by Jean Plaidy
‘She is an elegant Princess.’
Philip nodded.
‘Then all is well. We will conclude a treaty that all the world will know there is amity between us.’
They drank together and made plans for the future and a few days later the treaty was drawn up.
Richard was to be free to marry where he pleased, in spite of the bond entered into with the Princess Alice. He must however pay the King of France three thousand marks to round off the bargain and there were other clauses concerning territories on French soil which were to be exchanged.
Richard signed the contract without demur. He was growing a little anxious, for Queen Eleanor had sent urgent messages to him. England had long been without a ruler – in fact ever since the King had set out and she had not been there to represent him. Richard must not forget that ambitious men in his realm might well be ready to exploit the situation for their advantage. It was time she returned to England to keep an eye on affairs; she did not see how she could do that while she had the Princess Berengaria in her charge.
It was imperative, she said, that the marriage take place without delay. Then Berengaria could accompany him and she, Eleanor, could return to England.
As for Joanna, she could not remain in Sicily, for could Tancred be trusted to treat her with respect when Richard was not there to enforce this?
Eleanor thought that as she herself must return to England it would be a good idea for Joanna to accompany Berengaria and Richard. Joanna would be a companion for the young Queen and as Richard would be engaged in battle it would be good for the two young women to be together.
Richard saw this as sound common sense.
He wrote to his mother to bring Berengaria to Sicily.
Chapter V
THE WEDDING IS POSTPONED
The water sparkled in the Bay which was dominated by the great peak of Vesuvius, and every morning when Berengaria awoke she looked at it and asked herself whether that day the message would come.
All through the winter she had waited and she knew that her future mother-in-law was also growing restive. Queen Eleanor hated inactivity. She would have liked to sail to Sicily without waiting for Richard’s commands but even she realised that could not be done.
Berengaria would sit for hours with her embroidery while Eleanor read aloud or played her lute and sang; but, although Berengaria was noted for her skill with the needle and Eleanor was a poet and musician, neither of these occupations could satisfy them.
Berengaria was filled with longing to be with her bridegroom elect; Eleanor yearned for activity – anything rather than nothing. She had had her freedom too recently not to wish to exploit it to the full and here she was confined in this house lent to them by a member of the nobility until such a time as Richard would send for them.
March had come. ‘It can’t be long now,’ said Berengaria as they sat together at the open window looking out over the Bay. ‘One day his ship will come and with it orders to take us from this place.’
‘I cannot think what is happening,’ grumbled Eleanor.
‘We can rest assured that as soon as it is possible he will send for us,’ said Berengaria.
Eleanor brooded in silence. What was happening at Messina? She had heard of course that Tancred had imprisoned Joanna and that Richard had quickly brought about her freedom. But why should the Kings of England and France dally there all through the winter? Of course they had to consider the weather and it would have been folly to set out in December. But surely they had known this and should have left earlier. What could it mean? There were whispers about the friendship of the Kings. How significant was this? Louis’ son Philip and her son Richard!
Oh God, she thought, how You have interwoven our lives!
She looked at the charming profile of the girl who was to be Richard’s wife. How innocent she was! She would have no idea of the dark passions which beset human beings. How different she, Eleanor, had been at her age. She laughed at the thought. But then she had been born worldly. Poor Berengaria! But should one say poor? Perhaps it was an enviable state of mind which enabled one to go through the world seeing good and evil clearly defined.
To Berengaria Richard was a noble hero. All he did was right; she saw him as a man dedicated to a holy cause rather than a soldier seeking personal glory. She thought he slaughtered for the sake of a cause not to satisfy some cruel aspect of his nature which gloated on the sufferings of others.
I must not disillusion her, she thought. She will be a better wife to Richard if she continues to believe he is some sort of god. She will need patience, poor child. She will need to keep her beliefs.
‘It may be that he cannot get his release from Alice,’ said Berengaria fearfully.
‘He is determined not to marry her. He is betrothed to you now. Have no fear he will send for us as soon as he is free to do so.’
‘The King of France is with him. Could they not settle the matter together?’
‘My child, powerful kings are not like ordinary men. They seek to take advantage of every situation and you can be assured that Philip is no exception.’
‘What will become of Alice? I feel sorry for her.’
‘Do not waste your feelings on her. She has had her day.’
‘It could never have been a happy day, could it? The King visiting her in secret . . . and the shame of it.’
‘Such as she revel in shame. You do not know what my husband was like. There was something overpowering about him.’
‘Then I daresay she found it hard to resist him.’
Eleanor laughed bitterly. ‘Well, she must pay for her pleasures. Philip will have to take her back and leave Richard free to marry you.’ Eleanor rose and went to the window and stood there watching. ‘Now that the weather is becoming more clement they will want to sail for Acre,’ she said.
‘Do you think I shall be married in Sicily?’
‘It seems likely that you will. I trust so because I wish to see you married and I must return soon to England.’
