A King's Ransom

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “So I’ve heard,” she said, very dryly.

  “I’m sure you have,” he agreed, just as dryly. “But what you may not know is that I differ from most men in that I enjoy the company of women in and out of bed.”

  “You do not think most men do?”

  “Sadly, no. Too many of them show far more interest in the female body than the female brain. They never find out that St Peter was wrong when he called women the weaker vessel. The women I’ve known have more common sense than most men and they are more resilient, too, for they’ve had to learn to bend, rather than break. And they can be delightfully unpredictable . . . as a beautiful queen proved to be on a recent evening in Narbonne.”

  Joanna’s breath quickened as their eyes met. But she knew that it was far too dangerous to flirt with this man, for she was acutely aware of his physical presence, wanting to stroke his wind-tousled black hair, to feel his arm slide around her waist, to taste his mouth on hers. She stiffened her spine and her resolve. Before she could say she wished to return to the great hall, though, he drew back, almost imperceptibly, and said casually, “Tell me about Sicily, Lady Joanna.”

  She was both relieved and unsettled that he seemed able to read her moods so easily. But because she did not really want to go, she found herself doing as he asked. As she spoke, memories came flooding back and she took pleasure in reliving them, in telling him of that beautiful jewel in a turquoise sea, a sun-kissed kingdom prosperous and peaceful during the years of her husband’s reign, not yet threatened by the looming shadow of the German emperor. She’d already noticed that Raimond was an unusually attentive listener. As he listened to her now, his eyes never left her face, so intent upon what she was saying that it was as if the world had contracted, shrinking until there was only this lush, flowering garden and a man and woman seated on a narrow stone bench in the shade of a cherry tree.

  But if her body and her heart seemed in collusion to tempt her into an unforgivable sin, her brain still functioned clearly and began to raise the drawbridge and lower the portcullis. “It grows late,” she heard herself say, pointing toward a sky glowing with the glorious crimson and gold of a southern sunset. “I think we ought to go back.”

  “Of course,” he agreed, rising at once to his feet. But when he offered her his arm, she realized that escape would not be so easy. After the conversation they’d just shared, how could she revert back to her defensive aloofness? Rising, too, she brushed her skirts, and then reluctantly rested her hand lightly on his arm, wondering how she’d be able to keep him at a distance in the weeks and miles that lay between Carcassonne and Poitiers.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SEPTEMBER 1193

  Toulouse, France

  At Cardinal Melior’s urgings, they soon departed Carcassonne and now headed north, stopping at the abbey of St Papoul, and then on to Avignet, before the famous rose-colored walls of Toulouse appeared on the horizon. Joanna was excited to visit the city that loomed so large in her family’s history. She’d seen it as a child, on her bridal journey to Sicily, but she remembered little of that stressful odyssey. She did not even remember Raimond, though he swore he’d met her at St Gilles, where she’d bade a tearful farewell to Richard and had been turned over to the Sicilian envoys. He’d been impressed by her bravery, he confided, an eleven-year-old girl leaving all that was familiar to wed a stranger in a distant land. He laughed when she apologized for having no recollection of their meeting, joking that there was nothing memorable about his twenty-year-old self, but she thought it ironic nonetheless, for now she knew she’d never forget him.

  They were to stay in the great citadel known as the Castle Narbonnais, just outside the town walls, and Raimond had promised to take them on a personal tour of the city he obviously loved, for he told them proudly that Toulouse had eleven hospitals and six lazar houses, feigning surprise when they politely declined a visit to the leper hospices. He’d assured Joanna and Berengaria that his father would not be present, and so it was a shock to them all when they saw the red banner flying from the castle battlements, emblazoned with the familiar gold cross of the Count of Toulouse. The count was in the inner bailey to welcome them, smiling complacently. If he’d been expecting to surprise them into civility, he was to be disappointed. Cardinal Melior and his retinue politely did their best to ease the awkwardness, but the queens and his son measured their words like misers hoarding coins. Dinner was a lavish one, with numerous courses, fine wines, and a dramatic subtlety shaped like a dragon. It was also an unmitigated disaster, for Joanna, Berengaria, their ladies, and their household knights were silently seething, and Raimond was making no attempt to hide his own anger. He apologized profusely to the women once the meal was over, swearing his father had promised to stay away, and assuring them that they would leave the city on the morrow.

