A King's Ransom (121 page)

“I had not thought of it that way. I think you might well be right.”

“I know I am. I’d be the last woman in Christendom to dismiss the potent power of Raimond’s charm. But charm does not work well with princes of the Church or disgruntled, disloyal vassals, and I’ve been unable to make Raimond see that. In truth, he shares another trait with Richard that I wish he did not. Neither one has any interest in bearbaiting, but they both enjoy baiting their enemies. Raimond jokes that I see it as my wifely duty to keep him off the road to Hell, and he is not far wrong about that. Our lives would be so much more peaceful if only I could get him to understand that churchmen ought not to be publicly mocked, even when they deserve it, and not all rebels are worthy of his mercy.”

“Is this why you are so set upon seeing Richard?”

Joanna nodded. “I am hoping that he’ll heed Richard as he’s not heeded me. It is easy enough for him to dismiss my opinions about rebellions. But if Richard tells him that a ruler needs to be feared as well as respected, he might well listen. I do not expect him to adorn the roads of Toulouse with the rotting heads of treacherous lords and outlaws. He just needs to understand that there are times when forbearance only encourages further defiance.”

Mariam was relieved to know that Joanna’s mission had her husband’s grudging consent. But now that they were finally able to speak freely again, she meant to take advantage of the opportunity. “When we get to Poitiers, Joanna, I think we ought to summon a physician. It is obvious to me that you are ailing.”

“I am not ill, Mariam.” Joanna paused before saying reluctantly, “I am with child.”

Mariam stared at her. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Even Raimond does not know yet. I was not sure myself when we left Toulouse. I’d missed my March flux, but one miss does not mean all that much. But I ought to have had my April flux a fortnight ago and it did not come. I’ve also begun to feel queasy in the past few days. It may be why I am so tired, too. I never felt so bone-weary with the other pregnancies, though.”

Mariam knew she had an expressive face and she could only hope that her misgivings did not show too nakedly. She sensed that Joanna had some ambivalence, too. Not too many women would have welcomed three pregnancies in three years. She did not doubt that this was why Joanna was so exhausted; her body had not had time to recover. Well, now that she knew, she meant to make this pregnancy as easy for Joanna as she could, whether Joanna liked being fussed over or not. “I think that when we get to Poitiers, we ought to take one of the palace horse litters. That is bound to be more comfortable for you than riding Ginger.” She was pleased when Joanna did not protest, but surprised, too, which confirmed her suspicions that Joanna was not feeling well at all.

While Roger had allowed his knights to dismount and stretch and go into the bushes to relieve themselves if needed, he’d kept several on watch, and one of them now yelled, “Riders coming!” The warning stirred up a flurry of activity, for the roads were not always safe, not even for those as well armed as Joanna’s escort. She let Mariam assist her to her feet, sorry their respite had been so brief. By now the men had relaxed, for the lead rider was one of their own, Sir Alain de Muret, the knight Roger had sent on ahead to Poitiers.

Joanna soon recognized the man riding at Alain’s side. “That is Maurice de Blaron,” she told Mariam. “As Bishop of Nantes, he accompanied Constance when she came to meet Richard at Caen a few years ago. I’d heard that he’d been elected recently as Bishop of Poitiers, but I did not expect him to ride out like this to bid me welcome.” Turning so Mariam could brush off her skirts, she smiled over her shoulder. “I must remember to tell Raimond that not all churchmen are hostile to the Count of Toulouse.”

Mariam smiled, too, touched by Joanna’s pride in her husband. She was rarely so naïve, for surely the bishop was honoring the Lionheart’s sister, not Raimond’s wife. Joining Joanna beside Roger, they watched as the riders approached. Joanna’s smile soon vanished, for the bishop and his entourage were as somber as men leading a funeral cortege and Alain slumped in his saddle as if he bore the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

Joanna took an instinctive backward step as she realized she was watching a wave of sorrow sweeping toward her, one that would engulf her world. She knew, of course, what grief they were bringing her. Her mother was in her seventy-fifth year. Rarely a day passed that Joanna did not thank the Almighty for letting her mother live to such an impressive age, but she never forgot that Eleanor’s remaining time on God’s Earth was borrowed and payment would eventually come due. Because she’d so often dwelt upon this inevitable loss, she’d believed that she would find that loss easier to accept when it came. She now knew that she was wrong.

“My mother . . .” Discovering that the words were impossible to say, she let them hang in the air, like distant echoes of thunder. Alain had already dismounted. He knelt before her, and she saw tear tracks streaking through the dust of the road on his upturned face. He said nothing, though, and it was left to the bishop to break her heart.

He was not a young man and had been afflicted with the joint evil, so he needed help in dismounting. “My lady countess, there is no easy way to deliver such news as this. It is the king. He is dead.”

There were outcries behind her, but Joanna never heard them. “No,” she said. “That cannot be.”

“I am sorry, my lady. The ways of the Almighty are not always easy to understand. But with God’s grace, even the greatest losses can be endured. It will be my privilege to pray with you and my honor to say a Requiem Mass for the king on the morrow. If you open your heart to God’s healing, He will not deny you His mercy.”

