“Yes, so King Tancred understands,” Philip replied acidly. “Hungry for gold.”
Richard’s skin blotched as it had in Marseilles. “If you refer to Joanna’s gold, Philip, we are hungry for justice. That gold was her wedding dower.”
Joanna bit her lower lip and entered the fray. “I beg you, My Liege, to return my dower. Otherwise, I may not wed again.”
Philip lapsed into his former state.
“You will wed again, I assure you. Your beauty, grace, utter enchantment … You are … I myself would …”
Richards face became speculative.
“My sister is indeed a wondrous queen. Nevertheless, the point remains: give her her gold.”
Joanna shot him a warning look which he seemed not to heed.
“By depriving her, you deprive all of us. The queen has pledged her dower to me for our journey.”
“What, pledged?” Joanna cried in open amazement.
“For you?” Philip dropped the queens hand.
Even I was dumbfounded. Richard might be a great warrior-king, but he was no diplomat. Why hadn’t he kept his plans for the gold a secret? I would never tell Enoch what I really intended.
Philip’s bedazzled smile had turned to a grimace. “In which case, I too shall receive half her dowry, as we agreed in Vézelay Share and share alike.”
“Of plunder,” Richard retorted wrathfully. “I’ll see you in Hell before I let you touch one denier of our gold.”
Our gold! Benedicite, Richard was no better than Enoch. A pox on all brothers and their greed. To take all of Joanna’s dowry and fight over it with the French king, as if she didn’t deserve a coin. I adored the king, aye, and he was like my own father, and I was jealous of Joanna; yet she was a woman and so was I!
“Richard, I did not …” Joanna blazed, but he stopped her with a peremptory hand. His Angevin temper had now taken over.
“I wrote to Pope Clement,” he continued to Philip, “and reported that you had broken fealty here in Messina. I demanded your excommunication.”
“I wrote a similar letter from Vézelay,” Philip fired back, “demanding your excommunication. You have clearly broken your holy pledge to wed my sister Alais.”
Richard bared his teeth in a travesty of a smile. “Did you also tell him why I broke my promise?”
Enthralled by this hint of a dark secret, I eagerly awaited King Philips reply. I waited in vain. He pressed his lips like white worms under water, and Richard had won.
But Queen Joanna wasn’t finished. She placed her hand on Philips arm. “Enough of threats and pleadings. My Lord, I trust your honor and know you will not fail me.”
He managed to keep his voice steady in reply. “My Lady Queen, by my royal office which I hold with God’s will, I promise that your dower shall be delivered forthwith. Teste me ipso.”
She rewarded him with a long significant smile, and the atmosphere became less charged.
Richard waved a hand in our direction. “Sir Gilbert, Alex, wine and refreshments if you please.”
As we served, they spoke of other things, mostly the prevailing winds, for King Philip was most eager to sail to Acre in the Holy Land. I hovered close to the queen, sniffing her sweet sandalwood. I could easily see why King Philip had been so smitten, and Richard too, Deus juva me. In a short time, the French king begged to be excused and took his leave, warmly from the queen, hardly at all from her brother.
“Holy St. Martin,” Joanna gasped when he’d left. “Eleanor would have been proud of me tonight. In order to produce, try to induce; if that fails, seduce. Such did I learn at the queen’s knee. Here, boy, refresh me.”
I took the proffered cup, glancing at Sir Gilbert, and handed wine to the queen.
“Why, what a pretty imp,” she remarked, gazing on me. “But so young. Hardly weaned, I’d say. How old are you, lad?”
I always had to think. “Nine, Your Highness.”
“A babe. Richard, best get this bait out of Messina before the sharks feed. He’s the kind of tender morsel that starts a riot in this city.”
The king ruffled my hair. “I’ve made it my special task to guard young Alex myself.”
“Oh?” Her brows shot up in a perfect parody of the king’s. “Fortunate Alex.”
But he was already thinking of other things.
“The sweet opiate of your person appears more effective than my threats with Philip. What say you to ruling France?”
