by Rachel Bard
Like so many of our conversations, this one was punctuated by pounding hoofbeats. Our words were jolted out of us as we kept our horses at a trot. We were on our way to Lusignan from Angoulême where I’d learned of Isabella’s wedding to John. The heat had abated somewhat, and I thought I detected a tang of autumn in the air. The fields along our way were a sea of ripening grain where a few farmers were already out swinging their scythes. I felt envious of men who had no more worries than getting in the harvest before the rains came.
I glanced at Ralph. His face was scrunched in a perplexed grimace.
“I don’t know about that, Hugh. She’s a lass with her eye on the main chance. And she’d have had plenty of encouragement from her parents to aim for a queen’s gold crown rather than a countess’s silver circlet.”
I didn’t pay much attention. Ralph always took the dark view. I knew as well as I knew my name that Isabella had really cared for me and looked forward to our marriage.
Be that as it may, my immediate task was to make John suffer. My oath of allegiance to him was meaningless now. Once we’d found our Uncle Geoffrey we’d all make for Paris and ask King Philip’s support in our war with John.
Geoffrey had always been as close to me as Ralph, and I thought of him as a brother. He and I had fought side by side in King Richard’s army during the Crusade. Geoffrey was the firebrand of the family. He was always for attack, no matter the odds. Where Ralph stewed and I smoldered, Geoffrey boiled.
He was waiting for us at Lusignan.
“It’s monstrous!” he rasped, when I’d told him the tale of John’s perfidy. He ran his fingers through his long, graying hair. His black eyes, flecked with gold, glowed like molten coals with his outrage. “King Philip must know of this. It’s an insult to our whole family. Are we off to Paris, then?”
“We are,” I said, “but first we’d be glad of a slice or so of bread and a bowl of soup or whatever’s on the fire. Then as soon as we can find fresh horses and assemble a few retainers, we’ll be on our way.”
Though he’d had no warning (we had no time to send a messenger) King Philip received us within half an hour of our arrival at his palace on the Ile de la Cité in the heart of Paris. He was seated in the grandest audience chamber I’d ever seen. It was twice as long as our great hall at Lusignan. The sunlight that streamed in through the tall windows bounced off polished wood paneling. Tapestries on every wall glowed as though illuminated from within. There hardly seemed need for more light, yet dozens of candles in the massive chandelier were blazing away even at midday. Philip sat on a throne at the far end, with two of his courtiers nearby. He beckoned to us to approach.
I’d been curious to see if he’d changed since I’d last seen him. That had been two years ago when he so abruptly left the Crusade. He’d been co-leader with King Richard, but Richard outshone him and Philip resented it. Richard was a tall golden-haired warrior, commanding and vigorous. Philip was slight with a short beard and dull brown hair that fell untidily to his shoulders. His dark, thin face had a perpetual look of annoyance. After a few months he’d gone home, pleading acute dysentery. We Crusaders jeered. If that were an excuse to desert, most of us could have followed him. Everybody knew it was a case of acute jealousy.
The Philip I saw now could have been a different man. He sat with the light from a window behind him so his face was somewhat in the shadow. Even so, I could see that he’d become a self-assured monarch, wearing his crown proudly and holding his head high. His hair was smooth and cut short, like a close-fitting brown cap. He’d shaved his beard.
He invited us to sit in the chairs facing his throne.
“Greetings, and welcome to our city and our palace. Now tell me what portentous matters bring three noble Lusignans to Paris?”
“My lord King, we have come to make a complaint against King John of England, and to plead for your support in our battle for retribution.”
Philip looked alert. I was sure he had a good idea of the nature of my complaint.
“Continue,” he said.
I told, as briefly as I could, the story of how John had deceived Isabella and stolen her away from me. I tried to keep my emotion in check, but I think Philip could see that this was more than a case of pique. A man’s heart had been wounded and his honor besmirched.
Geoffrey added a point I’d forgotten.
