Текст книги "The Heart of the Lion "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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At the age of thirty-two, Richard the Lionheart has finally succeeded Henry II to the English throne. And, against his father’s wishes, he intends to make Berengaria, daughter of the King of Navarre, his Queen.
But first he must fulfil his vow to his country to win back Jerusalem for the Christian world. Leaving England to begin his crusade, Richard’s kingdom is left in the hands of his brother, John, who casts covetous eyes on the crown, and his sister, Joanna, adored yet willing to defy even a king.
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‘Plaidy excels at blending history with romance and drama’ New York Times
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The Heart of the Lion
Jean Plaidy, one of the pre-eminent authors of historical fiction for most of the twentieth century, is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. Jean Plaidy’s novels had sold more than 14 million copies worldwide by the time of her death in 1993.
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‘Meticulous attention to historical detail’
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Available in Arrow Books by Jean Plaidy
The Tudors
Uneasy Lies the Head
Katharine, the Virgin
Widow
The Shadow of the
Pomegranate
The King’s Secret Matter
Murder Most Royal
St Thomas’s Eve
The Sixth Wife
The Thistle and the Rose
Mary Queen of France
Lord Robert
Royal Road to Fotheringay
The Captive Queen of Scots
The Medici Trilogy
Madame Serpent
The Italian Woman
Queen Jezebel
The Plantagenets
The Plantagenet Prelude
The Revolt of the Eaglets
The Heart of the Lion
The Prince of Darkness
The French Revolution
Louis the Well-Beloved
The Road to Compiègne
Flaunting, Extravagant
Queen
The Heart of the Lion
JEAN PLAIDY
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Copyright © Jean Plaidy, 1977
Initial lettering copyright © Stephen Raw, 2006
The Estate of Eleanor Hibbert has asserted its right to have Jean Plaidy identified as the author of this work.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1977 by Robert Hale Ltd
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Contents 
I
A King is Crowned
II
Alice and Berengaria
III
Joanna
IV
The Sicilian Adventure
V
The Wedding is Postponed
VI
The Fruits of Cyprus
VII
The King and the Sultan
VIII
On the Walls of Acre
IX
Philip’s Farewell
X
Joanna and Malek Adel
XI
The Old Man of the Mountains
XII
Farewell Jerusalem
XIII
The Royal Fugitive
XIV
The Jewelled Belt
XV
Longchamp and Prince John
XVI
The Return of Eleanor
XVII
Blondel’s Song
XVIII
Release
XIX
The Reconciliation
XX
Reunion with Berengaria
XXI
The Saucy Castle
XXII
The Crock of Gold
Chapter I
A KING IS CROWNED
The Queen, having dismissed all her attendants, sat alone in the King’s chamber at Winchester Palace. The King was dead and with his death had come release from the captivity in which he had held her for so many years. She was sixty-seven – an age when most people would have been content to retire from life, perhaps enter a nunnery where, if they had lived such a life as she had, they might think it expedient to spend their remaining years in penitence. Not so Eleanor of Aquitaine, widow of the recently dead Henry Plantagenet.
She studied the murals on the walls. It had been a fancy of the late King to have the walls of his palaces painted with allegories representing his life, and this was the room of the eaglets. She remembered an occasion when he and she had stood in this room together. It must have been during one of the periods when there had been a lessening of their antagonism towards each other, for there had been such occasions. One had been at the time of their eldest son’s death when sorrow had brought them together – but briefly. She could never forgive Henry for his infidelities; he could never forgive her for turning their sons against him. And there were those sons represented as eaglets waiting to peck their father to death. How bitter he had been when he had pointed them out to her.
‘Your just deserts, Henry,’ she said aloud. ‘You old lecher. Do you expect me to be afraid of you now you are dead? For that matter, when was I ever afraid of you . . . or anyone?’
It was morbid of her to come to this room, to think of him even; yet how could she help it? He had been the most significant man in her life – and there had been many. He had been a great king, she granted him that. If he had been able to curb his lechery, if he had understood how to treat his sons, perhaps he would have kept the devotion of his family.
But he was dead and she must forget him. She had never been one to look back, and there was work to be done. She had been fond of all her children but Richard had always been her favourite. There was a bond between them such as she could feel for none of the others – not even young Joanna, her youngest daughter. And Richard was now the King of England, although his father had done all he could to prevent his inheriting the crown. He had wanted to give it to John. Had he realised in his last hours how foolish he had been to dote on John? How stupid could shrewd men sometimes be when befuddled by their emotions! In his heart he must have known that John was a traitor to him and yet he had stubbornly refused to accept the fact. John had betrayed him as Richard had never done, for at least Richard had been open in his condemnation of his father, whereas John had fawned on him, flattering him while all the time he had been plotting against him.
