Lionheart (35 page)

Richard wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or amused. “Well, this I can say for certes, that I never expected to be lectured on carnal matters by my little sister.”

“Your ‘little sister’ is a woman grown, in case you’ve not noticed. For a number of years, I presided over a court as worldly as any in Christendom, and that includes Maman’s court at Poitiers.” There was an edge to her smile. Yes, Maman had been forced to overlook Papa’s infidelities, but at least he’d not kept a
harim
of Saracen slave girls. She was not about to discuss that with her brother, though. Instead she linked her arm through his and then gave him a playful push, telling him to go back to Messina whilst she comforted his bashful bride.

Joanna was as good as her word, and soon thereafter, she knocked upon the door of Berengaria’s guest cottage. It opened so quickly she knew the other woman must have been expecting Richard to return, an inference confirmed by the conflicted emotions that chased across Berengaria’s face: hope, disappointment, and relief. She stepped aside, politely opening the door wider when Joanna asked to enter.

Joanna was glad to see she was still alone, not having called her duennas back yet, for a delicate discussion like this required privacy. She was glad, too, that Berengaria did not seem overly distraught; she’d half expected to find her in hysterics, weeping and apprehensive. But her pallor was the only sign of distress; Berengaria’s brown eyes were dry. Joanna suddenly wished she’d thought out what she wanted to say beforehand. Too late to retreat now, though. “I thought you might feel like talking, Berengaria. I remember my first argument with William—”

Berengaria gasped. “Richard told you?”

“No, he did not,” Joanna said hastily. “I guessed, which was easy enough to do, since he looked like a storm cloud. Also, I know how eager men are to plant their flags and claim their territory.”

Berengaria raised her chin. “If you’ve come to counsel me to yield—”

“Indeed not! You must follow the dictates of your conscience, not Richard’s. Assuming he has one,” Joanna added with a grin. “Actually, I think it was good that you stood up to him. It never hurts to remind a man that he cannot always have his own way. I wanted to make sure that you were not overly troubled by the quarrel. You need not fear that he’ll nurse a grudge or that he is well and truly wroth with you, for he is not.”

Berengaria surprised her then by saying, “I know. I could see that he was more vexed than outraged.” Sitting down on a coffer chest, she studied the other woman, trying to make up her mind. It would be wonderful to have a confidante, to be able to talk about the confusing feelings and urges that were preying on her peace. But did she dare to confide in Richard’s sister? When Joanna moved to the table and poured wine for them both, she said before she could repent of it, “I wish Richard and I had not quarreled. But I am not so sheltered that I do not know husbands and wives will disagree. It is something else that is troubling me, a serious sin. . . .”

Joanna did not like the sound of that. Summoning up what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she seated herself beside Berengaria on the coffer. “Can you tell me about it?”

Berengaria wavered before saying in a low voice, no longer meeting Joanna’s eyes. “Padre Domingo, my confessor, cautioned me that I must be vigilant in protecting my virtue. He said . . . said Richard might want to lie with me ere we were wed, but I must not permit it. So I was prepared when he . . .” She let her words trail off, but then she stiffened her spine and said resolutely, “I did not expect, though, to like it so much when Richard kisses me. I was too prideful, Joanna, sure that I could not be tempted by the sin of lust. . . .”

“I see,” Joanna murmured, trying to conceal her relief. She’d feared Berengaria was going to confess that she believed sexual intercourse was always a sin, even in the marriage bed, for she knew some women took to heart the Church’s teaching that no fruitfulness of the flesh could be compared to holy virginity, the highest form of spiritual purity. She watched color stain Berengaria’s cheeks and she suddenly realized that Padre Domingo was probably her only source of information about carnal desires. Her mother had died when she was just nine, and her sisters were younger than she. Joanna was convinced that there was not a father ever born willing to discuss lust with his daughter, and she doubted that Berengaria’s brother would have been willing, either. She doubted, too, that Berengaria, reserved and proud, would have turned for advice to her attendants, for they were all flighty young girls, and if one was not a virgin, she’d never have admitted it.

Joanna felt a surge of sympathy for her brother’s young bride, thinking how lucky she herself had been. Her mother had always been candid and comfortable about sexual matters, and Joanna had concluded at an early age that the marriage bed must be a place of great pleasure since her parents spent so much time in theirs. Wed at eleven, she’d had years to get to know her husband before she was old enough to consummate their marriage, and she’d had trusted female confidantes in Beatrix, Mariam, and Constance. Poor Berengaria, with only Padre Domingo to show her the way, the blind leading the blind! Well, it was not too late, thankfully.

“When Padre Domingo was warning you of the dangers of lust, did he happen to mention that marital sex is not a sin?”

“Yes . . . but only if it is done for procreation.”

“Not so,” Joanna said triumphantly. “The Church teaches that there are four reasons for a husband to have carnal knowledge of his wife, and only one is a sin. As you said, it is never sinful when it is done in hopes of having a child. But it is not sinful either if it is to pay the marital debt.”

Berengaria looked puzzled, but interested. “What is the marital debt?”

“Padre Domingo forgot to tell you about that, did he? According to St Paul’s teaching, the husband must render the conjugal debt to the wife and the wife to the husband, for he has power over her body and she over his. The Church position on this is so uncompromising that even if a husband or wife contracts leprosy, the partner still owes the marital debt.”

Berengaria’s eyes were wide with amazement. “You mean that I could demand this ‘debt’ from Richard and he’d have to oblige me?” And when Joanna confirmed that he would, that idea was so improbable to Berengaria that she began to giggle. Joanna joined in her merriment, and their shared laughter did much to diffuse any awkwardness between them.

