So he was back in England. It was four years and three months since the day he had left and now he was landing at Sandwich on this April Sunday.
It seemed that the whole of England had come out of their homes to welcome him. He was content to have his mother beside him, his good friends around him and his loyal people making him aware of their pleasure in his return.
First to Canterbury to prostrate himself at the shrine of St Thomas and to thank God and the saint for bringing him safely through so many adventures. Then to London where it seemed the citizens, wild with joy, were determined to make feasts for him and bestow rich gifts upon him.
And after London to St Albans to kneel before the shrine there and offer to God the banner of Cyprus that his conquest of that island might be blessed.
Winchester should be next but there were one or two matters to be set right before he went there. Certain of his castles had defected to John and he must show the inhabitants of these that he was determined to take back that which was his by right.
Nottingham was the chief of these and it only needed him to appear for the citadel to surrender and those who had held it in John’s name to come on their knees and beg his clemency. He was in a forgiving mood. He was so pleased to be free and to know that his kingdom was once more in his hands and his subjects loyal to him.
At Winchester he enjoyed a second coronation, carrying the regalia as he had done when he was crowned king.
His mother, who had been beside him during his triumphant progress, was deeply moved. But she it was who reminded him that the life of a King was not all pageantry.
‘You have regained England, my son,’ she said, ‘and methinks you returned just in time. But John has gone to France and you know who your real enemy is.’
‘Philip,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, the King of France. He has encouraged John to act against you and I believe to be true the rumour that he bribed the Emperor to hold you prisoner longer than he might have done.’
‘Why, Mother? Why?’
‘Because he is the King of France, Richard, and you are the King of England. You hold Normandy and he wants Normandy. What better reason than that?’
‘But I had thought Philip was my friend.’
‘Always an uneasy friendship, Richard.’
‘Aye, so it would seem.’
‘What of Berengaria? It is long since you have seen your wife. You should send for her as soon as we reach Normandy, for to Normandy we must go at once. England will be safe now but not so Normandy.’
‘’Tis true that we must go to Normandy.’
‘And Berengaria?’
He was silent.
‘You do not love her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Does she not please you as a wife?’
‘She is well enough.’
‘Ah, my son, I understand. You do not want a wife. But it is necessary for you to produce an heir, you know.’
‘’Tis the duty of all kings I well know.’
‘Get her with child and then pursue your own way of life.’
Richard did not answer and Eleanor shook her head sadly. It seemed strange to her that a man such as Richard should not love women. He must be induced to go to Berengaria for a while at least. She, Eleanor, must live long enough to see them produce the heir to the throne.
Before May was out they set sail for Normandy. It was imperative to do so as there was no time to lose. Richard set up a Regent to act for him until he and Queen Eleanor returned.
In their apartments in the castle of Poitou the Queens of England and Sicily with the Cypriot Princess, who had been their constant companion since Richard had sent her to them, heard the news of the King’s return.
They knew then that the life which had been theirs since they came to the peace of Poitou was coming to an end.
During that time Berengaria had often said that she felt they were living in a dream from which they would have to awaken sooner or later. Life seemed to have stood still. There had been the years of waiting for Richard, then the adventure of going to Sicily, Cyprus and the Holy Land, marriage, the perilous journey to Poitou followed by the quiet life when every day seemed like the one before and nothing seemed to happen.
‘Nothing?’ Joanna had cried when Berengaria had spoken of this to her. For to Joanna something had happened. Ever since the handsome knight had been bidden to escort them from Marseilles she had begun to change. Joanna and Raymond of Toulouse had ridden side by side on that journey; they had laughed and talked together, becoming so absorbed in each other’s company that any attempt to join them on the part of Berengaria seemed to spoil their pleasure.
And since they had been at Poitou the Count had visited them frequently, and when he came Joanna was gayer and younger than Berengaria had ever seen her before. In the beginning Berengaria had hoped that the attachment would fade away. The Count of Toulouse had brought them in safety to Poitou and there his duty ended; if he had not returned to them again and again Joanna might have begun to forget their charming escort and those pleasant hours which flew by with such speed as they talked together and discovered so much in common with each other.
But it seemed that Raymond of Toulouse found it impossible to stay away from Joanna.
Berengaria talked of the matter with the Cypriot Princess. ‘It goes too far,’ she said.
‘It is too late to stop it now,’ replied the Princess.
‘I fear Joanna’s heart will break when she has to give him up.’
‘Need she?’
‘Richard’s family and his have always been in conflict. Why even during the crusade the Counts of Toulouse invaded Guienne. Had my brother Sancho not fought in Richard’s defence Guienne would have passed into the hands of the Counts of Toulouse.’
The Princess shook her head sadly. ‘It is all fighting,’ she said, ‘and we must suffer because of it.’
‘I trust Joanna will not suffer too deeply,’ replied Berengaria.
There was about Joanna a defiance. She said that if a Princess married once for state reasons she should be allowed to choose her second husband.
But all of them knew that the days of dalliance were coming to an end, and the climax which they knew was inevitable was moving nearer.
Joanna and her lover talked together, as they walked in the castle grounds.
‘Now that my brother is free I will send a message to him,’ she said. ‘I will send one to my mother also. Who knows, they may allow us to marry.’
Raymond was less sanguine. ‘There has always been enmity between our houses.’
‘Then, my dearest love, I will point out that a match between us will mend the rift.’
He kissed her tenderly, loving her vitality, her enthusiasm. Then he said: ‘And if they should refuse?’
‘I am not a child,’ she said. ‘I have done my duty once. This time I will have my way. I will go with you wherever you take me.’
He pressed her hands.
‘It could mean death to us both,’ he told her.
‘I would face death for love,’ she answered, ‘and whatever the future held we should have had some time together.’
‘You are reckless, Joanna.’
‘Let us be reckless. I will if you will.’
‘Then be ready.’
‘First though I will send to my brother and to my mother also. I have hopes, for Richard has never been vengeful. I believe I was always his favourite sister and I know he would wish to see me happy. As for my mother she knows what it is to love. Let us hope, Raymond.’
So Joanna sent messengers to Richard and Eleanor and, at the same time, being uncertain of what their reaction would be, prepared herself for flight.
Each day she and Berengaria were at the turret watching for riders.
Berengaria thought: Richard will send for me. He must now that he is in Normandy.