by Rachel Bard
Nothing was heard for some time except the occasional “Heavenly!” or “Have you tried these candied cherries?”
“Why can’t our English bake like this?” Lady Marian wondered. “Have you ever had bread with such a tender crust? One could break a tooth on our English loaves.”
“Mmmm,” said Joanna with her mouth full. “I remember that when we stayed at Fontevraud Abbey they did almost this well, but that was because my mother kept after them so.”
When to her regret she could eat no more, Lady Marian put down her plate and looked appreciatively around the room. It was so welcoming and easeful, with cushions, carpets and¾best of all ¾warmth. Instead of a blazing conflagration in a fireplace that put on a great show but did little to warm you if you happened to be on the other side of the room, here were braziers. A half-dozen, some standing on the floor and some suspended from hooks set into the walls, all gracefully constructed of wrought iron, were artfully placed so that no matter where you stood or sat, you were never far from the comforting glow of the incandescent coals.
Her reverie was interrupted.
“What are the messy situations you spoke of?”
“Oh yes, I did mention that.” She paused to brush the crumbs off her lap and to gather her thoughts. She frowned in concentration. Joanna had seldom seen her so serious.
“You, my dear young friend, will soon be a wife and a queen and that will mean new responsibilities. One of them is to deal with ‘messy situations,’ especially when they concern people who serve you. Now, you can’t be unaware that Lady Beatrice shows signs of approaching motherhood.”
“Well, I guessed that must be it. Although she kept to herself most of the time since we left Naples, and wrapped herself up in those big floppy cloaks when she did join the rest of us, it’s gotten pretty obvious, hasn’t it? Poor Lady Beatrice! Back when we were just starting the voyage I thought maybe we could be friends. But now when I try to talk to her she just looks at me without any expression and turns away.”
“Yes, I’ve tried too, same thing.” She was silent a moment, looking at Joanna as though hesitating to say more. Joanna laughed.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I know where babies come from. Well, I do. My mother explained it all to me. She said I had to know certain things before I married. I do think God could have thought of a way to put new people in the world that wasn’t so complicated or so hard on the poor women. Anyway, I’m sure I know where Lady Beatrice’s baby came from. It was my brother Richard. And I think it was very thoughtless of him.”
“And so do I!” Lady Marian snapped out the words and she pressed her lips together as though afraid that other imprecations might escape her. It might not be politic to be overly critical of one Plantagenet to another, no matter how much Joanna disapproved of her brother’s conduct. She continued.
“But what’s done is done, and we can’t alter it now. What we can do, my dear, and this is up to you, is send a message to Richard and tell him the situation. If he’s the man of honor we know him to be, he’ll admit he’s the father, and see to Beatrice’s health and comfort and accept responsibility for the child.”
“Do you think he’ll marry Beatrice?”
“Hardly. Richard’s nowhere near ready to settle down with a wife. And anyway, your parents would never permit it. They’ll find somebody of much loftier birth when the time comes.”
Joanna picked up a cherry and chewed it slowly. “Do you think, then, that I should be the one to write to Richard?”
“I do, and so does Brother Jean-Pierre. It would be your first act as a representative of your royal family. What you say will have far more weight with Richard than what any of us could say. We will, of course, send word to your father and mother. I’m sure they’d agree that Richard should be informed. But it takes much longer to get a message to England than to Aquitaine.”
“Then I’ll write at once. Or at least as soon as we can find pen and ink and parchment.”
Lady Marian said she’d see to that. Neither spoke for a few minutes.
“You said messy situations, Lady Marian. Is there another?”
“Oh well yes, not quite so serious. It concerns Lady Adelaide, who I fear isn’t setting the example she should. In fact, she has been most indiscreet.”
Joanna looked mystified.
“But the real culprit is your uncle. The earl seems to have led her on, letting her believe he had honorable intentions, without bothering to tell her he was married.”
“But I thought everybody knew about my Aunt Isabel. My goodness, they’ve been married as long as I can remember.”
