by Rachel Bard
Everybody regarded her with immense curiosity, this intriguing queen who had come from far-off England to marry their king, then lost him—so young!—in such a tragic accident. She felt self-conscious and was glad when Richard appeared at her side and squeezed her arm. “You’re looking uncommonly lovely tonight, little sister.”
She thought perhaps she was but it was good to have his concurrence. He led her to the seat on his right. She smiled at Federico, standing stiffly behind her chair. But she was dismayed to see that the seat next to hers was occupied by—Tancred! However, no sooner had she settled herself and heard his mumbled “Good evening, Lady Joanna,” (not Queen Joanna), than he muttered something unintelligible, rose, and brusquely ordered his wife to change places with him. Joanna supposed he felt as uncomfortable as she did about the prospect of making conversation during a long banquet. She was so relieved that she greeted Sibylla more warmly than was warranted by the negative impression she’d made when they’d met so briefly in Palermo. She could hear Tancred quizzing the archbishop, his new neighbor, with the same pseudo-deferential inquisitiveness she remembered from her first meeting with him.
Sibylla seemed delighted with the change. Joanna remembered her as looking sour and uncommunicative, but now her thin face was brightened by a smile as genuine as her husband’s was false.
“I’m so glad to see you again. I’m afraid our last meeting at the palace in Palermo was far too brief and not very pleasant—my lord husband was so preoccupied with his negotiations with King Richard and the task of seeing you safely to Messina. But here we are in your brother’s fine banquet hall, all friends. I wonder, will they be bringing the food in soon? I’m quite hungry.” How she does run on! thought Joanna. But no wonder; I’m sure Tancred cuts her off before she can finish a sentence. And I believe she truly means to be friendly.
“I expect they’ll serve as soon as King Philip arrives. Meantime, we could have a drop of wine.” She turned to ask Federico to bring wine, but he had anticipated her and stood with a decanter at the ready.
Joanna tried to bear in mind her mother’s example of maintaining a courteous conversation even with those one is disposed to dislike. She raised her glass.
“I’m pleased to see you again, too, Lady Sibylla. Tell me, how are your children?” They’d just embarked on a chat about the children’s new tutor—who had been found by Brother Jean-Pierre—and how well they were doing in their studies, when a trumpet blast silenced all conversation. A tall slim youth in the gold-and-purple livery of the kings of France stood at the entry. A white satin pennant embroidered with a fleur-de-lis hung from his gleaming instrument. He looked superciliously around, then blew another two-note announcement.
He pulled the curtain aside and Philip entered.
Richard rose to conduct him to the seat at his own left. Joanna, watching, thought the two kings could not have been more different. Richard was tall, sturdily built, broad-shouldered, ruddy-cheeked, with a sunny smile as though Philip were his long-lost best friend. He wore his crown with regal authority. He was all in crimson and black—crimson tunic, black hose, and shoes of supple crimson leather with golden tassels. His hand rested nonchalantly on the hilt of the sword at his belt.
Philip was less spectacular. Of medium height, he was plainly but richly dressed in tunic and hose of silvery-gray and a short black cape embroidered with silver fleurs-de-lis. His swarthy face had none of Richard’s animation, but his heavy-lidded black eyes missed very little. His smooth dark hair reached just below his ears. He too wore a crown, less massive than Richard’s but sparkling with more jewels. A silver cross on a silver chain hung about his neck. What he lacked in stature he made up for in assurance. He held his head high and surveyed the room impassively before sitting down. When his glance fell on Joanna, he made a slight bow and produced a slight smile.
Richard signaled to the steward to order the parade of servants into the hall, each bearing a heavy platter. The guests’ noses fairly twitched in anticipation as the aromas of roast pork, beef in wine sauce, capon with ginger, and many another delicacy filled the room.
In a corner a trio of musicians struck up a tune.
The banquet had begun.
Two hours later, Joanna languidly picked up a square of candied apple jelly, looked at it regretfully and put it back on the plate.