Joanna rolled her wine in her cup and smiled wickedly
“I’ll say aye if you will. A double wedding, I with Philip, you with Alais.”
“Joanna, I mean it. What say you to Philip? He’ll make you the most powerful woman in Europe.”
I held my breath; ’twas the first time I’d actually witnessed the dispensation of a royal lady.
“Thank you for such unexpected largesse, but I think not. ’Tis not my pleasure to spread my legs for a pasty Cyclops to secure your Vexin. Especially when you can pump sweet Alais at the same well.”
“Who speaks of pleasure, Joan? Our aim is security along the Norman border, for which the Vexin is essential.”
Her mouth tightened and her words came with asperity, recalling Sister Petronilla to my ear. “Your aim, not mine, for I care nothing for that swampy plain. When I was twelve, my father sent me to rule William’s harem in Palermo; I went, because a king held my dower. Now I’m older and have my own dowry and I’ll decide.”
“Your confidence outrides your horse,” drawled Richard. “’Twill be my gold.”
Joanna smiled broadly and clasped her hands behind her brother’s neck, then leaned backward to gaze on him. “But Richard is not Henry and will give me what is my due. Let’s strike a bargain: you may have my gold and more, as a loan; in return, you’ll get me dispensation to accompany you on your Crusade; reimburse me in full when we return to Europe; then find me a lusty stud to fill my womb. What say you?”
“God’s balls!” Richard stamped a foot and laughed. “You are my own sweet sister. You offer me a headache in exchange for the world, yet deflate argument by implying that to do else would be like Henry. Well, ’tis done. Let’s to Jerusalem, Joan!”
And she leaped to his waiting arms.
With that embrace I was back to my first emotion: jealousy which twisted my heart to a lemon peel. I hated the odious forward queen, didn’t want her on our Crusade. Hadn’t Richard said that no women were permitted? He might be a great king but tonight he’d proved himself a mere man as well. Produce, induce, seduce! How clever she was to disarm her victim by showing her claws, for she’d conquered Richard as surely as she’d conquered Philip. And unwittingly taught me a lesson as well, though I knew not how I might apply it.
They parted finally, smiled with nauseating tenderness and left without a backward glance. No sooner was the door closed than I felt a sting across my cheek and almost fell with the blow!
“How dare you strike me!” I screamed at Sir Gilbert and would have hit him back except that he held my arms.
“You served the English queen!” he panted. “After I told you to serve only the French!”
“She asked me, you fool! I’m going to tell the king that you hit me! He’ll have you punished, see if he doesn’t.”
He let go of my arms. “You do that, and I’ll tell the king what I know about you.”
Stricken, I searched his yellow eyes for a clue and suddenly remembered how he’d clutched my crotch in Vézelay. He must know that I was a girl. What else could it be? I ran from the room.
“His poison be venal, bairn. Did ye knaw that Sir Eduard just departed fer England?” Enoch said later when I’d related the scene.
“No! Why?”
“I canna tell ye the particulars, but this Sir Gilbert kapes pages coming and going lak sinners to the priest. The king’s household be Gilbert’s ane private court.”
“Do you think I should tell the king?”
Enoch knotted his brows. “Certes ye shouldna be whipping boy
to the king’s slubberdegullian, but ye must time yer complaint. Fram what ye said, the king has mighty problems here in Messina.” He thought further. “Wait till ye have better opportunity, that’s my advice.”
THREE DAYS LATER QUEEN JOANNA AND HER TRAIN LEFT our palace to live in the Abbey of Bagnara which Richard had taken for her. At first I was relieved to have her away from the king but soon suffered from the same ennui as every Crusader in Messina, for we were all prisoners in this hostile territory. Enoch reported near mutiny in Richards ranks.
“Sum say the king be under a sorcerers spell cast by the Antichrist and canna move. Most of the lot sold all they had to crusade and they dinna keer to spend it wintering in this pissmar.”
“It’s not winter yet.”
“Aye, on the sea ’tis winter. The next fair breezes come in March. That’s as soon as we can sail.”
