A Reed in the Wind: Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily
Page 29
When Doctor Ibn Hakim arrived at a run, he strode through the throng, pushing men aside, and knelt beside Joanna. He examined William’s bleeding forehead. He felt for a pulse in his neck while she watched, pale and trembling.
He looked at her, his wise old face full of compassion. “My dear lady, I am sorry. Your noble husband has breathed his last.”
Only Matthew of Ajello had seen Tancred dig his spurs savagely into his horse's side just before the maddened beast charged into Black Warrior. And Matthew kept his counsel.
Chapter 41
After the customary three-week mourning period Joanna began going out in public again, always in white as befitted a widow. Her grief was always with her, asleep or awake. Night after night in her dreams she relived the same fearful scene. She watched, helpless, as the black horse staggered with the impact of Tancred's lunging steed, as William was thrown sideways and began what seemed an agonizingly slow descent to the stone paving. She struggled to rise from her throne, to run and catch him before he fell, but could not move. She would awake screaming and tangled in the bedclothes. During the day as well she had only to close her eyes to see it happen again.
Nine months after the tragedy, she was in her chamber and recognized the knock on her door as Federico's—three taps, just loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to be alarming. She rose from the divan by the window. “Come in, Federico,” she called. But when the door opened, a man she didn't know pushed past the indignant boy. The stranger wore the royal livery.
“I bring you these orders from King Tancred, Madame.” He held out a scroll with the royal seal.
Joanna didn't know whether to laugh or stamp her foot. “Orders”! Who was this self-proclaimed king to give her “orders”? And “Madame”! Why couldn't the fellow use her rightful title, “Queen”? He was quite short. She supposed the undersized Tancred preferred not to have to look up at those who served him.
“I am to wait for your reply and take it back to the king.”
She took the scroll. “You may tell your master that I shall send a reply in due course. You may go.”
She saw him preparing to object, but he thought better of it. Straight-backed, chin high, he strutted out.
Federico had watched the exchange nervously.
“I'm sorry, my lady. I tried to keep him from bursting in like that. But he pushed me. I pushed back but he's a lot bigger.” Then he grinned. “But you managed to send him on his way, you did!”
She was reading the scroll with increasing indignation. She looked up.
“Yes, I suppose I did. But much good it will do me. Federico, please find Sir Alan and send him to me, quickly.” While she waited she paced up and down, crushing the parchment in her agitation, smoothing it out to read it again.
It informed her that she and her people were to move from the royal palace to La Zisa. Tancred required the palace as residence for himself and his family. Furthermore, she was forbidden to travel outside of Palermo. Guards to enforce this would be posted around La Zisa. If she left La Zisa to go into Palermo, the guards would accompany her.
It was, in a word, imprisonment.
Sir Alan arrived when she was reading the directive for the third time, with growing anger. She handed it to him and watched grimly as he took it in. His face turned alarmingly red.
“What can we do, Sir Alan? Must we accept this?”
“My lady, I'm afraid we must. Ever since he declared himself king he's been consolidating his control over the army so they're all now at his beck and call. Matthew of Ajello has been his willing agent in all this and we know what a crafty villain Matthew is.”
She sighed. “Indeed we do. They seem a well-matched pair. Well, let's make the best of it. The sooner we move out, the better. At least we're going to a place we know and where we once lived very happily.”
After he left, promising to alert the palace staff that they'd be needed to help with the move the next day, she sank down again on the divan. She sat hunched over with her head in her hands. Since William's death nothing, nothing had gone right. She went over the dreary history of the past few months.
First was the matter of William's burial.
He’d been entombed at Monreale just as he he’d planned, near the tombs of his mother and father. His motive for building the cathedral in the first place was to provide a glorious edifice that would serve as the final resting place for the kings of Sicily. But Archbishop Walter took it upon himself to order William’s sarcophagus transferred to his own cathedral in Palermo. The archbishop was aging and in poor health, but his memory of the affront to his pride when William built his audacious new cathedral hadn't faded. Joanna begged him to reconsider, but Walter claimed that as archbishop of Palermo he had the authority to make the decision.
Next, Tancred had had himself crowned king of Sicily. Archbishop Walter officiated. Though Walter had championed Constance as William’s heir, Constance was far away in Germany while Tancred was on the spot, powerful, swift to act. Walter recognized that in this case principle was less important than expediency.
Joanna had been shocked by the irregular manner and haste with which Tancred had put on the crown. Yet she knew he had almost as good a claim to the throne as Constance. She’d hoped that he'd want to reign, as William had, responsibly and honorably.
She'd waited for him to give her the revenues due her under her marriage settlement. When weeks passed and he hadn't done so, she sent a formal request. He didn't respond.
Nor did Sir Matthew, now confirmed as Tancred’s chancellor, when she sent a second request.
And now this! This ignominious eviction from the royal palace where she'd reigned at William's side for fourteen years—more than half her life.
She walked up and down the room, trying not to yield to despair and grief. She stopped her pacing, wiped her eyes and scolded herself. “You aren't going to change anything by weeping and wailing. Now get busy and do what has to be done.”
