The King's Witch (2 page)

The light of the lamp, and the kind hand that drew her in.

The gentle voice: “Forget. Forget everything. You are mine now. We’ll say you are Saxon. You fled from a nunnery. This is your new name.” This alien, old woman’s name, like a misshapen mask.

Ahead lay the little town and the court where she could bury all this, wall out the memories, and she slowed, and settled herself. She would forget. She would bear the name, she would be Edythe. She would go forward, forward, and leave the past behind forever.

A great throng of men was pouring in through the gate at the top of the main street, cheering and galloping their tired horses. Many of them were waving long pieces of cloth, banners and robes. She went by a lane toward the Queen’s compound, but when she came out onto the main street the screaming horsemen cut her off; she dodged into a gateway to keep from being trampled.

Now she was trapped. The army flooded past her, stirrup to stirrup, brandishing their trophies overhead. She groped behind her for the gate handle, but it was locked. The men crowding by were beginning to notice her. One grabbed at her. Then suddenly a horse stopped in front of her.

She recoiled into the corner of the gateway. From the saddle a big man in mail looked down at her. With a leap of hope she realized she had seen him before, at court: Johanna’s cousin, whom they all called Rouquin for his bristling red hair.

He looked down at her and said, loud over the uproar, “Aren’t you that woman of Eleanor’s—the doctor? What are you doing out here alone?” He reached his arm down to her. When she didn’t immediately seize his hand, he said, “Hurry the hell up, will you? I’m rescuing you.”

She realized she had no choice; she gripped his forearm, and he hoisted her effortlessly up behind him on the horse. She sat sideways, as women were supposed to do, and took hold of the high square cantle of the saddle with one hand and the horse’s crupper strap with the other. Rouquin nudged the big horse out across the push and shuffle of the passing crowd.

Her breath came easier. He was only trying to help her, after all.

Around them the other Crusaders were whooping and waving their trophies, and his horse snorted and shouldered its way through them. She said, “Did you fight?”

His back was to her, his body massive in his mail. The hood was down; his shield and helmet hung on his saddlebows. His dark red hair stood up in spikes. He said, “Not that much. We ran them right into the ground in one charge. Lots of prisoners, lots of loot. Nobody beats us. Isaac got away, the little King. You’re stupid coming out here alone. You think this is Poitiers?”

“I wanted to see the city,” she said. The horse banged into something and half-reared, and she slid sidewise on the wide back; she clutched tight with both hands to stay on.

“There’s nothing to see. Stay where you belong.”

She gritted her teeth together. He was rough as tree bark. She began to dislike him. She said, to turn this aside, “Was anybody hurt?”

“No, it happened too fast. Johanna should take better care of you. Does she know you’re out here alone?” He stabbed a look at her over his shoulder. His face was dirty and a scar creased his cheek above his scruff of beard. His eyes were slate gray. “Eleanor sent you, didn’t she? To spy?”

She met his eyes, thinking he was one of the family, and so well versed in family ways. She said, in stately tones, “The Queen saved my life. I do as she bids me.”

He turned straight forward again. Finally they were out of the crowd, going down a side way between a wall and an orchard. He said, “The Queen Mother’s against the Crusade. All the world knows it.”

She said, “Eleanor may be against the Crusade, but she would do nothing to hurt Richard, would she?” Ahead was the hall, its front gate bustling with people waiting to get in. “I can go alone from here.” She slid down from the horse.

He said, “That’s what I’m telling you; you can’t go around by yourself.”

On the ground, she turned toward him and said, “Thank you.”

“Do what I say. Stay inside.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you.” She turned and started off. Behind her she heard him growl, and he cantered away down the lane.

Johanna said, “Did you get all the treasure back? Where is Isaac?” The lord of Cyprus, Isaac had tried to take her prisoner; now she wanted to see him chained.

“He ran as soon as he saw us.” Richard kicked at the treasure chest, which stood in the middle of the floor. “He doesn’t deserve Cyprus. I think I’ll take it away from him.” He walked up and down, a cup in his hand. Fighting always made him restless, and he had come back spitting orders. He needed this hall, now, he wanted a throne, now; the treasure chest would sit under the throne, which was to be raised up on blocks. “Before I’m done with Isaac, I’ll have money to pay for the whole Crusade.”

“And I talked to the Bishop about marrying you and Berengaria; we can do it tomorrow, in the little church here.” She gave him a narrow look. “You can’t get out of this, you know. Lent’s over, no more excuses.”

“Oh,” he said, and turned to face her, a head taller than she, who was tall, brawny as a lion, her splendid, bewildering brother. The door was shut, but they could both hear the people outside pressing loudly to get in. “I mean to marry her. Her father’s the King of Navarre; he has a large army with no wars to fight in a good position to help me fight mine. But there will be no wedding night. Tell her that.”

“What? Then you won’t even be married.”

