A King's Ransom (99 page)

The more Eleanor considered the proposal, the more she liked it. Richard would gain a useful ally, further isolate the French king, and resolve her family’s long-standing claim to Toulouse. “This is truly a blessing, Richard, both for us and for Joanna. She ought to have a good life as Raimond’s countess. She’ll like Toulouse for certes, and it will be wonderful not to have to send another daughter off into foreign exile. I do not expect to see your sister Leonora again in this world, but Joanna will be able to visit us whenever she wishes. And she . . .”

She stopped abruptly then, puzzled by the expression on his face. “What is it? Surely Joanna is pleased about the marriage?”

“Well . . . she does not know about it yet.”

“Why not? Do you have any reason to think she’d balk?”

“No. It is just that she can be unpredictable, Maman. And . . . and Berenguela does not think it is a good idea.” Catching her look of surprise, he said, “It made sense to discuss it with her, for she’d seen Joanna and Raimond together, and I made her promise she’d say nothing to Joanna until I do. But as I said, she does not approve.” His mouth turned down. “In truth, I cannot remember the last time she did approve of something I’ve done.”

“Why does she object? Does she think that Joanna disliked Raimond?”

“Not exactly. She said sometimes they seemed very friendly and, at other times, quite cool with each other. But she feels he would not be a suitable husband for Joanna because he is out of favor with the Church. She says she does not think he is a heretic, just too sympathetic to the Cathars, too ‘tolerant of those who have strayed from God’s path,’ as she put it.”

“That would not bother Joanna,” Eleanor said shrewdly, “for she grew to womanhood in Sicily. And when I discussed the count with her, I did not get the sense that she found him objectionable. As I remember, she said he was the sort of man mothers warned their daughters about, and I do not think she meant that as an insult.”

“I am glad to hear that,” he admitted, showing her he was not as confident of Joanna’s reaction as he’d have her believe. “Whilst this marriage would be very beneficial to our family, I also believe it would be good for Joanna. So will you help me to make her see that?”

“Yes, I will, Richard. But she is no longer a child being sent off to wed a man chosen for her by her parents. She is a queen, a widow, a woman grown, one with a mind of her own. If she refuses, we cannot compel her, nor would I try.”

“Trust me, Maman, no one is going to compel Joanna to do anything she does not want to do!” he said with a laugh, remembering her volcanic rage when he’d confided his scheme to offer her in marriage to Saladin’s brother.

She studied him intently for a moment, and then nodded. “We are in agreement, then, that this marriage is worth pursuing. So . . . let’s see if Joanna agrees with us.”

J
OANNA WOULD NORMALLY HAVE
been pleased by Richard’s summons to Rouen, but it came so unexpectedly that it stirred up misgivings she’d not even realized she’d been harboring. Was Richard planning to end his marriage, wanting her there to comfort Berengaria afterward? Her concern was based in part on the recent upheavals in the south. In April, the region had been thrown into turmoil by the sudden death of King Alfonso of Aragon at age thirty-nine, leaving an untested eighteen-year-old son as his heir. Berengaria’s brother Sancho had embroiled himself in a war with the King of Castile, Richard’s brother-in-law, and even more troubling, he was showing signs of chafing under the Angevin-Navarrese alliance. Richard had confided to Joanna that Sancho had seized Berengaria’s dower castles and he’d appealed to the Pope to pressure Sancho for their return. Joanna did not know if Berengaria realized her increasing vulnerability, but a queen who could provide neither an heir nor a valuable alliance might not be a queen for very long.

Upon their arrival at Rouen, Joanna was relieved when Richard said nothing to her about ending his marriage. The next day she could sense tension in her sister-in-law, but she decided Berengaria had probably had another quarrel with Richard about his appropriation of Andely, for she’d been distressed by the Archbishop of Rouen’s threat to lay Normandy under Interdict. Her foreboding came rushing back, though, as soon as Richard revealed that their mother was on the way. Joanna knew he’d not have asked her to make such a long journey unless something urgent was at stake. And so when she was called to the solar, she was already bracing for bad news.

As soon as she was seated, she could not help herself, blurting out nervously, “Richard, do you mean to disavow your marriage and put Berengaria aside?”

Her brother looked surprised. “No, I do not. Why would you think that, Joanna?”

Feeling foolish, she shrugged. “Well, I know that Sancho is becoming troublesome.” Leaving unsaid the real problem, Berengaria’s failure to conceive.

“He is,” Richard agreed, rising and moving to the table to pour wine for them all. “But Berenguela is not to blame for his erratic behavior of late.” Passing around cups, he sat down again. “Actually, I do want to talk with you about marriage. Not mine, though—yours. I’ve made a brilliant match for you,
irlanda
.”

Joanna caught her breath, momentarily overwhelmed by emotion—excitement so intertwined with alarm that it was impossible to separate one from the other. She did want to marry again, for she did not like sleeping alone and she desperately wanted children. But marriage was the ultimate gamble for women; even a queen was subject to a husband’s will. She was loath to surrender the rare freedom she’d enjoyed in the six years since Richard had pried open the door of her gilded cage at Palermo. Nor was she eager to leave those she loved for life with a stranger in an alien land. Yet she had no choice, not unless she wanted to take holy vows. For women, it was either marriage or a nunnery. For her, marriage was the better road, albeit one fraught with risk. Discovering that her mouth had suddenly gone dry, she said huskily, “Who?”

“He is not a king, and I did promise you one,” he said, with a quick smile, “but he is of noble birth and—”

“Richard! Who?”

