by Rachel Bard
“Three. The pope agreed, but for a price: Raymond must deliver you and your party safely to Queen Eleanor in Poitiers.
“Four. Raymond agreed.”
“But…but...” Joanna tried to interrupt. Jean-Pierre put up his hand to stop her.
“I know, this only raises new questions. Why was he so willing, in view of the long history of hostility between Toulouse and England? Can you guess?”
She frowned and shook her head.
He held up his fifth finger.
“Five, and this is only my surmise. It may be that Raymond’s choice for his next countess isn’t Bourgogne, the daughter of the king of Jerusalem, as everybody supposes, but Joanna Plantagenet. The resulting alliance would certainly make life easier for the counts of Toulouse.”
She stared at him in alarm.
“I’m sure this is hard for you to accept. And I may be completely wrong. But it certainly explains why Raymond is happy to please the pope—to get his dispensation, and to do a favor for Eleanor to soften her up for his proposal of marriage to you.”
Joanna hugged herself as though cold, and in fact the fire had nearly gone out. She looked soberly at Jean-Pierre. “You’ve given me so much to think about. Let’s say goodnight, and maybe everything will make more sense tomorrow.”
He stood and placed his hand on her head in a gesture of blessing and comfort.
“Yes, it’s very late. Sleep well, my dear. And remember, much of what I’ve said is only conjecture.”
To Joanna’s relief, she didn’t lie tossing and turning, worrying herself over Jean-Pierre’s words. Sleep came almost at once. But later in the night she awoke after a vivid dream. Once more she’d panicked at the prospect of falling from her horse into the stream, and once more she’d felt the tremendous gratitude and sense of security when Raymond’s protective arm encircled her waist and held her until she was safe. In her dream, she’d relaxed as she felt his strength and his gentleness.
Gratefully, she fell asleep again.
Chapter 54
“What! Queen Eleanor is not here?
Joanna, standing on the marble steps of the palace in Poitiers, stared in dismay at the man standing two steps above. It was her mother's seneschal, who was in charge during his mistress’s absences. During all the long, tiresome journey she'd been sustained by the prospect of seeing her mother again in the palace where she'd spent much of her childhood.
“No, she has gone to England to raise the ransom for King Richard. A messenger was sent to inform you. Apparently he failed to find you.” The tight smile on the seneschal’s pudgy face expressed not so much sympathy as pleasure in imparting bad news. Joanna remembered how, as a very small child, she'd disliked him for being such a killjoy. He was fatter, balder and more wrinkled now but age had not mellowed him. He was still a killjoy. What was it her mother called him? Oh yes, Alphonse. Not Sir Alphonse or Lord Alphonse. Just Alphonse.
“However,” Alphonse continued, “Queen Eleanor told me exactly what plans she has for you, Queen Berengaria and Princess Beatrix. If you will follow me to the audience chamber, I shall impart them to you. Servants are waiting to conduct the rest of your party to their rooms.”
Joanna beckoned to Lady Mary to join her and the four women followed the seneschal. But Count Raymond, who had been just behind Joanna, ran up the steps to address him before he disappeared into the palace. As he passed Joanna, Raymond winked. He winked!
He placed his hand deferentially on the seneschal’s arm. “May I detain you one moment? I’m Raymond of Toulouse, son of the fifth count.”
“Of course I know who you are,” harrumphed the seneschal.
“Of course you do,” said Raymond, with his most ingratiating smile. “It has been my duty and my pleasure to conduct Queen Joanna and her party from Saint-Gilles to Poitiers. Will you please report to Queen Eleanor when you see her that I have delivered them all in excellent condition, no worse for the journey and unharmed by mischief-makers or wild beasts? Furthermore, will you tell her that I am desolated not to have the opportunity to see her in person, since we have some important matters to discuss? But I will hope that after the rescue of King Richard, which I’m sure she’ll conclude successfully, I’ll have the pleasure of meeting with her.” He looked doubtfully at the seneschal. “Do you think you can remember all that?”
Alphonse sputtered, “Indeed I can. I’ve delivered much more complicated messages to my lady.”
