Roselynde (42 page)

Absorbed by personal considerations, Alinor hardly noted what to
the Queen was most important. Philip had overreached himself by inciting
suspicion in Tancred, and the Sicilian King had failed to smooth over his
subjects' resentments of the actions of Richard's men. The original faults may
have been equal, but minor incidents were allowed to develop to the point that,
by the time Richard's fleet arrived, the people of Messina closed the gates of
their city, hurled not only insults but missiles at Richard's men, and prepared
for war. At first, Richard tried to keep the peace. He was furious with
Tancred's behavior in retaining most of Joanna's dowry, but he had been willing
to try diplomatic means of solving that problem. When the quarters of one of
his major barons were attacked and his men slaughtered, however, Richard's
limited patience gave out and he flew into a true Angevin rage.

Raging or calm, Richard was a remarkable tactician. His own letter
merely reported that they had taken Messina by the evening of the same day the
insult was offered and that Tancred had capitulated on all points. Simon,
however, became lyrical in his description of the battle, detailing how
Richard's forces had been ordered to hold their bolts until those of the
overeager Sicilians were exhausted, how they had then driven the defenders from
the walls with a fusillade of arrows so that the battering rams could burst in
the gates. Then they had reduced every fortified building in the city in a
series of lightning attacks, sparing only King Philip's quarters and Tancred's
own palace.

Simon was far less enthusiastic about the settlement that had been
made. Having finally realized what sort of man he had to deal with, Tancred
brought to the negotiations letters signed and sealed by Philip that described
Richard in far from flattering terms. He protested that he had been led to
believe that Richard wished to conquer Sicily and depose him, that had he
realized how honorable and magnanimous Richard was he would never have acted as
he had. In fact he played so successfully upon Richard's feelings that he
gained far more than he had lost. Richard agreed to accept an additional forty
thousand ounces of gold plus a gilt table and chairs and a set of golden cups
and dishes in complete quittance of Joanna's dowry. To that Simon had no
objection. He did not think, he wrote, that much more could be squeezed out of
Sicily without actually conquering the island.

It was the final clause in the agreement that disturbed Simon. To
the Queen he merely reported that Richard had agreed to the marriage of his
three-year-old nephew, Arthur, to Tancred's infant daughter, settling upon the
girl twenty thousand ounces of Joanna's gold at the time of the wedding and
naming Arthur as his heir. In a separate enclosure to Alinor, he expressed his
true feelings.

"He has thus destroyed any hope of peace between himself and
his brother John. Perhaps, in view of the dangers into which the King is going
and the fact that he has no heir of his body, Lord John would have been content
to wait until the climate or the disease of the Holy Land or the forces of
Saladin made him King. As soon as John hears this news, however, he will begin
to build alliances and stir up enmities so that if the King dies Arthur will be
rejected. I cannot know what is in Lord John's mind, but seeing how Lord
Richard has put his claim to the throne at naught, I fear that the same
enmities and alliances will make it impossible for Richard to return to his
kingdom without conquering John and his adherents by force of arms. Although I
know the temptation will be great to side with Lord John against Longchamp, bid
Sir Andre straitly not to do so. Let him, if it be possible, remain friends
with both. If he must, he may resist Longchamp, even to the point of war, but
by no means must he request aid from Lord John, neither men nor money nor arms.
On the other hand, by no means should he offer defiance or insult to Lord
John—remember that no matter what Richard says, it is not like a three-year-old
will be accepted as King. If death overtakes Lord Richard, Lord John will be
King, and he has a long memory. Sir Andre must find sweet words to resist any
offer made to him."

This close attention to her affairs abated Alinor's jealousy not
one whit. She knew quite well that wherever Simon's affections wandered, he
would neglect no detail of his duty with respect to her property. Alinor pinned
her hopes on winning Simon back, but for that purpose she had to be with him.
She set herself to win Berengaria's confidence. This was no hard task, nor a
distasteful one. The Princess was a charming girl of very sweet disposition
only two years older than Alinor and, because of lack of responsibility, seemed
in many ways younger.

