‘You have your husband. He will protect you.’

‘He is but the Count of Toulouse. Richard was ruler of England and his dominions here. Sometimes the weight of this tragedy descends on me and I feel life is more than I can bear.’

‘That is no way for a mother to talk,’ said Berengaria in mild reproof.

‘You are right, my dear friend and sister. What should I do without you?’

‘We shall always be together. I will stay with you, Joanna, as long as you want me.’

‘You know I should always want you but it may be that a husband will be found for you.’

Berengaria shook her head. ‘I have done with marriage,’ she said.

Joanna was on the point of saying that because one marriage had been a failure it did not mean that a second would be, but that seemed to cast censure on Richard, so she was silent. He had scarcely been as good a husband to Berengaria as he had been a good brother to her.

That night Joanna’s pains started. They went on all through the next day when it became clear that all was not going well.

The doctors were grave when Berengaria questioned them anxiously. Queen Joanna had suffered a great shock on the death of her brother and this had had an adverse effect on her health. She should have rested in Toulouse instead of travelling to Chaluz to see Richard.

The next morning the child was born, a poor sickly infant who was clearly not destined to live more than a few days. He was hastily baptised before he died.

Joanna lingered for a while but it was soon apparent that it could not be for long.

Berengaria was with her during the day and night, for Joanna found great comfort from her presence.

She said: ‘I am dying, Berengaria. Nay, do not deny it. I know it well. I can see the angel of death beckoning to me. There might be a few days left to me, but no more. I must repent of my sins and prepare myself to make my peace with heaven.’

‘You have led a good life,’ comforted Berengaria. ‘You need have no fears.’

But Joanna talked of her mother in the peace of Fontevraud and said it was her wish that before she died she should be veiled as a nun of Fontevraud.

She had one more request. She wanted to be buried in the Abbey of Fontevraud beside her beloved brother Richard whom she had survived such a short while. They would lie together, she said, at the feet of her father.

So she received the veil the day before she died and then her body was taken to Fontevraud where Queen Eleanor received it and carried out her daughter’s wish.

Berengaria, who went to the funeral, was stricken with grief. The companion of so many years, when they were in the Holy Land together and she gradually understood the nature of the man she had married, was gone for ever. The future looked bleak before her. She could go to her brother’s court or that of her sister. Neither promised her any great joy.

As for Eleanor, she was stricken and for the first time looked her great age.

She was not bitter as Berengaria expected she might be; she was merely resigned. ‘I have lost the two I loved best,’ she said, ‘and that in the space of a few months. My life is over. What is there left for me now but to wait for death?’

She would go into complete seclusion. She would remain at Fontevraud with the remains of her husband, and her beloved son and daughter.

‘My work is done,’ she said, ‘and there is nothing for me now but to wait for death.’


John, meanwhile, had arrived in Normandy at the head of a formidable army, and in one or two skirmishes with the French army was victorious, which led to a meeting being arranged between himself and Philip. The French King wanted the Vexin for himself and Anjou, Maine, Poitou and Touraine for Arthur, but with an army behind him John was in a position to snap his fingers at such demands; the result was war. John’s good fortune was that William des Roches, who was leading the Breton army for Constance, Arthur and Guy Thouars, could not agree with Philip and there was dissension between them. So greatly did they fear the King of France and his intentions towards Arthur that in a moment of panic they decided to place him temporarily under the protection of John.

John was delighted. He was in Le Mans at the time and he welcomed William des Roches with open arms.

‘Ah, my good lord,’ he said, ‘it pleases me that there are some wise men in the world. This conflict with my own nephew breaks my heart. I have never ill-wished the boy. I would his mother could be made to understand this.’

‘I am doing my best to make her do so. The King of France is quite perfidious. I never trusted him.’

‘Nor I,’ said John. ‘Where is Arthur?’

‘Not far from here. I will bring him to you, my lord, if you will promise to guard him until such time as he is safe from the King of France.’

