Here Be Dragons - 1 (12 page)

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Eleanor set the lamp on the table, turned back to her silent son "At I st you've shown you're not the utter coward Richard thinks you to , he was sure you'd not dare leave the sanctuary of the French court Although how you'd have the nerve to face him after all you've done Hying yourself with your brother's sworn enemy against your own House, promising to wed your father's harlot and to cede the Vexm back to Philipin return for his support, hiring Welsh mercenanes and seeking to stir up a rising in England, doing your damnedest to sabotage the collection of Richard's ransom And when all else failed, joining with Philip m offering to better Richard's ransom if the German Emperor would but hold Richard for another year Have I left anything out7"
"No," he said shortly, unwillingly
"Well, then, suppose you tell me why I should want to help you escape the punishment you so deserve, why I should raise even a finger on your behalf And do spare me any maudlin pleas about you being flesh of my flesh, you'll have to do better than that, John much better "
John drew an uneven breath "Nothing has changed since that night we talked in
Southampton Your hopes for an Angevin dynasty are not going to take root with
Richard's seed He's not laid eyes upon his wife in nigh on two years, did not even bother to summon her to England upon his return Unless you are counting upon another Virgin Birth, Madame, I suggest that leads us right back to
Arthur or me, a child of seven or a man grown of twenty-six "
"Yes," she said icily "But the child is as yet unformed clay, who knows what manner of man he may become7 Whereas we already know the man you are, John "
John was not as impervious to insult as he'd have her think, he betrayed himself with rising color "Yes, you doa man who knows what he wants and will fight to keep what is his Can you say as much for Arthur7 I might make use of
Philip's help if it serves my need, but we'll see the Second Coming ere I'd trust him out of my sight But Arthur7 His advisers wax fat on French gold, look to Pans for guidance the way infidels do look to Mecca He'd be Philip's puppet and you well know it, Madame Just as you know I would not "
"What I want to know," she said, "is how you can be shrewd enough to see all that and yet stupid enough to fall in with Philip's schemes, to so disregard my promise and my warning "
Her tone was barbed, each word earned a separate sting And yet John sensed he'd gamed some ground "For what it's worth, I fully meant to hold to our understanding "
"Why did you not, then7"
"The truth7 Because Richard's capture unbalanced the equation I

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truly did not think he'd ever come back, not with the enemies he's made. I saw the crown up for the taking, and so . . ." He shrugged. "I put in my bid. What more can I tell you?"
Eleanor's mouth twitched. "Credit where due, you can surprise. I was curious as to what your last line of defense would be. But I admit I did not expect you to fall back upon honesty!"
With that, John no longer hesitated. "Well?" he said. "Will you help me, Mother? Will you intercede with Richard on my behalf?"
She gave him a look he could not interpret. "I already have."
John's relief was intense but ephemeral. So this whole scene had been yet another of her damnable games, he thought resentfully, a stupid charade as meaningless as it was malicious.
"Richard can be unpredictable, so there are no guarantees. But he did agree that if you came to him, he'd hear you out. It might help," she added dryly, "if you sought to appear somewhat contrite."
She started toward the door, stopped when he made no move to follow. "What are you waiting for? Richard's below in the great hall; now would be as good a time as any."
"The great hall?" John echoed in dismay. He thought it penance enough to have to humble his pride before Richard, was not about to put on a performance for a hall full of witnesses. But as he opened his mouth to protest, he caught the contempt in his mother's eyes. She was like Richard, he knew, in that she, too, was one for setting tests and traps for people, measuring their worth by standards that made no allowance for frailties or failure. Richard judged a man by his willingness to bleed, to risk his life upon the thrust of a sword.
With his mother, the test was more subtle and yet more demanding. She might forgive deceit and betrayal, but never weakness, would expect above all else that a man be willing to answer for the consequences of his actions.
"I suppose you're right." He moved away from the window, gave her a crooked smile. "What was it the Christian martyrs always said before they were thrown to the lions? Morituri te salutamus?"
"Your command of Latin is not bad, but your grasp of history is rather weak.
'We who are about to die salute you' was the battle cry of the Roman gladiators, not the Christian martyrs. We can safely say you have no yearning whatsoever for martyrdom, but it will be interesting, nonetheless, to see how you handle yourself in the lion's den." Eleanor's laugh was not in the least maternal, but John knew he'd pulled back from the brink in time, had scrambled to safety even as the ground seemed sure to crumble under his feet.
MEN stared at sight of John, fell suddenly silent. Eleanor stepped aside so that he stood alone. Richard was sitting on the dais at the far end of

