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

by Rachel Bard

  The verdict was that the patient should remain in bed as much as possible. Frequent doses of soothing teas should be administered. Highly spiced foods should be avoided. (So much for the pickled onion.) Short walks within the palace would be permitted.

  From then on Joanna received her visitors from her divan, where she lay wrapped in shawls and blankets and propped up by pillows.

  William came as often as he could. He’d sit beside her and hold her hand and tell her about the foreign ambassadors and the churchmen he’d been entertaining and how solicitously they’d asked about her health. Joanna wondered privately if some of these dignitaries had a substitute queen in mind, in case she should decline and die.

  One day he arrived full of enthusiasm after an inspection visit to Monreale.

  “How I wish you could see it, Joanna! They’re beginning the mosaic of the Christ Pantocrator—it will fill nearly the whole dome. I’ve seen the sketches. He’ll be reaching his arms out as though to bless the entire church.”

  “Couldn’t I go, William? Please? I feel so well now, and I don’t see how it could harm me, a little trip like that.”

  “No, the doctors say absolutely no horseback travel. And the way is so steep that a litter wouldn’t do, you’d be bouncing about and in danger of falling out. No, I’m sorry. But let me tell you about your Thomas à Becket portrait. It’s coming along nicely. It should be completed by this time next year. Which reminds me, the mosaic artists have a question for you. They’ve almost finished Thomas’s head and his halo, but they aren’t sure how much hair he had, if any. I told them you’d seen him when you were very young—can you possibly remember what the top of his head looked like?”

  She closed her eyes tight and tried to picture that long-ago day in Canterbury. She opened them. “No, I’m quite sure he was wearing his miter so I wouldn’t have seen how much hair he had. But I do remember that he had a flourishing brown mustache as well as a beard.”

  “You don’t say! A mustache! They’ve given him a beard, and I’m sure they can easily add a mustache. They’ll be delighted to hear this. They’re absolutely obsessed with accuracy, especially when the figure is of someone so recently dead.”

  “In that case, I’ll write to my mother and ask her about the hair. She’ll remember, I’m sure. But it will be some time before we get her reply.”

  “That’s no matter. The artists have plenty to keep them busy. They’ve barely begun the Mary and Jesus who’ll be above St. Thomas, and there are several more saints yet to do in that same section.”

  “What an age it takes to build a cathedral! How much longer, do you think?”

  “I’m guessing two or three years at most. We must complete it and have it consecrated before Archbishop Walter finishes his cathedral here in Palermo.” The worry lines that Joanna had begun to notice lately on her husband’s forehead appeared.

  She reached up to smooth them away. “That means that when our little one is able to walk we can take him there and show him his father’s glorious creation.” From the beginning William had assumed they’d have a boy and Joanna went along with it. Actually, she wouldn’t have minded if this first child were a girl. Plenty of time for boys later.

  William brightened. “So we can. Now I must be off. Rest well, my love.” He kissed her and patted her stomach. “Take care of our son.” He held her hand a moment longer, then left.

  So far there hadn’t been any official announcement that the queen was pregnant. King William was superstitious and didn’t want it talked about. Only Joanna’s inner circle knew: Lady Marian, Mary, Brother Jean-Pierre, and Mary’s uncle Alan—now Sir Alan. King William had knighted him to recognize his years of loyal service as the queen’s guard and escort. The physicians had been ordered to say only that Joanna was run down and needed a complete rest. When that word spread, some of the lords and ladies of the court dropped by to offer sympathy. Lady Charmaine came more than most. She’d hold forth on whatever wandered into her head, whether her wardrobe, what was served at dinner, or reminiscences about her childhood in Normandy. Joanna wasn’t annoyed at the flow of words and in fact found it soothing. She didn’t need to respond and she could lie there dreaming of the child she would bear. If it was a boy, what would they call him? She couldn’t decide between Paul, her favorite disciple, and Richard, her favorite brother. If it was a girl there was no question. She’d be Eleanor.

