“He will forgive you, Richenza.” Seeing the younger woman’s dismay, Joanna reached out and steered her niece toward a bench. “You need to understand this, Richenza. Richard is not in a mood to forgive. After he left Verneuil, he took the castle Beaumont-le-Roger from the Count of Meulan, who’d abandoned him for Philippe just as Jaufre did. Then he rode to Tours, where the citizens had been quick to open their city’s gates to the French king. He dispossessed the canons of St Martin’s, for their priory is as close to the Capetians as Fontevrault is to our family, and he demanded two thousand marks from the townspeople to regain royal favor. So you see, he is more inclined these days to punish than to pardon.”
Richenza appreciated her aunt’s honesty, for she thought it was always better to know what she was up against. But she was not going to concede defeat so easily, at least not until she heard the bad news from Richard himself. He was just fifty miles away, besieging Loches. She would go to him at Loches and do her best to make him understand why Jaufre had joined the French king. In the event, she did not have to take such dramatic action; as she and Joanna joined Abbess Mathilde for dinner in her guest hall, the abbey was thrown into turmoil by the unexpected arrival of the English king.
Richenza hung back, watching as Richard was greeted joyfully by his mother and sister and the prioress, Aliza de Bretagne, who showed so much excitement that the elderly abbess shot her a disapproving frown. Aliza was so obviously unrepentant that Richenza immediately liked the young nun, who looked to be her own age, twenty-two. Richard’s men were sent to eat with the monks at the priory of St Jean de l’Habit, for Fontevrault was unique in that its abbess ruled over men as well as women, and Mathilde hastily ordered servants to set places for Richard, André, Morgan, Guillain, and Master Fulk at her table. It was then that Richard glanced around and noticed his niece.
Richenza held her breath until he smiled, and when he held out his arms, she came gratefully into them. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. . . .”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lass.” He bent down and kissed her cheek before saying, “Your husband does, though.”
“I know,” she admitted, taking heart from his matter-of-fact tone. “Jaufre felt he had no choice, Uncle. If he’d defied the French king, he’d have lost his lands in Perche.”
“Well, he has lost his lands in England now. I ordered his estates in Wiltshire and Bedfordshire forfeit to the Crown.” Sliding his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. “But not your dowry lands. They are still yours.”
Richenza’s smile was radiant with relief, for even if the very worst happened and Jaufre lost Perche in this accursed war, her son would still have a substantial inheritance; Richard had provided very generously for her at the time that he’d arranged her marriage to Jaufre.
“Why so surprised, Richenza? After all, you’re my favorite niece.”
“Well, there is not much competition for that honor, Uncle Richard.”
They grinned at each other, for this was a running joke between them; he’d not met any of his sister Leonora’s daughters in Castile and his sister-in-law Constance had done her best to poison Aenor’s mind against all of the Angevins. Richard was tempted to tell her that he intended to restore Jaufre’s English lands to him eventually. But she might confide in her husband, wanting to reassure him that he’d be forgiven in time, and Richard was determined that Jaufre lose some sleep over his fall from royal favor. He liked Jaufre and was not about to ruin his niece’s husband. There was a price to be paid, though, for failure to keep faith. “Come on, lass,” he said. “Let’s have dinner.”
Once they’d all been seated and freshly caught fish from the abbey’s stews had been served, Eleanor leaned over to ask Richard about the siege. She knew better than most what a formidable challenge Loches Castle posed, for she’d been held there briefly after she’d been captured by her husband’s men. “I assume that your presence here means the siege is going well?”
“Oh, it is over,” Richard said nonchalantly. “How long did it take, André? Two or three?”
“Two and a half, I think,” André said, just as nonchalantly, reaching for a slice of bread.
Eleanor’s eyes widened incredulously. “You took Loches in just two and a half days?”
“No . . . two and a half hours.” Seeing the amazed looks on the faces of all the women, Richard and André burst out laughing, only too happy to answer all the questions that were at once aimed at them. Eleanor listened in silence as the queen warred with the mother. She understood more about war than the other women, and for Richard to have captured Loches in just a few hours, it must have been an extraordinarily ferocious assault—with her son in the very thick of the fighting.