A King's Ransom (90 page)

They were interrupted by a servant with wine and angel wafers. John liked dogs and he broke off a piece of wafer to feed to Eleanor’s greyhound. While he’d sought to seem blasé and nonchalant, he’d actually been nervous about making this unbidden visit to his mother, for even before his foolhardy involvement with Philippe, he’d never had the easy, comfortable relationship with her that Richard and Joanna did. He understood why; he’d grown to manhood during those sixteen years of her captivity. But he was still jealous and resentful that his brother and sister had what he never would: this formidable woman’s love. Tossing another morsel to the greyhound, he did his best to amuse Eleanor now by sharing court gossip. Rumor had it that the reconciliation between Constance and the Earl of Chester was already foundering, he said cheerfully. And he reported with relish that Philippe’s attempt to find another German bride had come to naught, for his captive queen, Ingeborg, cast a long shadow.

“Another rumor had me bedding your good friend, the Countess of Aumale. Supposedly this happened whilst her late, unlamented husband, William de Forz, was off in the Holy Land. De Forz deserved to be a cuckold if any man did and I’d not blame the countess if she’d given him horns. But if Hawisa did, it was not with me.”

John would not have minded seeing Hawisa’s new husband cuckolded, either, for Baldwin de Bethune had blamed him for abandoning his dying father at Chinon. He was not about to admit that to his mother, and so he changed the subject, saying that Richard and Berengaria had bought a house at Thoree, north of Angers. His initial dismay at their reconciliation had soon faded, for he’d realized Richard would never be an uxorious husband; he loved war, not women. He was not going to spend enough time in Berengaria’s bed to get her with child, for it seemed obvious to John that she was barren, and he thanked God most fervently for that blessing.

John did not know it, but Eleanor was beginning to share his pessimism about Berengaria’s chances of giving Richard an heir. She was not about to discuss her misgivings with anyone, though, much less the son who’d benefit the most from Berengaria’s barrenness. So she did not comment upon his news about the house in Thoree. Instead, she gave him a level, searching look. “Why do I get the sense that there is something you are not telling me, John?”

John blinked. Jesu, did she have second sight? Wanting to get their visit off to a good start, he’d deliberately held back the news that was sure to darken her mood. “As usual, you are correct, Mother. Last month Richard heard from the German emperor. Heinrich is back from his conquest of Sicily and already meddling in French and English matters. He sent Richard a gold crown, reminded him of the fealty he owes to Heinrich, and added a warning that if he cares for his hostages, he will do as he is bidden. Heinrich is nothing if not subtle.”

Her eyes narrowed. “‘As he is bidden,’” she echoed, and John felt as if a chill wind had just swept through the summer garden. “And what, pray tell, is he bidding Richard to do?”

John did not like the way she catapulted to Richard’s defense, for he felt certain she’d never do as much for him. “Nothing that Richard was not already inclined to do,” he said coolly. “Heinrich wants him to make all-out war on Philippe.”

“Does he, indeed?”

“So he says. He even offered to provide aid to Richard in order to ‘avenge the injuries done by Philippe to both of them.’ Those were his very words. I daresay you can imagine what Richard’s were.”

Eleanor called Heinrich a name that caused John to regard her in surprised admiration; he had no idea that her command of invective was so extensive. “What does Richard intend to do?”

“He’s already done it. I have to admit that he came up with a clever ploy. He sent Longchamp to Germany with instructions to find out exactly what aid Heinrich means to offer. Since he cannot openly defy Heinrich as long as his hostages are in peril, that buys him some time whilst the French king’s fears grow by the hour.” John’s smile was gleefully malicious. “Richard said we’d see the sun rise at midnight ere Heinrich would actually commit troops to a war against the French, that he wants Richard to fight his war for him. But Philippe does not seem to know Heinrich as well as Richard does, for one of our spies at the French court sent word that Philippe had panicked at the thought of an English-German alliance aimed at France. He even tried to capture Longchamp as he passed through France, to no avail. So Heinrich’s outrageous interference can be forgiven if it robs the French king of some sleep.”

Eleanor knew better. By now she understood that each time Richard was reminded of his past helplessness, it lacerated anew a wound that had yet to heal. “Heinrich is remarkably heavy-handed for one supposed to be so clever. Why push for what was already sure to happen? All know the truce between Richard and Philippe was as fragile as a cobweb, to be blown away by a breath.”

“Well, actually, there is a chance that they might make a genuine truce in light of the word from Spain.” Seeing that she hadn’t yet heard, he smiled, for it was always enjoyable to be the bearer of momentous news. He did not consider it all that alarming himself, but he knew that others did, and he quickly explained that the Caliph of Morocco had invaded the Spanish kingdoms and her son-in-law, the King of Castile, had suffered a great defeat at the battle of Alarcos. English and French prelates at once set up a clamor, arguing that Christian kings ought not to be fighting each other now that Spain was endangered by infidel Saracens.

