The Sword and the Rose. V. J. Banis

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      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1975, 2012 by V. J. Banis

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      Special thanks to my editor, Rob Reginald,

      And to my friend, Heather,

      For their generous support and assistance.

      AUTHOR’S NOTE

      This is a work of fiction. While I have used some actual persons and a few actual events, most of what is written here will not be confirmed by history books.

      It is a fact that there was a Third Crusade, that King Richard I the Lionhearted of England did lead it and was accompanied by his queen, Berengaria, and her ladies. The other princes named here were also there, including Conrad of Montserrat, whose animosity toward Richard and the crusade—and whose treachery—are documented. Also factual is the resentment between Richard and Leopold of Austria, who later captured Richard on his way home and held him for considerable ransom. Entirely fictional are Lady Joan and her romance with Prince David.

      As to Saladin, who was certainly real, the admiration between that sultan and Richard is documented. There have been many fictional accounts of meetings between these two, but there is no real evidence that they ever met, except on the battlefield. The idea of their meeting in disguise is not original with me, but has been used by other writers, especially Sir Walter Scott, to whom I am grateful for the inspiration.

      This novel was written and first published in 1975; in 2010, I wrote a second gay or m/m version of it, which was published as The Knight of the Hawk, available as a Kindle e-book. This original version, however, is reissued here for the intended enjoyment of those less inclined to male on male action. I doubt that the two versions will be in conflict with one another, since they are intended for different audiences, and I mention the alternative version here only for the sake of clarity.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross

      Against black pagans, Turks and Saracens....

      —Richard II

      “Joan, Joan! Stop that infernal humming and bring me some water.”

      Lady Joan put aside her embroidery and went to fetch some water from the leather skin by the door. It was only midmorning, and already the air in the royal tent was stifling. Modesty commanded that the tent flaps be securely closed so that not even a stray desert breeze could bring relief.

      She carried the water back to the chair in which Queen Berengaria sat. “I am sorry, Royal Mistress, if my humming offended you,” she said.

      She herself might have taken offense at the way the young queen ordered her about as if she were a lady-in-waiting and not King Richard’s kinswoman, but Joan was of an agreeable nature. She was tall and slender; some called her willowy. Her yellow hair, her pale complexion, her soft voice and quiet manners gave the impression that she was shy and even cold-natured. But her full and sensuous mouth belied this impression, and if one looked more closely, her eyes, though pale blue, were lighted from within with a warm light that lurked there and gave evidence of a passionate nature, held in check just now but waiting to burst forth at the right moment.

      Although she affected friendship with her, Berengaria did not like Lady Joan. She waved a hand impatiently and said, “Oh, never mind, I’m just a crosspatch this morning. It’s this dreadful heat. I wonder that the heathens can stand it themselves.”

      “Perhaps the heathens don’t have the same feelings as Christians,” Clorise, one of the queen’s ladies, offered.

      Joan smiled faintly and said, in a respectful tone, “I should think rather that all men have the same feelings.”

      “Yes, don’t be a fool, Clorise,” the queen snapped. She drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair, her dark little eyes darting about the interior of the tent for some diversion. What a bore this had proven to be. They had come on this Third and, as everyone had said, most glorious of the crusades, to recapture the holy city from the infidels. Richard, only recently crowned king of England and her husband as well, had been the instigator of this journey. It had seemed such a grand idea for herself and the ladies to accompany him.

      How was she to have known what an ordeal it would be? Why didn’t someone warn her? All this heat, and the beastly food, and nothing, really nothing to do.

      “Can’t you think of some entertaining story to tell,” she demanded of Joan. “No brave exploits to recite?”

      Joan suppressed a sigh and again put aside her embroidery. “Since the truce there has been little activity,” she said

      “What about that Scottish knight you’re always watching?” Berengaria asked, her eyes sparkling maliciously.

      Joan blushed and cast her eyes down. “Royal Madame, I don’t know whom you mean. I have watched all the knights in the tournaments.”

      “Don’t play games with me. I mean the one they call the Falcon. I’ve seen your eyes following him around. You needn’t think I’m a fool. Oh, this dreadful heat!”

      Joan was glad that the queen had abandoned that subject. She was mortified to think that her interest in the Scottish knight had been observed; she must ever remember the queen’s sharp eyes. Beset as they were now with boredom, they would be ever sharp, watching for some diversion.

      With each passing day the young queen’s boredom and her impatience increased. At first, despite the inconvenience of travel there had been a great air of excitement. King Richard had invited Philip Augustus of France to join him in the holy mission, and in time these two monarchs were joined by Leopold, Archduke of Austria, and by knights of every European country. There were also the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller of St. John of Jerusalem, so that a vast army was formed answerable to the Council of Princes of the Holy Crusade, but in actual fact commanded by the noblest of those princes, King Richard of the Lion Heart.

      For a time there had been great tales to tell of the exploits of these knights and especially of King Richard: how the Saracens at Acre, who had besieged that town for nineteen months at the cost of many thousands of lives, surrendered a few weeks after Richard’s arrival on the scene; and how, when the news came that Saladin, the Kurd sultan, had attacked Jaffa, Richard sailed at once with what troops he could muster and, arriving in the harbor, he leapt to his waist in the sea.

      “Perish the hindmost,” he cried, swinging his famous Danish ax, and he led his men into the city, clearing it of Moslem soldiery almost before Saladin could learn what had occurred.

      As for Saladin, most of Christendom knew of him and had an image of him as an infidel dog, a heathen whose savagery and blasphemy beggared description; but since their arrival in the Holy Land, Joan had heard and seen much of this famed ruler who ruled, it might be said, the entire East; indeed, nearly all of the world that was not yet Christian. To the displeasure of Queen Berengaria, Joan had formed the opinion that while he was surely an infidel, the sultan was a gentleman.

      When Richard’s horse fell at Jaffa, Saladin himself sent the English king a charger. “It is a shame,” he said through his messenger, “that such a gallant warrior should have to fight СКАЧАТЬ