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

by Rachel Bard

  “Yes, I was just coming to that. William, I want you to reconsider this marriage to the English princess. You know I’ve never thought it was a good idea. Now I’ve had some really disturbing news. I’ve called in Count Florian to ask his opinion on what kind of match the girl will be. He traveled with her all that way, and he should be familiar with her by now. And I didn’t like what he had to say, not at all.” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for some evidence of curiosity. But he merely watched her with a slight smile, silent.

  “I gather from what he said—though he didn’t come right out and say it, William, it was easy to guess what he really meant—I gathered that she’s a poor little frail wisp of a thing, who might die on you before she could bear you a child. So I really advise you to send her home again. And it’s not too late to negotiate with Emperor Frederick. I still think you were wrong to turn him down when he offered his daughter to you, two years ago. He’d make a much better ally than King Henry. And you’d be so much better off with one of those strong, healthy German princesses. So would the succession.”

  She sat back and folded her hands in her lap, having made her case.

  William stood up, brushed back a lock of hair and walked to the window. It was getting noisier down in the square. Dusk was approaching, and the lamplighters were beginning to kindle the torches.

  “Mother,” he said, seating himself again, “for one thing, it would be the height of rudeness and most deplorable diplomacy to send the princess back as soon as she arrives. For another, I’ve talked to Count Florian too, as well as Count Arnolfo. They reported to me as soon as they got here from Naples two weeks ago. They told me of Princess Joanna’s illness and her suffering during the voyage. They said they’d been quite shocked when they saw the condition she was in when they arrived at Naples. But they said they’d discussed the matter at length with each other during their journey from Naples to Palermo. They now feel there’s every reason to expect that my fiancée will have recovered and will be as pretty and spirited a young girl as the one they first saw in England. Furthermore, just yesterday I received a message from Earl Hamelin, the girl’s guardian, telling me that she was quite well, she had attended Epiphany mass in the Naples cathedral, and she was greatly admired. In fact, the townspeople cheered her and called her ‘our beautiful English princess.’ So, mother, I see no need to take such drastic measures as you suggest and send her home. And if you’ll excuse me, I must get ready to go down to the harbor to welcome her and her party.”

  Queen Margaret, who was used to losing arguments, sighed. “Very well, William, if that’s your decision.” She hoisted herself from her chair. William stood too and gave her a little bow, then turned his back and walked toward his chamber.

  She gathered up her skirts and sailed toward the door, but turned to deliver one last volley. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, when your sickly English princess fails to give you an heir.” But William had already closed his door and didn’t hear.

  Chapter 13

  After an easy day of sailing, Joanna and her party were on deck, watching as the harbor of Palermo hove in sight. The fishing boats had already come in and the fleet of galleys had the harbor almost to themselves. They slipped silently over the quiet waters toward a long pier that jutted into the bay. Joanna’s galley was in the lead and made for the landward end of the pier. There was no chatter. It was a solemn moment, the end of a long, long journey and the beginning of whatever was to come next.

  Joanna was dressed for the occasion in the gown she’d worn to the cathedral in Naples. She smoothed her white satin skirts and looked down with approval at the brightly embroidered band around the hem, with the Plantagenet lions in all their glory. Her pearl circlet was fixed firmly on her head. She felt quite royal.

  But the closer they came to the landing the more nervous she became. Until now, the arrival in Palermo and the meeting with William had been a vague event, far off in the distant future. Now it was here. Already they could see a mounted procession wending its way down from the city toward the shore.

  When the galley was almost at the pier, the sun set behind the western hills and it suddenly became chilly. Lady Marian sent Mary below to fetch the princess’s brown wool cloak, but Joanna objected.

  “What’s the point of dressing in my finest for King William, if he can’t see anything but a dreary old cloak? I won’t mind the cold.”

  “That’s all very well, Joanna, but it would not do at all if you fell ill again the minute you got to Palermo. King William wouldn’t like that. I’m afraid I must insist.”

