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

by Rachel Bard

  “But what does it say? I can’t read Arabic.”

  “True. We may need to remedy that. Roughly, it says this is the loveliest possession of the kingdom, the beautiful dwelling-place of the king, a house of joy and splendor, an earthly paradise. Its king is the Magnificent One and his palace is the Zisa—the Magnificent.”

  The rest of the party were clumped below them on the steps, listening. The scene reminded Joanna of their visit to the church in Saint-Gilles, when the pilgrims listened with rapt attention to Earl Hamelin as he explained the carvings. But Joanna was sure William had a better command of his facts than the earl. He was about to move on when Lady Adelaide spoke up.

  “It is indeed magnificent. But can you please tell us, King William, if the king referred to in the inscription is your father, or yourself? He began the palace and you finished it, so which of you is being honored?”

  William turned and looked at her like a pedagogue instructing one of his more trying students.

  “Indeed, I can tell you. The inscription refers to any king who may occupy this palace: my father, myself, or my son who will come after me.”

  Joanna smiled inwardly. It had been a rather presumptuous question and deserved the crisp response.

  Then it came to her: It was going to be up to her to produce that son.

  Life was getting more serious.

  Chapter 16

  There was no time to change before dinner. King William, who put a high premium on punctuality, herded his little group into the entrance hall. There they found a few of his courtiers and the rest of their English party gathered. The king conferred with his steward about seating arrangements. Lady Marian, distressed at Joanna’s overly casual dress, was relieved when she caught sight of Mary. “Hurry, Mary. Run up and get the princess’s blue velvet cape, the one with the silver clasp at the neck.” Mary ran so fast that by the time William was finished with his consultation, the cape was securely in place on Joanna’s shoulders. “There, at least you’ll look presentable from the waist up,” whispered Lady Marian.

  When, escorted by William, Joanna entered the palace’s dining hall she stopped in her tracks and stared. This was like no great hall she’d ever seen. For one thing, it wasn’t great—only about a third the size of the one in Winchester. Nor was it, like Winchester’s, walled and floored in cold gray stone and unadorned except for a few tapestries hanging on the walls to give an illusion of softening. From the vaulted ceiling to the marble floor, the whole room glowed in warm tones of ochre and tawny ivory. A half-dozen arched recesses around the perimeter had intricately worked ceilings that looked like waterfalls carved in stone. She wondered if it was her imagination that brought the sound of cascading water. Then she saw a fountain that gushed out of the far wall to flow, rippling and burbling, down a marble channel halfway across the room, then disappear into some subterranean chamber.

  William watched as she took in these marvels. “Do you like it, Joanna?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. “I do, I do. It’s beautiful. Oh, William, are those peacocks?” She pointed at the frieze of vividly colored mosaics that ran all around the room just above eye level.

  “Yes, you have a sharp eye. I’m glad you approve of our Fountain Room. Now let’s get settled and I’ll tell you all about it. And we’ll see whether our meal pleases you as well.”

  They sat down at a long table, covered with deep purple cloths fringed with gold. Gleaming brass and silver bowls and plates awaited the guests. On the other side of the purling stream was an identical table.

  Joanna found herself between the chancellor and William. She managed a smile and “I’m happy to see you again, Sir Matthew.” Once more, the curt mumbled response. She resolved she would pay him no more attention. Leaning forward, she saw that the seat to William’s right was vacant. To her left, beyond Sir Matthew, was Lady Marian, deep in conversation with Brother Jean-Pierre. She wished she’d had a chance to ask Lady Marian about her talk with Beatrice. Across from her at the opposite table were Earl Hamelin and Adelaide. Next were Charmaine and Count Florian. She didn’t see Beatrice. Down at the far end were Alan and two English knights.

  Food began to arrive. William, attentive, urged her to try the unfamiliar dishes. First came a heap of tiny fried fish. She looked around. Apparently it was acceptable to pick up one at a time and eat it whole. They were crisp and delicious. But she looked suspiciously at the next plate that was set before her.