“My lord King, my nephew would want to make it clear that our whole clan feels this affront. It has wiped out any loyalty we had to King John. We will be honored if you will accept our fealty to you as our rightful sovereign, from this day forward.”
Whereupon he knelt on one knee. Ralph and I followed suit.
Philip stood up at once. “Rise, rise, no need to prostrate yourselves before me. I welcome you as vassals of the French crown. In return for your pledge of loyalty to me, I will defend you against any unlawful attacks.”
We all sat down again. I felt that now we were getting somewhere. What could be more unlawful than John’s atrocious behavior?
“Then will you join us in seeking retribution from John?” I asked.
Philip looked at me for a half a minute before he answered. His hand strayed toward his chin, as though seeking a beard to stroke. When he spoke, at first I thought he was trying to soothe me, because his voice was as suave and mannered as that of a priest offering absolution.
“After what you tell me, I can understand your frustration, Sir Hugh. I was aware that John had married Isabella. I knew that her parents had agreed to the match. They led me to believe that you had agreed too, though I could not imagine why you would yield so easily. I know you Lusignans, and your hot heads.”
Geoffrey broke in. “Forgive me, my liege, but we must act quickly. John may escape before we can catch him. Will you help us?”
“No.”
The word snapped out like the crack of a whip. His eyes were as piercing as steel-pointed arrows, letting us know that he’d been conciliatory long enough. Now he was the imperious ruler, laying down the law to his subjects. “I can’t go to war with John now. The truce we signed last January still holds. As part of our agreement then, he is to pay me 30,000 marks before he returns to England. I would have to forfeit that payment, as well as go back on my word, if I broke the truce and attacked him. There is, you know, honor between kings.”
Geoffrey was getting so red in the face that I knew I’d have to speak up and forestall any words he’d regret later.
“Of course we can understand that. But without your help, we can do nothing. We have only half a hundred knights we can count on. John has his whole army. If you agree that he has acted unlawfully, and if we are your loyal vassals, aren’t you obligated to help us defend ourselves against our enemy? Especially since he’s your enemy too?”
Philip rose, looked out the window as though considering my question, and looked back at us. His thin-lipped smile acknowledged the sense of my argument, but there was no mirth in the smile. “Strictly speaking, Sir Hugh, you are right. And when the time comes, I’ll make John accountable for his insult to you. You may be sure of that. Now, however, I can do nothing.”
Geoffrey couldn’t contain himself. He roared, “Then just what do you advise us to do? By our Lord, the King of England is a thief and a liar! He must be made to suffer!” Philip looked at Geoffrey quizzically. “Indeed, he should suffer. Perhaps Sir Hugh could challenge him to a duel? I believe your nephew would prove the stronger.”
Was he joking? We couldn’t tell. He turned his back decisively and walked to the window. I looked where he was looking, toward the huge half-built stone towers of Notre-Dame Cathedral, at the other end of the island. Maybe Philip could take comfort from this impressive evidence of his generosity and piety, but I could not.
The interview was over. We would have to pursue John on our own.
Chapter 16
Isabella
September 1200
Toward the end of September the charms of Chinon, not much to begin with, began to p
all on me.
My parents had come and gone. While they were still there John made his trip to Paris to see King Philip. I was glad to have their company during that week. We didn’t talk about anything very important—my wardrobe, gossip about events back in Angoulême, ways we would improve Chinon Castle if it were up to us. The subject of my sudden marriage to John never came up, nor did I want it to. I was fairly sure my parents had connived with John to deceive me about Hugh’s death. But most of the time I succeeded in burying the thought. I didn’t want to believe they or he could do anything so wicked. It was easier to pretend everything had been as they’d said.
Sometimes I’d see my mother looking at me strangely, as though wondering what had happened to the child who used to hang on her every word and try desperately to win her approval. I’d want to cry out to her, “Yes, I am different, Mother. I’ve learned disillusionment and I’m learning how to be self-sufficient. And it’s your doing.” But we didn’t talk about that either.
