into battle. “But,” he went on, “so long as I’m unable to bear my fair share of that holy task, if one such man should plant the banner of the cross in Jerusalem, I tell you that as soon as I am able he would have to accept my challenge to mortal combat, for diminishing my fame and pressing in before me to my holy goal. But what is that disturbance in the outer chamber?”
There was a commotion outside and in a moment Queen Berengaria’s voice could be heard demanding entrance to the king’s chamber.
“His Majesty is resting, milady,” one of the attendants could be heard to say.
“Fie, fie,” she insisted. “His own wife can comfort him.”
In another moment she had parted the curtains and come into the room, followed by Lady Clorise and Lady Joan. Richard propped himself up on one elbow, and for once de Multon did not take him to task for it. The king, looking annoyed at this unexpected intrusion, attempted to pull his bedclothes about him in a more seemly fashion.
Berengaria, however, although married to her husband only a short while before this journey was begun, already knew how to please this rough-mannered monarch. With a little frightened look she ran to the side of her husband’s sickbed and, dropping upon her knees, seized the king’s arm. She dragged it to her while he resisted, but faintly, until she was in possession of the arm that was the strength of Christendom, the dread of the infidel. Imprisoning its strength in her little hands, she bent her head and kissed it.
Richard was at first angry at the appearance of these ladies in his bedchamber unannounced. But beauty was something he admired only slightly less than glory, and it was not in his nature to look angrily for long upon this beautiful creature bent before him, or to feel without sympathy the tears which moistened his hand or the kisses that fell upon it. He turned his manly countenance upon her. His large blue eyes, so often gleaming with a fearsome light, were now soft as he caressed her cheek and raised her face so that he could kiss her forehead.
“And now, what does the lady of my heart seek in her knight’s pavilion?” he asked gently.
“Milord, are you well?” Berengaria asked.
“Well enough to perform whatever task you seek of me,” he replied. “What is it? Has someone offended your honor? I swear I shall challenge him.”
She gave a little girl’s smile and shook her head. “No, my liege, it is nothing so strenuous as that. I ask only a favor of you.”
She hesitated and he said quickly, “Ask.”
“I have learned that there is a holy man who lives near here, in a place called Engaddi.”
“There is such a man, a hermit,” he said. “Quite holy, they say, and a little mad in the bargain. But what does this have to do with you?”
“We would have your permission, my ladies and I, to make a pilgrimage to this holy man to pray for your recovery, my lord.”
At this Richard withdrew his hand and put a stern expression on his face. “No, absolutely not. Think of the dangers that lie in that desert yonder, and it is many miles to the hermit’s dwelling place. You hear, Sir Thomas, they would have me risk the richest gem and the fairest rose in all England,” he said, indicating first his queen and second Lady Joan. “For the sake of my mere health. Why, it would take every knight in the camp to guard them properly. No, my lady, ask something else and it shall be granted.”
“Something else,” she sobbed, “something more precious than my husband’s life? No such thing exists. But I shall die for you anyway, my husband. I shall die of grief that my prayers were not permitted to end your illness.”
She paused and, suddenly rolling her eyes up at him, gave a little gasp. “Oh. Perhaps it’s because you think my prayers are worthless, that I am not worthy in God’s eyes.”
“Oh, my precious,” Richard murmured, stroking her brow fondly.
Berengaria began to cry noisily. Joan saw that these silly remarks had nonetheless softened the heart of her kinsman, and she had little doubt that Berengaria would have her way. She thought it best to mention now an idea that had occurred to her on the way here.
“My lord,” she said, causing both king and queen to look in her direction. “I have an idea. Perhaps it would be safer if your lady and I traveled with fewer rather than more escorts.”
“What, you’d have me entrust my queen and my cousin to a handful of knights?” he demanded.
“Not your queen and your kinswoman,” she replied, “but a few ladies, in ordinary dress, on a pilgrimage, might be safe with a few knights, if their journey were not too much announced.”
“Yes, yes, my liege,” Berengaria cried delightedly, clapping her hands, “that’s the very thing. We’ll disguise ourselves as common women. I can wear something of Clorise’s here,” which remark brought her a quick frown from her lady-in-waiting, “and we’ll slip out of the camp without anyone knowing about it.”
“The idea has merit,” Richard admitted reluctantly, “still....” But his answer was delayed, for just then he was struck by a pain that not even his iron will could ignore and with a sigh he sank back to his bed.
In an instant Sir Thomas was bending over him. “Summon the doctors,” he said over his shoulder.
Berengaria and Clorise wrung their hands helplessly and stared aghast at the sickbed. This was the first either of them had actually witnessed of Richard’s attacks. It was Joan who went through the curtains to the antechamber.
“His Majesty has need of his physician,” she said to the attendants. In a twinkling they had vanished from the tent in search of the doctor.
Joan would have returned to the sickroom to help Sir Thomas, but at that moment someone entered the tent and she turned toward him, thinking it might be the doctor.
Her smile vanished when she saw that it was Conrad, the Marquis of Montserrat. She did not know quite what it was but there was something about this man that caused a quiver of fear inside her whenever she saw him; nor were her feelings assuaged by the evident admiration in which he held her. Often she would discover his eyes upon her, a hungry look upon his face, and she would barely be able to suppress a shudder at the thought of what he would like to do with her.
But he was an important member of the Council of Princes, and as Richard’s cousin she could hardly afford to snub him. She stood motionless as he approached and, with a sly smile, made a little bow before her.
“My lady,” he said, “how refreshing is the sight of your loveliness. You recall the scenes of our own lands; you are like a beautiful English flower set down to bloom in this desolate place.”
“You flatter me, my lord,” she said, her eyes downcast.
He moved closer and seized her hand in his firm grip, saying in a lower tone, “I would do more than flatter you, my lady.”
She realized with a shock that he meant to kiss her, and the thought of his lips upon hers filled her with revulsion. “My lord,” she protested, struggling against his efforts to take her into his arms.
The curtains to the inner chamber parted and Sir Thomas appeared. At once the marquis released Joan and stepped back. Sir Thomas fixed an angry look upon him, but he did not put his