“No, I can’t possibly eat another morsel, though I know they’re delicious.”
“Nor I,” sighed Sibylla. She leaned forward and across Joanna to address Richard. “King Richard, you’ve given us such a marvelous dinner! Thank you!” Richard, who had been carrying on a shouted conversation and exchanging toasts with a knight across the table, paused to acknowledge her with a nod and a smile. Sibylla took a sip of wine and hiccupped delicately. Both she and Joanna had drunk more wine than usual, thanks to Federico. He took his duties seriously and the moment the level in their goblets fell by half an inch he was there to refill them.
The musicians were still hard at it, but had shifted to slow, almost elegiac tunes. They were tired and hoped the banquet would break up.
So did Joanna. She felt hot and a bit lightheaded.
“I’ll say goodnight now, Sibylla. I long for my bed.”
“As do I, but…” she looked doubtfully at Tancred, who seemed to be settling in to make a night of it. “I expect we’ll be leaving soon, too. Goodnight.”
Joanna touched her brother on the arm. “Richard, I believe I shall retire.”
“Of course. God’s teeth, how red you’ve turned! You must get your rest. We’ll find a couple of knights to accompany you to the palace.” Somewhat befuddled by wine, he looked around as though expecting a couple of knights to materialize before him.
She rose, staggered and nearly fell, clutching at her chair. Federico caught her and in an instant, before Richard was on his feet, Philip was at her other side, supporting her.
Joanna leaned on him for a moment then straightened. “Oh, dear—I’m so sorry! I must have tripped on the hem of my gown. Thank you, I’m quite all right now.”
Belatedly, Richard had managed to stand up. “Are you sure? Come, I’ll see you out.” Before he could take her arm, Philip said, “My lord King, you must stay with your guests. I shall be happy to see Queen Joanna safely to the palace.” He turned to Federico. “Fetch the queen’s cloak. And see if Sir Alan or any of the palace knights are outside.”
Sir Alan was indeed outside, having long ago finished his own more humble dinner. He was waiting with horses saddled and ready. But when Joanna, Philip and Federico emerged, she was still unsteady and unfit to mount a horse. It was agreed that since the distance was so short, they would walk to the palace. Joanna, embarrassed at needing help, was silent. So was Federico, remorseful at having been an over-zealous cupbearer.
Philip, as though reading her thoughts, spoke. “You mustn’t think it was too much wine. You clearly haven’t recovered yet from your fever, and no wonder you’re feeling weak.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
He said goodbye when he’d seen her safely up the palace steps and in Lady Marian’s charge.
“I shall hope to hear you’re improved by tomorrow. Remember to send word if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you, thank you! How kind you’ve been.” She held out her hand. He reached toward it, then seemed to think better of it, dropped his own hand, bowed and left.
Why didn’t he kiss my hand the way he’s done before? she wondered. But she was too dizzy to pursue the thought.
Chapter 45
It was back to bed for Joanna. Her fever was even higher than during her first bout of sickness. Philip sent his personal physician, a courtly, soft-spoken Frenchman. He laid his cool, dry hand on her forehead—so soothing!—then asked her to cough while he applied an ear to her chest. He inquired about her appetite and her elimination, and scolded her gently for going out before she was completely recovered. She meekly agreed to mend her ways and to stay in bed until he pronou
nced her well enough to get up.
Philip didn’t come, but sent fruit and flowers.
Richard came and commiserated.
“Sorry I couldn’t come sooner. We’ve been busy taking Matagriffon down to see if we can load her into a galleon for the journey. I get these fevers often. Maybe it runs in the family. Have you heard from Philip?”
She was propped up on a mound of pillows, feeling just a bit better.
“No, not really. He sends things, including his doctor.”
“I’m not surprised he stays away. He worries incessantly about his own health, and he’s undoubtedly afraid he’ll catch your ailment if he gets too close.”
