THE JEWELLED BELT

Berengaria was sad as the galley carried them away from Acre.

She stood on deck with Joanna beside her watching until the land faded away.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us go below. There is nothing more to see.’

‘We will pray for Richard’s safe journey,’ said Joanna. ‘I would we were with him.’

‘Oh, he is happier with his friends,’ answered Berengaria bitterly.

It was true, Joanna knew. Poor Berengaria! She, Joanna, had had a husband older than herself but at least he had been a husband to her.

Joanna said: ‘He is concerned for our safety. Remember he has given us Stephen of Turnham to care for us. Think how such a noble knight could have served him.’

But Berengaria was impatient. ‘I have done with pretence,’ she said. ‘It is true that in the beginning I was happy to deceive myself, but it is no longer so.’

She sighed and Joanna knew there was nothing more to be said on that subject.

They were fortunate in the journey. As though to make up for Berengaria’s disappointment the sea remained calm and there was just the right amount of breeze to carry the ship on its way; the sky was clear; each day was perfect. In good time they arrived at Naples and there they alighted to make the journey to Rome.

Stephen of Turnham was a man who took his duty seriously and he was determined that no harm should befall the ladies if he could help it. On that long journey he guarded them well. He himself slept outside their door each night at the various houses in which they stayed; and if they must pitch their tents he was at the door of those also. No one should come to them, he said, except over his dead body.

It was a comforting gesture.

Berengaria often thought what a strange married life hers was. Most princesses were sent off to their husband’s country when they were children and brought up there. Some had never known their husbands when they were betrothed. She had counted herself lucky because she had fallen in love with Richard long before and had cherished an ideal ever since. How false her dreams were proving to be. And was she to spend the whole of her life following him about the world?

But she must not complain. She had her good friend Joanna, who had lost a husband she had cared for; and there was the little Cypriot Princess who constantly prayed for her father’s well-being knowing that he was Richard’s prisoner.

‘My lot is not worse than theirs,’ she reminded herself.

And so they came to Rome. There it lay before them this city built on seven hills and round the silver stream of the Tiber.

‘Here we shall stay,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘until we find out whether it is safe for us to proceed.’

A nobleman of Rome offered his mansion to the Queens of England and Sicily and here Stephen decided it would be wise to rest awhile until they could make arrangements to get across Italy and perhaps proceed by ship.

‘If only we could have news of Richard’s journey!’ sighed Joanna.

It was Stephen who heard the news.

‘In the markets,’ he told them, ‘it is said that King Richard has been shipwrecked in the Adriatic Sea.’

‘Do you believe he is drowned?’ asked Berengaria, her eyes large with horror.

She loves him after all, thought Joanna. It is all a pretence to say she does not. She is trying to show an indifference to the world which she does not feel.

‘I cannot believe Richard is dead,’ said Stephen. ‘If he were shipwrecked, rest assured that he would save himself in some way.’

‘If he were shipwrecked,’ replied Berengaria, ‘he must land somewhere. Where would he land and would we not have heard if he were pursuing his journey? How could Richard with all his company avoid being recognised?’

‘We shall hear in due course,’ said Joanna. ‘In the meantime let us rest and try to be easy in our minds. We shall need strength to pursue our journey.’

The days began to pass. There was no news. Stephen thought that they should soon be continuing with their journey. If they could get to Pisa they could take ship to Marseilles and there they could rely on the good friendship of the King of Aragon.

But something seemed to warn him not to leave in haste and he decided to seek an audience with the Pope that he might solicit his help in getting a safe conduct for his party.

Meanwhile the Queens were a little restive. There was something in the city air which excited them.

It was Joanna who had the idea that if they disguised themselves they might slip out and visit the markets. There were good things to buy in Rome.

It relieved the tedium to study the dress of the women of the city, to acquire similar clothes, to dress themselves in the loose garments girded at the waist by leather belts. Over their long hair they wore wimples not of silk but of linen in the hope that they could mingle unnoticed with the ordinary women of the city.

It was a great adventure to visit the shops, slipping out of the house without the knowledge of Sir Stephen who would have been horrified at the thought of his precious charges roaming the streets.

But how it relieved the days! The three of them – for the Cypriot Princess was still their constant companion – would venture out in the quiet of the afternoon and walk along by the Tiber and savour freedom.

They loved best to visit the market and so carefully had they disguised themselves that they were not recognised and were thought to be ordinary travellers who were pausing on their journey to spend a short time in Rome as so many people did.

All three loved to visit the goldsmiths’ and silversmiths’ shops, there to see the wonderfully wrought pieces of jewellery at which the jewellers of Rome seemed to excel.

They had bought several trinkets and were known as good customers so that when they were seen the traders would bring out what they considered choice pieces.

One afternoon the three young women had dressed in their simple gowns and wimples and gone out into the streets making their way to the market and the goldsmith’s shop.

Berengaria was interested in a ring and wanted to look at it again. It was a glowing emerald set in gold.

She turned it over in her hand, tried it on her finger.

‘The setting is exquisite,’ she said, ‘but there is a flaw in the stone.’

‘I see you have an eye for precious stones, my lady,’ said the jeweller.

Joanna said: ‘’Tis a pretty ring. But if you do not like the emerald why do you not choose some other stone?’

‘I have the very thing,’ cried the jeweller. ‘Some very fine stones have just come into my possession. One moment please.’

He disappeared into a room behind the shop and came back holding a belt which was set with many dazzling gems.

‘I have only just bought this . . .’ he began.

Berengaria swayed a little and Joanna caught her arm. ‘What ails you?’ she asked.

‘I feel unwell,’ said Berengaria. ‘But no matter . . . May I look at the belt?’

‘Assuredly, my lady. These stones are very fine indeed. It is rarely that such have come into my possession.’

Berengaria held out her hands and took the belt. She turned it over and looked at it closely.

‘You see, my lady, this emerald . . . It is finer than anything I have here. And I would not ask much. The one who sold the belt knew not its value. I got a bargain so I am in a position to make you a very fair price.’

Berengaria handed him back the belt.

She turned to Joanna. ‘I must go back,’ she said. ‘I feel unwell.’