Isabella, Queen Without a Conscience

by Rachel Bard

  “And now we’re playing games with the Countess of Angoulême too,” said Henri de Chizé. His castle was in the south of the Lusignan territories, not far from the borders of the County of Angoulême. “I know two of your vassals in Saintonge that she’s approached. Told them that her son King Henry has given her suzerainty over them and they must swear fealty. They said nonsense, that Henry gave you Saintonge as part of Joanna’s dowry. Not only that, she’s dismissed Bartholomew de Puy as her seneschal. Apparently she means to govern the county personally. She’s making enemies fast.”

  “All right, Simon, assuming I go back on my agreement to marry Joanna, won’t I join the list of Isabella’s enemies? And whom do you suggest for my bride?”

  “As for your first question, you needn’t make a formal declaration that you’re rejecting Joanna. Just let it be bruited about that you might, a bit of gossip for the good folk to spread. When Isabella hears about it she’ll be eager to do whatever it takes to keep you on her side. As for who might be your betrothed, I haven’t gotten that far. But preferably she’d be from a family loyal to King Philip.”

  “And highborn,” said another.

  “Right, a princess if possible,” said Simon. “Remember, you’re jilting a princess.”

  We considered the subject of princesses for a time.

  “Doesn’t King Philip have several sisters?”

  “Yes, but they’re either too old or thoroughly married.”

  “What about the one who was engaged to John’s brother Richard until he threw her over for Berengaria? Alice, was it? I heard no one would have her after that. She must be available.”

  I spoke up. “I don’t want some old princess who’s the worse for wear. Maybe we should lower our expectations. What about a countess?”

  A few names were bandied about: a countess of Toulouse, a cousin of King Philip’s first wife.

  Etienne had been uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he rattled on like a jaybird, but making a lot more sense. My first memories of him were of the wiry, energetic, middle-aged priest who used to sit for hours laughing and gossiping with my father. Now he was white-haired and less spry, but his brain was as agile as ever.

  “Well, my good bishop, what’s your thinking?” I asked him.

  He broke off a chunk of bread to sop up the last of his mutton stew, then drank meditatively from his goblet while we watched and waited.

  “I know just the lady. First, though, do you remember Arthur of Brittany?”

  “Poor lad,” said Simon. “Murdered by his uncle. A terrible business. But what’s that to do with finding a bride for Hugh?”

  “Arthur had almost as good a claim to the English throne as John. Some still say he was the true heir. So though he’s gone, wouldn’t his sister be next in line?”

  I objected, “But Etienne, Arthur’s sister Eleanor’s been a prisoner in England for years. John didn’t dare murder her, but he made sure she’d have no chance to get back and stir up the Bretons to do him some mischief.”

  “Ah,” said the bishop, “but I’m not talking about Eleanor, I’m talking about his half-sister Alice. Now listen carefully. This gets complicated. Alice’s husband is Peter Mauclerc, a great grandson of King Louis VI of France. Their daughter must be about fourteen. Not exactly a princess, but still in the direct line of succession to the throne of Brittany if there were one, and indirectly to the French throne. You could send a message to her parents, just to feel them out. If the messenger is suitably indiscreet, the news of his mission will spread to various interested parties. Then we’ll see what we shall see.”

  “Clever!” cried Simon. He spoke for all of us. “My good bishop, how can you come up with such fiendishly inventive schemes?”

  Etienne laughed and with an effort stood up. I could almost hear his joints creak. “It’s my hobby. Some call me a meddler. I prefer to think I’m furthering God’s work on earth by removing obstacles in good people’s way. Now my friends, it’s time for an old man to seek his bed. If you like the fiendish scheme, I’ll leave it to you to decide who’ll take the invitation to Peter and Alice.” He waved to us and left.

  Henri de Chizé volunteered as emissary.

  “If it’s indiscretion you want, I’m your man. And I have nothing much else to do this next month.”

