A King's Ransom (91 page)

“It would,” Philippe said tersely. He was grateful to his cousin for all he’d done to make life difficult for Richard in the Holy Land and for helping to rid him of Ingeborg. He also valued the bishop as a superb soldier, more at home on the battlefield than behind an altar. But Beauvais’s sense of humor could be a trial at times.

“I was jesting, Cousin,” Beauvais said mildly, although he could not keep from rolling his eyes, thinking Philippe would not recognize a joke if he fell over one in the road. “The best place to hide an embarrassment is behind convent walls. I can suggest several nunneries if you’d like.”

“That will not be necessary. I decided that marriage would be a better solution than having her take holy vows.”

“Good luck finding a husband for her. Whether she was Henry’s concubine or not, she’s still damaged goods and well past her youth.”

“As it happens, I’ve already found one.” Philippe permitted himself a faint, satisfied smile. “Guillaume, the Count of Ponthieu.”

“Ponthieu? How’d you manage that? She’s old enough to be his mother!”

“She is also the sister of the French king. And I promised him that I’d give her the county of Eu and the castle at Arques as her marriage portion, which he found very appealing.”

“I daresay he did. But I thought you agreed to renounce any claim to Eu and Arques as part of the peace terms with Richard.”

Philippe shrugged. “It must have slipped my mind.”

Beauvais laughed. “I’m considered the cynic in the family, but I think you could give me lessons, Cousin!”

Philippe’s brows drew together, for he did not see his actions as cynical. He was merely doing what had to be done, what was best for France. And if Alys failed to give Ponthieu an heir and his lands then escheated to the Crown, so much the better. Just then a shout warned of approaching riders. “Stay to welcome her with me,” he instructed the other man. “I was four years old when she was sent off to the Angevin court, so she is a stranger to me in all but blood. I just hope I can recognize her.”

“I can help with that,” Beauvais said as the escort came into view. “There are only three women. One is too old to be Alys and the other one is too plain. Look at that receding chin and small, pinched mouth. Can you see Henry lusting after her? No, the pretty lass in the green mantle must be your sister and my cousin.”

He was proven to be right a few moments later as the women were assisted to dismount. As soon as Alys was out of her sidesaddle, she sank down in a graceful curtsy, saying, “My lord king.” Philippe was disconcerted by what she did next, though. Casting propriety to the winds, she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Brother, I am so happy to be home!”

He patted her shoulder. “I am glad you are home, too, Alys.” When he introduced her to their cousin, she pleased Beauvais by curtsying again and kissing his ring respectfully. An awkward silence fell then, broken only when Philippe said briskly, “You must be hungry. There is a meal waiting for you in my tent.”

They’d been joined by several of his lords and he gave Mathieu de Montmorency the honor of escorting Alys and her attendants into the tent. Beauvais hung back to murmur that Ponthieu was luckier than he deserved, for Alys seemed biddable and looked years younger than thirty-five. Philippe thought she
acted
younger, too, and wondered if that was because she’d been living for so long like a bird in a gilded cage, of the world but not really in it.

The dinner went better than Philippe had expected, in great measure due to Mathieu de Montmorency’s gallantry, for he devoted all his attention to Alys and did not let the conversation lag. Philippe was nonetheless relieved when the meal was done, for in truth, he and Alys had very little to say to each other. He certainly had no interest in hearing her talk of the years she’d passed as a betrothed/hostage/political pawn.

Alys seemed disappointed when Philippe announced abruptly that he’d escort her to the tent that had been set up for her use, but she made no protest and he thought that Beauvais was right about her being biddable, which was in her favor. Accompanied by Beauvais, Mathieu, Druon de Mello, and several other lords, they attracted a lot of attention, for all were curious about the king’s sister, who was both unfortunate and infamous. After she expressed pleasure at the tent’s furnishings, Philippe gave her an obligatory kiss on the cheek, saying she should get a good night’s rest, for they were leaving for Mantes in the morning.

“Mantes?” Alys sounded puzzled and he realized she knew nothing of French geography. “Is that on the way to Paris, Brother? I am eager to see it again, for I confess my memories have grown dim over time.”

Best to get it over with. “Well, I am sure that your husband will be happy to take you to Paris, Sister.”

“Husband?” She looked as bewildered as a child, and he felt a dart of discomfort.

“Yes, I am delighted to tell you that I’ve made a fine match for you. At Mantes, you are to be wed to the Count of Ponthieu.”

“Who?”

