by Rachel Bard
From where he stood by the cabinet he shot her a look as though she’d reminded him of something unpleasant.
“Oh no, that’s just to my bedchamber. Now, shall we continue our tour?”
He knows that I saw her, she thought. And then: His bedchamber!
William walked quickly out the door, toward the gallery over the courtyard and halfway around it to another corridor without a word. Then he took her hand, looked down at her and smiled. The awkwardness was behind them.
“I’ll tell you a little about our wedding ceremony. It may go on for three hours. There’ll be a good deal of kneeling and praying and jumping up and listening to the archbishop lecture you about being a proper consort to your king. When Archbishop Walter gets going, he becomes quite enamored of his own voice. Then there’ll be the ceremony of placing the royal crown on your head. But I’ll be right beside you all the time. Lady Marian will represent your mother so she’ll be nearby too. I’ll ask Sir Walter to include Brother Jean-Pierre in his attendant clergy. It’s too bad there’s nobody here to represent your father. That would have been Earl Hamelin’s role.”
“Maybe it’s just as well. He might have tripped over his sword or jumped up when he should have been kneeling.” She giggled. William smiled too and looked at her quizzically. “You know your uncle well. But he’s basically a good sort, don’t you agree?”
“Of course. I’ve become fond of him and I’ll miss him. But I’m so glad you’ve given him that mission to Richard and to England, so he won’t feel he’s been sent home in disgrace.”
“Ah, but Joanna, I know it was you who came up with that idea. And I congratulate you. Very ingenious.”
At the end of the corridor she saw a glimmer of golden light that became brighter the closer they came.
She’d been expecting a chapel something like the family chapel in the palace at Winchester, which was small and dark with little adornment except a statue of the Virgin Mary in a blue gown on one wall and another of Christ on the Cross opposite.
No—the Palatine Chapel was so dazzling and so immense that she stopped short, unbelieving.
“William!” she breathed.
Mosaics, almost blinding in their brilliant color, adorned the walls, the floor and the domed cupola. Tall, graceful, marble columns supported the arches that ran the length of the vast chamber. Gold leaf was everywhere—surrounding the image of Christ over the altar, in the haloes of the holy family, decorating the carvings on the high ceiling. She thought they were like golden icicles hanging from a heavenly blue sky.
“I see you’re impressed. I know just what you’re experiencing. I still have to stop and stare every time I come in here, though I’ve known it since I was a child. And I never cease to feel grateful to my grandfather, King Roger, who built it. I never knew him but he was a great admirer of the Arab idea of beauty. Somehow he managed to blend all that with what he remembered of his Norman heritage. Those rounded arches, for instance, are just like the ones in your northern churches.”
Joanna wasn’t really listening. She was getting used to William’s disquisitions on architecture. All she wanted to do was to let her eyes roam over the magnificence before her. She tried to imagine herself a week hence, standing there at William’s side before the archbishop. She was already nervous about the ceremony and her central role.
She could only hope that with all the rich decorations and important churchmen to look at, maybe people wouldn’t pay attention to her. She said as much to William.
He laughed. “Oh, they’ll be observing you very closely. All the nobles and churchmen are full of curiosity about the English princess who’s come so far to marry their king. But don’t worry, my dear. They’ll be enchanted with you. Also, by the time your ladies get you all gowned and bejeweled, you’ll look fully as splendid as King Roger’s chapel. You may not know it, but you’re really a very pretty girl.”
She flushed and could think of nothing to say. Few in her short life had called her pretty.
He went on. “So much for the royal palace—enough for one day, no? Tomorrow or the next day I’ll take you to Monreale to see my new abbey and its cathedral.”
Down in the entrance hall he turned her over to Alan, who had been amusing himself while waiting by joshing with the maids and exchanging battle stories with one of the older footmen, who was a veteran of William’s father’s army. Alan came to attention when the king and Joanna entered.
“The horses are ready and waiting, my lord King.”