“Well, apparently Lady Adelaide hasn’t heard that news. And I fear she’s somewhat gullible and naïve. She’s convinced that the earl means to marry her and she may have let him take liberties. At least that’s what Lady Charmaine tells me.”
“I hope you aren’t going to ask me to talk to Lady Adelaide! Or to my uncle. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“No, but Jean-Pierre and I think it best if he goes back to England.”
“Yes, it would be awkward for him to stay here. I do think he should go back to Aunt Isabel. But on the other hand…” She stopped and her brow wrinkled in thought. She didn’t like to think of the earl’s humiliation at being sent home in disgrace. She was fond of him in spite of his peculiarities.
“Couldn’t King William let it be known that he’s sending Earl Hamelin on a delicate mission, though of course we wouldn’t say in public what it was, but it would be to tell Richard about Lady Beatrice? And William could ask him to go on to England to report to my parents on my safe arrival and so forth.”
Lady Marian smiled, slowly at first then in growing admiration. “What a good idea! For the king to appoint him as his personal messenger on an important matter would let the earl save face. My dear little schemer, you have the making of a diplomat.”
Joanna flushed. “Thank you.”
“Of course there are a lot of ifs. The king’s cooperation, for one. But I’m sure if Brother Jean-Pierre tells him what the situation is, he’ll see the wisdom of the plan.” She sighed in relief and sat back in her chair. Post-breakfast torpor was setting in. Joanna looked speculatively at the bed. Lady Marian glanced toward the window.
“I do believe the mist is lifting!” Sure enough, tendrils of golden light were feeling their way through a gap in the curtains. Lady Marian hurried over to pull them open. “Oh my dear, come and see!”
Blinking at the blaze of sunlight, Joanna joined her.
Looking out, she blinked again, hardly able to believe that what she saw was real. It was a fairytale garden. Just below their window a lake shimmered in the glancing sunlight. Golden fish flashed about like shooting stars. Near its shore, a dot of a grassy island held a single cypress and a stone bench. Nothing more. A bridge arched from the edge of the lake to the island. Beyond the lake was the garden where, as far as she could see, tall, slender cypresses stood sentry along broad paths that wound through patches of lush green grass and beds of vividly hued flowers. She’d never seen such flowers—flame-colored, ruby-red, canary-yellow, magenta, purple. As she watched, a brilliant blue bird flew down from the cypress on the island to hop about on the grass. The sun, having vanquished every shred of fog, bathed the whole exotic scene in brilliant light.
“Where is Mary?” Joanna cried. “I must get dressed, we must go out!”
Chapter 15
William and two of his courtiers arrived at the palace of La Zisa an hour later. Before entering the gardens the three men stood, unobserved, surveying the scene from the shelter of a clump of palms. They saw a covey of ladies decorating the prospect. Besides Joanna there were Lady Marian and all three ladies in waiting.
“I’ve never seen so many pretty women in this garden,” said Count Florian of Caperota, William’s justiciar.
“Or so hideously garbed,” said Matthew of Ajello, William’s chancellor. Having survived two decades of intrig
ues and plots under William’s father and then his mother, in this new and calmer reign Matthew had settled into the role of elder statesman-curmudgeon. William valued him because he never hesitated to say what he thought.
“I beg to differ, Matthew.” Florian shook his head vigorously and his few gray locks bounced about on his balding pate. “It’s true, all too true, that Queen Margaret’s ladies seemed to favor gowns of more subdued tones. I for one find all these bright colors quite refreshing. Rather like a rainbow come to earth.” He stopped there. But all three were probably thinking the same thing. To the amusement of the entire court, Queen Margaret had favored ladies around her who were as old as she or older and who were willing to dress in dull grays and browns, the better to show off her own brilliant plumage.
Today, Joanna’s ladies had changed all that. At last they’d been able to take out of their chests the fine gowns they’d brought all the way from England and to come out to enjoy the sunshine.