Two days later she and her diminished household were settled in La Zisa. Here there was none of the bustle of the royal palace. It was eerily quiet—no courtiers in residence now, no festive dinners in the Fountain Room. She walked in the park, which was as lovely as ever but with too many memories. She went every week to San Cataldo to pray for William's soul.
She took comfort in the presence of Lady Marian, Mary, Federico and Sir Alan. The loyal British knight still served as her bodyguard and as head of a greatly reduced contingent of palace knights. Apparently Tancred didn't fear that she'd need to be forcibly restrained.
She rejoiced in visits from Brother Jean-Pierre whenever he could manage them. Tancred had installed his wife Sibylla, his two sons and his new baby daughter in the royal palace. When he heard of Jean-Pierre's reputation as a teacher he commandeered him as his sons' tutor. With the army behind him and Matthew of Ajello’s powerful support, Tancred had the upper hand and Jean-Pierre had to comply. (“But sometimes I teach them the wrong forms of the Latin verbs,” he told Joanna.)
On the ten-month anniversary of William's death, a golden autumn day, she looked forward to Federico's lesson—anything to keep herself busy and avoid the brooding and lethargy that so often overcame her. Since Jean-Pierre could never be sure of coming, Joanna had taken over the boy's schooling. Today she would ask him to read aloud a few sentences she had copied from her psalter, a prayer for St. Cecilia's Day.
He arrived on time, bounced into the room and ran to where she stood by the work table. She leaned down to put her arms around him and rested her cheek on his soft curly hair.
“And how is my little scholar today?”
He looked up at her with the eager, trusting expression that always gave her a shock of joy.
“I'm very well, thank you. Today Sir Alan told me that since I'm eleven now, and so much taller, I could try to mount a horse without any help and I did! It was quite a big horse too.”
“Bravo! Now let's see if you can do as well with your lesson.”
She was stunned at how he’d echoed her own thoughts. After a moment she replied, “I sometimes feel the same way, Federico. But then I remind myself that God has his reasons, and we mortals must learn to accept them even if we don't understand them. Now let's go on.”
Usually a session with Federico made her forget her troubles. But not this time. After he left she sat for a long time in the darkening room, trying to pray but giving in to overwhelming despair. At last, she forced herself to leave the past and look ahead. When Richard came to Sicily on his way to the Holy Land he’d find a way to end this miserable imprisonment. And what then?
Perhaps he’d encourage her to go back to England. The idea had its attractions. She’d see her mother again. Since King Henry’s death, Eleanor had been free to travel, so they might divide their time between England and France.
But it would be hard to leave Sicily. It had become her home. Surely Richard could put pressure on Tancred to leave her alone so she could live here quietly as William’s royal widow. She could resume her work with Jean-Pierre to help the poor. She could watch over Federico as he progressed from boyhood to manhood. She could visit places in Sicily she’d never seen—Agrigento with its Greek temples, Taormina in the shadow of Mt. Etna. It wouldn’t be too bad a life.
The thought of remarriage never entered her head.
Chapter 42
A citizen of Messina who was at the harbor on September 22, 1190, described Richard's arrival.
The populace rushed out eagerly to behold him, crowding along the shore. And lo, on the horizon they saw a fleet of innumerable galleys, filling the Straits, and then, still far off, they could hear the shrill sound of trumpets. As the galleys came nearer they could see that they were painted in different colors and hung with shields glittering in the sun. They could make out standards and pennons fixed to spearheads and fluttering in the breeze. Around the ships the sea boiled as the oarsmen drove them onwards. Then, with trumpet peals ringing in their ears, the onlookers beheld what they had been waiting for: the King of England, magnificently dressed and standing on a raised platform, so that he could see and be seen.
Joanna knew nothing of this until she received a messenger from Richard a few days later. The man spoke slowly and carefully as he delivered the message:
“My beloved sister: As soon as I arrived in Messina I learned of the monstrous treatment you have received from Tancred, who calls himself king of Sicily. I have sent to him in Palermo my demand that he release you immediately and provide transport for you to Messina. Later I shall see him in person and require him to restore your dowry and your inheritance. I believe he recognizes that my forces could easily defeat his own and that he will see reason. I would come to Palermo now but I must be here to parley with King Philip of France. He is raising difficulties that do not portend well for our joint leadership of the Crusade.”
Not many words, but so welcome! Joanna felt like embracing the messenger. Instead, she directed him to deliver to Richard her reply: “Thanks, a thousand thanks, to my dear brother from Queen Joanna.”
She wondered how Tancred would take this turn of events. But even before hearing from him she began to pack her belongings. No matter where she found herself next she wanted to have with her the furnishings, the clothing, the jewels —everything that would remind her of the place where she'd been so happy for so many years.
The day after receiving Richard's message, Joanna, Lady Marian and Mary were hard at work in her apartments in La Zisa, going through her gowns, robes, capes and linens, relegating them to various chests—those that she'd need access to first, and those that could be stowed for later use. Emilia, whom Jean-Pierre had rescued from a miserable life of beggary and near-starvation, was there as well. Jean-Pierre had brought her, a scrawny, yellow-haired orphan, the day before and prevailed on Joanna to try to find something useful for her to do in the palace.
