The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [216]
Now I must rest awhile in Rouen, where I could be watchful of what was happening in Normandy and across the Channel.
It was a good task done, but my work was by no means completed.
It soon emerged that there could be plenty to disturb me.
John, of course, was bent on worming his way into power. He was spreading rumors that Richard had no intention of returning from the Holy Land and would doubtless become King of Jerusalem.
He was quarreling with Longchamp.
Geoffrey, who had been in Normandy, attempted to return to England to take up his new post and was arrested on Longchamp’s orders and put into prison in Dover.
John, who looked upon Longchamp as his enemy, seized the opportunity this offered; he had the bishops and barons on his side and they, with the justiciars, summoned Longchamp to appear before them and defend his conduct. Longchamp made use of the time-honored excuse of illness and did not appear. He was forthwith excommunicated by the bishops. Meanwhile Longchamp tried to ingratiate himself with John and agreed to stand trial, but when he realized that his enemies were determined to be rid of him, he decided it would be wise to leave the country.
His escape turned out to be quite a comic interlude. Fearing that he might be prevented from leaving the country, he disguised himself as a woman. He wore a rather showy gown and was mistaken for a harlot. One of the sailors made advances to him; there was a scuffle, and during it the sailor became aware of his sex. He shouted to his companions that this was no woman but a man. They gathered around, pulling at his clothes and taking off his wig.
He was held a prisoner until he gave up the keys of the Tower and Windsor which he held as Chancellor; and then he was allowed to depart.
In France Longchamp made his way to Paris, where he sought out a cardinal friend, explained his plight and begged the cardinal to help him to an audience with me so that he could tell me of the troubles which were being stirred up by my son John.
As I was well aware of the troubles John was stirring up, I saw a good way of ridding the country of the arrogant and incompetent Chancellor, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleading.
What I needed more than anything was to hear that Richard was married. News was so difficult to come by. But at last messengers arrived and then I felt more contented than I had for a long time. Richard and Berengaria had been married in Limassol, on the island of Cyprus. We were over the first hurdle; now I wanted to hear more than ever that a son had been born to them.
I was horrified when I heard of their adventures. None knew better than I the dangers they would be facing. But at least I was comforted by the knowledge that they were safe so far. I thanked God that my practical, indomitable Joanna was there to look after Berengaria.
They had sailed from Sicily in their fleet of ships—Richard taking up the rear, a huge lantern at the poop of his favorite vessel, the Trenc-the-Mere, in which he was traveling. Berengaria was not in his ship as he had said that they were not yet married and it would be improper for her to be with him. She was traveling with Joanna.
Good Friday dawned. The wind had risen and was blowing angry clouds across the sky and Richard, speaking through the large trumpet he kept for the purpose, warned his fleet to be prepared for storms. When they came, it was difficult for the ships to keep together; the sails were useless, and Richard’s voice was lost in the roar of the wind. The storm continued for some hours and when it was over Richard decided that they must call in at Crete to assess the damage to some of his ships. Then to his horror he noticed that some ships were missing, among them his treasure ship and the one in which Joanna and Berengaria were sailing.
I suffered with them when I heard how they had thought their last moment had come. Richard should have had them in his ship. Who cared for propriety at such times? But perhaps it was not propriety in Richard