Then my father had word that he must return to Angoulême. The morning they left was one of those days when summer seems finally to be loosening its grip. Standing in the dusty bailey while the horses were being saddled, I looked up to see the sun shining as glaringly as it had for months but without quite so much deadening heat. There was even a cool breeze. To the west a few tattered gray clouds scurried across the sky. Dry, rust-brown leaves blew about in little whirlwinds and rattled across the paving stones.
The walls around me were as impassive and prison-like as ever. Yet I felt none of the desolation of other partings from my mother. This time I hugged to myself the knowledge that soon I too would be leaving Chinon. I was going to England. I was to be crowned a queen.
A squire helped my mother to mount her horse. I was used to hoisting myself onto a steed without assistance. Now for the first time I noticed the grace and dignity of my mother’s ascent, the way she settled effortlessly into her saddle and allowed Lady Anne to arrange her flowing skirt in becoming folds to conceal her legs. I thought I might change my ways.
She leaned down and took my hand. I looked up into her face and saw anxiety. She was probably expecting an outburst of tears.
“I hope you’ll have time to come see us at Angoulême before you go to England,” she said.
“I hope so too. But I don’t know what John’s plans are. We’ll have to wait and see.” We didn’t seem to have much more to say to each other.
My father was anxious to leave. With a final pressure from my mother’s hand and a wave from my father, they rode off toward the gate.
And there I was with no company except John, Lady Anne and Adèle. Chinon, being a fortress rather than a royal palace, was seldom visited by the Plantagenets, so there wasn’t a complement of resident lords and ladies. Adèle had made friends with the cook’s ten-year-old son but I wasn’t eager to seek companionship among the household help. Though ten or so of John’s knights were lodged in various towers we saw little of them. They were a rough sort and were usually either hunting or, at John’s behest, riding out in search of spies and enemies.
John spent a good deal of time in the small audience room next to his bedchamber. His rooms weren’t nearly as opulent as mine, but he did have a small Persian carpet before the fireplace. Servants kept the fire ablaze with man-sized chestnut logs of an evening.
When going over his accounts with his steward or dictating messages to his secretary, John would seat me next to him. From time to time he’d absently take my hand, smooth my hair or squeeze my shoulder. I was used to this by now, but I began to feel like a pet dog with no purpose except to look pretty and amuse my master. I didn’t like being so passive. I was bored.
I liked it better when someone came from England. I wanted so much to learn about my future realm. I’d listen carefully, storing away such nuggets of information as which Welsh lords were making trouble or what the King of Scotland was up to. Then there were the restive English barons. A great deal of John’s attention went to keeping them pacified.
Often he and his visitors conversed in English. Then I was lost. It sounded like the jabbering of monkeys compared with the graceful French I was used to. Yet I knew I should learn it. Finally it occurred to me to ask John to teach me.
“When we’re in England I suppose I’ll pick up the way of talk in time. But couldn’t you help me get started? I’d think our subjects would be pleased to hear me address them in their own tongue.”
He looked surprised. He wasn’t prepared when I showed signs of taking my future royal duties seriously. Then he gave his little bark of a laugh.
“Not a bad idea, not bad at all. Yes, it would be well for you to learn what you can. But I wouldn’t make a very good teacher, my dear. As it happens, my old friend Hugh, the Bishop of Lincoln, will arrive tomorrow. He’s a learned man. I’ll ask him to give you some instruction.”
The good bishop, a very kind, very old man, was able to spare me two hours. My education began. After that whenever a visitor fluent in both languages came to Chinon I learned a little more. I’d practice with Lady Anne, who’d picked up some English from a brother-in-law who’d lived in London.
On the whole, though, life in Chinon was dreary. John and I were getting used to each other, but so far we didn’t have much common ground. I was learning that he could be moody and silent for hours or days. At meals we were seldom alone. Lady Anne, Adèle, a few of his knights, and perhaps visiting churchmen or lords from the surrounding towns would join us. John left it to others to make a show of sociability. Even when he and I were alone together he’d seldom start a conversation. Sometimes I found myself remembering how Hugh and I used to talk for hours.