“You were so kind to take in Federico,” he said, “and I'm sure you'll want to do as much for this waif. I think she may be about thirteen, and she seems bright.”
Now that Emilia had been bathed and was in clean clothes, Joanna saw that she was quite pretty. But how thin she was! They'd have to concentrate first on putting some meat on her bones. In time, Joanna imagined, she might be trained as a lady's maid.
The girl was eager to help and quick to learn. The others made up little jobs for her—carrying an armful of folded garments to place carefully in a chest, bringing Lady Marian a cup of water, taking all the shoes out of the wardrobes and lining them up so Joanna could decide which she might discard.
The work was tiring. After an hour, Joanna called Federico and asked him to take Emilia down to the kitchen for some soup and suggested to the others that they stop for a bit to get their breath. The pillows scattered on the floor looked inviting. Joanna chose her favorite purple one and Mary settled on one of daffodil-yellow. Lady Marian lowered herself carefully into a chair.
Joanna sat with her arms around her knees and looked idly around the room. Her gaze rested on the delicately carved screens set into the walls, the alcoves with cushioned benches, the graceful wrought-iron stands for the braziers.
“Do you remember when we first came here, my friends? And how we marveled at the Sicilians' strange idea of proper furnishings for a lady's rooms? And now, I can hardly bear to think of living without all this.”
“Will you take the bed, do you think?” Mary was looking through the door to the next room where the enormous bed with its gossamer white curtains reigned.
Joanna considered it. “I don't know. It's really more English than Sicilian. If I go to England I'm sure I'll find beds like that.” And besides, she thought, every single night it makes me unhappy, wishing William were beside me.
“But one piece of furniture I shall certainly take is my golden throne. William formally presented it to me as his gift at my coronation. I know he'd want me to keep it.”
“And so you should,” said Lady Marian. “You're a queen and will be until the end of your days. And a queen must always be properly seated.”
“Which reminds me of something,” said Joanna. “A queen also must have attendants. Yet here I am with only one, which has been all very well, the way we've been living. But it won't do if I go back to England. Mary, I've discussed this with Lady Marian. She agrees with me that it would be appropriate for you to serve me from now on not as my maid but as my lady-in-waiting. You've certainly earned it after all these years. What do you say to that, Lady Mary?”
Mary was untypically speechless. She turned red, she seemed about to burst into tears, she fell on her knees before Joanna.
“My lady, I don't know what to say! Such an honor! Are you sure? I'm not highborn as a lady should be, I'm only a farmer's daughter. Are you really sure?”
“Of course! We've given it a great deal of thought. You've served a very long apprenticeship and now it's time for you to move on.”
Mary stood up and looked with distaste at her unadorned brown dress—neat but far from elegant.
“I'll have to get new clothes, won't I?” Tearfulness gave way to anticipation.
“I expect you will. But there's plenty of time for that. Your first task will be to train somebody to take your place. Now that Emilia's here, it occurs to me that she might do very well. At least let's give her a chance. So what you must do is to teach her what will be req
uired of her, just as Lady Marian trained you.” Joanna smiled up at her and rose. “And if you do as well as your Uncle Alan did with Federico, I'll be happy. Now we'd best get back to work.”
But before they could, Federico knocked and came in, looking flustered.
“My lady, Lord Tancred has just arrived and sent a request that you receive him.” Federico, like many in Joanna's entourage, stubbornly refused to give Tancred the royal title. “Lady Sibylla is with him. He was not very polite. I told him you were very busy but he didn't even listen. He just said, 'Go on now, tell her.'”
All her resentment at the way Tancred had imprisoned her boiled to the surface. Her face grew hot and she was tempted to refuse his insolent demand. But she couldn't. He was her only means of escaping to Richard.
“I shall have to see him, of course. But not here and not until I'm good and ready. Please tell them to wait in the throne room, and that I shall come as soon as I can, perhaps in half an hour. And ask somebody to bring them wine and fruit.”
Within forty minutes she was suitably dressed to meet royalty, legitimate or not. She wore the state crown and a purple cloak trimmed with ermine over her white gown. At the last minute she found William’s scepter, which he’d used on only the most formal occasions.
When she entered the throne room, Tancred was pacing up and down with a goblet of wine in his hand. Sibylla, whom Joanna had not yet met, sat at a table frowning into her goblet. Joanna walked to her throne and seated herself, holding the scepter upright as she’d seen William do.
Tancred stopped pacing and Sibylla stood up. In contrast to her husband's broad monkey-like face, hers was thin and pinched. She wore a gown of stiff brocade, yellow with a border of pearls. It did nothing for her sallow complexion or her drab brown hair. She stood stooped over, as though trying to squeeze herself down to Tancred's height.
Tancred's ingratiating ways were not in evidence. He wasted no time on compliments, grins or small talk. This is the real Tancred, Joanna thought.