  The scheme worked. The news spread that Hugh X of Lusignan was seeking a bride. In a few weeks Isabella sent word that she planned a visit to her daughter. She hoped I’d be able to receive her to discuss matters of mutual concern. She signed it Queen Isabella. I’d noticed she never referred to herself as a mere countess.

  I replied that I’d be delighted.

  In the meantime my fortunes had improved. I’d done a great favor for England’s seneschal of Poitou and Gascony, Geoffrey de Neville. He’d been trying unsuccessfully to put down some rebellious barons and was badly in need of money to finance his efforts. I advanced the money. Geoffrey, suddenly my dearest friend, felt I deserved some recognition. He wrote to King Henry to tell him that without my invaluable help, he wouldn’t have been able to restore order.

  King Henry, or rather his council, took the hint. They must have decided I was someone to be reckoned with. They made me seneschal of all Aquitaine—which included Isabella’s Angoulême.

  I was sure this information would reach Isabella before she left for Lusignan. I relished the thought of her stunned surprise.

  I planned a state dinner that would impress a queen. Poor old Pierre was almost worn out, seeing that my orders were followed. I had the great hall cleaned of cobwebs and dust. I ordered fresh rushes for the floor. It was nearly Christmas so I had green boughs and holly brought in to make garlands to hang all around the walls. I ordered the cook to produce a procession of courses of meats, fish, puddings, tarts, pickled this and honeyed that. I engaged a couple of musicians. One could blow a tune on a pipe and simultaneously beat on a tabor. The other could both strum the lyre and play a small harp (though not at once). I practiced one of my own favorite songs. I imagined that Isabella wasn’t aware of my reputation as a troubadour. That would give her another surprise.

  As to the guest list, besides my own Lusignan kin and allies I invited several lords who were sitting on the fence regarding fealty to Isabella. The bishop of Poitou would be there, of course. To add interest, I invited Bartholomew de Puy, whom Isabella had ousted as seneschal of Angoulême. Like Geoffrey de Neville, he was now my fast friend.

  Finally, I told Pierre to instruct the knights and minor lords who would be seated at the lower tables to refrain from loud and unseemly behavior.

  Isabella arrived in the morning, spent a few hours with her daughter and rested. I sent word in late afternoon that I would be pleased to escort her to the great hall. When we met I saw that she too had risen to the occasion. She was dressed like a queen. Her flowing blue gown was festooned with strings of pearls around the hem. She’d chosen the perfect color to offset her creamy complexion and her golden hair, which she’d pulled back into a loose knot. Her silver tiara was lavished with pearls. From the gold chain about her neck hung a huge sapphire, the same color as her eyes. I supposed the English hadn’t allowed her to bring her crown jewels, but she’d managed very well.

  Even a plain woman would have gotten attention in such dress, but Isabella, so slim and poised, her face alive with anticipation of what the evening would bring, looked positively magnificent. I told her so.

  “Why thank you, Sir Hugh. It’s an honor to be here. I thought I should try to live up to it.”

  The evening went very well, I thought. Isabella was charming, by turns, to Bishop Etienne on her left and to me on her right. Joanna and Elizabeth, farther along and under the watchful eyes of Lady Anne and Lady Hortense, behaved impeccably. Bartholomew de Puy received a brilliant smile from his countess and a few polite words along the lines of “I am delighted to see you again, my lord.” The knights were by and large well behaved. When any loud laughter or shouting did erupt, the well-trained musician
s simply increased the tempo and volume.

  Isabella and I conversed but skirted the subjects we both had on our minds. She complimented me on improvements she’d observed. “I noticed new tiles on the Tour Melusine, and the inner courtyard looks ever so much nicer than when I lived here.”

  “That’s mostly my father’s doing. He wanted to get the castle in good shape before he left on Crusade. I expect you’ve had the sad news of his death.” I knew, of course, that she and my father had nearly become man and wife. But I had no idea if, or how much, she’d been attached to him.

  “I have heard the news and with great sorrow.” She sounded genuinely moved. “You must miss him very much. He was a good man.”

