The Heart of the Lion

By J. M. Barlog

One woman's courage will decide the fate of the English crown.

The Heart of the Lion is King Richard the Lionheart's England at its most tumultuous. His kingdom teeters on the verge of a bloody war, with the victor taking the crown and death the punishment to the vanquished.

The English countr

• Language: English
• Publisher: BAK Books
• Release date: May 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9780965471640

J. M. Barlog

J. M. Barlog grew up in Chicago before serving in Vietnam with the U.S. Air Force. He has authored numerous novels across many genres. Windows to the Soul, his debut novel, won the Readers' Choice award for suspense at an Illinois 'Love Is Murder' Mystery Conference. But his greatest accomplishments are his three children and his grandchildren. Barlog currently lives with his wife in Southern California, where he is busy writing sequels to his popular novels The Heart of the Lion, Minno, and A Connecticut Nightmare.

Book preview

1

The great triple-masted dromond sliced effortlessly through speckled placid waters, groaning on occasion with her sails captive to the sweeping westerly wind.

King Richard, standing motionless upon the ship's forecastle, defied the sea's rhythm, his hands clinching the balustrade until his knuckles paled. Steely-gray vacant eyes gazed at the thin line separating a viridian sea from a cloud swept, azure sky. In his heart burned the fires of thousands of perished Brits, noble warriors, all unyielding in a holy cause. Now their blood trickled endlessly into the white sands of the Holy Lands.

In his solitude he thought little about their destination: England—his England. Rather, his mind lived in the sweltry deserts surrounding Jerusalem. Two years of fighting only to suffer bitter abandonment. Then in those final days, lacking men and accoutrement, he yielded the crosier and his quest to regain the holy citadel for Christendom. What mortal sins had he committed that God wished to snatch away his victory? He elevated his gaze to Heaven, pleading divine answer to his eternal pang.

A warm saffron sun glared dispassionately down upon him. He vowed in his heart as the wind tousled his shoulder-length rubiginous hair that he would return. This fight would continue until God's men controlled those sacred lands. Saladin, his nemesis, safe for now within those walls of Jerusalem, would again gaze upon Richard's eyes.

His war chest drained, his army exhausted, Richard sailed now for England to confront the waves of rebellion that crashed upon those peaceful green shores. Waves set in motion by his own blood! Waves that pined to wrest the very crown from his brow.

He sailed home not to peace, but to fight anew; to fight his youngest brother for his throne. Prince John sought what belongs by English law to Richard. But law was a sword and might. Brother against brother. Men born of the same blood, yet more opposite than alike. John, the cunning jackal, would strike him dead for the crown and all its glorious power.

In his evil conniving ways, John has seized upon the opportunity of Richard's absence to usurp his kingdom. Richard's friends, allies and fellow kings now became enemies, plotting with John for a share of the spoils.

The ship rolled out of a trough, creaking in her bones, while forcing Richard to shift his towering frame to maintain his balance.

****

From within the lightless belly, a slight craggy Iyewebas emerged, squinting brown eyes closed against the glaring sun. Threading his way over resting bodies with determined purpose, mumbling incoherently as he twisted this way and that, he picked a jagged course to the bow in search of his master.

Out of my way, cockroach, a pallid knight scowled when the little man brushed against him.

Your forgiveness, sire, Iyewebas bleated, bowing repeatedly in apology before the surly bearded warrior.

Ha! I'm a cockroach, Iyewebas touted, scurrying away. On the battlefield I'm a savior, producing a shield in time to save his skin, or striking down a pagan attacking from a blind side. But on the ship, ha, I'm a cockroach.

Iyewebas shook off the jostling, smiling wistfully as he ascended to the highest deck. The sea was a nagging old hag who quickly frayed the nerves of all who lived with her. Soldiers preferred travel over land, but for Richard the sea was more expeditious. And time was of the essence.

My liege, I beg you to reconsider, Iyewebas said in a strident plaintive voice, on one knee with head bowed before his king. He averted his eyes to the deck, awaiting his majesty to address him.

Baldwin de Bethume, Richard's trusted friend, who had been quietly standing to one side, came about to face the little man, eyeing Iyewebas with particular disdain.

Your request? he said sharply, with little patience.

Iyewebas looked up.

