A King's Ransom (78 page)

She’d explained apologetically to Eleanor and Joanna that her husband really had no choice. Had he not obeyed the French king’s summons, he’d have risked losing all their French lands. If it were up to her, Richenza would have taken the gamble, for she loved her uncle. But she loved her husband and young son, too, and in any event, the decision had been Jaufre’s, not hers. Now Richard was back and Jaufre feared what was to come, so he’d willingly agreed when Richenza suggested she visit her grandmother. Jaufre hoped that Richenza could make her Angevin relatives understand why he’d deserted the English king, but he was not optimistic, for he’d heard one of the verses of the song Richard had composed in his German prison, which was being widely circulated by troubadours and trouvères:

“My comrades whom I loved and still do love

The lords of Perche and Cauieux

Strange tales have reached me that are hard to prove;

I ne’er was false to them; for evermore

Vile would men count them, if their arms they bore

’Gainst me, a prisoner here.”

Richenza had done her best, stressing Jaufre’s reluctance and his kinship to Philippe, which made it even harder to defy the French king. Eleanor’s welcome had been affectionate enough to reassure her that she was not blamed for Jaufre’s defection. Her grandmother said nothing about Jaufre, though, and she was reluctant to ask Eleanor to intercede on his behalf with Richard. Richenza adored her grandmother but she knew Eleanor was not as quick to forgive as Richenza’s mother had been.

On the second day of her visit, while she was walking with Joanna in the gardens of Eleanor’s lodgings on the abbey grounds, she decided to risk confiding in her aunt. “It is so hard,” she said with a sigh, “for a man to serve two liege lords.” When Joanna agreed, she was encouraged to continue. “Aunt Joanna, do you think my uncle will forgive Jaufre and me?”

“He will forgive
you
, Richenza.” Seeing the younger woman’s dismay, Joanna reached out and steered her niece toward a bench. “You need to understand this, Richenza. Richard is not in a mood to forgive. After he left Verneuil, he took the castle Beaumont-le-Roger from the Count of Meulan, who’d abandoned him for Philippe just as Jaufre did. Then he rode to Tours, where the citizens had been quick to open their city’s gates to the French king. He dispossessed the canons of St Martin’s, for their priory is as close to the Capetians as Fontevrault is to our family, and he demanded two thousand marks from the townspeople to regain royal favor. So you see, he is more inclined these days to punish than to pardon.”

Richenza appreciated her aunt’s honesty, for she thought it was always better to know what she was up against. But she was not going to concede defeat so easily, at least not until she heard the bad news from Richard himself. He was just fifty miles away, besieging Loches. She would go to him at Loches and do her best to make him understand why Jaufre had joined the French king. In the event, she did not have to take such dramatic action; as she and Joanna joined Abbess Mathilde for dinner in her guest hall, the abbey was thrown into turmoil by the unexpected arrival of the English king.

Richenza hung back, watching as Richard was greeted joyfully by his mother and sister and the prioress, Aliza de Bretagne, who showed so much excitement that the elderly abbess shot her a disapproving frown. Aliza was so obviously unrepentant that Richenza immediately liked the young nun, who looked to be her own age, twenty-two. Richard’s men were sent to eat with the monks at the priory of St Jean de l’Habit, for Fontevrault was unique in that its abbess ruled over men as well as women, and Mathilde hastily ordered servants to set places for Richard, André, Morgan, Guillain, and Master Fulk at her table. It was then that Richard glanced around and noticed his niece.

Richenza held her breath until he smiled, and when he held out his arms, she came gratefully into them. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. . . .”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lass.” He bent down and kissed her cheek before saying, “Your husband does, though.”

“I know,” she admitted, taking heart from his matter-of-fact tone. “Jaufre felt he had no choice, Uncle. If he’d defied the French king, he’d have lost his lands in Perche.”

“Well, he has lost his lands in England now. I ordered his estates in Wiltshire and Bedfordshire forfeit to the Crown.” Sliding his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. “But not your dowry lands. They are still yours.”

Richenza’s smile was radiant with relief, for even if the very worst happened and Jaufre lost Perche in this accursed war, her son would still have a substantial inheritance; Richard had provided very generously for her at the time that he’d arranged her marriage to Jaufre.

“Why so surprised, Richenza? After all, you’re my favorite niece.”

“Well, there is not much competition for that honor, Uncle Richard.”

They grinned at each other, for this was a running joke between them; he’d not met any of his sister Leonora’s daughters in Castile and his sister-in-law Constance had done her best to poison Aenor’s mind against all of the Angevins. Richard was tempted to tell her that he intended to restore Jaufre’s English lands to him eventually. But she might confide in her husband, wanting to reassure him that he’d be forgiven in time, and Richard was determined that Jaufre lose some sleep over his fall from royal favor. He liked Jaufre and was not about to ruin his niece’s husband. There was a price to be paid, though, for failure to keep faith. “Come on, lass,” he said. “Let’s have dinner.”

Once they’d all been seated and freshly caught fish from the abbey’s stews had been served, Eleanor leaned over to ask Richard about the siege. She knew better than most what a formidable challenge Loches Castle posed, for she’d been held there briefly after she’d been captured by her husband’s men. “I assume that your presence here means the siege is going well?”

“Oh, it is over,” Richard said nonchalantly. “How long did it take, André? Two or three?”

“Two and a half, I think,” André said, just as nonchalantly, reaching for a slice of bread.

