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

by Rachel Bard

  There were murmurs of approval, and “You speak for us all!” said the archbishop. Umberto duly noted these final remarks, and the meeting was over.

  Far to the north in France, Richard needed no urging to join the Crusade. At thirty, he was a seasoned warrior. He gloried in the prospect of a holy war against such a formidable foe, for Saladin’s reputation as a military genius had spread over Europe. Even before Richard received William’s letter, he responded to the pope’s call. In the magnificent new cathedral of Tours, Richard fell on his knees before the archbishop and gladly promised to join the battle to regain Jerusalem. The archbishop raised him and slipped over his bowed head a white surplice, with a scarlet cross emblazoned on front and back.

  “Now, Prince Richard, you have taken the Christian Cross, to wear in battle until Jerusalem is ours again.”

  A month later, in January 1188, King Henry of England and King Philip of France followed suit. They had met in Gisors intending to negotiate a new truce in their endless wars. But the devastating news from the Holy Land took precedence. After hearing a moving call to arms from Archbishop William of Tyre, who had come to France to drum up support for the Crusade, both kings vowed to do battle for Christ in the Holy Land. Spurred on by William’s letter, they agreed to begin at once to assemble their armies and to be ready to set out within a year.

  Frederick Barbarossa, the Holy Roman Emperor, was not far behind. He too heard the eloquent archbishop’s plea, at the Diet of Mainz in March. Both he and his son Henry, Constance’s husband, took the cross.

  Thus was the Third Crusade launched.

  Chapter 39

  For the rest of 1188 and well into 1189, William chafed at the snail-like progress of the English and French preparations for the Crusade.

  In his own country, enthusiasm was high. He had no doubt he’d be able to raise a sizeable army quickly. Men were mightily attracted by the triple lures of adventure, earthly gain (Islam’s wealth would be theirs for the taking) and heavenly salvation (as promised by the pope). William, his council and his aides were busy overseeing troop training as well as the building of new galleys and cargo vessels.

  But King Philip of France and Joanna’s father, King Henry of England, had become distracted after their initial zeal. Henry’s once firm control of his kingdom, especially his French possessions, was slipping away as he aged. His ambitious sons, anticipating his death, had staked out claims to this and that territory—Brittany, Poitou, Aquitaine—and to the English throne itself. King Philip, who could break a truce as easily as sign one, watched in glee and intervened whenever it was to his advantage.

  Joanna learned of these developments in January 1189 in a letter from her mother. Though Henry still held his wife captive in England, he couldn’t stop her from keeping in touch with her children, her various agents and her friends in high places. A stream of messengers went out from Queen Eleanor to Aquitaine, to Sicily, to Ireland, to Paris, to Spain, to her steward at her palace in Poitiers, to the archbishop of Canterbury, to the pope. They went forth carrying her counsel and came back bringing news.

  Federico delivered Eleanor’s letter to Joanna in her chamber. She was working on some Arabic exercises that Ibn Hakim had given her. While William was absent, having gone to Syracuse to check on the shipbuilding underway there, she was trying to make enough progress so that when he returned she could impress him.

  Federico knew what he brought must be very important. Sir Alan had told him to give it to nobody but Queen Joanna. But he had no idea what it was. The rolled-up something-or-other was tied with a leather cord and sealed with a great splash of red wax that seemed to have an image stamped on it. It looked like a big dog or maybe a lion, like the ones he’d seen in the cage in the park.

  He carefully handed it to Joanna and stood as he’d been taught, with feet together and arms at sides, awaiting further orders. He watched curiously while she untied the cord, looked at the seal and cried, “Oh, it’s from my mother! Thank you, Federico. You have brought me something very precious.”

  “But what is it, my lady?”

  “Why, it’s a letter, that’s come all this way from my mother in England. But I suppose you’ve never seen a letter, have you? Come closer and look.” She unrolled the scroll and he saw rows of black marks, totally incomprehensible. But he’d heard of reading and writing.

  “And can you read this, my lady?”