Lady Marian and Beatrice, who were walking down one of the cypress-bordered allées, were a particularly pleasing duo, with Lady Marian in a rosy-red gown with a gray silk tunic, and Beatrice—who had been persuaded to forsake her all-encompassing dark cloak—in a rather shapeless but colorful wrap of gauzy purple silk. Lady Marian was talking earnestly and Beatrice was listening just as earnestly. Lady Marian had told Joanna that she thought the sooner they told Beatrice about their plan to inform Richard of his impending fatherhood, the better.
Charmaine, in the crimson brocade that she’d worn when they arrived the night before, and Adelaide, decked out in cornflower blue that seemed to reflect the smiling sky, made their twittering way along another walk where almond trees were in flower, each tree like a little cloud of palest pink. Whenever the ladies came to a bed of brilliant, unfamiliar flowers, they would lean over, cup a blossom in their hands, and inhale deeply. Few of the blossoms smelled as lovely as they looked, but the quest continued.
Joanna was the least colorful of them all. In her haste to get down to the garden she’d thrown on a shapeless deep-blue garment that Lady Marian had thought she’d managed to dispose of long ago. From his vantage point William saw that his betrothed was kneeling under the cypress on the little island but he couldn’t make out why. He thought, though, that she made a very pretty picture, with her blue skirts flowing like petals spread on the brilliant green grass.
Joanna was captivated by the showy bird she’d seen from her window. She was trying to entice it down from its perch. It was hopping back and forth on one of the lower branches, and she could see now that its jaunty tail and cockaded head were a deep iridescent blue, while its breast was a delicate pale turquoise. She beckoned and cajoled and held out her hand. But she had nothing to offer and the bird wisely kept its distance, squawking periodically with no sense of musicianship.
“I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous, not in England or in France, have you, Lady Marian?” She looked up but Lady Marian was just disappearing around a corner, out of earshot.
“Oh well, bird, then I’ll talk to you.” And she pretended she too was a bird and tried to mimic its harsh cry. But the bird knew better.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone walking swiftly along the shady path from the palace. It was King William. Before she had time to rise he’d crossed the bridge and was at her side, holding out a hand to help her. On her feet, she was acutely embarrassed at having been found in such an undignified position. She brushed the dew from her skirts, wishing she looked more presentable.
William didn’t seem to find anything amiss. He smiled at her.
“Good morning, Joanna. I see you’re getting acquainted with some of the local inhabitants. I’m told that bird comes here all the way from Africa to spend the winter, and will go back again before long. So don’t take its rejection to heart. All we true Sicilians are very glad to welcome you.”
How kind he is, thought Joanna. Last night by fitful torchlight she’d thought him impossibly handsome, like an unknowable mythic god. But today she sensed genuine warmth in his voice and in the steady gaze of his eyes. Today he seemed human. He talked to her as an equal, not as a child. Yet there was something exotic about him. Perhaps it was his voice. He spoke with an almost musical intonation, nothing like the more rapid speech she was used to. She hoped he would go on talking, and he did.
“Joanna, I see your ladies are exploring the park. Would you like me to give you a tour? While the sun shines and there’s no wind, it can be quite pleasant, even in winter.”
“I’d love to see more of it. I meant to go with Charmaine and Adelaide, but this silly creature has kept me here.” She made a face at the bird, which had stopped squawking but was still hopping about in the tree, turning its head this way and that to keep an eye on the trespassers on its island.
“Good! Let’s be off.” He took her arm and guided her onto the bridge. “And if it won’t bore you, I’ll tell you a little about this palace and park of Zisa, and why we are so proud of them.”
She smiled up at him. “I know it won’t bore me. I want to know all about them. We had gardens at Fontevraud that I thought were beautiful, but in the winter everything died down and it was just dry little sticks in the bare ground.”
They set off along a path paved with multicolored tiles toward a grove of laurel and pines. Every so often she caught a whiff of something sweet but unidentifiable from the flowering bushes along the way.
