‘Then, my dearest love, I will point out that a match between us will mend the rift.’

He kissed her tenderly, loving her vitality, her enthusiasm. Then he said: ‘And if they should refuse?’

‘I am not a child,’ she said. ‘I have done my duty once. This time I will have my way. I will go with you wherever you take me.’

He pressed her hands.

‘It could mean death to us both,’ he told her.

‘I would face death for love,’ she answered, ‘and whatever the future held we should have had some time together.’

‘You are reckless, Joanna.’

‘Let us be reckless. I will if you will.’

‘Then be ready.’

‘First though I will send to my brother and to my mother also. I have hopes, for Richard has never been vengeful. I believe I was always his favourite sister and I know he would wish to see me happy. As for my mother she knows what it is to love. Let us hope, Raymond.’

So Joanna sent messengers to Richard and Eleanor and, at the same time, being uncertain of what their reaction would be, prepared herself for flight.

Each day she and Berengaria were at the turret watching for riders.

Berengaria thought: Richard will send for me. He must now that he is in Normandy.

During the years of his captivity she had forgotten his neglect of her in the Holy Land; she made excuses for it. He had been so deeply involved. His purpose was to regain Jerusalem. He had no time for the society of women. But there had been occasions . . . She shut out such thoughts and memories of the rumours she had heard about his nature. She thought only of the knight in shining armour whom she had first seen at the tournament of Pampeluna. The dreams of an idealistic young girl were superimposed on the bitter truth of experience.

‘Richard will come to me soon,’ she told herself.

The Cypriot Princess was growing out of childhood. She still thought of her father and dreamed of the day when she had heard that he was a prisoner. That had been so difficult to understand at that time. He the mighty Emperor whom all men feared, a prisoner in chains – silver chains she was told, as though that would console her.

She had been frightened then but she had not fully understood the possibilities of what could happen to an unprotected princess. Since the fall of Cyprus she had lived closely beside Joanna and Berengaria; she had seen Berengaria’s unhappiness through the neglect of her husband and Joanna’s delight and fears as the prospect of marriage with Raymond of Toulouse or of parting with him for ever loomed up before her.

Why could not life be simple as it had seemed to a child in her father’s palace? she wondered. But to enjoy the simple life one must be simple oneself. As one grew older and knew what was happening in the world one realised the awful possibilities.

She knew why the Queens watched eagerly. Joanna was waiting for a messenger from King Richard and Berengaria was waiting for King Richard himself.

At length it came. Ironically no one was watching at that time and the messenger rode into the courtyard while they were at table.

Joanna stood up, all the colour drained from her face. Berengaria was trembling.

Letters. The royal seal. Not for Berengaria. Of course he will come in person, thought Berengaria. But letters for Joanna.

She seized on them and carried them to her own chamber. Berengaria felt limp with disappointment. She knew in her heart that she had been foolish to hope.

She went to the chamber next to that of Joanna. She wanted to be alone. Is it that he dislikes me? she asked herself. Can the rumours be true? Are there some he loves?

Joanna was at the door. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining.

‘Wonderful news, Berengaria. Richard is the dearest and kindest of brothers! He wants me to be happy, he says. I have suffered a great deal. He loves me dearly.’

‘They are permitting the match with Raymond?’

‘They are ready to make arrangements. Concessions will be asked doubtless. But what do we care for that? Raymond and I are to be married.’

She threw herself into Berengaria’s arms. ‘I’m so happy, Berengaria. Princesses are rarely so happy, I know. When I think of my last marriage . . . a little girl going into a foreign land to a stranger . . . And now Raymond! Oh what a good brother Richard is to me! And there is my mother. She writes that there has always been conflict between her house and that of Toulouse and that the Counts of Toulouse have always believed they had a claim in Aquitaine. She will give up her rights to Aquitaine to me so that in this way the claim will be settled.’

‘So, my dear Joanna, you are the most fortunate Princess alive. You can mend a quarrel between states and marry for love at the same time.’

Joanna paused and looked at Berengaria, her delight momentarily dimmed. Here am I rejoicing, she reproached herself, when Berengaria is so sadly deserted.

Oh Richard, how can you be so good to your sister and so cruel to your wife!

‘I doubt not,’ she said, ‘that Richard will be here. He will want to be with you as soon as he has made Normandy safe.’

Berengaria turned away.

She knew the truth.

As Richard moved across Normandy recovering all that had been lost, John was terrified. All his dreams of power had evaporated. Richard was home safe and well and likely to live for a good many years. He gave way to his violent rages but of what use were they? He had to face his brother sooner or later and what the outcome of that would be he dared not think.

There was one hope. His mother was with Richard. If he could talk with her in secret, if he could get her to plead with Richard . . . there might be a chance. But would she? She was on Richard’s side absolutely. Her greatest mission in life was to keep him on the throne. What would she think of one – even though he were her son – who had tried to take it from him?

She was softening in her old age. Look at this affair of Joanna’s! She had always been fiercely against the house of Toulouse. There was the perennial quarrel about their claim on this and that. Yet she had talked with Richard, and Joanna’s happiness had been a factor in their decision. She was a mother as well as a Queen and she was his mother.

Richard had power to send him to prison. The fate which befell prisoners would not bear contemplation. To be shut up in a dungeon for years, to have jailers who might treat him with cruelty or at least without respect, was something he could not endure. Yet he had played the traitor. He had to admit it. He had intrigued against the King and even though his father had named him his successor Richard was the eldest son and accepted by the people as the true King. One only had to remember how they had drooled over him when he had returned. The great hero, the Saviour of Acre, the man whose name was a legend throughout the Christian world. The Lion-hearted King! They forgot he had deserted them, had taxed them to pay for his crusade, had cared little for his native land and had offered to sell London if he could get enough money for it to spend on his Holy Wars. Yes, they forgot that. He had come home covered with honours; he was romantic; he had been imprisoned in a German schloss; he had been discovered by his minstrel boy and they had had to pay a vast sum for his ransom. This did not add up to a good king but they loved him none the less. And there was no doubt that he was strong. None it seemed could stand against him. Philip was less friendly now that he was back, inclined to be contemptuous of John and speaking of his enemy Richard as though he were some kind of god.

John knew when he was beaten and he was beaten now. His only hope was his mother.

He would go to her quietly, secretly; he would plead with her to speak for him to Richard as she had for Joanna. He would remind her that he was her youngest son.