“And so, my lord,” the archbishop was saying with a genial smile, “it is our hope that you’ll give consideration to our king’s offer of an alliance between the kingdoms of France and Sicily. Lord Tancred has several lovely daughters, any one of whom would make a fine queen for you or mayhap a bride for your young son.”
“I am honored by the offer,” Philippe said with a noncommittal smile of his own, wondering if Tancred really thought he’d jeopardize his friendship with the Holy Roman Emperor for an alliance with a bastard-born usurper as likely to be overthrown by his own subjects as by the Germans. “I have indeed heard of the beauty of your king’s daughters.”
“We want to make your stay in Sicily as pleasant as possible, my lord king. I hope you will not hesitate to ask if I may be of any service whatsoever,” Jordan Lapin was declaring when one of the admiral’s men entered and murmured a few words in his ear.
Margaritis rose at once. “I ask your pardon, my liege, but we must depart. Richard of England’s fleet is entering the harbor.”
Philippe did not believe in delaying unpleasant tasks, preferring to get them over with as soon as possible. “We will accompany you,” he said, rising, too. “I am eager to see the English king, who is my former brother by marriage and a valued ally.”
THE WHARVES, DOCKS, AND BEACHES were crowded with spectators by the time Philippe and the Sicilian officials arrived. Coming to a halt, they gaped at the drama being played out before them. As far as the eye could see were brightly painted warships, shields hanging over the gunwales of the galleys, banners and pennons flying from their mastheads, as the oarsmen rowed in time to the beat of drums. Trumpets were blaring and horns blasting. The sun glittered on metallic hauberks and helmets, the turquoise waters of the harbor churning with frothy waves. And with an unerring instinct for stagecraft, Richard was standing erect in the prow of the lead galley, bareheaded, the wind tousling his red-gold hair, regal and proud, the very essence of what a king ought to be, all that Philippe Capet was not.
For that was the thought, however unkind, that crossed the minds of those witnessing Richard’s spectacular entry into Messina. It crossed Philippe’s mind, too, as he made ready to welcome his “brother by marriage and valued ally.”
AFTER RICHARD’S ARRIVAL, Philippe made a rash decision quite out of character for him, announcing that he would leave at once for the Holy Land although the sailing season was rapidly coming to a close. But even nature seemed to be conspiring against him, for no sooner had he left the harbor than contrary winds sprang up, forcing him to abandon his impulsive plan. For better or worse, he would be wintering in Sicily with the English king.
MATTHEW OF AJELLO, the new chancellor of Sicily, arrived at the royal palace in Catania several hours after Compline. He was not in a cheerful frame of mind, for it had been raining for most of the day and wet weather aggravated his gout. He knew why he’d been summoned at such an hour. Tancred had heard of the English king’s arrival in Messina.
He was escorted at once up to Tancred’s private chamber, where he found the king, his wife Sybilla, her brother Riccardo, the Count of Acerra, and their eldest son, Roger. So this was to be a family conference, was it? Matthew did not blame Tancred for taking his troubles to heart. God knows, he had enough of them. They’d finally put down the Saracen rebellion, and a German force led by the Bishop of Mainz had been repelled that past May. But the Saracens did not have the same loyalty to Tancred that they had to William. It was only a matter of time until Heinrich launched a full-scale invasion. And now they had the English king to deal with, a man with the Devil’s own temper, and a genuine grievance against Tancred. No, Matthew understood why Tancred had so many wakeful nights and uneasy days. What he did not understand was why Tancred was suddenly balking at taking his advice. Who’d have thought that it would be so much easier to make him king than to keep him one?
Matthew took a seat as close as he could get to the brazier of smoldering sea coals, for at his age, the cold and damp seemed to penetrate into his very bones. He smiled gratefully when Roger hurried over with a stool so he could prop up his throbbing foot. He was a good lad, Roger, would make a good king one day—if they made no foolish mistakes now, if he could get Tancred to listen to reason.
Sybilla, a conscientious hostess even in the midst of a crisis, had seen to it that a cup of his favorite wine was waiting for Matthew. Before he could touch it, Tancred leaned across the table and thrust a letter toward him. “A message from the English king,” he said. “Read it.”
Matthew had barely scanned the letter before Tancred erupted. “He demands that I send his sister to him in Messina with an escort to see to her safety, that I restore all of her dower lands to her, and for good measure, that I compensate her for the ‘suffering’ she endured at my hands. From the hostile tone of this letter, you’d think I’d been holding the woman in an underground dungeon instead of at the Zisa Palace!”
“For all we know, he may have been told that she was being maltreated,” Matthew said, reading the letter again, more deliberately this time.
“I do not care if he thinks I sold her to the Caliph of Baghdad! You’ve read the letter, Matthew. This is not the language that one king uses to another king.”
“No . . . it is the language of an angry brother, one with a formidable fleet at his command and the largest army ever to set foot on Sicilian soil.”
Tancred gave Matthew a sharp look. “I do not want to have that argument again, Matthew. You made it quite clear that you think we’d do better in seeking an alliance with England, not France. But I will not be treated as if I am of no consequence. I am an anointed king, and by God, he will acknowledge me as one!”
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 s
he 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.
“Joanna . . . you must tell me the truth.” Richard was no longer smiling. “Have you been hurt?”
The tight line of his mouth and the grim tone told her what he was asking, and she hastened to shake her head. “No, Richard, no. My honor is quite intact, I promise you. To give the Devil his due, Tancred saw to it that I was always treated with respect. My confinement was a comfortable one,” she insisted, thinking again of their mother’s captivity, and then she grinned. “Mind you, the wretched man did hold me hostage and steal my dower lands, so I’d not want to praise him too much!”