Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,54

the river, for it had been his experience that horses were as flighty and unpredictable as women. He was surprised, though, by the speed and success of the rescue effort. Soon most of the floundering men had been pulled to safety; they lost only two to the Rhone’s flood tide. But their armies were now cut off from their commanders, trapped on opposite sides of the surging river.

PHILIPPE’S TENT OFFERED welcome shelter from the noonday heat, but it was rather crowded, for he’d been joined by his cousins, the Duke of Burgundy, the Count of Nevers, and the Archbishop of Chartres, the Count of Perche’s son, Jaufre, and several other lords and knights. Guillaume des Barres alone took up enough space for any two men; he was as sturdy as an oak and almost as tall. He was one of the most popular members of Philippe’s entourage, for he’d never let his battle renown go to his head, and was adroit at using humor to prevent minor squabbles from flaring into more serious confrontations. Keeping their men from turning their tempers upon one another before they could fight the Saracens was a serious concern. Richard had issued a strict code of conduct for the sailors, with severe penalties for murder, brawling, theft, gambling, and blasphemy. But these prohibitions were not aimed at maintaining the peace between highborn lords accustomed to getting their own way, and Guillaume des Barres had taken it upon himself to make their journey as free of strife as he could.

Guillaume wished that he could ease his king’s mind, too, for Philippe was obviously troubled. He’d dispatched couriers back to Paris, bearing letters to his mother and uncle with further instructions for governing in his absence, but after that he’d lapsed into a brooding silence, paying no heed to the conversations swirling about him. When Guillaume challenged him to a game of chess now, he seemed tempted, for that was a pastime that played to his strengths, requiring a strategic sense and patience. But that brief flicker of interest did not catch fire.

Instead, he signaled for a small coffer to be brought to him, and read again the last report of his son’s health. Louis was just three, and often ailing. Philippe’s greatest dread was that he would die in the Holy Land and Louis would not live to reach manhood. Why had the Almighty taken the twin boys born in March? Had they lived, he could have left France with far fewer fears for the future of his dynasty. Instead, Isabelle had bled to death, never seeing or holding the pitiful little bodies expelled from her womb, and Philippe’s destiny rested upon the thinnest of threads, the fragile life of his only surviving son.

Philippe did not understand why Richard seemed so unconcerned about his own lack of an heir of his body. He was fortunate enough to have a brother full grown, it was true, and a young nephew who had been blessed with the robust good health denied to Philippe’s own son. Was he content to have the crown pass to John or Arthur? Or was he utterly and blasphemously confident that he’d not die in the Holy Land? Knowing Richard, it was most likely the latter, Philippe thought morosely. The Angevins were notorious for confusing the Almighty’s Will with their own.

“Sire!” The flap was ripped aside and Mathieu de Montmorency plunged into the tent. Mathieu was highborn, blood-kin to Philippe’s queen, but his presence was proving to be another irritant to the French king’s raw nerves, for Mathieu was just sixteen and so enthusiastic about their crusade that he seemed drunk on excitement alone. Now his face was flushed and his smile so euphoric that Philippe knew he was not going to enjoy whatever the boy had come to tell him.

“I have wondrous news, my liege! Our problems are over, thanks to the English king. Richard has come up with a truly brilliant idea. He wants to build a bridge of small boats, lashing them together so our soldiers may cross the river. His men are already searching the shorelines and commandeering whatever boats they find . . .”

Mathieu belatedly became aware of the silence. He’d expected the men to share in his delight, but they showed no such joy, their expressions wary and guarded. Mathieu looked from them to Philippe in dismay, realizing he’d somehow incurred his king’s disfavor.

“I am surprised Richard is bothering with a bridge,” Philippe snapped. “Why does he not