The Autumn Throne (40 page)

Heinri said unhappily, ‘The Emperor will not forgive Richard for this. He was raging when he received the news.’

‘Then he will just have to rage. Your uncle would not have done this without good reason.’ She defended him knowing he had had to make that choice, but nevertheless her stomach was churning.

‘I must go.’ Heinri rose from the table, his wine barely drunk. ‘I need to keep my head down for a while.’

‘Have a
care.’ Rising, she embraced him with tender concern.

‘And you also, Grandmère.’

He took his leave and Alienor prepared to move on, her mouth set in a determined line. Richard had made an enemy; it could not be helped but it was yet another difficulty to negotiate. And if John heard about the decision in Sicily before she could arrive home and smooth troubled waters, the seas would be stormy indeed.

As the women travelled south, the weather warmed, and by the time they reached Reggio and the point of crossing to Messina a soft breeze was blowing down the peninsula, fragrant with the green scents of spring. They had tried to take ship further north in Naples but had been detained because of continued political wrangling between Tancred, Richard and Philippe of France. Truces finally agreed, they had arrived at the tip of Italy from where they could see clear across to the Sicilian coast less than two miles away.

Berenguela had become quiet and withdrawn as they approached their destination, and had spent much time praying at her small, portable altar. The more unsettling a situation, the more she turned to God for support and solace. There would be no immediate wedding. Their delayed arrival had taken them into Lent and the marriage would have to be conducted en route to Jerusalem.

This morning Berenguela wore a gown of dark blue wool, brushed out and smoothed of creases. Her masses of black hair were coiled in thick plaits around her head and dressed with a white silk veil. The effect was one of quiet grace rather
than lustre and fire. For the first time since leaving Pamplona, she wore her betrothal ring.

Alienor gazed out of their lodging window across the straits of Messina. The water in the channel was deepest blue but choppy with whitecaps. She was disappointed at the lost opportunity. Had they not been delayed by difficult weather and petty politics they would have arrived in time for Berenguela and Richard to be wed, and perhaps by now Berenguela would already be with child.

A messenger had recently arrived with letters from England and Alienor held several travel-stained packets in her hands, tagged with various seals including those of William Marshal, Geoffrey Fitzpeter and the other justiciars.

Leaving the window, she took the documents to a sun-splashed table in the corner, sat down, and began to read. A thin spotted cat twined around her legs, and then leaped onto the table and paraded in front of her on its tip-toes, a leonine purr rumbling from its chest.

Berenguela came over and started feeding the cat small morsels of dried sausage, talking to it in Navarrese like a mother to a small child.

As Alienor read what was written in the letters an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. ‘While I am attending to the cauldron in front of me, the one behind my back is boiling over,’ she said. ‘There is no respite.’

Berenguela stopped talking to the cat. ‘What is wrong?’

‘The justiciars are complaining about the high-handed behaviour of Richard’s chancellor William Longchamp, and Richard’s brother has crossed to England to “help” – and that will only foment unrest, not calm it down.’ She tossed the letters on the table. ‘Longchamp was a mistake, I always thought so, but Richard would have his way.’

‘What is wrong with him?’ Berenguela asked curiously.

‘He is intensely loyal to my son, I cannot fault him for that, and he is an excellent administrator. But he has no diplomacy and the English barons dislike him. He forces
through his policies when sometimes it would be better to ease them with a little honey. He can raise money out of dust, but he has no ability when it comes to dealing with those he should cultivate.’

‘I know men like that at my father’s court.’ Berenguela went to the window and glanced out. ‘There’s a galley,’ she said.

Joining her, Alienor saw a vessel with a striped sail ploughing through the waves towards the wharf. The ship was still a way off but making good headway. A silk flag bearing the leopards of Normandy and England flew from the top of the mast, and the anxiety in her heart was overlaid by a quickening of joy. ‘My dear,’ she said to Berenguela who had stooped to pick up the cat and was cuddling it to her bosom, ‘prepare to greet your future husband.’

