he’d taken concubines from time to time, but he’d not taken another wife, and Sancho did not think he ever would.
“Yes, Papa,” he said, with all the conviction at his command, “I do think Berenguela will be happy as Richard’s queen.”
He could see that his father took comfort from his certainty, and he was glad of it. It was not as if he’d lied, after all. Why would Berenguela and Richard not find contentment together? The ideal wife was one who was chaste, obedient, and loyal. Berenguela would come to her marriage bed a virgin and would never commit the sin of adultery. She believed it was a wife’s duty to be guided by her husband. And she would be loyal to Richard until her last mortal breath—whether he deserved it or not.
RICHARD’S FATHER had been renowned for the speed of his campaigns; Henry had once covered two hundred miles in just four days. Most travelers set a more measured pace and would be very pleased to manage thirty miles a day in summer and twenty in winter. Traveling with a large retinue slowed the rate of speed, however, and Eleanor and Berengaria were averaging only about fifteen miles a day, for they were accompanied by Poitevin bishops and barons, Navarrese prelates and lords, ladies-in-waiting, grooms, servants, knights, and enough soldiers to guarantee their safety. The presence of women inevitably slowed them down, for they had to ride sidesaddle or in horse litters. But so far they’d not encountered any severe storms and Eleanor remained confident that they would be able to reach Naples by mid-February, where Richard’s ships would be waiting to convey them to Messina.
Within a month of departing Pamplona, they’d reached the city of Avignon, where they crossed the River Rhone over the splendid new St Benezet Bridge, and then followed the old Roman road north along the River Durance. As they’d traveled through southern France, they’d accepted the hospitality of the local nobility—the Trencavels of Carcassonne, Viscountess Ermengard of Narbonne, the ailing Lord of Montpelier—although they’d detoured around Toulouse, whose count was no friend to the Angevins. When castles were not available, they stayed at monasteries, but rarely for more than a night, as Eleanor was determined to get to Sicily before February 27 and the start of Lent, when marriages would be banned.
That was the only intimate confidence she’d shared with Berengaria so far—her confession that she very much wanted to attend Richard’s wedding. She was quite willing to discuss politics and statecraft with her son’s betrothed, and she was willing, too, to indulge Berengaria’s curiosity and tell her stories of Richard’s boyhood. But she revealed nothing of herself, to Berengaria’s disappointment, for the younger woman hoped that they might forge a bond during their long journey.
Berengaria did form an unexpected friendship, though, with one of Eleanor’s ladies, the Countess of Aumale. Wary initially of the countess’s sarcastic asides, she was gradually won over by Hawisa’s often startling candor. Hawisa had proven to be a good source of information, too, for her first husband had been a close friend of the old king. From her, Berengaria learned that Nicholas de Chauvigny, the courtly middle-aged knight in charge of Eleanor’s household, had been with her when she was captured by Henry’s men and had been imprisoned for his loyalty to the queen. She pointed out one of the notorious de Lusignan clan and shocked Berengaria by telling her how they’d dared to ambush Eleanor in a foolhardy abduction attempt after Henry had seized their major stronghold. A young knight, William Marshal, had held them at bay long enough for the queen to escape, thus beginning his illustrious career in the service of the English Crown.
Berengaria thought the de Lusignans sounded more like brigands than vassals, yet she had to admit their history could have come straight from a troubadour’s tale. After numerous rebellions, several brothers from the unruly family had sought their fortunes in Outremer, where Guy de Lusignan had unexpectedly made a brilliant marriage with Sybilla, the elder sister of Baldwin, the Leper King. After Baldwin’s death, the crown had eventually passed to Sybilla and Guy, and this highly unpopular knight, a younger son with limited prospects, found himself the King of Jerusalem. His reign had been a disaster, for he’d rashly led his army against Salah al-Dīn at the Horns of Ḥaṭṭīn and suffered a devastating defeat, one which led to the capture of the Holy City. Freed by Salah al-Dīn, who’d said that