  “Indeed I can. Look, Federico,” and she pointed to the first line, “This says ‘My dear daughter.’”

  “Oh my,” he breathed. He touched the parchment gently and brushed his finger along the line.

  “Would you like to learn to read, Federico?” She ruffled his black curls and watched him affectionately for the few seconds it took him to think this over. “Yes, I would!” Then he had second thoughts. “But won’t it be too hard for me? Maybe I should wait until I’m bigger?”

  “No, no, the younger you are the easier it will be. And I’ll help you. I’ll talk to Brother Jean-Pierre about it. But now I must read my letter. Thank you again, my dear. And please ask Sir Alan to have the messenger stay until I decide whether to send a reply.”

  A smile spread slowly over Federico’s face as he envisioned this new adventure. His short life had been so full of adventures in the past few months! He made it to the door almost sedately but then ran to share his news with Sir Alan or Mary or whoever would listen. He was going to learn to read!

  Joanna sat down with her letter.

  My dear daughter,

  I send you this word from the old castle at Sarum, near Salisbury. The castle is bleak and isolated but I have managed to make my quarters quite comfortable. However, I would much prefer to be at Winchester. I believe King Henry ordered me to be removed here as punishment for some imagined part he suspects I played in the recent unfortunate events in France. Since news of this may not yet have reached you, I will tell you briefly. As you know, ever since your older brother Geoffrey died three years ago, Richard has been next in line for the throne. Yet Henry has refused to name him as heir to the kingdom. Age has not made your father less stubborn or devious. In fact, of late he has let it be known that he may decide to name as his heir your younger brother John instead of Richard.

  At this, Joanna gasped and looked up. John—king of England? Surly, untrustworthy, unloved John, instead of brave, noble Richard? It was unthinkable. She read on.

  Last November, Henry, Richard and King Philip of France met in Normandy. Richard demanded that his father stop equivocating and name him as heir. Henry refused. Richard thereupon renounced his allegiance to Henry and knelt before Philip as his liege lord. I cannot condone this but I can understand it. For your father, it may have been a death blow. He has withdrawn to Le Mans and sees almost no one, not even the papal legate who is trying to revive preparations for the Crusade. He is despondent and though he has drawn many of his troubles on himself, I feel compassion. It might cheer him if you could send a message expressing affection and respect.

  I am also informing your sisters, Queen Eleanor of Castile and Duchess Matilda of Saxony, of these matters. I hope they too will write to their father.

  Up to that point the letter had been in the small, neat hand of the queen’s secretary. Now Eleanor had taken up the pen herself and wrote in her sprawling, unfettered style.

  Finally, a special word to you, Joanna. I have been praying that you would tell me that you are again expecting a child and that God will bless you and William this time with a healthy son. Matters of royal succession are much on my mind these days. If your father should die soon, as seems possible, and Richard should assume the crown, England would be ruled by a king without a direct heir. I have urged Richard to marry but he shows no interest and prefers to busy himself battling our enemies in Aquitaine. Here again you might help. Will you write to him and impress him with the seriousness of this matter? I have already started negotiations with King Sancho of Navarre about a possible betrothal of his daughter Berengaria to Rich
ard. It would be well for England to have a powerful friend like Navarre near the southern borders of our French possessions. However, you need not mention this to your brother. But anything you can say to him in general to make him see marriage as his duty will be helpful. He is fond of you and might pay attention. Thank you, my daughter.

  Your affectionate mother,

  Eleanor, Queen of England, Duchess of Aquitaine.

  Joanna put the letter aside and sat perfectly still. Her mother had given her a great deal to think about. And to do. She rose, walked to the window and looked out at the cheerless scene. A hard rain was falling, and the big drops bounced off the paving of the courtyard like dancers. Beyond, gusts of wind seemed bent on tearing the palm fronds off their trunks and flattening the shrubbery in the park. She shivered, pulled her shawl closer about her and went to stand in front of the fireplace.