“Fontevraud, eh?” said William. “That’s the big abbey in France, isn’t it? How do you happen to know it so well?”
“I spent a lot of time there with my mother when I was younger. So did Richard. My mother had a whole building there, just for herself and her family. But my father was hardly ever there.”
“And why not? Too busy with other affairs, I dare say. From what I know of your father, he’d far rather be leading his troops into battle than cooling his heels in an abbey.”
“And which would you rather do?” She was surprised to hear herself asking such a personal question. But the way he spoke to her invited frankness and familiarity.
“Oh, I’m no warrior. Thanks be to God, we’ve had no reason to fight anyone since I became king. And as for abbeys, I’m not ready to retire to contemplation and seclusion. But I thoroughly approve of abbeys. In fact, I’m already well along in building one not far from Palermo, at Monreale. I look forward to showing it to you. Perhaps you can give me some suggestions, what with your familiarity with Fontevraud.”
She looked up, wondering if he was joking. No, he seemed perfectly serious.
They were now in the grove of trees. The sun couldn’t penetrate their gloomy canopy. William, who was still holding her arm, felt her shiver.
“It does get cool when we leave the sunshine. Here, take my cloak.” He took off his short ermine-lined cape and arranged it around her shoulders. She buried her nose in the soft fur and said, “Oh, that feels good. Thank you.”
“And now I’ll begin my lecture.” As they walked on he told her how his father, William I, had admired the taste for ease and beauty of the Arabs who had ruled Sicily for centuries before the Normans took it over; how he’d built La Zisa in the Arabic style as his retreat from wars and politics, and how he’d died before quite finishing it.
“So it fell to me to complete the palace. My father had begun these gardens too, but I’ve enlarged them and added a few ponds and walks.”
“It’s lovely, in fact it’s magnificent. And I haven’t even begun to see the inside of the palace.”
“You’ve hit on the right word, Joanna. La Zisa means “The Magnificent” in Arabic. I’ll look forward to showing you around inside, and taking you to some of our other palaces. Thanks to those luxury-loving Arabs we have a good supply.”
She’d been so interested in what William was telling her that she hadn’t noticed that their path had made a loop through the park. Now here they were back at the lake.
Lady Marian and Beatrice sat on the bench on the is
land. Beatrice’s head was bowed and her shoulders quivered as though in an effort to control her sobs. Lady Marian sat upright with the pinched look she wore when she was trying to hold in her displeasure.
Charmaine and Adelaide were approaching along the path, chatting with two men Joanna didn’t know—or did she? Yes, as they drew near she saw that one of them was Count Florian, the ambassador and William’s justiciar. The other man was older than Florian, very tall, with a long face deeply lined with furrows, the face of a man disillusioned with the world.
William led Joanna to the group. He introduced the tall, dour man as Matthew of Ajello, his chancellor. Matthew gave her a thorough inspection from head to foot and then back again, finally acknowledging her with a nod and a growl. She doubted if she was going to like Matthew of Ajello. But she was glad to see Count Florian again, almost an old friend by now. The count bowed most properly and told her how pleased he was to see that she had recovered from the trials of the journey.
Charmaine cooed, “Oh, Count, it is your heavenly Sicily that has restored all of us. How fortunate we are to be surrounded with so much warmth and beauty!”
“And to have been served such a delicious breakfast!” said Adelaide. “I have never tasted anything like those sweet little cherries.”
“But that was some time ago,” said William. “I’m sure we’re all more than ready for dinner. Shall we go inside and see what the cooks have to offer us? I asked that dinner be served at three, and it’s past that now.”
William and Joanna led the way and the others followed, with Lady Marian and Beatrice, who had regained her composure, bringing up the rear. When they reached the marble steps of the palace, William paused and pointed up toward a carved inscription that ran around the graceful entrance arch. “There, Joanna, you see my latest addition to the palace, so that all the world will know how dearly I love it.”