by Rachel Bard
ISABELLA
Queen Without a Conscience
A Historical Novel
by
Rachel Bard
Book Publishers Network
P. O. Box 2256
Bothell WA 98041
Isabella: Queen Without a Conscience
By Rachel Bard
Copyright 2007 Rachel Bard
Library of Congress Control Number 2006904245
ISBN 1887542566
ISBN 13 97818875542562
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Cover Design by Leslie Newman
Seal of Isabelle d’Angoulême courtesy of City of Angoulême
Map by Kajira Wyn Berry
Text Design by Stephanie Martindale
Also by Rachel Bard:
Queen Without a Country, a historical novel
Navarra: The Durable Kingdom, a history
Newswriting Guide: A Handbook for Student Reporters
Editing Guide: A Handbook for Writers and Editors
Best Places of the Olympic Peninsula
Country Inns of the Pacific Northwest
Zucchini and All That Squash
Table of Contents
Historical Prologue
Map of France and England in the 13th century
Isabella: Queen Without a Conscience
Epilogue
Bibliography
Isabella’s World and Time
A Historical Prologue
Isabella of Angoulême was born into a “France” that few Frenchmen would recognize today. It had no precise borders, no central government and no common purpose.
King Philip II was undisputed sovereign only of the Ile de France, a small territory centered on Paris. It was surrounded by dozens of semi-independent duchies, counties and vice-counties, many of them much larger than the king’s domain.
One of these was the County of Angoulême, the fief of Isabella’s father, Count Aymer. Angoulême lay within Aquitaine, the large and prosperous duchy in the southwest of France. Count Aymer was virtually independent. Like his fellow magnates he nominally held his fief as a vassal of his king; but his power over Angoulême was nearly absolute. He and his counterparts could ignore or defy the king if they wished, and they frequently did.
Still, the King of France and most of his vassals usually agreed on one goal: drive out the English!
The quarrel went back to 1066 when Duke William of Normandy invaded and conquered England. As King William I of England, he continued to assert overlordship of his native Normandy—a strategically located duchy in the northwest of present-day France, just a half-day’s sail across the Channel from England.
The English added to their possessions in 1154 when William’s great-grandson, Henry II, inherited Anjou in central France from his father, Geoffrey Plantagenet, Count of Anjou. (Hence the terms Plantagenet and Angevin to refer to the English dynasty of this period.)
Then in 1152 when Henry II married Eleanor of Aquitaine, heiress to the great Duchy of Aquitaine, her vast territory too became part of the English dominions on the Continent.
From these secure toeholds the English continued to claw their way toward the heart of France while the French resisted at every opportunity.
In 1186, the year of Isabella’s birth, the English hegemony in France was at its peak: from Normandy in the north to Aquitaine and Gascony in the south, and comprising Brittany, Maine, Anjou, the Touraine and Poitou in between. (See map p. 00.) These English possessions were about a third the size of present-day France.
The adversaries were well matched: Henry II of England, powerful and rapacious, and Philip II of France, astute and a master of intrigue.
During Isabella’s lifetime the battles raged, led by these kings and their sons and grandsons. By the year of her death, 1246, England’s long Continental decline was well underway and France was close to becoming the strong, cohesive monarchy it would be for centuries to come.
Because of her birthright and her marriages Isabella found herself now on one side, now on the other, in these struggles. Because of her character she sometimes chose to lead her own fight for her own interests, anticipating the Shakespearean “a plague on both your houses.” No matter where she stood, she could be adored, admired or decried, but she could not be ignored.
Readers who wish to know more about Isabella’s world and time are encouraged to consult the bibliography at the back of the book.
Isabella 1-20
Chapter 1
Isabella
1243
I know what they’re saying about me. They think I’m all wrapped up in prayer and repentance and don’t hear or see what’s going on around me. But I’ve heard them—the gossipy nuns whispering to each other in corners.
Just because I don’t answer when they talk to me they’ve decided I’m deaf or nearly so. That suits me very well. The high prioress, Lady Blanche, thinks so too and that suits me even better. I’ve no desire to endure her chatter and her sanctimonious pity. If I’ve learned anything since I came here to Fontevraud Abbey it’s the wisdom of keeping to myself with my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open.
Only yesterday, when I was sitting in the abbey’s common room with my needlework and my psalter, Sir Robert de Beaumont came to call on Lady Blanche. I often take my work to a bench at the far end of the room, where I can look out the low window to the gardens. Sometimes my companion, Louise de Rochemont, comes with me, but this day I was alone.
The other end of the room is much more inviting. There’s a big fireplace with comfortable chairs and benches drawn up around it in a half-circle. That’s where most people who come in tend to settle, as Sir Robert and the prioress did yesterday.
They’re old cronies, I’ve heard—maybe more. Sir Robert’s a tall, loosejointed gentleman and he sat right down like a cricket on a beanstalk, ready for a chat. But it was a while before Lady Blanche felt comfortable. She’s a buxom little person and what with her stiff white habit, she had to wriggle about a bit before she came to terms with her chair.