  Presently she noticed frequent references in Charmaine’s monologues to a Sir Mario. “Sir Mario thinks that the melons from the south are far sweeter than the ones we get here.” Or “Sir Mario’s promised to take me to Agrigento to see the Greek ruins.”

  “How I would love to see Agrigento!” said Joanna. “William will take me some day, I know. He says the temples there are as fine as anything to be seen in Rome.”

  Charmaine, unused to interruption, was silenced but only momentarily. “And I’m sure you will go, my lady. Maybe one of these days when you’re feeling up to it you could join Sir Mario and me on an expedition.”

  “Perhaps,” said Joanna, and fell into a doze. She dreamed that she and William, each holding the hand of a little boy who stood between them, were staring up at the white marble columns of an ancient temple on the shore of an impossibly blue sea.

  Chapter 26

  Lady Yasmin visited often, the first time only a few days after the banquet. She came straight to the divan. “How are you, my lady? I must say, you look fetching! I hope that means you’re improving. And none the worse for your jousting with the queen mother?”

  Joanna held out her hand to clasp Yasmin’s.

  “How kind of you to come! I was feeling quite bereft. Lady Marian was here but she had to leave to see about something. So I tried to embroider but as you see, the threads got all tangled up. I was almost ready to ring the bell and call the page to talk to me! But do sit down, get comfortable.”

  Lady Yasmin sank gracefully onto a pillow on the floor, tucked one leg under her and looked at Joanna expectantly. “So? Are you feeling as well as you look?”

  “I do feel quite well, thank you. My back hardly bothers me. My appetite is excellent—too much so, look how plump I’m getting! The physicians say that if I have no setbacks I may get up soon and walk a bit.”

  “Wonderful!” said Lady Yasmin. “I’ll volunteer to keep you company. And if we should come across the mean old queen, I’ll do my best to defend you.”

  “You’re kind to offer, but I doubt if you’ll need to bring your sword. William has told me that Alan must be with me whenever I leave my rooms. But your moral support will be appreciated. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now forgive my curiosity, but I can’t take my eyes off your lovely blue shawl. Do I detect the fine hand of your priceless Mary?”

  Joanna laughed and told her about Mary’s determination to keep her mistress in fashion. “She even goes out into the city to shop at the bazaars. She told me this shawl came from Samarkand. Where do you suppose that is?”

  “I believe it’s far to the East, in Asia. It’s on the road the silk merchants from China follow. What a lot of traveling that shawl has done! From China, all the way across Asia and over the sea to us here in Sicily.”

  In no time they were chatting easily, just as they’d begun to do the night of the banquet. It was as though everything that had been tormenting Joanna about Yasmin and William had never happened. When Lady Marian came in to announce it was time for her lemon balm tea and her nap and Yasmin left, Joanna was astonished that so much time had passed.

  “Lady Marian, I do believe that Yasmin and I can become friends. Who would have thought it?”

  “Yes, it would be quite surprising, considering everything. Also since she’s five years older than you. But she does seem a nice person, basically. I hope for your sake it turns out that way. You’ve never really had a friend, my pet.”

  It was true. As a child Joanna had been mostly in the company of her elders. Her two older sisters left England while very
young for the lands of their royal fiancés. Richard was a favorite companion but he was hardly ever there. Her younger brother John was about as friendly as a baited bear. If any of Queen Eleanor’s ladies had young children they wouldn’t have been allowed in the palace, for fear they’d break something or make too much noise for Eleanor’s highly developed sense of decorum.

  Later, Joanna had hoped Lady Beatrice and she might be friends, but those hopes had withered. It was less and less likely that Beatrice would ever come back to Sicily.

  Now here was Yasmin. Warm-hearted, outgoing, nimble-witted, amused by the same things that amused Joanna. The difference in their ages didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Yasmin too had never had a friend.