  “He was indeed. He set me a fine example. I wish he were here to see that I’m taking my duties as lord of the Lusignans seriously. He thought I’d never grow out of my irresponsible ways.”

  “From what I hear, you’re taking your position very seriously indeed.”

  She turned to the bishop. I heard him invite her to visit him in Poitiers where he’d show her the new cathedral.

  When most of the guests had eaten their fill or more and sweet wines were being poured, my cousin Simon prevailed on me, without much urging, to give the guests a song. I joined the musicians. A page handed me my vielle, fashioned of cherry wood and polished until it glowed. I drew the bow across the three strings and stood there a minute, as though trying to decide what to sing. I knew that in my somewhat more modest way I cut as fine a figure of a man as Isabella did of a woman. My tunic and leggings were the color of purple plums. My belt was woven of silver threads. For my performance I’d put on a cap of plum-colored velvet with a silver tassel, in the troubadour fashion.

  I sang a song my father had told me was composed by King Richard.

  Brightly beam my true love’s eyes

  Like twin stars sparkling in the skies.

  When upon me her glance doth dart,

  I swear it pierceth to my heart.

  Yet, pleasuring in cruelty,

  She turns her lovely face from me.

  Oh lady fair, turn not away

  But hear my plea. Oh lady, stay!

  There were calls for more, but I declined.

  “Thank you, good friends. But the hour is late, we’ve all earned our repose, and I’ll bid you goodnight.” I went back to the head table to take my leave of Isabella.

  “Thank you for gracing our gathering tonight. We’ve seldom had such a charming and ornamental guest. I hope you’re not too tired.”

  She didn’t look tired.

  “Not at all. But I fear Joanna is. I must get her to bed.”

  Joanna, in fact, was resting her head on her arms, sound asleep. I gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. She looked up, suddenly wide awake and with a big smile for me.

  “Did I miss anything? Have you sung a song yet?”

  “I’m afraid you did miss it, but I’ll sing you another tomorrow.”

  Then to Isabella, “And I hope that tomorrow you’ll be able to give me some time. There are several matters I think we should discuss.”

  “There are indeed.”

  “Shall we say at eleven, in the lower hall of the Tour Melusine?”

  A good half hour past eleven the next morning Isabella came into the small audience chamber, looking flushed and happy, her hair a little disheveled. She took off her cloak and flung it on a chair.

  “I beg your pardon for being late, Hugh. I wanted to take Joanna riding down by the river, where I used to go so often with your father. It was a little chilly, but we had a glorious ride!”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t taken her there. In fact, I haven’t spent nearly as much time with your daughter as I should have.”

  “Don’t worry about it, she seems perfectly contented. And you, of course, are bound to be busy, what with all your serious responsibilities.”

  We sat across from each other at the oval-shaped table that occupied the center of the room. While Isabella looked around I looked at her. She was so contained, so self-possessed. I wondered if there could be any softness under that porcelain façade.

  “This room has been greatly improved, I see. It used to have only the table and these chairs, no other furniture at all. The fireplace looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. Now you have that fine chest, and an armchair, and even a few tapestries. And someone’s lit a fire for us. Very well done, Sir Hugh!”

  “Thank you. Now, my lady Queen, will you tell me how your affairs are in Angoulême, and whether there’s a way I could help you? Let’s be frank with one another.”

  She leaned toward me and spoke carefully, considering her words. “I think there may be a way you could help me. First, let me tell you how I stand. You undoubtedly know some of this. I don’t receive loyalty or revenue from most of the barons of Angoulême, in spite of inheriting from my father the suzerainty of the county. I’ve told them they owe me fealty but they laugh and go on as before. I’ve written to my son to tell him that without England’s support I won’t be able to defend his domains here. I do believe Henry wants to help his mother. He’s always loved me, as I love him.” She sat a moment looking down at her folded hands. I kept silent, waiting to see where this was leading and what kind of help she might be asking for.