I, too, was impatient and nervous. Other Crusaders might be spending money, but I was spending something much more precious: time. For me, getting older each day promised disaster. I examined my body anxiously several times from morning to night, terrified if I found an insect bite. How could I be sure? It could be unwanted hair coming on, or—worse—a bulge.
Fortunately the king was mindful of his promise to govern my education and I attended classes in chivalry and courtesy given alternately by Sir William de Courcy and Sir Jordan de Homez, and Sir Roger taught me such arts as carving meat with my left thumb against the haunch, but time hung heavy.
Therefore I near swooned with delight one day in late autumn when Sir Roger summoned me to accompany the king on a rare sojourn into the countryside to exercise his horses. Enoch went too to watch the prize destriers, but he rode separately from us. There were several lords, however: our instructors in courtesy plus Wigain de Cherbourg, Geoffrey Rancon, Aymeri Torel and others I couldn’t name. I was astonished that King Philip’s most valued lord, William des Barres, also joined us. He was a dashing nobleman, almost as tall as the king and garbed in dazzling raiment of peacock blue. He smiled affably but everyone was uneasy to have King Philips best friend in our midst, almost as if he were a spy.
Copper-green hillsides rose above the sedgy marshes and the citrus was tinged with gold from the low autumn sun. Our Roman path lay under the purple shadow of Mount Etna so that we felt winter’s nip, though Enoch said there would be no snow. The jingle of the bridle bells, the friendly rumble of men’s voices and the very fact we were no longer within Messina’s hostile walls put everyone in festive mood.
After the king had gifted me with his radiant smile, he rode with his peers and I was left to listen and enjoy by myself. We didn’t pause until Haute Tierce when we reached a small level plain by a Greek amphitheater, apparently our destination. I served the king while the others ate whatever they had carried with them. There was easy jangling and japing as the knights lounged on the seared grass. Then, after a pleasant rest, one noticed a growth of canes behind a column.
“Look you,” he called. “Canes such as we used to joust with when boys. What say you to a game?”
Some demurred, still too sluggish from their food, but others mounted and began a leisurely imitation of tilting spears. Then the French William des Barres spoke to the king.
“We hear, Your Highness, that you have a boy you’re grooming for your court. Has he yet been trained with the quintain?”
The king glanced in my direction and smiled. “He’s too young.”
“I began when I was only eight,” des Barres insisted. “What say you that I fashion the quintain and you instruct your young charge what he should do? ’Twill be a useful and pleasant diversion.”
Richard sensed a note of challenge and bowed to the French lord.
“Come, Alex, let me speak with you.”
So I walked slowly to the king who smiled reassuringly and described the technique of placing the lance in an adversary’s chest-spoon.
“’Tis a formidable weapon, much too heavy and long for you to handle, but we’ll fashion a light facsimile of cane, and the quintain is simply a pole dressed as a man, not a moving target and in no way dangerous. The worst that can happen is that you’ll miss. Are you ready?”
“Aye, Your Highness,” I said, my eyes swimming with pleasure at his attention.
As Richard carved the cane, he also talked: the lance was used principally in tournaments, for in actual battle it was good only for a single thrust, then must be replaced by the sword or mace. Of course the Saracens fought in a different manner but that need not concern me. The lance could be eighteen feet long, was made of oak and steel and had to be manipulated by one arm only. In the spurt toward the enemy, ’twas necessary to hold it against the body for balance, then at the last minute to raise it and thrust it toward the chest, by no means using one’s own body as ballast as that would be suicide. The impact of the strike was taken in the stirrups, so I should throw my feet forward and upward with my knees straight. Therefore the skill was in speed, aim, free thrust—all to be coordinated as one act.
The lords remembered their own training and lined up to urge me on in my first ride. Though the lance was only cane, ’twas awkward to an extreme and shook in my grasp. I pulled Thistle behind my line, placed the cane against my side, took aim against the quintain now dressed as a “man” with a stick “arm” to which a broadsword had been tied for verisimilitude.
“Go!” called the king.
I knew at once that I wouldn’t succeed: my start was tentative, my gait wrong. I didn’t even bother thrusting but turned back to try again. Now I was excited and wanted desperately to please King Richard.
