by Rachel Bard
Neither thought this was quite the time or place to mention chilly rooms and hard beds.
“I had hoped that another messenger from Austria might have arrived last evening. Unfortunately, no. But a reply to my latest communication to Emperor Henry is sure to come soon. So I urge you to continue to be my guests here while we await developments.”
“May I ask, Your Holiness, if you have also been in touch with Henry’s wife, the Empress Constance?” Jean-Pierre asked respectfully.
Celestine’s pale gray eyes widened and his eyebrows rose in his surprise.
“No, why should I?”
“It’s only that she is an old friend of Queen Joanna. They knew each other well in Sicily, before Constance went away to marry Henry. She might be persuaded to do what she can to encourage Henryenry H
to free her good friend’s brother.”
The pope looked at him, considering what he’d heard and drumming his thin fingers on the carved golden arms of his throne.
“Well. I’d forgotten that connection.” He drooped a little and they could almost sense the energy draining out of him. His voice was weaker. “Still, I hardly see the benefit of asking her to become involved. What ruler listens to a woman to help him make up his mind?”
Joanna stiffened but held her tongue. Jean-Pierre hurried to change the subject.
“We are here to ask your aid on another matter, Your Holiness,” he said. “We feel that we should continue our journey at once. Queen Joanna and Queen Berengaria wish to be reunited with Queen Eleanor as soon as possible and to assist her in raising Richard’s ransom, should Henry persist in his outrageous demands. Eleanor will be fully informed of what is going on in Austria, thanks to her many agents who send timely dispatches.”
The pope smiled grimly. There were those who said that Eleanor of Aquitaine had a better information-gathering network than the papacy.
“In brief, could you provide us with an escort for the journey from Rome to the borders of Aquitaine? We have only six knights in our party and in view of the brigandage that’s rampant these days, we’d greatly appreciate an additional half-dozen.”
“Of course,” said Celestine. “Ask the captain of your knights to talk to Pietro Corleone, the chief officer of the papal guards. I shall instruct Captain Corleone to cooperate fully. I shall also instruct the household majordomo in the palace to see that you are well supplied with all you need.” They could hardly hear the final words. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Not a word of farewell, much less urging them to stay. The attendants sprang to life and ushered them out of the room.
“Now,” said Joanna, “we must get busy. I suggest that we invite Sir Alan, Lady Mary and the others to dine with us this afternoon so we can tell them what’s afoot and make our plans.”
The palace chef was surprised when Joanna outlined to him the simple meal she hoped to see on the dinner table: a soup of lentils or beans, some kind of roast fowl with onion sauce, fruit tarts. “And several flagons of your good red Italian wine.”
He looked doubtful. “I shall try, my lady. But we aren’t used to such fine cookery. The pope doesn’t usually indulge in anything richer than chickpea soup and rice gruel. If he has guests who wish more he usually directs them to the nearby taverna.”
“Just do what you can.” She smiled at him so sweetly that he resolved to do what he could and more.
Dinner was a great success. Thanks to Mary’s resourcefulness in enlisting several palace servants, a fine fire blazed on the hearth and the room was brilliantly lit by candelabra fitted with new candles. She had even found cushions for the hard chairs. Everybody was pleased with the chef’s achievements, especially the tarts. He’d created a variety—flaky little pastries filled with apples, figs, spiced pears or lemon pudding. These were served with sweet wine.
Joanna explained to the others that they would be leaving in a day or two, which suited everybody except Beatrix.
“But we’ve only begun to see the sights! Federico was going to take me to the Pantheon tomorrow and the Colosseum the next day, and he was going to tell me all about the gladiators and the lions and the poor Christians.”
Joanna looked at Federico skeptically. Since when had he become an expert on ancient Rome?
Federico blushed and looked down.
Sir Alan assured Beatrix that they’d go through Arles when they were back in France, and Federico could show her its very fine Coliseum. “Though I’m not sure how many Christians perished there, if any.”
They were interrupted by a knock and the entry of Captain Corleone, a stocky, soldierly figure, not in the papal livery but in leather jerkin, brown wool leggings and stout boots.
