The Loves of the Lionheart

by Margaret Brazear

  He cannot have lost the battle, not Richard. He had never lost a battle in his life, not even Jerusalem. Even there, he had drawn a truce with Saladin, as neither leader knew they could win. Richard never lost.

  She slipped off her horse, stumbling as her feet touched the ground where strong arms caught her and she looked up into the aging eyes of her mother.

  “Where is he?” Joanna demanded. “Why are you here?”

  Eleanor saw at once that her daughter was badly injured.

  “He is dead, Joanna,” she said. “Richard is dead.”

  Joanna shook her head.

  “No. He cannot be dead. I need him.”

  “He was hit by an arrow. The wound became infected.”

  Joanna knew with whom she wanted to share this grief and it was not her mother.

  “Berengaria?” She asked. “Is she here?”

  Eleanor turned away, but Joanna clasped her arm.

  “You didn’t send for her, did you? You wanted him all to yourself so you didn’t send for her.”

  “There was no time.”

  “I do not believe you. You have tried to shut her out of his life ever since you realised she was unlikely to conceive. And whose fault was that? Hers, or his for ignoring her most of the time.”

  The tears that flooded into the burn on her neck stung and she gave a small scream, which drew her mother’s attention.

  “Come,” Eleanor said. “We must get you to the Abbey. They will treat your wounds and care for you.”

  The drive to Fontevrault Abbey was not long, but it was rough and every bump in the road hurt. Joanna pushed the fabric of her clothing away from her burns, but the pain was getting worse and her injuries were not the only pain from which she suffered. By the time they reached the Abbey, she was deep into labour.

  She clutched her mother’s hand and held her back as she was about to leave the carriage.

  “Send for Berengaria,” she said. “I wish to see her. And send for the Abbess; I wish to take the veil.”

  Eleanor could only stare at her.

  “You are married and with child,” she said. “It will never be allowed.”

  “Those are my dying wishes, Mother. Do not betray them as you did those of my brother.”

  BERENGARIA SET OUT, wearing her white widow’s garments as befitted a Queen. She could not help but wonder if Queen Eleanor would also feel entitled to wear white, since she had usurped the title of Queen of England throughout Berengaria’s marriage to the King of that nation. But she was not his widow, Berengaria was and she intended to be sure the whole of Christendom recognised that fact.

  All she really wanted to do was curl up and die, join her husband in death as she was never permitted to join him in life. But Joanna was as a sister to her and if she should die as well, if Berengaria should lose her so soon after losing her husband, she thought she would likely spend the rest of her life in mourning white.

  Her first glimpse of Joanna told her that she had arrived just in time. Her arms and legs were injured from the burns she had suffered, along with part of her face and neck, and she had just gone into premature labour.

  She rushed to her bedside, sat beside her and clasped her hand. She wanted desperately to take her in her arms, but there seemed to be so much damage to her body, she was afraid of hurting her.

  Joanna’s eyes opened and she clutched weakly at her sister-in-law’s hand.

  “You came,” she whispered hoarsely. “I was afraid she wouldn’t send for you.”

  “Eleanor?”

  “Yes. She didn’t send for you when Richard was dying.”

  “Did he ask for me?” Berengaria’s heart leapt with a little hope she had no idea she possessed.

  “I think he would have, but she wanted him to herself in those last moments.”

  “You have taken the veil, Joanna. Is that really what you want?”

  Fingernails dug painfully into Berengaria’s hand, reminding her of that long ago shipwreck. But this time it was a vicious pain that shot through Joanna and she lifted her knees in an effort to ease the agony. Her complexion lost all colour and little beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead.

  After a few moments, she straightened her legs and sighed heavily.

  “I shall not live to see this child,” she said. “If it should be a son, he should be named for my brother; he should be named Richard. Will you make sure for me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  Berengaria wanted to assure her that she would survive, but she could not lie. Deep down, she knew that God had not yet finished giving her sorrow. Not happy with taking her husband, He was now about to take the dear friend and sister who had helped her through every ordeal she had suffered since her marriage to him.

  She stood up, leaned over Joanna’s pillow and kissed her cheek. She fought against the tears which bunched in her throat, fought to speak, to say goodbye to this remarkable woman whom she had loved.

  “Goodbye, my dear sister,” she whispered.

  But Joanna’s eyes remained closed. Her breathing grew shallow, so shallow it could barely be heard, and her pulse was weak.

  “Your Highness,” a voice close to Berengaria said softly. She glanced up to see a priest beside her. “I need to give Queen Joanna her Last Rites.”

  She nodded and moved away, then left the chamber to give them privacy. Outside she came face to face with Queen Eleanor and she was doing something of which Berengaria never believed her capable. She was weeping.

  She wanted to ask her if Joanna was right, if Richard had asked for her on his deathbed, but the sight of her tears stopped her.