At first Alinor did not press too much. Berengaria had her own
friends and ladies. Once they had left Sancho's Court, the two girls drew
together. This was the natural attraction of similar age and some similar
interests. As it turned out, Berengaria did not need information about Richard.
She knew him quite well. Richard and her brother had been friends, traveling
together to the jousts, and Richard had stayed some time at Sancho's Court. He
had, in fact, favored Berengaria with as full a treatment of courtly love as
Simon had bestowed upon Alinor. It was this that Berengaria needed to talk
about to a person of her own age—a true dream of love. She described at great
length the delicacy of Richard's attentions to her, how he had declared himself
unworthy even to beg for a kiss.

Alinor was so horrified that tears came to her eyes, and
Berengaria was greatly moved by what she thought was sympathy with the
realization of her dream. Fortunately Alinor could not think of the proper
words with which to warn Berengaria at first. By the time she had planned what
to say, she recognized the stupidity of saying anything. Richard might reform
totally. If so, Berengaria was his choice and he might truly love her. Even if
Richard did not reform but only desired to beget an heir upon his wife, his
manners were beautiful. Berengaria might never realize that his passion was
spurious.

It never occurred to Alinor at that time that Berengaria might
prefer the fairy-tale love to the real thing, but she did realize that to break
Berengaria's dream would be unkind and unnecessary as well as dangerous.

By November, when the Queen's party had safely re-crossed the
Pyrenees, Alinor was Berengaria's chief confidante. She alone of the ladies,
aside from the Queen, could read and had read many of the tales that Berengaria
loved and almost believed. Moreover, after more than a year of traveling with
the Queen, Alinor was inured to hardship in a way that Berengaria was not. She
could offer little hints on the best ways to be comfortable, perform little
services that would ease the Princess physically. To seal their friendship,
Alinor told of her own fairy-tale love, but what she really felt and who her
lover was she did not confess. If Simon had turned his eyes elsewhere, Alinor
did not wish to be pitied. It took some time before Alinor realized that
Berengaria's curiosity and affection could be put to a practical use.

"I cannot tell you who my knight is," Alinor said very
gravely. "It would be dangerous to me and to him."

"Do you think I would betray you?" Berengaria asked,
lifting her eyes from the fine stitchery of a pair of gloves she was making for
her future husband.

Temporarily there was time and warm enough hands for embroidery.
Their hurried travels had been suspended while the Queen met and conferred with
Count Philip of Flanders. Related to both Philip of France and King Richard,
the Count of Flanders could be presumed to be neutral between them. He was,
however, being primed by the Queen to be Richard's advocate in breaking the
betrothal to Alais so that the King would be free to marry Berengaria.

"I know you would not do so apurpose," Alinor replied,
"but I am the King's ward, and a word there, where I know you to be
weakest, would be the most dangerous."

Berengaria considered that and smiled. "Oh, dear, I fear you
might speak true. If Richard asked, I could not lie or even hold my
tongue." She pouted prettily. "But why should he ask?"

"He would not ask about me. I have never spoken more than a
few words to the King, and I doubt he would remember my name or my face, but
when lovers talk of love other lovers, especially those with sad tales, come
into the talk."

That was so true that Berengaria could not deny it. She had come
to be fond of Alinor and did not wish any unhappiness to befall her. She would
not ask any questions of others, which might bring unfortunate revelations, but
she was very curious about the man who could attract so strong-minded a damsel.

"Can you tell me nothing? Not even
why
it is dangerous
to you both to be in love? Is he a low person, a—a
jongleur?"

Doubtless Berengaria had heard the tale of Bertrand de Ventadorn
and the Queen. Alinor shook her head indignantly. "Certainly not. He is a
preux
chevalier,
a knight of great prowess and high honor but of little estate
and little influence. My estate is great—not to be compared with yours, of
course, but the King might gain a strong ally or a great price with my
marriage."