Joanna was not listening. “No. Not Richard. I do not believe you.” She would have continued to deny it, this monstrous lie. But something strange was happening. The ground was shifting under her feet and the horizon had begun to tilt, as if the world were suddenly out of focus. Mariam and Roger got to her before she fell, but by then she was already spiraling down into darkness.

T
HE
A
BBESS
M
ATHILDE PAUSED
in the doorway of Eleanor’s bedchamber, not wanting to disturb the woman in the bed. “How does she?” she asked softly as Mariam hastily rose to bid her welcome.

“She is sleeping now.”

“I was told she fainted in the church?”

Mariam nodded, thinking it a miracle that Joanna had not collapsed sooner. She’d agreed to stay just one night at Poitiers before riding on to Fontevrault, only to be told that her mother had departed the abbey not long after Richard’s Palm Sunday funeral. Joanna had insisted upon going at once into the church then, where she’d knelt for hours in the nun’s choir, praying for her brother until her body could endure no more. Now she slept but she did not seem to be finding any peace in her dreams, for she whimpered from time to time, turning her head from side to side as if seeking escape from a reality too painful to be borne.

The abbess soon departed, saying she’d be back later. The Prioress Aliza was the next visitor, pulling up a chair and joining Mariam’s bedside vigil. “She does not look well,” she murmured. “Shall we send for a doctor?”

Mariam hesitated before shaking her head. “I think she just needs to sleep.”

They’d been keeping their voices low, but Joanna’s lashes had begun to flutter. Her eyes were swollen to slits and filled with such anguish that Mariam’s own eyes blurred with tears.

The prioress reached over and took Joanna’s hand in her own. “I can tell you what has been happening if you wish. Once he was safely away from Brittany, Count John’s first action was to ride to Chinon and take control of the royal treasury. The young Breton duke and his mother chose to head for Angers, where he was warmly welcomed and, on Easter, proclaimed as Count of Anjou. Count John then had a very narrow escape, for he was almost captured at Le Mans. But the citizens had been so unfriendly that he’d departed at dawn, just hours before the Bretons arrived to occupy the city, where they were joined by the French king. By then, Count John was racing for Rouen, with the intention to be invested as Duke of Normandy ere he sails for England. I’ve been told that Normandy and England are likely to back his claim whilst Anjou, Maine, and Touraine favor Arthur—”

“What of my mother?” Joanna interrupted, for she was not yet ready to contemplate a world without Richard; as raw as her grieving was, she was not sure she’d ever be ready.

Aliza’s eyes brightened. “She has been magnificent, my lady. She and Mercadier led an armed force into Anjou and ravaged the countryside around Angers to punish the townspeople for their treachery and to warn others that there is a high price to be paid for disloyalty.” Hearing her own words, Aliza flushed, for nuns were expected to condemn all acts of violence. But how could she not admire what the elderly, grieving queen had done? “Your lady mother then summoned the Poitevin lords to make a progress through her duchy,” she told Joanna, “issuing charters, confirming privileges and liberties, recognizing communes, doing all she can to win support for Count John.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“We heard she is at Poitiers.”

“Then we shall depart on the morrow for Poitiers,” Joanna declared, and although she caught the worried look that passed between Mariam and the prioress, she ignored it.

T
HEIR HORSE LITTER WAS
swaying so wildly that Mariam was beginning to feel queasy. How could Joanna have fallen asleep? And yet she had, proof of how utterly exhausted she must be. Her pallor was troubling, her skin as waxen as church candles, and her breathing was soft and shallow. Mariam at first had assumed she was prostrated by grief alone, and had been slow to realize that she was also ill; it was becoming obvious by now that this pregnancy would be more difficult than her earlier ones. But Joanna had been adamant about finding her mother, and when they arrived at Poitiers and learned Eleanor had left for Niort, she insisted they continue on.

When they were only a few miles from Niort, Joanna sent Sir Roger de Laurac on ahead to announce their coming, both women praying that Eleanor would still be at the castle. It was a massive stronghold, begun by Joanna’s father and completed by Richard, and at the sight of its stone turrets, Joanna blinked back tears, remembering how proud her brother had been of his handiwork. As soon as the horse litter came to a halt in the outer bailey, Mariam pulled the curtain aside and jumped out, not waiting for a stool to be brought over. Roger was hurrying toward them and then Eleanor appeared in the doorway of the great hall, with her granddaughter Richenza right behind her. Mariam turned back, crying, “Joanna, your mother is here!”

No one had yet brought out a stool, but Roger quickly stepped forward to assist the queen up into the litter. As soon as she saw her mother, Joanna began to sob. Eleanor pulled the curtain shut, gathered her daughter into her arms, and held her close as they both wept.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

JUNE 1199

Fontevrault Abbey, Anjou

R
aimond had been warned that Joanna was ailing. Although she’d given no details, her letter had revealed that she’d not been well enough to accompany her mother on her progress and Eleanor had sent her back to Fontevrault Abbey to convalesce. But Raimond was still shocked by his first sight of his wife. She’d not come rushing out to greet him as he rode into the abbey precincts, as she would normally have done. She was awaiting him in Eleanor’s guest hall, holding on to Mariam’s arm as if she needed support, and her always fair skin was so white that it looked almost transparent. When he embraced her, she felt as fragile and unsubstantial as cobwebs, smoke, and morning mist.