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

by Rachel Bard

  “Good evening, and my deepest apologies to you both for turning up so late. I should have given myself more time for the journey in weather like this. We ran into quite a snowstorm just as we approached Poitiers. But here I am, and I’m honored to be included at your Christmas feast.”

  Very proper, as always, Joanna thought. She’d already suspected that Richard the matchmaker was at it again and that Raymond might prove to be the absent guest. She was surprised at how glad she was to see him after two years. But she decided she would not be too welcoming until she learned the facts about his marital state. She’d heard rumors that Bourgogne had, like past wives, been displaced.

  “We too are honored to greet you as our guest,” said Richard, raising his glass in salute. “I’m sorry my mother isn’t here to welcome you as well, but my sister has become very skilled at taking her place as resident queen. I’m sure she’ll see that you’re comfortable and entertained during your stay, as shall I. We’re hunting for boar tomorrow and I hope you’ll join the party.”

  “With pleasure,” said Raymond. “Your hunting here is so much better than ours. There are few forests around Toulouse and very little game.”

  A servant filled his goblet and placed on his plate a generous serving of roast pheasant with a couple of glossy green feathers still attached as decoration. It was accompanied by a mound of gravy-laden dressing. After several bites, he put down his knife and looked at Joanna appreciatively.

  “I’ve never seen you look more charming. Green is definitely your color. And what splendid emeralds! Do you mind?” Without waiting for her reply he reached to raise one of the lustrous green stones of her necklace and examine it. His fingers, warm and dry, brushed briefly across her neck. “Extraordinary—I hadn’t noticed these tiny pearls in the settings. The gold chain too is of such fine workmanship.” He turned back to his plate and she gave her attention to her own.

  She congratulated herself for taking so much care with her attire, a sea-green gown with a low but not too low neckline, a fitted bodice and a full skirt. She reflected that few men of her acquaintance would have even noticed, or at least wouldn’t have known how to articulate their appreciation. She glanced at Raymond, who was still valiantly attacking his pheasant. He put down the drumstick he’d been gnawing on and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket.

  “It’s a fine bird,” he said, “but I suspect there’s more to come and I must regretfully desist. Tell me, would you care to join us on the hunt tomorrow? If we should come upon any raging torrents I’ll be happy to assist you in the crossing, but this time I’ll do my best to keep your feet dry.”

  She hadn’t thought of that incident for months but at his words the memory came back vividly. She felt again the reassurance of his strong arm around her waist as he saw her safely across the stream. It was the only time he’d ever touched her except for taking her hand at meeting or parting.

  She tried to reply in a tone as light as his. “Ah, but I trust this time I’d keep better control of my horse.”

  “It wasn’t your fault that the horse stumbled. Nobody could have foreseen that. No, you’re an excellent horsewoman. So why not come along on the hunt?”

  ”I think not, but thank you.”

  Where is this conversation going? she thought. Then she remembered her resolve. Time to change the subject.

  “And what a pity you didn’t bring your wife. She and I could sit by the fire tomorrow feeling smug because we’re so warm and cozy, unlike hunters and other foolhardy folk.”

  That put an end to the badinage. His face darkened and he pinched his lips together as though trying to hold back an angry reply.

  “I’m sorry. Have I said something to upset you?”

  “No, it’s not you who’s upset me. It’s my worthless wife. She’s decided we’re incompatible. She’s left me. To which I say, good riddance!”

  She looked at him in surprise and concern. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glaring as though focusing on the unfortunate Bourgogne. She’d never seen him angry. “And were you a party to the decision?”

  “Indeed I was. I’d had enough of our quarrels and her nagging and fault-finding.” With an effort he regained his composure. He smiled at her. “But this needn’t concern you, except very indirectly.”

  How could it concern her at all, she wanted to ask.

