Isabella, Queen Without a Conscience

by Rachel Bard

  “I’m glad if you are.” We smiled at each other, for the moment forgetting we weren’t alone.

  Then, though, Hugh’s anger came back. He told us the rest of his interview. John had ordered him to take a message to one of his Welsh vassals.

  “He says the information is too important to trust to an ordinary messenger. But it will take weeks for me to get there and back.”

  He looked at my father.

  “I must say, Sir Aymer, it seems strange, his sending me off like this when the time is so short to the wedding he’s so anxious for. But I can’t refuse him.” He ran his fingers through his hair so it stood up all over his head like a bushy cap. It made him look like a little boy come in from play. A very worried little boy.

  “He must have his reasons. How soon must you go?”

  “In two days’ time. But first, tonight in fact, I must go to Lezay and Fontenay to recruit some of my Lusignan relatives to accompany us. He’s already told Ralph that he must go too. King John expressly required that we take a large enough body to represent him properly.”

  My parents were taking this remarkably calmly.

  “Well, the sooner you leave the sooner we’ll see you at Angoulême,” said my mother cheerfully.

  Hugh walked slowly to the door. I had to say something. I tried to keep it light.

  “I’ll be there waiting for you, Hugh. And don’t worry. No matter how long you’re gone, we can’t hold the wedding without you.”

  He couldn’t manage a word or a smile. He sent me an anguished look and left. The door gave an ominous thud behind him.

  I was so cross at King John for sending Hugh off the very day he’d come home that I thought I’d refuse to come to the banquet in his honor and said so. But my mother told me I must absolutely be there.

  “You absence would be unforgivably rude. The King particularly asked if you would be present. It’s in our interest to please him and entertain him suitably. As long as he holds your father in his favor we could see a great rise in our fortunes. Now go up and change. You must wear something suitable for a state dinner. I think the green brocade.”

  I hated the green brocade, so stiff and heavy, like a suit of armor.

  "Ah, here is Anne. She will help you. Now I must see how the cooks are doing." She swept out of the room and on to the next task.

  An hour later I was at the foot of the winding tower stairs where I paused to tie the sash I'd taken without Anne’s notice. I was wearing a soft, supple gown, a rose-tinged gold. It had taken only a few pouts to persuade Anne that it was more suitable than the green brocade.

  "I'll be much more comfortable, because it's so loose," I said.

  "Well, perhaps. But it does seem a little snug on top."

  Anne still thought of me as a child and dressed me accordingly. I, on the other hand, had discovered that I was becoming quite shapely. At last, after what seemed like years of waiting, my body was changing in the most wondrous way. I was enchanted with it. Standing there in the shadows, I tied the sash snugly. Then I placed my hands at my waist and swept them up to brush them across my breasts. Through two layers of silk I could feel my nipples rising. I felt a delicious little shudder and smiled though I hardly knew why.

  I heard a rustle and glimpsed a dim figure emerging from the dark alcove under the stairs. It was King John. He must have been watching me. He moved swiftly and silently to stand behind me, then put his arms around me. For a moment I felt his hands on my breasts. Then he released me. I heard a long sigh.

  I was surprised, speechless, trembling.

  "I'm sorry if I startled you. I've been waiting until you came down so I could escort you to the banquet hall."

  His tone was polite and proper and told me nothing, but when his eyes met mine I felt drawn into their black depths. I remembered how intently he’d stared at me in the tavern. A new sensation—giddiness, confusion—overcame me. I looked away, and John gently took my arm.

  As we walked along the short corridor that led to the great hall he spoke calmly as though nothing had just occurred.

  “I wanted to have a moment to tell you I am sorry to have sent your fiancé off so suddenly. I know it must be distressing to you. But I assure you that it was necessary. I had to have a messenger I could trust absolutely. And Sir Hugh will return well before your wedding date. So, Lady Isabella, no hard feelings?”

