by Rachel Bard
Joanna cast a last longing look at the church and dismounted to follow the monk who had been assigned to guide the ladies of the party. As soon as they left the moonlit square they were in a maze of dark narrow streets, but after two turns their guide indicated their destination. It was a small house next to the main hostelry. Joanna and her women would stay here, while the rest of the party would be in the larger, more crowded lodgings next door.
The monk knocked, and a sleepy-looking woman opened the door, screwing up her wrinkled old face to peer out and see who it was. “Fine time to be waking honest folk from their rest,” she complained. The monk murmured something in her ear. She opened the door wide, gave a little bob of her head and managed a surly, “Welcome, Princess Joanna.” She didn’t sound very welcoming.
The other ladies were left to wait at the entrance. The old woman continued to mutter something about “Nobody ever tells me anything about who’s coming, even when it’s royalty,” as she led Joanna and Lady Marian to their room. It seemed habitable enough. The wood floor looked as though it had been swept not too long ago. Long woolen curtains covered the windows. There were two narrow beds with thick brown coverlets. The old woman left but shortly clumped back in with a tray bearing a loaf of brown bread, a knife, a slab of cheese, a pitcher of wine and two mugs. She banged the tray on a table, poured the wine, and after looking at them as though daring them to ask for anything more, scuttled out the door.
“Well!” said Lady Marian. She untied her wimple and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “It’s not exactly Westminster Palace, is it my dear? Still, let’s make the best of it. May I help you to a portion of this fragrant crusty loaf, a slice of this mellow golden cheese and a glass of this excellent fruity local wine?”
Joanna fell in with her mood. “If you please, do so. And be so good as to serve my dinner in my private chamber, since I see no chair in the dining hall.” She jumped up on her bed. “And do be quick, my good woman. The sooner I sup, the sooner I can sleep, and then it will be morning and we can go back to that beautiful church.”
Chapter 8
The next day there was still no sign of the Sicilian galleys. The morning had dawned chilly and windless. Fog had settled like a fall of soft cold goosedown to fill every cranny of the city’s twisting streets. When at midmorning Joanna and Brother Jean-Pierre set out for the church square, a few tentative rays of sunlight were beginning to break through, but Lady Marian bundled the girl up warmly in a long brown cloak with a fur-lined hood. Walking along beside Jean-Pierre, in his brown habit and with his cowl raised, she looked like a little monk-in-training.
When they came out from the shadowy lanes into the broad square, they found it considerably warmer and very crowded. The sun, well above the rooftops by now, had dispersed the mists and beamed on tradesmen setting up their market stands, townspeople clustering around them hoping for an early bargain, and chattering pilgrims who had come to inspect the famous church. Joanna and Jean-Pierre pushed their way through the throng to stand at the foot of the church steps. Now in the bright daylight, Joanna could clearly make out what she had seen so dimly the night before. Faces, figures, beasts and flowers chased each other around the three great arched portals. She stared, open-mouthed, transfixed.
Jean-Pierre explained. “Here, Princess, we see the complete story of Christ’s life, crucifixion and ascent into heaven. Over here at the beginning are Mary and Joseph, there are the ass and the sheep, and the Babe.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this! Everything looks so real.” She caught sight of the frieze over the left portal and tugged at her tutor’s sleeve. “Oh, Jean-Pierre, who are those men running away and looking so frightened? Who’s the fierce-looking man chasing them?”
“Well, he does look pretty fierce. But he had reason. That’s Jesus sending the money-changers out of the temple.”
After an hour of walking back and forth and going up the steps for closer looks, Joanna sighed. “What a lot of work it must have been for the sculptors, poor men. How long do you suppose it took?”
“Years and years, I’d think. And we could spend years here admiring it, Joanna, but we’d best go down now and see where the saint’s entombed.”
The monk who stood at the top of the stairway to the crypt gave Jean-Pierre a candle to light their way to the gloomy depths under the church. Following Jean-Pierre down the uneven stone steps, Joanna called, “Is there an effigy? Will we see what he really looked like?”