  “You will see, Joanna, that we eat a great deal of seafood here. We are so close to the supply. Are you not fond of fish?”

  “Yes, I am, but even though it’s covered with sauce, I can see that this…this thing seems to have a great many legs for a fish.”

  “Aha, you’re right. Eight, in fact. That’s a young octopus, strictly speaking not a fish. They flourish in our Mediterranean. When caught while little, and not cooked too long, they’re one of our delicacies. And would you believe, they say the full-grown ones can be bigger than a man? But I suppose those would be rather tough.”

  Joanna was so divided between pity for the strange baby creature before her and horror that it might have grown up to have eight huge legs and be as big as a man that she couldn’t bring herself to take a single bite.

  Perhaps to take her mind off her discomfiture, William told her how this room was his father’s pride, how he had determined to permit no hint of Norman influence. “He wanted it to be the highest expression of Islamic design. But personally, I think he may have gone a bit too far in decorating nearly every inch.”

  He was interrupted by a flurry of activity at the door. In came a plump lady in what resembled a glittering golden tent that enveloped her from double chin to tiny gold-slippered feet. Her mouth was puckered like a discontented prune. She was complaining loudly that her maid had failed to appear and she’d had to dress herself, which accounted for her coming to dinner a half-hour late.

  She sank into the vacant chair at William’s right and exhaled a long, self-pitying sigh. William rose.

  “Madame, I wish to present to you Princess Joanna. Joanna, this is my mother, Queen Margaret.”

  Joanna stood too and tried not to stare.

  This was, beyond doubt, the baleful woman she’d glimpsed in the royal palace doorway last night. She didn’t look any more friendly now than she had then. But Joanna managed a polite acknowledgment.

  “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Queen Margaret. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder. And I have heard a great deal about you, too.” She turned away and Joanna heard her mutter, “And not much of it good.”

  Dinner resumed. Servers hurried to bring provender to Queen Margaret, who fell to as though famished. In honor of the English guests there were courses of roast beef, onion stew and a prune pudding. It seemed to Joanna that the meal went on for hours.

  She was surveying the pudding, wondering if she had room for a very small spoonful, when she was startled to hear from her left the gravelly voice of Sir Matthew, hitherto utterly silent.

  “So you and William are to be married.”

  “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

  “And before too long.”

  “Yes, it’s very soon. The date was set before we left England. Nobody knew then that the voyage would take so long.”

  “I expect King William hasn’t had time to discuss the wedding with you.”

  His nosiness annoyed her. She couldn’t see what business this was of his. She looked around, wondering if anyone was listening to them. But Queen Margaret had William’s attention, and the other guests were occupied with eating, chattering or listening (especially Lady Charmaine, with rapt face and upturned eyes) to the harpist who was plucking a subdued accompaniment to the gurgling of the fountain.

  Sir Matthew leaned closer and almost whispered. She could see the malice in his eyes. “I’m sure he will soon. And when he does, you might want to ask him about a certain Arabian prince
ss. You aren’t his first choice for a partner for the royal bed, you know.”

  She wished desperately to close this conversation. How would her mother respond? Whatever she said, she would accompany it with a brilliant, disarming smile. Joanna knew she couldn’t manage that. She spoke as coolly as she could.

  “Thank you, Sir Matthew. You’re very kind to share this information with me.”

  He produced an almost imperceptible smile in response—a slight curving at the corners of his lips. But there was no gleam of warmth or humor in his faded blue eyes. He turned away.

  She tried to regain her composure, staring again at the pudding. She pushed the dish aside. When William urged her to try some of the almond pastries that arrived next, she regretfully refused.

  “I’m afraid I can’t manage another bite. I had a very large breakfast.”

  “And I’m sure you’re tired. I shouldn’t have forced you to walk so far today.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mind. It was wonderful to be able to walk about freely and not be shut up on a little boat. But I think I’d like to go up to my beautiful room and rest.” He helped her to her feet.

  “Very well. And tomorrow I’ll give you a tour of my royal palace.”