Henry knew of course even as he deceived himself. What had he said to her when they had stood in this room?
‘The four eaglets are my sons who will persecute me until I die. The youngest of them, my favourite, will hurt me most. He is waiting for the moment when he will peck out my eyes.’
‘Oh, Henry,’ she said softly, ‘what sort of a fool were you?’
She chided herself for the softness of her feelings. He had been her enemy. It was weakness to feel gentle towards him just because he was dead and could harm her no more. She had to stop thinking of him; she must shut out of her mind memories of their youth when although she had been nearly twelve years older than he was, and married at that time to the King of France, passion had flared up between them. Then no other would do for her and she had loved him single-mindedly until he brought his bastard into her nursery and she discovered that he had been unfaithful to her in the first year of their marriage. Then had begun the violent quarrels, the recriminations. She smiled faintly seeing him pulling the cloth of his jacket apart in his rage, lying on the floor and gnawing the filthy rushes, throwing some article of furniture across the room . . .
‘You had your weaknesses, my husband,’ she murmured. ‘But you had your greatness too.’
There had been a time when he was regarded as the invincible warrior throughout England and the Continent of Europe, when men trembled at his name. He had been a brilliant strategist and had made England prosperous after the reign of weak Stephen. Yet how low he had fallen at the end! The account of his death moved her in spite of herself. He had turned his face to the wall and said, ‘I care no more for myself or for the world’ and in his delirium, ‘Shame, shame on a conquered King.’
‘Poor Henry,’ she murmured. ‘And am I as foolish, as sentimental? What am I doing in his chamber? Why am I thinking of the past? My enemy is dead and his dying is my freedom. I shall brood no longer. There is work to be done.’
Resolutely she rose; she did not glance back at the picture of the eagle with his eaglets.
Firmly she shut the door.
When Richard arrived everything must be in readiness for him.
A new dignity had fallen upon her. Her son’s first act had been to release her from her prison. She had not been disappointed in him.
And her great aim would be to hold his kingdom for him. It should not be difficult. The English had a sense of fair play and Richard was the late King’s eldest living son. That Henry had favoured John carried little weight with them. In fact, John had not made himself very popular with the people, but the main point in Richard’s favour was that he was the true heir to the throne.
There was a regality about her – she had been born with it. People recognised it immediately and were ready to pay homage to her, and she could make sure that Richard should find his subjects waiting to welcome him when he returned from Normandy, which must be soon. That was important. His English subjects must not be allowed to think that he cared for other possessions more than he did for England.
There was one whom she had for many years longed to confront – the girl Henry had seduced when she was a child, and who had continued to be his mistress to the end: the Princess Alice. What was Alice thinking now that she had lost her powerful protector? The desire to discover was irresistible. Eleanor would send an order to the Palace of Westminster where Princess Alice had her apartments. How amusing to be able to send for the girl and to know that she dared not refuse to come.
Alice stood before her.
She was comely enough though not outstandingly beautiful as Eleanor herself had been. There was something meek about Alice, and now of course she was afraid because she did not know what was in store for her and she would doubtless have heard rumours concerning the vindictive nature of the Queen.
Alice, betrothed to Richard, mistress of the King his father, must now face her lover’s wife!
‘I have sent for you that I may question you with regard to your future,’ said Eleanor.
She stressed the word ‘sent’. She, who had been a prisoner, was now the one whose word was law. There had been a time when little Alice only had to express a wish and her infatuated elderly lover would be eager to grant it. Now he was gone and Alice must stand alone to face the fury of the woman he had wronged. Wronged! Eleanor wanted to burst out laughing at the thought of this meek girl setting herself against a great queen. But she had had a great king behind her then. Alas for you, you little fool, she thought; you have lost him now.
‘You do not hope of course that there can be any betrothal between you and King Richard now,’ said Eleanor.
‘I . . . I did not think so,’ said Alice. She was fair and fragile. Eleanor could understand how she had appealed to him. She would have been clinging and admiring, adoring him, giving him that which he sought in all women. His Rosamund Clifford – that other great love of his – had been the same. They had some inherent femininity which for all her voluptuous beauty Eleanor had never possessed.
‘Nay and you do right, having been debauched by the father you could hardly expect the son to take you to his bed.’
