Isabella, Queen Without a Conscience

by Rachel Bard

  Chapter 4

  Hugh le Brun

  1200

  Early in 1200 I found myself at Nôtre-Dame Cathedral in Rouen to meet King John of England for the first time.

  My liege lord, Richard the Lionheart, had died the year before. Now his younger brother was on the throne and had summoned me to renew my oath of fealty to England’s kings.

  Like all those who’d fought at Richard’s side I mourned his passing. He’d been a leader any knight would be proud to follow: tall, handsome, openhearted and brave. I hoped that John would prove to be the same.

  He received me in a splendid hall in the cathedral’s Tour St. Romaine. Morning light poured through soaring arched windows that pierced the thick walls. The room was so spacious, and the vaulted ceiling rose to such dizzying heights, that the group of men standing by a window toward the other end seemed dwarfed. One wore a crown. He was rather short and stocky, and bedecked with so many gold chains and jeweled rings that I’d have thought they’d make him stoop under the weight. As I drew closer I saw that he was dark-complexioned, with black hair and a neat little pointed black beard. So this was King John.

  He walked to a gilded throne in the center of the room and seated himself. His courtiers and I followed and stood before him. There were no other chairs. One of his men whispered in his ear.

  “Sir Hugh de Lusignan,” he muttered. It was less a greeting than a reminder to himself of who I was. Perhaps he’d been receiving so many vassals that he had trouble keeping them straight.

  “My liege,” I replied.

  “Sir Hugh, we welcome you to Rouen. Normandy is the original homeland of the English kings and has been favored by them ever since my noble ancestor William of Normandy conquered England, a hundred and thirty years ago. Since Rouen is and has always been the capital city of the Duchy of Normandy, it is appropriate that we receive our French vassals here.” He was giving me a history lesson I didn’t need. I decided John was not at ease making conversation and made speeches instead. I was sure he’d made this one many times before.

  “It is indeed appropriate, my liege. I know that your brother Richard cared deeply about Rouen and directed that his heart be buried in this very cathedral. It is a tribute to his memory that as his successor you have chosen to receive your vassals here.”

  He reddened, half rose and raised a fist. I thought he was going to strike me. Two of his courtiers stepped forward, whether to join in the attack or to restrain him I don’t know.

  John sank back on his velvet cushions and glowered at me. “What I do here today has nothing to do with my brother Richard, his heart or any tribute to his memory. I am my own man. Remember that. Now shall we get back to the reason you have come? Are you prepared to swear allegiance to your overlord, King John of England?” His face was still mottled and I could hear his quick breathing as he tried to regain control of himself.

  “I am, my liege.”

  “Then kneel.”

  I knelt. John held out his hands and I placed mine between them. His hands were warm and trembled slightly. His burst of temper must have pervaded his whole body. I looked up into his black, unreadable eyes.

  “I, Hugh de Lusignan, swear to serve you, John of England, as my lawful king and to forswear allegiance to any other lord or king, from this day forward. I swear to do homage to you for the lands I hold under your suzerainty and to defend them against your enemies.”

  “I accept your oath, Sir Hugh.” He released my hands and gestured that I should stand. “Sir William, our steward, will acquaint you with our further wishes.” Without another look he rose, turned his back and left. His short fur cape swung behind him like an angry tiger’s tail.

  Sir William, a straight-standing soldierly man, told me that John wished to grant me the overlordship to the county of La Marche, to the east of our Lusignan lands.

  “The King is aware that as leader of the clan of Lusignans you command a considerable body of his subjects. He is confident that you and your allies will do all in your power to maintain the peace and insure the loyalty of his vassals in La Marche.”

  I was at first astonished, then gratified, then amused.

  “So I am now Count Hugh of La Marche. Well, King John clearly grasps the means of making sure his vassals will remain loyal to him. But I can accept a bribe as happily as the next man. Thank you, Sir William, and please convey my thanks to the King.”

  We went straight to the conditions of my countship. Sir William wasted no words, and our business was concluded with dispatch.