“I’ve been sent by His oliness HolHoliness to
Holiness to offer our help for your journey.”
Sir Alan stood and took his hand. “Welcome, and will you join us for a glass, while we tell you what kind of help we need and you tell us the route you recommend?” The two settled at one end of the table to confer. After twenty minutes and two glasses of wine, Captain Corleone stood, clapped Sir Alan on the shoulder, and said, “That’s it then. We’ll have six mounted knights, their squires and grooms ready the day after tomorrow, here in the square. And you should be in Saint-Gilles well before Pentecost.”
He addressed Joanna. “My lady Queen, Pope Celestine has asked me to give you this further message. He is glad to provide this escort, which will be with you until you reach Saint-Gilles. But you will need protection as you continue your journey in France. He has sent word to Count Raymond of Toulouse, asking him to have his son, young Raymond, meet you with a small force at Saint-Gilles and accompany you to Poitiers.”
After a moment’s hesitation and a glance at Sir Alan, who nodded, she said, “Please extend our thanks to His Holiness. That is a generous act on his part, and we will be glad of the additional escort.”
When Captain Corleone had taken his leave, Joanna and Sir Alan looked at each other uncertainly. They knew that Count Raymond of Toulouse was no friend of the Plantagenets. Eleanor as duchess of Aquitaine and later Richard as its duke had sparred often with Raymond, each side making incursions into the other’s lands.
“Why would Raymond be willing to help us now? Does the pope know something we don’t know?” wondered Joanna.
“What’s troubling you about the offer?” asked Berengaria, who was still unfamiliar with European alliances and quarrels. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ll welcome the aid of anyone who’ll get us safely and quickly to Poitiers.”
Federico tried to conceal a yawn. Beatrix was almost asleep in her chair. Even tireless Lady Mary was having trouble keeping her eyes open. The candles had nearly burned down.
“I propose we all go to bed,” said Brother Jean-Pierre. “It’s far too late and we’re all too tired to make sense of it now.” He rose to set the example.
“Right,” said Joanna. “We’ll find out what Count Raymond is up to in time, I expect.”
Chapter 51
“How charming!” exclaimed Joanna as she and her party entered the audience chamber of the counts of Toulouse in Saint-Gilles. Sunlight poured in through a row of arched windows that afforded an expansive view to the east. Lush green fields interspersed with clumps of forest stretched from the lazy river toward a hazy distant horizon.
Raymond, heir to the current count, rose from his chair where he’d been sitting in the shadows.
“I’m glad you think so.”
As he stepped into the light he was the focus of everyone’s eyes. Joanna was struck at once by his almost palpable air of controlled energy. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was tall, dark and lithe. If it weren’t that his nose was just a trifle long, she thought, he could have been considered almost as handsome as William. He was beardless and wore his black hair cropped short, just covering the tips of his ears.
He moved quickly to welcome them, his short blue cloak swirling gracefully. As Jean-Pierre introduced the company, each received a sm
ile and a word of welcome. The women were also favored with a slight pressure of the hand.
All her life Joanna had been taught to think of the counts of Toulouse as her family’s sworn enemies, as ogres, as les toulousains terribles. But this man bore not the slightest resemblance to an ogre or the son of an ogre. He was affable and seemed anxious to please.
A semicircle of chairs had been arranged facing the view. While a servant guided the guests to their seats, Raymond seated himself at the center, stretched out his legs and studied his silver-buckled boots. Apparently satisfied with their brilliant polish, he looked up and spoke.
“We received the message from Pope Celestine two weeks ago, telling us of your departure from Rome and asking us to offer our services for the next stage of your journey. Unfortunately, my father had affairs in Toulouse that required him to leave Saint-Gilles yesterday. But I speak for him as well as myself when I say we are more than pleased to be of assistance. And I hope you will agree to stay a few days here to recover from what must have been an arduous journey.” He glanced inquiringly at Joanna.
