A King's Ransom (126 page)

“When she left Toulouse in April to seek Richard’s aid for Raimond, she did not expect to be gone more than a month or so. Her lack of money did not matter much, though, for few merchants would deny credit to the king’s sister.”

That was a song John could sing in his sleep; he’d lived for years on credit and expectations and the foolishness of men eager to curry favor with one who might be a future king. “Of course,” he said. “I will be pleased to give Joanna a hundred marks of rent, to dispose of any way she chooses.”

“That is generous of you, John. But I had something else in mind. When Richard landed in Sicily, he did more than gain Joanna’s freedom. He insisted that Tancred compensate her in gold for the loss of her dower lands, which he then used to pay for his army’s expenses in the Holy Land.”

“And he never repaid her.” John’s smile was sour, for when did Brother Richard ever repay a debt? He’d bled his kingdom white to finance his wars, and had gotten away with it because he was the Lionheart, because men admired and respected and feared him as they did not admire, respect, or fear his brother. John lied to many others, not to himself, and he knew he was going to find it much harder than Richard to raise money. “So what do you have in mind?” he asked warily, already sure he knew the answer.

“Joanna never bothered to ask Richard for repayment since she had no need of it. Now she does. She must make her will, for the Church holds that dying intestate is like dying unconfessed. She wants to settle her own debts and to make bequests to those in her household. Above all, she wants to have enough money to bequeath to churches, to feed the poor, and to have prayers said for her soul.”

“And how much is ‘enough’?”

“Three thousand marks will do. If you agree, that will release you of all liability for the debt that Richard owed to Joanna.”

Three thousand marks! That would buy food to fill all the hungry bellies in Rouen, would keep candles lit for her soul until the Second Coming, would enrich a veritable host of greedy churchmen at his expense. John scowled, feeling as if Richard had gulled him from the grave. His mother remained silent. Why bother with words when she could deliver her message with her eyes? Eyes as piercing as any arrow, aiming for the very depths of his soul. He picked up his wine cup, tasting the dregs before saying with as much grace as he could muster, “Of course I agree, Mother. How could I refuse?”

I
T TOOK HOURS FOR
Joanna’s will to be drawn up to her satisfaction, so determined was she to acknowledge all those who’d served her so loyally. She left a generous bequest to Dame Beatrix and smaller sums to her other maids of honor, to her chaplain and clerks and servants. She took care that the thousand shillings she’d borrowed from the moneylender, Provetal the Jew, would be repaid. She gave her favorite horse to the hospital at Roncevaux, six mares to the abbey of Mont Sainte Catherine, and two mares to every religious house in Rouen. She made a large gift to the abbess of Fontevrault and bequests to several of the nuns who’d befriended her, left a valuable wall hanging to St Stephen’s church in Toulouse, and placed the residue of her three thousand marks at the disposal of her mother and the archbishops of Canterbury and York, to be divided among religious houses and the poor.

Abbot Luke then heard her confession and administered the sacrament of Extreme Unction, which normally gave the dying much comfort. It did not assuage Joanna’s fears, though, for she remained convinced that her only path to salvation led toward the abbey of Fontevrault.

E
LEANOR HAD BEEN UNABLE
to save her son and she knew that she could not save her daughter, either. She could not defeat Death. But now her adversaries were flesh-and-blood, stubborn and hidebound, clinging to custom the way snails and turtles retreated into their shells whenever they encountered the unknown. She had been fighting men like this for her entire life and whilst she’d lost most of the time, this was the one battle she had to win.

She at once sent word to Fontevrault, confident that she would have allies in Abbess Mathilde and Prioress Aliza. But Joanna had taken no comfort in that. She was sure that she’d be dead by the time the elderly abbess could travel all the way to Rouen, and Eleanor feared she was right, for it seemed to her that her daughter lost ground by the hour. She went next to the Archbishop of Rouen, only to be rebuffed. He was sympathetic to the countess’s deathbed wishes, he assured Eleanor. But canon law spoke clearly on the subject: a married woman could not take holy vows without her husband’s consent.

Eleanor had expected such a negative response. She knew she might be maligning Archbishop Gautier, but she suspected that he remained resentful of his clash with her son over Les Andelys; even though he’d been well compensated for his loss, he’d also been humiliated when the Pope had sided with Richard, and she was not sure he was magnanimous enough to overlook that old grievance.