“I’ll do enough. I’ll lie down on a bed with her. But I am chaste—the Crusade requires me to be chaste.”

Johanna lifted her cup; she realized she was a little drunk. But the first part of her mother’s orders looked easier to fulfill than she had expected: Richard would marry the girl after all. “Chastity. I suppose it has to start somewhere. As Saint Augustine said.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” he said. He walked toward her, put the cup on the table, and put his booted foot up on the treasure chest. “That wasn’t half what Augustine said.”

“So you’ll be chaste for the Crusade? How long will that last?”

He gave a bark of startled laughter. His eyes were so intense, even the irises seemed blue. “This is the Crusade. We’re bringing in the Kingdom of Jesus. What higher calling is there? It lasts until we win. Maybe it lasts all our lives.”

She hoped not. She said, “This new chastity of yours. Is that why you made that confession in Messina? All but naked in the public square in front of most of Sicily? Do you know what Mother said about that?”

He smiled at her. He seemed pleased. He loved to shock their mother. “Mother told me, although I don’t remember she got so worked up when Papa had himself whipped for killing the Archbishop. And I told her, I did it to cleanse my soul for the task to come. And since—”

“As if everybody didn’t already know you have the morals of a billy goat.”

Richard sat down beside her on the couch. “And since then I have not touched a single white buttock, nor pressed my lips to soft sweet lips—” He began to sing a little, on the last words, part of an old song, his hands holding an invisible lute.

Johanna said, “Female or male?”

“Man, woman, boy, girl, or goat.” Abruptly he stopped smiling. “This is my offering to God, Jo. Myself, free of sin, to do His greatest, most glorious work.”

Johanna realized that he meant this, that it was no mere proper face that he put on when it served him. She saw the second of her mother’s orders becoming even harder than she had expected.

Get him married. Get him home, where his real duty was.

He said to her, “Christ will come when we are worthy.”

Johanna said, “Yes, but you must have an heir. What if something happened to you? What if you do spend the rest of your life out here?” She ran out of wind; even she could see that against the lure of King Jesus a baby was nothing.

“I’ll attend to that in good time. And there’s an heir. There’s John. The family will go on. The Crusade is more important than anything else, even us.”

“John is not good. Even I don’t like John.”

They were quiet a moment. Johanna thought they were thinking of the same man, and what was never said about him. Richard broke the silence.

“Who will marry us?”

“Evreux, of course. Nothing fancy.”

“Good. Just get it done. I can lie down on the bed with her.” He got up. His foot nudged the treasure chest again. “You need to get busy. Make this room over so I can hold court here. Put this where it belongs.” He raised his hand and the two guards by the doors leaped to open them. The men gushed in, shouting, cheering Richard, who went in among them, his arms out. They all massed together, smacking and banging together as men usually did on meeting, especially after a good fight.

Johanna turned, her temper bridling up. This was why he had brought her along, to keep his household for him. She wished she were a man; she would show him how to rule. Her women were waiting, over at the other side of the hall, and the new girl, Edythe, had come in among them, which pleased her. She liked Edythe, who was sensible and capable and did instantly as she was told. She was good with potions and tonics, and Johanna’s mother had said she had healing hands. If she was a spy for Johanna’s mother, at least they were all working to the same end. Johanna went to collect them and go and tell the Princess Berengaria she would soon be the Queen of England, although with a difference.

Berengaria looked up; her face was bright with relief. “No, I mind not. How noble. He is noble.”

Noble
, Edythe thought. From what she had seen, Richard cared no more about her than a chair to sit on, or a horse to ride, and everybody knew why he did not want to bed with her. The little princess’s chamber was stuffy with the heat, but the girl still sat bundled into her gowns and shawls. Johanna said, “Then you shall be married tomorrow, and made Queen. Will you like that?”

“Oh, yes, much.” The girl smiled at her. “I then have my own palace, and my own court. I then do much good, I hope.” Her voice grew silky, and her head tipped, so she watched Johanna through the corner of her eye. “Do I precede over my lady Sicily?”

Johanna grunted in surprise. “We will have to find a herald, and see.”

“I ask my lord,” Berengaria said. “But I have to make ready.”

“We will do that,” Johanna said. “Only heed your maids. The wedding is tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lady.”

As they went off, Johanna said, “Well, the little priss. He will never love her.” Her voice was salty with anger.

Edythe said, “She doesn’t much care about him.” There was a merciless balance in all this. She followed Johanna out the door.

Berengaria had brought a gown to be married in, but during the storms at sea the chest had leaked, and now the matted cloth looked and smelled awful. Johanna gave her another dress, and all the women passed the night taking in the seams and raising the hem, and clipping the gold embroideries and jewels from the ruined dress and stitching them onto the new one. In the morning, yawning, Johanna watched as the princess’s Navarrese women tucked her into the gown, and smiled.