“Good. Then I’ll say my adieux.” Raymond turned to Joanna, bowed over her hand and fixed his black eyes on her brown ones. She felt mesmerized. “I mean it—it has been a pleasure. I hope we shall encounter each other again soon.” Before she could think of an answer he was gone, with a smile and a little bow to Berengaria, Beatrix and Lady Mary.
They walked toward the great hall and Joanna heard the clatter of hoofbeats as Raymond and his knights galloped down the hill from the palace precincts.
She remembered the great hall well. It was a magnificently proportioned room that served as Queen Eleanor’s audience chamber as well as a banqueting hall and setting for entertainments and civic events. But today it was desolate. A few servants were replenishing the fires and sweeping the floor, but absent were the crowds that used to come here when Eleanor was in residence, holding court as the countess of Poitou.
“It’s so different when my mother is here,” she said to Berengaria. “You’ll see, when she returns. When I was little I used to come in to watch the fine ladies and gentlemen strolling about, seeing and being seen. Some of them came to ask my mother to settle disputes. Some had favors to ask. She always sat on her throne on that dais at the end. And people came from all over to admire the frescoes.” She pointed to the brilliantly colored paintings of Biblical scenes on the walls. “They’re amazing!” said Berengaria. She walked over to examine Daniel facing a very fierce lion in its den. Lady Mary and Beatrix joined her.
“Ahem!” said Alphonse. “May I have your attention?”
He was sitting on the queen’s ornate gilded throne. Several chairs were drawn up before him. Joanna was shocked at his effrontery. She could remember vividly how regal, how beautiful, her mother had looked when seated there. How dare this little turnip of a man dishonor the throne so? Then she saw how ridiculous he looked, his short legs dangling half a foot from the floor. His red velvet tunic did its best to contain his bulging stomach. His hands clutched the arms of the throne as though he expected it to rise into the air at any moment.
Joanna caught Lady Mary’s eye and they exchanged surreptitious smiles.
The women mounted the steps and seated themselves. They had dressed with great care that morning in anticipation of meeting Queen Eleanor, arbiter of taste, fashion and much more. Joanna wore an emerald-green gown with white lace at the neckline, a close-fitting bodice, and a full skirt. Her mother had often told her that green was her best color. The others were equally dazzling. Berengaria was in dark blue silk shot with threads of silver. She and Joanna wore jeweled tiaras. Lady Mary had chosen plum-colored velvet. Only Beatrix strayed from the elegant conventionality of her companions. She wore a gown of rose silk, not quite diaphanous, that revealed more than it concealed of her full-bosomed, slender-waisted figure. She’d thrown a filmy scarf of the same hue about her shoulders, perhaps for modesty, perhaps to suggest the illusion of a blooming rose. It succeeded better at the latter than the former.
Joanna was reminded of her onetime friend Yasmin and how they used to comment on the gowns of the ladies of the court in Palermo. She’d have had much to say about Beatrix! But I’m being unkind, she decided. The poor girl thought she was going to find herself in the midst of a throng of elegant ladies and gentlemen gathered by Queen Eleanor and she had dressed to impress them. And now there was no one to admire her except Alphonse. But he hardly glanced at her as he unrolled a long parchment and peered at it nearsightedly. He read without inflection and without looking up.
“These are the wishes of Eleanor, Queen of Engla
nd, Duchess of Aquitaine and Countess of Poitou.
“In my absence from Poitiers, I desire that my daughter, Queen Joanna, remain in the palace and represent me in dealing with my subjects and their petitions. She will also provide hospitality to visitors, preside at meetings of my council and in all matters act in my place. She will have the guidance and assistance of Alphonse, my seneschal, and Lord LeBrun, my chancellor.” Joanna had never met or heard of Lord LeBrun, but resolved that he would be the main source of her guidance and assistance. “As to her personal affairs, she is to have the services and companionship of two of my ladies in waiting, who reside in the palace: Lady Nicole Duvalier and Lady Mireille de Montfort. Also, Lady Adelaide Bourneville will arrive shortly from Fontevraud Abbey to attend Queen Joanna. Next, …”
“Lady Adelaide!” cried Joanna. “My Lady Adelaide, who was with me in Sicily?”