“Thank you, Alan,” said William. “One last thing, Joanna. Will you please ask Lady Marian if she would be so good as to come see me later this afternoon, any time before dusk?”
“Of course. And thank you very much for showing me your wonderful palace.”
On the way back to La Zisa she puzzled about why William wanted to talk to Lady Marian. It must have to do with the wedding arrangements.
That night, when Mary had finished helping Joanna get ready for bed and had left, Lady Marian knocked and came in. She looked unusually serious.
“Come into the next room with me, Joanna.”
She led the way to the elegant little sitting room, sat on the crimson-cushioned bench and patted the seat beside her.
“Sit here, my dear, and listen carefully.”
Joanna obeyed.
“Joanna, do you know what a concubine is?”
Chapter 19
Joanna had a hard time taking in what Lady Marian told her about King William’s concubine. Somehow she could hardly connect kind, open William—who seemed more like an affectionate uncle than a man with carnal appetites—with what she was hearing. She knew, of course, that men were not always faithful to their wives. She’d heard servants and courtiers gossip about her own father.
But William, after all, wasn’t even married. He’d been a bachelor for years and still was. Certainly his personal life was his own business. And yet…
“Men need female companionship more than women need men, that’s the way it is,” said Lady Marian. “My own husband, may his soul rest in peace, strayed once or twice. But I chose to ignore it, which kept things much more comfortable.”
The worry lines on her face softened as she remembered what must have been, Joanna decided, a marriage that had been mostly quite satisfactory.
“But that was long ago. As for King William, his father adopted many Arabic customs and had concubines. It was probably thought quite natural that his son would too. At least until he married.”
They talked a little more. Joanna asked if the “Arabian princess” Sir Matthew had hinted at might have been the woman she’d seen.
“I suppose so. When we met this afternoon, King William didn’t say much about the woman except that her name is Yasmin and that she belongs to an old and distinguished family that goes back to the time before the Normans conquered Italy.”
“I wonder—do you suppose William would have told me about her eventually if we hadn’t surprised her in his rooms the other day?”
“I think he might have. He did say one curious thing: that he’d considered introducing the two of you, because he thought Yasmin could be helpful in your learning Arabic. I must say I thought that quite an extraordinary idea.”
Joanna at first was inclined to agree. Then when she thought of Ibn al-Athir, the unknown and doubtless terrifying scholar who was designated as her tutor, she felt that lovely smiling lady might be preferable.
It was getting late, and her brain was tired with trying to sort it all out. She yawned. Her head fell back against the cushions and she closed her eyes.
“Yes, it’s long past our bedtime. Are you as easy in your mind as can be, my dear? King William wanted me to assure him that you weren’t unduly upset.”
“I don’t think I’m unduly upset. It’s just that I never thought of King William as having that kind of women friends.” She yawned again.
As they parted, Lady Marian gave the girl an affectionate hug.
“Sleep
well, Joanna.”
Joanna doubted if she would. She expected to lie awake for hours, going over what she’d heard. It wasn’t that she was shocked or repelled. Rather, she was uncertain about how the easy, comfortable relationship she and William had built would be affected. She was afraid she’d be tongue-tied and embarrassed when she saw him again. But she went to sleep almost at once. And she dreamed that she and Yasmin were seated at the table in William’s study. Yasmin wasn’t wearing her seductive violet gown, but a nun’s habit, complete with white wimple. Only her pretty face was uncovered. She was pointing at a line in the manuscript before them.
“Yes, Joanna, you have translated it exactly, except for this word here. It means east, not west. But you are doing very well!” Joanna felt a surge of self-confidence. Just then William appeared at the door and saw them working.
“I won’t disturb you,” he said.
“No, you had better not,” said Yasmin. “We still have two pages to read. But King William, your little queen is making great progress!”
When Joanna awoke the next morning she could remember the dream vividly. And she still felt the euphoria that had spread over her at Yasmin’s compliment.
