Berengaria had been shocked at first by the accusatory tone of her mother-in-law’s missives, yet she’d been secretly pleased, too, for she was finding it harder and harder to be patient with the Holy Father’s passivity. He was God’s vicar on earth, and she wanted to believe that he would never shirk his pastoral duties for venial political reasons. She needed to believe that. But he was not making it easy for her.
“It is outrageous that Richard should have to pay so much money to regain his freedom,” she said, showing them that she was not oblivious to the burden the ransom would impose upon his kingdom. “It will be a massive undertaking to raise the ransom, especially since Richard’s subjects had already been taxed for the Saladin tithe. Do you think your mother will be able to do it, Joanna?” Getting assurances from her sister-in-law, she smiled shyly. “It may be selfish of me to be so happy when I know this ransom will cause misery to so many. But I cannot help it. For the first time, I can see our reunion as a reality, not just a hope glimmering on the horizon. Richard and I have been apart for so long. I was thinking about that this morning and I realized it has been nine months since we left him at Acre. Nine months . . .”
She continued to smile, but there was a catch in her voice, and Joanna understood why, understood all too well. To a woman desperate to bear a child, nine months could have but one meaning. Berengaria was undoubtedly tormenting herself with thoughts of what might have been, thinking that had God been kinder, she might have been pregnant when they sailed from Acre, that she might have had a son to show Richard when they were finally reunited. Joanna had suffered the same stifled yearnings during her marriage to the Sicilian king, anguished that she’d not conceived again after the death of their infant son. She’d felt guilty, as well, fearing she might not be able to give William an heir. She knew Berengaria was haunted by such fears, too, for in the sixteen months between her wedding in Cyprus and her parting from Richard at Acre, her flux had come with heartbreaking regularity.
Joanna had done her best to dispel those fears, pointing out how rarely Berengaria and Richard had been able to share a bed, assuring her that would change once he was no longer fighting a holy war. She did not know if her common sense reminder had helped, though. She’d told herself that her own barren marriage had been as much William’s fault as it was hers, for there’d been too many nights when he’d bypassed the marital bed for one that held a seductive Saracen concubine. But that knowledge had not helped to assuage any of her own misery.
Reaching over, she gave Berengaria’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We have good reason to be happy,” she said, “for the worst is over.” And she managed to sound very convincing, given that she did not really believe it.
WHEN THE POPE HAD requested his help, it never occurred to the Aragonese king to refuse. Even had Alfonso considered Richard to be an enemy, he would still have offered his assistance to the Lionheart’s wife and sister. Since he saw Richard as a friend with a just grievance against him, he was eager to make amends however he could. That did not mean he was looking forward to receiving Joanna and Berengaria. They were sure to blame him for the part he’d played, however inadvertently, in Richard’s capture; moreover, Berengaria’s Navarre had always been Aragon’s adversary. He considered trying to ease the situation with candor, explaining that he’d felt he had no choice but to ally with the Count of Toulouse, for Berengaria’s brother Sancho had been too successful in putting down the rebellion in Richard’s lands. He’d gotten as far as the walls of Toulouse itself and, fearing that Sancho would be tempted to move into his own lands in Provence, Alfonso had been alarmed enough to take desperate measures. Could he really expect them to sympathize with his predicament, though, whilst Richard was languishing in German captivity?