A Reed in the Wind: Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily

by Rachel Bard

  A Reed in the Wind

  Joanna Plantagenet,

  Queen of Sicily

  A historical novel

  by Rachel Bard

  Copyright © 2014 by Rachel Bard

  Published 2014 by Literary Network Press

  Cover design by Paula Gill

  ISBN: 978-0-578-14946-2

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher.

  Literary Network Press

  23817 97th Avenue Southwest

  Vashon, Washington 98070

  USA

  Also by Rachel Bard

  Queen Without a Country, a historical novel

  Isabella: Queen Without a Conscience,

  a historical novel

  Navarra: the Durable Kingdom, a history

  Newswriting Guide:

  A Handbook for Student Reporters

  Editing Guide: A Handbook for Writers and Editors

  Best Places of the Olympic Peninsula

  Country Inns of the Pacific Northwest

  Zucchini and All That Squash

  Contents

  Historical Prologue

  A Reed in the Wind

  Epilogue

  Bibliography

  Historical Prologue

  In her own day, Joanna would not have been known as Joanna Plantagenet.

  The term Plantagenet had originated as the nickname of Geoffrey of Anjou (1113-1151), Joanna’s grandfather. The story goes that he often wore a sprig of broom (genet) in his hat when he went into battle, so his troops could keep him in sight. Not until the Wars of the Roses did English monarchs begin to use Plantagenet as a surname. In the 1460s, it was adopted by Richard, Duke of York and father of King Edward IV, to substantiate the Yorkist line’s claim to the throne as superior to that of the Lancastrians.

  In the next century Shakespeare popularized the term. Since then it has been widely recognized by historians, writers and readers and has become the accepted appellation for royal descendants of Geoffrey of Anjou.

  Joanna was born into a world where England and France were enmeshed in a struggle to conquer or reconquer French territories claimed by both. The struggle had its roots in William of Normandy’s conquest of England in 1066. By 1165 when Joanna was born, the adversaries—King Henry II of England and King Philip II of France—were still at it. Joanna, third daughter of Henry and his queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was, as customary with princesses, destined to further England’s cause through a politically advantageous marriage. Henry and Eleanor recognized that an alliance with Sicily would be highly desirable, for in the twelfth century Sicily was a major power in Europe, controlling much of Italy as well as the home island.

  This explains why, when we first meet Joanna at age eleven, the Sicilian ambassadors are hiding behind the screen in Winchester Palace.

  Chapter 1

  The two Sicilians had been concealed by a screen in the great hall of King Henry’s palace at Winchester for a quarter of an hour and nothing had happened.

  “This is getting ridiculous, Florian,” sniffed the younger ambassador, fidgeting. He yanked down the cuffs of his velvet tunic and wrapped his woolen scarf more snugly about his neck. “I do not care for this waiting about in the cold at the pleasure of an eleven-year-old girl. Even if she is the daughter of Henry the Second of England. And what a poor excuse for a king’s great hall this is. It’s more like a great barn. Bare floors, bare walls with the damp running down them. And cold as a witch’s tit. Why couldn’t they have laid a fire?”

  “I don’t care for it either, Arnolfo,” said Count Florian of Camerota. As the seasoned justiciar of King William of Sicily, he’d served as his master’s chief minister almost as long as Arnolfo had been alive. He considered his junior colleague to be still a neophyte when it came to diplomacy, in spite of the fact that he was soon to become a bishop. “But King William has sent us to represent him in his marriage negotiations, and what we observe will be useful when we meet with King Henry later in London. If Joanna is as well-favored as we have been told, well and good. But if she seems lacking in any respect, we can strike a harder bargain.”

  Arnolfo sniggered. “Rather like buying a horse, eh? First you watch him run and look at his teeth, then you make your offer, then you haggle.”

  Count Florian pursed his lips and frowned. But before he could say anything, they heard voices and quickly applied their eyes to the cracks in the screen.

  Three women entered, followed by a girl who stopped at the doorway. Queen Eleanor, leader of the little procession, walked purposefully to the center of the hall and looked around, frowning.

  “Why is there no fire here, Lady Elspeth? It is only Pentecost, it is not midsummer. More of Henry’s niggardliness, I suppose. Please see to it.”

  The lady-in-waiting scurried out to summon a servant.

  Eleanor, queen of England and duchess of Aquitaine, looked most striking when annoyed. She stood straight as a statue, hands clasped at her waist, glaring about the room. Her sapphire-blue gown was the color of her eyes. A jeweled circlet held the flowing white wimple that did not quite hide her brown-gold hair. If there were any tinges of gray they didn’t show. If any wrinkles had tried to mar cheek or brow, they had been bidden to disappear. At fifty-four Eleanor still presented to the world an imperious and beautiful face.

  She knew the Sicilians were there; it had all been planned. They had explained to her that their master had ordered them to observe the princess when she didn’t know she was being observed so they could give him a candid, objective report. But not by the slightest glance or turn of the head did Eleanor betray the knowledge.