  She sat outside the chamber, hoping Joanna would regain consciousness and ask for her, but the next thing she heard was the distinctive cry of a newborn babe. She jumped to her feet, took one step towards the chamber but Eleanor’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

  “She has gone,” she said. “The physician has cut open her body to retrieve the child. It was what she asked for.”

  BERENGARIA RETURNED to Maine, bereft of two of the people she loved more than any other in her life. There was but one more, her sister Blanche and she thanked the Lord that He had at least left her to be her only comfort.

  She lived close enough for regular visits and she was to be thankful for her support over the following years.

  King Richard had left her a pension as well as lands in England, from which she was entitled to an income, but her efforts to persuade King John to give her that income, made her widowhood ever more desolate.

  Her sister, Blanche, was quick to give her financial support, but when she heard that Berengaria had given away the house in Maine as well as a productive vineyard, she was not happy.

  “You have nothing,” Blanche berated her. “You give everything you have to the poor as it is, why give away a house which could produce rental income as well as a vineyard?”

  Berengaria’s eyes met hers and she smiled, just a little enigmatic half smile.

  “I gave the house to the Hospitallers of St Joseph to continue their work in Richard’s name and the vineyard to the Abbey of La Couture in payment for their prayers. They are to pray for Richard every year on the anniversary of his death. He did not lead a sin free life or even a particularly good life; I believe he needs those prayers to find his place in Heaven and if he fails to find such a place, I will never see him again.”

  Blanche was lost for words. Because her sister had never shown her grief in public, because she was not present at her husband’s deathbed and because they spent so much of their marriage apart, people believed she did not care for him.

  Berengaria was a proud woman, a woman who would never show her true feelings to the world.

  “So you really did love him,” she said.

  Berengaria nodded; a tear escaped from beneath her eyelid and found its way to the neck of her white mourning gown.

  THE END

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  IT IS NOT EASY, FROM a distance
of more than 800 years, to imagine what the lives of those forgotten princesses were really like. Little is known about Berengaria, the only Queen of England who never set foot in the country, and even less is known about Princess Alys. Whenever she is portrayed it seems to always be as the ‘other woman’ who tempted King Henry away from his wife.

  This, I believe, is unlikely in the extreme. Although age means little when compared to our modern standards, and the age of consent for marriage for girls was 12 years, she was between 8 and 9 when she was sent to live with the English royal family. I think she was badly exploited and I truly believe that if Richard had married her when he should have done, instead of fighting a war against his own father, things would have been very different for Alys.

  Her name is spelled in chronicles and history books as Alice, Alys or Alais, among others; I have chosen to use Alys in this novel.

  I think she was very badly used both by her own family and by that of her betrothed. King Henry betrayed his trust to care for her and seduced her instead. She is hardly to be blamed for that.

  As to Richard, very much is known about his life but even more is speculated. There is very little evidence to support the belief that he was homosexual and a lot of evidence against it.

  He had at least two illegitimate children, whose mothers are unknown; allegations of sodomy by various chroniclers of that time, which many cite in support of this view, fail to take into account the differences in language between then and now.

  Imagine a report written before 1967 describing someone as ‘gay’. Readers of that report in the future might assume the subject was homosexual when in fact, the report was describing the person as happy, merry, joyful, having a good time.

  What happened in 1967? In the United Kingdom, the law against homosexuality was abolished and the gay community declared ‘now we are as good as you’ - those three initials, G.A.Y. were the origin of the word being used to describe homosexuality.

  By the same token, sodomy is a word derived from the sinful cities of Sodom and Gomorrah named in the bible. In the twelfth century, sodomy was taken to mean any sexual activity outside of marriage. In fact, mention of ‘unnatural practices’ also referred to sex outside of marriage. Then there is the story of how he once shared a bed with Philip Augustus. So what? Up until early in the 20th century, people of the same sex shared beds; it was the normal thing to do, for convenience or for warmth.

  Acknowledged homosexual kings of England had a tendency to surround themselves with many handsome young men or at least had one particular male companion. Richard had neither of these. It is also true that his father, King Henry II, detested Richard (probably because he was his mother’s favourite) and thought of every means possible to deny him the throne. Had he suspected for one moment that the son he hated was homosexual, he would most certainly have used it against him. Homosexuality in the twelfth century was punishable by death, very often by being burned alive and while a King might escape this penalty, as did William Rufus, he would not have achieved the respect that King Richard I enjoyed, despite being a somewhat useless king.

  That Richard was a womaniser like his father and certainly his brother John, I have no doubt, but his main passion was for battle and that was more important to Richard than anything else.

  Historians have given conflicting reports about the harmony of his marriage to Berengaria, some saying that they were never happy together, others saying that she, at least, was very much in love with him.

  When it is considered that he had a vast empire to control in an age when there was always someone trying to prise it away, it is likely he would have spent a lot of time defending that empire and had little to spend with his wife. Chronicles of the time declare that the couple were very much in love and I can see no reason why he would have sent for her, taken her on crusade with him and risked alienating King Philip by marrying her whilst still engaged to Philip’s sister, if he was not at least fond of her. Of course, he could have simply been anxious for the alliance with Navarre, but these are things we will never know.

