Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,77

me what ‘cariad’ means.”

“You can safely assume it is not a Welsh curse, my lady.” Although he’d already moved from the moonlight into the shadows, she could hear the smile in his voice and could not help smiling in return.

Once he’d gone, she slipped off the bench and began to pace the cloisters pathway, Ahmer trailing loyally at her heels. What was the right question, then? She’d been raised at the royal court, but “Merlin” was right; she’d always felt a kinship to her mother’s people, the “Saracens of Sicily.” Even though most of them still practiced the faith of Islam and she was a Christian, she’d heard those whispers of the blood. Just as “Merlin” had heard the whispers from . . . Gwynedd, was it? What had he said about the other Welsh, though? Ah, yes, that his loyalty would depend upon the justness of the cause.

She came to an abrupt halt, and then bent down and put her arms around the dog. “He was right, Ahmer. I was asking the wrong question. Do I believe that Jerusalem should be retaken from the Syrian Saracens? Yes, I do.” Hugging the puzzled dog, she began to laugh, so great was her relief. “Of course I do!”

THE ARCHBISHOP OF MONREALE was not sure what sort of reception to expect in Catania. He knew that he and Chancellor Matthew had not been in the king’s good graces lately, for they’d been telling him what he did not want to hear—that an alliance with the English would better serve Sicily’s interests than one with the French. Now that the English king had dared to seize the second city of his realm, whose voices was Tancred more likely to heed—those demanding vengeance or those urging moderation and restraint?

Before he could make his presence known to the king, he was intercepted by the chancellor. Following Matthew into the chapel, he said dryly, “I assume we are not here to pray?”

Matthew smiled. “Given my sinful past, I have need of all the prayers I can get. But I wanted to speak with you ere you see the king. Jordan Lapin and the admiral got here first, and as you’d expect, they were in a rage, the killing kind. Not only did the city fall whilst they looked on, their houses were amongst those plundered by the English. So quite understandably, they are hell-bent upon war. As are Tancred’s brother-in-law and most of his council, especially after they learned of the French king’s offer.”

“What offer, Matthew?”

“You’d almost think Messina was a French city, so great was Philippe’s fury. Some of it is wounded pride. The Messinians had appealed to him for protection, and then he had to stand by and watch whilst Richard captured the city in less time than it would take a priest to chant Matins. But much of it seems to be pure and honest hatred. If I were a gambling man, I’d be giving odds that the English and the French turn upon each other long ere they ever reach the Holy Land.”

“The offer, Matthew,” the archbishop prodded. “What was the offer?”

“Philippe sent the Duke of Burgundy to Tancred, suggesting that they form an alliance against Richard, promising the use of French troops in an attack upon the English.”

The archbishop’s jaw dropped. “What does the king say to this?”

“His head is at war with his heart. He knows that Heinrich von Hohenstaufen is our true enemy, but Richard’s arrogance is a bitter brew to swallow. I’d still hoped to be able to convince him that Richard would make a more useful ally than Philippe. But now I fear that this offer from the French might tip the scales in favor of war with the English.”

“I think I’d best see the king straightaway, then,” the archbishop said, “for I have information about the French king that he needs to know.”

TANCRED LOOKED HAGGARD, his sallow complexion and red-rimmed eyes testifying to anxious days and sleepless nights. “Sit down, my lord archbishop,” he said wearily. “But do not waste your breath arguing that the English king’s enmity toward Hohenstaufen matters more than his outrageous seizure of Messina. I’ve already heard enough of that from the chancellor.”

“You well know that the English king is no friend to the Holy Roman Emperor, my liege, so there is no need to remind you of it. I would rather talk with you about the French king.”

“Matthew told you of the Duke of Burgundy’s message? I admit I was taken