Текст книги "The Heart of the Lion "

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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She had forgotten how exciting it was to be setting out on an adventure, to be treated with great honour, and above all to be free.

Oh, how dared you, Henry, she thought; and she was sorry that he was dead, for how could one be revenged on the dead? Just a little savour had gone out of her life with his passing. How often she had raged against him, made plans for his downfall. How she had exulted when she heard that his sons were marching against him. It was her hatred of Henry which had made her prison tolerable. Now he was gone. She missed him.

At last she came to the Court of Navarre.

The King, known as the Wise – and he certainly believed now that he had been wise in keeping his daughter Berengaria for this great marriage – received her with great honours. When Richard had first come to his court and shown a preference for Berengaria he had been but the son of a great king with an elder brother who had appeared to be strong and healthy and whom no one would have suspected would die young. Moreover Richard and his father had not been on good terms. Yet Sancho was not known as the Wise for nothing. He had resisted offers for the hand of his elder daughter and how right he had been, for at last King Richard’s mother had come to claim her. It was true the waiting had been long. Berengaria was past twenty-six and it might have been wondered whether she would ever find a husband. But now those doubts were over. Or were they? There still remained the shadowy figure of Princess Alice of France.

Eleanor was delighted with the appearance of Berengaria. She was indeed beautiful and the manner in which she wore her clothes could only be described as elegant.

Eleanor embraced the girl and told her that Richard was eagerly awaiting her coming. ‘He would trust no one but me to bring you to him,’ said Eleanor. ‘I know how he will rejoice when he sees you.’

I hope he will, thought Eleanor. It seems he has little interest in women, but surely such a pleasant bride as Berengaria will captivate him.

There was feasting in the great hall to celebrate the arrival of the Dowager Queen of England; and she was able to delight them all with playing on the lute and her singing.

How good it was to be among Provençals, for although Sancho was descended from the Spanish the language spoken here and the manners were of Provence. This delight in music, this enchanting custom of honouring the poets and musicians filled her with nostalgia and she longed to be in her beloved Aquitaine.

She was delighted to meet Berengaria’s brother, known as Sancho the Strong, of whom one of the musicians had sung telling of his victory over the Moors. He had defeated the Miramolin and with his battle-axe had severed the chains which guarded the Infidel’s camp. Ever after he had been known as The Strong for it was the custom in Navarre to attach a descriptive adjective to the names of the rulers. Berengaria might well have been Berengaria the Elegant, thought Eleanor.

She warmed to the girl. They had much in common, such as their love of fine clothes and the ability to wear them to advantage as well as a passionate interest in music and poetry. Perhaps there the similarity ended for Berengaria was by no means forceful. She would be a loving and uncomplaining wife, thought Eleanor, and doubtless she would need to be, for Richard would not be a very attentive husband.

It was pleasant to walk in the gardens with her daughter-inlaw-to-be and to talk with her and hear how she had first seen Richard years ago.

‘So it will not be like going to a husband whom I have never met,’ she said, ‘though it was more than ten years ago when my brother brought him here. I have never forgotten the occasion. My father had staged a tournament in Richard’s honour. I can see it now – the pennants stirred by the breeze and the trumpets sounding as he rode out. There was no mistaking him. No one was as tall, as noble-looking as Richard. I had never seen anyone like him.’

‘And you loved him from that day,’ added Eleanor.

‘I have never ceased to think of him. As you know the custom is for a knight to ride for his lady and wear something of hers and to my joy I saw that in his helm he had placed a small glove of mine which I recognised at once by its jewelled border. He was riding for me that day.’

‘Charming,’ commented Eleanor.

‘I shall never forget how he rode to the dais where I sat with my parents and my brother and sister Blanche. He bowed to me and I threw a rose to him. He kissed it and held it against his heart. It is a day which will live for ever in my memory.’

‘You must have thought he would never come for you.’

‘I did not think he could while his father lived. I knew too that he was betrothed to the Princess Alice.’

‘That marriage will never take place.’

