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

by Rachel Bard

  They helped her into the saddle and the little party began the descent down the green valley. From this height Palermo looked like a tiny fairytale city in the distance. As they drew closer, she could make out the familiar domes and towers. Still in pensive mood, she reflected that soon she would be saying goodbye to this beloved city, too. She would ask Jean-Pierre to take Berengaria, Beatrix, and anybody else who wanted to go to Monreale tomorrow. Then it would be time to resume their journey. Her thoughts moved ahead to the reunion with her mother and with Richard. But she felt none of the usual worry about her uncertain future.

  I’m glad I made this little pilgrimage, she told herself. As to what comes next, what will be, will be.

  Her newfound equanimity was tested as soon as she returned to La Zisa.

  Sir Alan was waiting for her, pacing up and down in the entry hall. Before she could ask him what was the matter, he blurted his news.

  “If you please, my lady queen, Lord Tancred has sent us a most disturbing message. He has just had word that your brother King Richard has been taken prisoner by Duke Leopold of Austria and is confined under lock and key in Durnstein Castle on the Danube River.”

  Chapter 50

  How very strange, Joanna thought. Strange, and frightening. How had Richard gotten himself in such a fix? Why had he left the Crusaders’ ships, gone ashore and strayed into the territories of his enemies?

  She went to the royal palace to see if Tancred and Sibylla could add anything. She was conducted at once to King Roger’s throne room. Tancred was sitting in the tall, gilded royal throne, surrounded by so many pillows that he was almost invisible. Three courtiers whom Joanna didn’t know stood behind him. Sibylla stood at his side, looking melancholy. But when Joanna came in, she became alert and quickly stepped forward to take her hand.

  “Isn’t this terrible news? You and Queen Berengaria must be devastated!”

  “Yes, we are. Have you had any further word?”

  They had none. Tancred had sunk even deeper into depression with the disappearance of the ally he’d hoped to enlist.

  “Berengaria and I must go to Rome,” said Joanna to Sibylla. “We must ask the pope to intervene. Nobody else has any influence with Richard’s captor, Duke Leopold. And Leopold’s overlord, Henry of Germany, is Richard’s sworn enemy too.”

  Sibylla thought this was a wise move. Tancred roused himself enough to agree and to wish them well. “Though from what I know of Pope Celestine,” he growled, “he won’t be much help. Flabby old man.” He subsided into his pillows.

  So back to sea everybody went except for Lady Charmaine, who decided to remain in Sicily.

  “I was so happy here with my dear Mario,” she said to Joanna. “Sicily is where my heart is”—she placed her hand on her bosom to indicate the exact spot—“and here I shall remain.”

  Later, Lady Mary told Joanna in private that she was sure Lady Charmaine had her eye on a suitable successor to Sir Mario, even older and richer.

  “I shall miss her,” said Joanna, and she meant it. Sometimes, she thought, old friends become more precious as time passes, and one forgives their foibles.

  Joanna had sent word to Pope Celestine that they were coming. When they disembarked at Civitavecchia, a mounted papal escort welcomed them and conducted them on the two-hour ride to Rome. It was a bright April day and the promise of summer was everywhere—in the forests where trees were freshly leafed out in brilliant green, in the fields where the first shoots of grain were already a foot high, in the towns where housewives scrubbed the winter’s mud off their doorsteps and exchanged assurances with their neighbors that it was a fine day indeed. In spite of the serious nature of their mission, the whole party was full of anticipation. None of them, not even Brother Jean-Pierre, had been to Rome.

  Joanna, who had suffered from a spell of her old seasickness on the voyage, was listless and in no mood for conversation when they set out. But the countryside was so delightful that her spirits revived. She threw back the hood of her riding cloak and let the breeze play with her unbound hair. She basked in the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. She joined the others in laughing at the sight of a half-dozen frisky lambs that were gamboling in a green field and butting each other playfully while their mothers looked on indulgently.

  “It takes me back to my girlhood days on the farm in Yorkshire,” said Lady Mary.

