by Rachel Bard
“Yes, you’ll be my knight in shining armor… Armor!” She turned to Sir Alan. “He’ll need armor, won’t he? And a fine steel sword from Damascus, and a jeweled scabbard, and a strapping big horse… Oh, why didn’t I think of this sooner? Sir Alan, let me know how much all this will cost and it will be my pleasure to supply it.”
Sir Alan, who had been fidgeting, eager to be off, looked at her in doubt, then relief. “Do you mean it? Then I thank you. I’ll admit I’ve been worrying a wee bit about outfitting the lad properly. I promise when you see him in a month or two in England, he’ll be the knight in the shiniest armor in the realm. But now we must go.”
She waved farewell, wiped her tears away and walked slowly up to her room where Jeanette, the maid her mother had designated for her, would be waiting to help her out of her finery. She was tired, so tired. She wanted only to lie down and try to get used to the new state of affairs.
The freeing of Richard took far longer than anyone expected. Eleanor pled with the pope, who temporized and did nothing. Nor did he reply to the letters Joanna and Berengaria sent him. Even Constance, Joanna’s old friend, was silent. Joanna supposed that when one is married to the Holy Roman Emperor one may lose the freedom to take independent action.
Meantime Eleanor concentrated on raising the ransom. She journeyed up and down England, sent emissaries to Anjou and Aquitaine. She taxed the barons a fourth of their annual income and lesser subjects on a descending scale. No one was spared. She persuaded churches and monasteries to give up their gold and silver vessels, their precious reliquaries and altar crosses, their treasure accumulated over the centuries. When at last the tireless queen had amassed the 100,000 marks, it was December 1193. She hastened to Germany, but even then Emperor Henry’s parleys and negotiations delayed the freeing of the prisoner.
Finally in February 1194 Richard was at liberty. Mother and son set off for England, not stopping in Poitiers for Joanna nor in Beaufort for Berengaria. When the coronation took place during the Easter season of 1194 in Winchester Cathedral, neither Richard’s wife nor his sister was there to witness it.
The news didn’t reach Poitiers until the end of April. By then Berengaria was long gone, settled in the castle at Beaufort. Joanna wrote to her:
My dear sister,
I have had a letter from my mother with an account of Richard’s triumphant arrival in England and of his coronation. It seems to have been as magnificent as everyone had hoped. My brother wore a sumptuous red cloak with a train, all embroidered with gold and trimmed in ermine. I can imagine him striding down the aisle, while a pair of little pages charged with bearing the train scurried to keep up with him! He loves to dress himself in the royal regalia and show himself to his subjects. The archbishop of Canterbury placed the crown on his head and he then ascended his throne and sat there during the mass. My mother saw it all from a special dais.
I’m sure you’ll wonder why we weren’t there. Queen Eleanor wrote that she still depended on me to take her place here in Poitiers, implying that I was more useful to her in France than in England. So be it. As for you, she said only that she and Richard would be returning in a few weeks and, though she had no doubt that he would join you as soon as possible, his first concern will be to recover the lands Philip has seized.
Since you left, we have managed to hold two banquets and to enjoy performances by a group of jugglers and any number of itinerant musicians. I am fortunate that Eleanor’s chancellor, Lord LeBrun, is a very social person and enjoys organizing things. So do the two resident ladies in waiting, Nicole and Mireille. So Beatrix has had her fill of gaiety and admiration. Two young noblemen are acting very much like serious suitors, but anything along those lines will have to wait until my mother returns. My old friend Lady Adelaide has taken on the role of duenna and is doing her best to teach Beatrix the finer points of adult behavior. I do believe I observe a little less pouting and temper and a little more consideration for others.
I was very sad for some weeks after saying goodbye to Federico, Jean-Pierre and Alan and then to you. I felt quite deserted! But thanks to the passage of time and to Lady Mary’s good sense and understanding, now I am more myself. All it would take to complete my contentment would be a visit from you. Please send word that you are coming.
Joanna
Below the letter Joanna added a hastily written postscript.