  Joanna had gone to bid Berengaria a good night and was surprised to find only Mariam when she returned to her own bedchamber. “I told the others to wait,” Mariam explained, “for I wanted to talk to you in private.” Helping Joanna to remove her veil and wimple, she unpinned the other woman’s bright hair and began to brush it out, saying one of Sir Stephen’s knights had told her he’d heard shouting from the count’s bedchamber and thought one of the voices was Raimond’s. “He was truly distressed about this, Joanna. He’d not have betrayed you and Berengaria this way.”

  “I know that, Mariam, and so does Berengaria.” Joanna picked up a mirror to study the image reflected in the polished metal. She was in her twenty-eighth year, and she found herself suddenly thinking how fleeting time and beauty were, as ephemeral as memories. “What did you wish to talk about?”

  “I wanted to tell you that whilst it is not easy to find privacy, it can be done. With my help, I am sure we can arrange for you and the count to be alone without anyone knowing.”

  The mirror clattered into the floor rushes as Joanna swung around to face the other woman. “What are you talking about?”

  “Joanna, the man is besotted with you and it is obvious to me that you are just as bedazzled by him. That is so rare. Do not let—”

  “I am not ‘bedazzled’ by him,” Joanna said sharply, but ruined the impact of her indignant denial by then asking, “Why do you think he is ‘besotted’?”

  “Because I have eyes to see, dearest. The two of you have been playing this game for weeks, each watching the other when you think no one else will notice. And he never misses an opportunity to ask me questions about you. What color is your hair? Are you close to Richard? Were you happy with William? Not that I answer them, of course, but he keeps on asking. I understand there can be no future for you since his father is such a bitter enemy of your House. But that does not mean you cannot snatch a few precious memories for yourself. As long as you are very discreet, and I can help—”

  Joanna was truly shocked. “Have you lost your mind, Mariam? How could you think I’d commit so grave a sin?”

  “Do you see Morgan and me as doomed sinners? Granted, you’re a queen, but I do not think God will judge you too harshly for seeking a little happiness for yourself. You are free, after all, a widow, a woman grown, and as long as you take care—”

  “No queen is ever free, Mariam, and Raimond most certainly is not! I think God would judge me very harshly indeed if I were to take a married man as my lover.”

  “He is married? He has never said a word to me about a wife!”

  “Trust me, he has one.”

  Mariam looked stricken. “Oh, Joanna, I am so sorry!”

  Joanna was no longer angry, remembering that Mariam had not been present when Sancha had related Raimond’s marital history. Smiling, she said, “Are you sorry that he is married? Or sorry that you tried to tempt me into a mortal sin?”

  “Both!” Touched to see tears in Mariam’s eyes, Joanna embraced her, and if she had tears in her eyes, too, Mariam tactfully pretended not to notice.

  AFTER A HASTY DEPARTURE from Toulouse, they pushed on to Montauban, where they were
the guests at the local Benedictine abbey. From Montauban, they rode to Agen, where they were welcomed by its bishop, Bertrande de Beceyrus, who’d been at the deathbed of Joanna’s brother Hal in Martel ten years earlier. After listening to his detailed account of Hal’s last hours, Joanna had wept, tears of relief. Her father had written to assure her that Hal had made his peace with God, but it meant more to hear it from one who’d been an eyewitness. From Agen, they made a shorter journey to Marmande la Royale, and both Joanna and Berengaria were delighted to discover that this small town owed its existence to Richard, who’d granted a charter while Duke of Aquitaine and Count of Poitou. Their next stop was the Benedictine priory at La Reole, where they were pleased to find another connection to Richard, who was responsible for its stone walls. La Reole had also been the site of a private meeting between Richard and agents of the Navarrese king to discuss marriage with Sancho’s daughter. Berengaria found it comforting to be in the same place where he’d bargained for her hand, and confided that he did not seem so far away whilst they were at La Reole. Raimond indulged her by prolonging their stay for a few days before they continued on toward the crown jewel of Aquitaine, the splendid port city of Bordeaux.

