Here Be Dragons - 1 (19 page)

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AND we celebrated the wedding the day after Philip and I con-
l ded the treaty. We had to hold it across the border in Normandy, of urse, what with France being under Interdict, and Philip had to get econdhand account of the ceremony, since he's barred from all the
Sacraments."
At that, John and Eleanor exchanged identical amused smiles, for the French
King's marital troubles had only grown more tangled with time/ had now embroiled him in a confrontation with the Holy See. It was seven years since he'd rejected Ingeborg, four since he'd defiantly wed the Duke of Meran's daughter, and the Pope had at last lost patience. Six months ago he had turned upon Philip one of the more effective weapons in the papal arsenal, laying
France under Interdict until the King agreed to set aside his present wife and recognize the longsuffering Ingeborg as his Queen.
"A pity you had to miss all the festivities, Madame . . . especially that memorable moment when Philip compelled Arthur to do homage to me for the duchy of Brittany, to acknowledge me as his King and liege lord. If I'd gained nothing else from the treaty, the look on Arthur's face would be recompense enough!"
This last was said with a trace of defiance. John knew what was being said in alehouse and army encampmentthat his brother Richard would never have made such a peaceand he'd come prepared to defend himself with irrefutable logic and common sense. But his relationship with his mother was too tenuous, too fraught with ambivalence and inconsistencies to be governed by the detached dictates of reason.
Instead of citing the very material advantages of peace with Philip, he found himself saying sarcastically, "But I'm discovering that a truce not won at swordpoint is somehow suspect. People crave glory, I give them peace, and they fancy themselves the poorer for it. What of you, Madame? Do you, too, fault me for renouncing glory in favor of crops in the fields and money in my coffers?"
Eleanor gave a startled laugh. "Good God, no! Do you know me as little as that? War is the least productive of men's pastimes, and the most indulgent.
Why should I want you to fight for what you can gain at the bargaining table?"
John was pleased, but still wary. "I yielded to Philip only that which I could not hope to hold on the field," he said cautiously. "The fruth of it, Mother, is that I cannot afford a war. The money is just not there."
They both knew why: because Richard had depleted the royal treasury with his wars, his crusade, his ransom. Eleanor said nothing, and

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John, disarmed by her unexpected approval, forbore for once to criticize the son she still mourned.
"Not that I expect the peace to last," he admitted. "But it will give me the time I need to replenish my coffers, to checkmate Arthur, and to deal with trouble from a source I had not expectedyou have heard? Despite years of rivalry and bad blood, the Count of Angouleme means to wed his daughter to that whoreson de Lusignan. It is a marriage guaranteed to give me naught but grief."
Eleanor's mouth twisted; in their dislike of Hugh de Lusignan, she and John were in rare and full accord. That past January, as Eleanor was setting out for Castile, she'd been intercepted by Hugh de Lusignan, compelled to accept the hospitality of his stronghold at Lusignan Castle. Just as de Lusignan's invitation could fairly be termed an abduction, the favor he sought from
Eleanor was more in the nature of extortion than appeal: that she yield to him the county of La Marche. Eleanor was proud, but hers was a pride tempered by pragmatism; making a grimly realistic assessment of her predicament, she acted to cut her losses, gave de Lusignan what he demanded, and, within hours, was free to resume her journey westward. John, on the verge of making peace with
Philip, could do little but acquiesce in the fait accompli, accept de
Lusignan's homage as the new Count of La Marche. But he knew that de Lusignan would never have dared to commit such an audacity while Richard lived, and that was a raw, ulcerous sore, a grievance beyond forgiving.
"Yes," Eleanor said flatly, "I heard. That is why I summoned you to
Fontevrault. We know what Hugh de Lusignan is; the man has the scruples of a snake. But the Count of Angouleme is another malcontent who serves only his own interests, and both of them are hand-in-glove with Philip. Should they put an end to their feuding, ally their Houses in this marriage, that would one day give Hugh both Angouleme and La Marche. We cannot allow the marriage to take place . . . although I confess I'm at a loss as to how to prevent it. You dare not forbid it outright; as jealous as my barons be of their rights, every lord in Aquitaine would rally to their support."
"If I forbid it, yes." John leaned back in his chair. "Yesterday I summoned the Count of Angouleme to do homage to me on July fifth ... at Lusignan
Castle."
"You what?" Eleanor's eyes widened. "The three of you under one roof? That is a volatile mix if ever I heard one! What mean you to do, John?"
"I mean to stop the marriage."
"But how? I do not see . . ."
"I'd rather not say just yet. I will tell you this much, that if I succeed, Aymer of Angouleme and Hugh de Lusignan will be blood en-