Aha, she thought. That must be why he wouldn’t take my hand when he said goodbye after Richard’s dinner.
“We had a curious conversation the other day,” Richard went on. “He asked me if I thought you might ever consider marrying again. I said, why don’t you ask her yourself, and he demurred, said it was just curiosity. ”
“Indeed!” She hoped the blush didn’t show on her fevered cheeks.
“Either he has his eye on you for himself, or he’s plotting something. He’s a master plotter, you know. It may be he’s thinking of arranging a marriage that would be advantageous to France—matching you up with some French prince. You’d be a prize, you know: a Plantagenet princess, widow of a king, sister of a king.”
“I can’t say I care to serve as the queen on his chessboard.”
“Then the conversation got even stranger. He asked if I knew how many miscarriages you’d had and how many children who didn’t live. I was glad to be able to tell him that I honestly didn’t know.”
“Now that’s too much! Assessing the queen to see if she’s fit to produce a lot of little pawns.” She bowed her head into her hands, overcome with anger and grief. So many sorrows that she thought long-buried suddenly assailed her—the loss of William, the death of her baby, the failed pregnancy. “I’m sorry, Richard. I’m so sorry. I’ve been feeling depressed, and now this.” She reached for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I’m all right now.” She sniffled and managed a little smile.
“Forgive me, sister. I shouldn’t have told you all that.” He patted her on the shoulder.
“No, I’m glad you did. It gives me a better idea of what Philip is like.”
“He’s devious, that’s what he’s like, and not always to be trusted. But I have to get along with him. We’re in this Crusade together.”
“And of course it will help if I get along with him too. I’ll do my best.” But from now on, she told herself, I won’t be so taken in by his attentions and his fine manners. We shall see what we shall see.
The next visitor was a welcome surprise. Joanna hadn’t seen Brother Jean-Pierre since long before she’d been sent to the monastery in Bagnara. Federico announced him gleefully; he knew this was one of Joanna’s dearest friends. Not only that, if it weren’t for Brother Jean-Pierre, Federico wouldn’t be in this palace serving such a kind lady and learning to be a knight.
“I came the minute I heard of your illness. I’ve been in Palermo for weeks, just arrived here this morning. Have you been well taken care of? How do you feel?” He sat in the chair by her couch and got his breath—he’d been so anxious that he’d walked a good deal faster than his usual dignified pace.
“I feel much better, especially now that I see you. They told me you were in Palermo, but what kept you so long? Shall I send for wine? Do have some of Philip’s excellent grapes.”
“No wine, thank you.” He looked around at tables laden with bowls and baskets of fruit, vases and pots of daffodils and lilies and ferns. “It looks more like a street market than a sickroom.”
“Yes, everybody has been most attentive. Now do tell me about yourself. What were you doing in Palermo?”
“Tying up loose ends, mostly. I visited all the churches and abbeys that have been helping the needy with food and shelter. I wanted to make sure they had no problems, or at least no major problems. I commended them on the good work they do, and urged them to continue with generous hearts. Then, since I won’t be able to supervise their efforts for the foreseeable future, I made sure there’d be somebody to take over.”
“How wise of you. When you’re back in England, you won’t have to worry about all your hard work here going for nothing. Who will take over? Perhaps I could send a contribution, to encourage him to carry on as you’ve done.”
“I’m not sure yet. I went to see old Archbishop Walter, thinking he might recommend somebody. But he, I fear, is very near death. I doubt if he took in much of what I was saying. I’ll probably have to go back. I hope there’ll be time.”
“But Jean-Pierre, we haven’t even heard yet from my mother about when we’re to leave. Surely you’ll be able to fit in one more trip.”
“Ah. That’s the next subject.” He fidgeted with the tassel of his belt and looked at the ceiling, then down at his sturdy sandals.
What can be the matter? she wondered. He’s usually so very collected.
He looked her in the face. “This was a very difficult decision. I won’t be going back to England with you. I shall go with Richard to the Holy Land.”