A rosy glow coloured Berenguela’s cheeks. ‘I did not know he would come himself.’

‘I suspect nothing would stop him,’ Alienor replied with a smile.

Berenguela bit her lip. She put down the cat and brushed pale hair from her dark dress.

‘Do not worry, he will know we are travel-weary and will not be expecting us in full court array for this meeting. You have crossed the Alps in the middle of winter; you have the courage for this.’

Richard arrived in a flurry of fresh air and sunshine and it seemed to Alienor that the room lit up the moment he entered it. She sank in a curtsey and Berenguela followed, bowing her head.

‘Madam my mother.’ Richard took Alienor’s hands and, raising her to her feet, kissed her on the lips, and then, turning to Berenguela, greeted her in a similar fashion, although his kiss was to her cheeks. ‘And my future lady wife. I am pleased to greet you both after your arduous journey.’

‘Indeed,’ Alienor said wryly. ‘Only for you would I cross mountains in the depths of winter. I will not regale you with
our trials, but I will tell you that Berenguela has been a courageous and uncomplaining companion.’

‘Complaining would have made no difference to our circumstances save to make them more of a trial,’ Berenguela said with quiet dignity.

‘I would expect no less of a lady of the house of Navarre,’ Richard replied with a bow. ‘I trust that trait will stand you in further good stead in the days to come.’

‘I trust so too sire,’ Berenguela replied. ‘Now that God has delivered us to a safe and honourable harbour, I will endeavour to fulfil my part of the bargain.’

‘And I mine.’ Taking her hand, he looked at the large sapphire betrothal ring then raised it to his lips and kissed the stone. ‘You must tell me about your adventures when we dine in Messina.’

‘Will you take wine while our baggage is loaded?’ Alienor asked.

‘Why not?’

Richard proceeded to introduce Berenguela to the lords who had accompanied him – Robert, Earl of Leicester, Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, and John, Bishop of Evreux, who was to solemnise the marriage once Lent was over.

Alienor watched Richard being polite and urbane. He could be as crude as the next soldier and doubtless would be when it came time to talk with Mercadier and the troops, but he possessed a courtier’s polish and an innate sense of graceful etiquette. When he exerted himself he could dazzle anyone.

Sitting down at the sunny trestle with his cup, he looked at the cat. ‘I see you have been collecting waifs and strays, Mama.’

‘He found us,’ Alienor said with a wave of her hand. She was not interested in small talk. ‘I doubt he will add himself to anyone’s collection. Tell me, are we to greet the King of France when we arrive in Messina?’

Richard’s eyes glinted. ‘No, Mama, sadly not. He left at first light this morning. If you had longer sight in your eyes, you might have seen his sails vanishing over the horizon. Naturally he
extends his regrets that he could not stay to greet you and my new bride, but he felt a sudden necessity to move on.’

‘Naturally.’ Alienor lifted a sardonic brow. ‘What did he have to say about Alais?’

‘All winter he has been insisting I marry her the moment I return home. But last month he got to hear you were on your way with Berenguela – such things can only be kept secret for so long. He confronted me to demand I keep my promise.’ He shot her a meaningful look. ‘So I told him the reason I could not.’ His glance flicked to Berenguela.

‘I know that reason, sire,’ Berenguela said with dignity. ‘My father would not have entrusted me to come all this way without being aware of all the details. I know when to be silent.’

Richard eyed her with interested amusement. ‘Well that is a fine thing in a wife,’ he commented.

‘What did Philippe say?’

‘He refused to believe it at first,’ Richard said, ‘although I think he knew. What king does not have spies at foreign courts? He said that I would make up any kind of filth to escape from the match and I told him if I was going to make it up, I would not tarnish my dynasty by citing my own father. I would just have said that Alais had been sullied by someone at court. I offered to provide the witnesses if he wanted them but unsurprisingly he declined.’

‘I can see why. Have you reached an agreement about Alais’ dowry?’