She had always been interested in the lives of the saints, especially the early martyrs who suffered grievous persecutions. Her favorites at the moment were Perpetua and Felicitas, who refused to renounce their faith. She’d been fascinated with the story of how they, along with several men who were equally steadfast in their devotion, had been sentenced to be torn apart by wild beasts before an amphitheater of spectators in Carthage. Sometimes, lying in bed before going to sleep, she thought of the two brave women and shivered, imagining their torment as the rapacious beasts howled and slavered. Later, Jean-Pierre told her that it was now reliably reported that though the men had been killed by rampaging lions and leopards, as an act of mercy the women had been charged by a cow. The creature had been goaded until she was enraged, but since she failed to do enough damage, Perpetua and Felicitas had been put to the sword. Joanna found much more drama in the earlier version.
She was almost disappointed that though Saint Gilles had undergone many privations, he was neither torn apart nor put to the sword, but lived to a ripe old age and died of natural causes. Still, he was an interesting saint. Brother Jean-Pierre had told her how he’d lived for years in a cave with a loyal bitch for his only companion. There he subsisted on wild herbs and milk from the dog’s teats. The lame and the sick toiled to his retreat, and he’d cured them. He’d driven the evil spirits out of a man possessed by the Devil. He’d brought a prince on the point of death back to life and won the friendship of the king, who’d built this abbey for him.
“Yes, I believe there’s an effigy,” Jean-Pierre said, “but I can’t promise it will show us what he really looked like. In my opinion, sculptors of effigies tend to make everybody look equally noble and handsome.”
Joanna never had a chance to see the effigy. They stepped into the crypt, which was far larger than she’d expected, almost like a duplicate of the church above. She saw the saint’s tomb far off at the dimly lit end of the vaulted nave. But before they could take a step toward it, a deafening clatter came from the staircase, where a crowd of pilgrims was rushing down to see the sights in the crypt. Joanna and Jean-Pierre were almost swept along with them, but he pulled her to the side and said testily, “We’ll come back later when this rabble is gone. Such zeal is commendable, but I’m afraid they’re less interested in prayer and reverence than in adding another name to their lists of saints’ tombs and relics they’ve visited.”
When they came up again into the brightness of the afternoon they saw Lady Marian and the duenna entering the square. Lady Marian had to slow her steps to match the pace of Lady Gertrude, who hobbled with the aid of a pair of canes. The long journey on horseback had not been easy on her joints.
Joanna ran through the crowd to meet them.
“If you’re thinking of going down to see the tomb of Saint Gilles, this isn’t a good time. It’s too crowded.”
“Where are your young charges, Lady Gertrude?” Jean-Pierre asked. “I hope you haven’t left them unattended?”
“Earl Hamelin very kindly offered to show them about the city. He promised to take two knights along and to be watchful for any mischief-makers.” The old lady’s hooded eyes opened wide when she caught sight of the church. “Oh, I must see that from close up,” she said. She began her uncertain progress across the square, where hurrying townsfolk swerved to avoid her swinging canes. Halfway across, she stopped so suddenly that a man behind her reeled. His heavy bag fell and burst open and onions began rolling every which way over the cobblestones. Men, women and ch
ildren scrambled to retrieve them and thrust them into their own sacks and pockets; though a few returned them to their owner. Lady Gertrude, oblivious, was peering toward the foot of the church steps. She turned to call to the others and pointed. “See, there they are.”
They looked where she was pointing and saw Earl Hamelin with his two knights and two of his young ladies, standing at the foot of the church steps. The earl was gesturing enthusiastically, urging his companions to look at the carvings.
“Uncle!” said Joanna when she reached the church. “What have you done with Lady Beatrice? Why isn’t she with you?”
“Don’t worry, Joanna. She’s in good hands. Just as we were leaving the hostelry, Prince Richard came in. He couldn’t find Count Raymond, so he came back to see if the galleys had arrived, which they haven’t. So he decided to come with us to tour the city. But just then Lady Beatrice said she felt chilly, so he said he’d go back with her to fetch a cloak, then join us. I expect we’ll see them any minute.”