She fell back on her pillows with a little cry, “Oh no!”
“It pains me greatly to seem to desert you. But I’ve always dreamed of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. I’m getting on, and I may never have another chance. Yet it can’t be for long, Joanna. Surely our Crusaders will defeat the infidels quickly and take possession of Jerusalem, and we’ll all come home.”
She sat up, took his hand and said earnestly, “I understand. Of course you must go. But I shall miss you enormously. You’ve been part of my life for so long! But you may still do me a service, during this pilgrimage. Keep an eye on my brother. He can be foolish and impulsive at times. Remember poor Beatrice, whom he got with child?”
“I do remember. A most unfortunate affair. But I doubt if I can have much influence on King Richard. Of course I shall try. And I’ll pray to our Lord to guide me.” He stood up. “Now I must let you rest. I’ll call again soon.”
“Thank you, dear friend.”
The mention of Beatrice set Joanna musing on those long-ago days, when she and her ladies had first arrived in Sicily, uncertain and apprehensive. Where were they now, Beatrice, Charmaine and Adelaide? She would ask her mother about Beatrice. Adelaide was probably still at Fontevraud Abbey. And Charmaine—hadn’t she moved with her new husband to Messina? Perhaps I should make an effort to find her, thought Joanna. But that would mean finding that foolish, affected man she married, as well. No hurry. Plenty of time. And she drifted off to sleep.
Two weeks later in mid-March, when the first green was showing in the fields, the first pink buds had appeared on the almond trees and winter seemed finally on the wane, Joanna, thoroughly wrapped in shawls and cloaks, was permitted to go out for a stroll. Mary went with her.
“Shall we walk down to see what’s left of Richard’s castle?” Joanna asked.
The road was crowded with wayfarers, soldiers and sailors, peddlers, donkey trains and casual walkers out to enjoy the fine day. Still it took them only ten minutes to reach their goal. Aside from a few boards and timbers nothing was left. Where a magnificent banquet hall had been created there was only empty air. Joanna sighed. “Sic transit gloria mundi.”
Mary didn’t know what that meant but nodded sagely.
They both looked up as a horseman approached, his galloping steed scattering everybody in his way. It was Richard. He dismounted hastily.
“What luck to find you here, I won’t have go to the palace. I have news, Joanna. Come, sit by me on this pile of lumber. You too, Lady Mary.”
He was so serious! Even somber. Joanna felt apprehensive.
“I have word from our mother.”
“But that’s wonderful! Does she say when I’m to leave and where I’m to go?”
“No, because you are to stay right here. She’s on her way to Sicily
from Spain. She says they’re almost to Reggio and expect to be here in a week.”
“From Spain? ‘They’? Who’s with her?”
“Princess Berengaria, daughter of the king of the Basques. Our mother went to Navarre to fetch her. She’s bringing her here to be my bride.”
No bridegroom could have looked less happy at the prospect.
“But what about Alice, Philip’s sister? What about your promise to marry her?”
“That was just to keep Philip satisfied. I meant to get out of it somehow. But there’ll be no getting out of marrying Berengaria. Once Queen Eleanor makes up her mind, nobody dares to say her nay.”
“But King Richard, wait until you see the princess. Maybe you’ll like her,” said Mary.
“Humph. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But even if I like her, why do I have to marry her? This is no time to tie myself down with a wife. Not with this stupendous task of a Crusade staring us in the face.”
All three sat digesting the news. Richard was glum. Joanna was wondering what her future sister-in-law would be like. Mary was thinking that she for one would welcome a wedding and wishing that her suitor, the gallant Sir Stephen, would stop shilly-shallying and ask for her hand.
Richard emerged from his gloom with a start.
“Joanna, I’m sorry, I forgot the rest of the message. The queen says you’re not to go back to France with her, you’re to be Berengaria’s companion. You and your ladies will be going with us on Crusade.”