DINNER WAS THE MAIN meal of the day, supper usually an afterthought, but because of Berengaria and Joanna’s late arrival, Richard had arranged for a lavish repast, the tables in the great hall laden with all the foods that had been denied them during Lent. His miraculous recovery had not been as rapid as it appeared to others. Eating little, he merely pushed his food around on his trencher to disguise his lack of appetite, not noticing that his wife was doing the same. He tired easily these days and all he wanted to do in a bed this night was sleep. But his bishops were watching him expectantly, seeing his reconciliation with his queen as proof that he had turned away from past sins. For all he knew, the Almighty was watching him, too.
After the meal, there was a performance by troubadours and a daring youth who juggled knives. Richard soon rose, reaching for his wife’s hand to draw her to her feet. When she realized his intent, she blushed, murmuring that she should summon her ladies. Richard assured her that he could assist her in undressing. She did not doubt that he had considerable experience in ridding women of their clothes, for she was not so na?ve as to think he’d been faithful to her during their estrangement. She did not protest and they exited the great hall to a round of cheers and approving smiles.
As they crossed the threshold of the bedchamber that had been prepared for Berengaria, Richard halted in surprise, for it resembled a bridal bower. It was too early for flowers, but fragrant floor rushes had been scattered about with a lavish hand, incense was burning to perfume the air, silver candelabras kept the shadows at bay, and a small trestle table held two jeweled cups, a large flagon of wine, and a dish of dried fruit. He wondered who had ordered this. It was not his mother’s style. It was Joanna’s style, but she’d not had the time. Mayhap André’s wife or Will’s Isabel. It might even be Johnny’s idea of a jest. Well, at least there was wine. After sliding the latch into place, he crossed to the table, asking Berengaria if she would like wine.
“Yes, please.” She watched him reach for the flagon, still not sure what she would do. She well knew what was expected of her; she’d been taught from the cradle that wives were to be dutiful and deferential. Did Scriptures not say that they should submit themselves to their husbands, as unto the Lord? “The bishop told me that you were very ill last week, Richard,” she said at last.
He paused, then began to pour wine into one of the cups. “I had a fever for a few days,” he said dismissively.
She had not known she meant to speak until she heard her own voice, sounding so calm and cold that it could have been a stranger’s. “Yet it was serious enough for you to be shriven of your sins. I would not have you jeopardize your health by paying the marriage debt prematurely. I am sure the Almighty will understand if you choose to defer your penance until you are fully recovered.”
His hand jerked, wine splattering like blood upon the snowy white linen cloth. “Penance?” he echoed incredulously. “Why would you say something like that, Berenguela? Why would you even think it?”
“Do you truly need to ask that, Richard?”
He could not believe she’d chosen this night, of all nights, to provoke a quarrel. “I can assure you that I do not see bedding you as penance, little dove.”
She winced, for that endearment, once so pleasing to her ears, now seemed like a cruel mockery. “I do not believe you,” she said, and knew she’d angered him when color rose in his face. But she did not care. “In the year since your return from Germany, you’ve made it painfully clear that you do not want me, not as queen, wife, or bedmate. You chose not to have me join you in England or to attend your crown-wearing at Winchester—”
“Christ on the Cross, woman, I was putting down a rebellion!”
She discovered, to her surprise, that she was not intimidated by his rage, for what did she have to lose? “I am not as knowledgeable about statecraft as your mother and sister, Richard. But I am far from a fool, so I would ask you not to treat me like one. If your lady mother could accompany you to the siege of Nottingham, why could not your wife?”
She saw he did not have an answer to that, but it gave her no satisfaction. “Then you returned to Normandy and two months passed ere we were reunited—two months. You did not come to me even when my father died.”
“I was fighting a war! I seriously doubt that the French king would have agreed to a truce so I could pay a conjugal visit to my wife.”