Read Online The Heart of the Lion by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online

and healthy and whom no one would have suspected would die young. Moreover Richard and his father had not been on good terms. Yet Sancho was not known as the Wise for nothing. He had resisted offers for the hand of his elder daughter and how right he had been, for at last King Richard’s mother had come to claim her. It was true the waiting had been long. Berengaria was past twenty-six and it might have been wondered whether she would ever find a husband. But now those doubts were over. Or were they? There still remained the shadowy figure of Princess Alice of France.
    Eleanor was delighted with the appearance of Berengaria. She was indeed beautiful and the manner in which she wore her clothes could only be described as elegant.
    Eleanor embraced the girl and told her that Richard was eagerly awaiting her coming. ‘He would trust no one but me to bring you to him,’ said Eleanor. ‘I know how he will rejoice when he sees you.’
    I hope he will, thought Eleanor. It seems he has little interest in women, but surely such a pleasant bride as Berengaria will captivate him.
    There was feasting in the great hall to celebrate the arrival of the Dowager Queen of England; and she was able to delight them all with playing on the lute and her singing.
    How good it was to be among Provençals, for although Sancho was descended from the Spanish the language spoken here and the manners were of Provence. This delight in music, this enchanting custom of honouring the poets and musicians filled her with nostalgia and she longed to be in her beloved Aquitaine.
    She was delighted to meet Berengaria’s brother, known as Sancho the Strong, of whom one of the musicians had sung telling of his victory over the Moors. He had defeated the Miramolin and with his battle-axe had severed the chains which guarded the Infidel’s camp. Ever after he had been known as The Strong for it was the custom in Navarre to attach a descriptive adjective to the names of the rulers. Berengaria might well have been Berengaria the Elegant, thought Eleanor.
    She warmed to the girl. They had much in common, such as their love of fine clothes and the ability to wear them to advantage as well as a passionate interest in music and poetry. Perhaps there the similarity ended for Berengaria was by no means forceful. She would be a loving and uncomplaining wife, thought Eleanor, and doubtless she would need to be, for Richard would not be a very attentive husband.
    It was pleasant to walk in the gardens with her daughter-inlaw-to-be and to talk with her and hear how she had first seen Richard years ago.
    ‘So it will not be like going to a husband whom I have never met,’ she said, ‘though it was more than ten years ago when my brother brought him here. I have never forgotten the occasion. My father had staged a tournament in Richard’s honour. I can see it now – the pennants stirred by the breeze and the trumpets sounding as he rode out. There was no mistaking him. No one was as tall, as noble-looking as Richard. I had never seen anyone like him.’
    ‘And you loved him from that day,’ added Eleanor.
    ‘I have never ceased to think of him. As you know the custom is for a knight to ride for his lady and wear something of hers and to my joy I saw that in his helm he had placed a small glove of mine which I recognised at once by its jewelled border. He was riding for me that day.’
    ‘Charming,’ commented Eleanor.
    ‘I shall never forget how he rode to the dais where I sat with my parents and my brother and sister Blanche. He bowed to me and I threw a rose to him. He kissed it and held it against his heart. It is a day which will live for ever in my memory.’
    ‘You must have thought he would never come for you.’
    ‘I did not think he could while his father lived. I knew too that he was betrothed to the Princess Alice.’
    ‘That marriage will never take place.’
    ‘It gave my father much cause for concern. I know that there have been times when he has