Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,50

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Looking back at the woman she’d once been, Louis’s unhappy, bored wife and Harry’s reckless, rebel queen, she sometimes felt as if that younger Eleanor was a stranger, one often in need of the guidance she could now have provided. Why was it that wisdom seemed to come only with age, when it no longer mattered as much? No, that was not so. It did matter, and she was determined that her children should benefit from the lessons she’d learned at such great cost in the course of her long and eventful life. Glancing from Richard to Richenza, she tempered her silent vow with a prudent God willing, for she finally understood that the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happened to them all.

JAUFRE HAD SOON CONCOCTED an excuse to take Richenza back to their chamber, treating his wife with the exaggerated care of one handling a rare and exotic flower that could be bruised by a breath. Hawisa watched them wistfully, but then tossed her head, summoning up a brittle smile. “Men are so solicitous, so awestruck over the first child. Alas, Richenza will find that by her third or fourth pregnancy, he’ll be wondering why she must take a full nine months when his favorite greyhound bitch can whelp in two.”

Eleanor laughed. Richard was not as amused, but he held his tongue until Hawisa had tactfully excused herself and moved out of earshot. “Passing strange that she’d make such a jest when her first marriage was barren. Nor do I understand why you seem to like the woman’s company, Maman. She is as strong-willed as any man, with a tongue sharp enough to slice bread.”

“She jests about childbirth, Richard, for the same reason that men use humor to hide their unease ere a battle begins. And yes, I do enjoy her company. She was courageous enough to resist a marriage she did not want, but sensible enough to yield once she saw defeat was inevitable. And in case you’ve not noticed, I have a mind of my own, too.”

He chuckled. “That would be like not noticing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

Eleanor emptied her wine cup, setting it down in the grass at her feet. “If my memory serves, Will Marshal’s elder brother John was the sheriff of Yorkshire. I thought I saw him in your entourage, and that explains it. He came to beg for his post back?”

Richard nodded. “He can grovel from now till Martinmas, for all the good it will do him. Gross incompetence is the least of his sins. Longchamp suspects him of being hand in glove with the instigators of the rioting, although he admits he has not been able to prove it. That is why he acted so swiftly, dismissing Marshal and appointing his brother, Osbert, as sheriff in his stead.”

Eleanor had no problems with the dismissal of John Marshal, who’d shown appallingly poor judgment. But by replacing Marshal with his own brother, Longchamp was playing into his enemies’ hands, giving them a means of impugning his motives. “You told me that the Pope agreed to name Longchamp as a papal legate—”

“‘Agreed’?” Richard interrupted. “He sold the office plain and simple, extorting fifteen hundred marks from me ere he’d even consider it.”

“Be that as it may, Longchamp is now the papal legate, chancellor, justiciar, and Bishop of Ely. You are entrusting great authority to one man, Richard. Do you think that is wise? History shows us that peace is more likely when you have two rivals of equal power. Should the balance tip too far in one direction, war becomes inevitable, as with Athens and Sparta or Rome and Carthage.”

Richard claimed one of the vacant seats. “And who are you nominating to play Sparta to Longchamp’s Athens? Might it be Johnny, by chance?”

“Yes, John did approach me about that vow you demanded of him. He thinks it would be dangerous if you and he both were absent from England for the next few years. And after giving it some thought, I agree with him. His very presence will reassure those barons who are suspicious of Longchamp’s intentions. And Longchamp might well temper his dealings with those same discontented barons if he knows they can turn to your brother with their grievances. As it is, you’ve denied them any outlet for their complaints.”

“There is truth in what you say, Maman. Longchamp would have done better not to thrust