  Brother Jean-Pierre, after a minute’s consideration, pronounced, “A lamb is a lamb, wherever it be, in Yorkshire or Devon or fair It-a-lee.”

  But the closer they got to Rome the more serious their mood became as they remembered why they were making this journey. All but Berengaria and Joanna were led to lodgings near the River Tiber. The two women, who had been bidden to proceed at once to the pope’s audience chamber in his palace, were escorted through the crowded streets by a contingent of his personal guards. The city was thronged with pilgrims who had come to celebrate Easter and were staying on to roam about the famous ruins. But Joanna and Berengaria were thinking only of their forthcoming interview.

  “What do you know of Pope Celestine?” Berengaria asked Joanna.

  “Not much, except that he is very old, in his eighties I believe, and was elected only last year.”

  “I hope that Tancred was wrong, and that he’ll make every effort to free Richard.” She seldom betrayed her emotions, but the tremor in her voice told Joanna how deeply disturbed she was.

  “Don’t forget, sister, that my mother has considerable influence. She has probably already been in touch with the pope. Besides …” She stopped suddenly as they came out onto a large square with a regal palace, complete with tower, in its center. “Oh, that must be the pope’s palace! Are we there already?” she asked the captain of their escorts. “And what is that beautiful building next to the palace? It looks so Roman with those graceful arches, and I think I see frescoes on the walls of the porticoes. We have nothing like that in Sicily.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” he said. “That, Madame, is indeed the papal palace, and has been for eight hundred years. And the church next to it is the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano, the cathedral of Rome, which was established by Emperor Constantine.” He was clearly disdainful of anybody who didn’t know these basic facts of Roman history.

  Joanna reflected that if only she could have seen these wonders with William he would have taken great pleasure in pointing out to her their architectural virtues. But she had time for only a glance because the captain hurried them on.

  “The pope is waiting,” he said severely.

  So they hastened after him into the palace and up the winding staircase to the audience chamber in the tower. Their escort nodded to the page at the door, opened it, announced, “Queen Joanna and Queen Berengaria,” and left.

  They’d feared they’d find an impatient pontiff, pacing the floor in his irritation at their tardiness. Instead they found a sleeping pontiff, or perhaps one in deep meditation. He sat perfectly upright on a huge gilded throne which was draped with red velvet. His head was slightly bowed and his hands were folded in his lap. His eyes were closed and the expression on the wrinkled old face was calm and peaceful. It was hard to tell if he were tall or short, fat or thin, because of his stiff white vestments, embroidered in silver and encasing him like a glittering cocoon.

  On either side of the throne stood an attendant in the papal livery: black velvet from top to toe, and a short crimson cape that came just to the waist. Each had his hand on the jeweled hilt of the sword at his belt. They stood as stiff as statues, staring straight ahead.

  Wondering whether to speak to awaken the pope, the two women looked at the attendants questioningly but received no guidance. Uneasy, they gazed about them at the magnificent chamber, dazzling in its display of riches—lustrous scarlet and purple velvet hangings, portraits of the saints in massive gold frames, silver flagons on polished ebony tables.

  “This splendor makes me feel even dowdier,” whispered Berengaria to Joanna. “I wish we�
��d had time to change.” She tried to brush the dust off her cloak, the same one she’d worn since setting out from Civitavecchia that morning.

  Pope Celestine gradually came to life. He raised his head. He opened his eyes. They might once have been blue but had faded to a dull gray. He reached up to straighten his mitre, which had drifted to the left. He sat up straighter. Finally, he held out his thin hand and beckoned to them to approach. His smile was restrained, as though at his advanced age he found it foolish to waste energy on displays of benevolence. The outstretched hand was unsteady, perhaps due to the weight of his heavy gold ring with its ruby as large as a pigeon’s egg.

  In turn they came forward, knelt and kissed the ring.

  “Rise, my daughters,” he said. His voice was high and faint but became stronger as he talked. “Welcome to Rome. We have arranged for you to be lodged here in the palace. I am sorry to have summoned you so quickly, before you had time to get settled. I had good reason. We have received further word about King Richard.”

