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

by Rachel Bard

  “And did you?”

  “I may have. That whole business with Alice has been back and forth so many times that one loses track. Hasn’t she been engaged at one time or another to three of your sons? I suppose I may have told Philip that I’d marry her if he’d support me in my battles with Tancred over control of Messina. But he never brought it up again and I certainly didn’t.”

  “So that’s that,” said Eleanor. “He’s gone and there’s nothing to be done about it now.” She poured each of them some wine from the decanter by her side. After a small sip, she set down her glass, leaned her head against the chair back, sighed and closed her eyes.

  Calmer now, Richard drank while looking at her over the rim of his wineglass. He noticed faint crowsfeet about her eyes and folds of flesh below her chin. He’d never seen his mother give in to weariness. But, he thought, she must be nearly seventy. She’s earned the right to slow the pace. He touched her arm.

  “Mother, you need your rest. You’ve had a long, difficult day. I’ll leave you now.” He finished his wine and stood.

  She sat up as though to protest, but sighed again.

  “You may be right. We sailed from Reggio at dawn. But come to me early tomorrow, and bring Joanna. I’d hoped to talk to her tonight, but it’s grown too late. We have so much to settle.”

  “I will, mother.” He bent to kiss her on the forehead. She watched him leave, marveling again at this godlike son of hers. But even the gods need prodding from time to time, she thought.

  Weary as she was, before she retired she sent for a messenger.

  “Early tomorrow morning, go to the archbishop of Messina and ask him to call on me tomorrow afternoon. I wish to consult with him about my son’s wedding.”

  Chapter 47

  Joanna went to her mother’s apartment at ten the next morning. She wanted to see her alone before Richard arrived. She found Eleanor dictating to her secretary, nibbling on a biscuit and sipping a spicy, sweet-smelling tea from a fine porcelain cup. Fennel? thought Joanna. Or anise? The queen’s maid had just finished brushing her hair. Her beautiful golden hair—Joanna remembered it well. Now more silver than gold, it fell below her shoulders and lay like a gleaming scarf over her midnight-blue robe.

  But as usual, after the brushing it was neatly pinned up to disappear beneath the white wimple that Eleanor always wore.

  “Good morning, daughter. I’ll soon be finished here. I’m a little late with my breakfast. Would you like anything? Where’s Richard? Here, sit by me. What a pretty gown; that shade of green becomes you.”

  The secretary hastily vacated his chair, and Joanna seated herself. She looked around, admiring the way her mother had quickly made this room an outpost of Aquitaine, despite its probable past as an opulent nest for some potentate’s favorite concubine. Eleanor seldom traveled without a few of her own belongings. A silver vase on the table by her side held three red roses. A small alabaster statue of the Virgin Mary, bearing a striking resemblance to Eleanor, stood in an arched recess on one wall. On the opposite wall, a very large white satin hanging that displayed the French fleur-de-lys almost concealed an exquisitely carved Arabic screen.

  Joanna gathered her courage. “Mother, I must talk to you.” She shook her head when the maid offered her a tray. “I don’t want to go to Palestine and I don’t think I need to. I’m sure we can find other companions for Berengaria. Brother Jean-Pierre knows several extremely worthy ladies connected to the abbey in Palermo, and…”

  “Joanna! Not so fast. First tell me why you don’t want to go. You’re fortunate to have the opportunity. I shall never forget my own journey with the Crusaders when I was married to Louis of France, years and years ago.” She paused, her teacup in midair, and seemed lost in memories. “I can see it now. It was glorious! My ladies and I rode right along with the army. Of course we got a lot of attention and I’m not sure King Louis totally approved…” Her voice trailed off and her lips curved in a little smile as she remembered the beautiful, headstrong young queen she’d been in 1147.

  Joanna tried to imagine herself in such a procession and failed.

  Eleanor came abruptly back to the present. She set her cup down and looked appraisingly at Joanna.