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mjes till the day of mortal reckoning and beyond, and I'll have made of
Avrner a steadfast allywhich is more, Madame, than Richard could ver do. And if it also happens that Hugh de Lusignan should find him-
elf a laughingstock, the butt of every jest from Poitiers to Pariswell, that's not like to break my heart. Nor yours, either, I'd wager."
Eleanor did not respond as he had expected. After some moments of silence, she said thoughtfully, "If you are asking whether I'd like to see Hugh de Lusignan humiliated, of course I would. If you are asking whether I think it would be wise, I'd have to say no. With all the enemies you have, John, vengeance is an indulgence you can ill afford right now."
John was irked, disappointed, too. "Life at Fontevrault is making you very pious, Mother. Next you'll be quoting Scriptures."
"I'm talking of foresight, not of forgiveness," Eleanor snapped, but John was already on his feet. She tensed, but did not protest. With Richard, she could have insisted that he stay, hear her out. She had no such leverage with John, and well she knew it.
"I do not know what sort of devious scheme you have in mind. I can only tell you this: Whilst stupidity may indeed be a sin, it is also possible to be too clever. I sometimes fear, John, that you are too clever by half."
John shrugged. "At least," he said, "you might wish me luck."
WILL Longsword was seated at a table in his brother's chamber, laboring over a letter to his girl-wife. He wielded the pen awkwardly, for his was a hand more accustomed to grasping a sword hilt, and he swore under his breath as he searched for words to put to parchment.
Done this sixth day of July in the Year of Our Lord 1200, at the castle of
Hugh de Lusignan, Count of La Marche and Lord of Lusignan and Couhe.
To the Lady Ela, Countess of Salisbury, my dear wife, greetings.
And that was as far as he'd gotten. Will had no idea why they were at
Lusignan. Neither, he suspected, did Hugh de Lusignan. It was well known that
John never forgave a wrong or forgot a grudge, and Hugh had made ready for his lord's goodwill visit with skeptical wariness, much like a man who'd just been assured that the wolf wandering midst s flocks was in fact a domesticated dog.
But whatever John's ultimate 'Mentions, he was presently on his best behavior.
Even his enemies never denied he had a certain scapegrace charm when he cared to exert

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himself, and he'd been drawing upon that charm so lavishly that Hug^ had begun to relax somewhat, to let down his guard. The workings Of Hugh's brain were too broadly meshed for subtlety. He knew Richard would not have rested until his head rotted on a pike over his own gatehouse, until his castles were reduced to rubble and his lands to charred embers, his womenfolk despoiled and his brother hanged. But John drank with him, diced with him, swapped bawdy jokes, and hinted at royal favors to come. Such a man was not to be feared.
Once Hugh reached that fateful conclusion, he was hard put to hide his disdain; there was a bluff heartiness in his manner that was a shade too familiar, a swaggering assumption of intimacy that filled Will with foreboding.
Now Will sighed. Even if he had been privy to John's plans, he could not have shared them with Ela. She was just fourteen, all elbows and knees and sudden blushes, a sweet child, he thought fondly, who'd brought him an earldom and deserved in turn to be sheltered and protected until she outgrew her little-girl awkwardness. But what to tell her, then? Will gazed at the parchment as if willing words to materialize of their own accord, at last gave up and elected instead to watch the game of tables in progress between John and Aymer Taillefer, Count of Angouleme.
Aymer was staring down at the gameboard with unblinking blue eyes. He played as he did all else, with a competitive intensity that knew no quarter, and he sucked in his breath when the dice roll gave the game to John, paused too long before saying, "What do I owe Your Grace?"
"Shall we play again? Only this time let's double the stakes." John smiled as if oblivious to the other man's ill humor, and reached for the wine cup by his elbow. "Hugh tells me you've set a date for the wedding."
"August twenty-sixth." Aymer tossed the dice onto the table. His were eyes as hard as stones, empty of all save suspicion. "Shall we speak plainly, Your
Grace? Hugh de Lusignan may be a fool, but I am not. I know full well that
Hugh's coming marriage to my daughter is not to your liking, that you would prevent it if you could. It is your right as my liege lord to speak against it, and if it is your wish, I will hear you out. But I think it only fair to tell you that I shall not change my mind, that I mean to see Isabelle as
Countess of La Marche."
John drank, studying Aymer all the while. "It is said that your daughter is uncommonly pretty. Is that true?"
"She is a beauty, Your Grace. Why?"
"Your daughter is a great heiress, will one day inherit all of Angouleme. And she is of high birth, her mother a first cousin to the King of France. Now you say she is a beauty in the bargain. What escapes my r
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nderstanding is why you would waste such a girl on Hugh de LusigU n I should think you'd aim highermuch higher."
"Your Grace?" Aymer was no longer feigning disinterest. "Just What are you saying?"
"I am saying that you'd be doing your daughter a grave disservice if you settled for Hugh de Lusignan." John paused; there was faint mockery now in his smile. "Unless, of course, you have no interest in seeing her as Queen of
England."
Aymer's intake of breath was audible even to Will. He hastily cast his eyes down, but not in time; John caught the sudden hot light, the glimmer of bedazzled greed. "You overwhelm me, my liege, and do my daughter great honor.
But you already have a Queen, have you not?"
"No," John corrected amiably, "I have a wife, not a Queen. Think you that I
neglected to have Avisa crowned with me through sheer oversight? It has long been my intent to end the marriage; I've merely been awaiting the opportune time."
Aymer swallowed, so caught up in John's spell that he absentmindedly helped

