Eleanor knew that he’d proved himself to be a master at sea warfare during his time in the Holy Land, but she saw one major drawback in his ambitious, imaginative strategy. It took years to build a castle. She said nothing, though, for he was well aware of that, and asked him instead about his efforts to end the alliance between the Count of Flanders and the French king. He’d hoped that the new count would be more receptive to English overtures than his late father, but he’d just joined Philippe at the siege of Aumale. Richard remained confident that the trade embargo he’d imposed upon Flanders would work, however. Reminding Eleanor that Flanders was utterly dependent upon English wool for its cloth industry, he insisted that it was only a matter of time until the economic pressure would bring the count to his knees.
Eleanor agreed and expressed approval when he told her he meant to tighten the embargo to include English grain, for Flanders could not feed its own people, dependent upon imported food for the large cities of Ypres, Bruges, Lille, and Ghent. Thinking that he had his father’s flair for long-term planning, she said, “And once the Count of Flanders joins you, Philippe will have only one ally left. A pity we do not have such leverage against the Count of Toulouse, for then Philippe would be utterly on his own.”
“As it happens, I have a plan in mind for Toulouse, too.”
That immediately sparked Eleanor’s curiosity, for Toulouse was never far from her thoughts, her family’s lost legacy. Both of her husbands had tried to take it for her—tried and failed. Her soldier son might have better luck. She did not see how he could fight a war on two fronts, though. But when she tried to find out more about his plans for Toulouse, Richard merely smiled and shrugged, saying he did not yet know if that hawk would fly.
JOHN USUALLY WENT to see Richard with all the enthusiasm of a doomed felon being dragged to the gallows. But as they rode toward Vaudreuil, he was in high spirits and laughed when Durand gibed that he seemed as eager as a man about to visit a bawdy house.
“Well, Brother Richard has had a truly miserable summer, so that is bound to cheer me up. Forgetting to duck at Gaillon was just the beginning of his troubles. It is hard to say who is giving him more grief these days, the Bretons or the aggrieved Archbishop Gautier.”
Durand knew that the archbishop was threatening to lay Normandy under Interdict, but he hadn’t heard about new problems with the Bretons; he pricked up his ears in case this was something the queen had not yet heard, either. “The Bretons? I thought they’d come to terms with Richard in the spring.”
It took no more than that, for John enjoyed revealing information that was not yet widely known. “So it seemed. They agreed to offer hostages and Richard agreed to secure Constance’s release from her husband’s clutches, provided that she would agree to be governed by his wishes in the future. The date set for her release was the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, but it came and passed without her being freed or the hostages returned, so the Bretons met at Saint-Malo de Breignon, swore fealty to Arthur, and repudiated their oaths to Richard. They then sought aid from Philippe, which is like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But common sense has always been lacking amongst the Bretons.”
What Durand found most interesting about John’s blithe account of the Bretons’ rebellion was that it proved John had a spy, either in Richard’s camp or the Bretons’. That would be information his queen would want to know.
John was enumerating the other setbacks Richard had suffered that summer—his defeat at Aumale, its fall to Philippe, the loss of Nonancourt Castle, which had been retaken by the French while Richard was confined to his bed. “And we know my brother is surely the world’s worst patient, so how he must have rejoiced when Joanna, our mother, and Berengaria all descended upon him like a flock of hens fluttering about a lone chick!” John laughed again and Durand joined in, thinking that he’d not mind having Joanna nurse him back to health.
“Do you think your good news will salt Richard’s wound?” he joked, and John glanced his way with a grin.
“One can only hope.”
JOHN’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF his brother was that Richard did not look good. He was pale after over a month away from the sun, shadows lurked under his eyes, and he seemed to have put on some weight. Their father’s famous indifference to food or drink had been due in part to the ease with which he gained weight; he’d waged a lifelong battle to avoid becoming heavy. John had inherited Henry’s stocky build, and he’d envied Richard, whose height allowed him to eat without concern about putting on pounds. He was pleased to see now that even Richard was not immune to the effects of prolonged inactivity. Or to the impact of a well-aimed crossbow bolt.
“I’m surprised to see you out of bed,” he admitted, earning himself a mirthless smile from his older brother.
“If you start preaching to me about that, too, Johnny, I swear I’ll hit you with my crutch.”
“I’ll stay out of range, then. But where are your preachers? I assumed they’d be sticking closer to you than glue.” His light tone notwithstanding, John was vexed that neither his mother nor sister had come into the hall to greet him, and so it was welcome news when Richard said the women were no longer at Vaudreuil.