by Rachel Bard
They’d come to Monreale so Joanna could admire the progress at the cathedral since she’d last been there, nearly a year ago. She’d gone straight to the Thomas à Becket portrait. William enjoyed her enthusiasm. He’d been greatly heartened at her request to make the trip. He didn’t understand how her state of mind could have reversed itself so quickly, but it was a tremendous relief. Once more he was welcomed into his wife’s bed. His worries about the succession, dashed by Bohemund’s death, receded. Once more his marriage seemed on an even keel.
They surveyed St. Thomas critically. William put his arm around Joanna’s shoulders and asked, “And the head, my dear, the hair. How do you like it?”
Queen Eleanor, in reply to their query, had promptly written that she recalled the archbishop with a healthy head of hair, brown and bushy, though with a bald spot in the middle. And thus he now appeared.
Next Joanna asked to see the soaring dome over the apse, with the immense mosaic of Christ Pantocrator—Christ, Ruler of All. But it was far from finished.
“That’s the most difficult mosaic work of all,” said William. “Look at them up there, working from those rickety platforms suspended from the ceiling. And how they have to reach up to set the tiny cubes of glass in the cement before it hardens. I asked to be raised up on the pulley once, just to see what it was like. The artists let me place several bits of brown glass in Christ’s beard. I got quite dizzy when I looked down at the floor so far below.”
Joanna was aghast. “William! You must never do such a thing again! How foolhardy!”
“Perhaps it was. But I wanted to feel I’d had a small part in creating all this beauty.” He stood with his head tilted back, gazing in approval at Christ’s beard.
Joanna, having inspected one cathedral, prevailed on William to take her to see another: Cefalù, which had been built by William’s grandfather, King Roger II.
“You’ve said so often it was your inspiration for Monreale, but you’d never be able to equal it. But I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than Monreale.”
On a fine day in early April they set out. Joanna was glad to be reunited with her dainty white mare, Belle Blanche, whom she hadn’t ridden since the early days of her pregnancy. The feeling was mutual. The little Arabian nuzzled Joanna’s shoulder when they met.
Several courtiers and their ladies had joined the party, including Lord Hassan but not Yasmin, whose child was due any day. Brother Jean-Pierre came and so did Lady Marian, who had at first declined, unwilling to subject her stiffening joints to such a long and bouncy journey. Joanna persuaded her. “You’ve always said you longed to see Cefalù and the cathedral. We’ll ride slowly, and I’ll want your company.”
Joanna rode at the head of the procession at William’s side. When they left the confining streets of the city behind and moved into the open countryside under the wide blue sky, she let her thoughts roam where they wished. She expected that the familiar sense of loss, never far below the surface, would envelop her. She’d schooled herself to appear animated and cheerful to others, no matter how much desolation filled her heart. But today she found herself looking around with genuine interest and a sense of discovery. Dull wintry fields had given way to freshly plowed plots. In others, stolid peasants plodded behind their oxen, guiding the plow as it parted the rich brown furrows. Here and there a patch of startling green appeared where the first shoots of grain were already rising in orderly rows. In the orchards, cherry and peach trees were in leaf and in bud but so far showing no blossoms. Off to the south, the hillsides, too, were greening. She breathed in the fresh cool air and sat up straighter in her saddle.
Hope! That was the message of this verdant land, signaling with every leaf and blossom that spring had arrived. She felt hope creeping into her heart like tendrils of a vine, filling her with an almost tremulous sense of well-being. She looked at William, wondering if she could explain to him what she felt. No, not now. It was too intimate. Too mixed up with her realization of how patient he’d been with her and how sorry she was for her selfish concentration on her own grief without talking to him about his own. She reached over to take his hand. Her smile spoke for her. “I love you, William, and I’m happy to be here at your side. Later when we’re alone together I’ll tell you more of what’s in my heart.”
Presently they came in sight of the sea. Sapphire-blue and sparkling in the sun, the Mediterranean stretched northward to the horizon. Their road ran along a cliff, and below them waves washed onto the rocky shore and flowed placidly in and out of secluded coves. It was picturesque but not alarming. Joanna could hardly believe this was the same sea that had made her so miserable on her voyage to Sicily.