  She wasn’t too tired to remember her manners.

  “I shall hope to see you again soon, Queen Margaret.” The queen, jaws working methodically, looked up, nodded, and resumed her assault on a thick slice of beef.

  Matthew of Ajello didn’t look up.

  William escorted Joanna down the table to where Lady Marian, who had been watching, stood ready. They were hardly out the door when Queen Margaret gave a little snort and said to William, not caring who heard her, “Just as I expected. Scrawny, puny, bag of bones. A poor sort of wife for you.”

  “Maybe we can persuade her to follow your example at table, mother. That should fatten her up in a hurry.”

  On the way up to their rooms Lady Marian told Joanna all about her talk with Beatrice in the park.

  “I know you’ve been wondering.”

  “Yes, I have. What could have made her cry so?”

  “That girl! That ninny!” Lady Marian sputtered a bit before she could go on, explaining how she’d assured Beatrice that everybody sympathized with her and wanted to help; how she’d told her they planned to inform Richard of her condition and that there was no doubt that he’d see that she and the baby were well cared for.

  “But would she listen? No! She started to cry and to moan and to insist that Richard shouldn’t be told. Said it was as much her fault as his. Said she didn’t want him to think she blamed him. I do believe the little silly is still in love with him, but too proud to beg for help. Oh dear oh dear, what’s to be done?”

  “What does Brother Jean-Pierre think?”

  “He thinks we should send word to Richard anyway.”

  “So do I. Don’t you?”

  “I suppose so. It’s just that she begged me so hard and tried to make me promise not to tell him.”

  “She doesn’t need to know.”

  “No, that’s true. And she’ll be glad enough to have some help after the child arrives, I warrant. She won’t be in an easy situation, mother of a royal bastard.”

  Once in their room—softly lit, cozily warm—they found Mary waiting. While the girl helped Joanna change, Lady Marian paced about nervously.

  “I think I’d better go back down to the hall and find Brother Jean-Pierre and ask him to try to arrange a meeting, tomorrow if possible, with King William. The sooner we can get his cooperation and send Earl Hamelin on his way, the better.” She turned toward the door.

  Joanna was pulling on her long, warm robe. When her head emerged she said, “Wait a minute before you go. I have something to ask you. What do you know about Matthew of Ajello?”

  “Very little, except that he’s been associated with the royal family for ages. I believe he was an adviser to Queen Margaret during her regency. Why?”

  “He talked to me very strangely during dinner, and I think he tried to make me jealous of some Arabian princess in William’s past.”

  Lady Marian thought a minute.

  “I shouldn’t pay too much attention. I expect when King William gets a chance he’ll tell you all about himself.”

  “Maybe. But he seems to be more interested in educating me about Arab architecture and Sicilian seafood than in talking about our marriage. He might tomorrow though. He’s promised to show me the royal palace.”

  Lady Marian smiled tiredly and started toward the door again.

  “I must hurry, or they’ll all have scattered.”

  On her way downstairs she said to herself, “I wonder whatever made me think that once we got to Sicily we could relax and enjoy our leisure.”

  Chapter 17

  Joanna wasn’t present at the conference with the king about Earl Hamelin’s fate, or at the meeting when the earl was informed of his mission to Richard and to England. But Lady Marian and Brother Jean-Pierre had promised her a complete report.

  The three of them met in the sitting room that connected Joanna’s chamber with Lady Marian’s. The weather had worsened and it was far too cold to go into the gardens. For a few minutes nobody said anything as they luxuriated in the room’s warmth and elegance. It was like an exquisite jewel box, ablaze with color. Joanna surveyed the big pillows—purple, gold, emerald, lilac—that were scattered about on the indigo-blue Persian carpet like exotic waterlilies floating on the sea. She chose to sit on a purple one, decorously spreading her skirts over her crossed legs. Lady Marian sank onto the crimson cushioning of the broad, high-backed bench that ran along one wall. She leaned back and wriggled her shoulders a little, as though settling into a nest.

