by Rachel Bard
Again, I had to wrench myself away from nostalgia.
“No, you have not offended me. You play and sing beautifully. Thank you.”
William and I walked on and he saw me to my chamber in the tower. As we said goodbye we agreed that Gerard Delorme, one of my most trusted messengers, would go with him the next day, in order to bring word back to me at once of what developed. Then I thought of one more request.
“When you see John and Isabella, be sure to find out if she’s pregnant yet. After all, they’ve had nearly two years to produce an heir.”
I was very tired, but I made myself stay up long enough to summon my majordomo and instruct him to send a message to Arthur the next morning.
My dear grandson:
I was grieved to hear of the loss of your mother. You must be grieving also, for I know she was dear to you. We must trust in the wisdom of our good Lord when our loved ones are taken from us. Will you not come to see me at Fontevraud Abbey, where I plan to spend the summer? Then I may extend my love and sympathy in person. I would come to you, but I am too old for much travel these days. It would do my heart good to see you again after all these years. As one grows older one feels more drawn by family ties. Please send word that you will come. Your loving grandmother, Eleanor.
It was hypocritical, but it was necessary.
Shortly, though, the good Lord took matters into his own hands. Or perhaps it was Philip Augustus.
I’d been back in Fontevraud only a week, still hoping for Arthur’s reply, when Gerard Delorme arrived with word from William Marshal. He came at once to my chamber, his blue and white livery splattered with mud, his face red and perspiring from his haste.
His news was dreadful. Arthur, newly empowered and encouraged by Philip, was on his way to Tours to join forces with the Lusignans. As soon as reinforcements came from Brittany, they would attack. They’d learned I was at Fontevraud so that would be their first target.
“The Queen must leave Fontevraud at once,” William had instructed Gerard. “Arthur has vowed to find her wherever she is and take her hostage. She’ll be safer at Poitiers, where the city is well fortified and her people are loyal.”
William himself was on his way to Le Mans, where John had gone to muster his forces.
For once, I didn’t feel in charge of my own destiny. I was like a ball being bounced back and forth by careless players. I knew William was right. I got ready to set out again. Never in my life, even when it was a matter of leading troops into battle, had I pled the excuse of weakness or womanhood when action was called for. Nor would I now, at eighty.
Chapter 30
Isabella
1202
John and I were finishing a late breakfast at Chinon, where we’d come after being so lavishly entertained by King Philip in Paris. We hadn’t dressed for the day yet. Even so I thought we looked quite elegant. John’s morning robe was black wool embroidered with silver braid; mine a lace-trimmed blue silk.
Nibbling on a raisin cake, I felt languorous and content. I looked around the room with pleasure. At my urging John had ordered improvements not only here, but in much of the rest of the sprawling old fortress. A new oak table, smaller than the monstrosity that had formerly crowded the room, was covered in white linen and the silver tableware shone. A long pennant with the three golden Plantagenet lions on a field of red hung on one wall. On another was a blue banner with the gold crown and fleur-de-lis of Angoulême. A cheerful fire crackled on the hearth. The stone floor was scrubbed and clean. I drew a basket toward me and drank in the fragrance of pale-pink dried rose petals.
“If Queen Berengaria ever came back, she would find us much more stylish than when she visited two years ago,” I said to John. “Remember how gloomy and dingy this room was then?”
He looked at me suspiciously. I realized I’d spoken without thinking about that terrible night when I learned from Berengaria that Hugh still lived, and that I’d been tricked into marrying John. Neither of us had ever referred to it since. I believe we both knew that there were some subjects better left undiscussed. I hurried on--I wasn’t trying to rake up old grievances now.
“And now, I love coming to Chinon. You’ve made it almost as pleasant and comfortable as Angoulême.” That was the highest compliment I could think of. I blew him a kiss. He was appeased.
Our domestic bliss these lazy days was hardly disturbed by the occasional word that came of movements by the Lusignans or of King Philip’s affairs. “You deal with it, Sir William,” John would say to William de Cantilupe, and go back to his wine, his hunting or our bed.
