Richard’s sarcasm did not disguise the depths of his anger, as he proved now by launching a diatribe against the papacy. “The Church did nothing for me whilst I was held prisoner in Germany and my lands were being overrun by the French king and Johnny. Yet now their hearts bleed for that Devil’s whelp Beauvais? Well, he will never see the light of day again, not as long as I draw breath.”
Eleanor was conflicted about the Bishop of Beauvais’s fate. The queen saw his continuing imprisonment as a source of discord with the new Pope, never a good thing, but the mother had not a drop of pity to spare for the captive prelate. She voiced no opinion, though, for she knew it would not be welcome; the Archangel Gabriel could appear to argue for Beauvais’s release and Richard would have paid no heed. Instead, she seized upon his mention of his younger brother.
“Speaking of John . . . Did he seek you out as he promised me he would?”
“He did, on the day after Epiphany, swearing upon all he holds most sacred—which in Johnny’s case is to be found below the belt—that he had not been plotting against me. It must have been quite a novelty—for once actually being innocent of the charges made against him. With his usual flair for the dramatic, he dispatched two knights to the French court to formally deny the accusation, and none were willing to accept his challenge.”
Richard interrupted himself to pour wine for them both. Regarding his mother with a sardonic smile, he said, “Do you know where he is now? Off to pay a visit to our nephew in Brittany.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows shot upward. “Whatever for?”
“He reminded me that he’d never met Arthur, and now that the lad has returned from Paris, he decided it was as good a time as any to take Arthur’s measure. Knowing Johnny, I daresay he is also amusing himself by putting the cat amongst the pigeons. Think how Constance and her Bretons will react to his unexpected arrival. They’ll be sure he is up to no good, but what? I’d wager none of them get a full night’s sleep until he departs.”
“John is very good at banishing sleep,” Eleanor said dryly. “Richard . . . I had a troubling letter recently from the Bishop of Agen. He says the Count of Toulouse has not been very successful in dealing with some of his rebellious vassals, that he tends to be too forgiving and Joanna has been urging him to take a harder stance. Raimond was away when the lord of St Felix rebelled and instead of waiting for her husband’s return, Joanna chose to lead an armed force herself and lay siege to his castle at Les Casses.”
She sounded so disapproving that Richard hastily brought his wine cup up to conceal a smile. “Say what you will of our lass; she does not lack for spirit.”
“Too much spirit. She was not that long out of childbed, and as it turned out, she found herself in real danger. Several of Raimond’s knights had been bought off by the rebels and they set fire to her siege camp. She barely escaped with her life.”
Richard scowled. “I hope St Gilles saw to it that those shameless curs paid in blood for their treachery.”
“The bishop did not say how Raimond reacted. I doubt that he was happy about Joanna taking such a risk, though. How could he be?”
“Well, I never had much luck reining Joanna in, so I doubt that Raimond will, either. She is your daughter, after all. But I agree that we need to talk to her. Once I get back from dealing with that Judas in Limoges, I’ll invite Joanna and Raimond to my court. Mayhap between the three of us, we can convince her that besieging castles is not an ideal female pastime.”
Eleanor hoped so. A brother might be proud of a strong-willed sister’s boldness, but how many husbands would be so indulgent? Marriages were far more fragile than most people realized, even the good ones, and if she could stop her daughter from making some of her own mistakes, she meant to do so.
“Do not tarry too long in Limousin, Richard.”
He smiled. “From your lips to God’s Ear, Maman.”
CHLUS-CHABROL WAS PERCHED ON the summit of a low hill above the River Tardoire, although it could more properly be called a stream, just as its village was more properly a hamlet. It was one of the castles that Viscount Aimar relied upon to guard the Limoges–Périgord road, but it did not look very imposing, a small citadel with a round stone keep and ten houses enclosed by a double bailey. It was being held for the viscount by the Lord of Montbrun, Peire Brun, and a captured peddler insisted there were no more than forty people within its walls. Richard’s men did not expect it to present much of a challenge. It was only the first target of many, for Richard had vowed to raze all of the viscount’s strongholds, leaving Aimar with nothing but charred ruins, ashes, rubble, and regrets. This was the fifth rebellion launched by the viscount and Richard was determined that it would be the last.