Lionheart (19 page)

Glancing around the chamber, Matthew saw that Tancred had the full support of his brother-in-law. That did not surprise him, for Riccardo was a man of action, not given to contemplation. Sybilla looked worried, though, and he took hope from that, for he knew how much influence she wielded with Tancred. Roger had withdrawn into the shadows filling the corners of the room, but Matthew knew he’d do whatever his father wanted, even if he had doubts himself. Matthew decided it was time to call for reinforcements; on the morrow he’d summon the Archbishop of Monreale to Catania.

Taking the letter back, Tancred was reading it again, heat rising in his face and neck. “The English king does not seem to realize that he is not in a position to make threats. This is my kingdom, not his. And his sister is in my hands, not his. Suppose I hold her as a hostage for his good behavior?”

There was an involuntary movement from Roger, quickly stilled. Matthew suppressed a sigh, wondering why Tancred did not see that one man’s hostage was another man’s pretext for a war of conquest. “I would advise against that, my liege,” he said quietly. “I would advise very strongly against that.”

“What a surprise,” Riccardo said sarcastically. But Tancred did not reply. Instead, he crumpled the parchment in his hand, then crossed to the brazier and dropped it onto the coals. As the acrid odor of burning sheepskin filled the chamber, he stood without moving until the letter had been reduced to ashes.

CHAPTER 9

SEPTEMBER 1190

Palermo, Sicily

Sixteen years
. Those two words had become Joanna’s lifeline, for whenever she despaired, she reminded herself that her mother had survived sixteen years of confinement, and had suffered far greater deprivations and indignities. At least she still had a few of her ladies for company—the faithful Beatrix, the young widow Hélène, little Alicia, and Mariam, as loyal as any blood sister could be—whereas Eleanor had lacked any companionship whatsoever in her first two years of captivity. Joanna’s jewelry had been confiscated so she could not use it to bribe servants, but she did have access to her own clothes, her dogs, her books, all of which had been denied her mother in the beginning.

Where had Maman found the strength to face those endless days? How could she have borne the inactivity, she who’d always been occupied from dawn till dusk? How had she abided the isolation, not knowing what was happening in the world beyond those castle walls? That was what Joanna found most difficult—the lack of news. Was Richard on the way to Outremer? Or had he been detained by another war with France? Did he still intend to stop over in Sicily? Did he even know of her plight? Had Tancred denied him the use of Sicilian ports? How secure was Tancred’s throne? When would Heinrich lead a German army into Sicily to claim Constance’s crown?

Joanna had no illusions, did not see Heinrich von Hohenstaufen as her savior. Constance would do all she could, but would Heinrich pay her any heed? Joanna doubted it. A man known to be cold-hearted and vengeful, he would be sorely tempted to punish Richard by continuing her captivity or forcing her to make a deliberately demeaning marriage to a German lord of low rank. That was the fate Joanna most feared, being wed against her will to a husband of Tancred or Heinrich’s choosing. Tancred had implied that he might reconsider her position once he’d defeated his enemies. Joanna doubted that, too. Most likely he’d marry her off to a man he could trust, just as her father had done with her brother Geoffrey’s widow, Constance of Brittany.

Putting up a brave front before the other women, Joanna acted as if she was certain that she’d regain her freedom. She’d not lost faith in her brother, was sure that Richard would do all in his power to rescue her. But she’d learned some painful lessons in the mysterious Ways of the Almighty, which were so often beyond the understanding of mortal men. Why had God taken William so suddenly? Their infant son? Hal and Geoffrey and Tilda? Those were questions she could not answer, so how could she know what He intended for her?

As September drew to a close, Joanna found it harder and harder to maintain her confident pose, for she was dreading the days to come. In less than a fortnight, she would mark her twenty-fifth birthday. In November, it would be a year since her husband’s death. And in December, she’d begin her second year of confinement. She resorted to her talisman, whispering,
Sixteen years
, in those lonely hours when sleep would not come, but it was losing its potency.
How, Maman? How did you endure it?

JOANNA WAS STARTLED by the unexpected appearance of her gaoler, Hugh Lapin, as church bells were summoning the faithful to Compline. Hugh had always treated her with respect, but he’d also made sure that she was kept secluded, in adherence to his new king’s command. He and his brother Jordan had profited handsomely from their support of Tancred; Hugh was now Count of Conversano and justiciar of Apulia, while Jordan fared even better, as Count of Bovino and Governor of Messina. She acknowledged Hugh’s greeting courteously, for it made no sense to antagonize her warden, but her women were not as prudent. Gathering around her protectively, they glared at him with open hostility. William’s dog had become Joanna’s shadow after his master’s death and, sensitive to the sudden tension in the chamber, Ahmer growled low in his throat. Resting her hand reassuringly upon the hound’s head, Joanna sought to appear unconcerned. But all the while her mind was racing. Why was he here at such an hour? What did he want?

“My lady queen, I ask your pardon for giving you so little warning, but I had none myself. A ship is waiting in the harbor for you, ready to sail tonight. Will your women be able to pack your belongings within the hour? If not, I will send servants to be of assistance.”

Joanna’s breath hissed through her teeth. “Where am I going, my lord?”