Just as the messenger was about to leave with this, we had astonishing news. Raymond of Toulouse finally received the pope’s permission to dissolve his marriage. He immediately married Bourgogne de Lusignan, daughter of the king of Jerusalem! I think I am relieved—it removes many uncertainties about my future—but I long to discuss this and so much more with you. J.
Chapter 55
In due time Queen Eleanor returned to Poitiers, after a triumphal progression through England and its dominions with Richard. By now mother and son performed as a smoothly operating team, showing themselves to their subjects, thanking them for their support in freeing Richard and demonstrating as publicly as possible who was in charge: King Richard, not the would-be usurper John.
When they arrived at the palace, Richard took his mother directly to her own chambers in the south tower. Here, rather than in the intimidating great hall, was Eleanor’s favorite place in the whole palace, her elegant little reception room. Here she was surrounded by beauty and comfort and all the precious objects that meant so much to her. Here was her gilded, jeweled Bible on its polished ebony stand. Here were four ornate silver candelabra, each bearing twelve creamy beeswax candles that cast a soft golden glow over the room. The candelabra had been a present from her husband, King Henry, when they’d been young and in love. And here was her favorite chair, almost a throne in its generous dimensions but far more comfortable, with its goosedown-stuffed pillows covered in smoothest scarlet silk. Eleanor relinquished Richard’s arm and sank into the welcoming softness.
Joanna had meant to be in the room waiting for them but Alphonse stopped her on the way with some inconsequential question. She hurried on and entered almost at a run but caught herself before her mother could look down her nose at such unseemly haste.
Why can’t I remember that I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman? she chided herself. Maybe I’m reverting to my childhood when I tried so desperately not to displease my mother by being late.
She embraced Eleanor. She observed few signs of aging, though in the four years since they’d said farewell at the harbor in Messina, Eleanor’s seventy-two years had begun to catch up with her. There were tiny wrinkles radiating from the corners of her eyes. But the finely chiseled features of her face and the ivory-white complexion with just a hint of a rosy blush on the cheeks were those of a woman half her age. The blue eyes flashed as piercingly as ever.
“My dear daughter,” said the queen, pressing Joanna’s hand in both of hers and looking up at her with affection, “at last we meet again. How well you look! Sit here beside me. You must tell me all the news of the court and the city. I’m particularly interested in Beatrix. How has she taken to life here in the palace? Is she behaving herself?” Joanna wondered if her mother had received some hint from Richard about his escapade with Beatrix in the Holy Land. But she felt it wise not to bring it up.
“She seems to thrive on the busy social life we lead, for which we have your chancellor, Lord LeBrun, and your ladies to thank. They’ve made it their mission to show her the best of the local society. She’s had an opportunity to meet most of the eligible young men in Poitou, and two young nobles appear to be seriously interested. I believe her current favorite is Raoul de Roqueville. He’s quite devoted to her.”
“Never heard of him. I hope her life isn’t one long round of frivolity. Is she learning anything?”
“Well, Lady Mary is teaching her embroidery, and Lady Adelaide does her best to instruct the princess in decorum. In fact they’re even now spending a week in Fontevraud Abbey, which Lady Adelaide felt would be a beneficial respite from all the music and
dancing and banqueting. They’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I think I can assure you that her virtue has not been imperiled.”
Eleanor nodded. “Thank you, daughter. You’ve done well. Before long I hope we’ll be able to choose a suitable husband and get the girl securely wed.”
“Mother, I’ve been wondering why you take such an interest in Beatrix? You’ve never even met her. And her father was really an imposter. He called himself emperor of Cyprus but Richard defeated him and stripped him of the title.”
“True, true. But as daughter and heir of an emperor, no matter how dead or deposed he is, she has an attraction for ambitious men. Can’t you imagine it? An unscrupulous noble or minor royal takes her to wife and then lays claim to the island of Cyprus in her name. This could cause all kinds of trouble for us. We must maintain our hegemony there because it’s vital to our interests in Palestine. So we take no chances. We choose for the girl’s husband some influential count or duke here in France who doesn’t give a fig for Cyprus and who will support us in our wars with King Philip.”