This morning, though, William came into the dining hall in rather more of a hurry than usual. A messenger in the black-and-gold livery of the King of France was close on his heels. William spoke quickly to forestall an angry outburst from John. John hated being interrupted at our leisurely breakfasts.
“My liege, this man insists he must see you at once with an urgent message from King Philip.”
John looked ready to throw them both out. But the King of France was the King of France.
He barked at the messenger. “Very well, give us your message. But be quick about it.”
The man doffed his plumed hat. He placed one black-shod foot, toe smartly pointed, in front of the other and recited.
“His majesty King Philip Augustus greets his vassal John and summons him to come to Paris to do homage as Duke of Normandy, and to answer certain charges made against him by Hugh de Lusignan, Geoffrey de Lusignan and Raoul de Lusignan.” He stopped and waited for John’s response.
John sputtered a bit, then exploded.
“Nonsense! Philip and I parted the best of friends in Paris three months ago. He didn’t say anything then about this. You must have misunderstood him.”
The fellow’s face showed no expression. He was only the messenger.
William bent and whispered in John’s ear. John nodded impatiently and brushed him aside, but I believe he acted on William’s advice.
Fixing the messenger with a contemptuous gaze, he replied, “You may tell your king that it’s true I am his vassal as Duke of Normandy. But according to the law, the Duke of Normandy may not be required to meet his sovereign anywhere except in that duchy. Therefore, if King Philip would like to meet me on the Normandy border instead of Paris, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
I wasn’t happy to hear this. I’d found Normandy a rather dull place, not nearly as inviting as Paris. I’d been much admired and sought after at King Philip’s court. My taste of Parisian high life had left me eager for more
The messenger continued. He’d been instructed well.
“If you object on these grounds, I am authorized to tell you that King Philip addresses this summons not only to the Duke of Normandy but also to the Count of Anjou and Maine. In that capacity you are required to come to Paris to do homage, which is long overdue, and should have been rendered immediately on your accession to the throne.” The wording was insolent; the tone, carefully noncommittal.
John was more sure of himself now. “As King of England, I may not be so summarily ordered to the court of one of my peers. Tell King Philip that. And again, tell him I will be glad to meet him in Normandy, at the place and time he suggests.” He made a dismissive gesture and returned to his breakfast.
The messenger bowed, put on his hat and left. William and John exchanged wry smiles. Then both grew very grave.
“So. King Philip has decided to break the truce,” said William. “This message wasn’t even serious. He knew you wouldn’t agree to his demands.”
“Right,” said John. “I have no intention of meeting him on the borders of Normandy or anywhere else, unless I have an army at my back.”
So much for my dreams of Paris.
During the next few weeks I saw John transformed from an indolent lie-abed whom I had all to myself to a bundle of nerves with a hundred things on his mind. For days I hardly saw him, he was so busy conferring, sending out messengers, enlisting informers and
preparing for resumed hostilities. Most important, he had to hire paid soldiers, using the chests of money his barons had so unwillingly given him. There were plenty of available recruits. After every Crusade, men willing to fight for a fee roamed over Europe looking for work.
We were preparing for war. We hoped we had time.
“And now, our Lord God of Hosts, may You bring victory to Your servant John as he goes into righteous battle against his foes.” The Bishop of Le Mans pronounced his last words in a dramatic descent down the scale, from a sonorous tenor to a portentous bass.
To John, who had been fidgeting or dozing beside me for twenty minutes, it must have seemed the climactic end of the interminable prayer. He sat up straight. He seized his moment.
“So be it, amen,” he called out, and rose. The Bishop’s hawklike face turned to him. He glared with his yellow eyes. He doubtless had several more things to say to the Lord God. However, he recovered himself and signaled to the choir and acolytes to begin the march out of the cathedral. We followed, bathed in a swirl of incense and a chorus of Te Deums. Along with the usual crowd of knights and attendants, we walked down the cobbled street to the palace of the Counts of Maine where we’d come from Chinon and lodged for the past few weeks.