Yes, m'lord, to steer to shore, seek the refuge of land for this night.

Iyewebas, England shall remain forever beyond our reach if we continue to delay this ship, Baldwin replied, angered by this lowly one's request. A request no doubt borne out of ignorant superstition.

Yes, m'lord, most humbly, m'lord, I remind you that this is Walpurgis night. The eve of Mayday. Unwise for our king to be left vulnerable in this frail craft. The powers of Hecate can crush this ship with a whim and a laugh.

Baldwin's smile echoed his lack of faith in Iyewebas' words. The little man in turn offered a gap-toothed smile. But Iyewebas' bony, shadowed face persisted.

My lord, a demon's night this be. Cast the spells of doom upon you they will at your enemy's bequest. I watch for the signs. Many have cause to bring the demons against you.

Richard turned to the little man, regarding his words with a stone face. Then he cast his gaze toward the black jagged lines of the continent's southern coast.

Is there a place to seek refuge and rest? Richard asked of Baldwin.

My lord, only one place is safe for the king of England now. Your allies plot against you, align their allegiance with John. I'll not know safety until our boots are covered in English moss. My lord, I bid you to remain at sea and continue toward your crown.

Richard regarded a sky filled with thin streams of innocuous clouds. The fair wind against his face was fresh and kind.

Iyewebas, now alarmed by Richard's gaze, bowed, reiterating his request.

Perhaps the recesses of a tranquil cove might serve us well this night, Richard said.

Iyewebas thought he caught a glimmer in his king's eye. The little man's smile grew not out of excitement, but relief. The powers of necromancy are too potent to cast off with a laugh.

Baldwin, we shall dispatch a hunting party to replenish our stocks, Richard added, diminishing Iyewebas' claim.

Baldwin's face showed no pleasure. Face the dangers of the sea or the dangers of a land unfriendly to the king.

Iyewebas, deliver this command to the helmsman: steer a course toward land and seek a cove for this night.

Yes, m'lord, Iyewebas rang out, half-restraining a vaulting cheer.

Crying gulls circled the ship, swooping in on occasion in search of scraps of food.

Iyewebas took a swipe at one with his felt cap to frighten it off, but the gulls persisted, barrel-rolling in a tight circle for another pass.

Returning his battered cap squarely upon his head, he raced from the bow, a merry tune upon his lips. His cover had come just in time, as an angry gull released a soft bomb upon his hat in retaliation. Iyewebas shook a fist, but at the same time, rejoiced at the gulls' presence. Gulls are a good omen upon the sea.

Richard returned his gaze in the direction of England. He knew he would have to fight to stop his brother. John would never yield. And he knew John had the wealth to sway men to fight and die for his ignoble cause.

I will never yield the crown to John! If it's a fight he desires, then a fight he shall have! Richard called out angrily to the sea.

Gently lapping waves applauded his kingship.

My liege, let us hope we are in time.

At the stern, Iyewebas scurried up the rope ladder with such haste that, tripping over his own feet, he fell headlong into a soldier standing near the rail. Before he could utter his apology, the soldier vaulted Iyewebas up, holding him precariously over the restraint as white-curling waves rushed by below.

I should cast you into the sea, you ship rat, the soldier crackled.

Iyewebas whimpered, pleading for mercy. The rush of the deep sent his stomach into his throat. He could only pray they might reach England before his own bumbling brought about his demise.

Issuing a haughty laugh, the soldier slowly lowered Iyewebas back to the deck. Iyewebas smiled weakly, then clung to the timbers until his racing heart returned to a palatable rhythm.

Helmsman, our king commands you to take up a course for the nearest landfall. Seek with all haste refuge in the tranquility of a cove. And be quick, lest you not find safety before the last rays of sun have abandoned the sky.

The helmsman spoke not, just nodded and began pushing the long rudder handle. Slowly, the bow swung northward. Opposing the helmsman's command, the great ocean beast lumbered around, pointing her snout toward land.

Iyewebas danced in circles, creaking the planks as the ship yawed toward safety. Others crowded the rail to discern their new path.

Land! Waves of relief rippled through the ship.

At the base of the stairs, Iyewebas stopped suddenly. A sickly pallor took over his face.