"Richard is not greedy!" Berengaria protested with
sparkling eyes.

"No, he is not," Alinor agreed, "but he is a king,
and kings are sometimes constrained by affairs of state to act against the
dictates of their hearts."

"Not Richard," Berengaria said softly.

Alinor lowered her eyes. It was probably true, but whatever
Berengaria felt Alinor knew it was little credit to a King to be too much
swayed by things of the heart.

"Alinor," Berengaria exclaimed, "you said your
knight was strong in battle. That, I know, Richard loves above all else. Could
he not perform some great deed that will win the King's notice and gain you—as
it were—as a prize of war?"

"I think," Alinor sighed, "that is what he plans,
and I fear, oh how I fear, he will win his death instead of me."

Berengaria drew herself up. "And so may Richard in his noble
cause, but I will never show my fear lest it weaken him."

Again Alinor bowed her head. Two fools well mated, she thought
bitterly, he with dreams of glory and she with her head full of romances. There
is a time for courage, but to rush out and seek trouble just so that one might
display it was stupid. All she said, however, was, "I tell you of my fear,
my lady, not him."

Impulsively, Berengaria dropped her needle and took Alinor's
hands. "That is right. That is very right. Tell me and unburden your
heart. Then you may put a brave face on when you see him. Oh, do not look
amazed. I am not a fool. If you fear and he plans great deeds, he must be with
Richard now. Alinor, I have a thought. I love you well and you me, I
think."

"Indeed I do," Alinor replied with a smile. "How
could anyone not love you? You are good and sweet and clever."

"This is no time for flattery," Berengaria said, but she
smiled, too. "If I asked the Queen, I believe she would permit you to be
one of my ladies. She has said to me that it is sad you have no one of your own
age among her women, and I have no one of my age among mine. And then if
Richard keeps me by his side— Oh, Alinor, I know he has said no women must go
on this Crusade, but I long to see his great work. I will beg him and pray him.
Then you may see your love and speak to him sometimes. I will help you, and I
will not spy to see who it is."

Alinor turned her hands so that she could clasp Berengaria's and
raised them and kissed them. "Thank you, my lady," she said with
heartfelt sincerity. "I would of all things like to be your lady and go
with you wherever you go."

If Sancho the Wise had been wiser in the ways of the Queen, he
might never have agreed to commit Berengaria into her hands at that time of the
year, even to have her married to the King of England. Far from waiting for the
spring to open the passes, the Queen resumed her journey as soon as the Count
of Flanders and she had reached an agreement on what he was to do. Her party
then struggled over the Mont-Genevre pass in January. Alinor, who had thought
kindly of snow in the mild climate of England, now thought never would be too
soon to see it again. The awesome beauty, the bitter cold, the great white
silence were too foreign to the green and gentle land in which she had been
bred.

After they had descended into the plains of Italy, Alinor admitted
it was an experience she would be glad to remember, and then she laughed and
repeated, "To remember, not to endure again."

Their route through the plains was no less hazardous, although
they were no longer in danger from avalanche or cravass. Each little city here
had its own king, and each petty king desired to exact tribute. Some, not
content with what the Queen offered, desired to take all and, in addition, hold
them hostage for still more from Richard. Alinor's men saw heavy fighting and
acquitted themselves so well that the Queen complimented her on their training
and mettle. Alinor saw the Queen privately very seldom now. There had been no
messengers while they were in the Alps and even now that they were easy to
find, no letter came from Simon. In secret Alinor alternately raged and wept,
but there was nothing more she could do.

As February waned into March, they were delayed two weeks in Lodi
by a meeting with Henry of Hohenstaufen. The Queen would have been glad to
avoid him, but news had come to Henry of Richard's acknowledgment of Tancred as
King of Sicily. The Queen did what she could, but it was little enough. Henry
desired assurances she could not give him, and at last she had to go on,
knowing she had left an enemy behind her.