Eleanor’s eyes widened incredulously. “You took Loches in just two and a half days?”

“No . . . two and a half hours.” Seeing the amazed looks on the faces of all the women, Richard and André burst out laughing, only too happy to answer all the questions that were at once aimed at them. Eleanor listened in silence as the queen warred with the mother. She understood more about war than the other women, and for Richard to have captured Loches in just a few hours, it must have been an extraordinarily ferocious assault—with her son in the very thick of the fighting.

Joanna was pleased to learn that Richard had taken over two hundred prisoners. Legally, he had the right to execute the garrison when a castle was taken by storm; John’s slaughter of the Évreux garrison had left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew Richard could be very ruthless himself when need be—she was still uncomfortable remembering the execution of the garrison at Acre—and she had worried that his war with Philippe would become a bloodbath. “Why did Berengaria’s brother not come with you?” she asked, for she wanted to meet Sancho, who was said to be over seven feet tall; she could not imagine a man towering over Richard by fully a foot.

Richard’s smile disappeared. “Sancho left the siege ere I even got there. His men told me that he’d had to rush back to Navarre, having gotten word that his father is gravely ill and not expected to recover. When are you planning to return to Poitiers, Joanna? I think it would help Berenguela very much if you were with her.”

“I will leave on the morrow,” she promised, and when he said that he’d give her a letter for Berenguela, she hesitated. “She will want to know when you’ll be there. What shall I tell her?”

Although Joanna had taken care to keep her tone neutral, Richard still found himself on the defensive. “Tell her I’ll come as soon as I can,” he said tersely. When she nodded, he frowned, faulting her for what he was sure she was thinking. Did she expect Philippe to courteously cease hostilities whilst he was visiting his wife in Poitou? That craven weasel would be quick to raid the hen roost once he learned the guard dog was gone. The only way to end this war was to track down that Judas and force him to fight.

As he studied his sister, he doubted that she truly comprehended what a daunting challenge he faced to regain all that had been lost during his captivity. Setting his wine cup down, he turned toward Joanna and sought to educate her about the harsh reality of warfare. Philippe controlled much of Normandy east of the River Seine, including the ports of Dieppe and Tréport. He now held castles that put him within striking distance of Rouen itself. Moreover, his acquisition of Artois from Flanders gave him more resources than French kings had in the past. But while Joanna listened attentively, Richard sensed that she still did not understand. Nor would his wife. Well, so be it. His duties as king had to come first, and Berenguela would have to accept that.

After dinner, Eleanor asked Richard about Philippe’s siege of Fontaines; that had alarmed her, for the castle was just four miles from Rouen. Richard and André were unconcerned, though, mocking the French king for taking four days to capture such a small, poorly defended stronghold and making Prioress Aliza laugh by swearing she and her nuns could have taken it faster than Philippe. Now Eleanor was not surprised when Richard said he would have to return to his army on the morrow; she knew he’d been practically living in the saddle in recent weeks and that was not likely to change anytime soon. She was about to ask him if he’d heard how Heinrich’s invasion of Sicily was going when a courier was ushered into the hall.

He’d been sent by the seneschal of Normandy and his disheveled state alerted Richard that his message was urgent. Snatching up the letter, he broke the seal and read rapidly. “Christ on the Cross!” The color draining from his face, he glanced up, his eyes seeking André. “Leicester has been captured by the French!”

There was an immediate outcry from his audience, for the women were as horrified as his men. “How did it happen?” Eleanor asked her son, who’d gone back to reading the letter.

“Once the French were retreating after razing Fontaines, he ventured out from Rouen to harass them, but with only twenty knights.” Richard shook his head angrily. “How could he be so reckless?” That caused some astonished eye rolling among his friends, sister, and mother, but he did not notice. Crumpling the parchment in his fist, he flung it to the floor. “He has been sent under guard to Étampes Castle.”

They knew what that meant—rescue was not an option. “Philippe is holding his unwanted wife, Ingeborg, at Étampes,” Eleanor said acidly. “Mayhap he can save money by penning them up together.”

Abbess Mathilde was surprised that the king seemed so shaken, for she’d assumed he was hardened to the vicissitudes and cruelties of war. Nor did she understand why he and the other men looked so grim, for the Earl of Leicester had earned renown throughout Christendom for his feats in the Holy Land. Surely a prisoner who was so highborn and so celebrated would be well treated. But when she quietly said as much to Eleanor, the queen merely looked at her, saying nothing, and there was something in those hazel eyes that gave the elderly abbess a chill. She would pray for the earl, she decided, for it was becoming clear to her that the king and his mother felt Leicester was in need of prayers.

I
N EARLY
J
ULY,
Philippe invaded Touraine. He’d gotten as far as Lisle when his scouts warned him that the English king’s army was awaiting him at Vendôme, blocking the road into the Loire Valley. Philippe hastily withdrew a few miles to Fréteval, and conferred with his battle commanders.

V
ENDÔME WAS A SMALL TOWN
north of Tours. It had no defensive walls, and its citizens were understandably alarmed at the possibility of a great battle being fought in their vicinity. The Count of Vendôme was nowhere to be found, but the abbot of Holy Trinity bravely entered the English king’s camp to demand royal protection for his abbey and its holy relic, the Sacred Teardrop, which was said to have been shed by the Lord Christ at the tomb of Lazarus. Richard had some of his father’s anticlerical bias and he was fast losing his temper. The abbot was forgotten, though, when a herald arrived from the French king.