  The women paced down the room to stand where a streamer of sun poured in through a window that pierced the thick stone wall. Motes of dust danced in the golden shaft. A servant scuttled in and hastily laid a fire in the enormous hearth. Another stood by, straining under the weight of a huge log, ready to throw it on.

  Joanna still stood in the shadows at the doorway. But the ambassadors were dazzled by Eleanor.

  “Amazing,” whispered Florian. “After two husbands and how many children—eight?—how can this woman show so few signs of aging?”

  “Perhaps she has been preserved by freezing in this horrid English climate.”

  For a time no one moved. A faint heat was beginning to be felt from the hearth.

  “But I’ll wager there’s fire under that ice,” murmured Arnolfo, still watching Eleanor. “As King Henry must know all too well or he wouldn’t have shut her up here at Winchester. Poor lady, practically a prisoner in her own palace.”

  “That’s not our business, Arnolfo. From what I hear he had good reasons. They say she’s been encouraging her sons to take arms against their own father.”

  They cut short their gossip as Joanna moved to stand before the fire. Her back was to the men in the corner. She dangled a wooden doll by one leg. Her slight body seemed lost in a full-skirted gray gown. Two neatly shod feet peeped out below the hem. She wore no cap or headdress, and a tangle of long, curling brown locks fell to her thin shoulders.

  “A scrawny little pullet,” whispered Arnolfo.

  One of the ladies came to stand beside her and held out her hands to warm them.

  “Why Princess Joanna,” she teased, “why ever are you carrying that sorry-looking doll? Surely you’re too old to play with dolls.”

  The girl turned and looked up. Her narrow, sober face brightened when she smiled—a smile so disa
rming that the hardened ambassadors peering through their peepholes couldn’t keep the corners of their lips from turning up in empathy. Suddenly she was enchanting. Her voice was high and childish but her diction was precise.

  “Of course I’m not playing with it, Lady Marian. I’m rescuing it. My brother John found it in a chest and was going to give it to his hound as a toy. I told him it was my doll once and still is and he couldn’t do such a cruel thing. So he threw it at me. I’m carrying it about so he won’t take it back.”

  Lady Marian bent and hugged her. “Quite right, too. We mustn’t encourage bad behavior.” She cast a sidelong glance at Lady Elspeth that said, as plainly as words, “That John!”

  If Queen Eleanor heard any of this she gave no sign. Just when the fire was burning briskly and making some headway against the cold and damp, she decided to leave.

  She took Joanna’s hand. “Come, daughter. It’s time to find John so Brother William can hear the two of you say your lessons before supper. And who knows where the boy has got to.”

  Joanna looked up at her mother. Again that smile, but now with a touch of mischief.

  “I know where, mother. He went to the kitchen. He always wants to see what’s for supper.”

  Eleanor said only “Humph!” and led the girl out, walking slowly past the corner where the screen stood. Her ladies followed, casting wistful glances at the hearth.

  As soon as the hall was empty the two Sicilians emerged to stand by the fire, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands to restore circulation.

  “She seems sufficiently attractive,” said Florian.

  “She does,” agreed Arnolfo.” “One might even say beautiful.”

  “In fact, one will say beautiful.” The justiciar slapped his companion on the back and grinned.

  “And when we report to our king we mustn’t fail to remark on her breeding, her tender heart, her lively spirit and her respect for her elders.”

  “Indeed, Arnolfo. But be careful—we mustn’t say any of that when we meet King Henry. We’ll tell him we judge the girl to be very young, not too well-formed, and sullen. But we’ll say that with a suitably large dowry from Henry, King William of Sicily may be persuaded to accept her as his queen.”

  Chapter 2

  It was suppertime in Queen Eleanor’s private dining hall at Winchester Palace. The candles were lit and the fire on the hearth was burning merrily. Eleanor looked at it with approval and loosened her shawl. Servants had just ladled steaming servings of beef and barley soup into the silver bowls of the six people gathered at the table. These were, besides the queen and her children Joanna and John, two of her ladies-in-waiting and Brother Jean-Pierre, the monk who tutored the royal offspring.

  “Who were those two strange men behind the screen in the great hall today, mother?” Joanna asked.

  Eleanor’s spoon halted in midair between broth and mouth. She replaced the spoon in her bowl. Once she was satisfied that not a drop had fallen on the linen tablecloth, she gave her full attention to her daughter.

  “I might have guessed you wouldn’t be taken in. How did you know they were there? And why do you say they were strange?”

  “For one thing, mother, that screen is usually up at the other end of the hall, near the door to the kitchen. So of course I wondered why it had been moved. Then I saw four feet below the screen. And they were wearing such funny shoes, nothing like what we see in England. They were gold and red with pointed toes and tassels. And they kept lifting them up and putting them down. I suppose they were getting numb with the cold.”

  Eleanor laughed, but before she could answer, John broke in. He’d been diligently dipping chunks of bread in his soup and stuffing them into his mouth. Still chewing, he blurted, “If I’d been there I would have gone over and stamped on their fancy shoes. That would have made them really dance!” Youngest of Eleanor and Henry’s children, nine-year-old John had to get attention any way he could.