It seemed ages since I’d first come to Le Mans, when we sought refuge within its walls from the Lusignans. How frightened I’d been, and John even more so! Now everything was different. This time we were on the offensive, against Philip and his allies. Our information was that the Lusignans had raised a considerable force, and would very likely join Philip on his assault on the Angevin lands in France which Philip now had decided to repossess.
I say “our” information because at last John had agreed that I could be present during his councils. I’d hated being excluded as though I were a turnip-headed ninny. I was able to get him to change his mind because I’d learned the arts of persuasion in bed. Before love, John would agree to anything. After, he was so proud of his prowess that he’d agree to whatever was left on my list.
So on this sweet June afternoon when hawthorn trees showed tender pink blossoms and the sun shone benignly on the daisy-dotted grass in the palace courtyard, we went inside to talk of mortal warfare. William de Cantilupe had just received two messengers with urgent news from the informants who served as John’s eyes and ears throughout his continental lands. In the small audience chamber, John sat at the head of the table, I on his left, William on his right. Robert de Thorneham, whom John had just named his seneschal for Poitou, was present, as were Henry Seuvallis, captain of the horse troops and foot soldiers, and the chief of the household knights.
The first messenger gave his report briskly and concisely.
“Your seneschal in Rouen, Guarine de Clapion, requests that you send as many men as you can. Philip has already taken Aumale and is besieging Arques. If he takes it, Rouen will be next.”
This was shocking. All were temporarily struck dumb. How had Philip slashed so deeply into Normandy, all the way across the duchy to two of the Angevins’ major strongholds on the Atlantic? If he took Arques, he’d have only a two-day march south to reach Rouen.
John’s face flushed dark.
“We mustn’t lose Rouen. It’s always been the key to all of Normandy. We always keep a force in the city to defend it. How many men are there now?”
Nobody knew. The messenger thought perhaps twenty-five at most. Everybody began talking at once, then fell silent when Sir William’s voice prevailed.
“I suggest we send a small contingent of our mercenary troops to Rouen at once to survey the situation. We can follow with more troops if the danger seems imminent.”
“Good,” said John. “How many can we spare?” he asked the captain of the mounted troops. More discussion and argument. The only thing everybody agreed on was that even with the hired mercenaries, John’s continental forces were woefully inadequate for an all-out battle with Philip. He’d sent for reinforcements from the English barons who were still loyal to him, but they hadn’t arrived.
At a pause, I broke in.
“Maybe we should hear what the other messenger has to say. It might be better news.”
It wasn’t.
“My liege, I come from Tours. I am to tell you that King Philip has knighted your nephew Arthur. Philip has granted him Maine, Anjou and Touraine. He has also provided him with an army of two hundred knights. Arthur is now in Tours, preparing to lead his army into your ancestral lands, to claim them for his own.”
John turned so redfaced I feared he might burst. “By God’s teeth! That treacherous boy! How can I be rid of him?” he began in a roar and ended in the whiny falsetto his voice rose to when he was under great stress. He banged his fist on the table so hard that goblets and tankards jumped. So did the messenger.
He finished his report quickly so he could escape before John’s anger was directed to him.
“Finally, your spies have learned that Arthur has been joined by Hugh de Lusignan, Geoffrey de Lusignan and others of that clan. Our best estimate is that the combined force Arthur is leading comes to between two hundred fifty and three hundred men, and that his first objective is Poitiers. Your mother, Queen Eleanor, is now on her way to Poitiers from Fontevraud.”
Before the babble could begin again, the man bowed and slipped out the door.
My first thought was shock that none of this had been foreseen. What were all those spies up to, if not warning John of impending disasters? Or could it be that warnings had come, and he had refused to take them seriously? Well, he was certainly taking them seriously now.
He stood. I could almost imagine he’d grown taller. Faces were tense as his counselors waited for his words.
