by Rachel Bard
“No, my love. The bishop exaggerated. It may have been true when he lived there but those days are gone. To be sure, some of my subjects get restive and even rebellious once in a while but not to the point of armed conflict. It’s different in Béziers and Montpellier, where the local lords like to take matters into their own hands. But Toulouse is far more civilized and urbane. I promise you’ll be perfectly safe.” He put his arm around her. She remembered how secure and cherished she’d felt the first time he did that, all those months ago in the palace in Poitiers. It was the same now. She rested her head against his shoulder.
At a gentle knock on the door, he reached for a robe and hastily put it on.
“Yes?” called Joanna.
It was Queen Eleanor’s lady-in-waiting Mireille, the one with the sweet face and the curly brown hair. She spoke quickly, plainly embarrassed at intruding on the honeymoon couple.
“If you please, Queen Eleanor says that since everybody is leaving tomorrow, will you come to her chamber so she can bid you a proper farewell?”
“Of course,” said Joanna. “Tell her we’ll be there shortly.”
Forty minutes later, they entered Eleanor’s apartment, the rooms reserved for the bishop’s most honored visitors. Joanna wore a gown of ivory wool, caught at the waist with a sash of green lace. Her hair was pinned up high on her head. Raymond, svelte and self-possessed, was in black velvet, as he’d been for the wedding, but today without the silver cross and silver-embroidered cape he’d worn the day before.
Eleanor peered at them appraisingly.
“That hair style becomes you, Joanna. Now Count Raymond, I believe you intend to leave for Toulouse tomorrow?”
“We do. So I’m glad to have this opportunity to see you before we part company.”
“Yes. Well, perhaps I’ll find time to come visit you in the south some day.”
“We shall hope that day comes soon.”
“So we say goodbye for now. I wish you Godspeed and a safe journey. Now if you don’t mind I wish to speak to my daughter alone. Remember, I shall depend on you to take good care of her.”
Joanna saw the flicker of annoyance on his face at the abrupt dismissal. He spoke quickly, not quite as smoothly and circumspectly as usual.
“You may be sure I shall.” He put an arm around Joanna. “And I’ll expect her to take good care of me.”
Joanna laughed and Raymond bent to whisper in her ear, “Don’t be long. I’ll be waiting in our chamber. I’ll order supper and then we’ll practice taking care of each other.”
Eleanor watched this exchange with a mixture of indulgence and impatience. When Raymond had left, she took Joanna’s arm and led her to the fireplace. They sat opposite each other, the mother in a high-backed thronelike chair, the daughter in one quite clearly subordinate but still elegant. The room was warm and dimly lit and Joanna, catching a whiff of a sweet floral scent, saw a bowl of rose petals on the table at her side.
She prepared herself for a lecture. Was she to be instructed in wifely obedience? Or warned against Raymond’s inconstancy? Or merely congratulated on making such a politically desirable marriage?
Uncharacteristically, Eleanor reached to take Joanna’s hand. Looking into her mother’s eyes, Joanna noticed the first time how the brilliant blue had dulled.
“I shall miss you, Joanna. Your being with me in Poitiers these past few years has been a comfort to me. I know I often seem to ignore you, but blame it on my preoccupation with the never-ending details of administering Aquitaine. Not to mention substituting for Richard in managing English affairs.”
“Yes, don’t you wish sometimes he’d spend less time building castles and more in ruling his kingdom?”
“I do. But we both know he’s unlikely to change his ways.”
“And there’s John for you to worry about as well.” Joanna was perfectly happy to keep the conversation on other topics than herself.
“Ýes, but that’s another story. Though I do tremble to think of poor England if Richard should die without an heir. It looks more and more likely that Berengaria will continues to be childless. And if John should succeed, I won’t be here forever to keep an eye on him.” She bent her head and looked meditatively at her folded hands, then pulled herself together and sat straight again.
“But we’re here to talk about you, not your brothers. I have high hopes for this marriage. You seem genuinely fond of each other. I believe Raymond has finally found the right partner, who can share with him in the duties of governing. You were a successful queen, surely you’ll shine as a countess. However, there’s one aspect of your new situation that may not have occurred to you.”
Joanna steeled herself. Here it comes, she thought.
“You feel loyalty, of course, to Raymond and the House of Toulouse. But you’re still a member of the English royal family. If both Richard and John should die leaving no male heir, a son of yours would be in line to inherit the throne. And Raymond will be eager for a son to inherit Toulouse. I urge you to guard your health when you become pregnant. I intend to send one of my best physicians to Toulouse against the day when you may need him.”
“Thank you. Though I don’t know what I can do beyond what I did when I was William’s wife. But of course I’ll be careful.”
“I’m sure you will.” Eleanor leaned forward and spoke even more earnestly than before, her eyes fixed on Joanna’s.
