The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  It was a great adventure to visit the shops, slipping out of the house without the knowledge of Sir Stephen who would have been horrified at the thought of his precious charges roaming the streets.

  But how it relieved the days! The three of them – for the Cypriot Princess was still their constant companion – would venture out in the quiet of the afternoon and walk along by the Tiber and savour freedom.

  They loved best to visit the market and so carefully had they disguised themselves that they were not recognised and were thought to be ordinary travellers who were pausing on their journey to spend a short time in Rome as so many people did.

  All three loved to visit the goldsmiths’ and silversmiths’ shops, there to see the wonderfully wrought pieces of jewellery at which the jewellers of Rome seemed to excel.

  They had bought several trinkets and were known as good customers so that when they were seen the traders would bring out what they considered choice pieces.

  One afternoon the three young women had dressed in their simple gowns and wimples and gone out into the streets making their way to the market and the goldsmith’s shop.

  Berengaria was interested in a ring and wanted to look at it again. It was a glowing emerald set in gold.

  She turned it over in her hand, tried it on her finger.

  ‘The setting is exquisite,’ she said, ‘but there is a flaw in the stone.’

  ‘I see you have an eye for precious stones, my lady,’ said the jeweller.

  Joanna said: ‘’Tis a pretty ring. But if you do not like the emerald why do you not choose some other stone?’

  ‘I have the very thing,’ cried the jeweller. ‘Some very fine stones have just come into my possession. One moment please.’

  He disappeared into a room behind the shop and came back holding a belt which was set with many dazzling gems.

  ‘I have only just bought this . . .’ he began.

  Berengaria swayed a little and Joanna caught her arm. ‘What ails you?’ she asked.

  ‘I feel unwell,’ said Berengaria. ‘But no matter . . . May I look at the belt?’

  ‘Assuredly, my lady. These stones are very fine indeed. It is rarely that such have come into my possession.’

  Berengaria held out her hands and took the belt. She turned it over and looked at it closely.

  ‘You see, my lady, this emerald . . . It is finer than anything I have here. And I would not ask much. The one who sold the belt knew not its value. I got a bargain so I am in a position to make you a very fair price.’

  Berengaria handed him back the belt.

  She turned to Joanna. ‘I must go back,’ she said. ‘I feel unwell.’

  ‘Then let us go at once,’ said Joanna. She turned to the jeweller. ‘We will come again when my sister is better.’

  They came out into the street.

  ‘Berengaria, what ails you?’

  Berengaria said slowly, ‘That jewelled belt . . . I know it well. I have seen it before. Richard was wearing it the last time I saw him.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ murmured Joanna.

  ‘I don’t know. I am very uneasy.’

  ‘It could be another belt.’

  ‘There is only one such belt.’

  ‘It might mean that he gave it to someone who sold it to this merchant.’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Berengaria, ‘but I greatly fear that some harm has befallen him.’

  Sir Stephen was horrified when they told him – not so much at first about the belt but the fact that they had been out in the streets without protection. It must never happen again, he said; if they must go out he would send two men to guard them.

  ‘And let it be known who we are!’ cried Joanna. ‘The fun of the adventure is in our not being recognised.’

  ‘I want no one to know your identity,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘until I have seen the Pope.’

  ‘But what think you of this belt?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘If it is indeed the King’s . . .’

  ‘It is the King’s,’ insisted Berengaria. ‘I know it well. I noticed it the very last time I saw him wearing it.’

  ‘I will go to this goldsmith,’ said Stephen, ‘and ask for fine jewels. I will ask him to show me the belt, and ask him how he acquired it.’

  ‘And if it is Richard’s . . .’ began Joanna.

  ‘He may have given it away.’

  ‘To whom would he give such a valuable piece?’

  ‘We cannot say,’ said Sir Stephen. ‘It is something we must attempt to find out.’

  Later that day he went to the goldsmith and came back with the news that he had seen the belt and agreed with Berengaria that it belonged to Richard. The goldsmith told him that he had bought it from a merchant who had come from Austria.

  ‘That means Richard must be there,’ said Joanna.

  They were startled by the news. Richard should never have set foot in Austria. They all knew how Leopold had disliked him. He had never forgiven him for what he called the slight on the walls of Acre, and that other incident when Richard had actually kicked him before his followers.

  They were all very uneasy.

  Sir Stephen had told them not to return to the goldsmith. He would be suspicious of too much interest in the jewelled belt. They could not resist going out but they did follow Sir Stephen’s orders by taking two menservants with them.

  There was a great deal of gossip in the streets. As they mingled with the crowds they heard Richard’s name mentioned.

  They went into a shop to buy silk for which the city was renowned, and there they heard more rumours.

  The owner of the shop told them that he had heard that the great Richard Coeur de Lion had been travelling near Vienna with his page and that he had been captured.

  ‘Captured!’ cried Joanna indignantly. ‘How could this be? He would never allow himself to be captured.’

