Crowner's Crusade (2 page)

The big merchant ship, known as a ‘buss', was relatively empty, the crew well outnumbering the passengers. There was no cargo, which left plenty of room below decks for the horses that would be needed when they landed, wherever that might be. Richard had still not made up his mind about the safest route through Europe, even though he was anxious to reach Normandy and then England as quickly as possible. This had become even more urgent since he had had repeated messages from his mother, the doughty Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, warning him of the plot his treacherous brother John had hatched with the French king, for Philip to annexe Normandy and for John to seize the English throne.

William de L'Etang gave de Wolfe a friendly nudge to encourage him to go down for something to eat. ‘Your man Gwyn says he brought a joint of mutton from ashore and it's still warm in a box of straw. Enjoy it while you can, John, we'll not eat so well when we get out to sea this late in the season!'

De L'Etang was right about harsher conditions later in the voyage. It was already past the safe date for deep-sea voyages, which were forbidden between October and April by a number of countries around the Mediterranean. Cooking was difficult or impossible in rough weather, as the danger of fire on board was the constant fear of seafarers. Most voyages hugged the coast and the travellers usually went ashore every night, where food could be cooked on a quayside or a beach and fresh water obtained. However, de Wolfe was sure that the king would try to keep well clear of the mainland, both for safety against attack and the attention of spies, as well as wishing to press on with his urgent need to get home, even if it meant sailing day and night.

The
Franche Nef
was broad in the beam, leaving plenty of space on the main deck between the sterncastle and a smaller elevation at the bow. The only cabin on the ship was under the sterncastle, placed between the men who handled the two steering oars, as the old ship had not adopted the more recent invention of the stern rudder. This cabin was strictly the province of the Lionheart, the rest of the ship's company living and sleeping on deck, except in bad weather when they could share the large hold with the horses. De Wolfe's stomach persuaded him to take William's advice and he bowed to the king and clambered down the steep ladder to the main deck below. He found Gwyn squatting against the windward bulwark, sheltering from the cold breeze, busy cutting a loaf of bread in half with his long dagger.

‘I saw you coming down, Sir John, so I've started on our supper!'

Gwyn of Polruan was a very large Cornishman, as great a contrast to his master as could be imagined, except in the matter of height. Built like a bull, with a barrel chest and massive shoulders, he had an unruly mop of ginger hair and long drooping moustaches of the same colour. A ruddy face carried a bulbous nose and a lantern jaw, relieved by a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

It was difficult to define his relationship with John de Wolfe, as he was bodyguard, squire and friend all rolled into one. Originally a fisherman from Polruan, a village at the mouth of the Fowey River, he had become a soldier in the Irish wars, where he served under de Wolfe and had developed this curious blend of mutual respect and comradeship that had now lasted for eighteen years. They were both a couple of years short of forty and in campaigns in France, Ireland and lately in the Holy Land, had saved each other's lives several times over.

Gwyn handed his master a hunk of bread, on which were several thick slices of roast mutton, still warm even though it was several hours since they had come off a spit in their billet in Acre. ‘Get that down you, Sir John. There's more here when you've finished.'

As de Wolfe squatted down on the deck, Gwyn pushed across a small wineskin and a pottery mug. ‘Wash it down with some of that! It's the usual camel piss, but we should be used to it by now. Please God we'll have some decent ale when we get back to Devon.'

When together, they spoke in a mixture of Welsh and Cornish, both very similar dialects of the Celtic tongue spoken widely in Devon and Cornwall. It was Gwyn's native language and de Wolfe, though having a Norman father, had learned Welsh at his mother's knee, for she came from Gwent in southern Wales.

Thankfully, the ship had only a slight roll in these calm waters, though a southerly breeze was moving them along quite briskly. John managed to fill his cup with the rough red wine without spilling much and, as he ate and drank, he looked about him in the growing dusk. Other groups of men sat or lay about the deck, some eating, some praying, especially the Templars. Others played dice, though a few had already rolled themselves in their cloaks and were sleeping either on straw palliasses or on the bare deck planks.

Gwyn hacked away at the joint and before long the two men had eaten all the meat and bread. Tossing the bone over the bulwark into the sea, Gwyn delved into the large leather bag that held his few belongings and pulled out some oranges. Passing two across to John, he began peeling his own as he meditated upon their journey. ‘I wonder, Sir John, how are we going to get home? There's no way we can sail westward through the Pillars of Hercules – and even if we could, trying to cross Biscay this late in the year is just an easy way to get drowned!'

Gwyn always traded on his few years as a Cornish fisherman to set himself up as an authority on all things maritime, but John already knew that the current flowing into the Mediterranean past Gibraltar was faster than any sailing ship could overcome, unless they hugged the coasts, both sides of which were in the hands of their Moorish adversaries. In fact, the large Crusading fleet that had set out from Dartmouth back at Easter 1190, carrying the English army that was to rendezvous with the Lionheart at Marseilles, could never return from the Mediterranean. The remnants of the army would have to find their way home through Europe and the king's most trusted general, Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, had been left behind in Acre to organize their evacuation to Sicily, a kingdom founded by the Normans.

‘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.