“I suppose that makes sense. I hope Raoul de Roqueville will meet your specifications.”
“Whether he does or doesn’t, I don’t anticipate much trouble from her. She’s young, she’s impressionable and she owes her freedom and her position to us. I expect her to be quite amenable to our choice. Richard and I have discussed this and we already have several names on our list. Which reminds me—where is Richard? I must have a few words with him. He insists he must leave tomorrow morning to assemble the troops he’ll need to keep Philip from besieging Rouen. Richard! Now where can he have gone?”
Her tall son rose from a bench in a shadowy corner and loomed over them, yawning mightily and rubbing his eyes. “Just getting caught up on my sleep, mother. You’ve kept me going at such a merry pace these past few weeks, I’m quite worn out.” Richard, like many a soldier and sailor, had developed the ability to snatch a few minutes of sleep whenever the occasion permitted.
Joanna jumped up to greet him. Just as he’d always done since she was a little girl, he picked her up and gave her a bear hug. She giggled, then gasped. “Richard! You’re squeezing all the air out of me!” He set her down as gently as though she were a delicate crystal goblet.
“Sorry, little sister. But I’m so glad to see you! You seem to have survived your trip home from the Holy Land very well—I wish I could say the same.”
“But Richard, you look to be in excellent health, though—how shall I put it—you seem somewhat…”
“Somewhat bulky, not to say fat,” broke in Queen Eleanor drily. “Your captors must have fed you very well.”
“Never mind,” said Richard. “I’ll soon be back in the saddle, rounding up my troops and chasing Philip from pillar to post. You’ll see, in no time I’ll be as lean as a willow sapling.”
“Yes, we’ll see. But we have more immediate concerns. Sit down, both of you.” She indicated the chairs on either side of her own, facing the fire. A servant came in and adjusted the logs. “Thank you, Henri,” said Eleanor. “And will you bring us some hypocras?”
“If you don’t mind, mother, I’d rather have good red claret instead of that sweetened wine you favor. And Henri”— he turned his persuasive smile on the lad—“you’re a clever fellow, I can tell. Would you see if you could find some of those little jellied quince candies the cook used to make? Cotignac, I think we called them.”
Henri, who’d never before seen the far-famed Richard the Lionheart, nodded, blurted “Of course, my lord King,” and scurried out, captivated and befuddled by the Plantagenet charm.
Richard and Joanna, waiting for their mother to speak, thought she’d fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed and she leaned her head against the cushioned chairback. After half a minute she sat up straight and turned to Richard.
“The first thing you must do, Richard, even before you march to Rouen, is to see Count Raymond of Toulouse. The new Count Raymond, that is.”
“New?” asked Joanna. “What do you mean, new?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard? Raymond the Fifth died two weeks ago. Finally. It took the old fox long enough.” Her lips curved slightly and she uttered a barely audible “huh, huh.” It was as close as Queen Eleanor ever came to a chuckle.
Henri came in with a silver tray laden with a bowl of cotignac, a tall flagon of red wine and a crystal pitcher of hypocras. He placed them carefully on the ebony table in front of Eleanor.
“Good work, Henri,” said Richard. He picked up one of the glistening little cubes and licked off its dusting of sugar. “I knew you’d find them.”
“We were in luck, my lord King. The cook made a fresh batch only yesterday.” He was beaming with pride of accomplishment and basking in the royal approval. What a tale he’d have to tell his wife tonight! After a poke or two at the fire he left as unobtrusively as he could.
“So.” Eleanor poured the wine. “Now we have Count Raymond the Sixth to deal with, and deal with him we must, Richard, if you’re to have any security on your southern borders while you do battle with Philip in the north. I believe the new count will be more receptive to an offer of alliance than his father ever was.” She looked at Joanna speculatively. “In fact, I’d hoped, not long ago, that an alliance could be cemented by a marriage. But that hope didn’t last long. Young Raymond lost his head over that feather-brained little Bourgogne de Lusignan and couldn’t wait to marry her.”
