Isabella, Queen Without a Conscience

by Rachel Bard

  I stiffened in my mother’s arms. I’d hardly heard of Lusignan though I believed it was far to the north of our sunny Aquitaine. She gave me a squeeze.

  “You won’t be alone, Isabella. Lady Anne and Adèle will go with you. You’ll like Sir Ralph and his wife. Now why don’t you go to your room and ask Anne to help you change into a fresh gown before dinner? You might do something about your hair too.”

  I walked out. The silly little dolls I’d won from Adèle still dangled from my hand. I trudged up the stone staircase and along the dark corridor to my room. Lady Anne wasn’t there and I didn’t call her. A servant came in and lit a few candles. I climbed up on my high bed to think. I crossed my legs and sat with my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands. It seemed an age since I’d been in the garden playing childish games.

  After a while I noticed the dolls, sprawled ungracefully on the coverlet. I sat them up facing me.

  “You,” I said to the girl doll, “are Isabella.” To the other I said, “And you are Hugh le Brun.” I turned back to Isabella. “And you are going to marry Sir Hugh. What do you think of that?” They stared at me with their dull black eyes and said not a word.

  “But Isabella,” I scolded the girl doll, “ if you’re going to be the Countess of La Marche, you must do something about your gown.” I jumped down and searched in my chests until I found a lace handkerchief. When I wrapped it around the doll and tied it at the waist with a blue ribbon, she still looked silly.

  After a hesitant knock Adèle came in.

  “When you didn’t come back, I worried. Did they say you could have the horse?”

  I’d forgotten about the horse.

  She saw the doll in my hand. “Ooh Isabella, how pretty you’ve made her! Is she an angel?”

  “No, she’s supposed to be me, when I’m a countess.”

  “But you won’t be a countess until after your mother Countess Alix dies. That’s what my mother told me.”

  So I explained to her about being engaged to Hugh de Lusignan, and having to go to Lusignan, and becoming Countess of La Marche.

  Her eyes widened with surprise.

  “How exciting! But won’t you be lonely, off there without any one you know?”

  “Oh, you’re coming too, Adèle, and so is your mother.”

  Her round little face crumpled with worry.

  “So it will be just the three of us, and a lot of strangers?”

  “I suppose so. But my mother says I’ll like it once I get used to it.”

  We discussed what Lusignan would be like, without much enthusiasm. Neither of us wanted to leave our familiar home. I tried to think of a bright side.

  “I do think it will be lovely to be a countess. Maybe you can be my lady in waiting, Adèle.”

  She giggled, then did her best to come up with another positive aspect.

  “And if we’re going to make that long, long journey to Lusignan, they’ll certainly have to give you your new horse.”

  Chapter 3

  Anne Beaufort

  1200

  “I…don’t…want…to…go…to…Lu-…si-…gnan!”

  With each syllable Isabella stamped her foot and tossed her head. This made it difficult for me to brush her hair.

  “Do stand still, my dear. However did you get so many tangles?” Her hair was long and very fine, a beautiful soft gold. One day, I knew, she’d be vain about it. Now it was just a nuisance to her because it had to be brushed so often.

  “Of course you don’t want to go,” I said. We were in my chamber of the palace at Angoulême, just before our departure for Lusignan. Adèle, already wrapped in her cloak so she looked like a woolly little cocoon, watched with solemn sympathy.

  “I don’t want to go either. But we’ll just have to make the best of it. Your father and mother and Sir Hugh have decided we must go. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  I’d been in Countess Alix’s service for ten years, ever since my daughter was born and my husband died, all in the same month. The countess preferred sitting at her husband’s side in the council chamber or accompanying him on his tours of the county to playing the role of mother. She’d gladly entrusted little Isabella to me when she saw that I didn’t mind supervising the nursery or exercising some discipline. As for me, with one child already, it wasn’t much trouble to take on another.

  I’d grown fond of my high-spirited charge. When I felt I was making headway in reining in her impetuosity and hot temper I was gratified. When I didn’t I told myself I was learning the virtues of patience and persistence.