All at once the wind had ceased, firing terror into the little man's soul. The air mass carrying the vessel became still—lifeless. One after another the great sails luffed, then went slack. The ship settled into an aimless drift upon a seemingly sleeping sea.

Iyewebas squeezed through the others to reach the ship's rail, and there he stared out at the vast expanse of ocean. He cursed, pounding his fist on the water-soaked timber.

Damn you, Hecate! he lashed out at the sky.

The ship creaked and moaned, but it moved no faster in the waves. Iyewebas gazed across the silent and still blue. The gulls' precursory flight unnerved him.

Iyewebas clutched the small crucifix hanging around his neck.

2

As the sun departed the sky, dragging down both daylight and spirit with it, Richard retired to the drifting ship's swollen belly. There, surrounded by his faithful, he supped on fruits, bread and wine.

Iyewebas dutifully filled the goblets, all the while his eyes glancing furtively out toward the sea beyond the timber planks. He listened—heard nothing.

For hours the wind had failed them, holding them captive, adrift a league from landfall and safety. Diabolic forces sported this, Iyewebas concluded.

In time, the little man began to sweat, quaffing down wine goblet after goblet to quell his arcing nerves. They were preventing his king from reaching the safety of land.

Raucous laughter, followed by shouts of allegiance to the king echoed through the hull. It seemed only Iyewebas nurtured concern over this, the eve of Mayday. A time when evil rose from the fetid bowels of the earth, wreaking terror and destruction upon the night.

****

Torches came to life as the last visages of daylight faded from a cinnabar sky. The long awaited moment was now on destiny's doorstep. Men appeared, thirteen in number, all cloaked in black, amid the great blocks of stone arranged upon the hillock in the form of a pentacle. In the exact center of that labyrinth, a stone altar jutted out of the ground. A tribute not to worship the God of the heavens—rather a forum to summon up the demons from hell.

All who gathered this night were hidden within the sanctity of cowls, except for one, Asmodod, who stood now before the altar in the crimson fires of the darkest abode. His chant sang to the glory of evil, the praises of destruction and the absolute power of the netherworld.

While the cup of blood passed from hand to hand among the faithful, Asmodod called upon the forces of the night to descend upon the meek and helpless. Each in turn drank from the cup, committing his soul to Satan and all Satan's works. Asmodod then commanded the sacrifice to be brought up from the darkness.

Two men complied, dragging up the hillock a fair-skinned virgin clad in wimple and nun's habit. She held her rosary beads so tightly that her knuckles paled. She cried with each step, praying to summon her own God's intervention, fighting to free herself. Her eyes were struck with terror when she saw the men before the altar. For at that moment she became deathly aware of her fate.

May you burn in hell for your sins against God! she screamed while they bound her arms overhead. Asmodod himself parted her legs and secured them to stanchions.

With the prescribed sacrifice in place, Asmodod then continued the ritual. His words spat fire, beckoning the forces of the night to hear the cry of the one who had come before the assemblage on this, the night of the devil.

This man, clad in robes, ascended the altar and drank from the cup of blood with such lust that it trickled darkly down his chin.

The proselytes intoned the greatness of their god.

I do this to honor thy dark power. I bid thee to cast the scourge upon my enemy and bring me that which I offer in sacrifice, the man said.

With that the robed one advanced upon the lamb lashed to the altar. He opened her robe until she lay nakedly exposed to the great monoliths of stone surrounding her. No one heard her screams as he took his place between her legs.

Defile her and the God she lives to serve! Asmodod spat to the robed one. His first mighty thrust sent her screams sundering the night. Cheers rang out as if some great victory had been won.

With the relenting fires of lechery burning in the robed one's loins, he defiled her before the onlooking proselytes until virginal blood darkened the altar. His uttered words begged the demons to do his bidding, to deliver unto him what he most desired.

Deliver unto me as I now deliver unto you, he cried out.

In his fury, the robed one's cowl fell from his head. Prince John's eyes burned with the undying embers of desire and lust.

Removing himself from the woman, John accepted the curved knife from Asmodod.

Thy will I have done, now I beg thee to do mine!

John plunged the blade between the woman's breasts, sending spurts of blood into the air.

The assemblage intoned in wild ravings, dancing with arms flailing in praise and adoration.

In the night sky, the fulgent moon turned to blood.

