The King's Witch Read Free Page A

looked up; her face was bright with relief. “No, I mind not. How noble. He is noble.”
    Noble , Edythe thought. From what she had seen, Richard cared no more about her than a chair to sit on, or a horse to ride, and everybody knew why he did not want to bed with her. The little princess’s chamber was stuffy with the heat, but the girl still sat bundled into her gowns and shawls. Johanna said, “Then you shall be married tomorrow, and made Queen. Will you like that?”
    “Oh, yes, much.” The girl smiled at her. “I then have my own palace, and my own court. I then do much good, I hope.” Her voice grew silky, and her head tipped, so she watched Johanna through the corner of her eye. “Do I precede over my lady Sicily?”
    Johanna grunted in surprise. “We will have to find a herald, and see.”
    “I ask my lord,” Berengaria said. “But I have to make ready.”
    “We will do that,” Johanna said. “Only heed your maids. The wedding is tomorrow.”
    “Yes, my lady.”
    As they went off, Johanna said, “Well, the little priss. He will never love her.” Her voice was salty with anger.
    Edythe said, “She doesn’t much care about him.” There was a merciless balance in all this. She followed Johanna out the door.

    Berengaria had brought a gown to be married in, but during the storms at sea the chest had leaked, and now the matted cloth looked and smelled awful. Johanna gave her another dress, and all the women passed the night taking in the seams and raising the hem, and clipping the gold embroideries and jewels from the ruined dress and stitching them onto the new one. In the morning, yawning, Johanna watched as the princess’s Navarrese women tucked her into the gown, and smiled.
    “You look very fine.”
    Berengaria’s lips moved without sound. Her eyes were wide with terror. The women moved around her, brushing and plucking and straightening, and the girl lifted her gaze to Johanna. “Please.”
    Johanna kept on smiling. She began to see this as a fit revenge. “Please what? Come, your bridegroom awaits you.”
    She thought for a second the girl would need to be carried, but then she moved woodenly toward the door. The other women fell in around her and they went to the chapel. The day before, a fleet from the Holy Land had brought some of the Christian lords to see Richard, and so the place was jammed with witnesses. When they saw the women they began to cry out and wave their arms, and as Berengaria trudged by them, they threw flowers at her, so that she seemed to wade through a river of rose petals.
    Inside, by the altar, Richard waited, the candlelight glinting on his golden crown, his long pale hair. The Bishop of Evreux stood beyond him. Johanna stepped aside, and Berengaria plodded into the blaze of the candles; Johanna could see her shaking, the little fool.
    The Queen of Sicily glanced around the chapel, its walls and square columns plastered with icons in the Greek way. Arrayed around her were her own women, and Richard’s court, but behind them stood the crowd of newly come strangers. She looked them over curiously; the King of Jerusalem was supposed to be among them, and she wondered which of these elegant men he was. She had heard a lot of gossip about the King of Jerusalem, even as far away as Sicily. Then Evreux was speaking, and she turned forward.
    Berengaria stood there rigid, her face white as salt. When Richard took her hand to put the ring on, she started all over as if he had struck her. Richard did not seem to notice, all his attention on fitting the ring to her finger.
    He never lifted his eyes to the girl’s face. She mattered nothing to him. Johanna found herself smiling. The priest said words, and the whole crowd made the response and crossed themselves.
    Then Berengaria knelt before her new husband, her hands together as if in prayer, and he put a gold crown on her head and said something in French, and she was Queen of England.
    Her lips moved. She shut her eyes,