Barfleur, Normandy
Richard’s galley was able to dock at the quay, but most of the ships in his fleet would have to anchor out in the harbor and send their passengers ashore in small boats. A large crowd had gathered and now began to cheer at the first sight of his red-and-gold lion banner. Richard was pleased by their enthusiastic welcome, for he saw only smiles on their faces, no recriminations for what he’d yielded at the German court. As soon as he strode down the gangplank, he was surrounded by local lords and clerics, who’d preempted the space closest to the quay, forcing all the others out into the street. One youngster was not willing to wait, and he began to push his way through the throng, heedless of the scowls and curses from the men whose toes had been stepped upon. Squeezing past an indignant archdeacon, who swatted at him and missed, he dropped to his knees in the muddy street, suddenly afraid that Richard would not recognize him.
He need not have worried. He’d left childhood behind in the four years that his father had been fighting in the Holy Land and then held prisoner in Germany. But as Richard gazed down at the eager, upturned face and tousled coppery hair, he knew. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You grew up, Philip.” When he pulled the boy to his feet and they embraced, those watching had no idea why the king was so happy to see this pushy stripling, but they applauded anyway.
It was too noisy to hear, so Philip pointed to draw Richard’s attention to the men standing across the street. Recognizing Morgan and Guilhem de Préaux, Richard began to make his way toward them, his son following closely in his wake as the crowd parted to let them pass. It was not until he reached them that he saw the woman they were sheltering from the press of people. When she flung herself into his arms, that set off another wave of cheering.
“Anna insisted upon coming with us,” Joanna said once she’d gotten her breath back, “but I made her wait at our lodgings, for I knew how chaotic it would be here at the harbor.”
“And Berenguela?”
She shook her head. Another burst of cheering drowned out whatever she meant to say about Berengaria’s absence, and she and Richard turned to see that Eleanor had just stepped onto the quay. “Go on, lass,” Richard said and, with Morgan and Guilhem clearing a path for her, Joanna hastened toward her mother. She paused, though, to glance over her shoulder at Richard and Philip. They were watching her, smiling, and she was touched to see that Richard still had his arm around his son’s shoulders. But she also felt a prick of unease, for it seemed to her that when she’d told him his wife was not at Barfleur, she’d caught a fleeting look of relief on her brother’s face.
FROM BARFLEUR, THEY TRAVELED to Bayeux and then Caen. In each village and town they passed through, people turned out in huge numbers to welcome their duke, for Richard’s Norman title mattered more to most of them than his English one.
Joanna had been able to have several long talks with her mother for they were sharing a bedchamber; there were so many in Richard’s entourage that accommodations were limited even at Caen’s royal castle. But so far she’d had no opportunity for a private conversation with her brother; he was never alone.
She was not surprised, therefore, to enter the great hall and find Richard encircled by an animated, eager audience. She’d noticed that Richard seemed comfortable talking about his time in the Holy Land and his misadventures on his way home, making light of his two shipwrecks and the flight into enemy territory; he’d even appeared willing to talk about his three months as Leopold’s prisoner, although he’d been very sparing with details. But as soon as anyone mentioned his experiences in Germany, he shut down; that was the only way Joanna could describe it. The stiffness of his posture and the guarded look on his face told her now that he was being asked questions he did not want to answer. Just as it occurred to her that he might welcome an interruption, Richard saw her and stood up.