“Perhaps two or three days,” she said, “though we’re anxious to reach Poitiers as soon as possible. But I’ll welcome the opportunity to revisit your wonderful church, which I saw for the first time when I was just a girl and on my way to Sicily.”
“I too would like to revisit the town and the church,” said Berengaria. “When I stopped here with Queen Eleanor I had only two hours to explore. But I’ve never forgotten those amazing carvings that told the whole Bible story.”
“I’m happy to assure you that you’ll find the church façade much as it was. True, the sculptors have found a few empty spots where they’ve managed to squeeze in two or three additional saint and sinners, but otherwise little has changed.”
He turned next to Beatrix. She had let down the hood of her cloak. She’d tied her lustrous black hair back with a red ribbon.
“And Princess, how have you fared on this journey—if I’m not mistaken, your first venture into the world west of Cyprus? What wondrous sights have you seen that you’ll never forget?”
She clasped her hands and her dark eyes sparkled. “Oh, so many! And the most wonderful was the bridge over the Rhone from Avignon. It was so exciting! I kept looking down at the river flowing along so swiftly, and trembling when I thought what it would be like to fall in.”
“Federico would have jumped in at once to save you,” said Sir Alan.
She blushed. Sir Raymond regarded her through half-closed eyelids.
“And who is this gallant Federico?”
“I suppose you might say he’s my ward,” said Joanna. “Brother Jean-Pierre rescued him from the slums of Palermo when he was only a child. Since then he’s served as my page and my attendant. He’s almost like a member of the family. But now he’s on his way to becoming a knight, thanks to Sir Alan’s tutelage.”
“Most generous of you, Queen Joanna,” he said. Did she detect a note of condescension? But he returned his attention to Beatrix.
“Tell me, Princess, what news you have of your father, King Isaac? I know he was imprisoned after King Richard defeated him on Cyprus. Where is he now?”
“As far as I know he’s still in Tripoli. The last I heard, he was not well. I’ve had no word for six months.” Her animation had left her and she looked stricken. Berengaria rose and went to put her arms around her. “Don’t grieve, my dear. When we see Richard, we’ll beg him to release your father. Surely at his advanced age he deserves some mercy.”
“And if I have the opportunity, I shall add my pleas as well,” said Raymond. There was an awkward pause while his listeners tried to imagine a situation when Raymond would have influence with Richard, who had frequently and publicly sworn to annihilate the entire House of Toulouse.
Beatrix rebounded from her depression. She had loosened the ties of her cloak and it fell from her shoulders to reveal her blue silk gown. It had such a low neckline that it hardly contained her nubile breasts. Joanna tried to catch her eye and show her disapproval but Beatrix had again fixed her eager gaze on Raymond.
“Sir Raymond, how far is it from here to Arles?”
“Only a half-day’s journey. Why do you ask?”
“We didn’t have time to see the Colosseum in Rome, but Sir Alan promised we’d stop at the one in Arles, and we didn’t. And I’d so like to see where the Christians and the lions fought each other.”
“I’m afraid you’d not see much of the original arena, where the gladiators fought and the lions roared and the chariot races took place. A number of indigent citizens of Arles have moved in and put up their shacks there. But later, when we get to Nimes, you’ll see a much better-preserved Roman arena, which I believe hasn’t yet been ruined by the rabble. I’ll personally give you a tour.”
He stood. “I mustn’t keep you longer. I’m sure you’re all eager to refresh yourselves. Your rooms have been prepared, and my servants are waiting to conduct you to them. We’ll meet again at dinner.”
Much later, sated with pigeon pie, roast whole hare, cherry tart, jellied quince confections and other local delicacies, Berengaria and Joanna met in the latter’s chamber for a pre-bedtime tête-à-tête. They’d let down their hair, changed from their fine gowns into woolen robes and dismissed their maids. The room was a far cry from the pope’s bleak apartments. Here there were plenty of couches and cushions, and thanks to candles in sconces all around the walls and an efficient fire on the hearth, the room was cheerful and warm.
Joanna half-reclined on a couch. Berengaria walked restlessly about, picking up various objects and setting them down.