****

As the pitch of night entombed them upon the open sea, Iyewebas emerged from the ship's belly, clutching his crucifix. He gazed up to the slate sky. A glowing moon, rising out from the sea, brought a weak smile to his face. But moments later, before his terrified eyes, the orb of night turned to the red of blood, then disappeared from sight.

The sign! The Witches' Sabbath! Demons are among us! Iyewebas uttered in terror.

Further words escaped him.

The night of dread was upon them. The vile night of the Black Sabbath. In an unearthly quiet, he listened to the laughter and mirth of knights and nobles below. Gazing up toward the stern, Iyewebas picked out the colorless silhouette of the helmsman at his post. Iyewebas began to pray aloud.

Seductively, like a harlot's whispers, the winds awakened. Resurrecting from their dead sleep, the sails one by one bloated. The great ship lurched forward against the splashing waves. Iyewebas sang out a benediction to the powers of Heaven.

But it was not Heaven that had come upon them—it was Hell.

The wind turned vicious and biting in the night until the fury of a mighty tempest roared across the sea. It snatched the helpless craft into monstrous flowing arms, battering the fragile planks of the now listing ship against gnawing white waves. In the darkness the ship weltered, while torrents pelted down, stripping away sight. Sparks of amethyst fire cut jagged lines racing through a pitch sky.

The vessel wailed as wave after wave battered her. Men cried out their prayers, clinging to any anchor on the frame. The monster lifted and slammed them into the raging waters. Soon even a stoic Richard became unnerved. John was in league with the Devil himself.

Rising water in the belly forced men onto the deck, where the sea swallowed them up like so many little fish. The savage wind shredded the sails into useless streamers. The night became suddenly as bright as day. The crack of a St. Elmo's Fire crawled through the clouds, finding the tallest mast on the rocking vessel.

Richard and Baldwin climbed the ladder, electing to face the fury on deck over the floating dead. A lightning flash blinded both men momentarily; thunder shuddered through their beings.

Iyewebas lashed himself to the rear mast to no avail. The mouth of the sea swallowed him up while he howled a prayer, spitting out the snaking rope into the foamy rushing waters.

Richard no sooner gained a foothold on deck when a wave crashed through the railing, lifting him over the side. Baldwin followed in his majesty's wake.

The tempest raged on until only splinters of the great ship remained. Then, accomplishing its evil bidding, the maelstrom faded into the quiet calm of night.

3

The first rays of dawn crept over a watery horizon. Gentle waves clapped against a rocky shore, being pulled back into the sea. Crabs skittered through the wreckage while three staggered, motionless bodies lay heaped upon the glistening sand.

In time the plangent rush of the ocean seeped into Richard's awakening mind. Cool sand cradled his spinning head. Blackbirds cawed overhead. Eventually, he opened his eyes to assay his surroundings. A hundred paces hence the shore yielded to forest vegetation. On his flank, the sand slid beneath jagged rocks into the placid blue water.

The warmth of the sun dried his clothes, massaged his aching muscles. The sweetness of survival filled his heart. Biting pains chewed along his spine like a dog gnawing a bone, halting his first attempt to move his arms. He spied scattered, lifeless remains of his ship deposited along the beach. Was he alone?

My king. He heard a whisper riding the wind. He begged that it be not an apparition.

Who beckons me? Richard responded in a ragged voice.

Baldwin... came back lost beneath the rush of a wave.

Richard sighed, then lost consciousness when he tried to rise.

The sun rolled across a clear sky, heating the sandy shore. Storm petrels darted this way and that, feasting on curious crabs. Gulls picked amongst the debris.

Richard opened his eyes to the distant clank of armor. Was it a trick of his injuries? No—his inner sense responded. A sense he obeyed without retort. He scanned the shore. A stallion's whicker came. Blinking sight into his eyes, he witnessed in the distance a glistening sword rise high, then slice down without compassion. A man's death wail rode the waves. Cold barking laughter found his ears. The sword rose anew, this time its glimmer lost to inky blood. Now the armored men were remounted and galloping toward Richard.

Baldwin? Richard whispered in a voice with newfound strength. He had to drive that strength to his arms, for to stay alive, he would have to fight. Despite the pain of fire in his back, he reached for his sword, relieved to feel cold steel locked in his fingers. Searching his belt, he learned his dagger was gone.

