!’

  Moving to the rail, they saw a procession coming down the main street to the quayside and soon two boats were being rowed towards the Franche Nef, the second carrying a small chest.

  Once alongside, King Richard hauled himself aboard and when Robert de Turnham followed him, the admiral turned to the crew and threatened them with horrible tortures if they allowed the treasure box in the second skiff to fall into the sea. When it was safely on the deck, a Templar staggered with it into the king’s cabin, as Richard watched them with a satisfied smile.

  ‘The contents should see us across Europe, gentlemen. Though only God knows how we’re going to achieve it!’

  TWO

  The voyage onwards to Rhodes was notable only for its tedium. They left Limassol within an hour of the king’s return and a favourable wind took them along the south coast of the island. Next morning, they lost sight of land and headed up towards the coast of Asia Minor. When they arrived there, the shipmaster made sure that he could still glimpse the mountains of Anatolia, but kept well offshore, due to the hostility of Byzantium to the Crusaders who had wreaked such damage to their country on the way to Palestine.

  They took almost a week to reach the harbour of Emborikos on Rhodes, as the wind had changed and the clumsy ship had to claw its way along by innumerable tacks. Richard refused to go ashore at night and the navigator had to do his best in the dark, when clouds obscured the moon and stars.

  John de Wolfe was on duty as the king’s guard and companion on one such night, when Richard came up on to the aftercastle. To pass the time, the king seemed inclined to talk for a while. He told John about his abiding interest in ships and how he was convinced that England needed a navy to protect itself, rather than depend on commandeering a few ships when the need arose.

  ‘I have a mind to establish Portsmouth as a base for my navy when I return. It has an excellent harbour, large enough to assemble a fleet and an army to settle affairs with Philip Augustus!’

  John could already see himself part of such an army, even though at almost thirty-nine, he was getting a little old for the rigours of the battlefield. He had fought for Richard’s father, old King Henry, in Ireland and various parts of France, before taking the Cross for this campaign in the Holy Land. But what else could he do but soldier on? He had no other profession and the country would be awash with unemployed knights after the end of the Crusade. He diffidently expressed these doubts about his future to the king, who seemed in one of his genial moods this evening.

  Richard slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a hearty reassurance. ‘You are a good man, de Wolfe! A faithful subject and a tenacious fighter! I’ll always find a place for you somewhere – and for that mad bull of a Cornishman who watches your back so well.’

  Swinging away, the king clattered down the ladder to his cabin, leaving a flattered, but rather pensive de Wolfe to lean on the bulwark and stare into the darkness, wondering whether his monarch really would remember him in a few years’ time.

  They stayed but one day in the harbour of Rhodes, sending Baldwin of Bethune and William de L’Etang ashore to
seek the latest news, while more food and fresh water was taken on board. The king stayed in his cabin for most of the time, not wanting to advertise his presence in a crowded port filled with spies from half a dozen countries, though in fact probably every urchin and lemon seller knew that Richard Coeur de Lion was on the ship.

  He spent several hours with his clerk, Philip of Poitou, dictating letters that he hoped could be dispatched at their next port of call, Corfu. He was writing to his mother, the elderly but strong-willed Queen Eleanor, to his Chancellor William Longchamp and to Bishop Hubert Walter, as well as duty letters to his wife Berengaria and his sister Joanne.

  As soon as they left Rhodes, the king called a meeting of his shipboard council to discuss what Baldwin and de L’Etang had learned ashore. The Sicilian messengers from Tancred had made themselves known to the newcomers and Baldwin relayed their scant information to the council.

  ‘It is now widely known in the eastern Mediterranean that you are at sea, my lord,’ he reported. ‘Philip Augustus has urged everyone who owes him fealty to look out for you and seize you if possible.’

  William de L’Etang confirmed this and added that Henry of Germany had alerted those in the Italian peninsula, as he was still preparing to march an army south to Sicily to add the island to his Holy Roman Empire, claiming that Richard had illegally deprived his wife Constance of her right to the Sicilian throne by supporting Tancred.

  ‘So we have few friends anywhere!’ commented the Lionheart. ‘That’s not unexpected, but makes it more difficult for us to wriggle our way back to Normandy.’