  ‘I but tell what I hear, my lady,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘The rumour is that the great King was shipwrecked and came to the Austrian coast and that many of his friends were captured. He was the last to be taken but he had gone on with only his page and the page was taken and confessed who his master was.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘That no one knows,’ was the answer. ‘But it seems certain that the hero of the crusades is now in the hands of his enemies.’

  They hurried back. There they found Stephen. He too had heard the rumours.

  ‘If it is true that Richard is indeed in the hands of the Duke of Austria that means also the Emperor of Germany. We must take especial care. Were we to venture out of Rome it might well be that we too should be captured.’

  ‘Of what use would that do Richard’s enemies?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘They would doubtless give a great deal to lay their hands on the wife and sister of the King. Nay, we shall not now ask the Pope for safe conduct to Pisa, but that we may rest here for a while until we can learn whether there is any truth in these rumours.’

  There must be no more wandering in the streets. The situation was perilous. If the King were indeed the prisoner of his enemies, then he was in no position to protect his wife and sister. Any ill might befall them and there be none to avenge them, for there was another rumour which was to the effect that the King’s brother John was in no mood to help his brother.

  Stephen was relieved when he received the Pope’s permission for the Queens and their party to remain in Rome.

  How endless the days seemed now! There was no longer any doubt that Richard was a prisoner though none knew where he had been incarcerated. That he was in the hands of the Emperor Henry VI of Germany there seemed to be no doubt, and Henry would certainly not feel very friendly towards the man who had allied himself with Tancred, the usurper of his wife’s crown of Sicily. The future looked black for Richard unless he could contrive to escape.

  There was little news of England and that which came was disturbing. It seemed that Richard’s brother John was determined to take advantag
e of Richard’s absence and was seeking to take the throne itself.

  The two Queens with their Cypriot friend, who never seemed to wish to leave them, passed their days in embroidering, playing chess and conversing with each other.

  ‘It seems it would have been better if Richard had never left England,’ said Joanna. ‘What good has he achieved in Palestine? What lasting good I mean; and when you think of all the blood that has been shed and treasure that has been lost . . . and now where is the King? And we are here in this foreign city depending on the goodwill of the Pope. What is the good of it all, Berengaria?’

  ‘Life is sometimes hard,’ said Berengaria. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I shall ever lead a natural life with Richard.’

  ‘And you, little one,’ said Joanna turning to the Cypriot, ‘what do you wonder?’

  ‘When I shall see my father again. Whether I shall ever have a husband.’

  ‘Who can say what will befall any of us,’ said Joanna.

  So they talked again and again of their plight and constantly they speculated on what the future would bring.

  ‘We cannot stay here for ever,’ said Joanna to Sir Stephen. ‘It is five months now since we came.’

  Sir Stephen replied that if the Pope would give them safe conduct to Pisa and from thence to Genoa, they could now sail for Marseilles.

  ‘I would he would do so,’ said Joanna fervently. ‘I am tired of remaining in one place.’

  ‘We must remember though,’ said Sir Stephen, ‘with the King a prisoner if we were taken it might go hard with us.’

  ‘I would take the risk,’ declared Joanna.

  The others agreed with her.

  Finally the Pope sent word to them that he would instruct one of his Cardinals to give them safe conduct to Pisa. They were overjoyed when at last Cardinal Mellar came to them and told them that on the Pope’s orders he would look after them.

  The journey to Pisa was made without incident and from that town they were conducted to Genoa where a ship was found to take them to Marseilles.

  It was a great pleasure for Berengaria on arriving at Marseilles to find that they were met by Alfonso of Aragon, a friend and a kinsman whom she was sure she could trust. He embraced her with great warmth and was gracious to Joanna and the Princess.

  He welcomed them to Marseilles and he said how pleased he was that they had escaped mishap on their arduous journey.

  ‘You are safe now,’ he told them. ‘I myself will conduct you from my Provençal lands and I shall make sure that I place you in the hands of one whom I can trust.’

  Travelling with Alfonso was very different from travelling with the Pope’s emissary. There was feasting and entertaining wherever they stopped and Berengaria could not help hoping that the journey would take a very long time. Her future seemed uncertain whether Richard remained a prisoner or came home. It was disconcerting to have a husband who was no husband.

  Too soon it seemed they reached the borders of Provence where they rested, while awaiting the coming of the Count of Toulouse.

  ‘The Count of Toulouse,’ cried Berengaria. ‘Did he not invade Guinne recently?’

  ‘That was the father of this Raymond,’ explained Alfonso. ‘He is a strong man and a gallant one; he is eager to conduct you to Normandy and to give his life if need be in your defence.’

  Berengaria was worried. Her brother Sancho had beaten the Count of Toulouse in battle and it seemed strange that an enemy should be their protector.

  However when the Count arrived, she was charmed by him. He was very handsome and his manner charming. He immediately disarmed suspicions by declaring that he wanted to wipe out his father’s indiscretion and if he could serve the ladies with his life he would be content.

  Even Joanna, who was never impressed by flattery, was charmed by him.

  And as they made their journey towards Poitou she became more and more so. She and the Count rode together, talked together, and could not it seemed have enough of each other’s company.

  ‘You will be sorry when we have to say good-bye to the Count of Toulouse,’ said Berengaria.

