LIONHEART
She and Robert settled in comfortable chairs in the parlor, several candles on
the windowsill and more on the mantel casting a soft glow through the room,
which she liked to keep dimly lit with electricity. As he sipped his tea, she
studied him. He'd cut off their dinner conversation rather abruptly and she
didn't understand why. Not one to let go of her favorite topic so easily, she
sat down her cup and said, "You seem to know a lot about the third crusade."
"More than I care to," he replied, his eyes on his tea.
"I find the whole thing fascinating myself," she persisted, "especially their
march across France on the way."
"July 4, 1190," he murmured, "the day we...they...left Vézelay."
"Correct," she smiled, pleased. "I understand it was quite a happy time."
"Happy, yes. I expect you could call it that. A hundred thousand men then, with
battle very far away, impossibly far for it to seem real. The villagers would
run out as they passed, offering wine and bread or cool water. The men sang,
thousands of voices singing crusader songs, a thousand black-robed priests
marching with them. An impressive sight."
"And Richard, resplendent and handsome," she added.
"Resplendent? Yes, he was that. Handsome, too, and taller than anybody else at
6'4". He always cut quite a figure. But, then, he knew that."
"With red hair and blue eyes."
"Grey," he corrected. "Richard's eyes were grey."
Julie looked at him curiously, but let it go. "I've heard he inherited his
mother's good looks."
Robert nodded. "He did, and his father's temper."
"What do you think of the mounted statue of him outside Parliament?"
"A fair likeness, actually. He had long limbs, was very athletic, always carried
himself like a king, was always aware he WAS a king." Again the wry smile curved
his lips.
"If you had known him, do you think you would have liked him?" she asked.
"If I...?" What questions the woman asked! "He was a brilliant military
strategist and fought right along with his men. Very brave. He was very brave."
"That's not quite what I asked."
He studied her a moment. "It is good when a king fights alongside his men. I
like that."
"What about Messina?"
"Sicily? It took him a long time to get there. After Genoa he seemed like he was
on vacation. Toured Portofino, took his time going down the coast, was in no big
hurry. Ten full days in Naples." He shook his head. "Ten full days. But
when he got to Messina and saw the fleet, he changed. Suddenly he was no longer
the tourist in Italy. He took on the stance of a conqueror. The fleet," his eyes
no longer saw the room, no longer saw her, "...the fleet, all 250 ships
was ordered to wheel together and make for the harbor. He had the men, soldiers,
sailors, it didn't matter...if you were on a ship you were supposed to holler
and shout. The clarions and trumpets blared. Such a sound." He closed his eyes.
"So loud. The white walls of Messina shook with it as though it were one of
their earthquakes." Again he looked at her. "When Richard wanted to make an
impression on a populace, he knew how. They were simply
terrified by the sight and the sound." He did not mention that the admiral
in charge of the fleet was one Sir Robert Tornham nor that among the shouters
stood a certain bowman.
"And Berengaria was there, with his mother."
"Yes, but by the time she and Eleanor got there there wasn't time for a big
wedding and he wanted a huge, impressive wedding. He enjoyed himself, though.
Adventure followed after him like some pet hound."
"What do you mean?"
"The Messinians had closed their gates, you may recall, and while the English
were attacking outside, Richard and two of his soldiers walked around the walls,
found an unguarded postern gate and merely hacked it down with a hatchet." He
grinned. "It was dark and the three of them crept along the inner curtain wall,
reached the main gate and...opened it, so his army could come in."
"I wish I'd known about that," she sighed. "Sounds like a movie."
"It was very real," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Very real."