Alice blushed. A King’s mistress and managing to look so coy! What a deceitful creature she was. The odd quirk was that she was Louis’ daughter. Louis to whom Eleanor herself – when she had been his Queen – had borne two children, her daughters Alix and Marie.
Eleanor could see her father in her – she would be good if she could, for she wanted to be, but fate had been too much for her in the form of her lecherous prospective father-in-law who had come into the schoolroom where she was being brought up with his children since she was to marry one of them, and when she could have been no more than twelve years old had made her his mistress. She would have been shy, reluctant and malleable – everything that was needed to stimulate his jaded senses. She could well imagine how it had started and angry jealousy swept over her. He had wanted to marry Alice and divorce Eleanor to do so. It was not so easy though to divorce the heiress of Aquitaine even if it was for the daughter of the King of France.
And now he was dead and Alice was past her first youth; she had already borne him a child it was rumoured. The child had died though, which was one complication removed.
Sly silly girl – so meek, apeing the virgin, when all the time she had indulged with him, and the Queen knew from experience what such occasions would be like.
‘So here you are,’ said Eleanor, ‘a whore no less, though a King’s whore. It ill becomes the sister of the King of France.’
‘We . . . we . . .’
‘I know. I know. You loved, and he would have made you his Queen. That was if he could have rid himself of his existing Queen. You know who stood in your way, my little Princess. How you must have hated me!’
‘Oh, no . . .’
‘Oh, yes! I’ll swear he talked of me. What did he tell you of me, eh?’
‘He rarely spoke of you.’
‘You are afraid to say. You are a frightened little thing, Alice. You are afraid of me and you’ll be afraid to face your brother when he sends for you. What will you say to the King of France when you are taken back to him, when he hears of the games you played in the bed of the old King of England?’
‘I must ask you for what is due to his memory . . .’
‘You silly girl, do you think I am afraid his ghost will haunt me? Let it! How I should enjoy to tell it what I thought of the fleshly Henry. I never feared him in life where I doubt not he was more powerful than he could be in death. Nay, he was a lecher. A woman had but to take his fancy lightly and he would have her in his bed – as he did you. Think not that he held you in any special regard.’
‘Oh, but he did. He always came straight to me when he was in England . . .’
‘Straight from the rest and swore he would marry you I doubt not, and laughed at you and the son he was deceiving.’
‘It is untrue. His conscience smote him. He often talked of Richard.’
‘How noble of him! So you talked of Richard and how you were deceiving him and you think that exonerates you from your just rewards for what you have done?’
‘Richard didn’t really want to marry me.’
‘His father prevented his doing so.’
‘There are stories of Richard.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Of the life he leads.’
‘With women?’ cried Eleanor. ‘Who should blame him, deprived of his bride as he has been? He is no boy. He is more than thirty years of age.’
‘And with my brother,’ said Alice boldly. ‘It has been said that he shared his bed when he was at Philip’s court.’
‘A custom when one monarch wishes to honour another.’
‘It is said that there is great love between them.’
‘It is said! Who has said this? Are you, the royal slut of a lecherous king, in a position to judge the conduct of others? Have a care, my little whore, or you could find yourself under restraint.’
‘My brother will not allow that.’
‘You are not in your brother’s court yet. You are in that of King Richard and until he comes to claim his kingdom, I am holding it for him.’
‘What do you intend to do with me?’
‘Keep you here for a while.’ Eleanor came near to Alice and gripped her by the arm. ‘While you were sporting with your lover, I, his true wife, was a prisoner here in this castle. There were guards outside my door. When I walked out they accompanied me.’
‘You took up arms against the King. You led his sons to revolt against him. It was just punishment.’
‘Just to imprison a wife! Think you so? All he suffered he deserved.’
‘And you too,’ said Alice boldly.
‘Have a care. You are in my power now, you know.’
‘Richard will treat me well.’
‘So you think he will have you now? You are mistaken, Alice. You will be sent back to your brother I doubt not. But no man will want you now.’
‘It is not true.’
‘Certainly not the King of England who can take his pick from the world. So a life of boredom awaits you, at the best. You will sit over your needlework in one of your brother’s castles and brood on the past and remember how Henry sported with you and that such adventures are behind you for ever more. In the meantime you will stay here. You will learn what it was like for me to live here as a prisoner. The same apartment which was allotted to me shall be allotted to you. The same guards shall be at your door. Yes, you shall learn what it was like to be a prisoner. The only difference will be that you will be my prisoner and I was that of your lover. Now come, my Princess. You have had enough easy living. You have sinned and must repent. You will have time to do so in your prison.’
