by Rachel Bard
“I must leave you now, sweetheart. I’ll send the women in with your things. Get a little rest because I fear our guests will be here soon. But we’ll soon be rid of that bothersome old onetime queen. And then, my sweeting, we’ll be all alone here, just the two of us.”
When John left I poured myself a cup of cool water from the silver ewer on Queen Eleanor’s marble-topped table. Then I climbed onto Queen Eleanor’s bed. Rest had never been so welcome. I watched drowsily as two servants brought in my traveling chest and Anne told them where to put it. The last thought that came to me was the memory of the disturbing dream. But how silly. There was nothing wrong with being happy. And I was married to a king, to John, who really did love me, and whom I was getting to know better every day. How could I not be happy?
Chapter 14
Isabella
September 1200
When John escorted me to the dining hall later that afternoon, I felt like skipping.
“Just think, John, this will be my first official appearance as your queen!”
He didn’t answer but tightened his clasp of my hand and half-smiled. John didn’t smile very often or very broadly and hardly ever in company. But I was coming to recognize the look on his face when it was just the two of us and he looked at me as though we inhabited our own little world where nobody else could intrude.
In spite of what John had said I’d been hoping the rest of the castle would display at least some of the elegance of Queen Eleanor’s boudoir. But the dining hall was cramped, with a huge wooden table occupying most of the space. A tarnished silver candelabrum lacking a few candles hung over it, giving off a dim light. From the cold hearth came the smell of stale ashes. Some effort had been made to spruce things up: a white linen cloth on the table and a silver goblet at each place. The floor appeared to have been recently swept.
John barked an order to a servant to bring more candles and to light a fire.
Two women and a man were standing near the window. A sunbeam wandered in and illuminated the face of the younger woman. This must be Queen Berengaria. Her face was pearl-smooth and unlined. Even from across the room I caught the serenity of her expression and the steady gaze of gray-green eyes. She was dressed all in white—widow’s garb, I knew. A wimple concealed most of her hair but on her forehead two curves of dusky brown showed, like the wings of a wood thrush. A delicate jeweled tiara rested on the snowy wimple. She was certainly not the grasping crone I’d been expecting.
“Will I ever look so queenly?” I asked myself, brushing back an unruly lock. I was jealous, but at the same time I wanted to know this woman better.
John was greeting her. I heard her introduce her companions, Sir Hugh de Vendeuvre and his wife Charlotte, who had come with her from Troyes. They turned to me and Berengaria quickly stepped forward and took my hand.
“And you are Queen Isabella. They’ve been saying that John had found the prettiest girl in France for his bride. I see he did indeed!”
“Thank you, you are very kind,” I murmured.
Berengaria turned to John. “I congratulate you, brother.”
His eyes had darted between us during this brief exchange. He grunted what might have been a thank-you, then said, “Well, shall we seat ourselves?”
Anne Beaufort, two of John’s knights and a churchman had joined us. Berengaria was on John’s left and I was on his right. In spite of the candles and the fire, it was hardly a festive scene. Servants brought platters of roast pork and fowl, bowls of stewed turnips and cabbage, apple tarts and heavy puddings, more fitting for December than August. The guests spoke in subdued tones if they spoke at all. John did nothing to encourage an easier ambience. I was too shy to initiate any conversation.
I was glad when my neighbor, Charlotte de Vendeuvre, addressed me. She complimented me on my gown and my complexion. She asked how I managed to look so fresh in spite of the heat, but didn’t wait for an answer. She even found favorable things to say about the castle: “So solid! Such high walls! One feels quite safe here.”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s far better fortified than any castle I’ve seen.”
“I was so privileged that Queen Berengaria asked me to come with her! We’re here to talk about her inheritance, you know.”
“I know, the King told me. That was why we hurried here from Angoulême.”
“Yes, well, my husband has been helping the Queen compose her claim, and King John has sent word that he’d settle it all if we’d come. So we came.”
She paused to chew daintily on a pigeon leg, dropped the tiny bones on her plate and picked up another.
I was curious about this worldly woman. “Do you travel much? Have you been to Paris?”
“No, and I long to go. King Philip came to see us in Troyes once, though. But he left after only a half-goblet of wine and a bit of fish. A rather meager man, King Philip. Ought to eat more. Now your husband, I see, has a proper respect for his dinner.”
I turned to see John eating stolidly, as though it were his duty to dispose of all that was put before him. I’d already learned he wasn’t one for table talk. He didn’t stint himself on wine, but it seemed to make him morose rather than merry.
Hugh de Vendeuvre, on his wife’s other side, had gotten her attention so I could relax and look around the table. Berengaria was deep in conversation with the bishop. The two knights were eating and drinking as though it were their last meal and exchanging what must have been lewd stories, judging from their muffled snickers.
I looked at John and saw him staring at me. He leaned to kiss me on the cheek. I rather liked that. Let the world see that the King of England has married for love.