  Still trying to take in what had happened so swiftly, I walked out from the austere quiet of the cathedral into the teeming, noisy streets of Rouen. It was midmorning and cold and damp. Rain or worse would come soon. I pulled my cloak closer about me and my hat down over my ears. When I entered the cathedral square I realized it was market day. The place was crowded with stalls and tables laden with all kinds of wares from woolen hose to earthen pots to wheaten loaves. Citizens were pouring in from every side, in a hurry to buy and sell before the low-lying clouds let down their freezing deluge. I forced my way through the crowds, ignoring pleas to buy a fine fresh fish, a wedge of goat cheese, a leather jerkin, a basket of wrinkled little apples. I was briefly tempted by a huge pot of steaming soup, sending out rich aromas of onions and herbs, but I was more interested in starting homeward.

  Pushing on, I smiled when I saw one enterprising fellow who’d led his brindled cow with her bulging udder into the center of the throngs. “Here’s milk for all, buy it now, couldn’t be fresher, straight from the cow,” he bellowed. My smile changed to a curse when I stepped into a puddle of foul-smelling dung the beast had just deposited on the cobbles. I lunged to avoid a man who was flourishing a squawking chicken that he held by the feet, then banged my shin on a cart of enormous yellow rutabagas.

  I escaped as fast as I could, found my squire and our horses and set out southward. I’d had enough of cities, kings and turnips. All I wanted was to be out of Normandy and back in my familiar Poitou. I knew my brother Ralph was expecting me at our family castle at Lusignan.

  But I couldn’t go directly. Thanks to King John’s largesse I had to make a quick detour through La Marche to establish myself with some of my new vassals. I sent a message to Ralph about the reasons for this change in plans. In a way I was glad of the delay. I knew that at Lusignan I’d meet for the first time my fiancée, Isabella of Angoulême. I viewed the prospect of marriage without much enthusiasm.

  My betrothal to Isabella had taken place the year before. It was a business matter, no more. When Count Aymer and I came to an agreement he didn’t volunteer much information about his daughter, beyond the fact that she was only thirteen. Betrothal could take place at once, but the marriage should wait a while.

  “She’s been well brought up,” he said, “and she’s generally respectful to her elders.” (Among whom he may have included me, for I was thirty-five.) I inferred from his reticence that she was probably no beauty, perhaps even ill-looking. That didn’t disturb me. I wasn’t looking for a love match. All I hoped for was an amenable wife who could produce enough sons and daughters to insure the succession to our joint lands of Angoulême, Lusignan and now La Marche.

  By early March I was home. When I walked into Lusignan Castle’s great hall, windblown, damp and weary, Ralph seemed glad to see me, though with Ralph you couldn’t always tell. His habitual expression was one of melancholy disillusionment. Still, he squeezed out a thin-lipped smile and clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Come into the dining hall when you’ve put yourself to rights, Hugh. I’ll have them stir up the fire and warm us some wine. And shall I send down to ask Father Etienne to join us? He’s been pestering me to tell him when you arrived.”

  “By all means.” Father Etienne, the village priest, had taught me my Latin and heard my childish confessions. Over the years I’d come to respect his judgment as much as I valued his friendship.

  He arrived just as I’d settled before the
fire in dry hose and tunic and Ralph had sent for the wine and bowls of figs and nuts. The priest folded his long frame into a comfortable arrangement with his legs stretched out toward the flames and sighed with content. In my home he could cease playing the part of shepherd of souls and be as worldly as he pleased. Etienne’s interests stretched far beyond the little town of Lusignan.

  He raised his pewter mug in salute and asked, “So, Sir Count, must we bow down before you, now that you’re master of everything from the River Vienne to the River Cher? And to the south all the way to Aquitaine’s borders, if I’m not mistaken? Did you find your new vassals suitably respectful?”

  “Not so much respectful as indifferent. None of them seemed inclined to pick a fight with me or anyone else. They don’t much care who claims their fealty, as long as they’re left alone. But I’ve been away five years. Tell me what’s new hereabouts.”