  “Besides,” said Lady Charmaine, gazing at the shore from the deck, “it’s getting quite dark, and nobody will be able to see what anyone is wearing.” She spoke with regret, having put on her crimson brocade for the occasion.

  As though to prove her wrong, the approaching procession and the road all the way to the pier were suddenly, dazzlingly, illuminated. King William’s well-instructed army of torchbearers had performed admirably.

  When the travelers disembarked from the galley they found several horses waiting and grooms standing ready to help them mount. Earl Hamelin, scorning assistance, leaped into his saddle with such vigor than he pitched over on the other side, landing on his feet and looking quite amazed. But hardly anybody noticed—all eyes were on the band of riders that was approaching. Standing there in the dimness and watching as they drew nearer, Joanna could clearly see in the lead a tall young man, resplendent in purple leggings and a purple cape embroidered with gold. The purple-and-gold robe of his magnificent white horse fell almost to the ground. The rider sat gracefully in the saddle. In the light of the torches, his brown hair gleamed and his gold crown glittered. Even from some distance she could see that he was remarkably handsome.

  Earl Hamelin, who had managed to get back in his saddle, at once had to get down again when he saw the king dismount. The two men exchanged greetings, then walked to where Joanna stood. William beckoned to a squire who brought up a white palfrey, a smaller twin of the king’s horse. It was draped with cloth-of-gold hung with little silver bells that jingled pleasantly.

  “Welcome to Sicily, Princess Joanna,” William said. “I am so very glad that you have arrived safely.” His eyes—a startling, intense blue—looked directly into hers. Seeing him close-up she observed a straight nose, a generous mouth, a square and beardless chin, all perfectly proportioned. She thought he was like one of the Greek gods she had read about, perhaps Apollo. She liked his voice, and the way he looked at her as though he truly was glad to see her. When he took her hand to lead her to her horse, she liked that as well. His hand was warm and clasped hers firmly.

  He helped her onto her mount, returned to his own and the procession reformed to ride up to the city with Joanna at William’s side. Later, try as she might, she couldn’t remember what she had said in response to his greeting, if anything.

  At first she was in a daze. The men stationed all along the way held their flaring torches high. The lights were blinding, but when they flickered and almost went out it was worse. Then the surrounding darkness was terrifying. She wondered what the people who lined the road were shouting about. She couldn’t make out a word. She stole a glance at William. He was smiling at his vociferous subjects, waving a hand from time to time. He saw how apprehensive she looked and leaned closer to say, “Don’t be alarmed, Princess. They’re happy to see you because they’ve been waiting for you so long.”

  Then she remembered that Jean-Pierre had told her that when they got to Sicily, she’d be unlikely to hear much French except at court.

  “I’ve been told the inhabitants speak their own brand of Latin,” he’d said. “It will be interesting to see how much we understand.”

  Interesting indeed. Now, listening carefully, she made out “regina”—queen—and then “nova”—new. Were they welcoming their new queen? Whatever it was, they kept cheering lustily, even though she was enveloped in her dark hooded cloak and she supposed it was hard fo
r them to tell what if anything was inside.

  She pushed the hood from her face, poked out an arm and waved tentatively. The cheering became louder. She saw that William seemed pleased. That gave her confidence. These people were rejoicing at the sight of her, Princess Joanna. Delighted, she flashed at William the same spontaneous, artless smile that had captivated the ambassadors at Winchester. No longer fearful, she warmed to her new role. She shrugged her way out of the cloak so it fell to her waist. Now, she thought, everybody can see that I did my best to do them honor with my gown. She waved and smiled at the onlookers, now to one side, now the other, as she’d seen her parents do at processions in England. The people shouted even more enthusiastically at the sight of the small figure in gleaming white, sitting so straight in the saddle with her hair flowing to her shoulders. One man, quite close to the procession, startled her with his bellow of “Angelina mia!” William laughed and said, “Did you hear that? He’s calling you his little angel.” Truly, caught in the torchlight, she did look like a silvery angel riding a milk-white horse.