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the hall. John hesitated, then began the longest walk of his life. So quiet .
as that he could hear the scuffling sound his boots made as they trod pon the floor rushes, hear the clinking of his sword in its scabbard even hear, or so he imagined, the thudding of his own heart. Richard had not moved, was watching him approach, eyes narrowed and utterly opaque. John stopped before the dais, slowly unbuckled his scabbard, and laid it upon the steps. Then he knelt.
"My liege." In the brief time allotted to him for calculation, he'd decided that candor was his best hope. It had served him well with his mother, and might, if he was lucky, appease Richard, too. In truth, what other choice did he have? For what could he possibly say that Richard would believe?
"I can offer you no excuses, Richard. I can only ask for your forgiveness. I
know I've given you no reason to" He stopped in midsentence, for he'd just recognized the woman seated at Richard's left, a slim woman with green eyes and reddish gold hair gleaming under a silvery gossamer veil, a woman he'd not seen for eighteen years. His sister Joanna.
"I'm surprised to see you here, John. Frankly, I did not think you'd have the nerve. I was not surprised, however, by your treachery, by your willingness to snap at Philip's bait. You're as easily led astray as any child, have never learned to say no. It's lucky you were not born a woman, Little Brother. You'd have been perpetually pregnant!"
Richard laughed, and so did most of the others in the hall. The color drained from John's face; he bit down on his lower lip until it bled, sought to focus upon the pain to the exclusion of all else.
Rising, Richard bent down, picked up John's sword. "But you're here; that counts for something. And our lady mother would have me forgive you; that counts for much. I suppose I should just be thankful that since you are so much given to treachery, you're so reassuringly inept at it!" He stepped forward, held out John's sword. "Your betrayals are forgiven, Little Brother
... if not forgotten. But though your blood buys you a pardon, the price is higher for an earldom, higher than you can pay. I've no intention of restoring your titles and lands, not until I'm damned well sure that you're deserving of them ... if ever."
John came to his feet, reached for his sword. Richard was some inches the taller of the two, and now, standing on the dais stairs, he towered over the younger man. As their eyes met, John said, quite tonelessly, "I shall remember your generosity, Brother. You may count upon that."
SUPPER was generally an afterthought, but that evening's meal was an unusually bountiful one; in his relief that his risky role as peacemaker

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had met with such success. Archdeacon Alengon emptied his larders set before
Richard a succession of meat and fish dishes, highly seasoned venison and salmon swimming in wine gravy. The salmon Richard dispatched to John's end of the table, with a good-humored but heavy, handed jest about the Prodigal Son and the Fatted Calf. To John, the taste was bitter as gall, and as soon after the meal as he could, he escaped the hall, out into the dark of the gardens.
He was alone but a few moments, however. Joanna had followed, came forward to sit beside him on a rough-hewn oaken bench. "Here," she said, thrusting a wine cup into his hand. "I think you're in need of this."
They'd gotten on well as children; she was only two years older than he, and he'd been sorry when their father had sent her off to Sicily as an eleven-year-old bride for William the Good. When he thought now upon his humiliation in the great hall, it was Joanna's presence there that he minded the most, and he said sharply, "If you've come to offer pity, I do not want any!"
"You need not worry; I do not think you're deserving of any. You were not led astray,' knew exactly what you were doing . . . and got what you deserved."
But then she gave him a direct, searching glance.
"Does that offend you, Johnny?"
"No," John said, surprised to discover that he actually preferred her matter-of-fact rebuke to Richard's contemptuous pardon, and when she smiled at him, he smiled back.
"I'm glad," she said simply. "I can tell you, then, that I think Richard erred. A pardon should be generously given or not at all. For all that Richard has a fine grasp of tactics, he's always been woefully lacking in tact!"
And what was he expected to say to that, John wondered, agree and incriminate himself? But after a moment to reflect, he dismissed the suspicion as unwarranted. For all the love that lay between them, he could not truly see
Joanna as Richard's spy. Nor, were he to be fair, was that Richard's way, either. Richard would not take the trouble.
"I'd rather not talk of that, Jo." The childhood name came without thought, was curiously comforting, evoking echoes of an almost forgotten familiarity.
"You're beautiful, you know, you truly are. Not at all the skin-and-bones sister I remember! Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily, Duchess of Apulia, Princess of Capua. Were you happy, Jo, in Sicily?"
"Not at first. I was too young, too homesick. But William meant well by me, gave me no cause for complaint. He was some thirteen years older, treated me like a daughter until I was ready to be a wife. Yes, I was happy enough. But at thirty-six he died, leaving no heirs, and as you know, his bastard cousin
Tancred seized the throne. Tancred not

