by Rachel Bard
The archbishop stopped drumming his fingers on the table and interrupted. “So much for Sicily. What do you know of King William?”
“Oh, I know he’s called William the Good, but I expect that may be simply because he doesn’t raise as many hackles as his mother did when she was regent or his father did when he was king. And he’s quite a pious person, they say, because he’s building a very expensive cathedral at Monreale, somewhere over there near Palermo.” As he spoke he flung an arm in the general direction of western Sicily and his cuff swept a pile of papers off the table. Unabashed—such contretemps were a commonplace in his feckless life—he bent to pick them up.
Perpendicular again, he said, “I only wish that you could accompany us, Archbishop, on this historic journey.”
Archbishop Richard placed the fingertips of his plump hands together, looked toward the ceiling and said with a sigh, “That would be my wish too, Hamelin. But the king has most particularly told me my presence is essential in Winchester during the next few months. I am overseeing his new chapel dedicated to the late Archbishop Thomas à Becket. He has vowed to complete it by the end of this year, as the final act of his penance. Naturally I am glad to be of whatever service I can in this godly endeavor.”
“Naturally. Just as I am glad to lend my assistance to the safe transport of his daughter to her new home.”
These civilities out of the way, they attacked their lists and schedules. Presently, the archbishop leaned back and rested his folded his hands on the half-dome of his stomach.
“If all goes as we see it now, Hamelin, there will be a party of sixty. The princess’s household alone comes to thirty. So do you agree, we will need at least seven vessels to transport the people and baggage from Greenwich to Honfleur in Normandy?”
Hamelin had tried unsuccessfully to keep up with the higher mathematics of this discussion.
“Absolutely,” he said sagely.
“And one more for the soldiers’ horses? And another for the provisions? And speaking of provisions…” And so on.
Somehow by the middle of August everything was nearly in place. Joanna was glad to see the approaching end of trying on of gowns, the sewing and packing. Then there were three new ladies who would, with Lady Marian, become her personal entourage. At her mother’s bidding, she did her best to get to know them.
“There is nothing like a devoted lady at your side, Joanna,” said Eleanor. “If she doesn’t feel you like and trust her, she can become an enemy. But if she’s loyal, she can be your eyes and ears in case of palace intrigues.”
Joanna didn’t want to even think about palace intrigues in the fair and pleasant Sicily she was dreaming of. But she filed this advice away in her orderly brain.
And the lessons! As soon as the marriage arrangements were definite, Eleanor had asked Brother Jean-Pierre to intensify Joanna’s instruction in Latin and especially Norman French, widely spoken by the Norman rulers of Sicily. Though it was Joanna’s native tongue, during her time in England some Anglo-Saxon impurities had crept into her speech.
Eleanor spoke earnestly to her daughter about her education. “This is important, Joanna. You mustn’t fall behind during the journey. Brother Jean-Pierre will accompany you and will continue to prepare you to make a proper impression on King William. It’s said the king not only knows French and Latin, but also reads and speaks Arabic.”
“Oh dear, surely I’m not going to have to learn Arabic too!”
“Actually, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. There are still many Saracens in Sicily; after all, it’s only forty or fifty years since the Normans conquered the island. But I doubt very much if Brother Jean-Pierre is acquainted with the language.”
Joanna threw herself energetically into the daily lessons. Beyond wishing to please her mother, she had the new incentive of wishing to please her future husband. Buried deep in her sober nature was a girl who dreamed romantic dreams of the handsome, accomplished young king who was waiting for her in Sicily.
Finally the time came to depart. August 26, 1176, was a perfect summer day with puffy white clouds scudding across the blue English sky like ducks paddling across a pond. The long, colorful procession passed through the ancient stone arch of Winchester’s Westgate and wound its way down the hill. First came the herald bearing the banner with the royal coat of arms—three golden lions on a field of scarlet. Next, the trumpeter, blaring his warning to any stray peasants or sheepherders to keep out of the way of the royal procession. Then came the advance guard of a dozen knights, followed by Earl Hamelin in proud isolation. He jounced around in his saddle and his purple cloak flew behind him like a luffing sail. Then the senior members of the princess’s household, including Brother Jean-Pierre, the physician, and Lady Gertrude, the elderly duenna whose task was to see that Joanna’s ladies were attentive to their duties and didn’t enjoy themselves too much. Then six more knights and the royal personage herself with Lady Marian at her side. She was followed by her brightly clad women, chattering and wondering what Sicily would be like.