‘It gave my father much cause for concern. I know that there have been times when he has been on the point of arranging another marriage for me. It seemed that I would never have a husband.’

‘And now you are to have the most glorious of them all.’

‘There is still Alice.’

‘Alice is of no account.’

‘Can that be said of the sister of the King of France?’

‘My dear daughter, when you know your husband better you will understand that he can say anything of anyone and make it come to pass.’

‘That must be so, for my father will allow me to leave with you, which he would never do if there were any doubts.’

‘There are no doubts,’ said Eleanor firmly. ‘You will leave with me for Sicily. There we will await the arrival of the King’s fleet and there I doubt not the marriage ceremony will take place. My daughter Joanna who is the Queen of Sicily will welcome us and I am delighted at the prospect of seeing my child again. Poor Joanna is now a widow, for her husband the King died last November. I doubt not she will be in need of comfort and will wish to discuss her future with Richard.’

The years of captivity had by no means diminished Eleanor’s powerful personality and she could still give an impression that her will would be law. Thus she completely dispersed any qualms Berengaria or her father felt over the anomalous situation concerning Alice.

In due course Eleanor with Berengaria and her attendants left Navarre and made the difficult journey across Italy to Naples. The ships which Eleanor had commissioned were waiting there to take them to Sicily, but before they had time to put to sea a messenger arrived with disquieting news.

There was trouble in Sicily. Queen Joanna had been dethroned. They would be unwise to attempt the journey there and King Richard wished them to sojourn in Brindisi until he came to them.

Chafing against delay, asking herself whether there was indeed trouble in Sicily or whether Richard was finding it difficult to break his contract with Alice, Eleanor could do nothing but accept the delay and wait until it could be resolved.

Chapter III

JOANNA

In the castle at Palermo, Queen Joanna of Sicily was asking herself what would become of her. In the last few months her future had become threatening and she could not know what would happen to her from one day to another. She, the honoured Queen, daughter of Henry Plantagenet and Eleanor of Aquitaine, once beloved of a doting husband now found herself virtually a prisoner.

Who would have believed while William lived that his cousin Tancred could have behaved in such a villainous manner? She had always known Tancred was ambitious – what man was not? And Tancred was a bastard and they always seemed to have an even greater love of power than their legitimate relations. He had seemed loyal but, as soon as William was dead, his true character had emerged and because she had opposed him, here she was a prisoner.

She was not a woman to accept such treatment lightly. She was after all a descendant of the great Conqueror himself; if her father had been alive Tancred would never have dared behave as he did; but in July her father had died and in November of the same year her husband had followed him to the grave. So she had lost two powerful protectors within a few months.

She was twenty-five years of age and comely. She had lived fully those twenty-five years. She had learned to stand on her own feet as members of the royal family must. She scarcely knew her family. She had caught glimpses of her brothers now and then, and it had been comforting to know of their existence. Her father had been a power throughout Europe. Now she felt bereft and lonely.

What could she do in her apartments which were in fact a prison, for she was not allowed to leave them without an escort? She could only think over the past and wonder what the future held.

As a young daughter of the family – only John was younger – she had not seemed of any great account until her marriage. Born in Angers she had been brought up in Fontevraud but there had been a time when she had been in England. She could remember the Princess Alice’s being in the nurseries with her and her brother John. Alice had seemed a good deal older than she and John were but it could only have been a few years. What scandal there had been later concerning Alice! She could remember her father’s visiting the nursery and how she and John had been a little jealous of the attention he gave to Alice. And what now he was dead? Would Richard marry her? It seemed hardly likely. Alice’s situation, she reflected, was no more pleasant than her own.

What are we, the princesses of royal houses? she thought bitterly. Nothing but counters in a game. If it suits the country’s politics we are married – wherever the most advantage is to be found, no matter what bridegroom we must take.

She herself had been fairly fortunate with her husband although the marriage almost did not take place. William had been a good husband, ten years her senior, but that was not such a bad thing as she had been only eleven years old when his emissaries had come to take her to Sicily.