Alphonse looked up from his parchment, placing a finger on the spot where he’d stopped reading. He looked at Joanna severely. “I don’t know whose Lady Adelaide she is or whether she’s ever been to Sicily. All I know is that she’ll arrive the day after tomorrow.”
Joanna was touched. Her mother had rightly guessed she’d welcome an old friend in this demanding new life that faced her. Though she and Adelaide had never been really close or had much in common, she’d been fond of her. And they shared many memories of those long-ago days when they’d journeyed to the unknown realm of Sicily. Joanna smiled when she remembered how the blandishments of her uncle Earl Hamelin had seduced naïve Adelaide into believing he meant to marry her. Though it was funny now, it hadn’t been then.
Alphonse was again bent over his document, droning on. Something about Beatrix.
“…the princess, being the ward of King Richard, is to remain in Poitiers under the care of Queen Joanna until my return with Richard, when we will begin negotiations for a suitable marriage. In the meantime, I ask my daughter to provide opportunities for Beatrix to meet and mingle with the local nobility and to become accustomed to the ways of the court.”
All eyes were on Beatrix to see how she reacted to this news. She’d been looking glum and uninterested until her name was mentioned. Now she brightened. In fact, she was sparkling with anticipation. “Oh Joanna,” she exclaimed, “Does this mean we’ll have dancing and music? Minstrels? How soon will it begin?”
Joanna laughed but in truth she was dismayed. It seemed her mother was asking a great deal of her. She could manage the council meetings and entertaining distinguished visitors. She’d had plenty of experience with that as queen of Sicily. But serving as nursemaid and duenna to a flighty, quick-tempered and extraordinarily attractive young woman—was she up to it? She’d have to discuss the charge with Berengaria. Between them they should be able to keep Beatrix out of harm’s way. And there were all those ladies in waiting. They’d need something to keep them occupied, wouldn’t they? Let them play chaperone!
Alphonse was reading what Eleanor had to say about Richard.
“As you know, the price that the emperor is exacting for Richard’s freedom is enormous. During the next few months I shall be traveling throughout England as well as our domains in France to raise it. The loyal people of Poitiers have been generous, but if there is any opportunity to encourage further contributions, it should be acted on. This will fall mostly on Joanna’s shoulders, for I have arranged for a castle in Beaufort, three days’ journey to the north in Anjou, to be prepared for Berengaria. It is time Berengaria had her own residence and her own court. The castle has belonged to our family for centuries and, though small, should prove satisfactory when repairs are completed. I am sending Lady Héloise de Mainteville to serve as Berengaria’s lady-in-waiting. At Beaufort, Berengaria will await Richard’s release and there, God willing, she will welcome him to a resumption of their married life.”
Joanna and Berengaria looked at each other in alarm. They’d both assumed they’d take up residence in Poitiers. They didn’t wish to be separated, much less by a three days’ journey.
Before they could protest, Jean-Pierre wandered in, looking meek and harmless in his brown monk’s robe. Alphonse regarded him suspiciously.
“May we assist you, brother?”
“I came in only for nostalgia’s sake, to take a look at Queen Eleanor’s audience chamber. I haven’t seen it for thirty years. But I see you’re busy. I’ll come back later.”
Joanna hurried to intervene. “This is Brother Jean-Pierre,” she told Alphonse. “My mother appointed him to serve me when I left England and he’s been with me ever since. I suggest you ask him to join our group.”
“Ah yes. Jean-Pierre, Jean-Pierre…” The seneschal was running his fingers down the parchment, peering at it. “I know Queen Eleanor mentioned him. Yes, here he is.”
“And what does my queen propose for me?”
“Finally, to my loyal friend and onetime diligent tutor to my children, Brother Jean-Pierre, I send greetings and request him to join me in England as soon as possible. His tact and his wide acquaintance with the religious community will prove valuable when we appeal to the monasteries and abbeys for contributions to Richard’s ransom.”