“You will be very pleased with him, Alys,” Philippe assured her. “He is highborn, handsome, young . . .” That caused Beauvais to chortle, which Philippe deliberately ignored. Leaning over, he kissed Alys quickly on the cheek again. “Unfortunately, I cannot remain with you any longer. But I know you must have many questions about your husband-to-be, and our cousin will be happy to stay and answer them for you.”

Beauvais did not think that was so amusing. Before he or the stunned Alys could object, Philippe bowed over her hand and lifted the tent flap, a slight smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. Let Beauvais be the one to tell her she’d be wedding a stripling not yet seventeen.

L
ONGCHAMP RETURNED FROM HIS
trip to the imperial court in late October. Heinrich had not been pleased by the prospect of peace, he reported, but he brought Richard further proof that, despite his reputation for tactless and arrogant behavior, he could be both diplomatic and persuasive on his king’s behalf. He’d managed to convince Heinrich that he and Richard were natural allies against the French, but only if he stopped making threats and offered instead a gesture of good faith. Much to Richard’s surprise, Longchamp had talked Heinrich into agreeing to release some of his hostages and to remit the remaining seventeen thousand marks of his ransom as recompense for what he’d lost to the French king during his captivity. With his chancellor basking in the glow of his successful mission, Richard prepared to meet Philippe to ratify a peace treaty that neither king expected to be long-lasting.

R
ICHARD AROSE EARLY ON
the morning of November 8, as the conference was to begin at nine o’clock. Soon after they left camp, they were met by the Archbishop of Reims, the French king’s uncle, who explained that Philippe was still consulting with his council and wished to delay the meeting for a few hours. Richard returned to his camp to wait, but as the afternoon dragged on, he lost patience and ordered his men to saddle up.

The French tents were in sight when the men saw horsemen coming out to meet them. Richard’s jaw muscles tightened when he recognized the lead rider, possibly the one man he loathed more than the French king. The Bishop of Beauvais reined in his stallion, calling out abruptly, “There is no need to proceed any farther. My master the French king will not be meeting with you, for he charges you with breach of faith and perjury. You gave him your sworn word that you would be here at the third hour of the day and it is now the ninth hour.”

Richard and his men had listened, incredulous. Several started to argue, pointing out that they’d been delayed by Philippe’s own uncle, but Richard held up a hand for silence. “Tell the French king that he did not have to go to such ludicrous lengths to repudiate the peace talks. If he wants war, I am quite willing to accommodate him.”

Instead of turning around, though, he rode straight toward the bishop, whose hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword. For a long moment, Richard stared at the other man. “One of these days, Beauvais, your luck is going to run out. You’re going to meet me, not in a German dungeon or at a peace conference, but on the battlefield.”

The bishop was not intimidated. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said with a sneer.

Richard’s teeth bared in what was not a smile. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought,” he said, and so much hatred flashed between the two men that several of those watching made ready to intervene if need be. But Richard was willing to wait, so sure was he that a day of reckoning was coming. He was grateful to God for striking down Leopold of Austria and he hoped that Heinrich would also suffer divine retribution. He intended, though, to deal with the French king and the Bishop of Beauvais himself.

R
ICHARD WAS NOT LONG
in learning why Philippe had subverted the peace talks. Two days later, the French king led six hundred knights in a spectacular raid upon the port of Dieppe, which Richard had recovered earlier in the summer. Philippe and his men destroyed the town and used Greek fire to set the ships in the harbor alight. Richard was besieging Arques Castle when he heard of the Dieppe attack. Leaving the siege, he set off in pursuit and caught up with the French as they passed through thick woods. He and his men bloodied Philippe’s rearguard, but once again the French king eluded him.

R
ICHARD DID NOT UNDERSTAND
why his sleep was still so disturbed and fitful nigh on twenty months after he’d regained his freedom. He continued to be haunted by bad dreams that seemed to have their own reality, so vivid and intense were they, and he’d learned to rely upon Arne to rescue him from the horrors of his own imagination. When he was awakened now by a hand gently touching his shoulder, he jerked upright in the bed, his eyes searching Arne’s face. “What—was I having another of those accursed dreams?”

The youth quickly shook his head. “No, sire. One of the garrison of Issoudun Castle has ridden in, insisting he must see you straightaway.”

“Fetch him,” Richard directed, relieved that he’d not been revisiting Trifels Castle this night. After every nightmare, he hoped that it would be the last one, and those hopes would rise as time passed. Eventually, though, the dreams always came back.