Authors: Cecelia Holland
The King's Witch (22 page)
For a moment, shaken, she wondered which Queen he meant, and almost asked him; instead, she blurted, “I burned them.”
He moved into the shadow of the wall. “I happen to know that is not so.” His voice was smooth as wax. “Should I speak to your brother?”
She swallowed. “No. Wait.” How could he know about the letters? He had some other spy. She was ruined; he would know everything, the plot with Isabella, everything. She thought of Edythe in a sudden gust of suspicion. But Edythe had promised her.
He said, “Bring them to me, here, tomorrow.” He was drawing away. “And your brother is the power in the Crusade; you must no longer try to turn him aside.” She lowered her head and let him go.
The Sultan sent his brother again to ask more time to raise the ransom. Philip ranted through the hall, jeering at Richard.
“You still believe this? I’ve heard talk he’s killed his own prisoners. Meanwhile you’re feeding his, what is it, forty bezants a day now for bread for these infidels—he’s stalling! He will never pay. I am leaving.”
In the middle of the room, Richard wheeled on him. “You cannot leave off the Crusade—you swore—”
Philip’s shoulders hunched, and his eyes gleamed. “Well, I will not. Leave off the Crusade. I’ll give up my half of the ransom, one hundred thousand dinars, to keep French knights here to fight for Jerusalem.” His smile licked across his face; he gave a little smug nod of the head. “I’ll order the Duke of Burgundy to command them.”
Richard straightened; he hated Hugh of Burgundy as much as any man alive, and he saw by Philip’s sleek grin that the Gnome knew this. He wrenched his mind toward the hundred thousand dinars, now magically doubled. He needed money, he always needed money; it was a lowering thing, to be King and yet always grasping for pennies, but true.
“While I am on Crusade, my realms are in God’s hands,” he said to Philip. “You may walk on no crumb of dirt that’s mine, you may receive no enemy of mine. I owe you no duties.”
“Agreed, by the rule of the Pope,” Philip said, sleekly. He had won. Richard could hear it in his voice, and it rankled him; he looked away, his neck rough. But if he got all the ransom from Saladin, then Philip would have lost. He would put Hugh of Burgundy in the rear guard, where even a stupid dirty-mouthed cunt-plugger couldn’t make much trouble.
A few days later Philip did leave, finally, taking a long and wordy parting of Johanna; Richard saw how his sister’s smile stiffened at the corners as the sad good-byes went on and was pleased at that, at least. Whatever had gone on between her and Philip in Sicily, she had lost interest now.
Still, he could not help feeling Philip had cozened him.
The next day he sent word to Saladin, that they should all meet before the gate of Acre at noon on the day after the full moon, to deliver the ransom and exchange their prisoners; and he said pointedly that the time had come once and for all to fulfill their oaths before God.
Johanna paced up and down, up and down. Edythe saw her knitting her fingers together, and she said, “Is it de Sablé again on your mind?”
The Queen would not look at her. Edythe turned her gaze away, uneasy; out the window, she could hear someone singing in the garden.
Johanna came suddenly and sat down by her. “Edythe. You would not betray me.”
“In God’s name.” Edythe turned and took her hands. “Not you, nor any child of Eleanor’s. Oh, my dear, what is this?”
Johanna’s fingers tightened around hers, but her gaze turned elsewhere. “He has . . . sent to me again.”
“He means only to threaten you.”
“Easy for you,” Johanna said bitterly. “No harm comes to you.” But she was still clinging tight to Edythe’s hands.
Edythe said, “Who harms you harms me.”
“I believe you. I believe you.” The Queen flung her arms around her and they embraced. Edythe held her tight; she had again the idea that she had to give Johanna somewhere to rest.
“Have you seen him? Answered him?”
“I—” Johanna stirred. “I—no.”
Edythe said nothing but held her fast; she knew Johanna was lying. Whatever had happened, she was under de Sablé’s whip hand even more now.
Johanna said, “What shall I do?”
“You cannot go against your own heart. Don’t see him. Give him no answer at all. Don’t do what he wants.”
In her arms Johanna sighed and was still. Edythe wondered what she was not saying; she felt a rush of tenderness toward the other woman, who got herself into such tangles. She thought,
Well, who doesn’t?
Unwillingly she thought of Rouquin. She patted Johanna’s shoulder and murmured reassurances, wishing she could put him out of her mind.
Well, who doesn’t?
Unwillingly she thought of Rouquin. She patted Johanna’s shoulder and murmured reassurances, wishing she could put him out of her mind.
Johanna had never really thought Edythe was spying on her for the Templar. But someone was, or how would he know she still had the letters? Maybe he had been guessing. But she could not be sure. She had to keep him quiet. She wrapped up her mother’s letters in a bundle and sent them to him. Her mother said nothing wicked anyway, not outright.
She kept on arguing against the Crusade, but she made sure nobody overheard.
She said, “Now that Philip is gone, you can go home, too. We can all go. Philip will not keep his word, you know that. He will start trying to take Normandy from you before he is even back to Paris.”