“The crucial matter, of course, is becoming pregnant in the first place. Here you can indeed affect your fate. I have an idea that you and William were so attached to each other that he came to your bed without being cajoled into it. Raymond may be another matter.”
Joanna felt an intense distaste for the subject. Somewhere in the back of her mind still lingered the foreboding that Raymond might prove unfaithful to her, as he had been to her predecessors. But she’d managed to keep it at bay. Now her mother had raised the possibility. And was she being urged to act like a flirtatious seductress? To pretend to be someone she wasn’t?
But suddenly she remembered a long-ago time when she had found it necessary to seduce William—there was no other word for it. It was after the tragic death of their baby son. As after her miscarriage, she’d been deeply depressed. But soon she’d come to her senses and saw that the future still held hope for her and William. Unfortunately, as she recalled, by then William had become so fearful of causing her to undergo another disastrous pregnancy that he had given up his conjugal duties—or pleasures. So there was nothing else for it. She fell back on feminine wiles she didn’t know she had. She dressed in a revealing gown, had Mary arrange her hair in the style that William liked best, applied a little discreet color to her cheeks and invited her husband to an intimate romantic dinner in her apartment. And it worked. He was easily lured back to her bed.
She smiled at the memory. Eleanor peered at her suspiciously. She’d been expecting an outburst. Joanna rose and bent to kiss her mother on the cheek.
“I see what you mean, mother. I’ll do my best. And we’ll hope to see you soon in Toulouse.”
Chapter 62
Joanna to Berengaria
16 March, 1197
My dear friend, it has been far too long since you heard from me, and even longer since we saw each other—not since my wedding, over a year ago! I pray you are well and content. I’m glad to say that I have little to complain of and much to make me happy. I shall tell you more of what my life is like when I see you, which I hope will be soon.
But now for my news: I am with child! Will you consider coming to see me in Beaucaire? The Counts of Toulouse have a castle there, overlooking the Rhone. At present it’s inhabited only by Raymond’s Aunt Mathilde, whom I understand to be a lady of advanced years. Raymond says it will be a quiet, comfortable place for me to spend the last few months before the birth, which we expect to be in August. I plan to leave for Beaucaire in a few weeks. I am feeling very well and I am full of hope. It would make me even happier if I could look forward to seeing you.<
br />
You may wonder why I don’t stay in Toulouse for the lying-in. The situation in Toulouse is unstable right now. I’ll explain that when I see you. Please make plans to come.
Joanna
Berengaria to Joanna
4 April, 1197
Dear Sister Joanna,
I rejoice with you about the baby you are expecting. Of course I will come to Beaucaire. A journey would be a pleasant change from my very quiet life. I could come in mid-June and stay for the birth if that suits you. I’ll bring my maid Cristina, her husband, and Lady Héloise, whom you met when you were here. She has proved a good companion.
I wonder if your mother will come to Beaucaire. I’ve heard nothing from her in months though I regularly receive the stipend that her majordomo Alphonse sends for maintenance of Beaufort Castle. Nor have I heard from Richard, though that doesn’t surprise me.
I shall think of some news to report when I see you, even if only of my herb garden.
Berengaria
On a fine day in mid-May Count Raymond of Toulouse, with the captain of his knights at his side, headed a long train of riders traveling northward from Toulouse to Beaucaire. Their route led them along a poplar-lined road that ran beside the river Rhone. Joanna was near the forefront, just behind Raymond. After her came Henri de Jarnac, one of Raymond’s counselors, and his wife, Lady Elaine.
Joanna felt at peace, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze that caressed her face, and a general sense of well-being. Her horse, a large, broad-backed, easy-gaited gray, trotted placidly along, needing no direction from her and content to follow Raymond’s steed. The reins lay loosely in Joanna’s hands and her thoughts strayed. How good it will be to see Berengaria! We have so much catching up to do. She’ll want to know more about why I’m not staying in Toulouse for my child’s birth. I’ll explain that some of Raymond’s vassals in nearby regions were making demands he didn’t agree with and that he felt I’d be safer elsewhere in the very unlikely event of violence. Then I’ll ask her how life is in Beaufort and the subject of Richard will come up. That might not be pleasant. But then we’ll talk about the baby boy I pray for.
She was imagining holding the newborn baby in her arms and looking into his wrinkled little face, when Lady Elaine drew up beside her.
“Henri says we’re almost to Beaucaire and you might appreciate it if I told you something about it, since we’ve been here before and you haven’t.”
She had a high, whiny voice and Joanna resented being jolted so abruptly out of her reverie. She’d found Lady Elaine hard to get to know, often withdrawn, almost sullen. She was a small woman with a face that once may have been pretty but looked as though it had been soured by years of unhappiness, perhaps by an inharmonious marriage.