She had better luck with Mathilde d’Avranches, the abbess of St Amand, Rouen’s prestigious nunnery. Abbot Luke of Turpenay Abbey was easy to persuade, too, as were the Bishops of Évreux and Lisieux. But since they’d argued Richard’s case before the papal curia, Archbishop Gautier was not likely to give their words much weight. She needed more influential allies before a council could be called to debate Joanna’s request.

O
F ALL
H
ENRY’S SONS,
it was generally conceded that the one who most closely resembled him was his bastard Geoff, York’s reluctant archbishop. His russet hair was well sprinkled with grey these days, for he was not that far from his fiftieth birthday, and he’d gained weight as his youth slipped away. But he remained as outspoken and obstinate as he’d ever been, and although he politely heard Eleanor out, he was already shaking his head by the time she was done speaking.

“Do not mistake me, Madame. My heart goes out to your daughter, my half sister. And her wish to take holy vows is a most commendable one. Alas, it cannot be done without her husband’s consent.”

“If he were here, my lord archbishop, he would give it gladly.” Geoff had never mastered the art of dissembling, and his doubt showed so plainly on his face that Eleanor drew an angry breath. But she kept her voice even as she said, “Do you truly believe he would deny his wife salvation?”

“I do not know the Count of Toulouse well enough to say. He has not always been a friend to the Holy Church, after all.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to argue that Raimond de St Gilles was not a heretic, whatever slanderous stories Geoff might have heard. But she knew that road led nowhere. She studied her husband’s most devoted son with calculating eyes, and then she almost smiled, for she’d realized how to break through his barriers.

“I am not asking you to do this for me or for John. You do not even have to do it for Joanna. Do it for your father. Harry loved Joanna dearly, as you well know. Do not let his daughter go to her death fearing that she is damned.”

He looked startled, but not defensive, and she took hope from that. Knowing he was not a man to be prodded, she kept silent as he considered this most personal of appeals. “If you are truly sure that the Count of Toulouse would give his permission,” he finally said, “then I see no harm in granting Lady Joanna’s wishes. But I doubt that the Archbishop of Rouen will see it in that light. Do you want me to speak with him?”

“That is very kind of you, but not necessary,” Eleanor said quickly, for he had never been noted for his powers of persuasion; his impatience and lack of tact inevitably irked those he was trying to convince. She agreed that Archbishop Gautier must be won over, but she had a more eloquent advocate in mind than Geoff.

“
I
T IS TRULY PROVIDENTIAL
that you should be in Rouen now, when Richard’s sister has such need of you, my lord archbishop.”

Hubert Walter nodded gravely, while silently saluting her for that adroit “Richard’s sister.” Not that he needed reminding of all he owed Richard, but he did not blame her for using every weapon at her disposal on her daughter’s behalf. “This grieves me more than I can say, Madame. I hold your daughter in high esteem.” And while that was the response demanded by courtesy, it was also true; he’d become quite fond of Richard’s spirited sister during their time in the Holy Land.

“If I may speak candidly, my lord Hubert, my daughter needs more than your grief. She desperately needs your help.”

“And she shall have it,” he said, so readily that she closed her eyes for a moment, blessing Richard for making this man Canterbury’s archbishop. “I do not see how the Church would be threatened by granting a woman’s deathbed wish, one that does honor to the Almighty and the sisters of Fontevrault. But some of my brethren embrace canon law the way soldiers embrace whores—with great enthusiasm. We will need a cogent, compelling argument to overcome Archbishop Gautier’s qualms.”

Eleanor had one. “Tell them,” she said, “that Joanna’s desire to take holy vows is the result of a vision. The Blessed Mother Mary came to her in a dream and told her what she must do. She is but seeking to honor that divine command.”

Hubert nodded again and then he smiled faintly. “Yes, that ought to do it.”

A
S
E
LEANOR ENTERED THE
stairwell leading up to Joanna’s bedchamber, she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the couple cloaked in shadows. For a moment, she felt rage spark through her exhaustion, anger that one of Joanna’s ladies would have arranged a tryst as her mistress lay dying. But then she realized that Morgan was holding Mariam as she wept against his shoulder and she was suddenly very frightened, fearing she was too late.