  Before I could think of an answer there was a flourish of trumpets from the herald who’d been waiting to announce the King’s arrival. The double doors to the great hall stood wide open, with a page in the King’s scarlet-and-gold livery standing at either side.

  All the other guests were assembled, and all eyes were on us as we walked in. I tried to look as though it were an everyday occurrence for me to enter a grand banquet hall on the arm of the King of England. For a moment I felt almost like a queen.

  Chapter 9

  Anne Beaufort

  July 1200

  When I saw who escorted Isabella into the great hall I caught my breath in surprise: the King of England, no less! She was blushing just a little and no wonder. It was the first time in her life she’d received so much attention from such a great person. I was glad to see that she kept her poise. I glanced at her parents. They looked surprised too, but not displeased.

  The crowd in the hall remained standing and watched attentively while John led Isabella to the head table where the Count and Countess of Angoulême, the Countess of Eu, two of John’s stewards, and the Bishop of Poitiers stood waiting. He seated her at her mother’s right, then took his place between her parents. At that signal the rest of us to took our seats and neighbors murmured to each other about the lovely young girl who was being so favored by the King.

  I hadn’t seen such an impressive gathering since we’d come to Lusignan. Sir Ralph and Lady Alice didn’t entertain much. We usually took our meals in the small dining hall near the kitchen. Isabella’s mother and father must have plunged into action the minute they’d heard the King was to pay us a visit. Besides their own lords and ladies who’d come with them from Angoulême they’d somehow managed to assemble a dozen or so Lusignan vassals from the area. Their crowning achievement was the presence of the Bishop of Poitiers. There was, in addition, a large contingent of John’s knights. We must have been at least two score in all, and everybody decked out in such finery that the dingy old hall took on a most festive look.

  As we settled ourselves, all eyes were on our royal guest. King John was a study in dark elegance. He wore a black cape embroidered in gold over his black velvet tunic. A massive gold chain with a ruby-studded cross hung about his neck. The jewels in his crown glinted and sparkled, reflecting the light from the tall candelabra that were lined up around the room. His hair was short and dark. His pointed little black beard gave his face a triangular look. He reminded me of an alert mouse as his eyes darted about surveying the room.

  His companions at the table had dressed in such a variety of brilliant colors that the King’s somber splendor stood out even more. Lady Alice in her scarlet gown was, fortunately, several places removed from the bishop in his ruby-red cope or their combination might have blinded the beholder. Sir Aymer was all in mulberry. Even the Countess of Eu had been transformed from our familiar Aunt Alice into a well-rounded vision in sapphire-blue with rows and rows of pearls at neck and hem. She wore a countess’s tiara perched on her gray curls. Her round face beamed with goodwill. Amid all this ostentation Isabella, my unaccountably sweet and demure Isabella, in her pale gold-rose gown, shone like a rare pearl among gaudy gems.

  I found myself surrounded by strangers except for Lady Angeline Clafond, who was on my right. She was an old friend from my days in the countess’s service.

  “What an excellent view we have from here,” she said. We were just a few seats down one of the two long tables that had been set up at right angles to the head table. “And how your Isabella has changed! I’d hardly have known her. She’s quite the young woman, and so beautifully dr
essed. My compliments, Anne. You’ve done wonders with our awkward duckling.”

  “I can’t take all the credit. Lady Isabella is developing a definite fashion sense on her own.” I’d noticed the sash at once.

  It became difficult to converse then because servingmen were tramping in bearing heavy platters and bowls and thumping them down on the tables. First came great tureens of steaming lentil soup, which they ladled into the silver bowls at our places. I’d hardly managed half my bowl when I had to push it aside because mountains of food were being heaped on my plate: roast venison; a fish pudding swimming in a sauce of wine, ginger and mustard; and a slab of simmered beef. Not to mention an onion pie, thick slices of fresh-baked bread and wine goblets kept filled by assiduous stewards.