“Have you noticed,” she asked, “the refreshing absence of ostentation? The counts of Toulouse seem to appreciate the understated artistry of the region. Look at this—isn’t it lovely?” She held out a pale-green ceramic vase with an embossed pattern of leaves in a darker green around the rim.
Joanna took it and ran her hands down its graceful, smooth curves. “It is.” She handed it back and looked around the room, considering. “I expect poor Pope Celestine wouldn’t sleep a wink here, where there’s hardly any gold or silver or glitter.”
Berengaria laughed and settled in a chair near Joanna. “Still, no matter how cultured the counts may be, there’s something about this Raymond that makes me uneasy. It’s as though he were playing a part to keep from revealing his true nature.”
Joanna nodded. “I feel the same way. I’m not sure I trust him completely. But I admit I’m prejudiced by what I’ve heard about his father from my parents. Besides being deceitful and contentious, the elder Raymond has led a private life that’s been far from edifying. It would be strange if the son hadn’t been influenced by the example of the old count.”
“Did you hear what he said at dinner when Jean-Pierre politely remarked that he was sorry Raymond’s wife hadn’t come with him to Saint-Gilles?”
“No, I missed that. Tell me.”
“Raymond replied, with something between a grin and a leer, ‘No matter, I doubt if she’ll be my wife much longer.’ I think he meant only Jean-Pierre to hear, maybe trying to shock him. But I was next to Jean-Pierre and I heard it all.”
Joanna pursed her lips and frowned, trying to remember what she’d heard of Raymond’s marriages. “I believe his first wife died some years ago so this would be his second. And I’ve heard that his father didn’t hesitate to repudiate a wife if somebody else took his fancy.”
At a rat-a-tat-tat on the door—Lady Mary’s familiar signal—Joanna called “Come in.”
Mary too was ready for relaxation. She sat down and took off the wimple that she usually wore these days, releasing a cloud of russet-red curls. She shook her head as though encouraging them to rejoice in their freedom.
“Why must you always wear a wimple?” asked Berengaria. “You’re too young and pretty to cover your crowning glory.”
“Ah, but I must try to look dignified and responsible, as my queen’s senior—and at the moment,
only—lady-in-waiting.”
Joanna smiled affectionately and patted her hand. “Join us in a glass of wine. Our host maintains a superb cellar, I’m happy to find.”
After a sip, Mary set her glass down. “Yes, it’s excellent. Speaking of our host, he’s something of an enigma, isn’t he?”
They told her what Berengaria had overheard at dinner.
“I can add something almost as worrisome,” said Mary. She paused for another sip. “One of Raymond’s knights sat directly across from me at dinner. I heard him speak to the lady on his left, who may or may not have been his wife. ‘No wonder,’ said he, ‘that Raymond is so willing to undertake this journey. He’s always on the lookout for pretty ladies, and he’ll have three of them—highborn, too—to keep him company.’” She paused while they considered this.
Mary went on. “At which, his companion looked a little miffed and he hurried to add, ‘But none as pretty as you, my love.’”
“Was she pretty?” asked Berengaria.
“Not particularly.”
Joanna set down her glass. “There’s no point in worrying about Raymond’s character now. We’ll be vigilant but we’ll have to trust him. I’ve no doubt that you and I, sister, can fend him off and so can Mary if she catches his eye. It’s Beatrix I’d worry about.”
“Yes,” said Berengaria. “She’s only sixteen, she’s impressionable and she’s unused to the ways of the world. I doubt if she’s aware of how attractive men may find her. She’s still so innocent. Maybe we should keep a closer watch on her.”
She didn’t see the quick glance that passed between Joanna and Mary. Neither had told her about Richard’s seduction of Beatrix in the Holy Land. They were both sure that Beatrix had learned her lesson, and there was no point in distressing Berengaria with tales of her husband’s infidelities.
“In any case,” Berengaria went on, “I’m glad Raymond and his knights will be with us. We may need protection against worse perils than amorous young counts. I’ll confess I was alarmed by some of the rough characters we saw on the road from Rome to Saint-Gilles.”