  But Richard was on his feet and bellowing. “My friends, your attention, I beg of you.” After a couple of repetitions, even louder, the roar of raised voices died down and all eyes were on Richard. The musicians, after one last major chord to support his exhortations, put their instruments aside.

  Joanna looked up at her brother, who was not entirely steady on his feet but grinning broadly. When in his cups he could be even more charming and eloquent than when sober.

  “Thank you and welcome to our Christmas celebration. I salute the many good friends I see here. Come, drink a toast with me.” Beaming, he looked up and down the tables, raised his goblet and took a healthy gulp. “I hope it has been as good a year for you as it has for myself and my kingdom. We have successfully thwarted King Philip at almost every turn, and after the Christmas truce we shall resume the good fight. We are at peace, at least for the time being, with Aquitaine’s neighbors to the south, Navarre and”—he raised the goblet in Raymond’s direction—“Toulouse. Count Raymond, your health. We rejoice in the company of our dearly beloved queen, Berengaria”—another salute, another quaff from the goblet. Berengaria raised her own and smiled up at him, blushing.

  “And we salute our dear sister Queen Joanna, whose companionship has sustained us since we were children together. We also give a special welcome to Bishop Etienne, who has guided us toward the path of righteousness and who has not become discouraged despite our occasional backsliding.” He nodded to the bishop and sat down.

  The bishop, a jolly man who looked as though he’d dined well at many a banquet, raised his goblet to Richard and sipped, then rose. “My lord King, I’m sure I speak for the entire company when I say, first of all, we thank God in His goodness for giving us the opportunity to come together and wish our king and our friends well at this holy season. And we thank you, King Richard, for this magnificent repast in such a delightful setting! How original of you to entertain us in a veritable forest of greenery, without our having to undergo cold or wind or snow!”

  Joanna was hardly listening. He seemed primed to go on interminably. She looked down to see that that the plate with the remnants of pheasant had disappeared and been replaced by a serving of fish of some sort, glistening in its coat of aspic. She was pleased to see that the cook had given free rein to his esthetic sense. He’d decorated the fish with a swirl of bright yellow mustard sauce and ringed it with an assortment of colorful vegetables: tiny roast beets, slices of carrot, turnips carved into little balls, and over it all a sprinkling of chopped green leaves which proved to be spinach. She tasted a beet and marveled—it was sweet as a summer’s day.

  She saw that the bishop had subsided and was happily savoring his fish, but Richard surveyed his plate uncertainly. After one mouthful of fish he smacked his lips and took a chance on a beet. He smacked his lips again. Scattered cheers came from the diners as they made their way through the novel display.

  “Congratulations, Richard!” she said. “What did you tell them in the kitchen to encourage such creativity?”

  “Simple. I told the cook that for every dish that raised a cheer I’d give him a gold piece and another to divide among the rest of the kitchen crew.”

  “How brilliant, Richard!” She turned to Raymond, “Did you hear that? The cook is going to be a rich man.”

  He’d been talking to the bishop. He looked at her absently but said only “Indeed,” and resumed his conversation.

  Still more dishes came, some quite interesting, but there was just too much. Too much food, too much noise, too many guests who’d drunk too much of Richard’s good wine. Raymond was paying no attention to
her. He and the bishop continued to converse earnestly but Joanna couldn’t hear what they were talking about though twice she heard a reference to the pope. Richard was exchanging loud remarks with one of the knights at the lower table. Joanna was sated and bored and wanted to escape. Why not? she thought. She rose. Raymond was instantly on his feet.

  “Joanna! Are you leaving us?”

  “Yes, I’ve had far too much to eat and drink and the din makes my head ache. I want only the quiet and peace of my room.

  “Then I shall accompany you. Let me first make my excuses to the king.”

  After exchanging a few words with Richard, he took her arm and they made their way to the door. She noticed that some of the other ladies, several with their reluctant husbands, followed her example. But Berengaria stayed loyally by Richard’s side though he paid no attention to her. He was engaged in a loud argument with the knight below him about the details of the battle of Acre in the Holy Land.