Often, in company or not, I’d catch John looking at me intently as a hawk with its eye on a rabbit. It was almost frightening. It reminded me of the way he’d stared at me the first time I met him in the tavern by the river.
One day when we were alone in his audience chamber I caught his eye, his hungry eye. On an impulse I jumped from my chair and flung myself down in his lap. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Instantly he clutched me and began kissing my forehead, my eyes, my throat. Then he sought my mouth and held me so close that I was almost breathless. While our lips were joined I was intensely aware of how soft his beard was and how I was pressed against his chest, with only a thin layer of silk between my flesh and the rough wool of his tunic. I was a little afraid and I pulled away.
He rose so quickly that I had to catch hold of the table to keep from falling. He strode to the door, but paused when I addressed his back.
“If that’s what you’ve been wanting, John, why didn’t you say so? After all, I’m your wife.”
He whirled around. His face was suffused with a dull red. He spoke in a voice I’d never heard before, rasping, harsh, as though choking down anger.
“You know nothing about being a wife, Isabella. And the time hasn’t come for me to teach you. For the present, you’ll do me the favor of not setting yourself up as a brazen little temptress.” He was gone.
I was abashed and resentful, like a child admonished unfairly by a severe parent. What had I done wrong? It was only a prank. Yet under my ill humor I was gloating. I sensed I’d learned how to move him. It was a lesson I wouldn’t forget.
I didn’t see him again for two days. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone off for half a day or overnight with no explanation so I didn’t think much about it. And in truth I was glad. Now was my chance to escape from the deadly confines of the castle. I’d wanted to go riding out in the fields and along the river. But when I’d asked John he was adamant.
“Not unless I go with you. You’d have to go down through the town and across the river to find good riding trails. There are too many ruffians on the roads and lurking in alleyways.”
Now he wasn’t here to deny me. I ordered a young groom to saddle my mare, Jolie, who had by now become obedient but hadn’t lost her spirit. The boy stammered, “But my
lady, the King said…”
“I know what the King said. He said I wasn’t to go riding alone. Very well, you’ll accompany me.”
The poor lad, somewhat slow-witted, had nothing to say to that. Off we went through the main gate. At a cautious walk we made our way down the steep cobbled streets of the town and across the bridge. At first the groom hung back in a deferential position, but when we came to a fine level straight trail through the fields I beckoned him to join me in a race. I gave Jolie her head and we had a glorious gallop, laughing and urging our horses on. My hair flew in the wind, and I felt as though the horse and I were one swift, smoothly moving body. The race ended in a tie, though I suspected the groom held back on purpose. I hadn’t felt such joy and freedom since I’d gone riding with Hugh.
When we arrived back in the castle courtyard, the groom again in the rear, I was shocked to see John waiting. He was furious. He seized the groom’s arm and shook him.
“You stupid, disobedient lout, how dare you go against my orders?”
I was afraid he was going to strike the boy. “That’s not fair, John. He was obeying my orders. Don’t punish him. Please, let him go.”
With a glare John released the poor youngster, who led the horses off to the stables, trying to look as though he weren’t there. I spoke in a rush before John could start on me.
“I know you told me I couldn’t ride without you. But either you aren’t here or you’re too busy. For weeks I’ve been cooped up like a prisoner. I’ve seen nothing of the countryside and I’ve seen enough of this castle to last me the rest of my life!”
I glared at him as he’d glared at the groom. He calmed down. He actually smiled.
“What a little spitfire it is! I’m sorry. Of course it hasn’t been easy for you. I’ve been thoughtless, but I’m not an ogre. We’ll go riding together soon, maybe tomorrow.”
It wasn’t tomorrow, it was in three days. And it wasn’t the gallop by the river and through the forest that I’d longed for. It was a sedate ride of about half an hour to visit one of John’s vassals who lived just beyond the River Vienne.