  The time came when she was permitted to take little walks along the palace corridors with Lady Yasmin, while Alan paced gravely behind them. But she was always glad to come back to her warm, pleasant rooms. Increasingly, she was focused on the life that was growing within her. She contentedly spent her days dozing or dreaming, waiting for William’s visits, gossiping idly with Lady Marian or Mary about the life of the court. Lady Marian was teaching her to knit, and despite considerable ripping out and starting over, she’d completed three fairly presentable rows of a tiny baby blanket.

  Sometimes, though, her placid calm would be interrupted. She’d be lying on her couch, thinking of nothing in particular, when Queen Margaret’s heart-chilling words—“She won’t be around much longer”—would echo, unbidden, in her ears. She wanted to believe that they’d been the maundering of a spiteful, idle old woman and were not a real threat. She worried for a while that she hadn’t told William about it, but as time passed it would have been awkward to bring it up, so long after the fact. So she succeeded in putting it out of her mind. Most of the time.

  In the early afternoon of a mid-October day, she sat down to examine a psalter Brother Jean-Pierre had brought the day before. She was alone. Lady Marian had gone to confer with the cook about Joanna’s dinner and Mary had gone out on some errand.

  Autumn sunlight poured through the windows. It brought more light than heat but Joanna’s slippered feet were warmed by the brazier under the table, and the rest of her was snugly encased in a wool robe.

  Brother Jean-Pierre had told her to look in Proverbs 22 for some good advice on bringing up a child. But as she leafed through the little book, she was distracted by the brilliance of the illuminations. When the sun fell on the ornate initial letters, red or gold or sapphire-blue, they glowed like jewels. Many of them were wreathed with vines or flowers or accompanied by minute animals and birds. Totally absorbed in the scribe’s artistry, she was startled by a knock on the door. The page on duty poked in his head and announced “Lady Maria Cristina asks if you will receive her.”

  Joanna hardly knew the lady except that she was Queen Margaret’s companion and had come with her to Sicily from their native Spain many years ago. The two were often seen together at dinner. In fact, Joanna remembered now, it had been Lady Maria Cristina to whom Margaret had directed the complaint about her seat at the table, back in September.

  “Yes, Guido. Show her in.” She rose and moved toward the door, wondering what could have prompted this visit.

  Lady Maria Cristina was tall, thin and all in black except for a gray wimple. She had a pinched face and dark eyes that roved about the room, taking in every detail. Joanna held out her hand in welcome.

  “I’m so glad to see you. Please, come and sit down. May I call for some refreshments?”

  “No, thank you. I am here only for a moment.” Her voice was raspy and heavily accented. “I come at her majesty’s request to ask if you would be so good as to call on her. If you are feeling up to it, that is. We have heard you are not well. But it’s only a short walk to the other side of the palace.”

  Joanna, uncertain, played for time.

  “Yes, that’s true, that is, yes I have been unwell, but nothing serious, just some kind of stomach upset. But indeed I’m much better now. The doctors seem quite sure that before long I’ll be able to be as active as I like.”

  She knew she was babbling. But how should she respond? Lady Maria Cristina wasn’t helping. She simply stood there, waiting. Only her eyes moved, darting from Joanna to the psalter on the table to the braziers in the corners, from the rumpled blankets on the divan to the white-curtained bed. And back to Joanna.

  Joanna made up her mind. Whatever the queen’s purpose, this might be her best chance to mend the rift—to talk to her adversary and persuade her that they could be friends.

  “When would the queen like to see me?”

  “Now, this afternoon, if that is convenient.”

  Another surprise. Why the hurry? But she must seize the moment

  “Then I’ll be happy to come. I hope Queen Margaret will forgive me if I don’t change from my robe. I’ve been ordered to avoid drafts and chills.”

  She instructed the page to watch for Lady Marian’s return. “Tell her where I’ve gone and say I’ll be back soon.”