  “Oh, I hope it’s good news!” exclaimed Joanna.

  “Alas, no. In fact, it could hardly be worse. Duke Leopold is treating King Richard like a chattel, and has sold him to his overlord, Emperor Henry. Henry will continue to keep him prisoner until a ransom is paid. I deplore in the name of all that is holy this reprehensible behavior by Christian monarchs, this disrespect to a noble king who has risked his life in service to his God.” For a man of such restraint, the pope was getting quite worked up. His wispy eyebrows rose and fell and he twisted the papal ring on the papal finger.

  “But surely, there is something you can do to free him!” cried Berengaria.

  “How much ransom is Henry asking? Does my mother know of this?” asked Joanna, already assessing the practicalities of the situation.

  Instead of answering, he spoke briefly to the attendant on his right, who quickly fetched two gilded, straight-backed, armless chairs and helped Joanna and Berengaria to seat themselves.

  “Now, my daughters, know that I sympathize completely with your concern. We too are concerned. Let me tell you about the difficulties of this distressing situation.”

  They listened, leaning forward to catch every word.e explained that He

  He explained that he had already excommunicated Duke Leopold as punishment. He assured Joanna that Queen Eleanor was abreast of developments and, he believed, had already begun trying to raise the ransom. He expressed his shock at the amount Henry was asking—100,000 silver marks—but said there was little he could do to persuade Henry to modify his demands.

  “Whyever not?” asked Joanna, who forgot that she was addressing the supreme authority of the Christian world. “Why can’t you excommunicate him too?”

  “First of all,” he said patiently, as though instructing a child, “because it was I who crowned King Henry of Germany as Holy Roman Emperor. For a pope to excommunicate one whom he himself has anointed would be a serious step. Furthermore, Henry has already demonstrated his scorn of papal authority and has even caused two of my papal nuncios to be murdered. I do not wish to put those loyal to me in such danger.”

  “But…” began Berengaria. Pope Celestine put up a hand to silence her and went on.

  “And there are political considerations of which you may not be aware. Henry makes no secret of his desire to take possession of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, which he claims through the inheritance rights of his wife, Constance. I, as overlord of Sicily through an agreement with the late King William, as well as one with the present king, Tancred, would vigorously dispute this, if the emperor did not have such a powerful army. I have none. He has already made one incursion into Italy and has caused grievous loss of life and suffering. Any public punishment on my part would, I am sure, only exacerbate his defiant and bloodthirsty aggression.”

  “So you are saying there’s nothing to be done, that Richard must remain a prisoner of this cruel Henry until the exorbitant ransom is raised?” Berengaria asked, trying to contain her despair.

  “I am afraid so. We shall of course pursue all avenues of diplomacy…” His voice was fading. His energy was failing him.

  Joanna had stopped listening. At mention of Constance her mind raced: why shouldn’t she write to her old friend and plead with her to persuade her husband to release Richard? But she wouldn’t suggest this plan to the pope. He’d only think of a dozen reasons against it.

  She squirmed on her uncomfortable chair, eager to be off. Celestine seemed to have said all he had strength to say, and made a vague gesture that may have been the sign of the cross.

  “Bless you, my daughters,” he whispered. The attendants stepped forward to assist the two women but they had already sprung to their feet. Just before they turned to go, Celestine spoke again, almost inaudibly.

  “Come back tomorrow. We may have received more news.” And his eyes closed.

  Later that afternoon Joanna, Berengaria and Brother Jean-Pierre met to discuss the situation. They gathered in the elegant rooms the pope had provided. Elegant, but remarkably lacking in comfort. The women had already discovered that their beds, though tastefully draped in purple silk, were narrow and hard. In the reception room there was no place to sit but uncomfortable straight chairs like those in the papal audience chamber. It was cold. A fireplace was empty except for a few cobwebs. The elegant candelabrum on the marble mantel and others throughout the room held only stubs. Joanna thought regretfully of the cushioned benches and plump pillows of her warm apartments in Palermo.