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only denied me my dower nghts, he put me into close confinement at Palermo I
sometimes wonder what would have become of me, Johnny, f not for Richard He landed at Messina on his way to the Holy Land, and when Tancred balked at releasing me, restoring my dower, Richard laid siege to the town, forced
Tancred into submission
Yes, John thought, and then he took you with him to the Holy Land, where he offered you to the brother of the infidel Prince Saladm But he said nothing
"Richard's arrival at Messina was a godsend, in truth, and 1 will be ever grateful to him Yet I do not doubt you'd have done as much for me, too, Johnny
So would our brother Henry Even Geoffrey, provided it did not inconvenience him unduly Any one of you would have come to my aid, I know that And yet none of you would e\er have come to the aid of each other I've often thought on that"
"When I was sixteen, Jo, Papa sought to persuade Richard to cede the Aquitame to me Our brother Henry was a year dead, and Papa promised to name Richard as his heir, but he thought it only fair that Richard should then yield up
Aquitame in return Richard did not see it that way, flared into a rage and swore he'd be damned ere he'd agree Papa flew into an equal rage, told me that
Aquitame \\as mine if I could take it from Richard A sixteen-year-old boy has no money for troops But the Duke of Brittany does, and Geoffrey offered to provide the men and money, told me this was the chance of a lifetime So
Geoffrey and I led an army into Poitou, and Richard burned damned near half of
Brittany in retaliation until Papa made haste to summon us all to London, told us he had not meant to be taken senously "
They were both silent for a time after that John leaned over, plucked a primrose from the closest bush, and presented it to Joanna with self-mocking gallantry "Tell me, Jo, why did you follow me out to the gardens? What did you want to say to me''
"Do you remember what I would call you whenever we'd have a falling-out?
Johnny-cat, because you were always poking about where you had no nght to be "
"I remember I never liked it much "
"I could not help thinking of that as I watched you and Richard in *e great hall You offered up your eighth life in there, Johnny-cat You do know that7"
"Christ, Joanna, of course I do Do you think anything less than that could have brought me to Lisieux?"
"Thank God you see that," she said somberly "\ was so afraid you ^ould not
Because I know Richard, he'd not forgive you again, Johnny J116 next time you fall from grace will be the last time For your sake, I do »ope you never forget that "

nip!
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YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
September 1196
JLoo excited to sleep, Joanna awakened just before dawn on the morning of her fifth birthday. Taking care not to disturb her mother, she slid from their bed, pulled her gown over her head, and ran a wooden comb through her tangled dark hair. She knew she should wash her face, clean her teeth with a hazel twig, but she could not wait; the day, her very own, was beckoning.
In the outer room, Maud still slept, rolled up in blankets by the hearth.
Joanna tiptoed around her, searching for food to break the night's fast. The only furniture the room contained was a trestle table, a coffer chest, and several stools, but it was cluttered with household utensils: her mother's distaff and spindle, a pile of reeds that Maud meant to plait into baskets, the hand mill that Maud used to grind their corn, several letten pots and pans. In the corner an armful of peeled rushes was being steeped in tallow fat; Joanna's nose wrinkled at the pungent smell. Reassured by Maud's steady snoring, she broke off a chunk of thick, black rye bread, smeared it with cheese, and headed for the door.
Outside, she detoured by the hen roost, soothed her conscience by scattering a handful of seeds in among the chickens. Joanna very much wanted her mother to think her responsible, did not mean to shirk her household duties. But the morning sky was clear and cloudless, the brilliant blue of her mother's eyes, and the wind rippled through the moorland grass, stirring up a billowing green sea that swept all before it as it raced for the distant silver of the River
Ure. Joanna let the wind take her, too; breaking into a run, she skimmed the grass, arms outstretched and hair streaming behind her like an ebony sail, and for a moment or two she actually was a small boat, bound for exotic, alien shores.
She slowed as she approached the cottage, home to Cedric, the