Read Online The Passionate Brood by Margaret Campbell Barnes - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Campbell Barnes
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brokenly. “If only—the same ship—could take us both!”
Henry wandered to the window and began plucking at the strings of a lute someone had left there, while Richard jerked forward the chair and drew Johanna on to the arm of it. Very gently he stroked the waving bronze of her hair, so identical in colour to his own. “Perhaps one day we will sail together on a great warship,” he comforted. “Your old Sicilian is sure to die of apoplexy when he sees you’re a red head, and then I can come and carry you off on my way to Palestine.”
“You always m-make an adventure out of even the h-horridest things,” she sniffed, from the warmth of his comforting arm.
“Every day is an adventure for those who choose to meet it so. And my old witch prophesies plenty of excitement for both of us,” he reminded her. “But first, I suppose, we have to win our spurs. You, when you step ashore in a strange country and have to be a credit to us. And I, in the lists of Navarre, when some knight who has fought from end to end of the Holy Land comes charging down on me and my knees are knocking against my poor horse’s ribs with fright, and even the leopards on my shield turn white—”
“Richard, you’re not really afraid?”
“Hideously.”
Johanna sat up straight to stare at him in perplexity. “But no one except Robin can beat you at tilting!”
“No one in England ,” he said. “Though if you must know, Joan, it is not so much the tilting as the dancing that unnerves me. Sancho said they have more formal social occasions in Pamplona.”
“Better teach him that new measure Ann was showing you,” suggested Henry from the window seat.
Johanna slid to those restless feet of hers, her heartbreak momentarily forgotten. “Yes! Yes! How did it go, Henry?” she cried eagerly, picking up the heavy folds of miniver.
In his clear tenor he began to hum an infectious little dance tune, picking out an accompaniment on the lute. Johanna kicked aside the rushes to try over the steps. “Come and try it!” she urged, dragging Richard from his chair; and blunderingly, he let her guide him through the opening movements of a masque.
“Don’t look so solemn about it, man!” laughed Henry, to whom such accomplishments came easily.
“And even if you don’t do it very well, you’re so ridiculously good-looking all the ladies of Navarre will want to dance with you,” encouraged Johanna.
“Until all six foot of him lingers on their feet!” laughed Henry.
It was long after curfew, and the servants were coming in from the barns and kitchens to sleep. Before huddling themselves in their cloaks around the hearth, they stood in grinning groups assisting at the lesson. Sometimes they offered criticism, sometimes they applauded. The doings of the young Plantagenets were the high-lights of life to them.
“Not so bad!” decided Henry, when his brother had conscientiously mastered the steps. He winked at Johanna as he laid down the lute. “Now I come to think of it, didn’t Sholto say his sister Berengaria was quite a little beauty?”
Richard let go of Johanna’s hand as if she had the plague. “God help me!” he exclaimed. “Shall I have to dance with her ?”
Part II
Navarre
Chapter Seven
King Sancho of Navarre’s tournaments were famous throughout the civilised world. His hospitality was so lavish and the standard of tilting so high that all the most celebrated champions in Europe angled for invitations. Competitors with feudal responsibilities in cold climates were only too glad to take an annual holiday at his sunny southern court. At his laden board they met everybody who mattered; and such was the enthusiasm of the Spanish populace, the blaze of heraldry, and the stir of trumpets in his lists that even seasoned warriors could recapture something of the din and stir of battle at Pamplona.
It was fun for their womenfolk as well. Most of them were related by marriage, which made plenty of matter for a good
Henry wandered to the window and began plucking at the strings of a lute someone had left there, while Richard jerked forward the chair and drew Johanna on to the arm of it. Very gently he stroked the waving bronze of her hair, so identical in colour to his own. “Perhaps one day we will sail together on a great warship,” he comforted. “Your old Sicilian is sure to die of apoplexy when he sees you’re a red head, and then I can come and carry you off on my way to Palestine.”
“You always m-make an adventure out of even the h-horridest things,” she sniffed, from the warmth of his comforting arm.
“Every day is an adventure for those who choose to meet it so. And my old witch prophesies plenty of excitement for both of us,” he reminded her. “But first, I suppose, we have to win our spurs. You, when you step ashore in a strange country and have to be a credit to us. And I, in the lists of Navarre, when some knight who has fought from end to end of the Holy Land comes charging down on me and my knees are knocking against my poor horse’s ribs with fright, and even the leopards on my shield turn white—”
“Richard, you’re not really afraid?”
“Hideously.”
Johanna sat up straight to stare at him in perplexity. “But no one except Robin can beat you at tilting!”
“No one in England ,” he said. “Though if you must know, Joan, it is not so much the tilting as the dancing that unnerves me. Sancho said they have more formal social occasions in Pamplona.”
“Better teach him that new measure Ann was showing you,” suggested Henry from the window seat.
Johanna slid to those restless feet of hers, her heartbreak momentarily forgotten. “Yes! Yes! How did it go, Henry?” she cried eagerly, picking up the heavy folds of miniver.
In his clear tenor he began to hum an infectious little dance tune, picking out an accompaniment on the lute. Johanna kicked aside the rushes to try over the steps. “Come and try it!” she urged, dragging Richard from his chair; and blunderingly, he let her guide him through the opening movements of a masque.
“Don’t look so solemn about it, man!” laughed Henry, to whom such accomplishments came easily.
“And even if you don’t do it very well, you’re so ridiculously good-looking all the ladies of Navarre will want to dance with you,” encouraged Johanna.
“Until all six foot of him lingers on their feet!” laughed Henry.
It was long after curfew, and the servants were coming in from the barns and kitchens to sleep. Before huddling themselves in their cloaks around the hearth, they stood in grinning groups assisting at the lesson. Sometimes they offered criticism, sometimes they applauded. The doings of the young Plantagenets were the high-lights of life to them.
“Not so bad!” decided Henry, when his brother had conscientiously mastered the steps. He winked at Johanna as he laid down the lute. “Now I come to think of it, didn’t Sholto say his sister Berengaria was quite a little beauty?”
Richard let go of Johanna’s hand as if she had the plague. “God help me!” he exclaimed. “Shall I have to dance with her ?”
Part II
Navarre
Chapter Seven
King Sancho of Navarre’s tournaments were famous throughout the civilised world. His hospitality was so lavish and the standard of tilting so high that all the most celebrated champions in Europe angled for invitations. Competitors with feudal responsibilities in cold climates were only too glad to take an annual holiday at his sunny southern court. At his laden board they met everybody who mattered; and such was the enthusiasm of the Spanish populace, the blaze of heraldry, and the stir of trumpets in his lists that even seasoned warriors could recapture something of the din and stir of battle at Pamplona.
It was fun for their womenfolk as well. Most of them were related by marriage, which made plenty of matter for a good
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