  Earl Hamelin and Lady Marian rode just behind the leaders. The earl was nodding, smiling graciously and waving his arms about as though all this adulation were meant for him as well. Lady Marian, watching Joanna, was so full of pride and joy in her performance that she almost choked and her eyes misted with tears. All the trials they’d been through these past six months had been worth this moment.

  Alan, riding behind Marian, moved up to her side, grinned and raised his arm in a salute. “A princess to be proud of, that’s our lass, Lady Marian!”

  At last they rode into the square in front of the royal palace. The whole expanse was full of light, noise and revelers. Tables had been set up offering a variety of potables and edibles¾ale, wine, roasted fowl, grilled sausages, boiled beets and turnips swimming in vinegar, huge baskets of bread. When the merrymakers saw their king and his princess the hubbub became deafening. The townspeople thumped tankards on tables and stamped their feet, adding their bit to the vocal rejoicing.

  I’ve never seen or heard anything like this in England, thought Joanna, who came from a land where the royal family, though respected and even feared, was not wildly popular. But if this is what Sicilians are like, I must get used to it. And with William, she made a circuit of the square, trying to look like a suitable future queen of this strange nation.

  When they approached an enormous palatial structure, where a flight of stone steps led to a beautifully carved tall wooden door, she hoped that this was where the procession would finally halt. She was very, very tired, and found it hard to keep her back straight and her eyes open.

  William had noticed. He reined in his horse and she followed suit. “My dear Princess Joanna, I can see that you’ve won the hearts of our subjects. It’s long past time for you to seek your rest, and now we’ll leave the people to their amusements and we’ll go on to the Palace of Zisa, where your rooms have been prepared for you.” She looked dismayed. Why wasn’t she to be lodged in the palace before them, so handy and seemingly so capacious? William put a hand on her arm and spoke softly, reassuringly. “I promise you, within ten minutes you’ll be there. And you’ll be much more comfortable than in this cold old pile, where the noise from the square would disturb your rest.”

  She was looking longingly at the palace entry when the ornate door opened and she saw two figures standing there. One was a rotund woman with her hands on her ample hips. Joanna couldn’t make out what she was wearing because she was silhouetted against the lights inside. But her smaller companion held a candle and its light shone up on the portly woman’s face. There Joanna saw an expression of such malevolence that she almost recoiled. The venom seemed to be directed straight at her. She shivered and drew her cloak closer about her as she rode off. She was too tired to try to make sense of the vision.

  Within ten minutes, as William had promised, she was dismounting with his help before what seemed, even in the darkness, like a magical palace. She could hear the splashing of fountains. Breezes were singing in the palm fronds. She saw, brightly lit by torchbearers, broad marble steps that led to a pillared portal, door wide open. Eager servants were waiting to help her and her party in. She was barely awake, but felt grateful at the welcome, in contrast to the forbidding palace she had just left.

  William bent to kiss her hand. “Now, Princess, this will be your home. I’ll come to see you tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to recover from what I know has been a trying day. Everybody here wants only to make you happy and see to your comfort. May God watch over you and give you good repose.”

  She looked up at him, blinking to keep her eyes open. She tried desperately to think of a suitable reply. What would her mother say?

  “Thank you, King William, for welcoming me so royally. I shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  Lady Marian took Joanna’s arm and they started up the steps.

  Just before they went through the door, William ran up and stopped them.

  “My dear,” he said, “you need not call me King William. From now on, to you I am William and to me you are Joanna.”

  Chapter 14

  The next morning Lady Marian stood at the window of Joanna’s chamber in the Zisa palace, not pleased with the view.

  “I thought Palermo was supposed to be bathed in perpetual sunshine,” she grumbled. Joanna, barely awake and snuggling in her nest of soft goosedown pillows, murmured something and turned over to go back to sleep.