“Now, I’ve been away up in Normandy for a year and you must tell me all the news,” said Sir Robert. “First of all…” he lowered his voice and I knew they were looking at me and he was asking who I was. I kept my eyes on my book and moved my lips as though I were reading the psalms.
“Oh, that’s Queen Isabella—you know, the widow of King John of England and wife of Hugh de Lusignan. We’re quite set up to have such a royal person here at the abbey! But you needn’t whisper. She can hardly hear, and besides she’s busy repenting.”
“Oho, that one!” said his lordship. “Still remarkably handsome, isn’t she? She must be at least fifty.”
I was pleased that I was still thought handsome. And even more pleased that he’d guessed I was only fifty. I was fifty-seven.
“But what’s she repenting? Surely not her youthful indiscretions, after all this time. Everyone knows she jilted her fiancé here in France when King John came along and she married John instead. But that must be forty years ago and more.”
“No, my friend, there’s been many another indiscretion in Queen Isabella’s life. You must have heard that after John died she ran off to marry the son of her old lover, before John was cold in his grave.” She sighed in her distress at human foibles. “Though I’ve heard she didn’t have much reason to mourn John. He was no saint—carrying on with his obliging lady friends.”
I couldn’t repress a bitter smile at that, but thank goodness they weren’t looking at me but at each other, sniggering. Lady friends a-plenty, did my John have, and not all of them what you’d call ladies!
; “But why is she here?” asked Sir Robert, hitching his chair closer to his companion. “Tell me all, my dear!” He must have done something rather naughty because I heard the prioress squeak.
“Careful! She may be deaf but she’s not blind. Time enough for that later.”
That’s right, I thought. Don’t waste time. I want to hear what she tells you.
“She came nine or ten months ago,” said Lady Blanche. “She was disgraced when she and her husband, Hugh de Lusignan, were accused of trying to poison our blessed King Louis. Then she and Hugh had a falling-out, and she had nowhere else to go. Surely you heard about that plot against the king?”
“I heard the rumors, but I had no idea the Lusignans were in on it.”
”Well, they were. Some people think she put her husband up to it and some say it was his idea. Thank God they didn’t succeed.”
So people were calling me an assassin! My lips quivered. To hide my agitation I folded my hands and bowed my head as though I were praying.
The prioress went on, as pious as the Pope. “I suppose I should say ‘poor lady’ and I do try to find it in my heart to forgive her for all the evil she’s done in her life. We must pray that the Lord God will have mercy on her.”
“My dear Blanche, I’d no idea she had led a life you could call evil. I thought she was simply a beautiful, highborn woman who made unfortunate choices. Misguided and impulsive perhaps, but evil…?”
I peeked through my fingers. Sir Robert was leaning toward Lady Blanche, who looked as smug as a puffy-chested pigeon that’s just laid an egg.
“Yes, my friend. Greedy and ambitious too, I fear. She wanted to be a queen instead of a mere countess. And then to turn into such a jealous wife, oh dear!”
The prioress was becoming less pious by the moment. I didn’t dare look but I could imagine her round little face tensed and prissy, her eyes glittering like a cat’s when it’s after a mouse.
Just then a lay brother came in to see to the fire and made such a clatter with his tongs on the stones that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. When he’d left the gossips were still at it.
“What’s more,” said the prioress, “they say that she and her old lover Hugh managed their share of sweet trysts, all the time she was married to John.”
Sir Robert clapped a hand to his brow.
“Evil, was she? Yes. May she truly repent, with the help of our Blessed Virgin, who pities all sinners.” Her voice fell dramatically, like a priest intoning a prayer.
I picked up my needlework and bent over it.
“So here she is, sheltered and safe, in spite of it all?” Sir Robert sniffed.
“Of course. We are bound by our charter to give protection to any who are sick or penitent. She appears to be both.”
“Your charity is amazing, my dear Blanche. To take her in, after such a life of adultery, betrayal, deceit and murder. You are a true saint. And will she be here long?”
“For the rest of her life, though she may not know it. We’ve had instructions from the very highest authorities to keep her here. If she decides she’s had enough of the cloistered life, or if that wishy-washy Hugh takes a notion to want her back, we’ll have to take appropriate measures.”
She shot a look at me, aware that she had been speaking too frankly and perhaps too loudly. Their voices fell to a murmur. I turned my head so they couldn’t see my face, flaming with anger.
Silence. I risked a glance. Robert had raised Blanche’s hand and was pressing it to his lips.
I got up, gathered my belongings and walked toward the door, doubly outraged. It was dreadful to learn that I was a prisoner, though I had no doubt I could get around that if need be. But even worse was the prioress’s sorry story of my life. Because she had it all wrong. It hadn’t been like that. It hadn’t been like that at all.
