A King's Ransom (74 page)

MAY 1194

Barfleur, Normandy

R
ichard’s galley was able to dock at the quay, but most of the ships in his fleet would have to anchor out in the harbor and send their passengers ashore in small boats. A large crowd had gathered and now began to cheer at the first sight of his red-and-gold lion banner. Richard was pleased by their enthusiastic welcome, for he saw only smiles on their faces, no recriminations for what he’d yielded at the German court. As soon as he strode down the gangplank, he was surrounded by local lords and clerics, who’d preempted the space closest to the quay, forcing all the others out into the street. One youngster was not willing to wait, and he began to push his way through the throng, heedless of the scowls and curses from the men whose toes had been stepped upon. Squeezing past an indignant archdeacon, who swatted at him and missed, he dropped to his knees in the muddy street, suddenly afraid that Richard would not recognize him.

He need not have worried. He’d left childhood behind in the four years that his father had been fighting in the Holy Land and then held prisoner in Germany. But as Richard gazed down at the eager, upturned face and tousled coppery hair, he knew. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You grew up, Philip.” When he pulled the boy to his feet and they embraced, those watching had no idea why the king was so happy to see this pushy stripling, but they applauded anyway.

It was too noisy to hear, so Philip pointed to draw Richard’s attention to the men standing across the street. Recognizing Morgan and Guilhem de Préaux, Richard began to make his way toward them, his son following closely in his wake as the crowd parted to let them pass. It was not until he reached them that he saw the woman they were sheltering from the press of people. When she flung herself into his arms, that set off another wave of cheering.

“Anna insisted upon coming with us,” Joanna said once she’d gotten her breath back, “but I made her wait at our lodgings, for I knew how chaotic it would be here at the harbor.”

“And Berenguela?”

She shook her head. Another burst of cheering drowned out whatever she meant to say about Berengaria’s absence, and she and Richard turned to see that Eleanor had just stepped onto the quay. “Go on, lass,” Richard said and, with Morgan and Guilhem clearing a path for her, Joanna hastened toward her mother. She paused, though, to glance over her shoulder at Richard and Philip. They were watching her, smiling, and she was touched to see that Richard still had his arm around his son’s shoulders. But she also felt a prick of unease, for it seemed to her that when she’d told him his wife was not at Barfleur, she’d caught a fleeting look of relief on her brother’s face.

F
ROM
B
ARFLEUR, THEY TRAVELED
to Bayeux and then Caen. In each village and town they passed through, people turned out in huge numbers to welcome their duke, for Richard’s Norman title mattered more to most of them than his English one.

Joanna had been able to have several long talks with her mother for they were sharing a bedchamber; there were so many in Richard’s entourage that accommodations were limited even at Caen’s royal castle. But so far she’d had no opportunity for a private conversation with her brother; he was never alone.

She was not surprised, therefore, to enter the great hall and find Richard encircled by an animated, eager audience. She’d noticed that Richard seemed comfortable talking about his time in the Holy Land and his misadventures on his way home, making light of his two shipwrecks and the flight into enemy territory; he’d even appeared willing to talk about his three months as Leopold’s prisoner, although he’d been very sparing with details. But as soon as anyone mentioned his experiences in Germany, he shut down; that was the only way Joanna could describe it. The stiffness of his posture and the guarded look on his face told her now that he was being asked questions he did not want to answer. Just as it occurred to her that he might welcome an interruption, Richard saw her and stood up.

“We’ll have to continue this discussion later,” he announced, and held out his arm to Joanna, who happily took it and followed him from the hall. Once they were in his bedchamber, he sent Arne down to the buttery for wine and sprawled on the settle, confiding, “It is passing strange,
irlanda
. There were times in the past year when I craved company the way a drunkard craves wine. But now . . . now I find myself yearning for a bit of solitude, some quiet time for myself—as if a king ever gets that.”

Joanna sat beside him, warmed to be called
irlanda
again. She’d been the favorite of her three older brothers, who’d enjoyed teasing her with affectionate pet names. She’d been “imp” to Hal, “kitten” to Geoffrey, and “swallow” or “little bird” to Richard, always in the
lenga romana
of their mother’s homeland. Hal and Geoffrey’s voices had been silenced for years, but Richard had been restored to his family and his kingdom and for that, she would be eternally grateful to the Almighty.

She’d taken care not to stare at Arne’s scars, but once he departed the chamber, she said, “Morgan told me what happened to Arne. That was very brave of him.”

Richard nodded. “He was just fourteen. Many men grown would not have shown his courage.”

She waited to see if he would say more and when he did not, she honored his choice by asking no questions. She wanted to ask him about the marriages of Aenor and Anna to Leopold’s sons, but he’d shown a marked reluctance to discuss the hostages and she knew he’d rebuffed Anna when the girl had rashly entreated him to reject the marriage plans—as if he could. Joanna had always felt free to speak her mind with Richard and she found it disconcerting to have to weigh her words like this.

“Maman says that she hopes Johnny will be at Évreux to seek your pardon for his treachery. I was very fond of Johnny when we were children, but I do not care much for the man he has become. I am not sure he deserves forgiveness.”

“Neither am I,” he admitted. “It will be easier to pardon him than to forgive him.”

She studied him intently. “Why pardon him at all? Because Maman asks it of you?”

