A King's Ransom (88 page)

Joanna reached over to take Mariam’s hand in her own. “How often have you been able to share a bed with Morgan? A few times in the Holy Land, an occasional tryst in the past year. That you did not conceive yet proves nothing,
Zahrah
.”

The use of that Arabic endearment, her brother William’s pet name for her, caused Mariam’s tears to overflow. “You are forgetting that during four years of marriage to Bertrand, not once did I conceive.”

“That does not mean you cannot conceive,” Joanna insisted, for the female physicians she’d consulted at Salerno had espoused the revolutionary view that a childless marriage was not always to be blamed upon the woman. “Many wives conceive after years of a supposedly barren marriage. What of Constance? Who expected her to become pregnant in her fortieth year?”

Mariam merely shook her head. But after a few moments of silence, she said, “I was not being entirely truthful, Joanna. Yes, I have worried that I might not be able to conceive. But that is not why I cannot wed Morgan. Our children would never be welcome here. I have seen how people stare at me, whisper behind my back. In Poitiers, they called me ‘the Saracen witch.’”

Joanna was outraged; she’d had no idea that Mariam felt like such an outsider in the Angevin domains. “Why did you not tell me? The mean-spirited louts! You’re a better Christian than the lot of them!”

Mariam was warmed by Joanna’s indignation and reached over to hug her before saying, “I do not care what they say of me, for my life with you shelters me from the worst of their suspicions and ill will. But my children would care. In Sicily, their Saracen blood would not matter. But I could not ask Morgan to abandon his world for mine. Even if he would have considered it, now that Heinrich has been crowned the King of Sicily, a life there is impossible. Morgan would never be willing to live under Heinrich’s rule, and in truth, neither would I.”

Joanna knew Mariam well enough not to argue further, but she had no intention of giving up. She was ashamed that she’d felt a brief flicker of relief as Mariam had explained why a return to Sicily was out of the question, for losing Mariam would be like losing part of herself. Yet she loved Mariam too much to be selfish, and as they walked back toward the castle, she was privately vowing to find a way for her friend and Morgan to have a life together.

When they entered the great hall, Joanna started toward Berengaria, who was standing by the open hearth. But her step quickened as soon as she got a glimpse of the younger woman’s face. “Berengaria? Is something amiss?”

Berengaria’s eyes looked very dark against the whiteness of her skin. She was holding a letter that looked as if it had been crumpled in her fist and then smoothed out. “It is from Richard,” she said. “He wants me to join him at his Easter Court in Le Mans.”

“Dearest, that is wonderful!” Joanna exclaimed, delighted that her stubborn brother was finally reaching out to his neglected wife.

“Yes, wonderful,” Berengaria echoed after a long pause, saying, as always, what was expected of her. But she shared none of Joanna’s pleasure, feeling only unease, confusion, and even a touch of apprehension.

I
T WAS DUSK TWO
days later when the walls of Le Mans came into view. Berengaria had not seen Richard since that past July, at the beginning and end of his lightning campaign into Poitou, and in the eight months since then, she could do little but mourn her ailing marriage. Her bruised and battered pride had suffered a serious wound when Richard celebrated Christmas in Rouen without her, for her absence proclaimed to all of Christendom that she’d failed as a queen, as a wife. How else explain why Richard would not have wanted her with him on one of the most sacred days on the Church calendar? Her hurt was already well salted with resentment when he met the Duchess of Brittany in March and did not visit her, even though Beaufort-en-Vallée was just fifteen miles from Angers. On the road to Le Mans, she’d tried to banish her grievances to the back of her brain, telling herself that what mattered now was showing Richard and the world that she knew how to behave as a queen ought, serene and benevolent and regal, never giving a hint of her inner agitation, her anger, or her pain. But with each passing mile, she became more and more nervous, not sure that she had her wayward emotions under proper control.

She received a surprise as they approached the Vieux Pont, for the town gate opened and Richard rode out to meet her once they crossed the bridge. He was accompanied by an impressive entourage of barons and bishops, few of whom she knew, since she’d never been formally presented to his vassals. When he reined his stallion in beside her, she thought he looked tired and tense. He smiled, though, reaching over to kiss her hand with a flourish before introducing her to Hamelin, the Bishop of Le Mans, a portly, affable man who seemed very pleased to see her, for he kept talking about what an honor it was to have her visiting his city.

Richard rode beside Berengaria as they entered Le Mans, telling her that the town had both a castle and a royal palace and pointing out the city’s ancient Roman walls. He made a brief detour to show her the magnificent cathedral of St Julien, saying that this was where his grandfather Count Geoffrey of Anjou had been buried and where his father had been christened. The narrow streets were thronged with people eager to get their first glimpse of the Lionheart’s bride, and they cheered as she and Richard passed, turning their ride into a torch-lit triumphant procession. Berengaria smiled and waved, thinking how much she would have enjoyed this if only it had happened months ago.