Chapter 2
Isabella
1200
I was nearly fourteen when my parents, the Count and Countess of Angoulême, summoned me one wintry day to give me news that would turn my life upside down.
I’d been in the gardens behind our palace playing hide-and-seek with Adèle. Adèle was the daughter of one of my mother’s ladies in waiting, Anne Beaufort. Lady Anne was charged with my care and upbringing. On the whole I liked her. She was kind and indulgent and didn’t make too many rules about my life.
I didn’t especially like Adèle. She was only ten, but since my parents had provided me with no brothers or sisters, she was the only playmate I had. She had tight-curled brown hair and a pudgy face that puckered when I scolded her. She was like a little puppy who trotted after me, hoping for a kind word.
It was one of those January days when the sun blazes so brightly that you’d think spring was around the corner. But the beech trees that stood against the courtyard walls were bare as skeletons. When our game took us near the henhouse we saw the chickens lined up on their roosts, fluffing up their feathers to keep warm. Off by the far wall two horses were running about in circles. When they whinnied we could see puffs of white breath. A couple of stableboys were making a half-hearted effort to chase them into the barn. Other than that we had the whole silent expanse to ourselves. The invisible city of Angoulême outside the walls was quiet too except for quick footsteps clattering along the cobbled streets. Sensible people would likely either stay inside or hurry home on such a chilly day.
In spite of the cold Adèle and I were chasing about so energetically that we grew quite warm and threw off our cloaks. There was a good deal of shrieking and falling down. I’d just won a game so Adèle had to give me another forfeit. I now owned her two favorite dolls, little stick figures wrapped in bits of cloth and with faces painted on their wooden heads.
“Mademoiselle Isabella,” came a high, whining call. The footman Alois was hurrying toward us where we stood almost hidden by the tall gray-green sage plants in the herb bed. He looked annoyed. I suppose he’d been searching all over. When he told me Count Aymer and Countess Alix wanted to see me at once, I was excited. Maybe they were going to tell me I could have the new horse I’d been begging for.
I pulled on my cloak and ran in through the great hall and up the stairs to their tower room. My father was sitting in his big chair before the fire with my mother beside him. The room was so warm that I felt perspiration running down my face. I was acutely aware of my tumbled hair, my torn skirt and my father’s disapproving gaze.
He was a large, imposing man who was away a great deal and never had much time for me. As my mother often reminded me, he had to see to the governance of the whole county of Angoulême and all the chancy relations with his neighboring counts and dukes and lords, to say nothing of the King of France.
Today he reminded me of a menacing brown bear. He must have just come from hunting; he was completely enveloped in his long fur cape. His unsmiling, square-jawed face was red from the wind. He was holding out his hands to the warmth of the fire and rubbing them.
With his first words he stunned me.
“Isabella, your mother and I have just agreed that you will be engaged to Hugh le Brun of Lusignan, Count of La Marche. It’s a very advantageous marriage. You’ll thank us for this some day.”
I could only stare at him.
“When Hugh’s lands and ours are joined, between us we’ll be as powerful as any duke or count in France. We’d be able to withstand King Philip himself. Though I pray we will never have to do battle with our king.” His face became even more somber. “So, since God did not grant us a son to carry on the family fortunes, you as our daughter will have the privilege of ensuring the future of our line and adding to our possessions.”
I thought for the hundredth time it wasn’t fair to blame me for not being a boy.
My mother, my beautiful goldenhaired mother whom I adored, beckoned me to her. She put her arm around me and I relaxed, taking in her scent—today it was lavender. I leaned my head against her silk-clad shoulder. Her voice was like honey.
“We’ve agreed to th
is betrothal for your sake, Isabella. We want the best for you. As our only child, of course you’ll inherit all of Angoulême. But when Hugh le Brun came to us and asked for your hand in marriage, we saw at once what it would mean for you. Just think, my dear--you’ll be one of the wealthiest women in France and a countess twice over. Won’t that be lovely?”
“But I don’t even know this Hugh whatever! And he doesn’t know me.”
“He may not know you,” said my father, “but he knows very well who you are and what you’ll inherit. He’s well aware that when we’re gone he, as your husband, will become Count of Angoulême. From what we know of him as head of the Lusignan clan, he’ll fill that role very well.”
“Don’t frown, Isabella,” said my mother. There was a touch of vinegar in the honey now. “Haven’t I told you over and over again that frowning brings wrinkles?” I raised my hand and brushed it across my forehead. I always wanted my mother to approve of me, and besides, I knew she was right. Her own brow was as smooth and white as that of the marble Madonna in the cathedral, though she must have been at least forty.
“Now we must get practical,” said my father. “Hugh le Brun has only recently become Count of La Marche. He’ll be away from home for some time, visiting his new vassals. But it’s none too soon for you to become accustomed to your husband’s family and your duties as the future Countess of La Marche. So you’ll go to live at your fiancé’s castle at Lusignan until you’re married. Hugh’s brother, Count Ralph of Eu, will serve as your guardian while you are there.”