He took Lady Adelaide by the arm and helped her up the steps. Lady Charmaine trailed behind. The two knights sat on a step and waited patiently, listening with half an ear to the earl’s lecture.
“Now my dears, you must let me explain it all. First, you see, there’s Christ on the throne of heaven. And over here are Saint Peter and Saint John. Or is that Saint Paul? Well, no matter. And there are Cain and Abel—or possibly David and Goliath? And just beyond…”
Several pilgrims had attached themselves to the group, thinking this might be some official guide. One of them asked, “And who, good sir, are these men all in a row, following a man who looks like Jesus on a small horse?”
“Oh, that, I believe, is Jesus, after he told the money-changers to leave the temple, conducting them out.”
Joanna, still at the foot of the steps, heard all this clearly. She looked anxiously at Jean-Pierre. “I thought you said that was Jesus leading the disciples into Jerusalem. Shouldn’t we say something?”
“Never mind, they won’t remember it anyway. And at least they’re finding entertainment in the scriptures, and not in some tavern.”
He was anxious to get up to the top of the city while the sun was still high and show Joanna what he’d heard was a glorious view. “All the way to the city of Avignon, they say. I hope you will come too, Lady Marian.” She nodded. “And will you join us, Lady Gertrude?”
“No thank you, I’ve had enough sights for one day. I’ll just go back to the hostelry and have a little lie-down.”
“If you see Richard, will you tell him where we’ve gone?” Joanna asked her.
“I will, though who knows where he and that Beatrice have got themselves to.” And off she tottered.
The remaining three set off up the winding road. Before long, they left the crowded city behind to come out on a meadow, beyond which a steep bluff plunged to the plain. A few benches had been placed there for visitors who were weary after the steep climb. They sat and stared. It was indeed a glorious view. Below them the Petit-Rhône wound like a silver-green ribbon through the greener land and fields and forests stretched off to the east. But strain their eyes as they might none could see anything that might be the walls of Avignon.
“I’m sorry,” said Brother Jean-Pierre, as though it were his fault. “I’m afraid it’s just too hazy today.”
“Oh look!” cried Lady Marian, rising and shading her eyes with her hand as she looked downriver. “Can those be the Sicilian galleys?”
Six long, graceful vessels were tacking back and forth across the river, sails rigged to take advantage of every breath of wind. From their vantage point, the three could see the rowers’ oars dipping into the water and rising to dip again, slowly, deliberately, with just enough force to keep the vessels underway when they came about. No need to hurry now. The end of their long voyage was in sight.
Chapter 9
Early the next morning Joanna and Lady Marian were awakened by a muted but persistent knocking. Joanna opened one eye and saw that it was still dark. She heard Lady Marian groan as she stirred herself and muttered, “Now where can my robe have got to?” Joanna rolled over. Lady Marian would deal with whoever it was and then they could go back to sleep.
It was Alan, holding a candle that sent dark shadows flickering over his face. Respectful but firm, he said, “I am sorry to wake you so early, but Prince Richard sends word that the tide will be turning in an hour and a half and everybody must be on the galleys.”
“Oh dear,” said Lady Marian. “All right, we’ll do our best. Thank you, Alan. And have you wakened the other ladies?”
“I have, and Lady Adelaide said to tell you that as soon as she can she’ll be along to help you and the princess. Meantime this lass is here to assist.”
Joanna raised her head off her pillow. In the light of the candle and of the banked fire she could see a short, stocky girl with rosy cheeks and a mass of red hair, standing behind Alan. She was looking down intently at the tray she was holding, keeping it level so nothing would spill or rattle.
“Her name is Mary. She’s brought your breakfast.”
Mary came in, Alan left and Joanna got out of bed. Lady Marian, brisk and businesslike, in short order showed Mary where to put the tray, told her to use the bellows on the fire, found Joanna’s wool robe and wrapped her in it, and set two chairs at the table. While they ate their bread and cherry jam, at Lady Marian’s instruction Mary began taking garments off hooks, folding them and placing them in chests or big wool bags.