“What better reason could I have than pleasing our mother?” he said lightly. “And I do understand why she wants it done. Until I can sire an heir of my own, we are stuck with my brother or my nephew. Neither Johnny nor Arthur inspires much confidence, but Maman sees Johnny as the lesser of evils and I suppose I do, too.”

“I cannot argue with that. Not only is Arthur just seven, he would be Philippe’s puppet for certes. But whenever you think of Johnny as next in line for the throne, you must be powerfully motivated to get Berengaria with child.” She’d deliberately brought Berengaria’s name into the conversation, but he merely smiled, not taking the bait.

“There is another reason for making peace with Johnny,” he said. “It gets him away from Philippe’s baleful influence. Saladin’s brother taught me an Arabic proverb that I rather fancied. The Saracens say it is better to have a camel inside the tent, pissing out, than outside the tent, pissing in.” When Joanna smiled, he added playfully, “No regrets that you turned him down,
irlanda
?”

She shook her head in feigned disapproval. “You are so lucky the French never learned of your scheme to marry me off to al-Adil. Imagine what they’d have made of that at your trial in Germany!” She felt safe in saying that because he’d spoken freely of his trial, which had been a spectacular triumph for him, after all.

He confirmed the soundness of her instincts by laughing. “Very true, Joanna. If Saladin were my brother by marriage, it might have made my denials of a conspiracy with the Saracens less convincing. Not that any of them really believed that ludicrous accusation, not even Philippe’s pet rat, Beauvais.” His face momentarily shadowed at the thought of his hated enemy and Joanna said quickly, “I know you respected al-Adil. But when you start husband-hunting for me again, I hope you’ll remember that I would prefer he be a Christian.”

He grinned and assured her he’d keep that in mind. “So no Saracens, Jews, or heretics. Any other requirements I should know about?”

His joking mention of heretics had stirred up an unwelcome memory; it vexed Joanna the way Raimond de St Gilles hovered in the corners of her consciousness, awaiting his chance to lay claim to her thoughts. “Well, a crown would be good,” she said, matching Richard’s bantering tone, and he promised to add “king” to the list of qualifications, warning her that she risked never finding another husband if she was going to be so demanding.

Joanna was delighted that they were so at ease with each other, as if the past twenty months had never been. She felt comfortable enough now to acknowledge the ghost in the chamber. “Richard, we need to talk about Berengaria.”

If he’d shut down whenever mention was made of Heinrich, now it was as if she were looking at a castle under siege, drawbridge pulled up, portcullis in place, doors barred. “You assured me she was well,” he said, making that simple statement somehow sound accusatory. “Were you lying about that?”

“No, of course not!” She was flustered by his hostility, but it was too late to retreat. More convinced than ever that something was wrong, she leaned over and touched his arm. “She is not ailing, Richard. She is bewildered, though, that you seem to be deliberately delaying a reunion. She does not understand why you did not want her to join you in England, and neither do I—”

She could feel the muscles in his arm tense even before he pulled away and got abruptly to his feet. “I’ve warned you before, Joanna, about meddling in my marriage!”

“I am not meddling. I just want to help—”

“Did I ask for your help? Did Berenguela? You have a bad habit of interfering in matters that are not your concern and I am bone-weary of it!”

Joanna rose, too, staring at him in dismay. This was not the first time she’d taken him to task for neglecting his wife, for she’d become very protective of Berengaria during their time together in the Holy Land. Usually he’d been amused, occasionally annoyed, but only once had he become angry with her, and that was when he’d been in the initial stages of Arnaldia. She’d never seen him as furious as he was now. Instead of snapping back, as she would ordinarily have done, she found herself trying to pacify him. “I am sorry. I did not mean to meddle. . . .”

He was not appeased, continuing to glare at her. “See that it does not happen again,” he said, sounding like such a stranger that she could only nod, at a rare loss for words. She was greatly relieved when Arne returned then with the wine, for the silence was becoming suffocating. Accepting a cup from the boy, she managed to make stilted small talk while she drank it, but when she offered an excuse for leaving, Richard did not object. To the contrary, she thought that he seemed glad to see her gone.

“
S
IT HERE,
and I will brush out your hair,” Eleanor suggested. They were alone, for Joanna had requested that they go up to their bedchamber before their women joined them for the night. She sat upon the bench as directed, and enjoyed this brief, blessed regression back into childhood, relaxing as her mother tended to her needs. Eleanor drew the brush through her daughter’s long, curly hair, establishing a lulling rhythm before saying, “What is wrong, Joanna?”

“I had a dreadful quarrel with Richard this afternoon, Maman. I was trying to learn why he seems set upon keeping Berengaria at arm’s length, and he accused me angrily of meddling in his marriage.”

Eleanor continued to wield the brush. “Well, you
were
meddling, dearest.”

“I know,” Joanna conceded. “But I always meddle, Maman! I love Richard dearly, and when we were in the Holy Land, I am sure he did not mean to neglect Berengaria. It is just that he is utterly single-minded, and he tended to forget he had a wife unless I reminded him of it.”

“I can see how he might have been distracted,” Eleanor said wryly, “what with fighting a holy war at the time.”

Joanna looked over her shoulder and grinned. “I’m sure that crossed his mind when I scolded him for not paying more attention to his bride.” Her smile faded then. “But this is different, Maman. It has been two months since his return to England. Berengaria is very hurt that he has not sent for her.”