  THEY WERE GIVEN an enthusiastic welcome into Bordeaux, the citizens turning out in large numbers to cheer their duke’s wife and sister. The Archbishop Hélie de Malemort, a member of a prominent Limousin family, personally escorted them to the Ombrière, the riverside palace of the Duke of Aquitaine since the eleventh century. And although they were still a hundred and fifty miles from Poitiers, as she rode through the streets of Bordeaux toward the castle where her mother had been born, Joanna felt as if she’d finally come home.

  IT HAD BEEN a whirlwind week of festivities and sightseeing for the two queens and their entourage. The local nobility and clerics arrived to pay their respects, there had been bountiful feasts in their honor, and Joanna had been able to hear Mass in St André, the great cathedral where her mother had wed the French king more than fifty years ago. On this Saturday eve, most of the palace guests had retired to their own chambers, but Joanna felt restless and she and Mariam had gone out into the gardens. They were far more elaborate than Adelais’s small garden at Carcassonne, putting the women in mind of the magnificent gardens of Palermo, with raised flower beds, fruit trees, pebble-strewn paths, trellised arbors, and elegant fountains that cascaded water into deep marble basins. It was so peaceful that they lingered even as twilight’s lavender haze darkened and stars began to glimmer in the heavens high above their heads. But that peace was not to last, for they soon heard footsteps on the path, and as her dogs ran to investigate, Joanna knew the identity of the intruder even before Raimond de St Gilles came into view.

  In the three weeks since they’d left Carcassonne, Joanna had allowed herself to enjoy the count’s company, but she had taken great care to make sure they were never alone, and she sensed his growing frustration. That was why she’d asked Mariam to accompany her tonight, for a garden conversation in full sunlight did not offend propriety, whereas one lit by starlight and camouflaged by swirling shadows could compromise her honor and break her heart.

  He greeted them both with courtesy not even the cardinal could have faulted, but then he took them by surprise by throwing down a direct challenge. “I have become quite fond of you, Lady Mariam, and I think your Welsh knight is a very lucky man. But what I have to say is not for your ears. I’d be eternally grateful if you were to take a tour of the gardens. Any chance of that happening?”

  Mariam looked to Joanna for guidance, saw her hesitation, and leaned over to whisper, “If you want to talk with him, the dogs and I can stand guard to make sure no one else will see the two of you together. If you do not, nothing will pry me from your side.”

  Joanna would have sworn that she’d have walked barefoot in sackcloth and ashes before she’d have met privately with Raimond in these seductive surroundings. So she was startled to hear herself say softly, “Take the dogs for a walk. But do not go far.”

  Mariam nodded, squeezed her hand encouragingly, and then gave Raimond a warning look that conveyed her message without need of words. He acknowledged it with a nod of his own and for several moments, there was no sound but the splashing of the fountain and the crunch of Mariam’s receding footsteps on the pebbled path.

  “Shall we find a place to sit?” He glanced toward a trellised arbor, raising his hands when Joanna frowned, a gesture she took as a promise that he’d not take advantage of the semiseclusion. She was not sure if she could trust him to keep that promise, for how well did she really know him? But then, could she trust herself? Deciding that she preferred this conversation to be conducted by the light of a full moon, she shook her head, pointing toward the edge of the fountain. He did not argue and showed his good manners by making sure the marble was clean and dry before allowing her to sit. Once they were settled, she realized that the moonlight was a double-edged sword; it enabled her to read his face, but he could read hers, too, and her own emotions were in such turmoil that she did not welcome his scrutiny.

  “I am not sure if Lady Mariam did me a favor,” he said, “for I am probably about to make an utter fool of myself.” As he turned toward her, she caught the glimmer of a smile. “I asked myself what I’d come to regret more—saying nothing or playing the fool? I have a lot of practice doing the latter, so I decided that was a regret I could more easily live with.”