My liege? a straining voice came back.

Have you a sword? Are you injured? Can you fight? Richard fired his questions; there was no time for answers.

Block out the pain. Prepare for what accompanied the dull thud of hoofs pounding the wet sand.

I have a sword, but I fear my leg is broken! Baldwin’s voice came back.

Men approach and they...

My king, I can fight! came another. This one stronger but more distant than Baldwin's. It spurred Richard's heart.

Who joins us?

Your servant, Hugh the Merchant. I have sword and dagger...and I am free of injury.

Remain still. Attack on my command. They must think we are lost souls.

Through narrowed eyes, Richard espied the four horses. As they neared, their swords glinted in the bright sun. The horses slowed, the men cautious. The riders steadied their beasts, remaining atop their mounts for what seemed an eternity. Richard and his men stood little chance against mounted soldiers. He needed them on foot.

Richard commanded patience, praying his companions could maintain the facade until the moment was right.

The riders spoke in hushed tones. Their swords dipped as moments passed. Without relinquishing caution, they dismounted. With eyes fixed on the three lifeless forms, they edged closer.

Richard could feel their feet in the sand. He held one eye open ever so slightly. The first to approach lowered his guard.

On Richard's war cry the three sprang to their feet, thrusting blades out to oppose their attackers. Despite their injuries, Richard, Baldwin and Hugh fought their way to solid footing, locking blades with the four brigands. Clamoring steel forced the gulls to take flight.

Sword athwart, Richard squared off against the first two to attack. His cunning swordplay quickly quelled their thrashing advances and forced the other two into a wide arc to circumvent the clash. The maneuver afforded Baldwin sufficient time to steady his legs and confront the third brigand from a fighting stance. Hugh planted himself, but lacking advanced combat skills, could only parry the fourth man's charge. The poor merchant yielded ground with each of the brigand's downward slashes.

The leader of the brigands was the first to fall to Richard's blade. The king, having forced him askew, uncovered the seam in his armor. With blood bubbling from his mouth, the soldier dropped to his knees, then toppled into the sand.

Hugh's desperate back and forth slashes caught his attacker's blade in midair. Knowing he lacked the strength to endure this fight, Hugh lunged with dagger extended. The blade opened the man's belly, sliding in to the hilt. Hugh watched the man’s eyes bulge, then roll into his head as death claimed his soul. A moment later he fell backward into breaking waves.

Baldwin summoned every ounce of his waning strength just to meet his attacker, since his maimed leg limited his tactics. Unable to move, Baldwin parried thrusts in defense of his life.

Help me! he called to his king.

Richard drove into his lone assailant with wide, maddening swipes. The man at the last moment averted a blow meant to cleave his neck. However, the brigand caught notice of the regal ring on Richard's fighting hand.

In a frenzied burst, the soldier lunged for the king. Richard withdrew to better counter the sudden advance. But so did the brigand, dashing off instead for his mount. Richard's hobbled pursuit was insufficient to overtake the man. Before he could come within sword's reach, the soldier rolled onto his stallion, roiling for the safety of the forest.

Hugh levied his sword in Baldwin's defense, slashing off the brigand's fighting arm before he might deliver a fatal thrust into Baldwin.

Silence fell upon the shore. The lone horseman disappeared into the lush vegetation. The three remaining horses nickered, awaiting their mounts.

My liege, we can only pray he did not recognize you, Baldwin said.

Take the horses...follow the shore, Richard commanded.

My lord, that is too dangerous. Others may be rummaging the wreckage strewn along this beach, Hugh said, terrified that he might be required to fight again.

My king, these are your enemy's lands, Baldwin added.

We must learn if others have survived, Richard said.

It was then that Baldwin spied armor-clad riders along the coastline in the distance.

Richard assisted Baldwin to the saddle; his scream sundered the still. Baldwin's injury now meant Hugh must safeguard his king, and he had little skill in warfare and sword. Barter and manage supplies and accouterment were Hugh's specialties. But fight he must and fight he will—give his life in place of his king's. Had he the courage to deliver his majesty to safety? But where was safety in this land?

The forest folds swallowed up three horses, kicking up showers of dry sand.

4

A glaring sun lingered