Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,90

the art of subterfuge. Her face was still the mirror to her soul and her unease was noticed.

As the evening revelries drew to an end, Hawisa seized the first opportunity to draw her aside. “You seemed disquieted earlier,” she said with her usual forthrightness. “Is something preying upon your mind?”

By now Berengaria had become accustomed to the countess’s disregard for propriety. Sancho’s departure had left her feeling dispirited and forlorn, her loneliness exacerbated by her inability to join in the evening’s merriment, and she welcomed Hawisa’s concern, for tonight she was in need of a friend. “I was downcast,” she admitted shyly. “I miss Sancho already. And the entertainment was not to my liking.”

Hawisa’s plucked blond brows shot upward. “You do not fancy troubadour poetry?”

“No, not really. It has not flourished in Navarre, not as it has in Aragon or Aquitaine. And to be honest, I find much of it distasteful. I can understand why the Church disapproves of the troubadours, for some of their songs glorify infidelity.” Berengaria did not think she’d said anything out of the ordinary and she was surprised to see an expression of dismay cross the other woman’s face.

“Because you speak their lenga romana, the queen and Richard took it for granted that you’d take pleasure in their music. You do know that Richard composes troubadour poetry himself?” After a moment to reflect, though, Hawisa shrugged. “Well, no matter as long as you’ve been forewarned. We’ll just keep this as our secret and no harm done.”

Now it was Berengaria’s turn to stare in dismay. “Are you saying I should lie to Richard? I could not do that, Lady Hawisa, for I believe there ought to be truth between a husband and wife.”

“Good heavens, child, marriages are made of lies!” Hawisa said, laughing. “They can no more withstand the truth than a bat could endure the full light of day. I am simply suggesting that you practice a harmless deception. If the husband is content, most often the wife will be content, too, for he’ll be less likely to take out his bad moods on her. I assure you that other women weave these small falsehoods into the daily fabric of their lives, be it feigning pleasure in the bedchamber or feigning interest in the great hall, and they see no need to confide such falsehoods to their confessors!” Hawisa beamed at the younger woman, pleased to be able to instruct her in the intricacies of wedlock, oblivious to the fact that she’d never applied any of these lessons in either of her marriages.

Berengaria was too well mannered to admit that she found Hawisa’s advice to be cynical and demeaning. So she merely smiled politely. But then she stiffened, for she’d just noticed the woman standing a few feet away. When heat flamed into Berengaria’s face, Hawisa was touched by her innocence, thinking she’d been embarrassed by the talk of marital sex. But she was mistaken. Berengaria’s consternation was due to the alarming realization that Heinrich’s wife had overheard them discussing her marriage to his enemy, the English king.

Berengaria was horrified by her blunder. How could she have been so careless? The queen had cautioned them that her identity must remain secret from Heinrich, lest he warn Philippe of Richard’s intention of repudiating Alys. And now her secret had been delivered into the hands of Heinrich’s queen. She was utterly at a loss, not knowing how to remedy her mistake. She shrank from the thought of confessing to Eleanor, her pride rebelling at the very notion, for she did not want Richard’s mother to think less of her, to know that she’d failed in so simple a task. Nor did she want to implicate Hawisa, and how could she confess without admitting the part the countess had played in their heedless conversation? Yet Eleanor must be alerted to the danger, so how could she stay silent?

In the end, desperation drove her to approach Constance. The other woman listened impassively as she made a halting request for a private word. It was only when the queen murmured in German and her ladies withdrew that Berengaria knew her plea had been granted. As their eyes met, Berengaria felt dwarfed in comparison to Constance, who was so much taller, so much older, and so much more experienced in the ways of statecraft. Not knowing what else to do, she fell back upon candor, saying quietly, “I believe you may have overheard my conversation with the Countess of Aumale, Madame.”

It