The betrothal had previously been set aside as William who had been at this time seventeen did not want to wait for a child of seven and he had hoped to marry a daughter of the eastern emperor, Manuel Comnenus. This scheme did not come to fruition and in due course William had sent his ambassadors to England to inspect the little Princess Joanna.

This was the time when she had been brought to Winchester and shared a schoolroom with her brother John and Princess Alice, Richard’s betrothed. She would never forget her father’s coming to the schoolroom and there telling her that some very important noblemen had arrived from Sicily with the express purpose of seeing her. He had told her that she must conduct herself with decorum, for what these gentlemen thought of her could have a great effect not only on her future but on his.

She had stood before them and answered their questions and she knew that she had done well, for her father had laid his hand on her shoulder and pressed it affectionately and she had heard one of the men exclaim: ‘But her beauty is outstanding. The King of Sicily will be pleased exceedingly.’ Back in the nursery she had told a curious John and Alice what had taken place.

‘Oh,’ had said the knowledgeable Alice, ‘it is a betrothal.’

She had told them that the King of Sicily would be exceedingly pleased.

‘It is because you are pretty,’ Alice had explained.

‘Richard must have been exceedingly pleased with you,’ Joanna had said.

‘Like our father is,’ John had added, at which beautiful Alice had blushed deeply.

‘She’s prettier than ever pink,’ John had commented.

And now Joanna knew what the blush had implied.

We are surrounded by intrigue from our cradles, she thought.

And so she had come to Sicily when she was a girl of eleven. When she had landed in Normandy she had been met by her eldest brother, Henry. King Henry he had called himself because he was so proud of the fact that their father had allowed him to be crowned. He was so handsome and charming that she loved him and was proud to have such a brother. He was also kind, gentle and full of fun. He wanted her to remember the time she spent with him. When they stopped at various castles on the way he would organise entertainments for her, and there had been tournaments where she could see him joust. He used to say: ‘I’m going into this for you. You are my lady – my little sister Joanna.’ Oh yes, Henry had had great charm. He was quite different from his namesake their father. Yet she knew now that he had been weak, that the charm had been superficial; that he had lied to his father and grieved him sorely. But to the young Joanna he had seemed perfect. How sad it was that childhood illusions must be shattered! She had wept bitterly when he had died and had prayed constantly for his soul. She feared it might be in torment for his going had been violent. He had betrayed his father; he had desecrated monasteries and robbed them of their treasures in order to pay his soldiers for his wars against his father. It was a sorry story and how far she had been from guessing its climax during those golden days when he had entertained her on the journey across Normandy and had done his best to make her forget she was going to a stranger husband in a strange new land!

He had conducted her to the borders of Aquitaine where another brother was waiting for her. She had thought that never could a princess have had two such wonderful brothers. If Henry had been the most handsome man she had ever seen, Richard was the most distinguished. She had thought this must be how the gods looked when they came down from Olympus. He too was tall, his hair fair and shining, and he looked noble and invincible.

He was not as warm and friendly as Henry had been, but he gave her a greater sense of comfort. He implied that while he was with her it was quite impossible for any harm to befall her.

Down to the coast she had ridden with this godlike brother beside her and at St Gilles her bridegroom’s Sicilian fleet had been waiting for her.

She had taken a tender farewell of Richard but she did not weep. She felt that Richard would have despised tears. It would have been different with Henry. They would have wept together; she had wondered when she would see her brothers again and was very sad until rocked on that angry sea she was too sick to think of anything but her own misery and the desirability of death. So ill was she that the captain of her vessel had decided that they could not continue the journey and they had come ashore at Naples. By then it was Christmas time. Her attendants and the sailors had been entertained there and they did their best to make it a merry time and afterwards they had travelled by land across Calabria so that the only sea she must traverse was the strait of Messina.

This had been a good sign, showing as it did that her new husband was eager for her comfort and she was already grateful to him before she saw him.