himself to John's wine. "You do not foresee any difficulty in casting off the
Lady Avisa?"
John laughed. "Unlike Philip, who's likely to be yoked to the martyred
Ingeborg for all eternity, I happen to be able to satisfy the most scrupulous papal conscience. Avisa and I are second cousins, you see, well within the prohibited degree of consanguinity, and we never did bother to get a papal dispensation for our marriage. Need I say more?" Aymer laughed, too, in that moment vulnerable as only a man could be who suddenly found reality exceeding all expectations, even the fantasy world of dreams. "It will afford me great pleasure, Your Grace, to give you my daughter. But what of de Lusignan? He makes an ugly enemy, is one to nurse a grudge to the grave. How shall we manage it?"
"Easily enough, I think. I understand the girl is now at Hugh's castle of
Valence, no? Well, after you depart here, you need only ride to Valence, tell the de Lusignans you wish to take her back with you to Angouleme for a final visit with her mother ere the wedding. In the meantime I shall find some distant task for Hugh and his kin to undertake on my behalf. I daresay you've noticed that Hugh's acting much 'ike a cat that got into the cream. He's sure that he's basking in my royal favor, will see this charge as proof positive that he's truly won my trust, my friendship."
"Indeed," Aymer said approvingly. "And then?" "From here I go to Bordeaux, where I'll have the Archbishop dec'are my marriage void ab initio. As you know, I plan to pass the summer °n Progress in my lady mother's domain. What would be more natural

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than to accept your hospitality when I reach Angouleme, at which time I shall right gladly plight troth with your pretty daughter ... on the twenty-sixth of
August, mayhap? After that, we need only decide whether we want to invite de
Lusignan to the wedding!"
This time, however, Aymer did not join in John's laughter. "^ plight troth,"
he echoed sharply. "Why not a wedding?"
John hesitated. This was the only weakness he could see in his scheme. A
plight troth would give him all the political benefits of a marriagewould, as well, enable him to disavow Isabelle without difficulty should a better marital prospect appear at a later date. But the advantages of a plight troth were so blatantly one-sided that he was not at all sure Aymer would ever agree.
"Because of your daughter's extreme youth," he said earnestly. "She's but twelve, is she not? I think it only fair to give her time to adjust. It will be bound to come as a shock, to arrive in Angouleme expecting to marry Hugh, a man she knows well, only to be told she's to wed a total stranger."
Aymer reflected upon this in silence, then gave John an oblique smile. "Your concern for my daughter is commendable." He rose as John did, made a perfunctory obeisance, and suddenly burst into malicious laughter. "Damn me if de Lusignan's not going to look a right proper fool when word gets out!"
"Yes," John agreed complacently. "I expect he will."
He waited till they were alone, but no longer, at once turning to Will and demanding, "Well? What think you?"
"It is brilliant, John," Will said admiringly, "in truth, it is. That marriage would have been a disaster for us, and you've hit upon the one way you could stop it. But. . . but would it not be better to let Hugh de Lusignan save face? You need not do it this way, could let Aymer end the betrothal, then wait a discreet interval ere you claimed the girl. I fear that if you steal her out from under Hugh's nose" John was smiling and Will stopped in mid-sentence. It had baffled him that a man as bright as his brother could be so blind to consequences; now John's sardonic smile brought it all into focus for him. "You want to humiliate Hugh de Lusignan, do you not?" he said slowly.
"Fully as much as you want the girl, if not more. John . . . are you sure you've thought this through, that the game be worth the candle?"
"Shall I tell you, Will, why you always lose to me when we play at hazards or tables? Because you're so cautious it damned near cripple5 you! Poor Will, just once in your life have you never wanted to risk all upon one throw of the dice?" John moved back to the table, gestured for Will to pour them wine.
"Only one thing does puzzle me," he confessed. "Aymer is right