Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,44

out for the Holy Land months ago.”

“He did, Johnny,” Richard said with uncharacteristic patience. “But his eldest son remained in Germany and William’s death would be of great interest to Heinrich, for his wife is the rightful heiress to the Sicilian crown. The Pope says that Heinrich and Constance learned that William was dead not long after Christmas. He thinks Heinrich may have wanted to delay word reaching England until he’d been able to secure his claim to Sicily. I’d like it not if Sicily fell into Heinrich’s hands, no more than the Pope would, and Heinrich well knows it. If Heinrich seizes the Sicilian throne, how likely is it that he’d honor William’s promises of supplies and the use of his ports and ships?”

Eleanor understood Richard’s concern about losing his Sicilian alliance, but at the moment, her own concern was for her daughter. “Even if Heinrich did waylay the missing papal courier,” she pointed out, “that still does not explain why there has been no word from Joanna. I do not like her silence, Richard, not at all.”

Richard hesitated, but he’d never lied to her and was not about to start now. “I do not like it, either, Maman.”

John was cursing himself for not having paid more attention to Italian and German matters and vowed to remedy that in the future, for he was learning that knowledge was power. As much as he disliked revealing his ignorance, especially to Eleanor and Richard, his anxiety for Joanna prevailed over pride.

“You think, then, that Heinrich would have led an army into Italy as soon as he learned of William’s death. How would he treat Joanna?” Adding quickly, “He would have no reason to look kindly upon one of our family,” for he did not want them to think he was uninformed about the hostility between the Angevins and the House of Hohenstaufen, a political rivalry that had become personal when Henry wed his daughter Tilda to the Emperor Frederick’s most recalcitrant vassal, the Duke of Saxony.

It was Eleanor who addressed his concern. “Heinrich’s wife was very close to Joanna ere her marriage. Although from what I’ve heard about Heinrich, I have trouble imagining him as an uxorious husband.”

That masterly understatement earned her a smile from Richard. “It is by no means certain that Heinrich will prevail. The Sicilians quite sensibly are balking at the prospect of a German master, and the Pope says that several of William’s lords are advancing claims of their own to his crown.”

A silence greeted this revelation, as they considered what that might mean for Joanna. John at last gave voice to what they were all thinking. “So Joanna could be caught up in the midst of a war.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said reluctantly, “that could well explain why we’ve not heard from her.” It was only natural that she should fear for her soldier son’s life in faroff Outremer, a land convulsed by war. But how could she have been expected to see danger for her daughter, ruling over a sunlit island paradise? It would seem that the Almighty possessed a perverse sense of humor.

CHAPTER 7

JUNE 1190

Chinon, Touraine

The Count of Perche’s son had escorted his young wife to Chinon Castle so that she might spend time with her grandmother and bid her uncle farewell before Richard departed for the Holy Land. Jaufre and Richenza reached Chinon in midmonth. Three days later, Richard arrived with a large entourage of barons, knights, and bishops, after a successful mission into his southern domains to punish the Lord of Chis, a lawless vassal who’d been robbing pilgrims on their way to the Spanish shrine at Santiago de Compostela.

The next morning Jaufre found the English king holding informal court in the great hall. The men seemed in high spirits, their laughter wafting toward him even as he crossed the threshold. Richard was engaging in a good-natured argument with a young man who looked vaguely familiar to Jaufre; as he drew closer, he recognized the king’s Welsh cousin, Morgan ap Ranulf. Edging inconspicuously into the circle of men, he murmured a discreet query to another of Richard’s cousins, the Poitevin lord, André de Chauvigny. Morgan was boasting of the prowess of Welsh archers, André replied, sounding as skeptical as Richard looked.

“So you are saying that the arrows penetrated an oaken door that was four fingers thick?” Richard shook his head, grinning. “Why do I doubt that, Morgan?”

“Because you’re not Welsh,” Morgan shot back cheekily. “If you doubt me, my liege, you need only consult