Richard finished the wine and set the goblet aside. ‘I have to pay him two thousand marks to end the agreement, but the Vexin territory and Gisors will remain to me and my male heirs. Should I die without an heir, then the lands will go to Philippe.’ He smiled at Berenguela. ‘So it behoves me to wed and sire a son.’

Berenguela looked down and clasped her hands prayerfully. ‘I will do my best, sire, God willing.’

‘Unfortunately the
wedding cannot take place until after Lent,’ Richard said. ‘I have no doubt Philippe is hoping I choke on my dinner or drown at sea, but I intend not to give him that satisfaction if I can help it.’

A squire arrived to say that the baggage had been stowed and the ship was ready. Richard pushed to his feet and glanced at the letters on the trestle.

‘We have matters from England to discuss,’ Alienor said, ‘but they can wait until we are in Messina.’

He nodded brusquely and a look of annoyance crossed his face. He was being defensive, Alienor thought, but this was not the time to push him.

Waiting to greet them as their ship moored on the Sicilian side were more of Richard’s officers, various Sicilian nobles and dignitaries, and a tall young woman wearing a gown of amber silk brocade, a gold veil fluttering over her long bronze-brown braids. Alienor stared with hunger and curiosity at this daughter she had last seen as a twelve-year-old caught in the moment between child and woman. Alienor’s farewells had been made from a cage. Now she was free and her daughter was a grown woman of twenty-six, a widow who had borne and lost a child. She had her father’s broad cheekbones and wide grey eyes blended with Alienor’s fine nose and sensuous mouth.

‘My lady mother.’ Joanna started to give Alienor a formal curtsey but it broke down as Alienor pulled her to her feet and embraced her tightly, hot tears prickling her eyelids.

‘Let me look at you!’ Her voice quivered with emotion. ‘So beautiful, so grown up.’ She swallowed. ‘You have been on my mind so much over the years. All the way here I have been thinking about you and wondering what we would say to each other, and now I have no words, only tears!’ Laughing, she hugged her again.

Joanna returned the hug, her own eyes brimming. ‘Mama, I never thought to see any of my family again; yet here you are … and my brother’s wife-to-be.’ She turned to Berenguela
who had been waiting quietly at Alienor’s side. ‘I am so glad to meet you. Richard told me about you, but I was sworn to secrecy because of the situation with the French. I am so glad it can be in the open now.’

‘And I am pleased to greet my new sister,’ Berenguela answered gracefully. ‘I heard much about you on our journey and I am looking forward to knowing you.’

Formalities accomplished, the company withdrew into the palace where a welcoming banquet had been prepared. Because it was Lent, meat was absent, but there was an abundance of fresh fish and shellfish from the surrounding seas, plentiful bread, jewel-green olive oil, and flinty Sicilian wine.

As Alienor dined, she glanced often at Richard, trying to impress his image on her mind like a coin in wax, so she would always have the memory. He was wearing his crown for this feast and sunbursts of light sparked on the rubies, emeralds and amethysts jewelling the band and finials. When he spoke, he accompanied his words with elegant gestures of his long, finely shaped hands and it was difficult to imagine them wielding a sword, even though she knew his capabilities.

She watched him with Berenguela, and was anxious, because she could tell from the courteous expression on his face that Berenguela’s quiet modesty was not engaging his interest in any depth. Berenguela murmured sensible responses to the questions he asked but they lacked wit and sparkle, even if spoken with genuine thought and sincerity. There was no lightness in her being; she was clearly projecting herself as a model of demure, noble womanhood. She made Alienor think of a saintly wooden image – the kind that folk paraded around the town on holy days.

Following the feast there was an informal gathering for the most important guests, with jugs of sweet wine and bowls of dried fruit and sugared sweetmeats. Outside the sun was setting over the Tyrrhenian Sea in a banner blaze of orange-gold, hemmed by a cloud-line of royal purple, and the breeze was warm with spring. Richard escorted Berenguela onto the
balcony area and stood alone with her to talk, so that they were chaperoned, but private.