  The easiest part, she decided, was the letter to her father; though that would hardly be easy. But it need not be long—just enough to let him know she was concerned about his health, that she wished she could see him, and perhaps to tell him something of what William was doing. William would be pleased if she encouraged her father to increase the pace of England’s preparations for the Crusade.

  She walked briskly to the desk where she’d been working, pushed the pages of Arabic aside and set out inkwell, quill pen and a fresh sheet of paper. At a knock, she turned to see Lady Marian come in.

  “Just the person I need! Come, my friend, read what my mother has to say, and then you must help me with my letters.”

  Lady Marian sat beside her, tucked back a strand of hair—by now quite gray—that had escaped from her wimple and picked up Eleanor’s letter. She read it slowly, with the occasional “Hmmm,” or “Oh dear,” while Joanna watched her kind, concerned face. What a good friend she’d been all these years! Always there when needed, even now when she was growing more bent and afflicted with pains in her knees. But she never complained.

  “Poor King Henry,” she said. “He must be feeling quite friendless.”

  “Yes. I shall write to him first. But I don’t want to sound too sorry for him. Maybe he’s better by now and wouldn’t appreciate my implying that he’s at death’s door.”

  Together they concocted a short message that they decided struck the right note, expressing filial regard, hope for his well-being and regret that they were so far apart.

  “And I wish to bring William and the Crusade into it.” She nibbled the end of her pen and thought a minute before finishing the letter.

  “Finally, father, I know you will be glad to hear that William is moving ahead rapidly on Sicily’s preparations for the Crusade. Even now he is in Syracuse to see about the new galleys that are being built. He still hopes that you and King Philip will have your armies assembled by the end of this year. It is such a very important cause and I support it with my whole heart.”

  She sat back and they read the letter. “Just right, I believe,” said Lady Marian.

  “I do hope so. Now I must write to Richard.”

  She dipped the pen in the inkwell and set to work. She’d thought this would be harder but the words flowed. It didn’t take long to produce what she thought was a reasonable appeal to his good sense and his responsibility to the kingdom. She even brought up the possible undesirable consequences if he remained single. “If you should become king, and if then, God forbid, something happened to you, would you rather have our brother John succeed you, or your own son?

  But she finished on a brighter note. “William hopes the French and English forces will meet in Sicily before sailing to the Holy Land. I too hope for this, because then I would see you, and that would give me great joy.”

  “There!” she said, relieved to have finished. She handed it to Lady Marian. “What do you think?”

  “I think you've written with skill and intelligence. Surely Richard will take your advice seriously. I also think you've written with commendable brevity. If you'd gone on much longer it would have required a second sheet of paper.”

  “But you keep forgetting, paper isn't nearly as costly as the parchment we used to write on and as my mother still does. We can get plenty of fine paper like this from the Arab merchants in the city. Jean-Pierre says they just received a new shipment from Spain.”

  “New-fangled, flimsy stuff,” sniffed Lady Marian. “But let's get these messages on their way.”

  The messenger was instructed to deliver Prince Richard's first, then King Henry's, and finally to go to England and inform Queen Eleanor that “Queen Joanna has received your letter with gratitude. She has done what you asked her to do and sends her affectionate respects.”

  Joanna could now devote herself to the education of young Federico.

  The lively little nine-year-old was a far different child than the bedraggled, dirty urchin who'd come to the palace six months ago. As soon as she saw him Mary had taken him on as her special charge. Within ten minutes she’d gotten him out of his old ragged clothes and into a large copper bathtub. She gave him a thorough scrubbing, which he greeted with squeals—first of outrage, then of delight as he discovered how much fun it was to wiggle and splash in warm water.

  Next, new clothing. At first he had to wear hand-me-downs from the other pageboys, but shortly Mary and Lady Marian had created a suitable wardrobe. He had two suits, one of forest green, the other of russet brown, each consisting of tunic, belt, leggings and, for chilly days, a short wool cape.

  “I haven’t enjoyed sewing so much since I used to make dresses for Joanna’s dolls!” said Lady Marian.