  Brother Jean-Pierre, beside her, was doing his best to sit up straight and not yield to the seduction of the velvety softness. In his black cassock, he was a sobering contrast to the splendors around him but not indifferent to them. He pointed to the tall panels that were set into the ochre walls at intervals.

  “King William told me that his father engaged the finest Arabic artists of the kingdom to carve screens for this palace.” Joanna jumped up and went to examine their delicate tracery, painted in subdued hues of green and rose.

  “Do you think they’re meant to be vines and flowers? It’s hard to tell.”

  “I expect that was deliberate. The Arabs aren’t supposed to depict any living thing in their art, so they’d have meant these to look purely decorative. But you’re right, Princess. I’m sure they introduced some recognizable plants here, subtly of course. The farther they were from Mecca the more liberties they could take.”

  “In that case,” said Lady Marian, “I’m glad Sicily is such a long way from Mecca.” She helped herself to a date from a silver filigree bowl. “One could almost imagine oneself in a seraglio.”

  “What’s a seraglio?” asked Joanna.

  Brother Jean-Pierre thought it best to change the subject. “It’s a sort of pleasure palace for a sultan. But we’re here to discuss your uncle and his affairs. I must say, King William is a sensible man. He took in the situation at once. When we told him about Lady Beatrice’s condition, and also about Earl Hamelin’s behavior, he didn’t seem shocked or ready to blame anyone.”

  “In fact,” interjected Lady Marian, “he said something like ‘Ah yes, these things happen.’ Then he agreed that Richard should be informed and also that the earl should be sent home.”

  “And then we told him that it was your idea, Princess, to send a message to Richard by Earl Hamelin. ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Hmm,’ he said, and twiddled his thumbs a bit. ‘Well, if she can come up with clever solutions like that, perhaps we should include the princess in future deliberations.’”

  “At which,” said Lady Marian, “Matthew of Ajello, who was at the king’s side, raised his bushy big brows and cleared his throat rather noisily, but he didn’t say anything.”

  “I don’t think Sir Matthew likes me,” said Joanna.

&n
bsp; “Never mind, it’s the king’s opinion that counts,” said Brother Jean-Pierre. “And he now has a high regard for your good sense, that’s plain.”

  “So, to continue,” said Lady Marian, “we met again the next day with Earl Hamelin and the king informed him of what we’d decided. He also told the earl very firmly that he before he left he was to apologize to Lady Adelaide and confess that he had a wife in England.”

  “Was my uncle upset about that?”

  “I thought he took it pretty well, all things considered,” said Lady Marian. “Of course, he was flattered to be told he was entrusted with a very important and confidential message for Richard. But I would have liked to see him a little more contrite about toying with Lady Adelaide’s affections.”

  “Does Lady Adelaide know about all this? I saw her yesterday evening in the hall and she seemed to be in good spirits.”

  “She probably didn’t know then, but she must by now, because the earl is to leave in a day or two, as soon as a fleet of galleys is ready to sail.”

  “So soon!” Joanna said. “But I must see my uncle before he goes. Lady Marian, could you please ask Alan to saddle a horse so I can ride over to the royal palace this afternoon? And send word to the earl that I’m coming.”

  “Wouldn’t you like me to come with you, my dear? Or Lady Charmaine?” With Lady Beatrice obdurately remaining in total seclusion, and Lady Adelaide presumably in a state of grief or at least mortification, Lady Charmaine was the only available lady in waiting. But she was not a favorite with Joanna.

  “I’ll be perfectly all right, Lady Marian. Alan can get me to the palace and back safely and my uncle will see to me while I’m there.”

  “Very well, but we must protect you from this unpleasant weather.” She had Mary bring out boots, a wool vest to wear over her gown, a voluminous cloak and a fur hat. When Lady Marian was satisfied, surveying her well-wrapped charge, Mary put a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle and said, “She looks like the stump of a smallish tree with a patch of brown moss on top!” Lady Marian frowned, but not very severely.