be taken to his own cathedral in the city. Faced with the outraged opposition of Joanna, the Archbishop of Monreale, and Matthew of Ajello, Archbishop Walter had eventually backed down and William was interred at Monreale, but he’d spitefully refused to surrender the magnificent porphyry tomb William had commissioned for his final resting place.
Joanna spat out an imprecation that would have done her profane father proud. But then she said, “Tell the seneschal to escort him to William’s audience chamber.” Seeing their surprise, she said, grimacing, “He is the only one who supports Constance’s claim to the crown. I owe it to her to hear what he has to say.”
THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER had always been Joanna’s favorite room, an elegant vision of gold and green and blue artistry. Now, though, the colors seemed subdued, the designs static and flat. It was as if the archbishop’s very presence leeched all the vibrancy and life from the mosaics. Interrupting his diatribe against the other members of the royal inner council, Joanna said impatiently, “So you are saying the council is split over the succession?”
“That vile miscreant and his accursed puppet are up to their necks in the muck, Madame. They began intriguing as soon as the king was stricken, plotting to put Tancred of Lecce on the throne, and they paid us no heed when my brother and I reminded them that all of the kingdom’s nobility had sworn their fidelity to the Lady Constance ere she departed the realm to wed Lord Heinrich.”
Joanna had no difficulty interpreting his intemperate language; the “vile miscreant” was the vice chancellor, Matthew of Ajello, and the “accursed puppet” the Archbishop of Monreale. She thought it was a sad irony that Constance’s adversaries were men far more capable and trustworthy than her advocates, the archbishop and his weak-willed brother, whose service as Bishop of Agrigento had been utterly undistinguished so far. With men of their caliber in her camp, Constance was bound to lose. It was so unfair. Constance was the legal heiress of the House of Hauteville, King Roger’s daughter, while Tancred of Lecce was merely an illegitimate son of Roger’s eldest son. What greater proof could there be of their desperation that Matthew and the archbishop were willing to embrace a man bastard-born rather than see the crown go to Heinrich? Why had William been so shortsighted? If only he’d chosen another husband for Constance, anyone but a hated German prince! By marrying her off to Heinrich, he’d robbed her of her rightful inheritance.
Joanna did her best to suppress her anger, for there was no undoing William’s mistake. “What of the other lords? Do all the noble families support Tancred, too?”
“I regret to say most do, my lady. Naturally I am not privy to their conspiracy, but I have my own ears and eyes. The Count of Andria has advanced a claim, too, but many feel his blood ties to the Royal House are tenuous, and they have settled upon Tancred as their choice, overlooking his base birth, may God forgive them. My informants say they wasted no time in sending Matthew’s son to Rome to argue Tancred’s case with the Holy Father. So our only hope is that Pope Clement will recoil at the thought of crowning a man not lawfully begotten.”
“If that is Constance’s only hope, then she is well and truly doomed. Nothing frightens the papacy more than the prospect of seeing the Kingdom of Sicily united with the Holy Roman Empire.” Not for the first time, Joanna marveled that she must point out something so obvious. “The Pope will gladly overlook Tancred’s tainted birth if that will prevent Heinrich from claiming the Sicilian crown. He’ll keep his support covert, not daring to openly antagonize the emperor and Heinrich, but covert support will be enough to carry the day for Tancred.”
Joanna had begun to pace, wondering if there was any chance England might intercede on Constance’s behalf. No, that hawk would not fly. Her father would no more aid the son of the Holy Roman Emperor than he would ally with the Sultan of Egypt. Turning, she saw that Archbishop Walter was looking at her in befuddlement. He seemed surprised that a woman could have any understanding of political matters. Did he think she’d never discussed statecraft with William? She was the daughter of the greatest king in Christendom and Eleanor of Aquitaine, not one of William’s secluded harim slave girls, and she longed to remind the archbishop of that. No