The flurry of preparations for the wedding, now fast approaching, intensified. There were endless clothes to try on, jewels to locate and polish, demands that Joanna practice walking up and down stairs in this or that elegant but unwieldy gown. On the day before the wedding she managed to escape for a walk in the gardens. Remembering her promise to Earl Hamelin that she would be kind to Lady Adelaide, she invited her to come too.
“I suppose it would do me good,” Adelaide said doubtfully. She had been subdued since the earl’s departure and Joanna wasn’t expecting much in the way of conversation. But hardly had they set out along one of the leafy walks than Adelaide stopped and took Joanna’s hand. Usually so loquacious, she stumbled over her words and bent her head to look at the path rather than at Joanna.
“Dear Princess, you’ve been so kind and understanding in spite of my unsuitable behavior. I’ve wondered how to ask you to forgive me for being so foolish and gullible. I assure you, I’ve learned a great deal from the experience.”
“But Lady Adelaide, the fault was really my uncle’s. He deceived you.”
When Adelaide looked up, Joanna saw that her long, sallow face was flushed with her emotion and her eyes sparkled with tears. My goodness, thought Joanna, she could almost be pretty, if she didn’t usually look as though she were chewing on a lemon.
“He did. But it wasn’t so much deliberate deceit as thoughtlessness on his part. And I permitted myself to be deceived. I should have known better. But it was the first time I’d had so much attention from a man, and…” Her voice trailed away and she wiped her eyes.
They walked on. After a cloudy, damp morning the sun had come out, and everything basked and blazed in the warmth and light, from the jets of crystalline water spurting from the fountains to the clumps of ruby-red and coral cannas along the walk. At the lake they crossed the bridge and sat down on the bench. The golden fish darted about tirelessly. With every twist and turn each reflected a sunbeam.
Adelaide broke the silence. “I’ve learned a great deal from this and I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do now. I’ve been praying to the Blessed Virgin to give me guidance and teach me humility. With her help, I’ve decided to retire to a religious house that offers shelter to Christian women. I’m not really meant for the worldly life at court.”
“Oh! What a change that will be for you! Are you sure, Lady Adelaide? And where? Certainly not in England, where you’d be so likely to meet Earl Hamelin!”
“That wouldn’t bother me. I’m really, truly, over all that. But no, I’ve been thinking of the Abbey of Fontevraud. I know your mother is a good friend of the abbess. Do you think she could help me find a place there?”
“I’m sure she could. She’s given so much to the abbey that they can’t refuse her anything. We’ll write to her and see what she says. But don’t be in a hurry to leave. Wait until the weather’s better and the voyage will be smoother than when we came.”
Lady Adelaide took her hand again and smiled in genuine gratitude, and Joanna smiled back.
“That’s that then. But we’ll miss you.” They rose and started back toward the palace. A page met them as they reached the steps.
“Princess Joanna, I’m sent to tell you that Brother Jean-Pierre is waiting for you in your reception room.”
“Oh dear! I completely forgot. Please tell him I’m on my way.”
The king had asked Brother Jean-Pierre to go over the order of the Latin marriage and coronation service with her, so she would have a good understanding of what was going on and what was expected of her. She’d come to look forward to the sessions as a welcome respite from the wedding preparations. She found Jean-Pierre looking at a book spread open on the table before him and drumming his fingers. She sat down beside him and they fell to the task—Jean-Pierre reading aloud, Joanna chiming in with the appropriate responses.
There was a knock, and William came in.
“Ah there, I found you. How goes it, Brother Jean?”
“Very well. We’ve almost reached the benediction.”
It was the first time Joanna had seen the king since Lady Marian’s disclosures. She was disconcerted by his sudden appearance, unsure how to behave. She kept her gaze fixed on the book, but she saw only a blur of words and spots of blazing color that were the illuminated initial letters. She sensed William was watching her.
“And Joanna, how goes it with you?”
She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.
In an instant all her uneasiness melted away. This was the William she’d learned to know and like, William with the kind eyes and the face full of understanding and good humor. Without a word he was telling her that though she must have been confused and uneasy, nothing had changed between them. A smile of welcome lit up her face. Involuntarily she reached up a hand to take his.
