Joanna shook her head. She hoped the bishop would not ask her to intervene, for she had genuine respect for the prelate, able to recognize a good man when she met one. But she did not think that Mariam’s sins were great enough to imperil her salvation. Mariam was a widow, after all, and she had no male kin to answer to; moreover, she and Morgan did make an attempt to be discreet. It was not their fault that even the stable grooms and kitchen scullions knew they were lovers.
“I think,” Berengaria said, “that you ought to ask her why she and Morgan have made no plans to wed. It is obvious that they are besotted with each other, and the holy state of matrimony is surely preferable to these sinful trysts.”
“I would like to see them wed, too, Berengaria. But it is not as simple as that. Morgan is a knight, not a lord with lands of his own. He will eventually inherit some of his father’s properties. Most likely Ranulf will bequeath his Welsh lands to his elder son and his English manors to Morgan, for the Welsh do not leave everything to the firstborn as they do in England. But that could be years from now, and until then, Morgan is not in a position to support a wife. Why do you think so many knights never wed?”
Berengaria had never considered that. Richard had sometimes teased her that she was almost as sheltered as a Cistercian nun, and she supposed that was so, for her life had been a privileged one as the well-loved daughter of a king. She would find a way for Mariam and Morgan to wed, she decided. Richard was celebrated for his generosity, one of the most important attributes of a great lord. If she asked Richard, surely he would be willing to reward Morgan for his steadfast loyalty.
She was about to tell Joanna of her plan when the other woman jumped to her feet, crying out, “Sir Guilhem!” As Guilhem de Préaux was escorted into the hall, he was soon surrounded by women, for he was a great favorite; Joanna and Berengaria were eternally grateful to him for sacrificing his own freedom to save Richard from capture in the Holy Land. When he produced letters from England, Berengaria took hers out into the garden to read and Joanna retreated to a window-seat with hers.
When Joanna rejoined the others after reading her letters, Guilhem was mesmerizing her women and household knights with an account of Richard’s crown-wearing ceremony at Winchester Cathedral. It was a sight to behold, he said, with the King of Scotland and the earls of Chester and Surrey carrying the three ceremonial swords of state. The king had looked regal in his royal robes furred with ermine, wearing the jeweled crown that the Archbishop of Canterbury had placed on his head prior to his entering the church, and a special dais had been set up in the north transept for the queen and her ladies, giving them an unobstructed view of the procession. Afterward, there had been a splendid feast in the cathedral refectory, with numerous courses, a fountain that flowed wine, and musicians, harpists, and jugglers for entertainment, whilst a huge crowd gathered out in the street, hoping for a glimpse of their king, the queen, and the highborn guests.
His audience listened raptly, and even Joanna felt a touch of envy, for she’d have dearly loved to have been there with her brother and mother. It was then that she saw Berengaria had returned to the hall and was standing inconspicuously on the edge of the circle. Joanna started to thread her way toward her, but just then Morgan and Mariam returned and greeted Guilhem with delight; Morgan and Guilhem had become friends in the Holy Land. By the time Joanna was able to extricate herself, her sister-in-law was gone.
Joanna had to play the role of hostess then, seeing that a meal, a bed, and bath were made ready for Guilhem. As soon as she could, she slipped away and climbed the stairs to Berengaria’s bedchamber. The younger woman had dismissed her own attendants, and although she opened the door to admit Joanna, she seemed distant, retreating into the Spanish reserve that was a sure sign of distress. Joanna decided a frontal attack was the best approach and asked forthrightly if she was troubled by something in Richard’s letter.
Berengaria shook her head, but Joanna outwaited her, and after a strained silence, she said, very low, “There is never anything troubling in Richard’s letters. He is always perfectly polite, asking after my health and expressing a hope that I am comfortable here in Poitiers. He says nothing personal, nothing intimate, nothing a husband would tell a wife. In this letter, he did not even mention the crown-wearing, telling me only about the siege and that he has appealed to the Pope, demanding that the Holy Father use the authority of the Church to get his hostages and ransom returned.”
“That sounds like Richard,” Joanna said, as cheerfully as she could. “He is like most men, dearest, without a romantic bone in his entire body. And twelve years of marriage to William taught me that it is well-nigh impossible to change a man. Luckily the Almighty has given women the patience of Job, enabling us to put up with their . . .” Her voice trailed off then, for Berengaria was regarding her with sorrowful brown eyes that held the hint of tears.