AS A CHILD, Joanna had spent several years in Poitiers with the girls betrothed to her brothers, Constance, Duchess of Brittany, and the Lady Alys of France. Because they were both older than she was, they’d never become friends. She was still surprised by the coolness of Constance’s greeting upon the other woman’s arrival at Caen—until she remembered that Constance detested all of the Angevins except Geoffrey. Certainly her meeting with Eleanor was an icy one; Joanna joked afterward to her mother that they’d been in danger of getting frostbite. Although she was too far away to hear, she thought that Constance’s audience with Richard was no less chilly. She knew that her brother had no liking for Geoffrey’s widow, a distrust rooted in Geoffrey’s two invasions of Aquitaine. But she did not know why Eleanor was so hostile, and when she asked, she was taken aback by the response.
“Because she did nothing but pour poison into Geoffrey’s ear,” Eleanor said, staring across the hall at the Breton duchess. “She did her best to estrange him from his family, to ally him with the French king, and if not for that accursed alliance, Geoffrey would not have taken part in that tournament.”
While Joanna would agree that Hal had been as malleable as wax, her memories of Geoffrey were not of a man easily influenced, even by a wife. Glancing over at her mother, she decided that Eleanor needed someone to blame for Geoffrey’s death, and Constance’s hostility made her a natural target. She held her peace, though, continuing to watch as Constance made a stiff curtsy and withdrew from the dais, pausing to give the most grudging of greetings to her husband, the Earl of Chester, before leaving the hall. Chester seemed no happier to see his wife than she was to see him, and Joanna felt pity for them both, fettered in holy wedlock like two oxen yoked to a plough.
When Richard joined them later, she asked why Constance had come to Caen, for she’d never been one to curry royal favor. “She wanted to know when her daughter must depart for Austria,” he said, “and she was not happy to hear Leopold is demanding Aenor arrive in Vienna by October. I told her I’d send Anna to join Aenor in Rouen so they could get to know each other, but that was all I could do.”
Joanna’s first impulse was to object, for she knew Anna would not be pleased. But after a moment to consider, she realized that both Anna and Aenor would benefit from it. At least they’d not be strangers when they had to start out on the marital journey that neither one wanted to make.
Glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot, Richard confided to Joanna and Eleanor that he had no intention of honoring that provision of the Worms Pact. “I did not say anything to Constance or Anna yet, for I did not want to give them false hope. But I think there is a good chance that these marriages will not come to pass. I’ve been told the Pope has sent a stern warning to Leopold, demanding that he return my hostages and repay his portion of the ransom, threatening to lay all of Austria under Interdict if he does not obey.”
Richard’s mouth turned down, for he considered this sudden papal support to be too little, too late. Where was Celestine when he was chained in that Trifels dungeon? “I warned Leopold that he’d be the one to pay Heinrich’s debt,” he said bitterly, “but he would not heed me.” And for a moment, he found himself back at Dürnstein, listening as Leopold told him pompously that they no longer had the luxury of choosing their own fates. Well, if there was any justice under God’s sky, that would come to be one of Leopold’s greatest regrets.
JOHN KNEW HE’D MADE the only rational decision. As much as he dreaded facing his brother, Durand was right; groveling for the chance at a crown made more sense than begging for scraps from Philippe’s table. And it was surely a promising omen that within days of making his decision, he received a confidential message from his mother, urging him to meet Richard at Lisieux. But now that he was actually here, waiting for his brother to arrive, he began to have second, third, and fourth thoughts. What if Richard would not forgive him? If Richard decided to let him experience for himself what a dungeon was like? What if his mother’s message had been a ruse? Why had he believed he could trust her? He’d seen her in action and knew her methods were neither merciful nor maternal.