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704 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1985
Stephen was so woefully ignorant that it was truly a charitable act to enlighten him, he decided, and proceeded to acquaint Stephen with some of the more legendary exploits of his celebrated grandfather, giving his imagination free rein.
“You both know the history of my House, know how my uncles Davydd and Rhodri cheated my father and my other uncles of their rightful share of my grandfather’s inheritance. They carved Gwynedd up between them as if it were a meat pie, forced my father, Owain Fawr’s firstborn, into exile, brought about his death whilst I was still in my cradle.
“Why should you? You were not yet six when Henry confined me in Salisbury Tower, sixteen when next I saw you, twenty-one when Richard ordered my release. How could I love you? I do not even know you. You were ever Henry’s, never mine.”
“You’re beautiful, you know, you truly are. Not at all the skin-and-bones sister I remember! Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily, Duchess of Apulia, Princess of Capua. Were you happy, Jo, in Sicily?” “Not at first. I was too young, too homesick. But William meant well by me, gave me no cause for complaint. He was some thirteen years older, treated me like a daughter until I was ready to be a wife. Yes, I was happy enough. But at thirty-six he died, leaving no heirs, and as you know, his bastard cousin Tancred seized the throne. Tancred not only denied me my dower rights, he put me into close confinement at Palermo. I sometimes wonder what would have become of me, Johnny, if not for Richard. He landed at Messina on his way to the Holy Land, and when Tancred balked at releasing me, restoring my dower, Richard laid siege to the town, forced Tancred into submission.”
Eleanor no longer doubted. There could be no better indication of John’s innocence than this, that he would willingly seek Richard out. When he was in the wrong, the last thing he ever wanted was to face his accusers, to confront those he’d betrayed. Eleanor’s relief was inexpressible. Her easy acceptance of John’s guilt had been prompted as much by fear as by her son’s dismal record of broken faith and betrayals, the fear that she had misjudged him, after all, that he was not the pragmatist she’d thought him to be. Had he indeed been intriguing with Philip, that would mean to Eleanor that his judgment was fatally and unforgivably flawed, flawed enough to taint any claim he might have had to the crown. That was a conclusion she shrank from, for it would signify the end of all her hopes for an Angevin dynasty, and that was the dream which had somehow sustained her even when she’d had nothing else to hold on to.
“Isabelle, listen to me. Forget what your father told you; it does not matter. You do not belong to him any longer. You belong to me, and I do want you. I want you as my Queen, I want you in my bed, and right now I want you on my lap.” John smiled, but she reacted as if to a command, at once settled herself upon his knee, and put her arms shyly about his neck.
“You must be Joanna and Richard.” Isabelle jerked the bed hangings aside and, wrapping herself in the sheet, accepted a servant’s offering, a cup of watered-down wine. “I guess I’m now your mother!” She laughed suddenly. “But do not dare call me Mama!”
Although to the west a few stars still glimmered, the sky was slowly and inexorably paling, taking on the dull pearl color of coming dawn. The bailey was enveloped in an eerie quiet, men just beginning to stir, to crawl, groaning, from their bedrolls. A few castle dogs prowled about. A sleepy soldier relieved himself against the chapel wall, provoking curses from some of the blanket-clad forms downwind. Up on the curtain wall, guards dozed by empty wine flasks. The aroma of roasting pigeon wafted across the bailey from the gatehouse
...nothing in life turns out as we thought it would, nothing...
Just because something has always been done a certain way does not make it right.
There was one aspect of successful kingship, however, that John had always utterly lacked - luck.