  Joanna had always been charmed by self-deprecating humor and Raimond’s smile was so bewitching by moonlight that she realized there were two fools in this garden. She ought never to have agreed to this. Mariam’s offer to arrange a tryst had forced her to admit how drawn she was to this man, and she’d realized how fortunate she was that he was married. If not for his wife, she might have yielded to temptation, and she did not believe that a queen had that freedom. What if their liaison had become known? Such a scandal would damage her prospects for remarriage and hurt Richard’s chances of making a needed alliance with a foreign prince. And what if she’d gotten with child? She could not have raised the child as her own, yet how could she have borne to give her baby up? No, Beatrice Trencavel was a blessing in disguise. Reminding herself of that now, she tensed, preparing to make an embarrassing retreat from the gardens, seeing that as the lesser of evils.

  Raimond did not give her the chance. “I think that we ought at least to acknowledge it,” he said, “for it is rather rare—like being struck by lightning and living to tell the tale. I’m not sure when the bolt hit you. For me, it was in the great hall at Narbonne. It was not as if I were blind to your charms until then. But you’d made it clear I was to keep my distance and so I vowed to be on my good behavior. And then you came to my defense like an avenging angel, telling the cardinal that Sicily was blessed, not accursed, and I knew my heart was yours for the taking—along with any other body parts you might want to claim.”

  His tone was light, but with undertones that sent a shiver up Joanna’s spine. Deciding that her best defense was to act as if he were merely flirting, she said coolly, “I believe your heart is already spoken for, my lord count. And I must warn you that I am not susceptible to the ‘My wife does not understand me’ school of seduction.” She could see that her mockery had stung and, perversely, she now found herself regretting her success in rebuffing him. But she dared not let him see how vulnerable she really was to his blandishments.

  “Actually, my wife understood me all too well,” he said, with a coolness to match her own. “Women usually read men with insulting ease. You seem to be the exception to that rule, Lady Joanna, for you have misread me, for certes.”

  “Have I?” she said, striving for nonchalance. “I see a man who by his own admission likes women, a man of undeniable charm, but a man with a wife. We may be entitled to our own beliefs, my lord count, but not our own facts, and those facts are yours, whether you like it or not.”

  “Actually, they are not. You see, I no longer have a wife. I ended our marriage this p
ast January.”

  Joanna stared at him in shock. Whatever she might have expected him to say, it was not that, never that. Her initial response was pure panic, for her defenses had just taken a mortal hit. “And how did you perform this feat of magic?” she said, with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “How does one make a wife disappear?”

  “I did not turn her out to beg her bread by the roadside,” he snapped. “She entered a . . . convent.”

  He’d hesitated almost imperceptibly, and she seized upon that as a shield. “How convenient,” she said witheringly. “Whatever did men do with unwanted wives before convents? My mother’s grandfather packed two of his off to Fontevrault Abbey and my father would have sent her there, too, if he’d had his way.” Remembering then that Raimond and Beatrice had a child, Joanna felt a surge of indignation that was no longer feigned. “What a wonderful example you are setting for your daughter, my lord, teaching her at an early age that women are as easily replaced as horses or hunting dogs!”

  By now they were both on their feet, glaring at each other in the silvery moonlight. “Are you always so quick to pass judgment?” he asked challengingly. “But then your family is not known for their sense of fair play, are they?”

  Joanna was grateful for the reminder that he was an enemy of her House. “We are done here,” she said and started to stalk away.

  “Joanna!” She hesitated before turning reluctantly to face him. He was obviously still angry, but he showed now that his anger had not affected his eerie ability to see into her soul. “Do you know what I think? It is not outrage that is chasing you from this garden. It is fear. You saw my wife as a barricade, one that safely kept us apart. Now that the barricade is gone, you do not have the courage to admit you want me as much as I want you. I could respect you for deciding the risk was not worth it. But not for lying to me and to yourself.”