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

by Rachel Bard

  “Thank you, Mary. And I expect you’ve decided just what I should wear, to please my husband and dazzle the court?”

  “Indeed I have. I’ve laid out your pale rose silk and, to go over it, the sleeveless tunic in darker rose. King William always likes you in pink.”

  “Yes, that will do very well. Now how about the dazzling? I don’t think my emeralds would look right with the rose. Maybe just my silver chain with the cross?”

  “Or how about the pearls King William brought you from Venice last year? They’d look so pretty, with the low neck of the gown. And you could wear your lovely gold ring with the three pearls.”

  Joanna laughed ruefully. “Just listen to us, Mary. Who would have thought four years ago that you and I would have such a serious discussion about gowns and jewels? My goodness, back then I didn’t care what I wore, just so it was comfortable.”

  “But you didn’t have the figure then that you do now, my lady. And you weren’t so concerned with what King William would think.”

  A page, breathless, almost ran into them as they were going out the door.

  “My lady Queen, you asked to be told when the king’s ships were sighted coming into harbor. They’ve just rounded the point.”

  “Thank you, Guido. Mary, we must really hurry now.”

  Within an hour she was ready. She hurried to the palace entrance, getting there just as the herald’s trumpet call announced that the king’s party was entering the square. Excited and with cheeks as rosy as her gown, she watched impatiently as the square filled with horsemen. Grooms came running. William was the first to dismount. He didn’t run up the steps as Joanna had envisioned in her dream, though he did mount them with perhaps a trifle more speed than his dignity ordinarily allowed. He didn’t take her in his arms but raised her hand to his lips, kissed it and said, “My lady Queen.” To an observer it may have seemed quite formal and proper. But the private look that the two exchanged gave mutual promise of informality to come.

  With Joanna at his side he walked along the corridor to the crowded throne room. When they entered, those who were seated rose and everybody bowed respectfully. William acknowledged their greetings, saw Joanna to her seat and stood in front of the golden throne.

  He turned first to the others on the dais, nodding to each as he spoke. “My lady mother, Queen Joanna, Sir Matthew, Archbishop Walter,” then addressed the assembled courtiers and their ladies.

  “I am pleased to report, my friends, that our meeting with the envoys of Emperor Frederick went just as I had hoped. He is holding to the conditions of our truce and, in fact, is withdrawing all the German troops from Italy. We assured them that we too had no troops on the ground except a token force on the borders of our lands in Calabria. I have every expectation that the truce will hold unless Frederick revives his disputes with Pope Alexander, which would complicate the situation. As you know, we have pledged our support for the pope should the Holy See be threatened.”

  Archbishop Walter broke in. “And did you, my lord, find time to stop in Rome to call on the pope?”

  The corners of the king’s lips twitched slightly in annoyance. Like most in the room he knew why the archbishop asked. Consumed by his hunger for power, the prelate still hoped the pope would oppose William’s new archbishopric at Monreale. Walter and his followers, who included most of the priesthood in Palermo, had been petitioning the pope not to sanction William’s ambitious venture but to give his blessing instead to the cathedral they’d begun building in Palermo. Their hopes of prevailing in the contest would be dashed if William had been able to plead his case in person. And if Walter’s star fell, that of his archrival, Matthew of Ajello, who had encouraged William in the Monreale scheme, would rise.

  “Unfortunately, I was unable to call on Pope Alexander in Rome.” The king paused. The archbishop sat back with an audible grunt of relief.

  “No, I could not call on him in Rome, but I saw him at his new residence in Civita Castellana. I’m happy to say we had a friendly and productive meeting. He promises to send an emissary when we consecrate the new cathedral at Monreale.”

  “Ha!” came a triumphant bark from the direction of Queen Margaret. The archbishop glowered. Matthew of Ajello looked smug. Joanna beamed. How clever of William!

  William continued. “Count Florian of Camerota was with me at all these conferences, as well as when we met our vassals in Calabria. ” He nodded toward the justiciar. “He is writing a report on the proceedings for the royal archives. Any of you who wish to consult it are of course welcome to do so.”

  He ran his eyes over the room. His gaze rested on a couple standing a little apart.

