The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [211]
I murmured a little prayer that all would be well for her.
She told me that she had never since seen anyone like him and that she had loved him from the first moment she met him.
“There is no one like him,” I said emotionally.
“You love him, too,” she answered.
“I have loved him more than I ever loved anyone else,” I said truthfully.
“When he was here and I was only a child, he rode for me in the tournament. He wore my glove in his helmet . . . as knights wear something belonging to the lady they love to show they are riding for her.”
“So he loved you then.”
“Is it not wonderful that our love has lasted all these years?”
Poor child, I feared she was going to be sadly disillusioned.
She told me of her fears that he would marry the Princess Alais.
“He swore he never would,” I told her.
“Poor Alais. I feel sorry for her.”
“You should not. She did what she wanted. She took the lover of her choice. She did not think of shame . . . then. It is only now when he is gone and she is left to bear the result of that affair, that she doubtless repents her folly.”
“Yes. And I am happy, for all my dreams are coming true.”
“Very soon you will be Richard’s bride. Much as I like your father’s Court, I do not wish to tarry here. I know Richard is going to Sicily. My daughter Joanna is Queen of Sicily and she will welcome us. She is, alas, a widow now, and I do not know what plans she will make. But Richard will be there and so shall we. The wedding will take place at once and you, my dear Berengaria, will be Queen of England.”
“It is good of you to come so far for me.”
“At my age, you mean? I have traveled much in my life and, although I now look for comfort, travel troubles me less than it would most folk. Now, my child, as I said, I wish to leave very soon. You must be ready.”
“I am ready when you wish to go, my lady.”
She would be a delightful, docile daughter-in-law. I hoped Richard was not going to disappoint her too much.
Time was all-important. Richard was to spend the winter of 1190–91 in Sicily with the King of France, so I could not go to him with Berengaria while he was officially affianced to Alais. I had no doubt that Philip Augustus was making himself quite unpleasant on that account.
I decided we would wait in Italy for the appropriate moment. Richard could be informed of where we were and send for us when it would be in order for us all to meet.
By this time winter was coming on, but I dare not delay. If I missed the army in Sicily, I should have to travel all the way to the Holy Land, which could mean hardship. I was quite prepared to do it if necessary, for I must get Richard married. I could not rest until there was a child on the way.
It was an arduous journey but I was determined. For me it was full of memories, for had I not come this way all those years ago? Memories came flooding back; and what was most vivid was that day when I had learned of Raymond’s death. Then I thought I had touched the very depth of misery. But one recovers. Grief fades and life offers other joys to console one.
Berengaria was a pleasant companion—so fresh and innocent, a quality which I found most endearing. All the time I was hoping she would not suffer too much when the realities of life were forced upon her.
My relief was great when at last we reached Naples. The ships which were to take us to Sicily could be seen in the harbor. But there was disquieting news. Trouble had broken out in Sicily and we were to await Richard’s instructions before we set sail.
Chafing against the loss of time as I was, I found this hard to endure. I was even more disturbed when news of the state of affairs in Sicily filtered through.
I was so looking forward to seeing my daughter Joanna, whom I had not seen since she had been not quite eleven years old; she would be twenty-four now. I had wanted to be with her when her little son, Bohemond, had died; poor child, he had scarcely lived, and heirs were so important to kings and queens. Joanna had written to me; she had been heartbroken. And now