Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,281

André shared with Richard what he’d learned at the papal court. The news was not good. On his way back to France, the French king had been spreading stories that Richard was hand in glove with Saladin. In January, he’d met with the Holy Roman Emperor, and from what André had heard, they’d passed much of that meeting maligning Richard. Philippe had also attempted to get the Pope to absolve him of the oath he’d sworn not to attack Richard’s domains while he was in the Holy Land.

“The Pope refused,” André said, “for that was a bit too blatant even for him.”

“‘Even for him’? You think he favors the French?”

“It is not that. He is very elderly, almost as old as God, and has neither the backbone nor the desire to offend powerful rulers like Philippe or Heinrich. But some of his cardinals were outraged that Philippe would even contemplate warring upon a man who’d taken the cross, so Celestine was emboldened to deny Philippe’s petition.” André paused to stab a piece of meat with his knife. “We made for Jaffa since I did not want to chance the harbor at Ascalon, and that’s where I was told you were roaming around out here, adding to your collection of Saracen heads. I also heard that Guy is out and Conrad is in.” Dropping his facetious tone then, he gave Richard a searching look. “The word from England must be truly terrible if you’ve embraced that whoreson in Tyre.”

“It was and is,” Richard admitted. “They probably told you in Jaffa about the prior of Hereford’s news. And two more letters came last week, this time from Will Marshal and the Archbishop of Rouen, both warning me that it may cost me dearly if I tarry in Outremer. . . .” Richard paused, having heard a guard’s shout that riders were coming in. Handing André his plate, he got to his feet. “Mayhap this is Henri’s messenger. If Conrad still balks at joining the army, so help me Christ—” He got no further, having recognized the man on a lathered bay stallion.

Well aware that he was bringing Richard shocking news, Henri had not wanted to hit him with it all at once, and had been mentally rehearsing his account all the way from Tyre. But at sight of his uncle, it was forgotten. Sliding from the saddle, he ran toward Richard, breathlessly blurting out, “Conrad is dead, they are blaming you, and they want me to marry his widow!”

THE TENTS USED on scouting missions were much smaller and Spartan than the spacious pavilions set up back at Ascalon. Richard and Henri sat cross-legged on the blankets that served as the king’s bed, shadows encroaching upon the feeble light cast by a single oil lamp. Richard had been stunned to hear of Conrad’s murder, although at first he’d seen it only in terms of his own need to depart Outremer as soon as possible. He’d taken the news that the French were blaming him much better than Henri had expected, saying dismissively that no one who knew him would believe so outrageous a falsehood. Henri was not as sanguine, for he feared those who did not know Richard could be susceptible to lurid tales of this sort, and his uncle had as many enemies as the Caliph of Baghdad had concubines. But that was a worry for another time; now he could only focus upon his own crisis of conscience, for that was how he saw the Draconian choice being forced upon him.

They’d brought wine and plates of roast venison into the tent; the food remained untouched but they’d not been neglecting the wine. Reaching for his cup, Richard said, “That would be a sight to behold, though—Philippe skulking around Paris, as jumpy as a stray cat, sure Assassins were lurking around every corner. He is just fool enough to believe it.” He regretted indulging in that bit of black humor, though, when he glanced over at Henri’s unhappy face. He’d never seen his nephew, usually so high-spirited and carefree, as distraught as this.

“Well, that is neither here nor there. Obviously we need to talk about this offer of a crown. Do you want to tell me what you think of it, Henri?”

“I’d rather hear what you think first, Uncle.”

“Fair enough. You’d be a good king, Henri, most likely a better one than Conrad. So yes, I would like to see you accept it. But I’d advise against the marriage. Unfortunately, that is