  “Now may I publicly greet Lord Hassan ibn-Hawas and his wife, Lady Yasmin, who have joined our court. I am sorry I was not here when they first arrived. By now many of you are acquainted with them and I hope you have been making them feel welcome.” Then, speaking directly to the couple, “I trust you will not regret leaving your comfortable estates in Messina to serve us here in Palermo. Welcome, my friends.”

  Lord Hassan, tall and wiry, black-haired and black-bearded, sober-faced, nodded his head and said, “Thank you, my lord King.”

  Yasmin looked down modestly and said nothing. Joanna, watching closely, was quite sure her eyes and William’s hadn’t met. Yasmin looked beautiful in a close-fitting dress of glimmering midnight-blue silk, adorned only with a silver necklace. She raised her head, saw Joanna’s eyes on her, and smiled. Joanna could detect no duplicity in the smile.

  “One more announcement, my friends,” said William, “and then we’ll adjourn to the banquet hall. My longtime justiciar, Count Florian of Camerota, who served me well during this difficult journey, merits advancement to a higher post. I am pleased to appoint him as vice-chancellor in our royal council.”

  Florian, standing at the front of the assembled nobility, looked flustered but proud, and bowed to the king. Murmurs of congratulation broke out, punctuated by some unintelligible grumblings from Queen Margaret.

  William stepped down to take Florian’s hand and accept his thanks for this very public sign of favor. Joanna and the others on the dais followed and mingled with the throng that was slowly making its way out the door toward the banquet hall. Joanna found herself next to Yasmin. Impulsively, she spoke.

  “How lovely you look, Lady Yasmin. That’s a beautiful gown, just the color of your eyes.”

  “I was about to compliment you as well, Queen Joanna. An inspiration, to combine those two shades of rose! They suit your complexion perfectly. And the pearls—they have a little rosy tinge too, haven’t they?”

  “Thank you, but to be honest, I must give most of the credit for my appearance to my maid, Mary. She’s made it her mission to watch over my wardrobe and she always senses what’s right. If it weren’t for her I’d very likely be here in last year’s threadbare brocade.”

  “What a pity none of the other ladies have such a treasure.” Yasmin gestured around the room, dotted with elaborate, multihued costumes, gaudy enough to put even the peacocks on the walls to shame. “Did you ever see so many ruffles and laces and colors and jewels?”

  They surveyed the scene and Joanna reflected on how anything so trivial as the attire of the ladies at court could have brought her and Yasmin to this turning point. They were conversing as easily as friends who had seen each other only yesterday.

  She was startled when she caught sight of Queen Margaret. There stood the queen, encased as usual in multiple layers and flying attachments. Today she’d added a new feature: a broad, fluttery white scarf that ran from her left shoulder, diagonally down across her midriff, and around her ample hips to fasten somewhere on her backside. When she moved it billowed. She was coming now in their general direction, slowly navigating through the crowd.

  “A ship under full sail!” whispered Yasmin. The old queen’s eyes were fixed on them as she approached but when she arrived she ignored Joanna.

  “I see you’ve been admiring my gown, Lady Ya
smin. My maid took particular pains and I think she showed a great appreciation of my unique style. Tell me, who dresses you?”

  “I myself generally select my gowns, Queen Margaret. But I do get excellent counsel from my husband.” She smiled up at Hassan, who had just appeared at her side. “He has very definite ideas of what his wife should wear.”

  “Of course. Every precious jewel should be enhanced by its setting.” Hassan looked approvingly at Joanna. “And judging from the evidence, King William would agree. Which brings me to why I’m here, my lady Queen. Your husband asked me to find you in this tight press of people and to escort you to where he’s waiting by the door yonder.”

  “Thank you, you’re very kind.” Joanna placed her hand on his arm.

  Before they had taken two steps Queen Margaret said, not loudly but more distinctly than in her usual mumble, “I’d think twice, Lord Hassan, before I was seen in public associating with that hussy on your arm. But of course, she won’t be around much longer.”

  Very few could have heard. Those who did stared in shock. Hassan stiffened. Joanna’s cheeks flushed a bright red.

