Виктория Холт - The Heart of the Lion

She seized on them and carried them to her own chamber. Berengaria felt limp with disappointment. She knew in her heart that she had been foolish to hope.

She went to the chamber next to that of Joanna. She wanted to be alone. Is it that he dislikes me? she asked herself. Can the rumours be true? Are there some he loves?

Joanna was at the door. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining.

‘Wonderful news, Berengaria. Richard is the dearest and kindest of brothers! He wants me to be happy, he says. I have suffered a great deal. He loves me dearly.’

‘They are permitting the match with Raymond?’

‘They are ready to make arrangements. Concessions will be asked doubtless. But what do we care for that? Raymond and I are to be married.’

She threw herself into Berengaria’s arms. ‘I’m so happy, Berengaria. Princesses are rarely so happy, I know. When I think of my last marriage ... a little girl going into a foreign land to a stranger ... And now Raymond! Oh what a good brother Richard is to me! And there is my mother. She writes that there has always been conflict between her house and that of Toulouse and that the Counts of Toulouse have always believed they had a claim in Aquitaine. She will give up her rights to Aquitaine to me so that in this way the claim will be settled.’

‘So, my dear Joanna, you are the most fortunate Princess alive. You can mend a quarrel between states and marry for love at the same time.’

Joanna paused and looked at Berengaria, her delight momentarily dimmed. Here am I rejoicing, she reproached herself, when Berengaria is so sadly deserted.

Oh Richard, how can you be so good to your sister and so cruel to your wife!

‘I doubt not,’ she said, ‘that Richard will be here. He will want to be with you as soon as he has made Normandy safe.’

Berengaria turned away.

She knew the truth.

As Richard moved across Normandy recovering all that had been lost, John was terrified. All his dreams of power had evaporated. Richard was home safe and well and likely to live for a good many years. He gave way to his violent rages but of what use were they? He had to face his brother sooner or later and what the outcome of that would be he dared not think.

There was one hope. His mother was with Richard. If he could talk with her in secret, if he could get her to plead with Richard ... there might be a chance. But would she? She was on Richard’s side absolutely. Her greatest mission in life was to keep him on the throne. What would she think of one – even though he were her son – who had tried to take it from him?

She was softening in her old age. Look at this affair of Joanna’s! She had always been fiercely against the house of Toulouse. There was the perennial quarrel about their claim on this and that. Yet she had talked with Richard, and Joanna’s happiness had been a factor in their decision. She was a mother as well as a Queen and she was his mother.

Richard had power to send him to prison. The fate which befell prisoners would not bear contemplation. To be shut up in a dungeon for years, to have jailers who might treat him with cruelty or at least without respect, was something he could not endure. Yet he had played the traitor. He had to admit it. He had intrigued against the King and even though his father had named him his successor Richard was the eldest son and accepted by the people as the true King. One only had to remember how they had drooled over him when he had returned. The great hero, the Saviour of Acre, the man whose name was a legend throughout the Christian world. The Lion-hearted King! They forgot he had deserted them, had taxed them to pay for his crusade, had cared little for his native land and had offered to sell London if he could get enough money for it to spend on his Holy Wars. Yes, they forgot that. He had come home covered with honours; he was romantic; he had been imprisoned in a German schloss; he had been discovered by his minstrel boy and they had had to pay a vast sum for his ransom. This did not add up to a good king but they loved him none the less. And there was no doubt that he was strong. None it seemed could stand against him. Philip was less friendly now that he was back, inclined to be contemptuous of John and speaking of his enemy Richard as though he were some kind of god.

John knew when he was beaten and he was beaten now. His only hope was his mother.

He would go to her quietly, secretly; he would plead with her to speak for him to Richard as she had for Joanna. He would remind her that he was her youngest son.

There was no time to lose. If Richard captured him ... He shivered at the thought.

Taking with him a few of his attendants he rode to Rouen where he knew Richard and Eleanor were; and he managed to find a way into the Queen’s apartments.

He threw himself at her feet and begged her clemency.

‘John,’ cried Eleanor. ‘So you have come then!’

‘Yes, Mother,’ answered John, ‘and in most wretched state as you see.’

‘Oh, John,’ cried Eleanor, ‘what have you done?’

‘I have been foolish, Mother. Do not reproach me, for your reproaches could not match my own. I have been wicked. I have been wrong. I have been led astray by evil counsellors. How can I face my brother?’

The Queen replied: ‘You have in truth been wicked, John. You have plotted against the finest man in the world.’

‘I know it. I know it now. Would to God I had not listened to those evil men.’

‘Aye, would to God you had not.’

‘Mother, you are wise, you are good. I want you to tell me what I must do. Shall I take a sword and pierce my heart? I think that would be best. First though, I would wish to prostrate myself before my brother. I would wish to show him my contrition. I want him to know how miserable I am, how I hate myself, and perhaps to ask his forgiveness and that of God before I take my own life.’

‘You are talking nonsense,’ replied Eleanor sharply. ‘Put thoughts of taking your life out of your head. I would not wish any son of mine to act in such cowardly fashion.’

‘But I have offended ...’

‘Deeply,’ she cried. ‘Your God, your King and your country.’

‘I must be the most hated man alive. There is no reason for me to live.’

‘Stop such talk! I am your mother and I could not hate you.’

‘You hated my father when he worked against Richard. You have always loved Richard and hated those who worked against him.’

‘I love all my children,’ she answered, ‘and I never truly hated the King, your father. You could not understand what there was between us. But that is of the past. It is the present that matters. You have proved yourself a traitor and there are few kings who would not condemn you to the traitor’s death. But Richard is your brother. He is by nature tolerant. I am your mother and whatever you have done you are still my child.’

‘What should I do then, Mother? I beg you tell me.’

‘Leave this with me. Go away quietly. I will speak to your brother and mayhap he will send for you and perhaps he will find it in his heart to forgive you. If you should be the luckiest traitor in the world, then remember what great fortune is yours and serve him with all your might and heart for as long as he shall live.’

‘Oh, my mother, I would. I swear to God I would.’

‘Then go and leave this matter to me.’

When he had gone Eleanor was thoughtful. She knew him well. He was avaricious; he was weak; he wanted the crown. But he was her son. She could not get out of her mind what a pretty baby he had been and how she had loved him – the youngest, the baby. It had been one of the tragedies of her life that she had not been able to keep her children with her.