  Eleanor frowned. “I hope you would not have done any such thing, John. Those men were the ambassadors of King William of Sicily. They are our guests and deserve our courtesy.”

  Lady Marian nodded approvingly. Lady Elspeth glared at the offending child. Brother Jean-Pierre cleared his throat as though he were about to make a major pronouncement, but said only, “Indeed.” He was eager to finish his soup before the bowl was taken away.

  Joanna persevered. “But why were they hiding behind the screen, mother?”

  Eleanor took a few more sips of soup, then signaled the servant to remove the bowls.

  “It will soon be no secret so I might as well tell all of you all now. King William has asked for Joanna’s hand in marriage. He sent Count Florian and Count Arnolfo to begin the negotiations. But first, they were to observe Joanna when she was unaware of their presence, so they could judge her natural appearance and deportment.”

  The two ladies-in-waiting began whispering excitedly to each other. Brother Jean-Pierre beamed, proud that one of his pupils had such illustrious prospects. John glowered. What chance did he, as youngest son, have of making such a brilliant marriage?

  Only Joanna appeared unmoved. But Eleanor, studying her serious face, knew that she was absorbing the news, taking her time to decide what she thought. That was her way: slow to arrive at a conviction, then steadfast, stubborn even, in adhering to it. Eleanor, with domineering King Henry for a husband and four headstrong sons, often wondered at this withdrawn child, so unlike the rest of the family. But there was a strong bond between mother and daughter. Eleanor found Joanna’s undemanding presence a rest after contentious encounters with Henry.

  To Joanna, who had spent all her eleven years with Eleanor either in England or in Eleanor’s ancestral lands in France, her mother was the most beautiful, interesting person in the world and the one she most wanted to please.

  Though Joanna’s face was unreadable, there was a trace of anxiety in her voice when she asked, “Do you know what they thought of me, mother?”

  “No, I haven’t spoken to them since. But tomorrow at the state dinner they’ll be able to judge you in quite a different setting. And to be sure”—she paused and looked at John—“to judge the rest of the family as well. Marriages like this are as much between families and kingdoms as between two individuals. That’s the whole point.”

  “Does King William have a family?” Joanna asked.

  “His mother, Queen Margaret, is still very much alive, I hear. She was regent until William came of age. And there’s a younger brother, but I don’t know anything about him. You may ask the ambassadors tomorrow. Very likely they’d consider your curiosity an encouraging sign of interest in your new role.”

  While the diners began attacking the platters of pickled fish that had been brought in, Joanna began making mental lists of what she’d ask the Sicilians.

  She hadn’t been greatly surprised at the news of her forthcoming betrothal. She’d been told all her life that in due course her parents would arrange an advantageous marriage for her. She was aware that they’d managed very well for her sisters. Matilda had gone off to marry Henry the Lion, nephew of the German emperor, before Joanna was born. And her sister Eleanor, at nine, had been sent to marry the king of Castile. Joanna had been only five at the time but she remembered her sister’s unhappiness at being exiled to a strange stern land where she knew no one, much less her future husband.

  I’m luckier, thought Joanna. I’m going to Sicily—that sunny, golden kingdom in the sea, far to the south of damp, chilly England. But what will King William be like? Old and ugly? What if he resembles mean-spirited John, rather than Richard, Joanna’s beloved older brother? And would her mother be allowed to go with her? Joanna knew all about her father’s decree that Eleanor must not leave Winchester without his permission. Surely he’d make an exception in this case.

  Mulling over these matters, she methodically made her way through the slices of fish on her plate. They were swimming in a vinegary, spicy sauce, and she was rather glad of t
hat. She suspected the fish had gone off a bit. She wondered if the fish would be fresher in Sicily. Probably; it was an island, after all.

  Ladies Elspeth and Marian had hoped for a more enthusiastic reaction.

  “Isn’t this exciting, Princess Joanna? Just think, you’ll be Queen of Sicily!” said Lady Marian. As the one most responsible for Joanna’s daily upbringing, she was already hoping that she’d be delegated to go with the princess to her new home.

  “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Eleanor said. “I must remind you that the ambassadors have yet to discuss this with King Henry. A great deal will depend on the impression Joanna makes on them tomorrow. If it isn’t favorable, King Henry may not be able to get their agreement to the amount of money and treasure that will change hands. Or indeed, the whole proposal may collapse. I suggest that we all leave the subject for now.”

  Silence ensued, broken only by the snaps and crackles from the fireplace and by John’s muted invitations to his hound, waiting in the corner, to come lick the plate John had placed on the floor. Eleanor pretended not to notice.

  The next morning Joanna accompanied her mother to the castle kitchens.

  “If you become mistress of your own castle, or castello, or whatever they call it in Sicily, you must always watch over the cooks. Otherwise they may get careless and serve any old thing. And you can’t always leave it to others to do the supervising. There’s nothing like having the queen drop into the kitchen unannounced to keep them on their toes. Today, it’s particularly important that we offer a suitable repast to the ambassadors. I’m sure their palates are much more refined than those of our usual guests.”

  Joanna nodded and filed the advice away. It was flattering to be addressed almost as an equal by her mother.