hatched this ludicrous plot to provoke a breach between us, to put me in the wrong.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“So you’d have an excuse not to marry my sister!” Philippe almost spat the words, and this time Richard’s smile was like an unsheathed dagger.
“You are half right. I have no intention of marrying your sister. But I need no excuse or pretext, for our union is prohibited by the Holy Church.”
“What are you claiming, Richard? That you’ve suddenly discovered you and Alys are related within the forbidden degree? Do you truly expect the Pope to believe such drivel? After a betrothal of more than twenty years?”
Philippe had regained his balance by now and his voice throbbed with such scornful indignation that his men found themselves nodding in agreement.
“I am not talking of consanguinity. That can be remedied if a dispensation is granted. This is a far more serious impediment.” Richard’s eyes swept the chapel before coming to rest upon the Archbishop of Rouen. “Is it not true, my lord archbishop, that Holy Scriptures say it is a mortal sin for a man to have carnal knowledge of his father’s wife?” Getting a solemn affirmation of that from the prelate, Richard swung around to confront Philippe. “Would it be any less of a sin for a man to bed his father’s concubine?”
All the color had drained from Philippe’s face. “Damn you, what are you saying?”
“I am saying that I was told my father took your sister as his leman, that she may have borne him a child, and their liaison was notorious enough for it to become known at the French court—”
“Enough!” Philippe took a quick step forward, his hand dropping instinctively to the hilt of his sword. “You’ll rot in Hell for this!”
“Me?” Richard feigned surprise. “Most people would say that I’m the one wronged. If my father seduced my betrothed, then surely he is the one burning in Hell. And if the story is false, if it was contrived for political advantage, then the one responsible will be judged even more harshly—by the Almighty and by all of Christendom once his perfidy is exposed.”
“My lord Richard.” The Bishop of Chartres had stepped forward, saying gravely, “Can you provide proof of this most serious accusation?”
“I can provide witnesses who heard that he’d bedded her. And I can give you the name of the man who told me—Philip d’Alsace, the lord Count of Flanders.”
All heads turned toward Philip, who seemed untroubled to find himself the center of attention. For a moment, he studied the French king, who returned his gaze with a hawk’s unblinking intensity, saying in a dangerously soft voice, “You’d best think ere you speak, my lord count, for your heedless words could have consequences you cannot even begin to imagine.”
“Surely you’re not threatening him, Philippe?” Richard jeered, earning himself a look from the French king that was truly murderous.
“Not at all.” Philip dismissed Richard’s accusation with a casual wave of his hand, as nonchalantly as if they’d been exchanging social pleasantries. “I am sure my nephew by marriage merely meant to remind me how much was at stake. You need not worry, Philippe; I understand quite well. What Richard has said . . . it is true. I did seek him out at Mantes not long after Martinmas in God’s Year 1188 and told him of the troubling gossip I’d heard about his father and the Lady Alys. Can I swear upon yonder holy relic that the rumors were true? Of course not. But I felt that he had a right to know of these rumors since he was betrothed to the lady. In his place, I would have wanted to know. Any man would,” he said, with a sudden, sardonic smile that both acknowledged his own sordid marital history and dared anyone to mention it.
With all eyes now upon him, awaiting his response, Philippe drew several bracing breaths as he sought to get his rage under control. As he looked around the chapel, he could see that even his men had been won over by Richard’s argument ; how could he be expected to wed a woman who may have been his own father’s bedmate? “I do not believe these malicious reports,” he said fiercely. “They are vile lies meant to tarnish the honor of the French Crown, and I will not permit my sister’s reputation to be besmirched like this.”
“I see no reason to do that, either,” Richard said, for he could afford