He plucked a plump grape from a silver bowl and asked, “Have you tried these, my little one? They are delicious.” He put the grape in my mouth and let his fingers slide gently over my tongue, then withdrew them and sealed my lips with a kiss. I felt again that strange tremor of excitement and unease. He drew back and watched me as I swallowed the grape. I glanced around, but the others looked unconcerned if they’d noticed at all. I drew a deep breath. John went back to mopping the gravy on his plate with a chunk of bread. When it was polished clean he stood up and raised his goblet, bowing slightly to Berengaria.
“To your health, sister. You and your friends are welcome at Chinon. Tomorrow we will meet with Bishop John and my chancellor to go over the settlement I am prepared to make. Until then, let my people know if you desire anything, and sleep well.” He strode from the room. I thought I heard sighs of relief from some in the company.
I rose and walked around the table to Berengaria.
“It’s still early. Will you come visit me in my chamber? Then you’ll see that not all the castle is as dreary as where we are now. Or perhaps your lodgings are pleasing?”
“Well, pleasing may not be quite the word. They’re adequate, shall we say.” She sounded amused but tolerant. We walked out to the barren courtyard, still baking though the sun had sunk an hour ago below the battlements on the west. As we walked along I explained I was staying in Queen Eleanor’s chamber.
“Then I can believe you when you say it’s not like the rest of the castle. From what I know of her she loves her comfort.”
“Do you know her well? I’ve never met her, though I hope I will soon now that I’m her daughter-in-law.”
“I feel I know her well, though I seldom see her now. But she arranged my marriage and we traveled together to Sicily so I could go with Richard on the Crusade.”
We entered my cool, dim room. Someone had lit the tall candles, and the gold wreaths on Eleanor’s chest reflected the mellow glow. Berengaria looked around in admiration and stood by a window to make the most of a faint breeze.
“John said his mother had demanded the walls be broken through so she could have these windows.” Berengaria smiled but didn’t comment. I urged her to sit in the thronelike chair. I poured each of us a cup of water, then perched on the bed.
“So you had an arranged marriage? I did
too, though Queen Eleanor didn’t have anything to do with it. It was just between my parents and John.”
“I’ve heard it was rather sudden.”
“Yes, it was. I was supposed to marry Hugh le Brun of Lusignan, you know. But after he was killed, and after I got over feeling so dreadfully upset about it, my parents told me John had asked for my hand. I was sort of in a daze and I thought, why not? Since I can’t have Hugh I might as well be a queen. And do you know, now I’m beginning to enjoy myself?” I smiled at her, feeling shy at having spoken so freely.
She looked at me in bewilderment.
“But Isabella…” She stopped, and there was such shock on her face that I couldn’t imagine what was the matter. She was silent, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Isabella, I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this. But you’ll find out sooner or later. There’s been a grievous misunderstanding. Hugh de Lusignan is not dead. We saw him with his brother at Tours on our way here. He was very much alive three days ago.”
I stared at her in incomprehension. Then I shrieked, “They lied to me, they lied! All of them lied!” and I fell back on the bed, wailing. I saw Berengaria standing over me, wringing her hands and wondering what to do.
Anne, who must have heard me cry out, ran in. Through my sobs, as though from far away in a dream, I heard Berengaria tell her what had happened.
“I’m so dreadfully sorry I told her. What had I been thinking of? What can I do?”
“No, no, I’m glad you did. I’ve wanted to but I didn’t dare.” Anne put her arms around me and murmured, “There, there, my pet.”
“I’ll go then. It’s best for her to be with you, not a stranger.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her through many a stormy time. But she didn’t deserve this. Of course she takes it hard.” She smoothed my hair. I could imagine it was my mother’s cool, soft hands comforting me. Then I remembered how my mother had deceived me.
I heard, clearly, Anne’s words as Berengaria left.
“Don’t feel it’s your fault. It’s John who will have to answer for this.”
Chapter 15
John
September 1200
The morning after the dinner with Berengaria and her party I carefully considered what to wear. I settled on one of my favorite tunics, a finespun blue wool, then threw a cloak of blue silk about my shoulders. I held up the small polished-bronze mirror I always carry with me and admired the way the gold cross around my neck gleamed against the deep blue.
“An excellent choice, my liege,” said my man Albert while he adjusted the drape of the cloak. “You look very royal but not ostentatious.”
I looked at him suspiciously. Was this his veiled implication that he thought I usually wore too many jewels? Never mind. I accepted the compliment. In my nervous apprehension I needed all the reassurance I could get. And it wasn’t because of my bothersome sister-in-law and her infernal demands for her inheritance. No, it was Isabella I dreaded meeting.
The previous evening while I was planning how to put Berengaria off, Lady Anne had knocked on my door. She told me bluntly about Isabella’s discovery that Hugh was still alive.
“She must have an explanation. She is suffering grievously.”
I could almost feel the heat of her barely controlled anger. She went on.
“I’ve known of this subterfuge ever since Countess Alix told me, so I could keep Isabella from learning the truth accidentally. Now it’s up to you, my lord, to mend the situation. If you can.”
This was insolence. I half rose, ready to threaten her with some punishment and order her from the room. But she wasn’t subject to me. She left, and I sat glowering.
