The Queen's Daughter by Susan Coventry

Author:Susan Coventry [Coventry, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4299-4851-7
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Published: 2010-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

AT MIDSUMMER, SATI’S REPORT OF THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL of an English embassy filled Joan with misgivings. When she heard the name of the ambassador, Sir Robert of Chenowith, she fainted dead away from fear.

It was a miserable experience, fainting, like being swallowed whole by a beast, too exhausted to fight. She woke with both elbows bruised and a knot on the back of her head. Charisse dabbed her face with a wet cloth. When Joan tried to push it away, her hand fell back on the pillow.

“Steady, lady,” Charisse warned.

“Someone is dead.”

“Queen Joanna,” Sati said, resonating calm, “the king has summoned you. You must be strong.”

Charisse and Sati escorted Joan to her husband. She had never been in the throne room before. Standing around the perimeter were a few noblemen she did not recognize, two scribes wearing ink pots in slings, several eunuch guards with sheathed swords, and Caid Richard. Mosaics covered the vault and upper walls, depicting gardens and orchards, exotic predators and prey, creatures of myth. The same skill that had gone into the Palatine Chapel had been applied here, but with its secular theme, the results were startlingly different. In her fear, she felt she’d stepped into a peculiarly beautiful nightmare.

William took her by the arm and led her to side-by-side golden chairs. Despite its burnished glow, the seat felt hard and cold.

He sat in the larger chair. To Joan’s surprise, he laid his hand over hers. “Bring in the messengers.”

Sir Robert walked slowly into the room with two other men, who held back while Robert approached and bowed low. Joan stared at his clenched hands.

“Sire, Queen Joan, I deeply regret bearing this news.”

William nodded and said gruffly, “Say what needs to be said.”

“Lady, the young king is dead.”

“Henry?” Her eyes welled with tears. Her throat tightened. Yet she thought, Thank God. Not Richard. Not Mama or Papa. “How?”

“A fever.”

“Oh.” It was not so terrible. Innocent death was God’s will.

“There is more. He had been at war with your father. The whole realm was at war. The young king threw in his lot with King Philip and the southern French rebels. They have devastated Aquitaine, desecrated churches. A great many good men perished.” He halted. “It was as if the devil possessed him.”

“Where…where was Richard?”

“With your father.”

Her chest cramped. Even drawing breath hurt, yet she had known. “He was a fool to fight them together.”

“He almost won,” Robert said bitterly. “It was a hard-fought war. The young king’s adherents nearly killed the king twice, once in ambush and once while peace negotiations were in progress. Your father was more aggrieved by their dishonor than—” Robert bit his thumbnail. “When Henry fell ill, the king could not believe but that it was another trick. Only too late did he realize…”

Joan could not think of her father’s grief and be strong. “Tell me they reconciled,” she begged, tears spilling over.

“The king sent his ring as token. Your brother knew what he had done. At the last, he tried to atone, dying in a hair shirt, curled on the floor.

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