The Queen summoned the guards whom she had had waiting.
‘Take the Princess Alice to her new apartments,’ she said.
She was wise enough to know that she could not linger in the castle merely to gloat over Alice’s fate. She knew too that it could not be of long duration. Philip would never allow it and it was not a matter of which she would wish to make a political issue. Still, she could not resist giving the girl a taste of the humiliation she had suffered.
She must prepare the country for Richard’s arrival and make the people ready to receive their new King, so she announced that she was going on a short tour of the country and she set out from Winchester having given orders that if any news of the King’s imminent arrival in England was received it must be brought to her without delay.
As she rode along she contemplated the fact that there was always danger when a king died. It could never be certain how the people would feel towards his successor. To the Conqueror’s descendants England had been an uneasy inheritance largely because the possession of lands overseas had demanded their presence abroad. The English naturally did not like to be neglected. Henry’s life had been spent between England and France and because his possessions in France had been so much more difficult to hold owing to the presence of the Franks on his very borders, he had been more often there than in England.
The people must accept Richard. She had few qualms that they would. If ever man had the appearance of a king that man was Richard. How different he was from his slovenly father who had thrown on his clothes in a disorderly way and looked like a peasant, who never wore riding gloves and because he was out in all weathers had skin like leather. Yet he had won the respect of his people. But how much more readily would they follow a man who looked like a king.
Riding into the cities she sent for the leading citizens. She knew that the greatest resentment which was held against the late King and his predecessors was due to the infliction of the old forest laws. The Norman kings had been fanatical about their hunting grounds. Henry Plantagenet had been equally fierce. So great was their passion for hunting that they had spared nothing nor anyone in the pursuit of it. On the whole Henry had been a popular king but in the forest areas he had been hated. He had set up officers in forest regions to act as custodians and no one living near was allowed to cut down trees or to keep dogs or bows and arrows. Anyone discovered disobeying these laws was punished in such a dreadful manner that death would have been preferable. Hands, feet, tongues, noses and ears were cut off and eyes put out. The punishment for performing any act which might detract in the smallest way from the King’s hunting pleasures was mutilation.
Yet Henry, shrewd as he was, eager to placate a people who must be left under a substitute ruler for long periods of time, knowing that these measures were the source of great unpopularity, would do nothing to repeal them. Hunting was one of the major passions of his life and like his forebears he intended to indulge it in ideal conditions.
Contemplating that passion now Eleanor reflected once more that although her late husband had been a man of great ability he had had many weaknesses.
‘The game laws,’ she announced, ‘are harsh and cruel. The new King will wish to change them. To begin with in his name I shall release all those who are awaiting punishment under those laws. There is one thing I ask of those who have regained their freedom and that is: Pray for his soul.’
Those who had been saved from a terrible fate, those who had been living as outlaws and could now return to their families were very ready to do as Eleanor asked.
‘It must be understood,’ she said, ‘that this clemency comes from King Richard and while he wishes those who have been condemned under unjust laws to go free, he cannot countenance the release of those who have committed crimes against other laws.’
A great cry of approval went up and Eleanor knew that the freeing of those who had offended against the game laws had been a wise move.
‘I command now,’ she said, ‘that every freeman of the kingdom swear that he will bear faith to King Richard, son of King Henry and Queen Eleanor, for the preservation of life, limbs and terrene honour, as his liege lord, against all living; and that he will be obedient to his laws and assist him in the preservation of peace and justice.’
The new King was hailed with enthusiasm.
Eleanor had done her work well; and when news was brought to her that Richard had arrived in England she hastened back to Winchester to be ready to receive him.
She had assembled all the nobility in Winchester. Perhaps the most important was Ranulph de Glanville who had been her custodian in the castle during the years of her imprisonment. She bore him no ill will; he had always treated her with due respect and the fact that he had guarded against her escape meant that he was obeying his master. As the chief Justiciar of England and a man of immense talents Eleanor believed that his support would be of help to the new King.
Each day people were thronging into Winchester as Richard’s arrival grew imminent. Eleanor was not sure whether her son John would come with his brother. They had been in Normandy together but it was possible that they might take different routes home. This proved to be the case.
What a wonderful moment it was for the Queen when she beheld her beloved son riding at the head of his entourage, a magnificent sight, enough to delight any mother’s eyes.