“Go!” he called.
This time ’twas right. The wind whistled steady in my ears, the lance rose like a falcon and hit. I was thrilled at the contact, right in the chest!
“I did it!” I shouted.
Then was struck myself from the rear as the world went black! I lay on the ground face-down and wondered dazedly what had gone wrong. I was still conscious but too stunned and breathless to speak.
“God’s feet, what happened?”
“Air ye hurt, bairn?”
Hands tried to lift me and I screamed in agony.
“Don’t touch me!”
This time I did swoon, though only for a moment. Then feebly I beat away the hands that were trying to tug down my baggy pants.
“No, no, don’t,” I wept.
And they stopped.
“He’s been struck by a broadsword on his lower back!” the king cried. “Let me see that quintain. Who put it on a swivel?”
In a great distance, I heard a mix of laughter and denial.
“It was the accepted method where I was trained,” William des Barres’s voice claimed. “If you’d warned him, it could not have happened.”
“Because I thought you chivalrous, such a warning never occurred to me,” the king answered hotly.
Des Barres became offended. “Be careful, Your Highness. I cannot accept a slur to my chivalry.”
“You are a disgrace to chivalry and henceforth are barred from our Crusade! I should have known when you broke the pledge of parole in Aquitaine last year, and now a second offense. To arms!”
Still lying on my stomach, I saw that Richard and des Barres now both held canes which they were using as spears, but in deadly earnest. The lords’ faces were pale and worried as they saw Richard thrust, then thrust again with such accuracy that des Barres had to drop his cane and cling to his horse’s neck. The king loosened his own saddle with his blows and quickly jumped upon another steed to continue the fight. ’Twas the Angevin temper in action and for the first time I was convinced that he was from the Devil after all. His face was fixed in madness which must end in death, his own or the Frenchman’s. Finally the other lords tried to intervene, the Earl of Leicester to the point of grabbing the royal reins. Richard whipped him savagely and screamed, “Leave me to deal with him alone!”
At last William des Barres understood the depth of his wrath and rowle
d his spurs in a fast retreat!
“Get thee hence!” the king shouted after him. “And take care that I see you no more! From this time I am enemy to you and yours forever!”
A profound silence fell upon our company only that I thought I heard an ancient wailing howl through the arena from the old gods.
’Twas the last sound I heard clearly until we were in Messina where I was waked by my own voice screaming. I was in dreadful pain but that wasn’t the reason I cried: I didn’t want anyone to remove my clothes.
It started with Enoch who tried—gently—to pull down my braies and look at my buttocks. He retreated when I threatened to kill him if he touched me. However, I agreed to piss into a cup he left by my bedside.
Then came King Richard. He knelt on the floor so that his face was level with mine where I lay on my stomach on a bench.
“Alex, you must believe me, this injury will be avenged if it’s the last thing I do.”
I believed him.
“The Scot says you have no blood in your urine, so I know you’ll recover soon. Nevertheless, I’ll send my own physician, Orlando, to examine you.
“Alex?” I felt his hand on my cheek. “I’m sorry that you have to suffer on my behalf.”
“Your behalf—?”
“By being my Achilles heel.”
“I don’t understand—Achilles.”
“Achilles was a great warrior who was dipped in water so he couldn’t be harmed, but the god held him by his heel. Therefore his enemies attacked him on his vulnerable heel and eventually killed him.”
I gazed uncomprehending, vaguely insulted to be called a part of a foot even if ’twas Richard’s foot.
He saw my puzzlement. “You are my heel because I care for you, and whoever harms you harms me as well.”
Warmth flooded through my tortured body. Then his face came close, his lips brushed mine, and he left. The Scot replaced him.
“Quhat hermis ye hermis me as weil! Quhat schitten bullar, say I! Ye tal me quick and ye tal me plain what the king meant.”
“He feels grateful because I saved his life!” I shouted, then groaned at the pain and grunted out the rest. “’Tis more than you feel though I saved your life as well!”
Shield of Three Lions Page 29