  “But Henry’s so young, so malleable. I don’t think he’s to blame that I’ve had no answer to my pleas. It’s clear the council has the upper hand. They succeeded in sending me away from England and from my children. They deprived me of the regency. Now they’ve named as seneschal of Aquitaine the man who will marry my daughter one day.”

  Now she wasn’t the mournful mother but the embattled queen.

  “They’ve named you, Hugh! I’ve been shunted aside as though I were of no consequence whatever. I cannot accept this!”

  I was caught in the blaze of her blue eyes like a butterfly on a pin. How beautiful she was!

  “I understand completely. Of course you feel mistreated. But Henry’s council controls Henry, and they’ve made their decision. For your sake, I’m deeply sorry to be the recipient of England’s largesse and the cause of your distress. But what can be done?”

  The anger disappeared. She reached across the table to place her hand on mine. I tried not to show my surprise. I didn’t want that gentle pressure to go away.

  “Hugh, I’ve given this so much thought. I’ve prayed for guidance. Here is what I propose to you. I shall forget about the English and their effrontery. I shall ignore King Philip and his half-hearted efforts to enlist my aid in holding the English off. I shall rely instead on the ancient feudal ties that bind the barons of Aquitaine and Poitou to their historic suzerains—you and me. I ask you, Hugh, to become my husband, to join your lands with mine. This would have happened in any case when you and Joanna were married. But we can’t risk waiting five or six years until Joanna can give you children. Forgive me for being blunt, Hugh, but as you said, we must be frank. I’m thirty-four and you’re what, thirty-seven? You and I could begin at once to insure the succession to La Marche and Angoulême.”

  She brought my hand to her lips. I was mesmerized by the blue eyes looking into mine, no longer flashing with anger but gently pleading.

  “Hugh, I need your help now.”

  The touch of her lips on my hand transformed me in an instant from adversary to ally. She was offering herself, her exquisite self, and begging for my protection. I wanted to protect her and I wanted to possess her.

  When I could think more clearly I was struck by how her argument echoed the reasons my friends had given me for breaking my engagement. Yet not one of us had thought of this logical resolution.

  She released my hand and looked at me, waiting. I had to say something.

  “There’s much in what you say. I suppose we can assume that Joanna, young as she is, wouldn’t feel hurt at being rejected. I suppose King Philip would care very little one way or another. But what of the English? Won’t they see this as such a threat that they
’ll have to restrain us by force?”

  “We’ll explain to them that we’re acting purely in their interest, to preserve their French claims. We’ll promise that we and all our vassals will support them in any new war with King Philip.”

  “Indeed, you’ve thought this through.” I walked around the tale and looked down at her. “There are plenty of political reasons for us to marry. Can you think of any personal ones?”

  I drew her to her feet. I put my arms around her waist. I’d expected her to pull back or to be passive. Instead, she laughed up at me and moved closer into my embrace. She held her face up to be kissed. The kiss, tentative at first, lengthened and sweetened. We drew apart and stood there holding each other.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for some time,” I said.

  “And so have I.”

  Chapter 51

  Henry III

  1220

  Hubert de Burgh, the justiciar, blustered into the audience chamber in Westminster Palace where my tutor, Father Jerome, was giving me dictation in Latin. Father Jerome didn’t like Sir Hubert any more than I did and excused himself.

  Since William Marshal had died in 1219 Sir Hubert had taken over as my protector. I’d always liked Sir William. He’d been my friend and adviser since long before my father died.

  Sir Hubert, on the other hand, was overpowering. I wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but he made me feel helpless. Whenever I questioned him he’d turn me aside with a sharp word, as though I didn’t have the sense to see how right he was. Now that I was nearly thirteen, though, and had been King for four years, I wasn’t feeling quite so small and young in his presence.

  “I’ve brought you a letter from your mother,” he said.

  I was excited. I thought surely she’d say she was coming for my recrowning, which was to take place in two days. I still missed her a great deal.

  “Thank you, Sir Hubert! It’s so long since she’s written me. I think only twice since she went to France. Why do you suppose she doesn’t write more often?”