‘We have, sir. But this is no place to impart it.’ He looked around, just as his bodyguard was doing. ‘Since the scurrilous accusations put about by the French and the Germans, many in these islands are ill-disposed to your king. They know who you are, so I suggest returning with us to your ship as soon as we can.’
As they retraced their steps through the crowded streets, de Wolfe was well aware of the scowls and muttering that some of the populace directed at them. As they neared the harbour, a small group of younger men shouted some unintelligible abuse at them from across the lane and then a stone was flung at them, which hit Gwyn on the leg. The big Cornishman was not one to suffer insults and with a roar, he launched himself across the street, pushing bystanders aside as he slipped his scabbard from his shoulder and pulled out his sword. The youths instantly scattered, but not before Gwyn had landed a few blows with the flat of his long blade and whacked another man with the heavy scabbard. They vanished into a side lane as Gwyn sheathed his weapon and walked back to the others.
‘Well done!’ growled de Wolfe. ‘But the local populace don’t seem so pleased with us.’
A number of the people in the crowded street were glaring at the strangers and several shook their fists and shouted, though they were careful not to come within range of Gwyn’s sword.
‘Let’s get back to the ship before we start a riot,’ advised Baldwin and they moved more briskly towards the beach where their skiff was waiting.
As they clambered aboard, several men and a couple of small boys followed them at a safe distance, shouting insults and, when the boat was safely afloat, they began throwing pebbles at the departing visitors.
‘How will you fare with them when you go back ashore?’ asked William of Brother Lawrence.
The priest shook his head. ‘We are not going back, sir. We will have to travel with you to Sicily, as I know you will need to land there for provisions and to hear any more news that has come to the ears of King Tancred.’
Once aboard the Franche Nef, Gwyn took the silent Gilbert to find something to eat and a place to lay a mattress, leaving the three knights and the Sicilian messenger to go straight to Richard in his cramped cabin, where Robert de Turnham and the senior of the Templar knights, Gerald de Clare, were closeted with the Lionheart. After they bent their knee to the king, Richard motioned them to sit on the narrow benches fixed to the bulkheads. His clerk, Philip of Poitou, poured wine for everyone and the envoy from Messina delivered his message.
‘It is not good news, my lord! Henry of Germany is now camped halfway up Italy with an inadequate army, angry at his inability to fight his way further south to attack Sicily — and blaming you for much of the problem. He has been in contact by courier with King Philip and since we sent messages to you at Limassol, we hear that they met together in Milan. Our spies report that they have sent warnings to Leopold of Austria and their allies and vassals along the coasts of Provence and northern Italy, to be on the lookout for you landing in those territories and to seize you if you are found.’
Lawrence elaborated on the details, emphasizing how the city states of Genoa and Messina, previously favourable to the crusading king, had been turned against him by the propaganda and probably bribes of Philip and Henry. ‘Your only haven in Italy would be Rome, where the Holy Father is naturally protective of those who so ably defended the Cross,’ he said. ‘I can also report that the galley carrying your gracious queen and your noble sister arrived safely just as I left the island. By now, your admiral, Stephen de Turnham, will have taken them up the coast to Rome, where the Vatican will give them shelter.’
Richard nodded, but did not seem too worried about the safety of his queen. Berengaria had tended him carefully when he was so ill in Acre just before he left, but he seemed content to leave her welfare in the hands of his mother and sister. He looked around the anxious faces ranged around the cabin. ‘So if the Mediterranean coast is closed to me from Pisa to Perpignan, where do you gentlemen suggest we aim for? What about Spain, in spite of the difficulties there?’
There was a rumble of discussion, then John de Wolfe, who had fought for old King Henry down in the south of Aquitaine, spoke up. ‘In terms of distance, it would seem an advantage to land somewhere on the northern coast of Spain and strike up over the mountains to Navarre and hence into Aquitaine.’
‘What about continuing up the Adriatic from here?’ suggested Robert de Turnham. ‘We have no quarrel with Hungary, which controls much of the eastern coast north of Ragusa.’1
Richard smiled rather bleakly. ‘It’s a possibility, though I’m not sure how well I am in favour with King Bela these days, as although he is married to my sister-in-law Marguerite, she is the sister of Philip of France — and Bela was not happy when I broke off my engagement to her other sister Alice, to marry Berengaria!’
De Wolfe never ceased to be intrigued at the convoluted marital manoeuvres of the royal houses of Europe, which all seemed to revolve around politics and territorial gains, rather than affection or love. At the end of yet another unsatisfactory discussion, all that could be decided was that they would brave the wintry weather once again and make for Sicily, to get the latest news on the situation before committing themselves to aiming for the Spanish coast. The king gave Robert de Turnham the order to sail at dawn and make all speed to the next stop on this hazardous journey.
THREE
The next leg of the voyage was tedious and uncomfortable, as the weather, though free from storms, was uniformly windy and often wet. The sea was choppy and the buss pitched and rolled all the way to Sicily. Often the rain forced the passengers to sleep in the stinking hold, where the poor horses were having a bad time. After weeks in near-darkness, with only old hay for fodder, many were thin and listless, exhausted from the strain of trying to keep upright in the endless gyrations of the vessel. Two animals had died and had to be hauled up and pushed overboard.
‘When we eventually do manage to get to land, in the state they’re in, they’ll be damned near useless for riding,’ fumed Gwyn, a devoted animal lover, especially of dogs and horses. The issue was the subject of the next meeting of the king’s advisers and it was decided to sell them when they reached Sicily.
‘Better to hire new mounts with the money when we get ashore,’ advised de Wolfe after the conference was over. ‘Though from the way we may be dodging all over the Middle Sea, we may need camels instead!’
They were sighted at sea by another vessel during the first few days, as the shipmaster had to claw his way across the Strait of Otranto to within sight of the Italian coast near Brindisi. A coasting vessel carrying pilgrims up to Assisi via Ancona, passed within a mile of the Franche Nef and Richard had no doubt that the identity of the large buss was recognized after all the unwelcome publicity of past weeks.
‘Perhaps it’s no bad thing that they saw us,’ he boomed, as he leaned on the rail of the aftercastle, staring after the other vessel. ‘When their tongues wag at the next port, it may mislead our enemies into thinking that we are making for the top of the Adriatic.’
In a few weeks’ time, the Lionheart may have cause to ponder on this prophetic remark, but at the moment, everyone was praying for a change in the wind and currents that would take them south and west. Thankfully, by next day their prayers were answered by a north-easterly wind the locals called the gregale and now sailing more rapidly, they rounded the heel of Italy and aimed down towards the toe. It grew warmer and calmer as they approached Sicily and the Lionheart held a council meeting on the poop, following Sunday Mass. All of them now had beards, the king’s being a reddish-blond, merging with the curly hair which had now covered his usual cropped neck. John de Wolfe’s normal black stubble had turned into a villainous-looking bush, but he said that he was damned if he was going to attack it with his specially honed knife until he could get some hot water and tallow soap to soften it.