  Etienne pursed his lips and scratched his tonsured head. “Well, three aged parishioners were seriously dampened last week when the rain poured right through the church ceiling. They’ve taken to their beds with ague, fever and outrage. I called on them and told them I was sure a generous benefactor would soon be here and then we could manage a new roof. Is that the kind of news you had in mind?”

  “No,” I grinned, “but I’m sure the benefactor will be happy to oblige. Ralph, surely you can think of something a bit more momentous.”

  “I can,” said Ralph. “At least it’s been momentous for Alice and me to have a young person and her ladies staying with us these past two months, turning up you never know where all over the castle and grounds. As you know, your intended, young Isabella of Angoulême, is living here. I expect Alice will bring her in presently.”

  “Yes, I suppose it’s time we got acquainted.”

  My expectations being so modest, I was wonderstruck when my sister-in-law brought Isabella into the room. I had just raised a flagon of wine to fill my goblet, and I almost spilled it.

  “Here is our ward, Isabella of Angoulême,” said Alice matter-of-factly. “Isabella, this is Sir Hugh, come to see us at last.”

  This was not the shy plain child I’d expected. Tall for her age, slim, she was more like a budding young woman than an awkward little girl. Her fair hair, with glints of gold, fell in soft ringlets to frame a perfectly oval face. There was the merest hint of curiosity in the slightly parted lips and the intent gaze from her eyes, blue as cornflowers. For half a dozen heartbeats we took stock of each other.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she said. She held out her hand. I rose to take it and quickly dropped it, I felt so awkward and confused.

  For the first time in my life I was smitten by female beauty. Since my brief early marriage and my young wife’s death, I’d known many women, as any soldier does, but none I wanted to know better after one or two encounters. In an instant all that had changed.

  During the next few weeks Ralph and I surveyed the walls and fortifications, discussed repairs and improvements and conferred with stonemasons and carpenters. As the days passed, though, I found myself wanting to spend more time with Isabella. Oddly enough, we became comfortable with each other almost at once, in spite of the difference in our ages. Maybe we both found something that had been missing in our lives. I’d had no younger brothers and no sisters at all. Isabella was an only child. She’d had to learn to depend on her own resources, and had acquired more maturity than you’d expect in a fourteen-year-old. Yet I soon found her moods could change as quickly and unexpectedly as a butterfly flits from flower to flower.

  After I’d been there about a week, on a rare day of brilliant sunshine, we went riding. The sky had never been so blue and anything seemed possible. We walked our horses down the winding road through the town. When we passed the old church, I stopped and told Isabella, “That’s where I was christened.”

  She surveyed it and announced, “Well, I was christened in the Cathedral of Saint-Pierre at Angoulême, and so was my father before me. It’s ever so much bigger and handsomer!”

  When we reached the Vonne, Isabella, who had been riding sidesaddle as a lady should, swung her leg over the saddle in order to ride astride. She looked at me as though expecting a protest. By now I knew better. She would do what she would do. And thus, more evenly matched, we had a good run on the road that ran beside the narrow, swift-flowing stream. We were both full of high spirits and shouted at each other as we raced. I won by only half a length.

  Isabella was an excellent horsewoman, I was glad to see. She had a sure hand with the reins, and was absolutely fearless. However, she clearly didn’t like coming in second.

  As we slowed our horses to a walk, she was scowling.

  “I would have won if you hadn’t swerved in front of me back at the last turn. I couldn’t make this stubborn horse go fast enough to head you off.”

  “Never mind, Isabella. Ralph told me he’d helped you train the horse to mind you better. Maybe now she’s ready to be given her head more. Next time she finds herself in a race we’ll see what we can do to liven her up.”

  We rode back along the lane that led up the side hill to the castle gates. It was just wide enough so we could ride side by side.

  “Well, it was a good gallop, anyway, Hugh. I do love to ride! But I hardly ever had anyone to ride with at home except one of the grooms.”

  “You haven’t told me much about your life at Angoulême.”

  “Well, mostly, I was lonely. I didn’t see much of my parents. They were too busy, or off somewhere. I didn’t have anyone to play with except Adèle, Lady Anne’s daughter.”

