“We’ll have to continue this discussion later,” he announced, and held out his arm to Joanna, who happily took it and followed him from the hall. Once they were in his bedchamber, he sent Arne down to the buttery for wine and sprawled on the settle, confiding, “It is passing strange, irlanda. There were times in the past year when I craved company the way a drunkard craves wine. But now . . . now I find myself yearning for a bit of solitude, some quiet time for myself—as if a king ever gets that.”
Joanna sat beside him, warmed to be called irlanda again. She’d been the favorite of her three older brothers, who’d enjoyed teasing her with affectionate pet names. She’d been “imp” to Hal, “kitten” to Geoffrey, and “swallow” or “little bird” to Richard, always in the lenga romana of their mother’s homeland. Hal and Geoffrey’s voices had been silenced for years, but Richard had been restored to his family and his kingdom and for that, she would be eternally grateful to the Almighty.
She’d taken care not to stare at Arne’s scars, but once he departed the chamber, she said, “Morgan told me what happened to Arne. That was very brave of him.”
Richard nodded. “He was just fourteen. Many men grown would not have shown his courage.”
She waited to see if he would say more and when he did not, she honored his choice by asking no questions. She wanted to ask him about the marriages of Aenor and Anna to Leopold’s sons, but he’d shown a marked reluctance to discuss the hostages and she knew he’d rebuffed Anna when the girl had rashly entreated him to reject the marriage plans—as if he could. Joanna had always felt free to speak her mind with Richard and she found it disconcerting to have to weigh her words like this.
“Maman says that she hopes Johnny will be at évreux to seek your pardon for his treachery. I was very fond of Johnny when we were children, but I do not care much for the man he has become. I am not sure he deserves forgiveness.”
“Neither am I,” he admitted. “It will be easier to pardon him than to forgive him.”
She studied him intently. “Why pardon him at all? Because Maman asks it of you?”
“What better reason could I have than pleasing our mother?” he said lightly. “And I do understand why she wants it done. Until I can sire an heir of my own, we are stuck with my brother or my nephew. Neither Johnny nor Arthur inspires much confidence, but Maman sees Johnny as the lesser of evils and I suppose I do, too.”
“I cannot argue with that. Not only is Arthur just seven, he would be Philippe’s puppet for certes. But whenever you think of Johnny as next in line for the throne, you must be powerfully motivated to get Berengaria with child.” She’d deliberately brought Berengaria’s name into the conversation, but he merely smiled, not taking the bait.
“There is another reason for making peace with Johnny,” he said. “It gets him away from Philippe’s baleful influence. Saladin’s brother taught me an Arabic proverb that I rather fancied. The Saracens say it is better to have a camel inside the tent, pissing out, than outside the tent, pissing in.” When Joanna smiled, he added playfully, “No regrets that you turned him down, irlanda?”
She shook her head in feigned disapproval. “You are so lucky the French never learned of your scheme to marry me off to al-Adil. Imagine what they’d have made of that at your trial in Germany!” She felt safe in saying that because he’d spoken freely of his trial, which had been a spectacular triumph for him, after all.
He confirmed the soundness of her instincts by laughing. “Very true, Joanna. If Saladin were my brother by marriage, it might have made my denials of a conspiracy with the Saracens less convincing. Not that any of them really believed that ludicrous accusation, not even Philippe’s pet rat, Beauvais.” His face momentarily shadowed at the thought of his hated enemy and Joanna said quickly, “I know you respected al-Adil. But when you start husband-hunting for me again, I hope you’ll remember that I would prefer he be a Christian.”
He grinned and assured her he’d keep that in mind. “So no Saracens, Jews, or heretics. Any other requirements I should know about?”
His joking mention of heretics had stirred up an unwelcome memory; it vexed Joanna the way Raimond de St Gilles hovered in the corners of her consciousness, awaiting his chance to lay claim to her thoughts. “Well, a crown would be good,” she said, matching Richard’s bantering tone, and he promised to add “king” to the list of qualifications, warning her that she risked never finding another husband if she was going to be so demanding.
Joanna was delighted that they were so at ease with each other, as if the past twenty months had never been. She felt comfortable enough now to acknowledge the ghost in the chamber. “Richard, we need to talk about Berengaria.”