Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,189

wicked man!”

Richard liked her display of loyalty, and when he slid his arm around her waist, he liked the feel of her soft female curves. His body was still surging with the energy unleashed by his confrontation with Leopold, and he drew her closer, his anger forgotten. “Henri, why don’t you show Joanna and Berenguela’s duennas the rest of the palace?”

There were gasps from his wife’s ladies, scandalized that he meant to claim his marital rights in the middle of the afternoon. Berengaria blushed, a bit flustered that he’d made his intention so plain in front of others. But when he leaned over to whisper in her ear, she laughed softly. Joanna and Henri ushered the women out, both grinning.

SEATED BY RICHARD’S SIDE at the high table, Berengaria felt a sense of satisfaction as she looked around the great hall. It hadn’t been easy to prepare a dinner like this on just one day’s notice, but she and Joanna had managed it. The linen tablecloths were snowy white, the platters and bowls were brightly glazed, and the rare red glassware she’d found among the Saracen commander’s possessions shimmered like rubies whenever the sun struck them. The menu was not as elaborate as she would have wished, but their guests were eating with gusto, the wine was flowing freely, and once the dinner was done, they would be serenaded by minstrels and harpists. This was the first time in her two-month marriage that Berengaria had been able to play her proper role as Richard’s queen, entertaining his friends, vassals, and political allies, and she was enjoying this long-overdue taste of normalcy.

The guest list was a distinguished one: the archbishops of Pisa and Verona; the Bishop of Salisbury; the beleaguered King of Jerusalem and his two brothers, Joffroi and Amaury de Lusignan; the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitallers; the Earl of Leicester; Henri of Champagne and Jaufre of Perche; André de Chauvigny; the Flemings, Jacques d’Avesnes and Baldwin de Bethune; Humphrey de Toron; even the master of the Templars, for although Philippe was now residing at their Temple, the new master, Robert de Sablé, was an Angevin baron and one of Richard’s most trusted vassals. The women—Joanna, Berengaria, Sophia, Anna, and their ladies-in-waiting—were in the minority and the conversation so far was distinctly male in its tenor.

They discussed the deadly and mysterious weapon, Greek fire, which was so combustible that it could not be extinguished by water, only vinegar. They took turns guessing the identity of an unknown Christian spy, who’d sent them valuable, secret messages from Acre during the course of the siege. Richard revealed that he was negotiating with the Templars, who were eager to buy Cyprus from him. And they drank toasts to the memories of those who’d given their lives that Acre could be taken—the Count of Flanders, Philippe’s marshal, Aubrey Clement, the counts of Blois and Sancerre, Guy de Lusignan’s queen, and a nameless woman in a long green cloak who’d shot a bow with astonishing accuracy, killing several Saracens before she’d been overwhelmed and slain. They’d begun to talk about Saracen battle tactics when the convivial dinner was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais.

Richard scowled, for the mere mention of the bishop’s name was enough to ignite his temper. Beauvais had earned the undying enmity of the de Lusignans for wedding Conrad to his stolen bride, and he and the duke ran a gauntlet of hostile stares as they were escorted into the hall, followed by Druon de Mello, lagging behind as if he wanted to disassociate himself from their mission. After greeting Richard with very formal courtesy, Hugh apologized for disrupting their dinner and asked if they might speak briefly with him in private, saying that it was a matter of some urgency.

Richard had no intention of accommodating either man, and after a deliberate pause to finish his wine, he said coolly, “I think not. I am amongst friends here, men whom I trust. I assume the French king has a message for me, no? So let them hear it, too.”

The duke and the bishop exchanged guarded glances, while Druon de Mello actually took a few steps backward, like a man getting out of the line of fire. It was becoming obvious that neither Hugh nor Beauvais wanted to be the one to speak first, and Richard suddenly realized what they’d come to tell him. He swung around, his eyes seeking his nephew, and he