“The Count of Toulouse.” Watching her intently, Richard saw her eyes widen, her lips part. But she said not a word and she looked so stunned that he felt a prickle of unease.

Joanna was still struggling with disbelief. “Raimond de St Gilles?”

“Well, he is the only Count of Toulouse I know, lass.” Richard slid his chair closer. “Such an opportunity is rarer than dragon’s teeth. You would be bringing Toulouse back into the family, Joanna, whilst depriving Philippe of a valuable ally. But the marriage is a good one for you, too. You already know Raimond, having spent several months in his company, so there’d be no surprises, and not many brides can say that. From what I’ve heard about the man, he ought to be easy enough to live with, for he likes music and women and wine and seems to find humor in most of life’s predicaments. And you’ll feel at home in Toulouse, for it is much like Sicily. Even the weather will be to your liking, warmer than Normandy or Anjou; you’ve often complained of our winters. . . .”

He paused then, feeling that he was talking too much, spurred on by her strange silence. He glanced toward their mother, seeking some help, and she obliged by leaning over to take Joanna’s hand; she was startled to find it was as cold as ice. “What pleases me greatly,” she said, “is that I will not be losing you again. Few mothers and daughters are so lucky.” It troubled her, though, that Joanna seemed so shaken, and she tightened her grip on her daughter’s hand, saying, “But it is a decision that will change the course of your life, so that decision ought not to be a hasty one. You need not give us your answer now; you can take some time to think on it.”

Richard was not willing to wait for another heartbeat, not with so much at stake. He saw the wisdom, though, in Eleanor’s suggestion, for there was a danger Joanna might make an impulsive refusal and then feel bound by pride to hold to it. “Maman is right,” he said, albeit without much enthusiasm. “You need time to consider this.”

Joanna looked from one to the other, blinking as if she were awakening from a drowsy daydream. “No,” she said and was surprised to find them both staring at her in utter dismay, only belatedly comprehending why. “I meant that I do not need time to consider it.” She paused to draw a deep, steadying breath, and then smiled. “I am quite willing to marry the Count of Toulouse.” After that, she could say no more, for she’d been swept up into her brother’s arms and he was hugging her so tightly that she thought he might crack a rib.

F
LOATING DOWN THE STAIRS
into the great hall, Joanna saw her sister-in-law hurrying toward her. Understanding now why Berengaria had seemed so preoccupied, she paused long enough to confirm that yes, she would be marrying the Count of Toulouse, and no, she did not believe she’d be wedding a heretic. She saw that Berengaria would need convincing, but she did not have time for that now, and she hastily excused herself.

She finally found Mariam in their bedchamber. The other woman glanced up as the door opened, the book on her lap forgotten as soon as she saw Joanna’s face. “What is it? You look . . . Well, I am not sure, for I’ve never seen you look like this!”

“That is because I’ve never felt like this,” Joanna confided. “I am still not sure it really happened, for it seems so . . . so improbable. I’ve been with Richard and my mother in the solar, listening as they sought to persuade me that I ought to marry Raimond de St Gilles.”

“Joanna!” Mariam sprang to her feet, and once again Joanna found herself enveloped in an exuberant embrace, this one easier on her ribs. As giddy as young girls, they laughed and hugged, and settled then onto the bed, where Mariam demanded to know all.

Joanna was eager to share the events of the past hour, hoping that saying it aloud would make it seem real. Richard and her mother were delighted with the match. By agreeing to wed Raimond, she’d be in high favor with her brother for some time to come, she said, with a mischievous smile. Raimond had agreed to marry her as soon as the suggestion had been broached, not even waiting to learn what marriage portion Richard would provide. This time her smile was downright dazzling. Fortunately, Richard was giving her a very generous dowry: the rich county of the Agen. Richard meant to send word to Raimond that very day, and they would be wed here in Rouen as quickly as the arrangements could be made.

“So,” she concluded, “by this time next month, I will be the Countess of Toulouse.”

Mariam tried to remember when she’d seen Joanna as happy as this. Only when she’d held her infant son for the first time, and then in the harbor at Messina, as she’d gazed at the ships flying the royal lion of England, realizing that her ordeal was over, that her brother had set her free.

“It is not uncommon to use marriages to end rivalries, to forge new alliances. Joanna . . . did you never think that might happen for you and Raimond?”

Joanna shook her head emphatically. “Never, for there was too much hatred between our Houses. The dukes of Aquitaine claimed Toulouse for their own, Mariam. I could not imagine Richard being willing to cede that claim, not when he knew Raimond was no match for him on the battlefield. Why would he have chosen compromise over conquest? No, it would have been mad to torment myself with false hope.”

“And yet it happened,” Mariam pointed out and Joanna nodded.

“Yes . . . Richard continues to surprise. People are always praising his skills as a soldier, but he has a sure touch when it comes to statecraft, too, and he does not often get enough credit for that. He was willing to offer Raimond terms generous enough to bridge that sea of bad blood. I never expected that and I am sure Raimond did not, either.”

Kicking her shoes off, Joanna curled up on the bed. “So much to be thankful for, Mariam. That I am able to do this for my family. That I’ll not have to bid them farewell again. That this marriage is going to give the French king so many sleepless nights.”

“And . . . ?” Mariam prompted playfully.

Joanna lay back against the pillows, green eyes glowing. “What am I forgetting?” she murmured, with a soft, sultry laugh. “Ah yes . . . that I get to take Raimond de St Gilles as my lover, with the blessings of Holy Church!”