Though I’d known Isabella was bound to find out some day, I’d hoped it would be much later and I could tell her myself. I wasn’t prepared. What would I say? At least I had all night to think about it. By morning I had my story well in hand. In the dining hall I found Isabella at the table, between Lady Anne and Adèle. Lady Anne was urging Isabella to eat. When I entered, she rose, took Adèle’s hand, and left without a word or look in my direction.
My bride’s eyes were red and puffy and her face looked drawn, as though she had not slept. I sat down beside her and took her hand, but she angrily took it back.
“Isabella, I’ve just heard the news. I see that you’ve heard too. I couldn’t be more surprised.” Her face was a blank. Her blue eyes were wide and unblinking. Her lips trembled.
“The man who brought me the story of Hugh’s ambush and death was one of my most trusted informants. I had no reason to disbelieve him. He must have been bribed by some enemy for who knows what reason. You may be sure I’ll track him down and get to the bottom of this. It was a monstrous and cruel deception.”
She looked down and began toying with the bowl of oat porridge before her, lifting spoonfuls up and letting them drop back into the bowl. I was desperate to have her believe me.
“I’d never have suggested our marriage if I’d thought Hugh was alive. But I had every reason to think he’d been killed. We all did. So when I asked your parents for your hand, it was in good faith. When you finally consented to be mine, I could hardly believe my good fortune.” That part at least was true. She pushed the bowl aside and narrowed her eyes to scrutinize my face as one would a page of writing, trying to read some meaning in it. I took heart.
“Tragic as this news is, we’re man and wife now. You are my queen and I love you dearly. Nothing can change that. I think you’ve come to care for me too, at least a little. Am I right?”
I ventured to take her hand again, and this time she let me hold it.
“We mustn’t look back, my love. Soon, just as I promised you, we’ll go to England and you will be crowned my queen at Westminster.”
Her face was less closed. She didn’t smile, but she was listening. I sensed I was winning.
“Remember, Isabella, when you told me on our wedding day that you were glad to be Queen of England instead of Countess of La Marche?”
At last she spoke, angrily. “Of course I remember! But that was when I thought Hugh was dead. Now things are different.” Suddenly she was a lost child. “Couldn’t we go home to Angoulême before we leave for England? I want to see my mother.”
I wanted to comfort her, to let her know I loved her and would take care of her. I wanted her to forget Hugh had ever existed. I had to keep talking.
“You’ll see your mother, my love, very soon. She and Count Aymer promised me when we left that they would come here as soon as they could. They should arrive tomorrow or the next day. They’ll stay until we leave. That will cheer you up.”
I was still holding her hand. I rose, drawing her to her feet.
“Let’s walk out for a bit for some light and air, before I have to see Queen Berengaria.”
She obediently accompanied me to the bailey, where the sun was just coming over the walls and where the early-morning coolness made walking still tolerable. It had rained in the night, and patches of green grass showed here and there. Yesterday they’d been smothered in dry dust. Even the scraggly daisies and calendulas along the walk had taken heart, with their petals polished and their stems upstanding.
I rattled on, hoping to turn her thoughts in a new direction.
“So, Isabella, you’ll have company while I go to Paris. I must see King Philip. He’s asking for 30,000 marks. Everybody demanding money! I’ll put Berengaria off again with no trouble; all I have to do is promise to send her settlement, then forget about it. But King Philip is another matter.”
She stopped suddenly. I’d caught her attention.
“Why must you see King Philip? You told me you and he had settled everything, when you signed the truce in May.”
I was surprised when she showed an interest in governance. Except for my mother I’d known no woman who understood the possibilities of royal power. I imagined a day when Isabella and I were tied by the bonds of physical union as well as our ambitions. That time hadn’t come. S
oon (but not yet, John, not yet! I had to keep telling myself), she would respond to my ardor with the passion that was so far unawakened. Then, who could stop us? My mind had raced from King Philip to the marriage bed, where I would have liked to linger. Isabella tugged at my arm.
“Is Philip threatening to break the truce? I thought it was to last for a year.”
“No, my clever little queen, he is not. But I did promise to pay him 30,000 marks before I leave for England. In return he promised not to invade my lands while I’m gone. It’s a bribe. A shameless bribe. But I had no choice.”
The words hung in the air and neither of us said anything for a minute. We seemed to be back on a friendly footing. I thought it was safe to return to our earlier conversation. I wanted to be sure of her trust in me.
“Never mind all that now. I beg you to put my mind at rest. Can you tell me you believe me when I say I had no idea Hugh still lived, when I made you my wife?”
She looked at me gravely. “I must believe you, John. After all, I have no choice either, have I?”
Chapter 16
Hugh le Brun
September 1200
Since I was a boy they’ve called me Hugh le Brun—Hugh the Brown—because of my dark hair and swarthy complexion. It was so I wouldn’t be confused with another Hugh in the Lusignan clan, who was yellow-haired and fair.
In September of 1200, though, they could have called me Hugh le Noir. Black was my mood, and my hopes had sunk into a mire of dark despair. Isabella was lost to me.
“It wasn’t her fault though,” I said to Ralph. “She wouldn’t have thrown me over and married John unless he’d convinced her of my death. He managed that very cleverly, just as he arranged that attack on us so we wouldn’t arrive before the wedding day.”