When they drew near Cefalù on the second day, William rode ahead to make sure the royal standard with the royal lion was being borne well in advance, and the royal trumpeter was ready to announce their approach. William set great store on ceremony whenever he toured his kingdom.
Alan took William’s place beside Joanna.
“How splendid you look, Sir Alan,” she greeted him. He beamed. King William had recently knighted him in recognition of his years of loyal service to Joanna. He was as proud of his new title as he was of his polished armor. Though there wasn’t the slightest chance of battle on this journey, he felt more himself with a burnished breastplate and a well-honed sword in his scabbard.
Cefalù captivated Joanna immediately. It wasn’t nearly as big as Palermo, where thousands of people lived amid the temples, squares, markets, gardens and palaces—as well as in modest homes and hovels crowded along dark twisting streets. But Cefalù’s setting was spectacular, tucked below a fearsome crag. “That’s the Rocca,” William told Joanna as he rejoined her and found her staring up in awe.
The cathedral rivaled the Rocca in fearsomeness. From the outside it looked like a fortress, rearing up to protect the little town that clung to the slope between cathedral and sea. Down beyond the red rooftops of the town ran a golden, curving beach, fringed by palms and pines. In a cove farther to the east she could see fishing boats coming and going.
They’d heard the cathedral bells as they entered the town. “Aha. That's for the noontime mass,” said William. Soon they drew close enough to take in the whole immense structure. They walked their horses into the square, looked and listened.
“Mass must be nearly over. Would you like to go in now, or after we get settled in the palace?”
“Now, please, William. I’ve waited so long to see it.”
Most of the rest of the party went off to find their lodgings, but William, Joanna, Hassan and Brother Jean-Pierre walked up the steps and into the twilight of the long nave. They stood at the rear and watched the bishop officiating at the altar. A dozen worshippers were gathered before him. Joanna found the chanting and prayer, the incense and the candles, soothing, as though she’d come home to a familiar place. She saw the mosaic portrait of the Madonna and the archangels, smaller than at Monreale but no less colorful. She smiled as she recognized the apostles, so true to life, as though they’d just stepped in from the town.
After the worshippers left, the bishop walked down the aisle to pay his respects to King William. Then he, the priest and the acolytes filed out. William led his little group around to examine the mosaics more closely.
“What a vision your grandfather had!” said Hassan. “And what a compliment to my people’s heritage he paid by incorporating so much of the Arabic decorative tradition. Those delicate arches! The finely detailed work on the mosaics! I’ve heard that he intended to continue them from the apse all the way into the nave, but he died, did he not, soon after the cathedral was completed?”
William nodded. Joanna wished Hassan would stop talking. She wanted nothing to interfere while she drank in the beauty that surrounded her. She looked up to the vaulted ceiling over the apse, where her gaze met that of the Christ Pantocrator. The mosaic filled a curved recess that took up about a quarter of the great dome. Christ wore a sky-blue cloak over a brown tun
ic. His halo was gold and so was the background, as though he were looking down from a glowing heaven. His right hand was raised in blessing and in his left he held an open book. Joanna imagined she could make out the Latin words “I am the light of the world.” She sat down, transfixed.
“William, I think I’d like to just sit here for a while in this peaceful, beautiful, holy place. Would you mind?”
“Of course not.” But he wondered. Her church-going didn't usually go much beyond normal attendance at mass and daily prayers.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” asked Jean-Pierre.
“No, thank you. I’d like to be alone. But I won’t be long.”
William kissed her on the cheek. “Certainly, my dear. Sir Alan will be waiting at the entrance to lead you to the palace.”