  Sir Alan, who was in charge of the palace staff of knights and pages, undertook to school the lad in his responsibilities. When he was on duty outside the queen’s chamber, he was never to desert his post. If the queen’s intimates came, such as Brother Jean-Pierre or Lady Marian or, of course, the king, they could knock and enter without being announced. But for all other visitors, he was to knock and announce them, but to admit none until the queen agreed to see them. He was to keep himself informed of the whereabouts of Sir Alan and the other knights in the palace.

  Meantime his schooling commenced. Sir Alan had agreed that Federico could be spared from his other duties for an hour a day. The boy was eager to absorb as much as he could, as fast as he could. “I’ve never had such a willing pupil!” said Brother Jean-Pierre. “Except perhaps for you, my lady,” he added hastily.

  “On the contrary, as I remember it they had to practically drag me to my lessons at first. But you persevered, bless you, and you finally managed to show me the rewards of serious study.”

  They were in Joanna’s chamber waiting for Federico. Though it was mid-afternoon, dreary clouds had obscured the sun all day and not much light came through the window. But the fire on the hearth sent out a cheerful glow and comforting warmth. A tall, fat candle on Joanna’s desk shed a circle of bright light on a blank clay tablet and a stylus. A high stool for Federico was drawn up to the desk with Brother Jean-Pierre’s chair at its side. Joanna was seated on the divan, wearing her “work clothes”—a shapeless, loosely belted gray gown that Mary had more than once tried to discard, in vain. Joanna picked up her embroidery. She intended to be only an observer at these sessions.

  There was a knock on the door and the boy came in almost at a run. He wore his green costume with, Joanna noted, a couple of additions—a green cap and green tassels on his shoes. Mary had been inventive.

  He was out of breath and asked anxiously, “Am I late? Sir Alan told me I must wash and change my clothes before I came. That’s because I’ve been out in the courtyard, helping one of the grooms. Sir Alan says every knight should know how to care for his own horse, and he says if I behave myself and pay attention to my elders I might be a knight some day!” His eyes shone in anticipation of such good fortune. Then he looked crestfallen. “But that couldn’t happen for a very long time. I’m still only nine. And Sir Alan says nobody ever gets to be a knight before he’s sixteen. “

>   “Ah, but you’ll hardly notice the time passing,” said Jean-Pierre, “because you’ll be so busy learning about horses, and jousting, and weapons, and chivalry.”

  “And reading and writing,” said Joanna.

  “Indeed. Now Federico, sit here and tell us what you remember from the last lesson.”

  He climbed up on the stool. “I can write my name.” He picked up the stylus and proceeded to do so, biting the tip of his tongue in his concentration. He had to rub out some of the letters and after some thought correct them, but finally put down the stylus and looked up at Jean-Pierre anxiously. “Is that right?”

  Jean-Pierre made a pretense of studying it very closely, uttering “Yes” or “Ah” from time to time, before pronouncing, “Yes, that is right. It is, in fact, perfect. Congratulations.”

  Joanna walked to the desk and inspected the work. “I agree. Very good. A fine beginning. What’s next, Brother Jean-Pierre?”

  “I think we’re ready to attack the alphabet.”

  “What’s an alphabet?” asked Federico apprehensively. “Is it dangerous?”

  “On the contrary, it’s the best friend you could have for learning to read and write. It’s all the letters you need to write all the words in the world. And you’ve already learned seven of them,” pointing to the tablet with Federico’s name and pronouncing the letters. “You’re well on your way.”

  The lesson continued. Joanna resumed her seat and her embroidery. She’d never experienced this kind of happiness—seeing one she loved, for she had truly come to love Federico, grow and thrive while she offered him encouragement and affection.

  Sometimes William would visit them during a lesson, but he was preoccupied with larger affairs and remained only long enough to pat Federico on the head, glance at his work and tell him he was coming along very well. Nevertheless, Joanna sensed that William was glad of her attention to Federico. She was sure he realized, as she herself was beginning to admit, that in some ways the boy had become a substitute for the child she'd never had.