The Heart of the Lion, стр. 63

Travelling with Alfonso was very different from travelling with the Pope’s emissary. There was feasting and entertaining wherever they stopped and Berengaria could not help hoping that the journey would take a very long time. Her future seemed uncertain whether Richard remained a prisoner or came home. It was disconcerting to have a husband who was no husband.

Too soon it seemed they reached the borders of Provence where they rested, while awaiting the coming of the Count of Toulouse.

‘The Count of Toulouse,’ cried Berengaria. ‘Did he not invade Guinne recently?’

‘That was the father of this Raymond,’ explained Alfonso. ‘He is a strong man and a gallant one; he is eager to conduct you to Normandy and to give his life if need be in your defence.’

Berengaria was worried. Her brother Sancho had beaten the Count of Toulouse in battle and it seemed strange that an enemy should be their protector.

However when the Count arrived, she was charmed by him. He was very handsome and his manner charming. He immediately disarmed suspicions by declaring that he wanted to wipe out his father’s indiscretion and if he could serve the ladies with his life he would be content.

Even Joanna, who was never impressed by flattery, was charmed by him.

And as they made their journey towards Poitou she became more and more so. She and the Count rode together, talked together, and could not it seemed have enough of each other’s company.

‘You will be sorry when we have to say good-bye to the Count of Toulouse,’ said Berengaria.

Joanna admitted this would be so.

LONGCHAMP AND PRINCE JOHN

While Richard was on his way to Acre, Prince John was riding towards the west. His feelings were mingled whenever he went that way – pride was uppermost, pride in his great possessions; distaste was there, too, when he considered the woman he had had to take to wife to win such lands. She bored him, except when she had been frightened of him in the first days when they were together. It was not that she was less frightened later, but that her fear no longer amused him.

She was a plain little thing, Hadwisa. Fate was perverse in making women like that the heiresses to great fortunes. Hadwisa ought to have married some minor nobleman and lived quietly in the country all her life. That would have suited her. She was no wife for a man who would one day be King of England.

Oh yes, I shall be, he told himself savagely. I should be now, for that was my father’s wish.

His friends told him it was necessary to bide his time but he was tired of biding his time. He hated waiting for anything. He wanted his desires immediately. It had always been so with him.

Still the stage was set. Richard was only just starting on his crusade and – who knew – some Saracen arrow might be the end of him – an arrow with a goodly serving of poison at the tip, and might it go right through his heart . . . or perhaps his eye. That would make him smart. Perhaps even proud brave Richard would cry for God’s mercy if that happened to him.

‘And I should mount the throne,’ murmured John.

Still, as those who wished him well kept reminding him, he must be patient. The unpopularity of Longchamp was rising and if he could drive him out of the country . . . well, then it would not be so difficult.

He could see the turrets of the castle and he wondered whether Hadwisa was looking out for him. Once he had made her confess that she looked every day. He could picture her trembling with fear when she saw a party of horsemen approaching, asking herself, Is that my doting husband, John?

He saw her rarely, but when he did he liked to remind her that she was his wife. He wondered why she was barren. Not that he gave her many opportunities to bear his child, but she had had a chance to conceive. He was not sure whether he cared or not. He would have liked a son; on the other hand if the day came when he could rid himself of Hadwisa, which he would do if he became King, her infertility would be a good excuse to put beside that of consanguinity.

‘Sound the trumpets,’ he ordered; and he laughed inwardly. Let her hear them. Let her start to tremble.

Immediately the trumpets sounded. Every one of his servants was afraid of his temper. It was as violent as that of his father, only he could be more vicious. Henry II had always prided himself on being just but John did not care for justice if it interfered with his desires, and he enjoyed seeing men tremble before him.

They rode into the castle. As he had expected Hadwisa had heard the trumpets. She was down there with the stirrup cup.

‘Ah, my love,’ he cried. ‘My heart beats faster to see you. And you show me clearly that you are as eager for a sight of me as I am for you.’ He laughed at the irony of this. ‘Good mulled wine,’ he went on. ‘Come, sweetheart, sip the loving cup with me.’ Let her taste it first. Who knew, she might make up her mind to poison him one day. If so let her be the one to take her own poison.

She sipped.

‘Again, my love,’ he said. ‘Again! Again!’ and he jerked the goblet so that she must either drink or choke.

Then he put it to his lips.

He leaped from his horse and embraced her in a manner which brought a blush to her cheek.

‘Come to our chamber,’ he said. And turning to his attendants : ‘You know how impatient I am. So first leave me with my wife.’

She was aware of the sly smiles. They knew that he was laughing at her, that last evening he had made sport with other women and that he had said of them, when complimenting them on their skill in that art in which he declared he excelled more than in any other, that they reminded him of his wife by the very difference in them.

Hadwisa trembling in his grip could do nothing but be taken to their chamber. There he ordered her to take off her gown and await him. His method was always different. On the journeys to the castle he would enjoy planning how he could best frighten her. There were times when he made fierce onslaughts which nauseated her; at others he would ignore her altogether. He enjoyed watching her terror and her sudden relief when she thought she was going to be ignored and then he would find the greatest pleasure in letting her see that she was deceived.

As for Hadwisa, who had been gently nurtured in a household where she had been witness to the tender affection of her parents and who had attended the weddings of her sisters, she truly believed that she had married a monster.

Her modesty which he called prudery sometimes amused him, sometimes angered him. It would depend on his mood.

On this day the torturing of Hadwisa was of secondary importance. His mind was on the unpopularity of Longchamp and how he could best take advantage of it.

He was not thinking of her lying there on her bed asking herself what form the torture would take on this occasion but he went over and looked down at her. She was by no means voluptuous. Yes, he would rid himself of her when the time came. Perhaps then it was better not to plant his seed in her. Children made difficulties. If she could read his thoughts she would be relieved so he would not tell her. Her family must not know yet that it was in his mind to cast her off. He had her lands safely enough, what did he want with her?

He sat down on the stool and looked at his boots.

He said: ‘There are great events afoot, wife.’

She did not answer. He shouted: ‘Heard you not my words?’

‘Yes, I heard, John. There are great events afoot.’

‘The people hate Longchamp.’