‘How I wish that we could all go there!’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Do not let Richard hear you say that. He is set on this crusade. It has long been a dream of his that he will be the one to drive the Infidel from the Holy Land and he believes God has chosen him to do this.’
Berengaria let her needlework fall into her lap and gazed to the ceiling. ‘What a noble ideal!’ she murmured.
‘He would not wish anything or anyone to stand in his way.’
‘Nor must they.’
Eleanor turned round. ‘Nay my child. We must both remember that. How I should love to go with him to the Holy Land. I did go once, you know, with my first husband, the King of France. You may have heard something of my adventures there. They were much talked of at the time.’
‘Yes,’ said Berengaria quietly, ‘I have heard.’
‘I was young and full of high spirits. There was much scandal. But this passes. If you go with your husband you will be very discreet, I know. That will be best . . . for you. You will be a good wife to Richard, Berengaria. Never question his motives. Always remember that you cannot understand all that goes on in his mind. Do not attempt to stop him when he wants to follow a certain course. His father and I quarrelled. We disagreed on everything. I could not bear his infidelities.’
‘I do not think I shall suffer so with Richard.’
Eleanor looked with pity at the girl. She did not know. Perhaps she did not understand these innuendoes about the King of France. Let her go on in ignorance. It was better so.
‘And because we disagreed,’ went on Eleanor, ‘I spent years in captivity and his sons went to war against him. We were neither of us very happy in our family life. Strangely now, I see how it might have been so different. But one must never look back. That is one of the lessons I have learned from life. You act in such a way because you want to. All very well but don’t whine when you are asked to pay the price such action demands. It is a good maxim.’
; ‘You are very wise,’ said Berengaria.
‘And old,’ said Eleanor. ‘Those who shared my youth are now dead or nearly so. Yet I go on.’
‘Long may you do so,’ said Berengaria fervently.
‘You are a good child and I wish you happiness. I hope our paths will someday lie together.’
‘Why should they not?’
‘Because, my child, you have a roving husband and I fancy that my duty lies in England. Indeed I fret about that land now. It is without a ruler. It was a mistake to leave it so soon. I shall have to return ere long. I have sent messages to Richard telling him that I have had uneasy reports. I shall have to go back soon.’
‘You will not leave me?’
‘Nay, child. But I must give you to your husband soon. I long too to see my daughter. Joanna was always one of my favourites. Such a pretty child she was. Her husband was delighted with her when she went to him and it was a happy marriage . . . and then he died and she became Tancred’s prisoner.’
‘That is over. Richard came and rescued her.’
‘Let us hope he will soon rescue us from this uneventful existence.’
Within a few days their wish was granted. A ship arrived to take them to Messina where Richard was awaiting them.
Philip came to the Villa de Muschet among the vineyards and Richard received him in his private chamber.
‘To what do I owe this honour?’ he asked.
‘To the fact that I have come to say I shall be leaving Sicily immediately.’
‘Why the hurry?’ demanded Richard.
‘Because, my dear friend, I have tarried here too long. Tomorrow I set sail for Acre.’
‘So you would take the city that all the honour might be yours.’
‘It is easy to prevent that by coming with me.’
‘My bride and my mother are on the way here.’
‘Divert them to Acre.’
‘What! To an enemy stronghold?’
‘We have dallied too long, Richard. I intend to go now. Come with me.’
‘What of my bride?’
‘What care you for your bride?’
‘You are mad, Philip.’
‘Is it mad to speak the truth? You and I have little time for women. Oh, we must get our heirs it is true and I was blessed in my consort. I would she were alive now. But I felt no yearning to be with her, even as it is with you and Berengaria. I wish you to accompany me, Richard. Have you forgotten our plans?’
‘Nay, I have not forgotten, but I cannot leave Messina now. I must receive my bride and my mother.’
‘Then perforce it is farewell.’
‘We shall meet before the walls of Acre.’
‘It may be that you will find the golden lilies flying over that town by the time you make your sluggard’s entrance.’
‘We shall see, Philip.’
‘Then you will not come with me?’
‘I see that you would force me to a folly that you might say: “See Richard of England cared more for the King of France than he did for his bride.”’
‘You wrong me. It is your company I crave, not what people should say of us.’
‘And I must say Nay. If you go now, you go alone.’
‘Then I shall see you at Acre.’
Richard nodded.
Philip came to him and embraced him. ‘Richard, mayhap you will change your mind.’
Richard shook his head. Philip turned away and went from the room.
In the bay the French fleet was preparing to leave.
It sailed out of Messina just as the ship bearing Berengaria and Eleanor sailed in.
Richard was on the shore to greet his bride and his mother. Eleanor came first, her eyes alight with pleasure to see her noble-looking son. Every time she saw him after an absence she was amazed at his good looks. She glanced at Berengaria beside her. The girl was bemused. What bride would not be at the sight of such a magnificent bridegroom?
How graciously he received them; he took Berengaria’s hands in his and gravely kissed her. Then he embraced his mother.