  It was a relief when entertainers appeared and one could pause to draw breath. A trio of musicians—vielle, tabor and flute—in patchwork red and yellow danced merrily into the hall and set themselves up in the space between the two long tables. They made up in volume what they lacked in musical ability. After ten minutes of hearing a flutist shrilling and a drummer pounding away not an arm’s length from my ear, I was glad when they strolled on around the hall.

  Devoting myself to my plate again, I did my best with the venison and the fish pudding but couldn’t face the beef. It was in a sauce with a good deal more garlic than I care for. I noted that Lady Angeline’s appetite, too, had flagged. We looked at each other ruefully. The knight across from us, who’d cleaned his own plate in short order and mopped up every drop of gravy with chunks of bread, eyed our leftovers hungrily. I gestured to him to help himself. “Better me than the hounds in the corner!” he cried and happily complied. Perhaps King John kept his men on short rations when they were on the march.

  I looked up at the head table from time to time, and saw that though Countess Alix tried to make conversation with the King, she couldn’t get much response and gave up. He was more interested in attacking his venison and keeping the page at his shoulder busy replenishing his goblet. Sometimes he spoke a few words to the count on his right. Once I saw him lean forward to look past Lady Alix to where Isabella sat. I thought I saw him catch her eye, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Finally the clatter of knives on trenchers and silver platters died down. When most of the guests were nibbling on tarts and sweetmeats, King John signaled to the trumpeter who’d been standing at the door. He advanced into the room and blew a blast that immediately silenced the chatter. John rose. Even with his crown he looked short. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the far wall somewhat above the head of the last knight at the foot of the table. His voice was rather high and didn’t carry well. However, his words were as regal as one could wish.

  “Good people of Lusignan and Angoulême, we are honored that you have come here to do honor to us. We value your allegiance to the crown of England. We will not forget you when we have successfully established our claims to the lands in France that King Philip withholds from us.”

  He looked at Sir Aymer and Lady Alix beside him, and down the table to Lady Alice, nodding at each. “We are grateful to the Count and Countess of Angoulême and the Countess of Eu for their hospitality. We are only sorry that two of our vassals who should be here and receive our gratitude as well are absent: Hugh de Lusignan, Count of La Marche, and his brother Ralph, Count of Eu. It was necessary to dispatch them on urgent royal business. However, we fully expect them to return in a few weeks’ time. Then on August 26 the wedding of Sir Hugh and Lady Isabella will take place at Angoulême. This is a union that we welcome, uniting as it does the houses of two of our most distinguished vassals.

  “Perhaps we will see many of you there, because we plan to attend the wedding after finishing our tour of Aquitaine.”

  And that was that. Preceded by his herald and his pages, he strode out of the hall, which began to buzz with conjecture and discussion.

  “What business could have been so important that Sir Hugh couldn’t stay to be congratulated on his upcoming wedding?” Lady Angeline wondered.

  “I have no idea. I only learned of it two hours ago. Poor Isabella was very upset. But she seems to have gotten over it.”

  “Well, no matter what they say, I thought King John looked and acted like a strutting little fop. I saw his brother King Richard once and this one can’t compare.”

  The gathering was getting rowdy. The Englishmen were shouting at each other. Pewter goblets crashed to the floor and pools of wine spread among the rushes. Sir Aymer looked pained, perhaps as much at what this was costing him as at the unseemly din. Lady Alix and Aunt Alice rose, gathered up Isabella, and left. It was time for me to go too. I said goodbye to Lady Angeline and found Adèle with the children near the foot of the table. We made our way through servants bringing more wine, a pair of knights threatening each other with dire fates—“Just draw your sword and say that!”—and a small pack of dogs snarling over bones that had been tossed in their midst. My head ached from having taken more wine and food than I liked and from a vague uneasiness about what King John might be up to.

  Once we were back in Angoulême everybody became caught up in the preparations for the wedding. Isabella was overjoyed to be home again. She reveled in her new status: bride‑to‑be of the noble Hugh de Lusignan. Soon her room and mine were overflowing with gowns in every state of preparation, lace petticoats, silk capes, furlined cloaks. Seamstresses came daily to stitch and gossip and order the girl to stand still while she tried on their creations.