Joanna, though the smallest and youngest in the party, was unmistakably the center of it all. Her horse’s mane was interwoven with tasseled golden cords. He was caparisoned in gilt-edged scarlet and trotted proudly along, as though aware of his importance. Joanna, sitting stiffly upright in her saddle, wore a sweeping flame-red cloak that fell almost to the ground. Her shoulder-length brown hair was crowned with a golden tiara. Queen Eleanor had decreed that the time had come for her to dress as befitted her station.
She turned for a last glimpse of the city walls and Westgate, where her parents had wished her Godspeed, but the long train of servants and wagons behind her hid it from view. “Will I ever see Winchester again?” she wondered. But she was almost twelve, and old enough to look forward to adventure, not backward at her known world.
She caught the eye of Lady Marian, who was frowning with worry. Did her charge need comforting? This was such a tremendous disruption for her. Furthermore, the clouds had coalesced into gray, moisture-laden banks and she was sure she’d felt a raindrop.
Joanna called out, “Lady Marian! Cheer up! Before we know it we’ll be in Sicily, where the sun always shines!”
Chapter 5
“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” said Joanna. She stood on the pier, swaying a little and stamping her feet to get used to solid ground again. To everybody’s relief, the party had arrived at Honfleur on the northern Norman coast at midday. Alan Broadshares, Joanna’s squire, guided her tottering steps to where the horses were already saddled. As he helped her onto her horse, he grinned up at her and said, “Ay, my lady, it was rather a rough crossing, but God’s truth, I’ve seen many worse.”
Alan, a battle-scarred veteran of King Henry’s wars, had been retired from active service at forty and delegated as Joanna’s personal attendant. At first he’d grumbled to his mates, “What am I then, a nursery maid?” But now, ten days into the journey, he’d changed his mind. “I will say I’ve never seen a young lass with so much pluck and curiosity,” he said to the captain during the Channel crossing. Joanna spent hours on deck, reveling in the swift passage of the galley over the waves and asking Alan, or any seaman who was near, to show her where they were on the map that Brother Jean-Pierre had drawn for her. But more than once she’d gotten so queasy that she had to go below and lie down. Only then would Lady Marian allow herself to do the same.
The three new ladies, Adelaide, Beatrice and Charmaine, had suffered much more, or claimed so. Beatrice, slender and delicate, the black-haired and blue-eyed beauty of the trio, tried once to navigate the wildly pitching deck but came below in two minutes. “I would have been blown off my feet and into the sea if the captain hadn’t seen me and hurried forward to help me. It was most unnerving. I do not feel at all well.” And she took to her bed, not to rise until the end of the voyage.
Charmaine lay down in their stuffy little cabin the minute she was aboard and also stayed supine for the duration.
As for Adelaide, who at twenty-four was the oldest and who capitalized on that by claiming to be the wisest and most experienced, “I’ve often sailed before and never, never got seasick,” she’d boasted after they embarked. But she managed to stay topside for only a quarter of an hour after Beatrice gave up and went below. When Adelaide saw that despite her squeals of terror and clutching for the nearest rail the captain ignored her, she joined the others.
Safely ashore at Honfleur, Joanna rode into a grubby town, devoted largely to fishermen and their strong-smelling wares and their nets spread to dry on every available surface. The unprepossessing wooden structures that lined the street along the river seemed to be mostly taverns or disreputable lodging houses.
Earl Hamelin appeared at her side.
“Isn’t this a snug little port, Princess Joanna? Honfleur has an excellent anchorage and it’s protected from the ocean storms, being located as it is well up the Seine River from the sea.” She’d noticed him quizzing the captain of the galley at some length, pointing toward the French shore as they approached. She was gratified that her flighty uncle was making a creditable effort to inform himself on their travels. “But we won’t stop here. We’ll want to push on to the abbey at Jobie. Archbishop Richard has sent word to the abbot there to expect us.”