  Standing there, warm and dry in my familiar chamber, dreading the cold January journey awaiting me, I looked around. Mentally I said goodbye to the deep blue carpet; the blue-and-rose wall hangings—I’d embroidered them myself; the graceful folds of the fine wool drapery around my big bed and Adèle’s little one; the rosy glow of the fire still burning merrily on the hearth. I wouldn’t be there to watch as it died. I gave Isabella’s head one last smoothing with the brush.

  “Yes, we must make the best of it. And who knows, Isabella, we may find that Sir Hugh’s castle is quite pleasant.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. She knew perfectly well I didn’t think so at all.

  It took us six grueling days to get to Lusignan. We were a party of a dozen: the countess and myself and our daughters, another of her ladies in waiting, four men-at-arms and three muleteers. Each night we’d stop with some vassal of Count Aymer. The countess was always greeted with respect and pleasure and seemed happy to linger in the dining hall, chatting with her hosts. She was used to the rigors of long hours on horseback. Isabella and Adèle and I weren’t. All we wanted was to sup and go to bed.

  Isabella was sore and cross every night after a day of struggling with her horse. She’d been given the new one she’d longed for, a pretty little chestnut-brown mare with a black mane. Isabella called her Jolie. She seemed docile enough at the start, but soon decided she’d show who was in charge. She had an ungainly gait when she trotted, so the unhappy rider bounced up and down like a cork on a table. When she walked she’d stop to munch on whatever wisp of roadside greenery caught her eye. Sometimes she just stopped for no reason, and wouldn’t budge until the countess sent one of the men to put some sense into her. By the end of the journey it looked as though Isabella was beginning to get the upper hand, but her temper and her backside were suffering.

  We arrived at Lusignan on a dark, damp day. I thought wistfully of Aquitaine, far off to the south, where the sun was undoubtedly shining. When we looked up to the castle, perched on a high bluff above the River Vonne, we saw a lifeless pile of gray stone. Even the town that hugged the road up from the river seemed devoid of life except for a few men bent under heavy loads of hay or firewood on their backs. Trudging wearily uphill past close-packed humble wooden houses, they paid us no attention except to move to the side as we approached. Once three ragged children emerged from a narrow dark side alley to stare openmouthed at this unaccustomed procession, rattling and jangling its way up to the castle. As we passed the stone church, by far the most imposing building in the town, a black-cassocked priest came through the tall arched portal and watched. He nodded gravely when I smiled at him.

  When we reached the castle on its promontory and drew closer through the clammy mist, the huge wooden gate was securely closed. No one was there to greet us. It was midafternoon but already the sky was darkening.

  “Go knock on the postern gate,” said the countess to one of the men. The rest of us waited with dull resignation in the thickening mist. The only sound was the animals snorting and pawing the ground. The men were restive too, hoping the business here wouldn’t take long so they could get down to the village inn to dry out. They were as eager for their ale as the horses were for their oats.

  Finally the gate opened. There stood Ralph de Lusignan, Count of Eu.

  “Remember to call him Uncle,” Countess Alix whispered to Isabella.

  He didn’t strike me as a
n uncle I’d have chosen. He was short, wiry and bushy-headed, nervous and jerky in his movements. His lips were pursed together tightly and seemed frozen in an expression of disapproval. Or perhaps he had a chronic stomachache.

  He let us into the bailey, the great walled enclosure that contained the castle and its various outbuildings. When I dismounted my legs were stiff and my feet numb. Isabella was sagging with tiredness and discouragement. The castle didn’t live up to our hopes. It consisted of a row of one- and two-story stone buildings that jutted out from the west wall. At either end of the row rose a menacing tall tower. A few wooden structures dotted the grounds, stables and piggeries and storehouses and such. I smelled something horrid. I saw next to me a damp, rotting stack of hay where two optimistic goats were nosing about looking for something to eat. Everything was cheerless and untidy, nothing like the courtyard at Angoulême where the count insisted on neatness and efficiency and the countess took pride in the gardens. Adèle, standing groggily beside me, reached to take Isabella’s hand. Normally, I fear, Isabella would have snatched her hand away. Now she was too disconsolate.