  “Well, perhaps that kind of thing wouldn’t suit you, and I’m sure it wouldn’t suit Berengaria. She’s quite retiring, I’ve found. I expect that both of you would prefer to ride separately from the Crusaders. Richard can see to that. Now, you ask why you must go. I have two particular reasons. First, to serve as a companion to Berengaria, somebody sympathetic and of her own status. She’s led a sheltered life and it would be too bad to send her off into a strange new world without a confidante or a friend. We can’t depend on the ladies-in-waiting for that kind of companionship, even if we add a few more from Jean-Pierre’s abbey in Palermo. Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose you’re right. But why…”

  Eleanor held up a hand to silence her. “Wait, there’s an even more compelling reason. Your presence will help to insure the success of Richard’s marriage. Now that he’s king of England, he must produce an heir to insure the succession. We both know his propensity to stray from the path of righteousness. I want him to devote all his procreative powers to his lawful wife, and I want you to be vigilant in reminding him of his responsibility. You may feel I’m asking too much of you. But you’re the only person I can turn to. Richard respects you and will take what you say seriously, especially when you impress on him that you’re representing me.”

  Joanna felt totally deflated. What argument could she come up with when the good of the kingdom was at stake?

  Eleanor patted her hand.

  “Not so dejected, daughter. It won’t be forever. With such a large army and with your brave brother in the lead, I shouldn’t be surprised if you were in Jerusalem by Christmas. And then you’ll come back to France and we’ll see what can be done about finding you a nice new husband. I do wish I’d been able to see King Philip before he left. I don’t suppose he gave you any idea of his intentions? Everybody’s expecting him to marry again soon. He has only the one son and he’ll need more.”

  “If you mean did he indicate he might ask me to share his throne and produce the requisite sons, no. But I believe he talked about such matters with Richard.” She stood up and walked distractedly about the room. “You’d better ask Richard.”

  All her exasperation with Philip’s inscrutability struck her anew. And she was increasingly ambivalent about whether she wanted him—or any man—as a suitor. It was true that she’d dreamed idly of a handsome admirer who would woo and win her. But realistically she knew she’d keep comparing other men with William. And she knew they’d never measure up.

  She made a sudden turn and her skirt swirled about her like a whirlpool. She came to a halt before the chair where her mother sat calmly, as though waiting for a buzzing fly to settle.

  “Why all this hurry about finding me a husband? William’s been dead only a little over a year.”

  “Joanna, I must remind you that you have a duty, just as Richard does, to marry. Not only to insure that the royal line continues, but also to further our political aims. Perhaps Philip isn’t your ideal. But an alliance with France could bring peace, a most welcome peace, instead of our eternal warring.”

  Joanna felt hot tears filling her eyes. Tears of anger.

  “Duty! Didn’t I do my duty in marrying William and cementing the alliance between Sicily and England? If I must marry again, why can’t I have some say about who my husband is to be?”

  Before Eleanor could reply there was a commotion at the door and Richard burst in before the page could announce him.

  “Mother! I’m sorry I’m late. But I was looking for Joanna—oh, there you are. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  “I wanted to talk to my mother about…never mind what about. Anyway, we’re getting nowhere and I might as well leave.” She escaped before either of them could remonstrate.

  “By our Savior, wh
at was that all about?” Richard asked, amazed.

  “It seems your sister has developed a mind of her own at last. She doesn’t want to go with you to Palestine. She doesn’t want to get married. And I thought you were my problem child!”

  He bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek and sat beside her.

  “Nonsense, mother. How could I be a problem? I’m about to lead the Crusade that all Christendom has been longing for, and I’ve agreed to marry the bride you’ve chosen for me. I’m doing my duty by my God, my country and my mother. What more could you ask?” He looked at her with the smug, impish smile she remembered from his boyhood, when he’d been accused of some transgression of which for once he was innocent.

  She laughed. Richard could always make her laugh.

  “True. At the moment you’re no problem. You’re a dutiful son. And you may prove it by helping me to plan your wedding.”

  “Ah yes, my wedding. I was right, then, in thinking that was why you’d summoned me.”

