The King's Witch by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online

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    The elder maid’s eyes were hollow and her skin flaky. She had been coughing all day. She looked haggard. She said, “Oh, I’m just tired.” Edythe put one hand to her cheek and felt a flush of heat. Then Gracia started to cough and did not stop for a while and finally hacked out a thick green glob.
    Alarmed, Edythe said, “You must lie down. I’ll get you some wine.” She stood up; she had some feverfew and rosemary to put in the wine, but this was getting past what she could do. Gracia’s body was wracked with an excess of humors, the cold and moist phlegm, the hot and dry fever of the choler. Soon the other humors might swell out of balance too and find their own escape, and ruin Gracia as they went.
    The tent was crowded with people and chests, and nobody knew where anything was. Finally she got a cup of wine and mixed the herbs in, but no one had lit a brazier—it was hot, maybe there would be no brazier—and she took the wine back to Gracia without warming it.
    Lilia and the Navarrese women were fluttering around Berengaria. Johanna stood alone in the middle of the room, listening to the men yelling in the distance, a frown on her face.
    A page came in the door.
    “The Queen of Jerusalem!”
    There went up a collective gasp. Falling silent, everybody in the tent tuned to face the opening, even Berengaria. Three women came in through the drawn back flap, maids in their dark rich dress and bowed coifed heads, and then a lovely girl.
    At the sight of her, they all gasped. She was as beautiful as an icon. Her skin was smooth and white, her blue eyes wide under the plucked arches of her brows. The layered blue satin of her gown was trimmed with clusters of little white pearls and silver lace ribbons, so that as she moved the cloth whispered and winked around her. Her coif was of white silk and over it there fit a simple gold circlet of a crown.
    As she came farther into the tent everyone bowed, except Johanna, so the newcomer knew at once who she was. She came to Johanna with her hands out.
    “My sister—for so I feel you are my sister—”
    Johanna said, “Isabella, we are sisters all.” She drew the girl into her embrace, and Edythe, behind them, saw the tears in the eyes of the Queen of Jerusalem.
    Isabella drew back, her hands on Johanna’s sleeves. “Lionheart’s sister,” she said. “I should have guessed you would be a lioness.” She blinked, her eyes sleek; she looked sad, even in her youth and beauty. “I only could get away because all the men are in council. I can’t stay long.”
    Johanna said, surprised, “Your lord came down here—”
    “No, no.” The girl’s voice was uneven. Her white hands were clasped at her waist. “They are holding council in Tyre, also, do you doubt that? My—Conrad is there, scheming. But I came to tell you—to warn you—”
    Johanna said, “Come sit. The rest of you, go. Edythe, bring us wine to drink. The rest, go!” She led Isabella into a close side of the tent where they could talk unheard. The rest of the women stood back, and Edythe went for wine.
    When she returned, the two Queens sat with their heads tilted together. Isabella was saying, “Don’t believe what they tell you. What anybody tells you. I love Humphrey. I hate Conrad. Conrad hates everybody else.”
    Johanna took a cup from Edythe. “We’ll restore your rightful husband to you, my lady.” She handed one cup to Isabella and took the other from Edythe. With her eyes she sent Edythe off also.
    Isabella was saying, “No. Humphrey and I will never be together again. But it is Conrad I warn you against. Conrad is doublehearted. Black-minded, and wicked.”
    Edythe moved away from all of them; she went to Gracia, now lying on a pallet at the far side of the tent. All the other people in here had their backs to her, rapt, watching the two Queens whispering gossip over their wine, while ignored in their shadow Gracia sank into disease.
    Edythe gave the older woman wine and