  The countess had been conferring with Ralph. She beckoned to us to join them. I was proud of Isabella when she smiled at him politely and said, “I am pleased to meet you, Uncle Ralph.” He looked down at her, gave a sort of grunt, then gestured toward one of the castle buildings.

  “She’ll be lodged in there,” he growled. “We’ve cleared out three good rooms, plenty of space for her and her ladies. My wife Alice will help them get settled.” He patted Isabella’s head and she looked up at him in surprise. Then he walked back to where he’d come from, his heavy-booted feet striking the flagstones like hammer blows.

  Lady Alice emerged from the larger tower and walked to greet us, her smile broadening as she came. I felt my spirits lift in spite of myself. She was rosy-cheeked, double-chinned and brisk. Her voluminous dark-blue cloak couldn’t conceal the fact that she was considerably rounder than her husband. What hair could be seen was gray and curly. Most of it was tucked up under a smart blue silk cap.

  “Welcome, welcome to you all,” she said cheerily. “Not too nice a day to be out on the roads, but now you’re here we’ll soon have you inside and dry.” She took charge at once. In short order our belongings were brought in and stowed away.

  I looked around my new home. I saw two beds, a table, a chair, a pair of chests and a scattering of rushes on the floor. Nothing to soften the somber stone walls. A grimy candelabrum held one lone stub of a candle, unlit. The fireplace was bare. A little fading daylight came through the two narrow windows. It was even colder than outside. My depression came back.

  I walked into Isabella’s chamber, next to mine and just as dreary. Countess Alix was supervising the putting away of her daughter’s possessions while Isabella looked on glumly. Lady Alice smiled at me.

  “I’ve just been telling Isabella to cheer up. Your lodgings may not look like much yet, but we’ll soon bring in some comforts to make things cozy for you. We didn’t have much notice, I’m afraid. And once you have nice fires on the grate you’ll feel better. I’ll send a lad in to lay them now.” She bustled out.

  Out in the courtyard again, saying goodbye, Isabella lost what composure she had. She clutched at her mother’s cloak and buried her face in its folds, sobbing. “Please, please take me back with you,” she begged. “I hate it here, I don’t want to stay here.”

  The countess sighed.

  “Now Isabella, be reasonable. We’ve been over this time after time. You must realize you’re not a little girl any more. You must start thinking of yourself as a future countess. Before long you’ll meet Sir Hugh, and when you’re married he’ll take you traveling about with him. You’ll stay in castles far finer than this with plenty of lords and ladies at your beck and call.” I could almost see the visions of lording it over lesser folk dancing through Isabella’s imagination. The countess knew her daughter better than I thought. The sobs subsided.

  “Meantime, you’ll have Lady Anne and Adèle for company and Uncle Ralph and Aunt Alice will take good care of you.”

  She kissed her daughter, then signaled to a groom that she was ready to mount. He cupped his hands for her foot and she sprang gracefully up onto her saddle. Looking down, she said, “And of course we’ll come to see you. Didn’t we promise you that? Now dry your eyes, Isabella. It’s nearly sundown and we must be on our way.” And away the whole party went, to the jangling of harness, thudding of hooves and riders’ urgings of their steeds. The silence that fell as the last horse disappeared through the gate was almost palpable.

  Isabella, watching dolefully, sniffled and wiped her eyes. I put my arms around her and led her inside.

  The next morning we breakfasted with Lady Alice in the dining hall. I took heart when I felt the warmth of the fire on the hearth and saw the chunks of fresh-baked bread with big bowls of warm goat’s milk on the table. When we’d finished, I got up to take the girls back to our rooms. Alice reached up to take my hand.

  “Don’t go yet. Let’s get acquainted.”