  She turned and looked her attacker in the face.

  “If you have anything to say that concerns me, Queen Margaret, you may address me directly. I am right here, well within hearing.”

  Without waiting for a rejoinder she tightened her hold on Hassan’s arm and they walked on. Lady Yasmin took her other arm. Joanna was trembling. In a shaky voice, she said, “Thank you both. Please, don’t say anything to William about this, I’ll tell him.”

  They threaded their way slowly through the crowd. By the time they reached the door she felt calmer. William hurried to her and led her along the vaulted corridor. Looking down, he saw the tenseness in her face. “I’m sorry if this is tiring for you. But be patient.” He bent and whispered in her ear, “It will soon be over and then…” The rest was lost as the trumpeter at the door to the banquet hall produced a deafening blast to announce the arrival of the king and queen.

  The sounds of hurrying footsteps, shouted orders, benches being shoved into position and silver platters and goblets clanging onto the tables heralded the state banquet that was about to begin. Joanna braced herself and stood as straight as she could in spite of her aching back. On William’s arm she stepped proudly into the room.

  Chapter 25

  It was too much. Too much heat, too much noise, too much suckling pig, too many treacly tarts. And too little of William. Joanna had learned to accept the way her husband compartmentalized his life, but really! On being reunited after so long, for him to devote himself to earnest consultation with Matthew of Ajello on his right, which left her no one to converse with except taciturn Count Florian on her left! It was too much.

  “I’ve not heard anything yet about your journey, Sir Florian. Did you by any chance get to Naples?”

  He looked up from his methodical assault on a rather tough mutton chop. He brushed his cuff daintily across his mouth.

  “We did, my lady Queen.”

  “I remember Naples because I was so glad to get there and to step on dry, firm land after being so terribly seasick. But of course I saw very little of the city—it took me so long to recover. Wasn’t that a dreadful voyage?”

  “Indeed, it was not pleasant.”

  “But you came through it very well. Do you never get seasick, Sir Florian?”

  “Very seldom.”

  The new vice-chancellor had many fine qualities but an aptitude for small talk wasn’t among them. Joanna gave up and looked about her. She wasn’t fond of the banquet hall in the royal palace, so much larger and less charming than the Fountain Room at La Zisa, where the stream’s murmur made such a pleasant backdrop to music and conversation. Here there were no graceful arches and only a few mosaics. The loud conversations of three dozen diners bounced off the stone walls. It was hard to make oneself heard over the banging of heavy platters onto the tables.

  She looked with sympathy at the harpist in the corner who was bravely trying to compete with the chatter and clatter. He was in black velvet from head to toe with a little black cap perched on his chestnut curls. His fingers flew over the strings, his mouth opened and closed, but he and his song could have been mute for all Joanna knew.

  Hearing a familiar querulous voice, Joanna glanced down the table. Four or five places along on the other side she saw her mother-in-law, pointing at her and addressing the lady next to her. “See that? That’s where I should be seated, next to the king, instead of that upstart.” Oblivious to the uproar, she stared fixedly at Joanna while her jaws worked steadily.

  What can be going through her head, Joanna wondered. Her look wasn’t so much one of hatred as of cold conjecture—like a huntsman training his arrow on a deer, waiting for just the right moment to let the arrow fly.

  She looked down at her plate. She pushed the food around so she’d appear to be eating. But her back was paining her so much that she could hardly continue to sit up straight and look bright. She touched William on the shoulder.

  “I feel I’ve had quite enough. I’ll wait for you upstairs.” He looked surprised but smiled affectionately and said, “Very well, my love. I won’t be long,” and turned again to Sir Matthew.

  Back in her chamber, feeling cleansed and refreshed thanks to Mary’s ministrations, she sat down to wait for William. She considered whether, or how, to tell him about Queen Margaret’s attacks—two within two hours. She decided she wouldn’t, at least not now. This was to be their night for reunion and rejoicing. Later, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Wasn’t she sixteen—old enough to fight her own battles? Surely she could figure out some way to deal with the old queen. Maybe she could arrange a meeting, just the two of them. Maybe they could talk about William and she could ask what he was like as a little boy. Maybe when Joanna told her about the baby on the way she’d become less hostile.