“Good,” said Lady Marian, who had joined them. “Let us be on the road as soon as possible. I cannot abide this vile odor another minute.”
“Perhaps we should wait until all the galleys are unloaded and everybody is ready to ride,” said Joanna. “My brother Richard told me that an army commander should never let the vanguard get out of sight of the main body, and we’re practically an army.”
Earl Hamelin had an answer for that. “I’ll just go and tell the captain of the knights where we’re going, and the rest can follow us. It isn’t far, I believe.”
So off they rode into the sunny September afternoon, with Earl Hamelin leading the way. That gangly, long-limbed gentleman, with legs and arms bent sharply at knee and elbow, leaning forward over his horse’s neck, head bobbing up and down, looked more like a cricket on horseback than the noble half-brother of the King of England. Behind him came four knights, then Joanna and her household. They rode their horses at a walk along a broad track, bordered by golden fields of wheat and hay almost ready for the scythe. These were shortly replaced by apple orchards where the rosy fruit hung heavy on the boughs. Joanna, lulled by the warmth and calm, gave her horse its head.
But when the sunlight gave way to deep shade, she looked around, dismayed. Gone were the bright fields, the purple asters nodding by the roadside. They’d entered a gloomy forest where the road was overhung and darkened by low-lying branches of oak and ash. She was alarmed when the track narrowed and they had to ride in single file. Before long they came to a tiny community of four houses and a stable. She could hear loud voices ahead. Brother Jean-Pierre trotted his horse toward the head of the column. She followed, as did Alan and Lady Marian.
Earl Hamelin was shouting at a poor-looking villager, who was staring up at him with open mouth, shaking his head.
“This dolt pretends he doesn’t understand me,” the earl said to Jean-Pierre, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I’m worn out with asking him how to get to Jobie. Maybe you can get some sense out of him.”
Brother Jean-Pierre, who had spent many years in France dealing with the lowly as well as the highborn, dismounted so he could confront the confused man face-to-face. He spoke slowly, in a conversational tone, and before long the “dolt” had become a willing informant.
“He says we should have gone to the left, back there where the road forked.”
“I thought our brave leader assured us he knew the way,” Lady Marian muttered to Joanna. The girl nodded. Alan said “Humph!” and they all turned to begin the dreary retracing of their route.
Long after dark, following the flame of a torch held by one of the leading knights, they heard the drum of hoofbeats ahead, and soon came up with the main body of their party.
“They must have started at least two hours after we did,” marveled Lady Charmaine. “I wish I’d waited and come with them. At least they knew where they were going. I’ve never been so weary. I do hope we’re almost there.”
“You speak for all of us,” said Lady Marian. If Earl Hamelin heard, he didn’t show it.
When they reached the abbey, the walls looked forbidding and ghostly in the dim light of the half-moon. But the abbey gate was opened the moment they approached. The monks must have been watching out for them. In short order Joanna and her people were shown to the refectory, while the rest of the party were disposed here and there in the houses around the large courtyard. Silent but smiling brown-clad monks led them to their tables and brought large bowls of lentil soup along with chunks of crusty bread and pitchers of good red wine. Joanna was so tired that she hardly knew what she was eating and was glad to be led to a small room that she shared with Lady Marian. The beds were hard and narrow and did little to relieve their stiffness after the long day’s ride. But at least the ocean wasn’t heaving them about.
The next morning, much refreshed, she and her ladies made their way to the refectory for breakfast, where they saw Earl Hamelin, Brother Jean-Pierre and the abbot conferring earnestly in a corner. They seemed to have come to an agreement, because all three were nodding their heads vigorously. The earl said, “Thank you, father. I will see that the appropriate persons are made aware of the aid you are giving us.” He clapped the abbot on the back. The abbot flinched in surprise but managed a pained smile. The earl disengaged himself with some difficulty from his low bench and came over to where Joanna was savoring her bread dipped in warm milk with honey. He made a little bow and stood with arms akimbo, all confidence.