  Joanna and Raymond walked in silence along the dimly lit corridor leading to her tower. A page materialized and led the way with a candelabrum. At the top of the stairs to her apartments she asked Raymond, “Would you like to come in for a bit? You can see how I live.” The page opened the heavy oak door and left, after assuring himself that she required no further services. Jeanette, who had been waiting for her mistress, tactfully left as well.

  Joanna led Raymond to her private Arabic-style chamber. He looked around in amazement. Joanna seated herself demurely on a cushion. Raymond hesitated and sat on an ottoman nearby. The room was warm and softly lit by firelight and a few candles. Finally he spoke.

  “I had no notion of this side of you. I’d always thought of you as calm and proper, keenly aware of what’s fitting, thoughtful of others, and…”

  “Dull?” she asked.

  “Certainly not! I was going to say, as embodying the best traits of the English. Yet here we are in what could be a sultan’s private chamber. And it suits you very well. I’m charmed, I’m delighted.”

  “I’m glad you like it. My mother thinks it’s outlandish but she tolerates me.”

  “Well, it’s already given me ideas, and I hope that someday… but I’m getting ahead of myself. I’d like to apologize to you for neglecting you at dinner and talking so long to the bishop. But it was very important to me. May I tell you what we were discussing?”

  “Of course. I admit I was wondering.”

  He looked up at the ceiling as though uncertain as to how to begin, then plunged in.

  “I asked him what he thought my chances were of getting the pope to agree to a dissolution of my marriage to Bourgogne. When I told him the whole story, he thought a long time, then said he believed the chances were very good. He said the pope would undoubtedly urge me to try to mend matters, but he’d have to agree that since my wife had clearly left me of her own will and declined to live with me anymore, I was blameless.”

  Joanna wasn’t too sure of that, but she listened attentively.

  He went on to explain why his first two marriages hadn’t worked either. The first, when he was sixteen, had been arranged by his father, the fifth count. It had been tragically cut short when the young bride died after only a year. As for his second, it had been entered into for political reasons, though he admitted he’d been attracted by the beauteous Beatrice of Beziers. But before long they had a serious disagreement, so serious that they became irreconcilable.

  “What did you disagree on?”

  “I’m sorry to say it was about religion. The Cathar heresy, to be precise. I’m sure you’ve heard of it? Some call the heretics Cathars, some say Albigensians because the city of Albi was their first major center.”

  “I’ve heard of the Cathars but I confess I know very little about them. I believe they refuse to recognize the church hierarchy, all the way up to the pope, because they claim they don’t need an intermediary between man and God?”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. They also have very strict rules about daily life. For example, they abstain from killing animals and eating meat. They don’t believe in hell or purgatory. Obviously the Catholic church can’t condone such unorthodox beliefs.”

  “They do seem very extreme.” But she wanted to get back to Beatrice of Beziers, the beautiful but repudiated wife.

  “So I take it that Beatrice was sympathetic to this heresy but you weren’t, so you parted?”

  “Not only was she sympathetic, she joined them and went to their services. I couldn’t tolerate that. My father detested the Cathars and he taught me to do the same. She finally left me when I absolutely refused to join the sect.”

  “Dear me,” said Joanna. “Truly, an impossible situation.”

  “Yes. She was immovable and so was I. But now…now, I’m beginning to believe that maybe they needn’t be persecuted as the pope directs us. The more I observe them, the more I admire them. They’re industrious, they’re peaceable, they make no trouble and their only fault is in believing that they and not the traditional churchmen have found the way to salvation. Which is not to say that I’d ever change my own beliefs. But I don’t see why we can’t just leave them alone.”

  “So you could tolerate Beatrice, but still didn’t want her as your wife. I see.”

  He sighed and stood up.

