All that is lacking is the dancing bear

On June 8, 1191, Richard finally arrived at the siege of Acre, having taken time off to conquer the island of Cyprus. This was a fun scene to write because the Lionheart could have taught Barnum and Bailey a lesson in self-promotion; he had a real flair for making grand entrances, much to the frustration and fury of his enemies. Philippe knows what to expect, having witnessed Richard’s entry into the harbor at Messina, but Conrad of Montferrat hasn’t a clue and he is vexed to see the entire camp running toward the shoreline as word spreads that Richard’s fleet has been sighted. Lionheart, pages 291-292
* * *
Watching in bemusement as this throng surged toward the sea, Conrad said scornfully, “Will you look at those fools? You’d think they hope to witness the Second Coming of the Lord Christ! What is there to see, for God’s sake? Just some ships dropping anchor offshore.”
Philippe gave the older man a tight, mirthless smile, thinking that Conrad was about to get his first lesson in Ricardian drama. (omission)
* * *
Philippe then baffles Conrad by asking if he had troupes of traveling players back in Montferrat and he makes Conrad wonder if his wits are wandering by going on about the entrance of such a troupe into a town, seeking to attract as large an audience as possible, describing how they blow their trumpets, beat on drums, sing and banter and trot out dancing dogs. occasionally even a dancing bear. Conrad demands to know what he is talking about, but he merely smiles.
* * *
By the time they reached the beach, it looked as if every man, woman, and child in the camp had gathered at the shoreline. To the west, the sun was setting in a blaze of fiery color, the sky and sea taking on vivid shades of gold and red, drifting purple clouds haloed in shimmering lilac light. The ships entering the bay were backlit by this spectacular sunset, and Philippe wondered if Richard had timed his landing for maximum impact. The sleek war galleys were slicing through the waves like the deadly weapons they were, the royal banners of England and Outremer catching each gust of wind, the oarsmen rowing in time to the thudding drumbeats, the air vibrating with the cacophony of trumpets, pipes, and horns. And just as he’d done at Messina, Richard was standing on a raised platform in the prow of his galley, a magnet for all eyes. When the crowds erupted in wild cheering, he acknowledged their tribute by raising a lance over his head and the noise level reached painful proportions, loud enough to reach the Saracen soldiers lining the walls of the city as they, too, watched, spellbound, the arrival of the legendary Lionheart.
Conrad was staring at the spectacle in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth open. When he finally tore his gaze away from the scene playing out in the harbor, he saw that the French king was watching him with a mordant, cynical smile, one that he now understood. “All that is lacking,” Philippe said, “is the dancing bear.”
* * *
Moving on, June 8, 1376 was the death of another celebrated soldier, Edward, the Black Prince, eldest son of Edward III and father of Richard II, also a character in several of Bernard Cornwell’s novels. And on June 8, 1476, George Neville, Archbishop of York, died; not one of my favorite characters in Sunne.