Richard was sitting by the balcony, where there was a breeze, one leg folded with the ankle on the other knee. He said, “Now that Philip is gone, the Crusade is all mine.”
Rouquin was staring at her, his eyes hard with temper. “We came to take back Jerusalem.”
Johanna said, “Is Aquitaine not good enough, or Poitou, or Anjou, or Normandy, or England, all the sweet lands our father left you? It’s not just Philip; even our witless brother schemes—”
Richard laughed. “Oh, yes. Wicked John. Whom Mother, apparently, outdid like the sluggard schoolboy he is.” He turned to Rouquin. “Have you scouted the way to Jerusalem?”
Rouquin drifted over toward the table. Johanna had sent off all the servants, and he poured his wine himself. “I will if you order it.”
“That’s unlike you. You’ve done nothing?”
Rouquin swung around, bristling. “Jerusalem is far from here, and the country’s harsh and dry and full of Saracens. That much I’ve found out.”
“Well, then,” Richard said. He turned to Johanna. “May I call a page now?” His voice was silky with exaggerated courtesy.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course.” She watched as Rouquin drained his cup in a swallow, filled it again, and went over past the divan, toward the balcony, away from Richard.
The King sent the page for Humphrey de Toron. There would be a few moments while they were alone again; Johanna said, “You risk so much, staying here. Everything Mother and Father built—”
“John can’t beat a one-legged man to the privy,” Richard said.
“But Philip can,” Johanna said. “You know this. He is not the fighter you are, but—”
“Damned right he isn’t,” Richard said. “And he’d better heed the Pope’s letter, too. While I’m on Crusade, everything is safe.”
“It isn’t working that way for John,” she said.
“Nothing is working for John,” Richard said. He raised his voice. “My lord de Toron, come attend us.”
The young man joined them, slender, elegantly dressed, with his perfect manners and his lifetime’s knowledge of the country. Johanna drew away, toward Rouquin, who had his back to the King and the handsome courtier called in place of him.
The sun was going down and the courtyard outside was filling up with shadows. Now suddenly Rouquin went closer to the balcony; he was looking down into the courtyard below. Johanna followed him.
Behind them, Richard said, “We were talking about Jerusalem.”
Humphrey answered, “I am at your service, my lord.”
“Can we march there straight from here? What is that ground like?”
“Aaah—”
“My cousin says it’s rough, and a far way to the city.”
“Then my lord de Rançun already knows the country.”
Johanna stood just behind Rouquin; she thought the lord de Rançun knew when he was being edged out, too. Past his shoulder she looked into the courtyard below.
“It’s a long march,” Humphrey was saying, “through some very hilly places, and full of bandits.”
Still staring out over the balcony, Rouquin said, through tight lips, “In the Leper’s time, the port for Jerusalem was Jaffa.”
“My lord de Rançun is as always well informed,” said Humphrey de Toron. Somehow he made this sound like a pat on the head.
Johanna leaned on the wall by the balcony door. Down there the servants were gathering in front of the kitchen, waiting for the last meal to come out. The door sprayed a bright yellow flood of light out into the deepening blue twilight. Rouquin was still staring down into the courtyard. She wondered if he was watching something particular or just keeping his back to Humphrey.
“Jaffa,” Richard said. “That’s south of here? How far?” The divan creaked; he had leaned forward. “What’s the coast like?”
Humphrey’s musical voice answered him. “It’s one straight long beach from here to Egypt. There’s some high ground—the hills you can see from here, at the southern end of this bay—and there are some ruined cities.”
Out there, a dark form walked into the courtyard from the garden. Rouquin put his hand on the side of the door. The form became a person, who Johanna saw was Edythe. She wore her plain long dress, and the square-necked kirtle; her coif was coming loose, and her hair showed. In her hands she had bunches of herbs.
Johanna remembered the night in the garden, when they had both acted strangely at the same time. Abruptly much became clear to her.
She said, quietly, “Rouquin?”
Humphrey was saying, “Jaffa to Jerusalem is only one-third as far as the distance between Acre and Jerusalem, and there is a road. Supply lines, support.”
“Then we should take Jaffa first,” Richard said. “How far is it from here?”
Rouquin turned stiffly and went out of the room, without asking leave, without saying anything. Johanna watched him go. She thought,
Well, it’s best if she does refuse him
.
Well, it’s best if she does refuse him
.
Humphrey said, “Ten days. Two weeks maybe. Depending.”
“On what Saladin does,” Richard said.
“On how you both do,” said Humphrey.
They would be fighting again soon. He would forget her then. Johanna felt her eyes burn. She wondered how Edythe felt and recalled some moments from a new view and thought,
She loves him
.
She loves him
.
Yet it was no wonder she denied him. She was no child, but a knowing woman. She would see that between a servant and a prince there could be only one arrangement, in which he would have everything. This unaccountably made Johanna sad. She went back to the divan and sat down, not listening to her brother talk about the coast down to Jaffa.
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