Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,100

ushered into the hall, for his discomfort was obvious to all with eyes to see.

Eleanor noticed it, too, and she began to assess the man at Aliernus’s side. His costly garments proclaimed him to be a lord of rank, as did the sword at his hip, and unlike his companion, he seemed utterly at ease, with the smug complacency of one who enjoyed being the bearer of bad tidings.

The Count of Flanders had sauntered over to join them, his nonchalant smile belied by his narrowed gaze, for Philip read men as well as Eleanor did. After exchanging greetings, Aliernus introduced the stranger as Count Bernard Gentilis of Lesina, Captain and Master Justiciar of Terra de Lavoro, and then said, with the resolve of one determined to get an unpleasant task over with, “The count brings unwelcome news, Madame. I will let him speak for himself, though.”

Eleanor realized then that Aliernus’s disquiet was actually the embarrassment of a man confronted with a duty he did not like. “My lord count?” she asked silkily. “I assume you come from King Tancred. Since he is allied with my son, the English king, I cannot imagine that any news from him would be unwelcome.”

“I have been instructed to tell you, Madame, that you may not sail from Naples. My lord king has decided that your entourage is too large to be accommodated in Messina, and you must continue your journey by land.”

There was a moment of shocked silence before the hall erupted in angry protest, William de Forz identifying himself grandly as the king’s admiral and André dismissing the count’s explanation as utter rubbish. It was Philip d’Alsace, though, who shouted the others down, demanding to know if this idiotic order applied to him, too.

The Count of Lesina seemed unperturbed by the hornet’s nest he’d stirred up. “No, my lord Count of Flanders, you may go wherever you will,” he said with insulting indifference. “My orders apply only to the English queen.”

By now Berengaria had moved to Eleanor’s side, looking bewildered but resolute, and the older woman gave her a quick glance of reassurance. The quarrel was heating up and Eleanor interrupted before it could get out of control. Drawing Philip and Richard’s men aside, she said in a voice pitched for their ears alone, “We accomplish nothing by arguing with this man. We need to learn why Tancred has issued such an inexplicable order, and only my son can do that. I think you ought to return to Messina on the morrow and let Richard know what has happened.”

This delay meant that they would arrive in Messina after the start of Lent and she would not be able to see Richard and Berengaria wed. It was a great disappointment, but she was not about to let anyone see that, for she’d had much practice at hiding her heart’s wounds. Instead of raging as she yearned to do, she said calmly, “Tell Richard that we are well and will continue our journey south whilst he resolves this matter with Tancred.”

RICHARD’S ASTONISHMENT gave way almost at once to outrage. He resisted his first impulse, which was to berate the Count of Flanders for not remaining with his mother and Berengaria; he could not blame Philip for his eagerness to reach the Holy Land and an overland passage would add another month to his journey. Instead he said, “How would you like to meet the King of Sicily, Cousin?” Not waiting for Philip’s reply, he beckoned to one of his knights. “Ride to Catania with all due speed, and tell Tancred that the King of England will be there by week’s end, if not sooner.”

CHAPTER 13

MARCH 1191

Catania, Sicily

Facing Tancred across a wooden trestle table was not the same as facing him across a battlefield, but the hostility in the chamber was unmistakable. Richard’s gaze flicked from the Sicilian king to his teenage son, Roger, and then to his counselors, the aged Matthew of Ajello and his two grown sons, Tancred’s brother-in-law, the Count of Acerra, the Archbishop of Monreale, the pirateadmiral Margaritis, and Jordan Lapin. While he’d arrived with a large escort, Richard had been accompanied into the council chamber only by his cousins, the Count of Flanders and André de Chauvigny, and by Gautier de Coutances, the Archbishop of Rouen. They’d so far remained silent, content to let Richard speak for himself. With Tancred, it was just the opposite; his advisers were doing all the talking, while he said very little, studying Richard through opaque,