The reaction of the women was different, for many of them were great heiresses in their own right. After the annulment of her marriage to the French king, Eleanor had nearly been ambushed and abducted twice by lords eager to gain Aquitaine by forcing her into marriage. Joanna had feared that this would be her fate during her confinement in Sicily. Denise and Hawisa and Isabel Marshal did not need much imagination to envision themselves in Ida de Lorraine’s plight had they been less fortunate. Berengaria was repelled, both by the act and the man himself. But she’d learned by now that a queen could not indulge her emotions, and she joined Eleanor and Joanna in dutifully making Richard’s valuable new ally welcome.
Renaud was the guest of honor at dinner and the entertainment that followed. He had an eye for beauty and made his admiration for Joanna rather obvious, to Raimond’s equally obvious amusement; he had every confidence that his wife was fully capable of dealing with Renaud de Dammartin. Joanna enjoyed flirting and marriage had not changed that, but she was not going to engage in that pleasant pastime with a man who saw a wife as a possession to be acquired by any means possible. Far from a fool, Renaud soon realized that the Countess of Toulouse’s flawless courtesy held the faintest hint of mockery, and that made her all the more desirable, for he loved a challenge. He’d merely been amusing himself, though. He would not only admit he was reckless, he took pride in it. However, he was not mad enough to attempt a serious seduction of the sister of his new liege lord, the English king.
He passed the rest of the evening discussing battlefield tactics with Richard, impressing the younger lords like Otto and William Longespée with his swagger and swapping memories with the men who’d shared Henry’s death vigil with him. Inevitably, the talk turned to Richard’s miracle, for even his enemies marveled that he could have constructed such a formidable, innovative castle in just two years.
Richard soon discovered that Renaud was quite knowledgeable about Castle Gaillard, for the French were keeping it under close surveillance. Renaud had even heard of the episode of the blood rain, in which the castle had been splattered by a sudden shower of red rain. “Most men would have seen that as a portent of coming calamity,” he said. “How did you keep the workers from panicking, sire?”
“I told them that it was not an ill omen, but rather one that foretold victory, that it signified the blood of our enemies. No offense,” Richard said dryly, “but I predicted it would be French blood.”
“No offense taken,” Renaud said, just as dryly. “Of course, the French king chose to see it as a sign of God’s anger with the Angevins. He is very irate about your new castle, my lord, wrathful that you’d dare to build it on the border of the French Vexin. He sees that as a deliberate provocation.”
“I would hope so,” Richard said, so nonchalantly that Renaud grinned.
“I do not doubt that it has given him some sleepless nights, for he often rants about it, cursing you and vowing to destroy the castle. He swears that he would take it if its walls were made of iron.”
Richard leaned back in his seat and, as his eyes met André’s, he murmured, “He makes it too easy. It is like spearing fish in a weir.” He signaled for silence then, for he wanted all in the hall to hear what he was about to say. The more men who heard, the more likely his words would reach the ears of the French king.
“Count Renaud has just told me,” he said loudly, “that the French king is boasting he would take Castle Gaillard if its walls were made of iron. Well, I could hold it if its walls were made of butter.”
SOON AFTER OTTO HAD returned to Poitou, he received an urgent summons from his uncle. He rode fast, reaching Richard’s new manor on the ?le de Andely on a cool April afternoon. He was surprised to find the Bishop of Lincoln seated beside Richard in the great hall, for he knew Hugh d’Avalon was out of favor. That past December, Richard had demanded that the barons of England provide him with three hundred knights to serve in Normandy. Hugh alone had balked, insisting that the church of Lincoln did not owe military service to the king beyond the borders of England, and Otto knew that Richard had been infuriated by the prelate’s defiance. Yet here they sat in perfect harmony. He wanted to know how these two strong-willed men had resolved their differences, but he had to wait until later that afternoon to have his curiosity satisfied.