Standard of Honor

decided, for reasons known only to himself and God, to confess to being a homosexual deviant. He cloistered himself with an entire convocation of bishops in a private chapel here in Messina, belonging to a local dignitary, and there, amid clouds of incense, he made a full and purportedly public confession of his addiction to sodomy, begging forgiveness of God and the Holy Church and supplicating the strength to resist temptation and mend his lustful, impious, and unnatural ways henceforth. Amen.”

“My God! This is not a jest, is it? He actually did that?”

“He did. I thought at first that might have been why he was preoccupied and unable to deal with Sheffield’s report, but then I realized that the Simeon affair came after that. So de Sable must have been describing the events of the past few days when he spoke of Richard’s preoccupation. Which means Eleanor’s arrival, four days ago.”

“Eleanor’s arrival? The Duchess Eleanor, the King’s mother? Is she here in Sicily?”

“She is. Arrived the day before yesterday, and the place has been buzzing like a hive ever since. You and your fellow novices must be the only people in Sicily not to know.”

“But why? What is she doing here? I thought she had returned to England.”

“No, nor will she. She is back living in Aquitaine, in Rouen and sometimes in Chinon, which she always loved. She merely came here to deliver a gift to Richard.”

“A gift.” Andre’s voice was flat, his face blank as he sought to make sense of what he had just heard. “What kind of gift would bring her all the way here to Sicily to deliver it herself?”

“The gift she was going to find for him when last I saw her. A wife.”

The words dropped like bricks into a still pond, and for a long time neither man spoke.

“A … wife …” Andre’s voice was much lower now, deliberately hushed, and his father’s response matched his out of sheer caution, even though the heavy doors at his back were solidly shut.

“Aye, from Navarre, south of the Pyrenees. The Princess Berengaria. Eleanor went to her father’s court and sued for the match in person, successfully. King Sancho will be a strong ally for Richard. Years of experience fighting the Moors down there in Spain.”

“Aye, but … This King, Sancho you said? Has he no knowledge of … of what Richard is? What hope they to achieve by this, and how is Richard reacting?”

“He appears to be reacting very well, to most people’s surprise. Fortuitous timing, I suspect, considering how fresh he is from being absolved and forgiven for all the abominations of his former ways. With that all comfortably behind him, I am quite sure he sees himself reborn and newly disposed towards cohabitation and fatherhood. But in truth, an uncharitable soul might wonder whether our monarch could have heard, say a month or so previously, that his mother was on her way to visit him with bride in tow, and decided to prepare himself accordingly.”

“Yes, perhaps he did. Nothing would surprise me in that. But in God’s name, Father, the mere idea! You know Richard even better than I do. So are we now to give credence, all of us, thanks solely to the verbal blessings and forgiveness of a chapel full of bishops, to the public pretense of Richard Plantagenet married, and a paterfamilias?”

“Unimportant whether you or I believe or not, Andre. It will be done, be assured. England will have a Queen and perhaps in the course of time a Prince Royal, and Richard will be seen to be a man. There is no contesting the fact that an heir for England is Richard’s first priority, overarching all other responsibilities. If he fails to come up with a son, the throne will go to his useless brother John. And even I, who have spent less than a single month in England and have no wish to return—even I know that to be a prospect no one wishes to consider.”

“Ye gods!” Andre was shaking his head. “This is the King who would not even have a woman at his coronation dinner! And now he is to surround himself voluntarily with women. Eleanor, Joanna, and this, what’s her name, Berengoria? Mother, sister, and wife. They will drive him insane.”

“Her name is Berengaria, and it is my understanding that she is a quiet thing, demure and … complacent.”

“Complacent? I hope she is, for by all the gods, she will need to be.”

“Besides, Eleanor is leaving for home again in a few days—actually for Rome first, then Rouen. Richard made sure of that with no loss of time. And Joanna can be malleable enough, with proper treatment. She will cause no trouble, lacking her mother’s presence. Besides, she’ll be company for the poor bride once the husband rides off to war.”

“So when is the wedding to be?”

“Not during Lent, that much we can rely on. But after that, who knows? The bridal party is all here, although I doubt that Philip Augustus will attend, and there is a profusion of sanctified bishops ready and salivating at the thought of pontificating when Richard Plantagenet is brought back into the fold of sexual orthodoxy. God help us all.”

“Will you attend?”

“Of course I will. I shall have no choice, as Master-at-Arms. But you should be a Templar knight by then, so you will not be expected to be there.”

Andre gave a little grin. “Perhaps not, but we will have to wait and see. How is Philip taking all this, really? Do you know? He must be out of countenance, his lover to be wed and his sister spurned at the same time, despite a bishopric full of holy oaths to the contrary.”

“Aye, as you might expect, he is not happy. But Philip has been a king all his life, and thus he is a pragmatist. He will learn to live with the realities involved.”

“Aye, no doubt … and with the unrealities as well.” He twisted his face into a grimace. “So be it, then. There’s nothing any of us can do, as you say. But I do have your promise to be more careful in your dealings with the Jew baiters?” He returned his father’s nod and stood up. “Excellent, then. I shall return to Sir Robert and tell him about this, and then I should return to the commandery. Fare thee well, Father. I hope to see you again soon.” He stepped forward to embrace his father, but Sir Henry grasped him by the upper arms, staring into his eyes.

“When will your novitiate be complete? When will you join the Order?”

Andre smiled. “I really don’t know, Father. They don’t tell you things like that. They won’t even unbend sufficiently to tell you if you will join the Order. But I can promise you that, like the King’s wedding, it won’t be before Easter, because it can’t happen during Lent. In the meantime, I fret sometimes about the vows …” His grin widened as he watched Sir Henry’s eyes, and before the older knight could frame the question springing to his lips, Andre added, “The poverty and obedience are simple enough. Those are part of the life I have chosen, but the chastity worries me, because I did not choose that …” He was being facetious, but his humor became tinged with chagrin when he saw that his father had taken him literally. He grimaced and took his father’s hand again, holding it in both of his. “That was a jest, Father. A poor one, I see now, but I was trying to make you smile.

“And now I must go. Until next time, stay well. And remember, no more foolish risks over Jews. Risks I cannot forbid you, but foolishness is governable, is it not? Adieu.”

TWO

On the tenth day of April 1191, which happened to fall that year on the Thursday of Holy Week, Sir Henry St. Clair, enjoying the lift of a ship’s deck beneath his feet, was prepared to believe he might yet make a sailor out of himself. The sky was clear, cerulean blue, the sea beneath the hull was smooth and calm, and a gentle wind, just strong enough to fill the sails above and behind him, seemed to herd King Richard’s gigantic fleet in front of it like a flock of sheep. Perhaps half a mile away across open water from where he stood at the prow of King Richard’s personal warship, a line of sixty-four ships spread out to each side, seeming to fill the sea from horizon to horizon, and yet he knew that they were but a tiny portion of the King’s fleet. The vessel on which he himself stood, a long, sleek galley flying the royal standard of England and powered by both sail and oars, was one of a sub-fleet of ten identical warships that was King Richard’s maritime pride and joy. All ten had been built to exacting specifications designed jointly by Richard himself and Sir Robert de Sable, Master of the Fleet.

Engineered from the outset as fighting ships, each of the ten galleys had been built to be self-sufficient. Each carried thirteen anchors, in anticipation of sudden, severe, and perhaps even frequent need to cut and run, and in addition each carried three spare rudders, a spare sail, and a crew of fifteen men, commanded by a captain