“And now that August has come?”
“The nausea has lessened considerably, although it has not gone away entirely. At least now she can take liquids like soup without throwing them up afterward. But she is still so weak, Morgan. She gets light-headed when she rises, so she must use a chamber pot, and the more time she spends in bed, the more strength she loses. She will not admit it, but I know she is terrified that she will not survive childbirth, for she is insisting that we go to Rouen to find her mother. We’ve reminded her that Eleanor promised to return to Fontevrault in time for the baby’s birth. But Joanna says she cannot wait, that she needs Eleanor now. I truly think she has convinced herself that she will die without her mother.”
Morgan was silent for several moments. “That is not so surprising,” he said at last. “I have heard men wounded on the battlefield cry out for their mothers. It is a need that seems bred into our bones. And who better to stand sentinel between Joanna and Death than Queen Eleanor?” Reaching over, he took Mariam’s hand. “If Joanna is set upon seeking out her mother, nothing we say will deter her. She is every bit as strong-willed as any of her brothers, as you well know. But what matters is not her determination; it is her need. If Eleanor can ease her fears and assure her that she will be able to deliver this child, we ought to be thanking God for it. I know little about childbirth, but I do know about battlefield injuries, and men who think they are going to recover have a better chance of doing so than those who think they are sure to die.”
“I know you are right. But the journey will be so hard on her. Rouen is so far away.”
“Well, since Joanna has made up her mind to do this, all we can do is ease her discomfort as best we can. We’ll put a bed in the horse litter, stop whenever she needs to rest. If we can only cover ten miles a day, what of it? What matters is that we get her to her mother, not how long it takes.”
He put his arm around her shoulders then and she leaned against him. “You’ve been saying ‘we.’ You will come with us, Morgan?”
“Of course I will. Joanna is my cousin, Richard’s sister. There is nothing I would not do for her.”
His assurances were very welcome and she felt great relief that he’d be there to help shoulder the burdens. Yet illogically she felt disappointed, too, for there was a time when he’d have said there was nothing he’d not do for her.
“You must have faith, Mariam. Joanna will reach Rouen. She will recover. And she will safely give birth when the time comes. Her mother is not going to lose another child.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
AUGUST 1199
Rouen, Normandy
Eleanor was watching as her son read the drafts of the charters in which she would name him as the heir to her duchy and he in turn would do homage to her for it. He smiled from time to time and once he laughed outright. John, first of that name to rule England since the Conquest, a king of three months. For most of his life, his age had been cited in defense of his follies or betrayals. Again and again her husband had excused his failings as the sins of youth. Even Richard had done that. But the time had finally come for John to stand or fall on his own merits as a king, as a man grown of thirty-two. A memory slithered out to remind her that Richard had been thirty-two at the time of his coronation. She shoved it back into the oubliette where she kept such memories penned up, for memories were her enemies now. Memories sapped her strength, undermined her resolve, reminded her of all she’d lost.