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

by Rachel Bard

  ”I do so wish you weren’t going away,” she said almost inaudibly.

  “But I must. The situation in Italy is even more delicate than what’s facing us here.” He tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes where tears were welling.

  “I shall miss you, Joanna. I wish you were coming with me.” She’d often accompanied him on his travels, but lately she had been feeling unwell with some vague indisposition. William had decreed that she must remain at home and rest.

  “How have you been today—better?”

  “Yes, on the whole, though I still can’t bear the thought of food when I get up in the morning. My appetite seems to recover by dinnertime, but I’m easily tired.”

  “Perhaps we had better call in the physicians. I’ll leave instructions for them to come tomorrow.”

  Her mind was still in the past. She smelled the rose again, then looked up at the tall palms. With their scaly trunks and their topknots of drooping fringes moving gently in a slight breeze, they still looked outlandish to her, just as they had when she first came. Nearly four years ago! It seemed much longer.

  “Did you think, William,” she mused, “when we met each other in the port that first night, that I’d ever be a proper queen for you?”

  He caressed her cheek.

  “I had no doubt. You were young, but I knew you’d have plenty of time to grow into your role. But I wasn’t thinking about you as a future queen when I first caught sight of you that night. You were so tired, poor little Joanna, yet you stood so straight, all wrapped up in your cloak with your head held high and your crown in place. I thought to myself, there’s a girl with pluck, determined to live up to whatever’s expected of her. I must help her to feel at home here. I remember also thinking that you had an interesting face, you looked so alert, taking it all in. I didn’t see till later how very pretty you were.”

  “But I saw at once how handsome you were, William, and how kind. I think I was smitten with you from the first moment.”

  “I can’t say when I became smitten with you,” William considered. “It was so gradual. I liked you enormously, and the more we saw of each other the fonder I became of you. But when did that become love?”

  “I know exactly when you first said you loved me. It wasn’t so long ago—on my fifteenth birthday, last fall. Remember, William, after the banquet, when we’d just left the Fountain Room and you asked me if I felt any different, now I was fifteen? And remember what I said?”

  “I do remember, but I want to hear you tell me again.”

  “I said, ‘Yes, I feel different. I feel ready.’ And you knew at once what I meant. And you kissed me and told me you loved me.”

  “Are you sure that was when I said it? I thought it was after we ran up the stairs and into your bedroom, and I slammed the door and took you in my arms. Like this.”

  Cradled in his embrace, she laughed up at him. “Maybe you said it twice. But I don’t care how often you say it.” So he told her again that he loved her and they kissed as though it were her fifteenth birthday all over again.

  William pulled away reluctantly.

  “My dearest queen, I need to discuss a few matters that may come up while I’m gone, and if you keep distracting me I might forget.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him demurely. “I await your instruction, my lord.”

  “The first has to do with Archbishop Walter and Sir Matthew of Ajello. One or both is likely to do some mischief the minute my galleys are over the horizon. I’m thinking especially of the archbishop.”

  “Well, I’m worried about Sir Matthew. He’s never liked me. What if he took advantage of your absence to start those attacks on me again?”

  “I hardly think that’s likely now. My mother encouraged him in that but now, poor soul, she’s more concerned with her own frailties than with a daughter-in-law not of her choosing.”

  “I truly hope you’re right.”

  “Brother Jean-Pierre agrees that at the moment she’s not a threat. No, it’s the proud archbishop who’s more likely to be a troublemaker. So please be watchful, and keep in touch with Jean-Pierre. If the two of you agree that there’s danger of an uprising, that one or the other of the rivals may arouse the citizenry, you must send word to me at once.”

  He had become very serious.

  “My love, think of this as your chance to prove to yourself and our people that you’re as much a queen as I’m a king. I’m depending on you.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m afraid you’re depending on a rather weak reed.”

  “Nonsense. You have more good sense than a woman twice your age.”

  She laughed uncertainly, then saw that he meant it.

  “And speaking of women with good sense, or lack of it,” he went on, “don’t you think it’s time to find somebody more suitable than Lady Charmaine? You can’t really enjoy her company.”

  “I don’t. She does prattle so. But I can’t hurt her feelings by telling her the truth—that I’d rather be alone than have her trailing after me. She thinks it’s her duty, since Beatrice and Adelaide have gone back to England.”

  “Ah yes. The unfortunate ladies whose affections your brother and your uncle trifled with. Have you had any news of them lately? Anything since we heard that Lady Beatrice had been delivered of a son?”

  “Not really. My mother wrote that Richard was sending them support. She wants him to do more—maybe endow the boy with a title and an assured income. But Richard has so much on his mind, keeping things under control in Aquitaine.”

  “Do you think it would help if I urged him too?”

  “Oh, I do! He’d certainly pay attention to you. And William, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be if we could persuade Lady Beatrice to come back to Sicily. I did like her, and I think she liked me.”

  “A good suggestion. We’ll keep it in mind.”

  It was getting quite dark. Joanna rose.

  “It’s hard to believe, but I’m actually a little cold. Shall we go back?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t quite finished discussing your ladies. Even if Beatrice comes, that won’t be soon. I’d like to think of you with congenial company while I’m away, besides Lady Marian of course. So I have something to tell you.”

