Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best inspirational books txt) 📕

all thi Isabelle? Did he not help to raise the ransom, too?"Isabelle laughed. "Oh, indeed! He and Philip pledged one hundred thousand silver marksif the Emperor would but hold Richard for yet another year. Does that shock you? It should not; you know John lovedRichard not."Joanna nodded slowly. While her father spoke but rarely of his fam.ily, he did occasionally relate sardonic stories about his brother, stories that were far from flattering to Richard: how, when he and the SaracenPrince Saladin failed to come to terms over the ransom of prisoners atAcre, Richard had given the command to slaughter them all, some twenty-five hundred captives; how it had cost every man in England one-fourth of his year's income to pay Richard's ransom; how, whenIssac, the Emperor of Cyprus, had surrendered to Richard, he'd done so on the promise that he would not be put in irons, only to have Richard fetter him in chains made of silver."Papa had no reason to love Richard," Joanna said defensively. "He was not a good King. Papa is a better one.""I can guess who taught you that!" Isabelle teased."And do you find fault with it, Isabelle?"Isabelle turned a startled face toward the door, said hastily, "Of course I do not, John! I think you're a far more able King than your brother; surely you do know that, my love?"Joanna waited as Isabelle crossed to John, sought to placate him with a long, lingering kiss. Then she, too, rose, moved to greet her father."Isabelle was telling me about your lady mother, Papa," she explained, watching him all the while with anxious eyes. Never had she seen him so tense, so quick to take offense as he'd been in recent weeks Since the spring, since the outbreak of war with France.Watching unhappily as her father's nerves frayed under the dark strains of the coming campaign, Joanna sought to cheer him in srrwll ways, engaging him in talk of his cherished falcons, memorizing a verse he'd much admired, obeying his every whim with the alacrity of a cornmand. But all her efforts had so far gone for naught. She knew her fath*1 to be deeply troubled, and every night she prayed for God to smite h>! enemies, Philip, King of the French, and the youth to whom Isabel* always referred as "that wretch Arthur."Three years ago, when her father had claimed the crown, Joar"12

145n too young to realize how close a thing it had been, his prevailha Arthur.Now she understood all too well. The Angevin Empire'n^ ed dangerously divided over the succession, with England and tem ndy favoring John, and the barons of Brittany, Anjou, Maine, ^° T uraine preferring Arthur. Time had not reconciled them to John, an Arthur, Breton-born, was casting a long shadow indeed. He was ^ n now, old enough to assert his own claims to what he'd been ht was his birthright, and he had a valuable ally in the calculating!r e of France. Just as he'd once sought to advance his own interests by rning Richard against Henry and, later, John against Richard, Philip w saw in Arthur the means of John's downfall. In May he'd acceptedArthur's oath of homage, had betrothed his five-year-old daughter to the young Duke of Brittany. And that meant, Joanna knew, the stakes for her father were all or nothing. A loss to Philip and Arthur would cost him his crown, his realm, his life.She hastened now to pour a cup of wine, offered it to him with exaggerated care. "What is she like, Papa . . . your lady mother?"John was quiet for so long that she thought he was not going to reply. "Alegend," he said softly. "A living legend . . . like my illustrious brother, the Lion-Heart." His eyes, shadowed by weariness, shone with a hard green glitter."You want to win her favor, Joanna? Talk to her of Richard, then." He'd drained the cup already, set it down with a thud. " T have lost the staff of my age, the light of my eyes.' Those were her words, what she cried out upon his capture. Yes, talk to her of Richard."Joanna did not know how to answer him. Nor, she saw, did Isabelle. They looked at each other helplessly."I would rather talk to her of you, Papa," she ventured, and John gave a sudden laugh, a staccato sound that had in it little of mirth."I'd not advise that, lass. My mother has never been one to feign interest where she has none."Joanna's eyes filled with tears. She was aware by now that he was drunk, and that only made her all the more uneasy, for he generally had a good head for wine.Isabelle, no less at a loss than Joanna, reached out to steady his hand as he refilled the cup. "Come to bed, beloved," she coaxed, knowlr>g no other comfort to offer, knowing only what he'd taught her.He touched her cheek, brushed aside the bright hair falling free about her face. "You're such a child, Isabelle, a lovely child. I do not *ant you tonight. Go away. Both of you, go away."Isabelle started to speak, and he put his fingers to her mouth. "I ouid not take out my demons on you, Isabelle. But if you stay, I shall. la*e Joanna and go."

346She nodded, retreated toward the door, pulling Joanna after her i the antechamber she sank down, white-faced, upon the nearest coffe "Mayhap Ishould not have left him . . . Joanna, Joanna, was I wrong> Should I have stayed?"Joanna was accustomed to Isabelle asking her questions better put to an adult, but that did not make the answers come any easier. " j not know," she confessed. "I never saw Papa like that before ...""He's afraid," Isabelle said, almost inaudibly. "God knows, he has reasons enough for fear. So many enemies. So few he can trust." She shivered. "He's afraid, Joanna . . . and so alone."THE Benedictine abbey of Fontevrault was situated in the province of