‘Bring him to me with all speed. I will guard him with my life.’

John was inwardly exulting. The folly of others was always exciting. They were actually going to put Arthur under his protection! And Constance would be with him. That was highly amusing. He had to be grateful to William des Roches for quarrelling so fiercely with the King of France that he saw Philip was the very essence of villainy beside whom his other enemies seemed like saints.

From the castle tower John saw the party riding towards the castle – young Arthur between his mother and Guy de Thouars. He was Constance’s paramour, of course. That was obvious. John’s eyes narrowed as he thought of the sport he could have with those two if the opportunity arose, but his main concern must be with Arthur, of course, because Arthur was the great threat to his security and he was the very heart of conflict between them.

Rubbing his hands he went to greet them.

‘My dear, dear Constance,’ he cried. ‘It does me good to behold you. And Arthur! How you have grown, nephew! You are indeed a man. And here is the Viscount de Thouars, your very good friend. I thank you, my lord, for taking such good care of my sister-in-law and my beloved nephew.’

She was wary, that woman. It had been against her judgement that they were here, he was sure. She would never trust him. But how frightened she must be of the King of France to have allowed Arthur to be brought to him!

Arthur was too young to hide his resentment. He knew John had been crowned King of England and the arrogant young creature thought that honour should have been his. It was maddening to think that quite a number of people agreed with him. A dangerous boy, this one.

That was why he was going to be very welcoming to him.

Constance said: ‘We wish to shelter here for a short time. Our stay will not be long but if you would give us hospitality for a while we shall be grateful.’

‘I want no gratitude for that which can only give me great pleasure. Come into the castle. A feast is being prepared. I want you to know how happy I am to see you. I have always deplored that there should be conflict between us. Now we can talk as friends of any differences which may have arisen between us.’

Constance exchanged glances with Guy. Any differences! Only the usurpation of a throne! How could she have allowed William des Roches to persuade her to bring Arthur here? She only had to be in John’s company for a few moments for all her suspicions to be aroused. Surely Philip of France would have been the better choice even though there was disagreement between him and William des Roches. She had greatly feared that Philip would imprison Arthur. But what if John did the same? She knew then that she feared the King of England more than she did the King of France.

She was given a magnificent bedchamber and Arthur had the adjoining one. When they were alone together Arthur said: ‘My uncle seems very kind.’

She smiled wryly. ‘It is when he is most kind that I trust him least.’

There was a scratching at the door. Constance went to it and opened it cautiously. She fell back with relief. ‘Guy!’

Guy lifted his finger to his lips. ‘Depend upon it,’ he whispered, ‘there will be those to watch us. I like this not. We should never have allowed William des Roches to bring us here.’

‘But we are here now,’ said Constance, ‘and must needs make the best of it.’

Guy shook his head. ‘I have heard whispers,’ he said. ‘John will never let Arthur leave here. At first he will soothe us with soft words but his intention is to make Arthur his prisoner.’

‘That must never be,’ cried Constance.

‘So think I. God knows what would happen to Arthur if he fell into that monster’s hands.’

Constance clung to his arm.

‘Oh, Guy, what shall we do?’

‘We are not spending a night in this castle. I have given orders to men I can trust. Tonight when the castle is quiet we shall steal out to the stables and horses will be ready. We shall not stop riding until dawn.’

She leaned against him, her eyes half closed. ‘Oh, Guy, how thankful I am that you are with us.’


All through the night they rode towards Brittany where they could feel safe for a while. With dawn they came to rest at the residence of a knight whom they could trust.

Before they continued their journey Constance talked seriously to Guy about the dangerous position which Arthur was in. ‘It is strange,’ she said, ‘that as soon as I see John I sense that which is evil in him, although when I am not with him I can be led to believe that he is not as bad as I really know him to be.’

‘Never forget,’ said Guy, ‘that he fears Arthur will take what he wants, and which many believe by right is Arthur’s. Arthur will never be safe while John lives.’