Looking uncomfortable, he shook his head apologetically. “I am sorry, Madame, but I am not able to tell you.” If it were up to him, he’d have answered what was a very reasonable question under the circumstances. But he was not about to risk offending his king, for Tancred’s terse command had been smoldering with barely suppressed fury.

Joanna stared at him in dismay. The secrecy was alarming, as was the fact that she was being hurried out of the city under cover of night, so the citizens of Palermo would not know of her departure. What would be awaiting her at the end of this ominous voyage? A less comfortable prison than the Zisa? An unwanted husband? “I am taking my dogs,” she said, raising her chin defiantly.

The count was glad that he could accommodate her wishes, since he’d had no orders to the contrary. “As you will, my lady.” His gaze shifting then to Beatrix, he said, “Be sure to pack all of the queen’s possessions. She will not be returning to Palermo.”

THEIR SHIP STAYED CLOSE to the coast, and by the eve of Michaelmas, it was approaching the Straits of Messina. Joanna had retreated into the canvas tent set up to shelter the women, saying that she needed to comfort Alicia as they entered the turbulent waters of the Faro, where her brother had drowned. Mariam knew that Joanna had another reason for her withdrawal; she did not want the crew or the arrogant ship’s master as witnesses if she became queasy. She was no longer that little girl who’d suffered so much from seasickness that she’d had to continue her marital journey by land but, like Alicia, she would take to her grave a deep-rooted fear of the sea. Mariam preferred to stay out in the open air, and she was leaning over the gunwale, watching seagulls swoop and circle overhead when the ships came into view.

During the last year of William’s reign, he’d sent the Sicilian fleet to cruise the waters of Outremer, keeping the Saracens from blockading Tyre. But Mariam was not surprised that it would have been recalled by Tancred, given his precarious grasp on power. The fleet was under the command of the renowned admiral, Margaritis of Brindisi, who happened to be Mariam’s brother-in-law, for he was wed to her half-sister Marina, another of the out-of-wedlock daughters sired by the first King William. For a fleeting moment, Mariam wondered if she could coax Margaritis into speaking up for Joanna, then laughed at her own foolishness. The admiral was a man of many talents, a born sailor who’d been a highly successful pirate before he’d won royal favor, but he was more likely to sprout wings than to be swayed by an appeal to sentiment. Moreover, Mariam had not been close to Marina. Like her other half-sisters, one of whom was wed to the Emperor of Cyprus, they were all much older than Mariam, who’d been born in the last year of her father’s life.

As their galley began to maneuver among the anchored ships, Mariam was pleased when Joanna joined her on deck. “Margaritis is back from the Holy Land, Joanna. I did not realize the Sicilian fleet was so numerous, did you?”

“That is not the Sicilian fleet.” Joanna’s voice sounded so oddly muffled that Mariam swung around to face her. Joanna was smiling, though, one of the most blindingly radiant smiles Mariam had ever seen. “Look,” she said, pointing. Following her gesture, Mariam gazed upward and saw, for the first time, the gold and scarlet banner flying from mastheads, silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the September sky—the royal lion of England.

THE SHIP’S MASTER HAD BEGUN to regret that Messina was a deepwater port, with ships able to dock at the city wharves. If he’d anchored out in the harbor, he’d not be arguing with this troublesome woman; he knew she was a queen, but since he was not Sicilian, he wasn’t impressed by her status. “As I have explained, Madame,” he said impatiently, “my orders are very clear. I am to hand you over to the governor, and he will then escort you to the English king’s camp.”

Joanna scowled, not liking the image conjured up by the phrase “hand you over,” as if she were a sack of flour to be delivered to a local baker. “And how long do you expect me to wait? It has already—” When her frown vanished, replaced by a triumphant smile, the master had an unpleasant premonition. She was looking past him, and he turned, already suspecting what he would see. People on the wharves were clearing a path for approaching riders. They were clad in mail, the sun reflecting off the metal links of their hauberks, the man in the lead astride a snorting grey stallion that seemed bred for the battlefield, not the city streets of Messina. Realizing that he was staring defeat in the face, the master brusquely ordered his crew to lower the gangplank.

JOANNA WANTED TO GREET Richard in a dignified fashion; after all, she was no longer the cheeky little sister he remembered, but a wife, mother, widow, and queen. Her resolve lasted until she set foot on the dock. Swinging from the saddle, Richard tossed the reins to one of his men and strode toward her, smiling. Picking up her skirts then, she ran into his arms. They’d attracted a crowd and people were jostling to get closer, having recognized their queen. The arrival of the large English army had not been welcomed by the citizens of Messina, and already there’d been some hostile clashes between the locals and soldiers. But for now, all of those watching were beaming, touched by this dramatic reunion of brother and sister.

When Richard released her, Joanna felt as if the air had been squeezed from her lungs, so tightly had he hugged her, and her eyes were brimming with tears, she who’d cried so rarely during those miserable months of captivity. “Oh, Richard . . . I have never been so happy in all of my born days!”

“Me, too,
irlanda
,” he said, and that forgotten pet name caused her tears to fall in earnest. Her brothers had delighted in finding teasing and affectionate endearments for their baby sister; Hal had called her “imp” and Geoffrey “kitten,” but Richard had preferred “swallow” and “lark” and “little bird,” always in the
lenga romana
of their mother’s homeland.