The Heart of the Lion (16 page)

If!
What did he mean? That was Philip’s handwriting. He had seen it often enough. But how could Philip, who had been such a tender friend, write of him so?

His rage was halted. There was the unmistakable shadow of a doubt.

He
must
see Philip. He would know no rest until he did.

He took his leave of Tancred. ‘I am no traitor,’ he assured him. ‘The peace I have concluded I will not transgress. I confess to you it is not easy for me to believe this letter true, for the friendship between the King of France and myself has been of long standing.’

Tancred said: ‘I have shown you the evidence. I can do no more.’

Richard rode with all speed to Messina. He immediately sent one of his knights to the French camp asking for audience with Philip.

The messenger returned with the news that Philip had left for Catania there to join Richard and Tancred.

Richard bit his lips in frustration. So Philip was in Catania. They must have passed on the way. Either he was concerned because he feared what Tancred might have told Richard or it could have been that he was simply jealous of their relationship and wished to prevent its becoming too warm.

It was not long before Philip returned to Messina.

They faced each other. Richard was never one to prevaricate.

‘So,’ he began, ‘you would plot with Tancred against me.’

Philip looked bewildered. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘It is useless to feign ignorance. I know what has been happening. I have evidence. You have incited Tancred to rise against me in the night when I am unprepared and have offered him your help.’

‘Where have you heard such nonsense?’

‘From Tancred himself.’

‘He has been lying.’

‘He has been telling what appears to be the truth.’

‘And you would take his word against mine? This new friend of yours is believed before those who have stood by you in the past and have proved their love and loyalty?’

‘I have been deceived.’

‘Yes, by Tancred.’

‘I would prefer it to be so.’

‘Yet this man only has to whisper a few calumnies . . .’

‘That is not all. He has shown me a letter. I have it. It is in your own hand. You have told him that if he rises against my army by stealth you will be behind him. The object being to destroy me.’

‘You can believe such nonsense! Why should I destroy my ally in this crusade? Why should I wish to go on to Acre without you?’

‘You want all the glory. Confess it. You want Normandy.’

‘If I defeated you here in Sicily would that give me Normandy?’

‘Who would defend it? My brother John. He has shown little prowess on the battlefield. My three-year-old heir Arthur? Nay, you are sly, you are devious. You scheme and dissemble.’

‘Show me this letter.’

‘I will. It offers irrefutable proof of your perfidy.’

Richard thrust the letter into Philip’s hands. The King of France studied it and his eyes opened wide with incredulity. Richard thought: If he is acting, he does it very well.

‘But this is monstrous. This is incredible. I . . . write such a letter! I never did. Richard, how can you believe for one instant that I could do such?’

‘I could believe it,’ said Richard. ‘When that letter was put into my hands surely I could believe the evidence of my eyes.’

‘I am deeply wounded that you could do so.’

‘Philip, is that not your handwriting?’

‘It is a fair enough copy to deceive even me. But I know I never wrote it.’

‘You would swear to it?’

‘On God’s holy word.’

Richard narrowed his eyes. He sometimes suspected Philip’s piety. He would never really know his friend. It might be that therein lay the fascination. He could never understand Philip and Philip understood him too well.

Philip was either suddenly angry or feigned to be so.

‘By God, Richard,’ he said, ‘you doubt me. Do you? Do you?’

‘It would seem to me that you wrote that letter.’

‘It is a forgery. You must see that.’

‘The handwriting is exact in every detail.’

‘I will admit that it is a good imitation. What hurts me is that you should doubt me.’

‘With such evidence?’

‘But I have told you it is false and you still doubt.’ Philip went to the window and looked out for a few seconds, then he swung round. ‘You are seeking to pick a quarrel with me, Richard, and you are using this letter. You know full well I am incapable of writing it. You attack me to cover your own fault.’

Richard knit his brows and stared at Philip.

‘Oh yes,’ went on Philip. ‘It’s Alice, is it not? My sister Alice to whom you are betrothed. You do not want to marry Alice. You have another Princess in mind. At this moment she is nearby waiting to be summoned. You have not told me this but I know it, of course. All know it. You do not say to me: “I intend to break my contract with your sister.” You pick a quarrel instead.’

‘You know I could never marry your sister.’

‘Why not? You are betrothed to her.’

‘My father’s whore.’

‘Take care, Richard. You speak of your sovereign lord’s sister.’

‘I speak of her for what she is. I’ll not marry her.’

‘You will insult the House of France.’

‘I will not marry your sister, Philip.’

‘Well, let us say she provides a good excuse. You’ll not marry her and while you are betrothed to her you can marry no one else.’ Philip laughed aloud. ‘Poor Alice she served your father well. You too methinks.’

He saw the signs of Richard’s rising temper. He came to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.

‘Nay, Richard, I must help you out of this impasse. What hurts me is that you should think I would betray you. You should know that Tancred is not to be trusted. Let us not quarrel for that grieves me sorely and I fancy it does not make you happy. I will free you from your contract with Alice. Marry Berengaria. Get her with child and you and I will go off to Acre together.’

‘You mean you will truly free me from that contract?’

‘I will indeed. Alice shall come back to my court. Some nobleman will be glad to take my sister. And you will be free, Richard, to marry where you will. This Berengaria, is she very beautiful?’

‘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

T
he 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?’