“Very good, Mary,” Lady Marian said approvingly. “You seem like a quick learner. Maybe we should see if you can go with us to Sicily.”
The girl looked startled. “Oh, thank you, but I think I am going. Uncle Alan said he would arrange it with Earl Hamelin that I could be Princess Joanna’s chambermaid. Uncle Alan said as far as he could tell the princess wasn’t getting much help from those three…” She stopped suddenly, realizing she might be speaking out of turn. But Lady Marian only laughed.
Joanna looked up from her breakfast. “So Alan is your uncle? And you’ve been traveling along with us all this time? Why haven’t I seen you?”
Before answering, Mary carefully folded a silk robe and placed it in a chest. Now that there was more light Joanna saw that she was really quite pretty. She guessed that Mary was perhaps a year or so older than herself. Her red-brown curls framed a round face with a turned-up nose and blue eyes that widened when she spoke.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have seen me because I’ve been way at the back with the cooks. Uncle Alan said if I worked hard as a kitchenmaid maybe something better would come along. And now it has, hasn’t it?” Her grin was so merry that Joanna couldn’t help returning it.
“Well!” said Lady Marian, taking a final sip of her barley water and setting her cup down decisively. “We shall see. I would certainly be glad of someone dependable to help with the princess’s dressing and packing and unpacking and all that. Now, Mary, see if you can find a place to take this tray, then tell Alan that we’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
And so they were, in spite of Joanna’s objections when Lady Marian told her she must wear one of the fine gowns that, except for one dinner in Poitiers, had stayed in their chests all the way from Winchester.
“While we were on the road so long, my dear, with very little time to brush and clean your clothes, of course we had to wear the same old gowns day after day. But King William will undoubtedly have delegated some of his courtiers to meet us, and it’s important for you to make a good impression.” She placed a finger on her chin and considered. “I think the blue wool, the one with the silver sash and silver embroidery around the hem.” Joanna was persuaded. She did rather like that one. It made her feel more grown-up.
Mary, who had never tied a bow in a sash in her life, much less a silver one, earnestly attended to Lady Marian’s directions and got it right on the second try.
“Very good, Mary. Now help me with the buttons on the princess’s cloak, put on
your own and we’ll be off.”
Lady Adelaide eventually strolled in to lend a hand only to meet Lady Marian shepherding her little party out the door, followed by two stout men puffing under the weight of chests and bags. At the street they found their horses saddled and the pack animals waiting.
When they reached the riverfront they saw that a dozen more vessels had joined the six galleys they’d seen the previous afternoon. Richard, his hair flying and his face as red as a brick, was striding about and shouting, urging haste. With an anxious eye on the tide that was just beginning to rise, he enlisted Alan and they almost pushed the confused company onto the ships. Many of the party had returned to England, but there were still about forty travelers to Sicily. Knights and squires, cooks and laundresses, servingmen and maids, all the household needed by a queen of Sicily and all their stores and baggage had to be squeezed into the boats. Scores of citizens of Saint-Gilles, who had never seen such a commotion on their river, had gathered to watch the show. The sun, still low in the east, lent brightness if not warmth to the scene. Several enterprising fellows, taking advantage of the festive mood, had brought flutes and drums to give an impromptu concert.
Joanna hardly had time to take all this in when Richard, out of breath but apparently satisfied that everybody and everything were going to fit, appeared at her side. He seized her arm and led her and Lady Marian to the largest vessel and helped them onto the short gangway and onto the deck. He looked around critically. “It’s not the most graceful—far too fat in the middle for that. But these gentlemen say it’s the most comfortable and seaworthy.”
Only then did Joanna notice the two elegant strangers who had followed them onto the galley. No, not strangers. She recognized them first by their fancy shoes. They were the Sicilian ambassadors, Florian and Arnolfo, who had come to Winchester all those months ago to see if she’d make a suitable bride for King William. She held out her hand and smiled, as she’d seen her mother do. Count Florian bowed over it.