  She sighed. What a lot of “maybes.” She’d think about it later.

  She fidgeted, she fingered the edge of her robe—the same blue robe she’d worn the night William left. Unable to relax, she walked about the room. Its ambience soothed her. When she’d first moved to the royal palace she’d tried to achieve, here in her own private space, a blending of exotic Arabic elegance and familiar English decorum. At her first home in Sicily, the La Zisa palace, she’d been captivated by the lushness of thick carpets, the bright colors of soft pillows strewn about, and the delicacy of carved screens. She’d lavished these new apartments with such seductions. But as a salute to her English heritage she’d acquired a huge four-poster bed draped with burgundy velvet, as well as a few carved chests and tables that were as serious and dignified as the ones she remembered from her childhood. William indulged her but teased her, especially about the bed.

  “I hope this doesn’t mean, my love, that when we’re lying on that lofty eminence you’re secretly wishing you were back in Winchester Palace. What a monster it is, and so much trouble to get in and out, what with having to step on that stool. And don’t you feel suffocated, closed in by those heavy curtains?”

  Nevertheless, she’d reminded him, they’d spent some very pleasurable nights in that monster bed. But she’d considered what he’d said, and while he was gone she’d had half a foot sawed off the legs, and had done away with the velvet canopy. Now the bed was draped in white silk gauze, so airy and diaphanous that it looked as though a wispy cloud had settled in the room.

  She was tempted to climb up and stretch out within the cloud right now. Her back was still bothering her. But she wanted to be fresh and wide-awake when William came. She looked speculatively at the divan by the window, another of her acquisitions during his absence. Covered in finespun fawn-colored wool, with pillows of daffodil yellow, it invited her to come lie down. Maybe for just a few minutes?

  When William came he found his queen curled up on the divan, sound asleep. Her lips were parted in a half-smile. Her lashes rested lightly on her cheeks. Her hair, shining russet-brown in the candle
light, fell across the pillow. He stood looking at her, admiring such innocence and repose. He also admired the new divan—roomy enough for two, he noted. He removed his tunic and boots and carefully lowered himself to lie beside her. Her eyes flew open.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I meant to be waiting at the door to greet you.”

  “I much prefer this arrangement.” He kissed her, then slipped his hand inside her robe and slowly, lovingly, his hand journeyed from neck to knee, with many side trips along the way. She held her breath and tried not to giggle when it tickled. The hand returned to the smooth swell of her e took her arm and led her along the vaulted corridor to HH stomach—rounder than he remembered—and rested there. She heard his indrawn breath. He raised himself on an elbow.

  “Joanna! Are you with child?”

  “I am! And you found out all by yourself, I didn’t even have to tell you. Are you glad, William?”

  For answer he kissed her gently and folded her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and they lay there, talking softly, marveling at the incredible fact: two who had become one would soon become three.

  “I should have guessed, shouldn’t I, when you weren’t feeling well back in July? Tell me, when did you know?”

  “The very day after you left, when the physicians came and examined me. I could hardly believe it at first. But Lady Marian, and Mary too—they told me they’d been suspecting that I was pregnant because of the way I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.”

  “And did the physicians say when the child will come?”

  “They think after the new year, around Epiphany.”

  “Four months and a bit more. Joanna, you must promise me to behave yourself and do everything the physicians say, get your rest, and not let anything upset you.”

  “I promise.”

  The next day William ordered that Joanna have a thorough going-over by the physicians, who shortly appeared: a trio of tall solemn Muslims, wearing long black cloaks. They poked and prodded, looked at her tongue, placed their ears at her navel or where they guessed it to be since she was fully clothed, and requested a sample of her urine to peer at and smell. They asked her how much and when her back pained her, and whether she had an aversion to or strong desire for any foods. She thought hard and said at the moment she’d enjoy a pickled onion. They made painstaking notes of that and other matters on the clay tablets they pulled out of their deep pockets, scratching away busily with their little styluses. They murmured to each other in Arabic and consulted the bound manuscripts they’d brought with them.