  “Maybe I can be your playmate,” I ventured. She looked at me quickly to see if I was joking. We were still feeling each other out, like a pair of dancers trying to establish a common rhythm. “I mean it. It’s a while before we’ll be married, but in the meantime I think we can be good friends.”

  She bent her head and her long hair hid her face. I wondered if I’d alarmed her by speaking of marriage. We hadn’t mentioned it yet. Then she looked up, brushing her hair aside, and her face was transformed, joyful. Her words poured out like water released from a dam.

  “I’ve never really had a friend. I was so worried about whether I’d like you. Nobody would tell me anything about what you were really like, not Uncle Ralph or Aunt Alice or my father. I supposed they all knew things about you they didn’t think I should know. So I had all these ideas about a big old ogre and you’re not like that at all. I’m so glad!”

  “I didn’t know what you’d be like either. I knew I’d have to get along with you, no matter what. But I never dreamed you’d be so…so…pretty. And so nice!” My words seemed meager, compared with what I was feeling. I reached out to take her hand and we rode along a few minutes quietly.

  I don’t know what her thoughts were, but mine were not the lustful ones you might expect. I wasn’t fantasizing about the time when she’d be old enough for me to bed her. No, I was wondering at my good luck in being the guardian of this exquisite being who had fallen into my hands like an exotic, fragile little bird. All I wanted was to protect her and make her happy.

  From then on we never lacked for things to talk about. For one thing, she was curious about my soldiering. On a wet day when we couldn’t go out riding, we sat at the table after breakfast for an hour or so while she asked question after question. She wanted to know where and when I’d gone into battle and whether I liked it.

  “Not especially. It’s just something one must do. Though when I was with Richard in the Holy Land…”

  “King Richard of England? I knew you’d been to Palestine, but I didn’t know you’d been on King Richard’s Crusade. How heroic!”

  I’d never felt much like a hero, but seeing her wide-eyed admiration, I warmed to the role.

  “Yes, I was in his army and a finer leader I never hope to have. He knew how to fight, and he kept all his men as determined as he was to drive the wicked unbelievers out from the holy places.”


  “And did you really drive them out?”

  I had to remind myself that when all this happened, Isabella would have been only five. Though tales of the Third Crusade had spread all over Europe at the time, it was a whole new story to her.

  “Not completely, more’s the pity. We couldn’t take Jerusalem. Richard was brave but he wasn’t foolish. Old Saladin was a fiendishly clever enemy. He’d poisoned the wells for miles around, and he’d burnt the farms and orchards. So our army would have perished of hunger and thirst before ever reaching the city.”

  “So you all just gave up?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t as disgraceful as it sounds. Richard and Saladin signed a truce. It was really quite fair. We Christians could keep control of the cities we’d taken, and pilgrims would be free to go worship in Jerusalem.”

  “Then what happened?”

  I took a handful of raisins from the bowl before us and chewed, remembering the flurry of packing up, the mixed feelings of relief and disappointment that the Crusade was over.

  “We all came home. Richard promised us that we’d go back, but last year he died.”

  “Yes, I know. And John is now King of England.”

  “He is, and my liege lord. We’ll see what kind of warrior he’ll be. I doubt if he’ll lead any crusades.”

  “Why not? Isn’t he brave enough?”

  “I don’t know, but in any case he’s too busy right here. He and King Philip are fighting about the English lands in France.”

  “Yes, my parents have told me about that. They said even our Angoulême might be fought over. So what will happen, Hugh? Will John win, or Philip?”

  She was supporting her chin with her clasped hands, watching me intently, as though I knew the answers to all the world’s questions. I’ll confess, I enjoyed being the schoolmaster. Nobody had ever hung on my words as she did, and I loved looking at her, alert, taking it all in, her eyes fixed on mine.

  “We’ll see. There’s a truce right now, but it’s not likely to last long. Neither Philip nor John trusts the other farther than you can blow a feather. Sooner or later, one of them will start the whole thing over again. But there’s this to fall back on: when you and I are married, we’ll have a domain bigger than King Philip’s little patch of France, and we won’t have to be afraid of anyone who challenges us, English or French.”