  The sky was overcast and the mist shrouded what Lady Marian supposed might be a beautiful park. All she could see were the tips of palm trees and, when the breeze blew holes in the blanket of fog, tantalizing glimpses of brightly-colored, if damp, flower gardens. She sniffed and pulled the draperies closed.

  She knew perfectly well why her mood was as dismal as the day. The long stressful journey, during which she had never complained but had tried to keep everybody else as cheerful as she pretended to be, was over. She could relax. She could stop worrying about Joanna’s health. She could let her shoulders droop, as they now did, instead of standing straight and moving briskly about, to set a good example to the rest of the party. She could indulge in a little self-pity and even a little bad temper.

  And she could, with no trouble at all, find something new to worry about. Lady Marian was an expert worrier, though it wasn’t evident from her calm demeanor and generous store of good sense.

  First of all there was King William, so far a mystery. Could he possibly be as perfect as he seemed? What did he expect from Joanna? What would the wedding be like? And what then—it was still two or three years before Joanna could fulfill the role of a wife. How would those years be spent? It could be so awkward. She sighed and looked at Joanna, curled up on her side with her cheek pillowed on her hand. She was such a mixture of wisdom beyond her years and innocence. Lady Marian prayed that she herself had the wisdom to help the girl keep the two in harmonious balance.

  Meantime, she told herself, there’s not much point in agitating myself about all this now because there’s nothing I can do about it. We’ll know soon enough what King William’s plans and nature are. And there are a few immediate problems that need to be dealt with. She must have groaned aloud at the thought of them because Joanna, suddenly wide awake, sat up and asked, “Whatever is the matter, Lady Marian? Are you unwell?”

  Lady Marian laughed and went to sit on the bed. “Thank you, I’m quite well. Good morning, my pet, and I hope you had as good a rest as I did, in this elegant palace. It’s so beautifully quiet, isn’t it!”

  “Yes, I can’t remember when I’ve slept so soundly. I don’t think I would have heard a trumpet blast. I do believe I heard a nightingale just before I went to sleep, then nothing more until you let out that awful moan.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just feeling frustrated at the messy situations your ladies-in-waiting seem to have gotten themselves into.” She was sure that Joanna, who didn’t miss much, knew what she was talking about.r />
  Before she could go on there was a knock on the door. Two girls in black dresses, stiff white aprons and white caps, who must have been waiting until they heard signs of awakening, came in. One of them had a mop of red hair cascading out below her cap. Both were intent on keeping their heavy silver trays level.

  “Mary!” Joanna and Lady Marian exclaimed. Mary giggled when she saw their surprise.

  “Good morning! Yes, it’s me. And this is my new friend Marina. She’s teaching me how to be a lady’s maid in a Sicilian palace.” She turned to Joanna, “I hope you had a good rest, and are feeling better? I have a little room just down the hall so I’ll be ready when you wish to get dressed. I know you’ll like your breakfast—I had some in the kitchen.”

  Marina looked disapproving at this familiarity and shushed her. The girls bore their trays to a table near the windows where they set everything out. When all was arranged to Marina’s satisfaction, she bobbed her head and said, “If you should need anything more, my ladies, please come to the door and ask. We will be waiting just outside.”

  Joanna jumped out of bed, wrapped herself in her robe and ran to the table. She was suddenly ravenously hungry. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten—yesterday afternoon, while they were still on the galley?

  When they saw what was awaiting them, both were silent a moment, taking it in. One bowl was heaped with segmented oranges and bunches of plump grapes, some purple and some a pale misty gold. In another bowl were sliced apples in a nectar redolent of honey, lemon and spices. There was a long beribboned basket of slices of bread, far whiter and finer in texture than they were used to, warm from the oven, and little round rolls, glazed with honey, powdered with cinnamon. A strange fat pot with a long spout and a Persian-looking pattern was steaming, sending out an odor of lemon, ginger and something unidentifiable. Fine porcelain cups stood by its side as well as several white linen napkins, neatly folded.