  Joanna admitted this would be so.

  Chapter XV

  LONGCHAMP AND PRINCE JOHN

  While Richard was on his way to Acre, Prince John was riding towards the west. His feelings were mingled whenever he went that way – pride was uppermost, pride in his great possessions; distaste was there, too, when he considered the woman he had had to take to wife to win such lands. She bored him, except when she had been frightened of him in the first days when they were together. It was not that she was less frightened later, but that her fear no longer amused him.

  She was a plain little thing, Hadwisa. Fate was perverse in making women like that the heiresses to great fortunes. Hadwisa ought to have married some minor nobleman and lived quietly in the country all her life. That would have suited her. She was no wife for a man who would one day be King of England.

  Oh yes, I shall be, he told himself savagely. I should be now, for that was my father’s wish.

  His friends told him it was necessary to bide his time but he was tired of biding his time. He hated waiting for anything. He wanted his desires immediately. It had always been so with him.

  Still the stage was set. Richard was only just starting on his crusade and – who knew – some Saracen arrow might be the end of him – an arrow with a goodly serving of poison at the tip, and might it go right through his heart . . . or perhaps his eye. That would make him smart. Perhaps even proud brave Richard would cry for God’s mercy if that happened to him.

  ‘And I should mount the throne,’ murmured John.

  Still, as those who wished him well kept reminding him, he must be patient. The unpopularity of Longchamp was rising and if he could drive him out of the country . . . well, then it would not be so difficult.

  He could see the turrets of the castle and he wondered whether Hadwisa was looking out for him. Once he had made her confess that she looked every day. He could picture her trembling with fear when she saw a party of horsemen approaching, asking herself, Is that my doting husband, John?

  He saw her rarely, but when he did he liked to remind her that she was his wife. He wondered why she was barren. Not that he gave her many opportunities to bear his child, but she had had a chance to conceive. He was not sure whether he cared or not. He would have liked a son; on the other hand if the day came when he could rid himself of Hadwisa, which he would do if he became King, her infertility would be a good excuse to put beside that of consanguinity.

  ‘Sound the trumpets,’ he ordered; and he laughed inwardly. Let her hear them. Let her start to tremble.

  Immediately the trumpets sounded. Every one of his servants was afraid of his temper. It was as violent as that of his father, only he could be more vicious. Henry II had always prided himself on being just but John did not care for justice if it interfered with his desires, and he enjoyed seeing men tremble before him.

  They rode into the castle. As he had expected Hadwisa had heard the trumpets. She was down there with the stirrup cup.

  ‘Ah, my love,’ he cried. ‘My heart beats faster to see you. And you show me clearly that you are as eager for a sight of me as I am for you.’ He laughed at the irony of this. ‘Good mulled wine,’ he went on. ‘Come, sweetheart, sip the loving cup with me.’ Let her taste it first. Who knew, she might make up her mind to poison him one day. If so let her be the one to take her own poison.

  She sipped.

  ‘Again, my love,’ he said. ‘Again! Again!’ and he jerked the goblet so that she must either drink or choke.

  Then he put it to his lips.

  He leaped from his horse and embraced her in a manner which brought a blush to her cheek.

  ‘Come to our chamber,’ he said. And turning to his attendants : ‘You know how impatient I am. So first leave me with my wife.’

  She was aware of the sly smiles. They knew that he was laughing at her, that last evening he had made sport
with other women and that he had said of them, when complimenting them on their skill in that art in which he declared he excelled more than in any other, that they reminded him of his wife by the very difference in them.

  Hadwisa trembling in his grip could do nothing but be taken to their chamber. There he ordered her to take off her gown and await him. His method was always different. On the journeys to the castle he would enjoy planning how he could best frighten her. There were times when he made fierce onslaughts which nauseated her; at others he would ignore her altogether. He enjoyed watching her terror and her sudden relief when she thought she was going to be ignored and then he would find the greatest pleasure in letting her see that she was deceived.

  As for Hadwisa, who had been gently nurtured in a household where she had been witness to the tender affection of her parents and who had attended the weddings of her sisters, she truly believed that she had married a monster.

  Her modesty which he called prudery sometimes amused him, sometimes angered him. It would depend on his mood.

  On this day the torturing of Hadwisa was of secondary importance. His mind was on the unpopularity of Longchamp and how he could best take advantage of it.

  He was not thinking of her lying there on her bed asking herself what form the torture would take on this occasion but he went over and looked down at her. She was by no means voluptuous. Yes, he would rid himself of her when the time came. Perhaps then it was better not to plant his seed in her. Children made difficulties. If she could read his thoughts she would be relieved so he would not tell her. Her family must not know yet that it was in his mind to cast her off. He had her lands safely enough, what did he want with her?

  He sat down on the stool and looked at his boots.

  He said: ‘There are great events afoot, wife.’

  She did not answer. He shouted: ‘Heard you not my words?’

  ‘Yes, I heard, John. There are great events afoot.’

  ‘The people hate Longchamp.’

  ‘I have heard that many murmur against him.’