“The third permissible reason for having marital sex,” Joanna resumed, “is one of the reasons for getting married, to avoid the sin of fornication.” She almost added that most people parted company with the Church on that, agreeing with Richard that fornication was harmless as long as the participants weren’t married or had not taken holy vows, but she thought better of it. “The only time that a married couple sin is if they are so driven by lust that satisfying their carnal needs is all that matters to them.”

“Oh. . . .” Berengaria was quiet for a moment, considering what she’d just been told, and then she smiled. “Joanna, thank you! You see . . . I told Richard that we could not lie together until we were properly wed. Yet I did not dare remind him that even married couples are supposed to abstain during Lent. After he left, I realized that this would pose a problem in our marriage, for there are so many days when the Church prohibits carnal union—Sundays and Wednesdays and Fridays and during Pentecost and Advent or when the wife is with child.... Somehow I could not envision Richard taking all these restrictions in good grace. And as his wife, I could not refuse him, which would mean that I’d be sharing his sin. But now I see that I would not be sinning, that I’d merely be satisfying the marital debt!”

She laughed, almost giddy with relief. But then her face shadowed again. “You said it was still a sin to be ‘driven by lust.’ I feel reasonably sure that I feel lust when Richard kisses me, Joanna, or touches me . . .” She was blushing hotly now, and Joanna felt a protective urge that was almost maternal.

“You feel desire,” she corrected, “the natural desire that a woman is supposed to feel for her husband. And that is not a sin. It is part of the Almighty’s Plan, for many doctors believe that a woman cannot conceive unless she experiences pleasure.”

This was a day of surprises for Berengaria. “Is that truly so?”

Joanna hesitated, but Berengaria had been very candid. It seemed only fair to be candid in return. “Richard told you that my son died soon after birth.” She had to blink rapidly, for there were some wounds that never fully healed. “I was unable to conceive again after that. Eventually, I had William take me to Salerno, which has some of the best doctors in Christendom, and a few of them are female. I consulted several of these women physicians, hoping they could help. They told me when a woman was most fertile and gave me herbs and assured me that I was more fortunate than many wives, for I enjoyed making love with William. That would improve my chances of getting pregnant, they said. . . .” She managed a flickering smile, a slight shrug.

Berengaria found herself blinking back tears, too, for the pain on Joanna’s face was so naked that she felt as if it struck at her own heart. “I cannot even imagine what it would be like to lose a baby,” she confessed. “But it must be of some comfort to know that he is in God’s Keeping, blessed and safe for all eternity.” When Joanna nodded, Berengaria overcame her natural reticence and squeezed her sister-in-law’s hand. “I am very glad that you are coming with us,” she confided. After a few moments of companionable silence, though, she said, “But what of a woman who is raped and then gets with child? That happened to a milkmaid at our palace in Olite. She was forced by a drunken lout, so I am sure she got no pleasure from it. Yet she became pregnant.”

“That same thought occurred to me, too,” Joanna admitted, “and I asked the Salerno doctors and midwives about it. Most likely a male physician would have insisted pregnancy was proof of pleasure. Women know better, of course. So, yes, a woman can sometimes conceive even if she was unwilling. But they assured me it is true more often than not, and it made sense to me that a husband’s seed would be more likely to take root if his wife was relaxed and receptive.”

Berengaria thought that made sense, too. “I am grateful we had this talk,” she said, smiling at the older woman. “You are much more knowledgeable about carnal matters than Padre Domingo!”

“Consulting a priest about carnal matters is like asking a blind man to describe a sunset,” Joanna said teasingly, and was gratified when Berengaria joined in her laughter, for even a few days ago, she was sure the young Spanish woman would have seen such flippancy as blasphemous. She began to relate a story she’d heard some years ago, one meant to reinforce in Berengaria’s mind the link between sexual pleasure and conception: that the French king had been persuaded to divorce Eleanor only after his advisers convinced him that she’d never bear him a son now that their marriage was irretrievably broken and she was unlikely to find satisfaction in his bed.

Joanna was very pleased with herself, confident that she’d done much this afternoon to make sure her brother’s marriage would be a successful one. It might be a good idea, though, to suggest to Richard that Padre Domingo be sent back to Navarre and a more open-minded confessor found for his bride. A pity Richard would never know how much he owed her. But she could not tell him without violating Berengaria’s trust, and she had no intention of doing that. She thought they’d planted the seeds this day of something worth nurturing—a genuine friendship.

RICHARD HAD HIS wooden castle dismantled and the sections were marked before being stowed in ships to be reassembled in Outremer. The same was done for his numerous siege engines. As his army made ready for departure, huge crowds gathered upon the docks to watch. The Messinians were awed by the magnitude of the undertaking. The cargo vessels were gradually filled with tuns of wine, sacks of flour and cheese and dried fruit and beans and salted meat; rumors spread that these long-tailed Englishmen were taking more than ten thousand slabs of cured pork alone. They were fascinated by the endless procession of provisions being lugged onto the gangplanks: huge barrels of water, grain and hay, arrows, crossbow bolts, armor, saddles, blankets, tents, and coffers filled with silver pennies, gold plate, and jewels, an astonishing mix of the mundane and the precious.

Daily life in Messina came to a halt, and even the markets were deserted as people gathered to watch hundreds of horses being loaded upon transport galleys called “taride.” These vessels were backed onto the beaches instead of the wharves, and port doors were opened in their sterns. Then the stallions were blindfolded and led up ramps into the ships, where they’d be separated by wooden hurdles and held upright by canvas slings that slid under their bellies and were attached to overhead iron rings. A tarida usually accommodated forty horses, and once they were stabled below deck, the vertical inner door was barred and the outer door caulked to make it watertight. The loading of so many high-strung destriers did not always go smoothly. Sometimes the horses balked and men’s tempers flared, and the spectators agreed it was almost as entertaining as a troupe of traveling players.