  Lady Maria Cristina held out her sharp-elbowed arm, Joanna took it and they set out.

  Joanna was so flustered that she completely forgot that she should have sent for Alan to accompany her.

  Chapter 27

  Let her come!

  Queen Margaret was ready to receive her daughter-in-law.

  She sat in her favorite chair. It was oversized and very soft. Sinking into it, she felt cradled, secure and—in relation to the chair—quite small.

  Around her shoulders she wore a blue velvet cape embroidered with the royal golden lions. The table before her was draped with a fine white silk cloth emblazoned with more lions. Arranged on it were three silver goblets, a bowl of dried sugared cherries, and several tiny lacquer bowls of powdered spices. An ebony tray held nutmegs, a silver grater and a long-handled silver spoon.

  She’d given her chambermaid precise instructions as to the refreshments to be served: sweetened, heated red wine, to which the queen would personally add condiments. After settling herself in her chair she’d reached into her bosom and pulled out a gold locket. She opened it and carefully shook out a small amount of grayish powder into one of the bowls of spices and stirred it well.

  As the final touch she’d ordered her maid Marie to bring to bring her crown. “Not the crown of state but the second-best one, Marie.” No point in wasting her finest on an ignorant girl who wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Now, royally clad and crowned, she waited. She was feeling clear-headed and focused, for which she was grateful. So often nowadays she found it hard to keep her mind on the matter at hand. She’d seen how people looked at her strangely when her unspoken thoughts unexpectedly came out as muttered imprecations. She was resolved that today she’d be calm, judicious and careful in her speech.

  As usual, the door to the main corridor of the palace was open. From her seat she could keep an eye on who was out and about.

  If any passerby had cast a furtive glance into the apartment, he would have seen the queen in the center of a pool of light issuing from two tall candelabra behind her. The rest of the room was a vague dim jumble of shapes—chairs, couches, tables, chests. Most who passed had learned not to catch her eye. It ordinarily led to a royal summons and a relentless questioning until she could elicit a morsel of palace gossip.

  But today she wasn’t interested in enticing stray visitors into her lair. She was waiting to hear the sound of Lady Maria Cristina’s cane.

  There it came—tap tap, louder and more staccato as it approached along the marble-floored corridor.

  The queen arranged her crumpled face in what she trusted was a look of benevolent welcome when the page announced from the door, “Queen Joanna and Lady Maria Cristina.”

  “There you are, my dear. Come in, come in.” She hoped her voice sounded cordial. She was unused to offering ingratiating greetings. “Do sit here beside me.”

  Joanna obeyed. Lady Maria Cristina, as previously instructed, closed the door and seated herself
on the queen’s other side.

  What a sorry excuse for a queen for my William, thought Queen Margaret. Puny. Pale-faced. And why is she wearing such an unbecoming robe? She looks quite lost in it. Oh dear, why didn’t William listen to me and marry one of those strapping German princesses instead?

  She caught herself. Had she been thinking out loud? Apparently not. Joanna was looking at her politely.

  “Wouldn’t you like to take off your robe, Joanna? I always insist that my rooms must be nice and warm. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable.”

  The old queen had given much thought as to what to call her daughter-in-law. Certainly not Queen Joanna. It was unthinkable that there could be two queens of Sicily, and she still saw Joanna as a queen without the proper credentials. She certainly wouldn’t call her daughter, as some witless mothers-in-law might. So it came down to simply Joanna.

  The girl seemed to see nothing strange in the familiar address. She smiled and Queen Margaret saw with surprise how that ingenuous smile transformed her face, heretofore so grave. It was a wide, spontaneous smile, revealing two rows of perfectly even, white teeth. Even her eyes seemed to take on more liveliness. The queen could see flecks of gold in them that caught the candlelight Why, she was a little beauty! Margaret, even in the first blush of youth, had never been a beauty. A surge of jealousy joined her other reasons to dislike Joanna.