  She sat down again.

  “I’ve asked Lady Yasmin and her husband to join our court.”

  Joanna drew in her breath sharply. In the twilight she could hardly see his face, but she felt he was making an effort to sound casual. It seemed almost like a speech he’d practiced.

  “You know, of course, that Lady Yasmin and I were once very good friends. What you may not know is that, shortly before you and I were married, she went back to her parents’ home in Messina. I haven’t seen her since. But I know that she has married a nobleman, of Arabic blood equal to her own. I met him a few weeks ago when I was in Messina. I had a long talk with him. He strikes me as a man with a good head on his shoulders. He understands the touchy situation here, with the chancellor and the archbishop trying to outfox each other. The couple would make a valuable addition to our court, which at the moment is rather overloaded with Normans, many of doubtful loyalty.” He stopped, waiting for her comment. None came.

  “Even more important to you, Yasmin would serve as a much more suitable companion than Lady Charmaine. Yasmin is clever and astute. Your Arabic has reached a point where you need no more instruction, but with Yasmin to keep you company you could get practice in conversation.” He seemed to have come to the end of his speech. Joanna couldn’t think what to say. She needed time.

  A servant with a torch had approached and was waiting to light their way back to the palace. They rose and started along the dim path. Joanna was unable to break the silence. The memories that had been buried for years rushed back: how she’d learned of William’s concubine, how she’d agonized that he might think she’d been spying on him when she went into his study with Earl Hamelin, then the painful waiting to see if their friendly but fragi
le relationship would be damaged. And finally, her tremendous relief when it endured and strengthened. Gradually, the very existence of somebody called Yasmin had faded from her consciousness.

  And here she was, alive and, apparently, imminent.

  Then another long-buried memory surfaced. That dream! When she was the pupil, Yasmin the teacher, and the subject was Arabic. She’d never told William about it. Now she would.

  “Maybe that dream I had was a good omen.”

  He stopped. So did the torchbearer, wondering why these royal personages couldn’t just keep walking, without all this pausing and chattering. He was eager for his bed.

  “What dream?”

  “It was the night after Lady Marian, on your instruction, told me about your . . . your . . . concubine.” She stumbled a little over the word. “She said that you’d surprised her by saying that you’d considered having Yasmin teach me Arabic. She said she thought it a very strange idea. I suppose that stuck in my head and that’s why I dreamed Lady Yasmin and I were working away at the Arabic, and having a good time too, when you came in and asked how we were getting along. And Lady Yasmin told you I was an excellent pupil. I remember I felt so pleased and puffed up.”

  “Then let’s say it was indeed a good omen. I hope, I believe, that Yasmin will prove a good friend to you and that Lord Hassan, her husband, will be a loyal and useful courtier for me.”

  They walked on. The torchbearer stepped up the pace, hoping to set them a good example.

  “When are they coming?”

  “I’d hoped they’d arrive before I left. But unfortunately, it won’t be for a week. I’ll depend on you and Sir Matthew to make them feel welcome.”

  So, Joanna said to herself, I’m to welcome her officially and accept her as a companion whether I like her or not. The more she thought about it, the more she resented the fact that William still seemed so unwilling to talk frankly to her about Yasmin. Three years ago she’d persuaded herself that since he seemed to think his private life before he met her was his own affair, she would too. But now—couldn’t he say, right out, that though Yasmin and he had been lovers, that was all in the past and now, this moment and from now on, she—Joanna—was his only love? In her head she believed that to be true. In her heart she was not so sure.

  But she couldn’t let doubts spoil this, their last night together for a long time. By the time they reached the top of the palace steps she had resolved to do all she could to make William reluctant to leave her and eager to return.

  William took her hand and looked searchingly at her in the light of the torch that the servant still held patiently.

  “Shall we say goodnight now? I don’t want to leave you, but I think you need your rest, and I must be up and away by cockcrow.”

  She moved closer to him. “No, come to me for at least a little while. I’ll be waiting in my chamber, but give me time so Lady Marian can repair some of the ravages of this torrid day. And shall I send for fruit and cool wine?”

  “By all means. But you don’t look ravaged to me, my love. Well, perhaps your nose is a little pink. You must have been in the sun. ” He kissed her on the nose. She put her arms around him and her lips sought his mouth. She pulled him to her, prolonging the kiss. She felt a familiar stirring mount through her as his embrace tightened. They held each other close, closer, and she was acutely aware of the pressure of his body and of his smell. What was it—sandalwood? They clung together, unwilling to part even for a few minutes. Gently, Joanna pulled away. “Come soon, William,” she said over her shoulder as she left him.

  Lady Marian was waiting.

  “You look tired, my dear. I’ve sent Mary off to bed, but before she left she brought this basin of water to bathe your face. Let’s get you out of that dusty rumpled gown and into something to make you more easeful—perhaps the blue robe?”

  “Yes, William will like that. It’s one of his favorites. I’ll wear it without the sash. That will be more comfortable. I am tired.”

  She sank gratefully onto a chair and Lady Marian brushed her hair.