And when he saw her he smiled with pleasure. He had heard reports of her good looks, but it was said that all princesses were good looking when they were marriageable – at least so those who were eager to promote the union always averred. Occasionally they were true and so afforded a very pleasant surprise to their bridegrooms. This was what had happened in her case and William had been delighted with his bride. So were the Sicilians.

She would never forget coming ashore. Mercifully she had not been ill and was fresh and beautiful on that first meeting. William could not stop himself looking at her. He stroked her hair and kissed her hands. She was enchanting, he said.

She was young – twelve years old – but that was not too young for marriage and he had been eager for the ceremony to take place without delay. Her father would expect it, he told her.

She was given attendants who combed her long hair and petted her; and each day there were costly gifts from her bridegroom. She had felt cherished from the moment she set foot on Sicilian soil and some two weeks after her arrival, the Archbishop of Palermo officiating at the ceremony, she and William were married.

It was pleasant to look back on those days. He had been kind and tender and she knew now that it could so easily have been otherwise. It was true that she had brought with her a fine dowry which included a golden table twelve feet long which was very valuable, a silken tent and a hundred very fine galleys, enough corn that would need sixty thousand mules to carry it and the same quantity of barley and wine. There had also been twenty gold cups and twenty-four plates of the same precious metal. It was advantageous for a King of Sicily to be linked by marriage with the King of England, but even so William might not have been such a tender doting husband, and she had been fortunate.

So she had learned to love Sicily and had thought herself the most fortunate of queens when she gave birth to her son whom she called Bohemond. Alas, Bohemond had delighted her life only briefly and to the sorrow of his parents and the whole of Sicily he died soon after his birth. But perhaps not to the sorrow of all. There was Tancred.

Tancred! He was the source of her troubles. But for Tancred she would not now be kept in restraint. Tancred had appeared at court when William was alive. He had constantly sought to distinguish himself, being clearly piqued by the fact that he was a bastard. William, easy going and a little sorry for him, had always made him welcome but Joanna had believed that his ambition was dangerous.

As William was but in his thirties and appeared to be healthy Tancred’s ambitions must have been dormant for some years, and the fact that little Bohemond had died did not mean that Joanna and William would not have more heirs. Joanna had proved that she could have sons and the fact that the first one had not survived was no indication that there would not be others. But when the baby died it was a fact that the only male heir to the Sicilian throne was Tancred, bastard though he was.

William’s sister Constancia was married to Henry of Germany, eldest son of the Emperor Frederic known as Barbarossa, and should William die without male heirs it was logical to suppose that Constancia would inherit Sicily. When William had known he was dying he had asked Joanna to come to his bedside that he might talk with her. He was deeply concerned for her. Before he had known that death was close he had made provision that in the event of his death, and Joanna’s being left a childless widow, her dowry was to be returned to her father that it might be used again to provide her with another husband. William, like most of the noblemen of his age had had dreams of joining a crusade, such an undertaking promising not only exciting adventures and rich spoil but at the same time remission of past sins, and he had been amassing treasure which would provide the means of financing such an expedition. He had decreed that if he should be unable to go these funds were to be given to the King of England to be used for his crusade.

King Henry had died in July, and it was August before the news reached Sicily. By that time William was sick.

He was comforted by the presence of Joanna whom he had loved dearly, but he was even more anxious for her welfare now that her father was dead.

‘I thank God that you have a strong brother who will protect you,’ he said. ‘If our son had lived it would have been your duty to stay here and bring him up as King. But alas our little Bohemond was not destined for such a role. The true heir is my sister Constancia. Sicily will be well governed through her and her husband and one of her sons will in due course be King of Sicily. That is taken care of. But it is your future which concerns me.’

She bade him cease to fret. ‘My father is dead, but my brother Richard is now King of England,’ she reminded him. ‘I know that he will care for me. I shall never forget how he looked after me when I arrived in Aquitaine on my way here. There is something invincible about him. I beg of you do not think of me. Prepare yourself. You have been a good husband to me, William.’

