“Not your nephew. But the others, yes.” Baldwin proved himself adept then at reading minds, for he added softly, “They were not afraid, sire. They knew you’d never let harm come to them.”
“No,” Richard said grimly, “I would not.” As that whoreson Leopold well knew, God rot him. Glancing then toward the Earl of Chester, he said, “Tell your wife what has happened, Randolph.” He did not doubt that Constance would blame him for this, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. He was finding this a very bitter brew to swallow, but swallow it he must, for what other choice did he have?
Baldwin had never wanted anything as much as he now wanted a hot meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed. But he had not forgotten his Austrian escort, and he started to rise, saying that Leopold had sent a priest along who spoke Latin so he could communicate with his guards. He smiled when the Bishop of Lincoln volunteered to tell them what was going on, for that meant he did not have to move his aching bones just yet. The men were waiting uneasily by the door and the Austrian priest came forward hesitantly when Hugh beckoned, kneeling nervously to kiss the bishop’s ring. He looked greatly relieved, though, as soon as Hugh began to speak, and when he turned back toward his men, he was smiling, for they’d feared the English king might take out his anger upon them.
That had never occurred to Richard, but as soon as the priest addressed the other Austrians, he froze. The guttural sound of German called up memories so vivid, so intense, that for an eerie moment, he was not in the great hall at Chinon. He was back in that hovel at Ertpurch, hearing soldiers shouting in a language he did not understand, knowing there was no way out, that he and his men were trapped and the world as he’d known it would never be the same. Just as on that December day two years ago, he could hear the rasping of his own breath, could feel the cold sweat trickling down his ribs. Whirling, he grabbed for the closest chair and slammed it into the wall, with enough force to splinter the wood. He turned then to face the hall, his head raised defiantly. To his relief, they seemed to accept his violence as natural rage over this latest extortion, as nothing more than that.
KINGS PUBLISHED THEIR ITINERARIES weeks in advance so that their vassals and subjects would know where they’d be hearing court cases or accepting petitions. As soon as she knew Richard would be holding his Christmas Court at Rouen, Joanna did her best to convince her sister-in-law to accompany her there. Berengaria flatly refused, saying she’d go nowhere unless Richard sent for her. Joanna did not give up, though, and when she received a letter from Eleanor in mid-December that mentioned that Richard was then at Chinon, she persuaded Berengaria to spend Christmas at the Loire Valley castle, explaining that would give her a chance to visit with her mother since Chinon was only ten miles from Fontevrault Abbey. She felt no guilt about meddling; it was obvious to her that her brother’s marriage was in need of mending, and how could that be done if the estranged husband and wife were hundreds of miles apart?
But the best-laid plans could go awry, and upon their arrival at Chinon, Joanna discovered that Richard had already moved on into Normandy. Moreover, she and Berengaria had just missed bidding farewell to Anna, the girls having departed with Baldwin de Bethune for Austria two days earlier. And once Berengaria learned that Richard had been at Chinon, she reproached Joanna with unwonted sharpness. So as Joanna rode toward Fontevrault the next morning, she was fully expecting to be told that her mother had accompanied Richard to Rouen for his Christmas Court, for that was the way her luck seemed to be running.
“I AM SO GLAD that you’re still here, Maman. I was afraid that you’d left with Richard.”