Richard was laughing so hard that he had to stop from time to time. “Philippe then tried to weasel out of the trap, offering to give Baldwin whatever he demanded if he’d ally himself again with France. Baldwin refused, saying he meant to keep faith with me, agreeing only to arrange another peace counsel in September.
“Philippe had no choice but to agree, and slunk back to Paris to sulk and lick his wounds,” Richard said with a grin. “It does not get much better than that, little dove!”
He sounded blissfully happy, looked to have shed years in the time it had taken to read the Flemish count’s letter, and Berengaria, who thought she’d uprooted all sprouts of hope from her garden, now found herself wondering if things might be different if only Richard could eliminate the threat posed by the French king.
IN SEPTEMBER, Richard and Count Baldwin met with Philippe, but nothing was resolved apart from another truce, this one to last for a year from St Hilary’s Day in January. Neither king expected it to endure, for they were locked in a bitter struggle for supremacy that could only end in victory for one and defeat for the other. And when Richard held his Christmas Court at Rouen that year, most believed that his prospects seemed far brighter than the French king’s.
THIS WAS BERENGARIA’S BEST Christmas since the one they’d celebrated in the Holy Land, and she hoped it would blot out the dismal memories of her lonely, dreary Christmas last year at Beaufort-en-Vallée, unwilling to join Richard whilst Normandy was under Interdict, fearing that the archbishop might even excommunicate him for his defiance, and missing Joanna more than she’d have thought possible.
Joanna was still absent, celebrating in Toulouse with her husband and baby son, but the rest of Richard’s family had gathered in Rouen, as well as vassals, lords, and churchmen, and Berengaria enjoyed this rare opportunity to play the public role of his queen. Even Eleanor’s presence did not tarnish her pleasure, nor the fact that she knew many of the guests would be measuring her slender waist with judgmental, disappointed eyes.
On this Monday three days before the Nativity, the castle great hall was decked in evergreen, a yule log burned in the hearth, and music echoed out onto the wet evening air. Not even a steady, cold rain could dampen the festivities. Richard was in high spirits and since the king’s mood usually set the tone, there was much laughter and merriment. Breathless from the last dance, Berengaria welcomed the chance to talk with Morgan, who’d returned that afternoon from a visit to Toulouse.
“Tell me,” she said with a smile, “can my sister-in-law truly be as happy as she sounds in her letters?”
Morgan returned the smile. “Even happier, my lady. And why not? Her husband dotes on her every whim and Raimondet is a robust little lad, as healthy as the most fearful mother could wish.”
“God has indeed blessed her, but no more than she deserves.” She hesitated then, wanting to express her sympathy, yet not wanting to pry. “Your talk with the Lady Mariam . . .”
He slowly shook his head. “We do not all get a happy ending in this life, my lady.”
“No,” she agreed softly, “we do not.”
She turned then as the Bishop of Lisieux approached and Morgan seized his chance to slip away. Almost at once, he ran into Guillain, who greeted him warmly before raising his eyebrows in a silent query.
Morgan found it easier to confide in his friend than in the queen, and he led the other man toward a nearby window-seat. “We had a candid talk,” he said, “one we ought to have had months ago. At least I know now why she refuses to wed me. Children are the barrier. She fears that she might not be able to give me any since she had none with her first husband. I told her that is always in God’s hands, but she is also convinced that no child of hers would be welcome in the Angevin domains. She says that only in Sicily could a child of mixed blood find true acceptance.”
Guillain considered that, reluctantly concluding that he agreed with Mariam. “You could never do that, Morgan.”
“I know,” Morgan said bleakly. “I’d sooner take Lucifer as my liege lord than Heinrich. But I am not sure I could do it even if Tancred still ruled over Sicily. My parents are elderly and I’d likely never see them again if I were to settle in Sicily. Moreover, I doubt that Mariam could bring herself to leave Joanna, and I . . .”
Morgan paused before smiling, somewhat ruefully. “You know I was squire to Richard’s brother Geoffrey and then a knight in his household. After that, I served the old king till his death. I did not know Richard well at all, and the bad blood between him and his sire and brothers did give me pause. That seems so long ago. Before Outremer. Before . . .”