B
ERENGARIA HAD ALWAYS HARBORED
ambivalent feelings toward Richard’s mother. She could not approve of Eleanor’s scandalous past, but she thought Eleanor played the role of queen to perfection: confident, courageous, and elegant. She’d never aspired to compete with her formidable mother-in-law, knowing that was a contest she’d have been sure to lose, and she was regretful that their five-month journey to Sicily had not developed any intimacy between them. She did not doubt that Richard might never have regained his freedom if not for his mother’s fierce determination, and she was deeply thankful that in his time of greatest need, he’d had Eleanor to fight for him. But she’d begun to resent Eleanor in the past year, always at Richard’s side while she was relegated to the shadows. So upon their arrival at the palace, she offered a coolly formal greeting to her mother-in-law, only to feel ashamed and outmaneuvered when Eleanor was very gracious in return.

Her first meeting with Richard’s brother was just as strained. She was startled by how little John resembled Richard; he was handsome enough, but much shorter than Richard, with dark hair, Eleanor’s eyes, and an irreverent, sensual smile that made her think he was envisioning her naked in his bed. She knew hatred was an emotion that good Christians should eschew, but she hated John, for he’d done his best to make sure her husband would never see the sun again. She would never forgive him for that and she did not understand how Richard and Eleanor had, how he was swaggering around Richard’s court as if his foul betrayal had never been.
They are not like us, little one.
The words were her brother Sancho’s, uttered on her last night in Pamplona, a gentle, rueful warning that she would be marrying into a family utterly unlike her own.

It was daunting to meet so many people at once, and she struggled to commit their names and faces to memory, knowing that they’d be offended if she did not remember them at their next encounter. She was grateful that Richard was so often at her side, and when he was called away, he saw to it that she was watched over by Joanna or André. It was Joanna who came to her rescue when they saw John bearing down upon them. Knowing that Berengaria did not want to interact any more than necessary with the man she’d privately dubbed the Prince of Darkness, Joanna adroitly steered her sister-in-law toward a group encircling the Bishop of Le Mans.

Bishop Hamelin at once interrupted his conversation to acknowledge the two queens, visibly proud to have so many highborn guests sojourning in his beloved city. “We are indeed honored that you could join us for Eastertide, my lady queens. It is always a season for rejoicing, but especially so this year, for just a week ago, we feared that our king might be breathing his last. Yet look at him now!” Beaming, he gestured across the hall, where Richard was conversing with the Archbishop of Rouen and the Bishop of Angers. “As Scriptures promise,
Return unto Me, and I will return unto you, saith the Lord of Hosts.
Because the king repented his sins, he was restored to full health, for
God’s mercy is everlasting
.”

Berengaria’s mouth had gone dry. “My husband was gravely ill?”

“Indeed, Madame. You were not told?”

Berengaria could only shake her head mutely. Joanna was just as stunned, but William de St Mère-Eglise quickly interceded, explaining it had happened so suddenly that there was no time to summon the queens, and once the crisis was past, the king had not wanted to worry them. Isabel de Clare helped, too, by saying lightly that “Men are all the same, bless them. My husband’s letters home make his campaigns sound like pleasure jaunts. Why they think wives are such delicate flowers is a mystery to me, for if men had to endure the ordeal of the birthing chamber, no family would have more than one child.”

That evoked laughter and Bishop Hamelin continued with his story, telling Berengaria and Joanna that the king had confessed his sins freely before his bishops and asked for absolution. “Since then he has attended Divine Service every morning without fail and he has made provisions for the poor to be fed daily, both at his court and in the towns. He has also ordered that chalices of gold and silver be made to replace those that had been taken from the churches to pay his ransom.” The bishop was clearly delighted to be a part of these admirable happenings, and carried on in this vein for some time, praising the king expansively. “Was he not one of the first to take the cross? Did he not found a Cistercian abbey at Bonport and a Benedictine priory at Gourfailles? Think what greatness he shall achieve now that he has vowed to honor God by living as a most just and virtuous prince!”

Berengaria had not known that Richard had founded two monasteries, and that would normally have been of great interest to her. Now that she knew why Richard had summoned her to Le Mans, the news barely registered with her.

D
INNER WAS THE MAIN
meal of the day, supper usually an afterthought, but because of Berengaria and Joanna’s late arrival, Richard had arranged for a lavish repast, the tables in the great hall laden with all the foods that had been denied them during Lent. His miraculous recovery had not been as rapid as it appeared to others. Eating little, he merely pushed his food around on his trencher to disguise his lack of appetite, not noticing that his wife was doing the same. He tired easily these days and all he wanted to do in a bed this night was sleep. But his bishops were watching him expectantly, seeing his reconciliation with his queen as proof that he had turned away from past sins. For all he knew, the Almighty was watching him, too.