Another shock. It seemed the whole group of those Joanna held most dear was to be scattered. She looked with dislike at the bearer of these ill tidings. He had rolled up the parchment and was sitting smugly, as though waiting for commendation. She felt more like berating him. But it wasn’t his doing—it was her mother who had rearranged her life so drastically.
There was to be even more scattering.
She left the great hall and, discouraged and drooping, walked along the path that led to her tower apartment. Dusk was coming on. She was startled by a large figure that loomed before her. It was Sir Alan with Federico behind him.
“My lady!” said Alan, “I’m glad to have caught you. We’ve come to say goodbye.”
“No! I won’t have it! Not you as well!”
By now she was near tears. But she collected herself.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that everybody seems to be deserting me.” She managed a smile and took Federico’s arm. How he’d grown—taller now than she was. She had to look up to him.
“Now walk along with me and explain yourselves.”
“I beg your forgiveness. I shouldn’t have spoken so hastily,” said Alan. “But we’re rather in a hurry. We must leave this evening if we’re to make connections with a boat that leaves next week for Dover.”
“Dover! So you’re returning to England? Why now?”
“Partly because of family affairs. I’ve had word that my old father is near death and I wish to see him once more. Then I’ll need to help my brothers in settling the estate. And then…”
“And then,” said Federico, breaking away from Joanna and looking at her with more excitement and pride than she’d seen since he first toppled the straw man when he was learning jousting, “then I’m to be made a knight by King Richard! Sir Alan says he can arrange it. But we must be there when the king disembarks, because he’ll be so busy right away with his coronation.”
“His coronation? I’ve heard nothing about any coronation. He’s already been crowned king of England. Why a repeat?”
“It’s only a rumor, my lady,” said Sir Alan, “but we’ve heard that as soon as Queen Eleanor pays the ransom and Richard is freed they’ll leave for England. Then they’ll have the coronation so that King Richard can appear before his subjects and thank them for their generosity in contributing so much to the price of his freedom. We heard about it from a German merchant whom Brother Jean-Pierre met yesterday. He said it was all the talk of Vienna.”
“I see. It does make sense. A grand, spectacular coronation would be just the thing. The people will feel they’ve gotten something for their money.”
They walked on for a few moments in silence. Joanna took some comfort in observing that though her life was changing radically, the palace grounds were much as she remembered. Here was the rose garden, her mother’s pride.
Here were the three apricot trees espaliered against a sun-warmed wall, three times as tall as she remembered. They’d finished blooming and she could see tiny green fruit hanging from the branches. And here were the shiny-leaved laurel hedges where she’d played hide-and-seek with her little brother John. Even then he’d shown signs of the mean man he would become. He’d hide, than jump out at her with a terrible screech, a face contorted with menace and as often as not a painful squeeze of her arm.
The thought of John brought her back to the present. John was still making as much trouble for Richard as he could, in France as well as England. Of course Richard should have a great show of a coronation to demonstrate to one and all that he was their king and that he was back.
“Yes, I understand why you must go. It’s time for all of Richard’s loyal soldiers to rally around him and show their support.”
She took Sir Alan’s hand. “I’ll miss you, though. You’ve been such a stalwart friend for so many years, my mainstay through all kinds of trials.” Tears welled in her eyes. She wished she could keep from crying at times like this.
Now she had to say goodbye to Federico, to the boy she’d known and loved so well, so long. He was about to become someone else, someone whose life she couldn’t share. How long ago it seemed that Jean-Pierre brought the bright-eyed, black-haired little gamin to the palace to be her page! He was still bright-eyed and still had his curly black hair. But now she wouldn’t think of tousling it as she used to do. He’d be terribly embarrassed. At sixteen, on the verge of manhood, he’d reached the age of self-consciousness.
But she could hug him and she did. He hugged her back. He too was moved. She distinctly heard a sniff.
“I’ve so much to thank you for, my lady,” he said huskily. “And when I’m a knight in King Richard’s service my first aim will be to make you proud of me.”
She held him at arms’ length, looking up at him, smiling in spite of the tears coursing down her cheeks.