  We sat down again.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come.” She beamed at us, and I believe she really was glad. “It gets pretty lonely here, with just Ralph and me and our retainers, rattling around in this old castle. I expect you’re finding it very different from Angoulême. I visited your mother there once, Isabella, so I know what you’re used to. And to tell the truth, since we don’t spend a great deal of time here, we haven’t done much to brighten things up. Our castle up in Normandy is much nicer. Maybe we’ll all go there for a visit, later this spring.” As she chattered on, I found it soothing. Adèle looked at her trustingly. But Isabella sat sullenly, her lower lip pushed out, refusing to be cheered up.

  “Meantime, we’ll do whatever we can. Let’s get started. What would make you feel more at home, Lady Anne?”

  “I’d like to send for some of the furnishings of our chambers at Angoulême, since it seems we’ll be here for some time.”

  “I’m sure Ralph can manage that. How about you, little one?” She turned to Adèle.

  “I’d like some honey to put in my warm milk. We always had honey at home.”

  Alice patted her on the shoulder. “So you shall have honey here. Isabella?”

  “I’d like to go home.” Isabella stared obstinately at her hands folded in her lap.

  Alice’s voice grew gentler. “I know this is quite hard for you, getting uprooted, leaving your parents and being set down in some stranger’s home. You may not believe it, but I know some of what you’re feeling, my dear.” She had a faraway look in her pale blue eyes. She sighed, then smiled.

  “Yes, once I too was very young. When my parents sent me off to live with a strange family I was only ten, much younger than you. I remember I cried myself to sleep every night. I’ve never forgotten that terrible time.”

  Her eyes came back to Isabella’s sulky face. “Now don’t give me that look, as though you think I’m inventing this to make you feel better.”

  “Were you supposed to marry someone you’d never seen, like me?” The girl sounded half skeptical, half curious.

  “No, I knew him. But I didn’t like him at all. He was a little bully, and he used to trip me up and laugh when I fell down. Then he’d pull my hair to make me get up.”

  I must have looked shocked. She said quickly, “Oh no, that wasn’t Ralph. As it turned out, the marriage never happened, though I never knew why. Years later my parents arranged the betrothal with Ralph, and he never, ever pulled my hair!” She chuckled and gave Isabella a little hug, trying to coax a smile out of her.

  She didn’t quite succeed, but the girl let herself be hugged.

  The weeks crept on. We adjusted as best we could. I discovered that beneath Ralph’s crustiness a soft heart lurked. He made dolls for Adèle. He helped Isabella with Jolie. Before long the beast became obedient as a trained monkey on a string.

  Occasionally some of Ralph’s Lusignan connections
came for a visit, usually of

  several days’ duration. This involved a great deal of loud talk and parties of hunters going out with falcons on their wrists, coming back with rabbits and small birds in their gamebags. After such an expedition, I looked forward to dinner. Normally the food we were served tended to be dreary—pasty gray stews of indeterminate meats, instead of the well-spiced roast pork and plump, steaming game pies we’d enjoyed at Angoulême.

  Alice and Ralph had never had children, so this adjustment was perhaps as hard for them as it was for us. They certainly did their best. Alice arranged for the village priest to came once a week to school the girls in Latin. She and I taught them needlework. Isabella was too impatient to stay quietly sewing for very long, but she did learn to hem a wimple passably well.

  Meantime we all wondered when we would see Hugh le Brun, the reason for our presence at Lusignan. When we heard he was on his way and might arrive before Shrove Tuesday, Isabella suddenly became full of curiosity. She asked me over and over, “What do you suppose Hugh will be like, Lady Anne?” I tired of saying, “How can I possibly guess?” and told her I expected he was short, skinny and bald with a harelip, but a kind heart. After that she let me alone and badgered Ralph and Alice to tell her about him.

  They weren’t much more help. She did manage to extract a few facts. He was about thirty-five. He had fought bravely in the Holy Land against the infidels. He was called Hugh le Brun –Hugh the Brown--because of his dark complexion and brown hair. The Lusignans had so many Hughs in the family that they had to find nicknames to tell them apart. They didn’t consider Hugh le Brun particularly handsome, though some might say different. And they themselves hadn’t seen him for five years. It was very little to go on.

  “You’ll have to wait and see for yourself,” they said.