  “Thank you, that feels good,” she said. Then after a moment, “Why do you suppose there seems to be no end to what I have to learn in order to be a good wife and queen? Sometimes I just don’t understand William.”

  “My poor lamb, that’s likely to go on for a while. You’re married to a good man, but he’s complex, with much more to him than appears on the surface. What did you learn today?”

  “I learned that in a marriage, apparently one has to take a good deal on faith. And when that isn’t enough, on hope.”

  She stood up and smoothed down her skirts, so silky and soft. She felt revived by the few minutes of rest. She looked at Lady Marian sidewise, with a sly little smile.

  “And when faith and hope aren’t enough, there’s always…”

  “Charity?”

  “Well, that too. But maybe then it’s time for hugs and kisses.”

  “Wise words!” There was a knock on the door. “Now I’ll leave you to practice what you’ve learned. Good night, my lady.”

  Chapter 24

  Joanna was inspecting the throne room of the royal palace in Palermo on a mild autumn day in 1181. Here King William would meet soon with his council and court to report on his trip to Italy. His galleys had been sighted the evening before off Cefalù on the northern Sicilian coast, which meant he should arrive by midafternoon. He’d been gone seven weeks and it was the longest Joanna had been separated from him in the four years of their marriage.

  The throne room didn’t blaze with the gold leaf and ostentatious carvings of the Palatine Chapel, which was why Joanna liked it better. Though she was awed by the chapel’s gleam and glitter, her northern sensibilities were still not comfortable with it. The throne room had been built by and for William’s father, a king who adored the chase—whether of accommodating ladies or wild beasts. Its walls were alive with images of the latter, real and imaginary. No icons of saints or benign Virgins here, but stags pursued by archers, peacocks with fanned tails in flaring display, centaurs, lions and leopards slinking through the forest—all in brilliant blue and green and gold. What patience those long-gone Byzantine mosaic artists had, she thought. And what an admirable disregard for reality.

  She was pleased to see that everything seemed to be in order. William very much liked things to be in order. His gilded throne had been artfully draped with crimson velvet, the folds falling just so. Four lesser but still magnificent chairs were precisely placed, two on each side and slightly behind the king’s throne. One was for Joanna, one for Chancellor Matthew of Ajello, one for Archbishop Walter and one for Queen Margaret.

  The queen mother had grown so corpulent that she had trouble dragging her tired, awkward old body around. Still she insisted on attending all the court ceremonials, where her muttered comments were like a muted accompaniment to the proceedings. Nobody paid much attention to her except Sir Matthew, who occasionally caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. He hadn’t forgotten that, not so long ago, they’d been allied, conniving closely if not always successfully to influence events in the kingdom. Had been, might be again.

  Joanna examined her mother-in-law’s chair—recently modified to accommodate the queen’s larger girth—and shook it a bit to make sure the legs were sturdy and securely attached.

  Suddenly feeling a throb of the backache that had been plaguing her lately, she sank into the nearest seat, which happened to be the king’s throne. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Two servants who were still sweeping and polishing glanced at her speculatively.

  “Looks like a child playing at grown-up,” whispered one. “What a little thing she is.”

  “Ah, but nothing like what she was when she first came. You weren’t here then. The old queen called her a bag of bones. She’s filled out nicely, and she must have grown half a foot.”

  “And I must say, she’s a pretty one. King William picked himself a looker, all right.”

  “Now did y
ou see that? She’s smiling. Must be dreaming of her man.”

  Yes. Joanna was imagining what it would be like when William came. She’d be waiting at the palace door with her ladies and the more important members of the palace staff ranged in their finest behind her. She could see him running up the steps and taking her in his arms. She could feel the warmth of his lips on hers, hear his whispered, “My love, how I’ve missed you!” And then she’d tell him the wonderful news—that she was carrying his child.

  It was at that point in her dream that the servants saw her smile.

  She was startled by a touch on her shoulder and a murmured “My lady!”

  It was Mary.

  “My lady, wouldn’t you like to come back to your chamber so I can help you to dress? Lady Yasmin told me you hadn’t come for your lesson today. Nobody knew where you were. It’s growing quite late.”

  Yasmin! thought Joanna crossly. The friendship William had predicted between the two women hadn’t happened. Since Yasmin’s arrival they’d been like two dancers moving around each other, smiling warily, waiting to see who would be the first to hold out a hand so they could dance together. They hardly saw each other except at the sessions that Brother Jean-Pierre scheduled for Arabic conversation. Both were polite, neither was forthcoming. Joanna knew she should make an overture, she should forgive and forget so they could start over without any demons from the past getting in the way. So far she hadn’t been able to force herself to take the initiative.

  But Mary was right. It was time to rouse herself. She brushed her hand across her eyes and smiled up at her maid. Good Mary! So faithful, so dependable, so indispensable. Who’d have thought the bouncy, scatterbrained little redhead would grow up to become this capable young woman? Her freckles had faded; she’d tamed her mop of unruly curls by tucking them under a frilled white cap. Under Lady Marian’s tutelage she’d also tamed her tendency to say the first thing that came into her head. Surprisingly, she’d developed a useful sense of style when it came to costuming the queen.