“My mother’s safety comes first,” he said. “That, and stopping Arthur. We’ll send a force of twenty-five to go north and join the Rouen garrison. Henry Seuvallis, you will accompany that contingent and keep us informed. I shall leave at once with the rest of our army to head off Arthur from Poitiers.”
The word of his mother’s danger had transformed him from a worried fumbler trying to go all directions at once into a firm, single-minded leader.
I had only a few minutes alone with John before he was off. While his servants helped him into his leather leggings and his mail coat I stood watching, filled with a growing anguish. We hadn’t been separated since our marriage. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on his presence and our love.
When he was properly clad, except for his helmet, he held out his arms to me. It was a strange embrace, clasped by steel-clad arms against a chest encased in cold steel. But his cheek against mine was warm.
“What will I do without you?” I asked, blinking back tears. “Will you be careful? When will you come back?” Foolish questions.
“My love, I want you to leave at once for Chinon. Robert de Thorneham will take you. You’ll be safer there. I’ll send word as soon as I can from wherever I am. You will help me by receiving any messengers who come from the north. Send their reports on to me. Pray for our success. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll be together again.”
I clung to him, then drew back to look into his face. Somehow I managed to smile and wish him Godspeed.
Chapter 31
Eleanor
1202
Our hasty flight from Fontevraud brought us, toward evening of the first day, to the castle of Mirebeau. In my younger days I’d have ridden on through the night to Poitiers. But I was worn out from the daylong, headlong ride over rough roads. I decided we’d halt here.
I remembered the castle from my travels with Henry during the early days of our marriage.
“It goes all the way back to my great-grandfather, or was he a great-great grandfather?” Henry had said. “No matter. Old Count Fulk of Anjou knew how to build a fine little castle. He planned that tower, the keep, to stand off besiegers. Just shoot arrows at them as they try to come up the stairs, till they’re all taken care of.”
Revisiting it now, so many years later
, I recalled that the castle hadn’t offered much in the way of gracious accommodations. I’d probably find even less now. But I was glad to see the tower was still standing, tall and sturdy. This night, safety meant more to me than silken canopies and silver platters.
“Very well, my Queen,” said Jean de Brouillet when I told him my wishes. He’d served us since he was squire to my son Richard. He’d risen steadily through the years to become the captain of my personal guard. Except for William Marshal, there was no one I trusted more. He led our small party, which included two of my ladies and six of my knights, through the gate that led to the bailey. This courtyard was, I was glad to see, still well protected by its high walls. But I’d been shocked to find the portcullis down and no guard on duty.
Jean pounded on the door of the keep. Presently the elderly castellan emerged, tousle-haired and scowling at being rudely wakened. But when he saw who his visitors were, he found a smile, introduced himself as Albert Portot, and made us welcome. Unused to visits from his Aquitaine sovereign, he and his small staff had to scramble to provide us with a meal of rabbit stew and chunks of yesterday’s bread. Meanwhile his wife, a short dumpy woman who was flustered but full of goodwill, did what she could to make a few of the tower rooms habitable. My ladies and I were climbing the steep, tightly spiraled staircase when there was a fearful noise from the bailey.
I made for the nearest window, a mere slit. I could see dozens of steel-helmeted horsemen in battle armor wheeling their steeds about, brandishing their lances and shouting, apparently waiting for some guidance as to what to do next. It was dusk. Individuals were hard to make out. Then I saw, riding through the gate, a youth in chain mail but no helmet. His long brown hair fell to his shoulders. He was sitting as tall as he could in the saddle. Behind him a squire bore a pennant with a lion, a unicorn and a griffin. It was the insignia of Arthur, who called himself Duke of Brittany. My grandson Arthur. He hadn’t come to accept my invitation to pay a visit to his loving grandmother, I was sure of that. He had come to take his grandmother hostage. He looked left and right, up and down. For a moment I thought our eyes met, but it couldn’t be.