“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 disapproval into words.
“Tell the attendants when they return that the spell was a brief one and that His Majesty is feeling better already,” he said.
“Perhaps he is well enough to see me,” Conrad said. Although he looked calm and unperturbed, he was seething inwardly at Joan’s rejection of his advances and at de Multon’s interruption.
“I think not now,” Sir Thomas said. “He is in need of rest.”
“Ah, I see the nature of his exhaustion,” Conrad said as Berengaria and Clorise left the king’s chamber.
“Joan, he has agreed to our little journey,” the queen said gaily, coming to take Joan’s hand. “We can leave in three days’ time.”
Conrad looked surprised and said, “What, are we to be deprived of the only solace this spot affords, the loveliest ladies of England?”
“We’re going on a pilgrimage,” Berengaria told him, “to a holy man at Engaddi, to pray for the king’s recovery.”
Joan frowned and added quickly, “The trip is to be unannounced, to minimize the danger. I trust you will keep this news to yourself, my lord.”
“Indeed,” he said smoothly. “I would be flattered to attend you on your pilgrimage if affairs of the council did not keep me here.”
“His Majesty has promised us an escort of the bravest knights,” Berengaria said.
Joan would have liked to suggest that the escort include the Scottish knight known throughout the camp as the Falcon, for the emblem he wore on his shield. But the queen had already remarked on her admiration of the knight, and she did not want to call any further attention to him.
Instead she said, “Perhaps, my lady, we should return to our tent and plan what we shall wear.”
“An excellent idea. Aren’t you glad I thought of this?” Joan did not reply and Clorise looked terrified at the prospect of the trip that awaited them, but the queen never noticed. She was chatting gaily of their journey as they left the tent, bidding good day to the marquis.
De Multon had returned to the king, leaving Conrad alone in the anteroom for a moment. He stared after the departing ladies, wondering how best he could use this news. That it would be of interest to the Saracens was of little doubt; those two ladies would be a prize to catch, worthy of a great ransom.
Informing the Saracens of the news would present no difficulty, as he was already secretly in communication with the enemy for purposes of his own. In fact he had written Saladin without the knowledge of the council, offering to help him retake the city of Acre, in return for certain favors. He had no