  Chronicles of the time agree that Richard told Philip of Alys’ affair with King Henry, and therefore his reason for refusing to marry her, when they were on their way to the crusade. This may well be true, but I cannot believe it was the first Philip heard of it. It was some years before that Henry applied to the Pope for an annulment in order to marry Alys and it seems from other chronicles that the whole of Europe had heard the rumour. It is hardly likely that Philip would have been ignorant of it.

  Certainly, Richard was unfaithful to Berengaria. There is the tale of the hermit who accosted Richard on the road and told him to give up his debauchery and return to his wife, while some chronicles say it was the Pope who sent the Bishop of Lincoln to him with the same message. Whoever it was, Richard did listen and did return to her, but for how long is something else we will never know.

  It is a fact that Berengaria gave away a vineyard in return for prayers for Richard’s soul, at a time when she was destitute and having to borrow money from her sister. Why would she do that if she had no love for him in life?

  Berengaria was not sent for when Richard was dying, but Eleanor was. I have often wondered about this ‘fact’, the only evidence for which is presumption. There are no reports that state definitively that he didn’t send for her; I like to believe he did and Eleanor had her own reasons for wanting to have him to herself for his last hours.

  Berengaria is also criticised in some chronicles for her absence from his funeral. If, indeed, she wasn’t with him on his deathbed, she would not have got there in time for his funeral which would have been carried out very quickly. Bodies were not left lying around to rot in the twelfth century, in April when the weather might well have been warm in France.

  Richard himself ordered that the archer who had shot him was to be pardoned and given one hundred shillings, but someone in Richard’s entourage ordered that he be flayed alive. It was probably Richard’s son, Philip of Cognac, who gave the order in revenge for the death of his beloved father.

  Richard had previously made it clear that he wanted his nephew, Arthur, to succeed him. As the son of Richard’s brother, Geoffrey, who would have been next in line had he outlived Richard, Arthur was entitled. But he also had a domineering mother in the form of Constance of Brittany, and it is not beyond the realms of possibility that Eleanor wanted to keep what influence she had over the English throne. It must also be remembered that at the time of Richard’s death, Arthur was only twelve years old, so it is possible that the King changed his mind and decided John would be a better choice at that time. On the other hand, John had already proven himself incapable of ruling and had lost a lot of territories in France in the short time that Richard was held prisoner. Was it likely that such a powerful King as Richard would have left his empire, or what was left of it, to such an incompetent?

  After several attempts to regain the throne from John, Arthur was imprisoned in Rouen Castle in 1203 at the age of only sixteen and never seen again. It is generally believed that he was murdered on the orders of King John. Some sources state that he was castrated with the result that he bled to death. Like so much else, we will never know.

  Queen Berengaria outlived her husband by some thirty years and spent most of that time trying to persuade King John to give her the dower lands and pension to which she was entitled. Always there was some excuse, always there were promises. The Pope threatened him with an interdict if he did not pay her what he owed, but as is well known, those sorts of threats meant little to King John.

  It was not until his son, Henry III, succeeded to the throne that Berengaria at last began to receive some of the moneys owing to her. Alas, she did not live long enough to enjoy more than the first payment.

  Berengaria, the only Queen of England never to set foot in that country, spent the years of her widowhood doing charitable works and helping the poor of Le Mans, where she endowed a great abbey. She greatly elevated the living condi
tions of the Jewish community in that town by helping to reduce the heavy taxation imposed on them.

  She never discarded her mourning white and her remains are interred in that abbey at Le Mans, not at Fontevrault with her husband.

  This is a work of fiction based on fact, what I like to call fictionalised fact. It is not about Richard I; he only plays a part where he needs to. This book is about the two princesses who were, or should have been, the Loves of the Lionheart.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Thank you for reading The Loves of the Lionheart. I hope you have enjoyed it.

  This is the first book I have written where the main characters are real historical people, but there will be many more in the future. In the meantime, please consider my other books:

  The Holy Poison Series - A six book series set amid the turbulent reign of Bloody Mary

  The Judas Pledge

  The Flawed Mistress

  The Viscount’s Birthright

  Betrayal

  The Heretics

  Consequences

  The Elizabethans - Three brothers, three love stories set at the beginning of the reign of Elizabeth I

  The Earl’s Jealousy

  The Viscount’s Divorce

  Lord John’s Folly

  Pestilence - A three book series set during and after the Black Death of 1348

  The Second Wife

  The Scent of Roses

  Once Loved - This book is the winner of the e festival of words Best Historical award

  The Hartleighs of Somersham - Regency series

  A Match of Honour – winner of the Festival of Words historical romance 2017

  Lady Penelope’s Frenchman - a novella

  The Wronged Wife

  To Catch a Demon

  The Crusader’s Widow

  The Gorston Widow

  The Romany Princess

  The Adulteress

  Conquest

  A Man in Mourning