As they rode together to the lodging which he had prepared for them. Richard’s spirits were lifted a little. Berengaria was indeed elegant. She was exquisitely gowned, her hair was hanging loose and was covered by a mantilla-like veil; her long gown flowed about her slender figure and those who had come to watch her were enchanted by her grace.
At the house Joanna was waiting for them. When she saw her mother she forgot all ceremony. They ran to each other and Joanna was clasped in a loving embrace.
‘My dear dear child,’ cried Eleanor with emotion.
‘It has been so long since I saw you,’ replied Joanna. ‘Oh, Mother, you are still beautiful . . . in spite of everything. You always will be.’
‘And you too, my dear. Oh, it has been such a time and what events have plagued us both and now we are together for but a short time.’
‘Need it be so?’
‘I fear it. There is much I have to say to your brother and I want you here, daughter, for I think we shall need you.’
‘Everything I have is at your service and that of Richard.’
‘He has been a good brother to you.’
‘None could have been better,’ said Joanna fervently.
Berengaria and Joanna appeared to have taken to each other. Berengaria was ready to be delighted by any member of her new family and Joanna wanted to show her gratitude to Richard by being charming to his bride.
Eleanor, watching them together, was delighted. That they should be good friends was part of her plan.
She was very eager to talk to Richard and she wished to do so out of earshot of the two young women. She suggested that Joanna conduct Berengaria to her apartment and leave her a while with her son.
When she and Richard were alone she said: ‘Well, events are moving at last. It is time. I am deeply concerned about affairs in England.’
Richard looked a little weary. A fact which disturbed her.
She spoke to him somewhat sharply. ‘Never forget, Richard, that you are King of England.’
‘Indeed I do not.’
‘You have responsibilities there.’
‘I have one great responsibility at this time, Mother. I have sworn on my solemn oath to free Jerusalem from the Infidel.’
‘I know this well, but you have also been crowned in Westminster and sworn another oath. The English grow restive under Longchamp. Sometimes I think it was unwise to raise that man so high.’
‘He is clever and Hugh Pusey of Durham is his co-justiciar.’
‘They are quarrelling. Your father always said that Long-champ was a man to be wary of.’
‘I found him hard-working and devoted.’
‘He is unpopular. Appearances are important and he is far from prepossessing. Being deformed and lame is bad enough, but as his manners match his looks the people are against him. There is going to be trouble in England, Richard. Either you or I must be there without delay and if you will not go, then I must.’
‘Will you do that?’ asked Richard eagerly. ‘Only you can.’
‘I will, Richard, but you must know that each day could be important.’
‘Do you wish to leave us as soon as you have come?’
‘I must. As soon as the wedding is over I must go back to England.’
‘The wedding . . .’ murmured Richard. ‘It cannot be hurried.’
‘Hurried!’ cried Eleanor. ‘My dear son, we have been waiting weeks to get here.’
‘We are in Lent.’
‘Well?’
‘You cannot suggest we should marry at such a time. It would be a bad augury. It might affect the outcome of the crusade.’
She looked at him in dismay. Oh, God, she thought, he is reluctant for this marriage. Why so? Where could he find a more attractive and docile princess?
But he had never complained about the delay in his marriage to Princess Alice. The answer was, of course, that Richard was not eager for any marriage. Th
e controversy over Alice had not disturbed him in the least. In fact he had been glad of it.
She could see at once that it would be unwise to press for an early marriage.
She did say: ‘The King of Navarre will expect his daughter to be married soon.’
‘So shall she be when the time is ripe.’
‘And I dare not tarry here, Richard. If you would hold England I must be there to see none try to snatch it from you.’
‘You are surely not thinking of John?’
‘I am thinking of any who might try to cheat you of your inheritance. I must be there, Richard. You know I am the only one you can be absolutely sure of.’
‘I know it well.’
‘Then I will leave for England.’
‘When?’
‘Within a day or so.’
‘Oh surely not so soon, Mother!’
‘It must be so. Berengaria needs a chaperon . . . until you marry her. Of course if the ceremony took place now while I was here . . .’
‘It is quite impossible. I have to think of the consequences of a Lenten wedding.’
She was silent. Then she said: ‘You must marry her, Richard, as soon as Lent is over.’
‘Indeed it is my wish to do so.’
‘But I cannot stay for the end of that season. By good fortune Joanna is here.’
‘Joanna yes. She shall be Berengaria’s duenna.’
Eleanor sighed. There were deep misgivings in her heart. Possible trouble in England, and Richard, after all the anxieties and difficulties of extricating himself from marriage with Alice showing no great desire for marriage with Berengaria.
She would speak to Joanna. Her daughter was wise. Then she must make her preparations to depart. It was imperative that Richard should not lose the crown of England.
Eleanor was desolate, she told Joanna. She had so recently joined her family and now she must tear herself away from it. Alas, this was a common enough turn of events in royal families.
‘My dearest daughter,’ she said, ‘how wonderful it is for us to be together and how sad that we soon must part. You have been more fortunate than most for, although you are a widow now, your husband was a good man.’
‘He was very good to me, Mother.’