It was clear how Montferrat’s mind was working. He was furious because Richard had got Philip to agree to make Guy King of Jerusalem until his death. That could mean that it would be years before it came into Montferrat’s possession and perhaps it never would.

Was Saladin likely to make terms if he knew that there was dissension in the Christian ranks? It was hardly possible. The winter lay before them. Richard desperately needed respite and it occurred to him that there was nothing like a marriage to cement the bonds between rulers. What of Joanna? She was a widow and he should find her a husband sometime. He would have done so by now had he not been so exclusively engaged in the crusade.

He had rarely met a man of such charms as Malek Adel. He was cultured; he had graceful manners. Surely any woman would be attracted by him. He remembered that his own mother had once been in love with a Saracen. His name had been Saladin and he had been related to the present Sultan. There had been talk of a marriage. If her mother had been ready to marry a Saracen of high rank why should not Joanna?

The idea persisted.

There was another matter which concerned him. Many crusaders had been slipping away to Acre. They had forgotten their vows in the terrible march across the desert. He would go to Acre. He could travel there easily on one of the galleys and the journey undertaken that way would be quick and easy to make. He would harangue the deserters and at the same time have a word with Joanna.

Within a few days he arrived in Acre. There was great rejoicing in the palace. Berengaria and Joanna greeted him with great joy. They prepared a feast and Berengaria arranged a concert of all the best musicians to delight him.

It was easy to see that he was preoccupied.

‘I cannot stay long,’ he told them, ‘and when I return I wish you to accompany me.’

Berengaria was delighted.

‘You have missed me perhaps?’ she asked wistfully.

‘There have been many times during the march when I have rejoiced that you were not with me. We suffered torments. I could not have permitted you to endure that. Moreover it would have been an additional anxiety to know that you were there and God knows we had enough.’

Joanna said fondly: ‘Richard always thinks of our comfort.’

He assessed her afresh. She had always been devoted to him. He did not think he would have much difficulty in persuading her to accept Malek Adel once she knew he desired it.

But it occurred to him that he would not mention the matter until they were in Jaffa. While he was here he would devote himself to commanding or shaming the deserters into rejoining the army.

This he did. He went through the city declaiming his disgust of those who took vows and then did not honour them. Such men would be ashamed to face their Maker when they died. They would go to Him heavy with guilt and the burden of their sins still upon them.

So eloquently did he speak, so impressive was his personality – many of them had forgotten how dynamic he could be – that in a short time he had persuaded every man of them that his only hope of peace in this life and salvation in the next was to return with him to Jaffa.

When they arrived in that town, the army was increased considerably by the return of those who had previously slunk away and Richard decided to put his plan before Joanna.

Berengaria was with her when he began and the Cypriot Princess who never seemed to leave them was sitting quietly stitching in a corner of the room.

‘I have something to say to you, Joanna,’ he began. ‘You have been on my mind a good deal. You have lost your husband. Would you like another?’

Joanna looked startled.

‘Why . . . so much would depend . . . If he were suitable . . . if I were fond of him . . .’

‘I know,’ said Richard, ‘you have been married once and happily. You would naturally look with favour on another husband. Particularly if he were handsome and of high rank.’

‘You cannot have chosen someone for me . . . here.’

Richard nodded. He went to Joanna, pulled her to her feet and kissed her brow. ‘My dear sister, it is exactly what I have done.’

‘Who could it possibly be?’ cried Joanna.

‘It is Malek Adel, the brother of Saladin.’

Joanna stared at him incredulously, and Richard hurried on: ‘He is a man of high rank and great charm. He is handsome; he is . . .’

Joanna cried: ‘He is a Mohammedan! A Saracen. You cannot seriously suggest that I should marry such a man!’

‘You have the familiar belief that these people are barbarians. Let me tell you that is far from the case. They are charming people; they are brave, cultured . . . everything that a woman could wish.’

‘Not this woman!’ cried Joanna firmly. ‘You need time to grow accustomed to the idea.’

‘I need no time. I know immediately and without consideration that I would never marry a Saracen.’

‘You are being unreasonable. You have been listening to ignorant people. I know these Saracens. I have eaten with this man. Together we have listened to music. He is clever . . . He is charming . . . a man any woman would be proud to marry.’

‘A Saracen woman perhaps but not a Christian, not the daughter of King Henry of England and Queen Eleanor.’

Joanna had changed suddenly. All the docility had dropped from her. There was no doubt in those moments whose daughter she was. She had no need to remind her brother. There was all the fierceness, the arrogance, the self-will of both her parents.

‘How many wives has this Saracen already?’ she demanded.

‘I doubt not he has a few but that is no problem.’

‘No problem! Not to you nor to me either, for I refuse to consider this matter for one moment.’

‘I must ask you to be reasonable. This is a matter of great importance. It could help to decide the issue of this crusade.’

‘Then the issue of this crusade must remain undecided.’

‘Men’s lives are involved.’

‘And so is mine.’

‘You are unreasonable.’

‘And you are arrogant. Would you take a Saracen woman to wife?’

‘If it were necessary.’

‘For you it would be easy. You could marry a wife and proceed to neglect her. You could indulge in your wars to such an extent that you would find excuse enough never to see her.’

Berengaria gave a little cry and Joanna flushed a little, knowing how she had hurt her sister-in-law.

‘Richard,’ said Joanna, ‘I will not do it. You can tell your Saracens that I would rather jump from the towers of this town than marry a man who is not a Christian.’

Richard said: ‘Perhaps we could persuade him to become a Christian.’

Joanna burst into wild laughter. ‘Perhaps they would want me to become a Mohammedan.’

‘Nay,’ said Richard seriously, ‘I would not ask that!’

‘How kind,’ cried Joanna sarcastically. ‘How good you are to me! You would marry me to a savage, a man who doubtless has a harem of wives. You would send me to join them, but because you are so good and kind you would say, “Please will you become a Christian.” I can imagine how the man you have chosen for me would laugh at that.’

‘You are in an unreasonable mood.’

‘Aye,’ cried Joanna, ‘and shall remain there as long as you ask me to marry so. Let me tell you this, Richard, it is something I will never do.’

Richard walked hastily away.

Berengaria and Joanna looked at each other. They took a step forward and flew into each other’s arms.

Joanna was half laughing, half crying. Berengaria was pale and sad.

‘Joanna,’ whispered Berengaria, ‘could he insist?’

‘Never,’ replied Joanna. ‘He knows I mean what I say.’

‘You would not . . . kill yourself.’

‘Rather than marry such a man . . . yes.’

‘Oh, Joanna. It is a terrible thing to be a Princess who is sent where others wish her to be. I used to think I was fortunate.’