  As the weeks passed Isabella became more anxious about Hugh. She’d ask me or anyone else who would listen when we thought he’d come home. Nobody, of course, had a clue.

  “At least he could send us a message,” she’d complain.

  Sometimes she’d run out to the city gates, five minutes from the castle door, and stay for an hour looking down the long road that climbed up from the river. Then she’d come back dejected. “The only messengers I saw were my father’s men, going out with his invitations to the festivities.” Then she’d brighten. “Well, if he doesn’t get here in time, we’ll just have to put off the ceremony.”

  One afternoon, I remember it was August 16, just ten days before the wedding, I was called to the count’s chamber. He and the countess were looking very worried.

  “Lady Anne, thank you for coming. We’ve had some very bad news and we want you to be with us when we tell Isabella. She’ll be here shortly.”

  Before he could say more, in she ran. I could tell from her face that she was hoping they were going to tell her Hugh was on the way. The count took both her hands, then put his arms around her. This was most untypical of his usual role as the stern parent. I think Isabella could tell something was dreadfully wrong. She moved out of his embrace and looked with apprehension at him and her mother.

  “What is it, father? Why have you called me?”

  “My daughter, you must be brave. We’ve just had tragic news. I won’t mince words. Your fiancé, Hugh, was attacked by a band of brigands in Normandy. He fought bravely but he fell. He is dead.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, then clasped her head in her hands and fell in a heap on the floor. Her mother and I both ran to help her up. Lady Alix led her to a chair and knelt beside her, smoothing her hair, murmuring to her. But the girl was sobbing now, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying.

  “My poor little daughter. This is a shock to all of us but so much worse for you. We are so sorry, so terribly sorry. There, there, Isabella, let me dry your tears. My dear, I know that now you may think you’ll never get over it, but believe me, you will in time.”

  Isabella shook her head violently back and forth. She was gasping, speechless, staring at her mother.

  “Now let Lady Anne take you to your room. She’ll sit with you until you sleep.” I helped Isabella to her feet. She always wanted to do what her mother wished, and let me lead her away.

  “I’ll have them bring up a bowl of warm milk and honey,” said the countess.

&n
bsp; I said, “Yes, that might be a good idea. And also would you ask cook to make up a draught of motherwort?” I remembered how I used to give a younger Isabella motherwort tea when she had a temper tantrum and needed calming. It might help her sleep.

  This was no tantrum, though. This was a wound to the heart.

  Chapter 10

  John

  1200

  When I arrived in Bordeaux toward the middle of August I was pleased with myself. My progression around Aquitaine had been productive. I believed I’d done well in persuading the nobility to be well disposed to their new king and to stand ready to support England if war should break out. I’d done just what my mother had told me I must do.

  When I’d seen her in Poitiers the month before, she’d impressed on me how important it was to woo these independent, opinionated local lords. She sat on her throne in the great audience chamber in the Poitiers palace, her chin in the air and her fierce blue eyes fixed on me: Queen Eleanor at her most didactic. I stood before her, trying to erase the memory of all the times I’d been called before her as a naughty little boy and lectured on the duties of a prince of the blood.

  “John, you must never let your attention stray from your vassals in Aquitaine. They might go off in any direction unless we keep reminding them of their allegiance to the Angevin kings.”

  She’d never had much faith in my potential as a strong ruler in the pattern of her husband and my older brothers. But now I was the only son left and she was determined to make me measure up. I, for my part, was just as determined to show her how masterful I could be. Between us, perhaps we would make something of me.

  I was glad to visit Bordeaux. It was a city where one could feel at home, what with the stout English ships in the harbor and English merchants walking the streets talking about the wines they were loading onto the ships. My main purpose here was to call on Archbishop Hélie, a delicate mission. I wasn’t sure how he’d receive me. I needed the sanction of the church for my wedding to Isabella. I hoped this powerful churchman would stand by me.