Totally alone in the silent church except for a pair of sweepers far to the rear, Joanna sat for a moment with her head bowed, then looked up to the Christ again. Majestic yet compassionate, he seemed to be returning her gaze. She was touched by the sorrow in his eyes, the way both arms were held out as though to bless all the world. She lost herself in an almost mindless contemplation, letting peace flow over her. The anguish of the weeks since the death of her baby melted into acceptance. She felt that Christ was telling her, “Yes, you have lost your beloved son. But do not grieve. Your child is safe with his heavenly father, in a far better place than the world he was born into. He will wait for you until your time comes to rise into heaven. Meantime, trust in God’s mercy and wisdom and love for all his creatures.”
For a quarter of an hour Joanna sat there, looking up at the face so full of love and understanding while she absorbed the message of consolation. At last, with a sigh not of sorrow but of gratitude to be cleansed of her consuming angry grief, she stood up and, dazed by the transformative experience, walked slowly out of the dim cathedral.
Blinded by sunlight that flooded the square, she blinked and looked around. No Alan was to be seen. But out of the shadowed portico stepped Hassan.
“Ah my lady, unfortunately Sir Alan was called away—something to do with one of the knights’ horses having thrown a shoe. So I volunteered to escort you to the palace. But you seem not quite yourself—are you well?” His dark handsome face was all concern.
“Yes, thank you, quite well.” She didn’t want to talk. But she had to be polite. “It’s just the brightness of the day, after the darkness inside.”
“What would you say to a stroll down to the shore? We have plenty of time before dinner, and it may be your only chance to see more of Cefalù. I’ve been here often and I know the way. It isn’t far. And you might find it relaxing, after our day in the saddle.” He took her arm and before she could think how to decline the invitation they began the gentle descent from the cathedral square, down a cobbled street, past neat stone cottages, until the glorious Mediterranean came in view. She permitted Hassan to lead her all the way to where land met sea, where wave after wave curled ashore and caressed the sandy beach before retreating to make way for the next. There was no one else in view except some fishermen mending their nets far to the south.
Joanna gazed out to sea, hypnotized by the inexorable rhythm of the waves. The clean, salty air filled her nostrils. Still in the spell of the euphoria she’d felt inside the church, she fell into a reverie. Perhaps, she thought, this is God’s way of showing me I should pay more attention to the real, beautiful world I live in instead of longing for what might have been.
She smiled at the thought and turned to see Hassan staring not at the sea but at her. He stepped closer.
“My dear Joanna, what are you thinking, to bring that beatific expression to your face?” He moved closer still. “Oh Joanna, do you have any idea how enchanting you are? How desirable?”
She was confused. He’d never spoken to her like this.
Before she knew it he'd thrown an arm around her and pulled her roughly toward him. He tried to kiss her but she struggled, turned her face aside and managed to slap him as hard as she could.
“How dare you!” She staggered back, trying to distance herself from him, but she stumbled in the loose sand and one of her shoes came off. She watched in dismay as it was carried away by a retreating wave.
Hassan watched too. He ran his fingers over his cheek where the imprint of her hand was still visible. He sighed as though this weren’t the first time a lady had rejected his advances.
Gallant even in defeat, he waded out to retrieve the shoe, handed it to her and held out his arm for her to hold while she put it on. Neither of them had spoken since her cry of outrage.
A little calmer, she said, “Hassan, what possessed you? Have I ever given you the slightest indication that I would welcome such behavior?”
“Sometimes I imagined you did. I see now it was wishful thinking.” He touched his cheek again. “But haven’t you ever thought, Joanna, of the exquisite revenge you might take on William and Yasmin if you and I became…more than friends, shall we say?”
“But why should I want to take revenge now for something that happened so long ago, before William and I were married? I put that attachment out of my mind years ago.”
“But Joanna, the attachment didn’t end. Do you mean to say you don’t know that? You must be the only person in the palace who doesn’t. Why do you think William sent for me and Yasmin to come back from Messina and join his court? Not from any overpowering need for my talents, though I will say I’ve been very useful to him. No, he missed his little plaything.”
Her face went white.
“And they're still the best of playmates.”