The meeting was an emotional one and when Richard embraced her she knew that this was one of the happiest moments of her life. She was free after more than sixteen years of captivity; her son – the best loved of her children – was King of England and his first thoughts on coming to the crown were for her. She loved dearly and was loved with equal fervour.
‘Mother!’ he cried.
‘My son, my King,’ she answered, her voice shaken with emotion.
There could be no doubt of his kingliness. He excelled in all manly pastimes. It had been so since the days of his boyhood. He was very tall, having the long arms and legs of his Norman ancestors as well as their blonde good looks; his hair was auburn, his eyes deep blue and he had more than mere good looks; his grace of carriage, his kingly air were unsurpassed, and in any company of men he would have been selected as the King.
She was weak with pride – she who was usually so strong and rarely a prey for her emotions! This was the son whom she had reared and she had recognised his superior qualities from his babyhood; they had been the allies and had stood together against his father and the bastard Geoffrey who had been brought into the royal nursery. He had been her boy from the day he was born and the bond, she fervently prayed, would be severed only by death.
‘How my heart rejoices to see you here,’ she said.
‘There was much to be done across the sea before I could come.’
‘Your subjects have been prepared to welcome you.’
‘Mother, I know you have done good work for me.’
‘I trust I shall never do aught but good work for you, my son.’
He scowled when Ranulph de Glanville approached to pay the homage, which he received coldly. Eleanor smiled realising that Richard was thinking of this man as his mother’s jailer. She must make him understand the importance of Glanville. He must not make an enemy of such a man. There would be much of which she must warn him, and she hoped he loved her enough to let her guide him.
‘Let us make our way to the castle,’ she said. ‘There shall be such feasting and revelry as is becoming to the arrival of the King.’
‘There is much we must talk of.’
‘Much indeed.’
‘How it rejoices me that you are here beside me. It will lighten my lot. You will care for matters here while I am away.’
Her happiness was tinged with apprehension. When he was away? But of course he would have to be away. His dominions were widely spread. That must be what he meant.
She dismissed her fears and gave herself up to the pleasure of seeing homage done to him as he entered the castle. How nobly he accepted it! She noticed how people looked at him.
There never could have been a man who looked so much a king.
To be alone with him, to talk to him of secret matters, to share his confidences, that was a great joy to her.
‘Your coronation must take place immediately,’ she advised. ‘Once a king is crowned he is in truth a king; before that . . .’ She lifted her shoulders.
‘I have decided it shall be on the third day of September.’
‘Isn’t that an unlucky day?’
He laughed aloud. ‘Mother, I take no heed of these superstitions.’
‘Others may.’
‘Then let them. I shall pass into London on the first day of the month, and there I shall be crowned King.’
‘So be it,’ she said. ‘The important point is that the ceremony takes place without delay. Richard, I must speak to you of Alice. She is here.’
‘In this castle?’
‘Under restraint. I thought that as I had suffered it so long it would do her no harm to have a little taste of it.’
He nodded but he was frowning. ‘What must be done with her? I’ll not have her.’
‘We must not forget that her brother is the King of France.’
A shadow passed across his face. How did he feel about Philip now? There was no doubt that they had once been very close friends. Was that due to love or expediency on Richard’s part? He had once needed the friendship of the King of France when his own father was his enemy. Now that he was King of England – and all Kings of England must be wary of Kings of France – had his feelings changed? The one time friend . . . lover . . . was he now a deadly rival?
‘I care not who her brother is,’ said Richard, ‘I’ll have none of my father’s cast-offs.’
‘Your father never cast her off. He was faithful to the end they say . . . faithful in his way that was. No doubt he sported merrily when she was far away but, as with Rosamund Clifford, he visited her in great amity over many years.’
‘My father is dead now, Mother; let us forget his habits. The fact remains that I’ll have none of Alice.’
‘She will have to go back to France. She will not like it. She has been in England for twenty-two years.’
‘Nevertheless she must go.’
‘Yet you will marry. It will be expected of you.’
‘I have a bride in mind. Berengaria, daughter of the King of Navarre, he whom they call Sancho the Wise. We know each other, for I met her when I was taken to her father’s court by her brother who is known as Sancho the Strong to distinguish him from his father. We have even talked of marriage but Alice of course stood in my way.’
‘That girl and your father have a lot to answer for. Though I doubt we should blame Alice; she is a feather in the wind blown this way and that.’
‘Then, by God’s mercy, let us blow her back to France.’
‘What will Philip say when he finds his sister sent back to him?’