  “Yes, and I’d hoped Joanna could help too. She knows from experience how they do these things in Sicily. But never mind, we must get at it. The sooner the better, so you and your Crusaders can take your leave. We’ll have it in the cathedral, of course. And the banquet here in the palace. It will be quite suitable, from what I’ve seen of it. We’ll have to move quickly, and I’ll need your help in making a list of whom to invite. I’ll talk to the archbishop this afternoon.”

  With his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his folded hands, he watched and listened intently. At her last words he grinned.

  “And when you talk to the archbishop, I’m sure he’ll tell you it would be quite impossible to have the wedding now.”

  “What? Why so?”

  “Because it’s Lent. It would be unseemly to have such worldly festivities during the Lenten season. The wedding will just have to wait until we reach the Holy Land.”

  For once Eleanor had nothing to say. In her anxiety about Richard’s single state, she’d forgotten it was Lent. But she had to admire him for finding an argument for postponement that was unassailable.

  He stood up, bent to kiss her and left, with a cheery smile and a wave from the door.

  Eleanor, never one to brood over a setback, began preparing the next morning for departure. With the wedding off there was nothing to keep her in Sicily. It was three months since she’d set forth from France to collect Berengaria and deliver her to Richard. She was tired of day after day on horseback and nights wherever they could find suitable lodging, in a nobleman’s manor, an archbishop’s palace or in a monastery where the beds were hard and the bread was usually harder. The familiar comforts of her palace in Poitiers beckoned.

  But before she left she succeeded in tracking down Lady Charmaine, Joanna’s former lady-in-waiting—recently and conveniently widowed—and enlisted her to accompany the royal ladies to the Holy Land.

  Less than a week after her arrival she left, with far less public notice than when she had arrived. The Sicilians had other things on their minds than to turn out to watch her departure. The price of bread had risen again, by a shocking penny a loaf, and there was to be a demonstration in the cathedral square.

  But the archbishop and a dozen or so of the local nobility came to wish her godspeed. What with these and the large party of the queen’s own people— Lady Marian and her other ladies, servants and knights who would be sailing with her—quite a respectable little throng gathered at the pier. Respectable and colorful. Queen Eleanor set the tone in her crimson, fur-trimmed cloak. Richard too was royally clad in a crimson tunic, black leggings and black boots buckled in gold. He wore the state crown of his ancestors, with its jeweled fleurs-de-lys signifying the rule of England’s kings over Aquitaine, Normandy and any other bits of France they’d been able to subtract from the clutches of the French kings.

  Joanna, standing a little apart with Berengaria, Mary and Federico, watched as Eleanor gave Richard her final admonitions. He nodded his head repeatedly and cheerfully. Then she caught some of his words.

  "Of course, mother. I’ll send word at once, as soon as I have a clear notion of what King Philip’s intentions are. And while I’m gone, you’d do well to find out what Count Raymond of Toulouse is up to. I’ve had reports he may be plotting another assault in Aquitaine. You might stop in Toulouse to see him on your return to France."

  Eleanor looked taken aback. Joanna too was surprised. “Can this be?" she said to Berengaria. “Richard giving Eleanor advice? It’s always been the other way around."

  Berengaria had been observing the interchange. “Still, I’ve noticed the same thing in my family. My father is finding it hard to acknowledge that my brother Sancho has grown up enough to have his own ideas about governing the kingdom.”

  “Yes, and if they find that surprising, how much more shocked they’d be if you or I ventured to express an opinion about matters of state.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. So far at least, it’s a man’s world, except for the rare, extraordinary person like your mother. Shall we try to change it, Joanna?”

  “Do you really think we could?”

  Suddenly, she felt she could confide in Berengaria, tell her how during the early years of her marriage she’d wished she had more say in William’s councils. He’d often ask her what she thought, but he was merely seeking reinforcement of his own views. Only later did he begin to realize she might have something useful and original to contribute. Following her train of thought, she said aloud, “I should have tried harder, I suppose, when I was William’s queen.”

  She was interrupted by a shout from the pier. The queen’s galley was approaching from the other side of the harbor. Everybody pressed forward. It was time for goodbyes.

  Eleanor turned to Joanna. “Farewell, daughter. And remember what we spoke of. I’ll be counting on you to represent me in watching over your brother Richard.” Joanna nodded.