  But they weren’t there for self-indulgence.

  They told Jean-Pierre of their audience. He too was dismayed at the pope’s reluctance to take action.

  “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. He was elevated to the papacy after a very long career of service to the church, more as a reward than in expectation that he’d accomplish very much.”

  Joanna reported that she had already written her letter to Constance. “I reminded her, of course, of our friendship and told her how much I’d missed her. If she’s still the kind, intelligent woman I remember, I believe she’ll do her best to persuade Henry to show mercy to Richard.”

  “Have you dispatched it yet?” asked Jean-Pierre.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have a suggestion. You might refer to your recent visit to Palermo and your talks with Tancred. You might hint that you could possibly influence him to abandon his resistance to Henry’s claims to Sicily.”

  “But that’s not true! I would never do such a thing, and Tancred would never give in to Henry!”

  “You know that, and I know that. But Henry doesn’t, nor does Constance. This, my dear Joanna, is what is known as devious diplomacy. It can do no harm and it might do some good.”

  She looked at him incredulously. Was he serious? Then she burst into laughter.

  “Why not? It’s certainly worth a try. Jean-Pierre, I wish you were the occupant of the papal throne. Then we’d see less temporizing and more action.”

  Berengaria had been watching and listening attentively.

  “I agree! But also, I think we should have more than one string to our bow. It will be some time before the letter reaches Constance and possibly even more time before she can persuade her husband to be merciful. In the meantime I suggest that we return to France as fast as we possibly can. Queen Eleanor, to my mind, is our best hope. If she’s working on raising that enormous ransom, maybe we can help. And if by some miracle or by Constance’s influence Richard is freed, I for one would want to be in Aquitaine to welcome him when he arrives.”

  “Of course you’re right,” said Joanna.

  Jean-Pierre concurred. “When you visit the pope again tomorrow I’d like to come with you. I suspect he’ll try to persuade you to stay. He’ll hold out the hope that he’ll have good news any day now. I’ll back you up in your decision to leave, and I’ll ask his assistance in finding us an escort for the journey.”

  “How decisive we are!” exclaimed Joanna. “Th
anks to you both for your good sense and advice. Now, what do you say, shall we try to rouse out some servants to bring in wood and make us a fire, and to provide us with some supper and wine?”

  “Indeed we shall,” said Jean-Pierre. “I saw several fellows in the papal black and red lounging in the hall when I came in. I’ll remind them of their Christian duty to be hospitable to the pope’s guests. But in the meantime, let me offer you, by way of celebrating our agreement on a course of action, a sip of the nectar produced by the Benedictine monks of Palermo.” He reached into the deep pocket of his robe and produced a small flask and three tiny glasses. “I hope it has not suffered from the voyage.”

  It had not.

  The next morning they called on the pope. They’d sent word that Brother Jean-Pierre would join them. He’d changed from his old brown habit with the rather tattered rope belt to a fine white linen robe that Joanna had not seen since her wedding. She and Berengaria had also taken pains with their attire, to make up for their travel-worn appearance the day before. Joanna’s gown was one of her favorites, the sky-blue satin with silver fleurs-de-lys. Its neck was rather low. Smiling in recollection of what Lady Marian would have said, she added a silvery silk scarf. Berengaria chose a velvet gown of deep green. Both wore tiaras, not their many-jeweled crowns of state.

  The three of them had to wait a few minutes before entering the audience chamber while a pair of self-important bishops and their entourage took their leave. Within, the scene was much the same as the day before. Pope Celestine sat erect with his hands folded in his lap but today his eyes were open. The two attendants stood motionless and expressionless as ever. However, three of the spindly chairs had already been placed before the papal throne. After the kissing of the ring, the visitors seated themselves.

  “Welcome to Rome, my son,” Celestine said to Jean-Pierre. And to the two queens, “I trust you have had a restful night and are recovered from your journey.”

  “Thank you, yes,” said Joanna.

  “And we’re very appreciative of your hospitality,” said Berengaria.