“Richard was willing to heed them,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. That was no surprise at all to Eleanor, for she well knew how guilty Richard felt that his war with the French was keeping him from honoring his sworn oath to return to the Holy Land and wrest Jerusalem from Saladin’s sons.

“I doubt that Philippe gives a fig for the fate of Castile,” John continued, “but he has come under intense pressure from the French Church and he is already in papal disgrace over the Ingeborg scandal. Nor does he want to seem less concerned about the infidel threat than Richard. So ‘peace talks’ are being held this week, and I hear that the bishops are pushing for a marriage between Philippe’s son, Louis, and Aenor, who is conveniently available again since she did not have to wed Leopold’s son. But it remains to be seen how long any such peace will last. Brother Richard will never rest until he reclaims every single castle that he lost to Philippe during his imprisonment, and Philippe . . . Well, that one lusts after Normandy the way other men lust after women.”

Eleanor agreed. Any peace between Richard and Philippe would be fleeting at best. Yet a marriage that would one day make Aenor Queen of France was not a bad match. Even Constance might be satisfied with that. Meanwhile, she vowed to write that day to her daughter in far-off Castile. But what troubled her even more than the Saracen invasion of Spain was Heinrich’s arrogant intrusion again into her son’s life.

That evening she went alone to the abbey church. Kneeling before the altar, she offered up prayers for the souls of her husband and the children claimed by Death before their time. And then she prayed that God would punish the German emperor as he deserved, prayed that he would suffer as Leopold had suffered. She did not doubt that her confessor would consider such a prayer to be blasphemous, for she knew what Scriptures said about forgiveness:
If ye forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you.
She knew what Jesus had said when Peter asked how often he must forgive his brother who’d sinned against him:
I say not unto thee until seven times, but until seventy times seven.
But Scriptures also said,
As wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.
And who was as wicked as a man who’d dared to lay hands upon a king who’d taken the cross?

T
O THE SURPRISE OF MANY,
Richard and Philippe’s envoys agreed upon a peace, contingent upon the marriage of Philippe’s eight-year-old son and Richard’s eleven-year-old niece. As Richard had to consult with his ally the German emperor, a truce was declared until November 8, at which time the treaty would be finalized. One immediate result of the truce was the return of the Lady Alys to the custody of her brother, the French king, twenty-six years after she’d been sent to Henry’s court at the age of nine.

P
HILIPPE HAD OFTEN WISHED
he’d been an only child, for his sisters had brought him nothing but vexation. Marie and Alix had been much older than he, tainted by Eleanor’s blood; Marie had even allied herself with his enemies in the early years of his reign. His youngest sister, Agnes, had been sent to Constantinople to wed the Greek emperor’s son at age eight; her eleven-year-old husband succeeded to the throne later that year, only to be overthrown and murdered by an ambitious cousin, who’d then forced Agnes to wed him. While Philippe had sympathized with her misfortunes, there was nothing he could do for her. But her maltreatment would later prove to be a source of embarrassment, for he knew men compared his lack of action with Richard’s rescue of his sister Joanna in Sicily, and he was convinced that Richard had deliberately made so much of Joanna’s plight just to make him look bad.

But Alys had been the most troublesome of his sisters by far. Henry kept finding reasons to delay her marriage to Richard, which was frustrating in and of itself. But then the rumors had begun to circulate that Henry was balking because he’d taken Alys into his bed. Philippe was never sure if the gossip was true or not. From all he’d heard, Henry had gone through life like a stag in rut, but he was far from a fool, and seducing a French princess who was his own son’s betrothed would have been quite mad. Philippe had recognized a golden opportunity to make good use of these rumors, though, for he’d been seeking to estrange Richard from his father, just as he’d done with Richard’s brothers. So he’d seen to it that Richard heard the stories, sure that would keep Richard from reconciling with Henry as he’d so often done in the past. Instead, Richard had turned that weapon against him after becoming king, declaring that he could not wed a woman who was reputed to be his father’s concubine.

Four years after their confrontation in Messina, Philippe still fumed at the memory, one of the most mortifying moments of his life. His alliance with Richard had always been a precarious one, for they were too unlike for a genuine friendship. But it was not until Richard’s rejection of Alys that his hatred of the English king had become so intense, so all-consuming. And although he realized it was unfair, some of his anger had spilled over onto Alys, too, a living symbol of the way those accursed Angevins had mocked and shamed the French Crown. He’d continued to press for her return, of course. But now what was he going to do with her?

P
HILIPPE WAS STANDING IN
front of his command tent, watching the horizon for the telltale dust cloud that would herald the approach of his sister’s escort. His bodyguards hovered nearby, but gave him space, aware of his preoccupied mood. The Bishop of Beauvais showed no such sensitivity, strolling over to say with a grin, “Soon now, eh? I suppose it would be rude to ask her outright if she’d been bedded by the old king.”