  “And of course, you’ll send me word of how you’re getting along. I’ve seen to it that Brother Jean-Pierre will have an ample supply of your good Sicilian paper, and I’m sending along with you my two swiftest and most trusted messengers. So I shall expect regular reports from you.” Joanna nodded again.

  She managed to stay dry-eyed at the parting.

  But she became tearful when she said goodbye to Lady Marian, her companion and friend for so long. They embraced and Lady Marian too wiped away a tear.

  “Never mind," said Joanna. "I’ll see you soon, maybe within a year if all goes as Richard expects. Meantime, take care of yourself."

  “I’ll do my best, but I’ll worry about you. Thanks be, you’ll have Lady Mary with you, and Lady Charmaine too. I’ve spoken to her seriously about her duties, now that she’s to be the senior of your ladies."

  “Did I hear my name?” The lady in question elbowed her way through the crowd, smiling brightly at those she jostled. Joanna had expected to see her changed, but not so much. She looked diminished, almost lost in her flowing plum-colored gown. Her blonde curls were streaked with gray and had lost their spring. But the chatter hadn’t abated. She hurried to Joanna.

  “My lady, how happy I am to see you again! And how well you look! Isn’t it exciting that we’re all to go on Crusade?” She fluttered her fan and her eyelashes. “But please introduce me to your companions. This must be Princess Berengaria, who is to marry our king.”

  Berengaria smiled. “So I am. And you are Lady Charmaine. Welcome to the Company of Lady Crusaders.”

  “Thank you! And who is this handsome lad?”

  “May I present Federico,” said Joanna, “my page, my knight, my right-hand man. And this is Lady Mary, who has served me since I came to Sicily.”

  Charmaine ignored Mary and cooed over Federico, who shortly managed to escape.

  “Charmaine,” said Joanna, “I was so sorry to hear of the death of your husband. I’m sure it was a great loss to you.”

  “Yes”—the fan in action again—“I shall miss my Mario gr
eatly. But if truth be told, his time had come, as it must for all of us.” She cast her eyes heavenward and sighed deeply.

  Joanna, searching for an appropriate reply, was saved by a flurry of activity at the pier. The queen’s galley had tied up. After one last hasty round of embraces and instructions, Eleanor stepped aboard, followed by her knights and ladies, and the oarsmen fell to their task.

  Joanna and Berengaria mounted their horses and began the return to the palace. They rode for a few minutes in silence. Joanna turned in her saddle for one last look at the royal galley, now moving swiftly across the harbor toward the lighthouse on the point. She could see sunlight glancing off cascades of water from the flashing oars, the sail being raised to catch the wind, the helmsman standing aft, but no Eleanor. She was undoubtedly in her cabin, dictating a letter to the pope or the bishop of Winchester or the king of Castile.

  “It seemed she hardly came and then she left,” said Joanna. “Shall you miss her, Berengaria? You must have become good friends in all those weeks on the road from Navarre.”

  “I expect I shall miss the instruction I received along the way on my deportment, dress and duties as a queen of England. I became quite accustomed to daily tutoring. But I trust I paid enough attention so that I will not disgrace the position.”

  An ambiguous answer, Joanna thought.

  Then she noticed Berengaria’s suggestion of a smile and the mischievous look on her face.

  Perhaps, Joanna thought, this Crusade won’t be so dreadful after all if Berengaria proves to be so compatible. She reached to take her companion’s hand.

  “I believe we shall get along very well. In fact, I already think of you as my sister.”

  Two days later the long-awaited galleys from England arrived and Richard ordered departure in four days. Joanna had never seen him so purposeful. He had no time for her, for Berengaria or for anybody or anything except getting the Crusaders to sea at last. The mountains of stores piled by the piers were loaded onto the vessels. With considerable prodding and imprecations, so were the horses and mules. Knights, grooms, oarsmen, sailors, cooks, and foot soldiers boarded their assigned ships. Finally, Richard personally saw the royal ladies and their retinues to their quarters on the capacious, if ungraceful, vessel that would follow his own flagship.