Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,284

coming and going as fast as that shooting star, and his wan attempt at humor brought an unexpected lump to Morgan’s throat.

Henri sent a messenger to the archbishop to request horses, for he hoped to avoid a repetition of that earlier mob scene. Curfew had not yet rung and as word spread of his arrival, crowds began to gather. But he was not kept waiting long. Many torchbearing riders soon came into view, and Henri resigned himself to a royal procession through streets thronged with cheering citizens. As they approached the archbishop’s palace, Henri could not help looking toward a nearby narrow lane, deep in shadows now, for it was there that Conrad had met the untimely death that would change the lives of so many.

Archbishop Joscius was waiting to welcome him, as were Balian, Renaud of Sidon, and the chancellor, Ansaldo. Henri had expected as much, sure the archbishop would send word to them even before he dispatched an escort to the harbor. At first Joscius was preoccupied with playing the host, offering to have a meal prepared for Henri and his men. Henri politely declined for himself, but accepted on behalf of his travel companions. When Joscius began to make the usual courteous queries about Henri’s voyage, Ansaldo could contain himself no longer and demanded eagerly, “Well? Did you see the English king?”

Henri hadn’t the heart to drag out the suspense and told them then what they were so desperate to hear, that Richard had given his consent. They were too seasoned as diplomats to show the intensity of their relief. It was more subtle, an easing of a rigid posture, a soft expulsion of a held-in breath—except for Ansaldo, who said fervently and forthrightly, “Thank Almighty God!” That broke the tension and Henri soon found himself surrounded, knights, canons, priests, and servants all jockeying to get closer, wanting to share in so significant a moment in the history of their kingdom.

Henri had to acknowledge their congratulations, well wishes, and expressions of gratitude, and it was a while before he could request that the archbishop send a messenger to the castle. “Please convey my respects to the marquise and ask if I may call upon her on the morrow.” Feeling then that he’d done his duty, he confessed to fatigue from his journey and was escorted up to his bedchamber by the archbishop himself.

Privacy was always at a premium in their world and he realized that it was an even rarer luxury for a king. This night might be the last time he would be free of constant scrutiny, able to be alone with his thoughts. After sending his squire down to the hall to eat, he sat on the edge of the bed. It was too early to sleep and he could not very well ask the archbishop to lend him a book when he’d just pleaded exhaustion. Finally, inspiration struck and he opened the door quietly, following the stairwell up to the roof.

As he expected, it was laid out like a sky-top garden, with benches, large flowering planters, and even a trellised arbor to provide shade from the sun. Sitting on a bench, he gazed up at the sky. The moon was in its last quarter and the roof was bathed in a silvery glow. The Holy Land seemed to have more than its share of stars, those remote, pale lights “offering mankind our only earthly glimpse of infinity.” The thought wasn’t Henri’s, but the musings of a childhood tutor. He hadn’t thought of Master Roland in years, but his memories of Champagne were close to the surface tonight.

He soon rose and began to pace. His eye was caught by a flash of color, and when he squinted, he could make out the triangular shape of a yellow sail. For a time he watched that distant vessel, speculating upon its destination. Was it heading for Cyprus and Guy de Lusignan’s new kingdom? Or the fabled city of Constantinople ? Mayhap even France? Two months from now, God willing, it could be dropping anchor in the harbor at Marseille. He was trying to remember how many miles lay between Marseille and his capital city of Troyes when the door banged behind him.

“My lord count, we were so worried! We could not imagine where you’d gone.” The man hastening toward him was vaguely familiar and, after a moment, Henri recognized Archbishop Joscius’s steward. Henri’s normally equable temper had begun to fray around the edges in the past week