The sun had long ago sunk behind the crags of the Rocca. The sea had turned from shimmering blue to dull leaden gray. A cold wind whipped Joanna’s unbound hair about her anguished face. Dazed, unbelieving, she stood perfectly still as though frozen. Suddenly an awful question entered her mind.
“Hassan, your child, the one that's soon to be born—is he—could he be...” She couldn't go on. He laughed, sharply and without humor. “Oh no, my dear, don't worry. Yasmin tells me that I’m the father and I believe her.”
Wearily, she brushed the windblown hair off her forehead. She wanted only to escape from this cold, forsaken spot to someplace warm where she could pretend the encounter with Hassan had never happened. But she had one more question.
“Hassan, how could you still live with Yasmin, knowing that you were sharing her with someone else?”
“Oh, we have an understanding. I don’t demand fidelity from her, nor does she from me. It’s worked quite well. We’re really very fond of each other.” He paused. “And, my dear, I’d hoped that you and William could arrive at such an understanding, and I could be the instrument of your liberation from your marriage vows. I was captivated by you the moment I saw you, and I still am. Perhaps you’ll change your mind. I’ll wait.”
She turned blindly to leave. Hassan offered his arm in support but she brushed him off angrily and began to climb toward the town. He followed close behind. The townspeople looked with curiosity at this strange pair, obviously nobility, but what had they been up to? Her hair was in tangles, there was sand all over her shoes and her face was aflame. His leggings were wet up to the knees. His fine leather boots were sodden. Neither of them said a word.
When they reached the palace she was relieved to see that William wasn’t waiting for her at the entrance. However, Lady Marian was. She was shocked to see the disheveled state of Joanna's hair and gown, and the distress and confusion on her face, like a child who has been punished without knowing why. Instead of scolding her for going off without telling anybody where or with whom, Lady Marian took her firmly by the arm and led her into the palace. But first she looked suspiciously at Hassan, who waved, bowed and headed for a nearby wineshop, squishing as he walked.
Joanna poured out her story the minute they were alone, but she began at the end, adding Sir Hassan’s atrocious attempt to kiss her almost as an afterthought. It was some time before Lady Mari
an sorted out the sequence of events.
“What shall I do?” Joanna wailed. “I must talk to William, mustn’t I? Maybe Hassan had it all wrong.” She’d bathed and changed and was sitting before the fire while Lady Marian brushed her hair. Word had been sent that Joanna was tired and would have supper in her room.
“I fear there may be some truth in what Hassan said,” Lady Marian replied. “But how despicable to blurt it out to you like that!” She put the brush aside and sat beside Joanna. “Again, my dear, you must think of your mother’s example. Do you remember being so upset when you first learned that Yasmin was William’s concubine?”
“Oh yes, but that was different. Then, I had to forgive William for something I thought was long past. Now, apparently, it’s still going on. And William’s been deceiving me all this time.”
“I'm not so sure that’s so. More likely, Hassan is leading you on.”
“But why would he make up such a story?”
“Why? To make you so angry at William that you’d be more likely to accept his—Hassan’s—advances.”
“Oh.” A pause. “But what were you going to say about my mother?”
“Only this: Your father, King Henry, was unfaithful from the beginning. At first Queen Eleanor took it very hard, as you’re doing now. She railed at Henry and even tried to confront some of the women involved. But in time she saw how useless this was. It only made her more unhappy, did nothing to change Henry’s behavior and made an already rocky marriage even more unstable. So she decided to ignore it and never to bring up the subject with enryHe nry Henry. And that, my dear, is what you should do. It won’t be easy, but you have one advantage your mother hasn’t had for years. Your husband truly loves you.”
“Yes, I believe that with all my heart. But if he does, how can he go off and…” She fell silent.
“Because, my pet, that’s the way men are.”
Maybe Hassan told Yasmin about his unsuccessful assault on Joanna’s virtue and Yasmin told William. Maybe William had tired of Yasmin. Maybe he needed Hassan’s services more in Messina than in Palermo. Joanna never knew why and never asked William, but it soon became known that Sir Hassan and Lady Yasmin would move back to Messina as soon as their child was born.