He could not bear her to leave his side and she was with him at the end. Then she went to her apartments to brood on her loss.

She had been amazed when Tancred came to her. Scarcely before William was cold, he had taken his place. Sicily needed a strong man he declared, and he was that man. He was of royal blood. It was inconceivable that the crown should go to the wife of the German Emperor when he, Tancred, was here on the spot.

She had protested indignantly. ‘It was not William’s wish that it should go to you,’ she cried.

‘William’s wishes, he being dead, are no longer of moment.’

‘That’s where you are wrong,’ cried Joanna.

‘Nay,’ said Tancred. ‘You will see that I am right.’

‘Do you think the Emperor Henry will allow you to snatch the crown from Constancia?’ she demanded.

‘Henry is far away. I am on the spot. You are to go back to England and it is in truth no concern of yours.’

‘William’s wishes are my concern.’

‘What mean you?’

‘That I cannot stand by and see you usurp the throne.’

His face was dull red. He was furiously angry with her. This was another slur on his birth. If he had been legitimate would there have been this question about his inheritance? Of course there would not. He was going to show them that bastard or not, he was a king. The finest example of a bastard’s greatness was William the First of England who was known as the Conqueror.

‘What will you do to prevent me, Madam?’ he had asked.

‘Anything in my power.’

Angrily he had left her, asking himself what she could do. She was powerless. She was merely William’s widow who had failed to give him a son. Yet, she would have the people’s sympathy as the grieving widow determined to carry out her husband’s wishes. He did not want her rousing the people against him.

Soon after he had left her the guards appeared to tell her she had been put under arrest. And thus she had remained through the winter. From the windows of her prison she had watched the spring and summer come to Palermo.

‘How long will it last?’ she had constantly asked.

It was one day in late summer when one of her attendants came to her in a state of great excitement.

‘Good news,’ she said. ‘I had it from one of the serving men who had it from a messenger who had come from afar. The King of England is setting out on a crusade to the Holy Land. The King of France is to accompany him. They are bringing their fleets to Messina and will sail from there to Acre.’

‘My brother coming to Sicily!’

‘Think not, my lady, that Richard King of England will allow you to remain Tancred’s prisoner.’

‘Nay,’ she cried. ‘He never will.’

‘Great events are afoot, my lady.’

Joanna nodded slowly. Yes indeed, she was certain of it. Great events were afoot.

Richard’s journey was taking longer than he had planned it should. He must make sure that his lands were well guarded against attack while he was away. He refused to listen to those advisers who suggested that having inherited the throne but a few months before it was a little soon to leave it. There were not many who put forward this view. They were afraid to. Giving voice to such an opinion could offend two mighty powers – Richard and Heaven – and both were believed capable of dire revenge.

There were some who raised their voices in criticism though. Fulke of Neuilly, although in favour of the crusade, doubted whether Richard was the man to lead it. That he was a great general, the finest soldier known to Europe, was accepted. But, preached Fulke, this was a holy war. How holy was Richard? There were certain ugly rumours about his private life. His passionate friendship with the King of France was remembered. And these two were the leaders of their crusades! True enough it was meet and fitting that such enterprises should be led by kings, but should not those kings mend their ways before they set themselves up as Heaven’s generals?

Richard was present when Fulke was preaching and Fulke fearlessly ended his fiery sermon by crying out: ‘Thou hast three dangerous daughters, oh Prince. They are leading you to the brink of a precipice.’

‘You are a mistaken hypocrite,’ responded Richard. ‘I have no daughters.’

‘Indeed you have,’ retorted Fulke. ‘They are Pride, Avarice and Lasciviousness.’

The King threw up his arms and cried to the assembly of peers who were present. ‘Is it so then? I will give my Pride to the Templars and Hospitallers, my avarice to the Cistercian monks and my lasciviousness to the prelates of the Church.’

There was a murmuring among the congregation and it was of approval for the King, for although he might be proud was he more so than the Templars? The Cistercians were noted for their greed; and immorality was rife in the clergy. The titter of amusement, the applause of his friends and the discomfiture of the preacher made of that occasion a victory for Richard.