“However,” said Richard, yawning again and stretching out his legs to the fire, “They’ve been married several years by now, I believe. If Raymond’s past performance is any guide, he’ll soon tire of her and start petitioning the pope to dissolve the marriage. In the meantime we can keep in touch with him and make him aware of the advantages of marrying into the royal house of England. I’ll leave tomorrow for Toulouse and feel him out.”
Joanna could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was as though they’d forgotten she was still in the room. Richard began to rise from his chair. She jumped to her feet and gave him a push in the midriff. He returned to a sitting position with a thud and looked at her in astonishment.
Joanna stood facing them, her brown eyes almost black as they darted from her mother to her brother. Her lips were quivering with outrage.
“Have I no say in this? Am I nothing but a pawn in your marriage games? Richard, have you forgotten your foolish attempt to marry me to that heathen prince in Palestine? What makes you think I’d be more likely to accept a fickle, womanizing count in Toulouse? You’re treating me exactly as you plan to treat Beatrix. Why must women always agree meekly to what their elders decide is best for them? Why are their own preferences of no account?”
Afraid that her anger would lead to tears, she brushed her hand across her eyes and ran from the room. Eleanor and Richard looked at each other. Eleanor was the first to speak.
“Spoken like a true Plantagenet. If I’d been in her place, I might have made the same response.”
“Hmph,” said Richard, rubbing his stomach. “If you’d been in my place, you might wonder where that delicate little person found the strength for such a blow.” He chewed slowly on a quince jelly. “Nevertheless, when I see Count Raymond I’ll broach the subject of an alliance and do my best to learn his views.”
Later, Joanna told Lady Mary about the incident. As they often did, they were having a chat in Joanna’s chamber before retiring. Joanna had propped her legs on a footstool. Both had changed to their loose-flowing nightrobes. They were sipping spiced wine, considerably diluted with hot water. The fire, recently replenished, crackled companionably on the hearth, a third party to the conversation.
“Maybe I was too headstrong,” said Joanna. “And maybe I was too hard on Raymond. It’s true he rather led me on about his intentions and then went chasing after that Bourgogne. But as Lady Marian used to tell me, that’s the way men are and we might as well accept it. What I can’t accept, though, is not being consulted by my mother and my brother about somethin
g that affects me so deeply,”
She walked to the fire, gazed at the flames for a minute and returned to her chair. Sipping her wine, she looked at her friend’s face, so familiar, so concerned.
“Forgive me, Mary, for running on like this. You have your own worries. Is there any more word from Sir Stephen?”
Mary’s suitor, the knight whom she’d met in Sicily, hadn’t been heard from since he’d sent a message that he’d finally arrived home from the Crusades and would come to Poitiers soon. That message came six months ago. “I had many adventures and misadventures on the way home,” he’d written. “But what kept me going, my dear Mary, was the prospect of seeing you and setting a date for our marriage, if you’ll still have me.”
Mary shook her head.
“No, nothing since that one message.”
There was a knock but before they could answer, Richard came in. Typically, he made no reference to the recent confrontation. His active mind had moved far ahead to other matters.
He nodded to Mary and sat down besides Joanna. “I’m sorry to intrude so late, but I probably won’t see you in the morning before I leave. When I head north I’ll make a detour to Beaufort to call on Berengaria. Can you tell me how she is?”
“I was wondering when you’d ask. As far as I know she’s well. I visited her in Beaufort this summer and she was here for two weeks in September. But when I asked her to come again she replied that she thought she should stay there, in case you came looking for her. I’m glad you plan to do so. She seems contented enough but I know she worries when she doesn’t hear from you.”
“Well yes, I’ve been remiss on that score. Our mother says so too, and practically ordered me to go see her. So I shall.”
“Please give her my best love when you do, and tell her she’s always welcome at Poitiers.”
“Certainly. I’ll do it. Goodbye and be well, little sister. And you too, Lady Mary.” And he was off.
Joanna sighed. “He hasn’t been much of a husband for Berengaria. I’m not surprised my mother insisted he go to Beaufort. She’s been after him ever since they married to take his conjugal duties more seriously and see that an heir is produced. “