BERENGARIA HAD BEEN EXHAUSTED by their confrontation, both physically and emotionally, and she’d fallen asleep soon after their lovemaking. But when she awoke several hours later, she found she could not go back to sleep. Lying very still so as not to disturb Richard, she began to go over all that had occurred that night, trying to make sense of it. You’ve done nothing, I swear it! She wanted desperately to believe him. She did not understand, though, why he’d pushed her away if that was true. In so many ways, he seemed like a stranger, a troubled one. Not that they’d gotten to know each other all that well during their time in the Holy Land. They truly were starting anew, and so she must make a great effort to forgive him for the hurt he’d caused her. At least now they’d be living as man and wife, as God intended. And if He was merciful, she’d be able to fulfill her duty as a queen. She’d be able to give Richard a son.
She was growing sleepy again. The chamber seemed cold, though. The hearth must have burned out, she thought drowsily, sliding over to warm herself against her husband’s body. But his side of the bed was empty. She was alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AUGUST 1195
Fontevrault Abbey, Anjou
Sitting on a shaded bench in the abbey gardens, Eleanor studied the man lounging on the grass at her feet. Richard often paid her brief visits when his travels took him near Fontevrault, but this was the first time that John had done so. She’d been surprised and even disconcerted, but so far, all had gone smoothly. John could be good company when he chose to be, and having spent some of the spring and summer with Richard, he was very well informed about the rapid pace of events, confirming that the fragile truce between Richard and Philippe was but a bad memory now. He began by diplomatically choosing a story sure to appeal to her maternal pride, about a raid that Richard and Mercadier had made into the Berry region in early July. They’d captured the town and castle at Issoudun, and Richard had then returned to Normandy, leaving Mercadier to wreak havoc against rebels in Auvergne.
John had a raconteur’s flair for vivid storytelling, and the one he was relating now cast the French king in such a bad light that he soon had Eleanor laughing. Richard had put so much pressure upon the garrison at Vaudreuil Castle that Philippe had concluded he would not be able to hold it and reluctantly decided to destroy it rather than have it fall into Richard’s hands again. To gain time, he’d entered into negotiations with Richard about turning it over, with the two armies gathered as the kings sent envoys to bargain.
“But Philippe’s engineers did too good a job undermining the castle walls, and one of them collapsed in a cloud of dust in the midst of the negotiations.” John grinned at the memory. “Richard realized at once what had happened, and vowing, ‘There’ll be some saddles emptied this day,’ he gave the command to attack. Philippe was already fleeing, though. He’s always been one for avoiding the consequences of his actions.”
Eleanor said nothing, but John caught the elegant arch of an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose the same could be said of me,” he conceded, before offering her a disarming smile. “Until I repented my sinful past, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed dryly. “So what happened next?”
“Philippe was able to cross the River Seine to safety, but at some cost to his dignity. The bridge gave way under the weight of so many men and horses and they were all plunged into the river. Philippe managed to reach the shore, looking like a drowned rat, I’m told,” John said, with another grin. “That improved Richard’s mood greatly and he returned to Vaudreuil, where he seized the castle and the French soldiers who’d been left behind in their king’s flight. Saying that ‘a castle half destroyed is one half rebuilt,’ he set about doing just that, so Philippe’s double-dealing gained him naught but a river bath.”