Joanna was pleased to learn that Richard had taken over two hundred prisoners. Legally, he had the right to execute the garrison when a castle was taken by storm; John’s slaughter of the évreux garrison had left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew Richard could be very ruthless himself when need be—she was still uncomfortable remembering the execution of the garrison at Acre—and she had worried that his war with Philippe would become a bloodbath. “Why did Berengaria’s brother not come with you?” she asked, for she wanted to meet Sancho, who was said to be over seven feet tall; she could not imagine a man towering over Richard by fully a foot.
Richard’s smile disappeared. “Sancho left the siege ere I even got there. His men told me that he’d had to rush back to Navarre, having gotten word that his father is gravely ill and not expected to recover. When are you planning to return to Poitiers, Joanna? I think it would help Berenguela very much if you were with her.”
“I will leave on the morrow,” she promised, and when he said that he’d give her a letter for Berenguela, she hesitated. “She will want to know when you’ll be there. What shall I tell her?”
Although Joanna had taken care to keep her tone neutral, Richard still found himself on the defensive. “Tell her I’ll come as soon as I can,” he said tersely. When she nodded, he frowned, faulting her for what he was sure she was thinking. Did she expect Philippe to courteously cease hostilities whilst he was visiting his wife in Poitou? That craven weasel would be quick to raid the hen roost once he learned the guard dog was gone. The only way to end this war was to track down that Judas and force him to fight.
As he studied his sister, he doubted that she truly comprehended what a daunting challenge he faced to regain all that had been lost during his captivity. Setting his wine cup down, he turned toward Joanna and sought to educate her about the harsh reality of warfare. Philippe controlled much of Normandy east of the River Seine, including the ports of Dieppe and Tréport. He now held castles that put him within striking distance of Rouen itself. Moreover, his acquisition of Artois from Flanders gave him more resources than French kings had in the past. But while Joanna listened attentively, Richard sensed that she still did not understand. Nor would his wife. Well, so be it. His duties as king had to come first, and Berenguela would have to accept that.
After dinner, Eleanor asked Richard about Philippe’s siege of Fontaines; that had alarmed her, for the castle was just four miles from Rouen. Richard and André were unconcerned, though, mocking the French king for taking four days to capture such a small, poorly defended stronghold and making Prioress Aliza laugh by swearing she and her nuns could have taken it faster than Philippe. Now Eleanor was not surprised when Richard said he would have to return to his army on the morrow; she knew he’d been practically living in the saddle in recent weeks and that was not likely to change anytime soon. She was about to ask him if he’d heard how Heinrich’s invasion of Sicily was going when a courier was ushered into the hall.
He’d been sent by the seneschal of Normandy and his disheveled state alerted Richard that his message was urgent. Snatching up the letter, he broke the seal and read rapidly. “Christ on the Cross!” The color draining from his face, he glanced up, his eyes seeking André. “Leicester has been captured by the French!”
There was an immediate outcry from his audience, for the women were as horrified as his men. “How did it happen?” Eleanor asked her son, who’d gone back to reading the letter.
“Once the French were retreating after razing Fontaines, he ventured out from Rouen to harass them, but with only twenty knights.” Richard shook his head angrily. “How could he be so reckless?” That caused some astonished eye rolling among his friends, sister, and mother, but he did not notice. Crumpling the parchment in his fist, he flung it to the floor. “He has been sent under guard to étampes Castle.”
They knew what that meant—rescue was not an option. “Philippe is holding his unwanted wife, Ingeborg, at étampes,” Eleanor said acidly. “Mayhap he can save money by penning them up together.”
Abbess Mathilde was surprised that the king seemed so shaken, for she’d assumed he was hardened to the vicissitudes and cruelties of war. Nor did she understand why he and the other men looked so grim, for the Earl of Leicester had earned renown throughout Christendom for his feats in the Holy Land. Surely a prisoner who was so highborn and so celebrated would be well treated. But when she quietly said as much to Eleanor, the queen merely looked at her, saying nothing, and there was something in those hazel eyes that gave the elderly abbess a chill. She would pray for the earl, she decided, for it was becoming clear to her that the king and his mother felt Leicester was in need of prayers.
IN EARLY JULY, Philippe invaded Touraine. He’d gotten as far as Lisle when his scouts warned him that the English king’s army was awaiting him at Vend?me, blocking the road into the Loire Valley. Philippe hastily withdrew a few miles to Fréteval, and conferred with his battle commanders.