A King's Ransom by Sharon Kay Penman Page B

seats to join the abbot, like soldiers rallying around their commander, for theirs was the stoic demeanor of men knowing they faced overwhelming odds but determined to resist, nonetheless.
    By now the quarrel had reached the stage where all were clamoring loudly and no one was listening. Richard was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, looking bored, which Morgan and Warin knew meant that he was fast losing patience. They grinned and nudged each other when he finally stood and shouted for silence. Once the hall quieted and he was sure he held center stage, he began to speak, at one point rebuking the count as he tried to interrupt. By the time he was done, men had begun to exchange glances, reluctantly nodding their heads. The archbishop now acted as peacemaker, moving forward and holding out his hand to the abbot. This earned him a resentful look from Count Raphael, but after his wife leaned over and whispered in his ear, he joined the other two men, and the hall erupted in relieved applause.
    Richard’s knights could only speculate among themselves as to the reason for the uproar, but their curiosity was not satisfied until the conclusion of the meal. As the trestle tables were taken down and musicians entered the hall, Richard sauntered over and explained what they’d witnessed but not understood.
    “The highborn citizens of Ragusa were not happy that Abbot Stephanus and his monks were to receive such a windfall. They argued that so large a sum of money was best spent on rebuilding their cathedral, not ‘wasted’ on a church that none but monks would see. The abbot balked, insisting it was clearly God’s Will that the church be built on La Croma, since that is where we came ashore.”
    “You seem to have resolved the dispute, sire,” Morgan pointed out, “for they are no longer hurling insults at one another. How did you do it?”
    “I told them that I was willing for the money to be spent on renovating the cathedral, but only on two conditions. First, the Pope must consent to the change, for it was a holy vow, after all. Second, some of the funds must be used to rebuild the abbey church. And as a sweetener for the abbey, I suggested that the abbots of La Croma be allowed to say Mass in St Mary’s Cathedral every year at Candlemas to honor this generous concession.”
    Richard’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “The best way to tell if a compromise is fair is if both sides are dissatisfied with it. In this case, there was some disappointment, but they could see the justice in my proposal, for they’d all benefit by it, too. It helped, of course, that the Ragusans are reasonable men. In other words, not French.”
    They laughed, even though they knew there was no humor in that joke; Richard would never forgive his French allies for doing all they could to sabotage the crusade. Warin seized this opening to advance a supposition of his own.
    “I’ve been thinking, my lord,” he began, jabbing Hugh de Neville in the ribs when he pretended to reel back in shock. “I know we’ve been worrying about the lies that the Bishop of Beauvais has been spreading about you on his way back to France—that you were conspiring with the Saracens and never wanted to retake Jerusalem, nonsense like that. But the Cypriot pirates and the citizens of Ragusa did not believe it, for they’d heard the truth from soldiers returning home. Is it not possible that the truth will prevail over the slanders even in Germany and France?”
    Richard was surprised by the other man’s naïveté. “Philippe already knows the truth about what happened in Outremer, but that will not stop him from trying to brand me as a traitor to the Christian faith. As for Heinrich, he is as indifferent to truth as he is to honor. But if it is true that a man is judged by the enemies he’s made, I must be doing something right.”
    They laughed again and their last evening in Ragusa ended on a grace note, all grateful for this brief respite from the