“Well, princess, good news. Father Bertrand has graciously agreed to delegate one of his monks to guide us from here to Poitiers. The man apparently was at one time an itinerant friar in these parts and knows the way well. This should help us avoid any more unfortunate occurrences like yesterday’s.”
It wasn’t exactly an apology but Joanna recognized it as at least an acknowledgment that something had gone wrong.
“Thank you, uncle. How long do you think it will take us to reach Poitiers? We’re supposed to meet my brother Richard there, you know.”
The earl’s lips curled downward and he threw his head back to cast his eyes skyward, as though seeking divine help to deal with this preposterous supposition.
“I’d be surprised if Richard were there. He’s been very busy going after King Henry’s enemies down south, I hear. I doubt if we’ll see him before we get to Saint-Gilles down on the coast.”
He sincerely hoped he was right. With such a bright and blazing knight as Prince Richard in the party, who would notice a bastard uncle? He’d be totally eclipsed.
Joanna, on the other hand, could hardly contain her eagerness. As they wended their way south she prattled on about her brother until Lady Marian became weary of the subject. She had never met Richard and doubted that any man alive could be such a paragon.
“You will like Richard, I know,” Joanna told her. “He is very tall and very handsome with gorgeous blond hair. I wish I had hair like that! And he’s braver than any other knight anywhere.”
“Well, if you are so fond of Richard, I hope he is equally fond of you?”
“Yes, he is,” the girl said with a firmness that Lady Marian felt might be the self-delusion of a bedazzled younger sister. But Joanna was right. Of all Henry’s and Eleanor’s children, only these two had come to genuinely care for each other. They’d been thrown together while young after Eleanor, tired of Henry’s overbearing ways, left England and set up her own court in Poitiers. Despite the eight years’ difference in their ages the brother and sister got on remarkably well. Richard, the budding knight and horseman, soaked up admiration and Joanna’s was unstinting. Then, about the time that he became more interested in tournaments and hunting than in showing off for th
e little sister who trotted in his wake, Eleanor and Joanna were ordered back to England. Richard stayed in France, having been deemed old enough to start fighting King Henry’s continental wars.
“It’s two years since I’ve seen him,” Joanna said. “But I don’t expect he’ll have changed much.”
After six days, they reached the last few leagues of the road that gradually climbed to the city walls of Poitiers. And there, riding down the road toward them was a tall yellow-haired man on a tall, coal-black horse, both of them decked out in red and gold. A squire followed bearing aloft the Plantagenet banner with its three fierce, rampant lions.
“Richard!” shrieked Joanna. She squirmed down out of her saddle before Alan could help her and ran toward her brother. Richard dismounted and stood with open arms. As she hurtled to him, he swept her up as though she were a doll and gave her a crushing hug. Richard was laughing and Joanna was almost crying with happiness.
“Aren’t you the proper little princess!” he cried as he set her down. “Your gown is quite respectable, in fact elegant, and your hair—what have they done to your hair? Why isn’t it flying about like an unruly puppy’s? How can it have become so ruly?”
“Well, Richard, now that I’ve turned twelve and I’m about to be married, I was told I must pay more attention to my appearance. But you’ve changed too.”
He was even handsomer than she remembered. He’d let his hair grow so that it fell to his shoulders, and he’d acquired a fine, curly red-gold beard. The rest of his face had caught up to his large nose, which used to distress the boy by its dominance. Now, the nose’s noble proportions were balanced by the broad brow, the wide-set blue eyes, the generous mouth and the square Plantagenet jaw. He had the self-assurance of a man who is used to being admired.
“Now, little sister, you and your friends must all be very tired and eager to get to the palace.” He looked around at the rest of the party. Indeed, the three ladies, Adelaide, Beatrice and Charmaine, were drooping in their saddles. But when they felt Richard’s eyes on them, each one straightened up, let the hood of her cloak fall, smoothed her hair and tried to look less travel-weary. Even Lady Marian, though she would never permit herself to droop and was sitting quite erect, found herself assuming a more pleasant expression than usual and wished briefly that she were twenty years younger. Watching the brother and sister, she was pleased that Richard seemed to be everything Joanna had promised.