  “Enough of this. I wanted you to try to understand what may look like a dubious marital record. God knows I’m not perfect but I’ve truly tried to be a kind and patient husband. I hope you can agree that not all the fault was on my side. Because now…”

  She’d never seen him at a loss for words. She was beginning to guess what he might be leading up to and her heart beat a little faster. He paced from his chair to the window and back. He stood looking down at her while she gazed up at him, trying to read his eyes—dark as night, scrutinizing her face. He took her hands and raised her to her feet. Her skirt billowed, then settled with a sigh.

  “Joanna, my dear Joanna. I find myself at last in a position to say what is in my heart and has been for two years, ever since the end of that long journey we took together. I’ve always admired you for your beauty, your active mind, your good sense, your kindness—so many things! But now I’ve come well beyond admiration. Joanna, I love you and I want you to be my wife.”

  He drew her to him. He rested his cheek on her hair for a moment. In the silence she became aware of a candle guttering in a corner and the crackle of the fire. She nestled in his encircling arms.

  He tipped her head up and his lips brushed hers as lightly as a butterfly’s wing. He tightened his embrace, and the butterfly became a ravenous wolf. The passion of his long, lingering kiss was almost frightening. She was pressed so tightly against his woolen tunic that she felt suffocated. Yet she wasn’t sure she wanted this to end.

  Reluctantly he let his arms drop. They drew apart and looked at each other—Raymond half smiling, Joanna in confusion. He’d aroused in her a desire she hadn’t felt for years—not since William. But was that enough reason to marry him?

  Raymond spoke first. His voice was husky and his words tumbled out as though they’d been pent up. “I’ve wanted that for so long! You’re what I’ve been searching for all these years. For the first time in my life I know what true love is. My dear Joanna, I know your life hasn’t been easy since you left Sicily and you’ve had to face it on your own. I only hope you can find it in your heart to accept my offer of a loving refuge. And that soon you’ll come to care for me as I care for you.” He took both her hands in his and drew her to him.

  While she hesitated, fumbling for a reply, they heard the clatter of boots on the stone floor in the corridor below. The banquet had finally broken up and the diehards were making their adieux. Raymond kissed her on the forehead.

  “My dear, I must leave you. I promised your brother that I’d confer with him tonight about various matters that concern Toulouse and Aquitaine. I don’t ask you to say anything now. Shall I come to you after we return from the hunt and learn your answer?”


  Half of her wanted to say, “Raymond, you need not wait until tomorrow. I’ll happily become your wife!”

  But her more sensible, realistic self prevailed.

  “Yes, please do come. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. But I’ll try to have an answer.”

  Chapter 58

  “Thank you, Joanna, for an excellent breakfast.” Berengaria took half of the last slice of bread, added a dab of cherry jam and chewed it appreciatively. The friends were in Joanna’s private chamber, snug and warm.

  “Now how shall we amuse ourselves today?” Berengaria asked. Joanna was sipping her barley water and looking pensive. “Shall we go walking in the town? I haven’t been in a real city for so long, it will be good for me to see a larger world than little Beaufort-en-Vallée.”

  “Yes, of course.” Joanna was suddenly energized. “It would do me a world of good to get out. Ever since Lady Mary left I’ve had nobody to go walking with. Adelaide spends most of her time at Fontevraud. My mother would disapprove if I went alone, even with attendants. So I feel as though I’ve been cooped up forever. You’re a godsend, for many reasons.”

  “Thank you. But I didn’t know Mary had left—when, why?”

  “Oh dear, it’s been only two weeks, and how I miss her. She’s been my companion for twenty years. Remember that nice English knight, Sir Stephen, one of the Crusaders? He and Mary had an understanding that they’d marry when everybody was home again. But although he sent numerous messages that he was on his way to claim his bride, she almost gave up on him. Then at last he turned up with tall tales of his adventures on the way home—pirates, bandits, I don’t know what all. And off they went. They were to be married in England, and I suppose they’ll stay there.”