“Yes, Brother Jean-Pierre’s right. It is going well. Would you like to hear what I say when the archbishop asks me if I promise to be a good queen and to always have a regard for the welfare of the Sicilian people?”
He squeezed her hand and held it a moment before releasing it.
“Oh no, I’d rather be surprised when I hear your excellent Latin in the cathedral tomorrow. Now Brother Jean, don’t keep the princess here too much longer. She’ll need her rest tonight.”
He put his hand on her head and smoothed her hair. “Until tomorrow, Joanna. Sleep well.”
She looked up with a happy smile. “I will. Thank you, William.”
She watched as he left the room. Still friends.
Chapter 20
Six weeks later and a thousand miles away, Queen Eleanor of England settled herself in her favorite spot, an alcove in the reception room of her private apartments at Winchester Palace. From here she could look out on her garden, which she’d carefully designed to provide a harmonious prospect throughout the year. Today in March, bathed in pale spring sunshine, it was full of promise if not of actual bloom. Neat low hedges of boxwood lined the stone-flagged walks and bordered the square beds. In one bed, green spears of daffodils had pushed up through the brown earth and some showed yellow buds about to burst forth. In another, clumps of violets had already produced a few blossoms, hiding modestly in the leaves. From where she sat Queen Eleanor couldn’t see them, but she had observed them during her morning walk and it pleased her to picture them there. Two kitchen maids were returning from the herb and vegetable gardens beyond, their baskets filled with leeks, turnips, and the curly dark-green leaves of kale.
Satisfied that everything was in order outside, Eleanor turned her attention to the interior. Yes, the fire, recently replenished, blazed discreetly and efficiently. Its light flashed off silver wreaths that festooned her two polished wood chests. More light brightened the room from candles in tall gold candlesticks set in each cor
ner. Her feet in their soft leather slippers rested lightly on the Persian carpet. At her side was an ebony table that held a silver flask of wine, another of water, a chased silver goblet and a rolled parchment.
Queen Eleanor had always seen to it that her surroundings were as elegant as she was herself.
She picked up the parchment. It had been delivered only half an hour ago, and she had seen from the handwriting of the superscription that it was from her old friend Lady Marian de Beauchamps. She could tell from the thickness of the roll that it was a long letter. Along with all the other instructions she had given Lady Marian before she left was that she serve as the queen’s “eyes and ears” in Sicily. Now she would learn what Lady Marian had seen and heard. She untied the black ribbon, unrolled the parchment and began reading.
To my lady, Queen Eleanor:
I trust this finds you and my lord, King Henry, in good health. God be praised, all here are well. The last word you have had from me was from Naples, whence I sent the news of Princess Joanna’s recovery from the ills she had suffered on the voyage. Now we are comfortably settled into our new life in Palermo, and the princess two days ago became the wife of King William and was crowned queen of Sicily. I will try to describe the scene for you.
The chapel in the Norman palace is a marvelous place, very large and with high ceilings, but for my taste overly decorated with gold and those bright-colored mosaic tiles people in this part of the world are so fond of. I had the honor of representing you, my lady, during the ceremony so I was just behind the princess and could observe her well. She comported herself excellently, with great dignity for one so young. She entered the chapel on the arm of Matthew of Ajello, the king’s chancellor (of whom more later). It was unfortunate that there was no member of her family to escort her, since Earl Hamelin had departed. She wore the wedding gown we brought all the way from England, and it was greatly admired. You will remember it—pale green satin, with a rather full skirt and rose-colored embroidery around the neckline and at the wrists. The wedding was a grievously long affair with a great deal of chanting and swinging of censers. It required one to stand for lengthy periods and kneel frequently for Archbishop Walter’s interminable prayers. You may recall him as Walter of the Mill when he was a much more humble cleric in England. He has risen here to become a leading member of King William’s council and a very powerful man.