The proposed crusade was very popular. On his progress throughout Normandy people came out to wish him well and many to join his ranks. It was unthinkable that the Holy City should remain in the hands of the Infidel. Those who delivered it would be for ever blessed.

There was an uncomfortable incident at Tours where the Archbishop, when blessing the proposed crusade, presented Richard with the pilgrim’s staff and wallet. Richard unfortunately leaned on the staff and as he did so it broke under his weight.

There was a cry of dismay from the watching crowd, who took it as a sign that no good would come of the crusade.

Richard wondered what his great ancestor would have done. He remembered then that when William the Conqueror had landed in England he had slipped and fallen, and with great presence of mind had seized a handful of the sand and declared that the land was already his.

Now he laughed aside the broken staff. It was a sign of his great strength, he said. It was a signal that nothing was strong enough to stand against him and everything would be broken by the weight of his strength.

This crusade must succeed, thought Richard. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong with it. He had a great adversary he knew in the form of the Sultan Saladin. Saladin it was who had taken Jerusalem and had held it now for several years. He was a great warrior it was said. Well, Richard swore, there should be a greater, and that should be himself, and he longed to come face to face with Saladin.

But there must be no hurrying over preparations. Many an expedition had failed for just that. There was often a lack of discipline in such enterprises, and Richard was determined that his crusade should not fail for that reason. So many men joined the company not for religious reasons but for love of gain. They looked for rich spoils; they wanted to fight because fighting could unleash their natural cruelty; the greatest sport in their minds was the pillaging of towns and the raping of terrified women and children; but perhaps above all they wanted the rich ornaments, the fortune that could come to them through war. To be able to enjoy all this under the guise of religion was a heaven-sent opportunity. The Infidel on the other hand was the defender of what he believed was his by right and this gave him the advantage. Many of them were protecting their homes and their religious motives were as strong as those of the Christians. Richard knew full well that they would never be easily conquered. But he was determined that his armies should be as efficient as he could make them, and he saw that this could only be achieved by a fierce discipline. He had discussed this with Philip. Philip was too lenient with his armies he said. Philip’s answer was that men should not follow their leader through fear. They should do so through affection.

Richard would not have conflict within his own ranks. He had made new laws for his crusading armies and he was determined that they should be enforced. If two men fought together and one killed the other, he should die in the following manner: if they were on board ship, the survivor should be bound to the dead man and the two of them thrown overboard; if the fight was on land, they should be bound together in the same way and buried together. Any man who drew a knife against another or struck another and drew blood was to have his hand cut off. If no blood was drawn the miscreant was to be thrown into the sea and if he could save himself he should be thrown in again twice more. If he managed to survive after three immersions he would be considered to have paid for his crime. The penalty for uttering foul language was a fine of an ounce of silver. A thief should be shaved, tarred and feathered, boiling pitch poured over his head and a feathered pillow be shaken over him and he should be set ashore on the first land the ship touched.

Each man knew that these punishments would be carried out if he offended, for Richard was not a king to show mercy. Therefore there was little trouble in the ranks of his followers by the time he had reached Marseilles.

It was a great disappointment to discover that the fleet he had expected to find waiting for him had not yet arrived. He waited in great impatience for a week, after which he could endure the delay no longer. It seemed almost certain that Philip, in taking a more overland route, had been wiser. It was all very well for the English to sneer at the French and murmur that they were afraid of the sea. At least Philip had had the good sense not to expose his men to that uncertain element. What had become of his navy? wondered Richard and he was frustrated and anxious. In desperation he engaged twenty galleys and ten busses which could transport him with a proportion of his army, and set out, leaving the rest to wait for the navy and follow with it.

When he arrived at Genoa it was to learn that Philip was there. He was resting in one of the palaces which had been put at his disposal for he was recovering from a fever.

Richard at once went to see him, and found the French King looking pale and ill, but his face lit up with pleasure when he saw Richard.