She’d fallen, Berengaria explained, whilst they were strolling through the market and a shoat escaped its pen, creating a panic. Mariam had twisted her ankle as she pulled Anna out of harm’s way. But Count Raimond had taken charge, Berengaria assured Joanna, stopping the crowd from beating the pig’s owner, a country youth overwhelmed by his misfortune, and offering a reward to the one who recaptured the runaway swine. Since they’d not taken their horses in the crowded city streets, he’d carried Mariam back to the palace, much to Anna and Alicia’s envy. With a smile, Berengaria predicted that Anna was likely to have a mishap of her own the next time they were out and about in the city, claiming she could not walk so the count must carry her, too.
Joanna had to laugh at that, for she could easily see Anna pulling such a stunt. She thought Mariam’s ankle was sprained, a diagnosis confirmed by the viscount’s physician. He ordered her to stay off her feet for a few days and Mariam, still protesting she was fine, reluctantly drank the potion of herbs provided by a local apothecary, finally falling into a fitful doze. Joanna had sat with her all afternoon, but once she was sure Mariam was sleeping, she joined the others in the great hall.
Archbishop Berenguer of Narbonne was in a serious discussion with Cardinal Melior and Viscount Pedro, while across the hall, Raimond was joking with the troubadours Raimon de Miraval and Peire Vidal, who’d decided to accompany them as far as Carcassonne. They’d promised to perform that evening, and Joanna was sorry that Mariam would have to miss it. Spotting Berengaria and Beatrix seated in a window-seat, she headed in their direction. Richard’s queen was working on a delicate embroidery; she was a fine needlewoman and had tried to improve Joanna’s skill during their time in the Holy Land, to no avail. Under Berengaria’s patient tutelage, Joanna had been able to recall the lenga romana of Aquitaine and Navarre, for she’d lost much of it while living in Sicily. But she still wielded a needle as if it were a weapon, Berengaria gently chided, finally agreeing that needlework would never be one of Joanna’s talents.
Looking up with a smile, Berengaria was pleased to hear that Mariam was sleeping. “Count Raimond sent one of his men to the new market for fruit to tempt Mariam’s appetite. He truly seems concerned on her behalf.” She paused and then said pensively, “I know the cardinal says he is a wicked sinner, but . . . I am no longer so sure of that. He has a good heart, Joanna.”
“A veritable saint,” Joanna scoffed, for she did not want to listen as Berengaria extolled the count’s manifold virtues; it was bad enough that Mariam insisted upon singing that song.
“No, he is not a saint.” Joanna was never sure if Berengaria was truly oblivious to sarcasm or simply chose to ignore it. “I am saying I do not believe he is a sinner beyond redemption. I’ve seen too many examples of his kindness. He never passes a beggar on the street without giving alms. He offered a greeting and a coin to that poor leper we encountered on the road from Béziers, when the rest of us averted our eyes. Whenever he is recognized, people flock to him, and he is always courteous even with the least of them. He says Emperor Heinrich was wrong to hold Richard captive and he sounds sincere. He was willing to take us to the old market yesterday to buy some of the scarlet silks that Narbonne is famous for, and whilst we were there, we saw two louts tossing a kitten up into the air as if it were a camp ball. It was such needless cruelty that I decided to ask the count to put a stop to it. But I did not have to ask, Joanna. He noticed on his own; how many men would have done that? Mayhap if a dog were being beaten, but who pays attention if it is a cat being maltreated? He did, though. When I thanked him, he just laughed and made light of it, but it was a kind act.”
“So he is good to beggars and lepers and stray cats,” Joanna said, knowing she sounded petty, but unable to help herself. “That hardly gives him a safe conduct into Heaven.”
“He is kind to children, too. Did you see what happened when we arrived in Narbonne? Remember how all those boys ran alongside him, shouting, “Count Raimond!” the way they always do for Richard? He laughed and tossed coins to them. But one little lad, younger than the others, had been unable to keep up, and he’d stumbled and fallen. He was sitting there in the street, crying, when the count glanced back and saw his plight. Joanna, he turned his stallion around and, reaching down, he pulled the boy up behind him. You should have seen that child’s face. He’ll never forget the day he rode with Count Raimond through the city streets to the palace, and the other boys will not, either.”
Joanna had seen Raimond go back for the little boy, but hadn’t understood why. She was sorry now that she did, for it was so much easier to dislike the man if his good deeds were not being called to her attention daily by Mariam and Berengaria. “Tell me this, then,” she said, with such unwonted sharpness that both Berengaria and Beatrix blinked in surprise. “If he truly has such a good heart, how is it that he is so tempted by heresy?”