Before Joanna could assure her that Raymond had already told her a good deal about Beaucaire, Elaine rattled on as though reciting a lesson. “Now, that’s the town just coming into sight and you can see all the boats moored along the shore. It’s quite a fishing town, and some of the bigger boats go all the way to the Mediterranean Sea, can you imagine!”
Joanna wanted to tell her she was far less interested in the fishermen than in the castle —how well it was furnished, the condition and number of the latrines—when Raymond reined in his horse, turned in the saddle and announced, “There it is! Beaucaire Castle.” Startled, she followed his gaze up to where two lofty stone towers on a hill lorded it over the town. A high wall connected the towers, hiding whatever constituted the rest of the castle.
“But it looks so big! Why did you tell me it was just a modest little castle?”
“I didn’t want you to expect too much. It’s neither as roomy nor as elegantly furnished as our palace in Toulouse. When we get up there you’ll see how modest it is.”
The captain of the troop of knights approached Raymond. “I’ll leave you now and get the men settled here below in the town, shall I?”
“Yes, their lodgings have been arranged. See that the horses are well stabled and then come report to me in the castle and we’ll discuss tomorrow’s trip to Paris.”
Joanna knew that Raymond would go on to Paris but, aside from the fact that King Philip had urgently summoned him, she wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t always forthcoming about his plans and motives. She believed that it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want her to know about his governance and political activities, he merely forgot to tell her. Maybe he wasn’t used to a wife who cared about such thing.
And maybe she’d be able to tease some information out of him later.
The depleted party, still sizeable, started up the narrow road that wound its way to the castle. Joanna patted her horse to encourage it to make the last climb. “It won’t be long now, Grisette. We’re almost at the end of this long journey.” As though sensing that rest and oats were almost at hand, Grisette quickened her pace. Joanna turned in her saddle to see how the rest of the party were faring. It looked like a small army straggling up the hill. Besides Joanna’s and Raymond’s personal servants, there were Sir Henri de Jarnac and Lady Elaine; Lady Adelaide and two other ladies-in-waiting; cooks and grooms; potboys and pages; manservants and ladies’ maids; messengers; a physician, and a chaplain.
“Aunt Mathilde doesn’t require many servants,” Raymond had explained when Joanna asked why they were taking so many people. “But with you and all your party, there’ll be many more demands. And of course I’ll be coming as often as I can to see you and make sure all’s well with you. And I’ll need to confer with my vassals here and to convene my council. So for a time Beaucaire will be like a small Toulouse, with its own court and court activities. Very different from the quiet way you see it now, when Aunt Mathilde is here alone.” Joanna was beginning to see this aunt as a silent, reclusive old lady who would keep to her rooms and appear only for meals, if then. I’ll be glad, Joanna thought, to have Berengaria’s companionship. In the meantime, there’s Lady Adelaide.
As she passed over the drawbridge, Joanna looked up at the formidable towers. They would intimidate and repel the most stout-hearted enemy. They were pierced with dozens of slits through which flights of arrows could be launched simultaneously. Embrasures all along the high wall provided for still more bowmen.
Once they were through the stout gate and in the bailey, everyone dismounted, glad of a chance to get the kinks out after so many hours in the saddle. Surveying what stood before her, Joanna saw what Raymond meant. The two towers were the most impressive features, dwarfing the row of undistinguished low stone buildings that ran along the wall between them. The one in the center was the largest, three stories high, with glazing in the windows and a high arched double door.
“Aunt Mathilde lives on the top level,” said Raymond. “You and your ladies will have the other two.” While Joanna was wondering how poor old Aunt Mathilde managed all the stairs, the doors opened and a tall woman in a purple gown appeared and walked briskly down the steps. She had iron-gray hair, cut short so it barely reached her earlobes, and a face dominated by a classically dimensioned Roman nose. Her expression was open and welcoming, and her eyes were as blue as cornflowers. She had a wide mouth, and her lips were raised at the corners as though ready to smile. Joanna was to learn that Aunt Mathilde generally found life amusing.
“So you are Joanna.” She took both of Joanna’s hands in hers and stood looking at her, her head cocked to one side. “I like you already. My nephew chose well.”
“And you are Aunt Mathilde—may I call you Aunt? I’m so happy to meet you and to find that you’re not…” She paused in her confusion.
“Not decrepit? Yes, many people think that only a bedridden recluse would live in this solitary spot. I’ll hope to show you how one can occupy oneself without a crowd around. We’ll have plenty of time for that—about four months, I’d guess.” She looked appraisingly at the slight bulge of Joanna’s midsection. “That’s when the little one is due? Ah, here’s Raymond. Greetings, nephew.”
Raymond permitted M
athilde to plant kisses on both cheeks, responded in kind and gave her a squeeze of the shoulder and a smile. Joanna could see he felt real affection. She looked forward to knowing Aunt Mathilde better.
It took several hours to get settled and stow the mountains of baggage they’d brought. But by evening, all was in order. Supper was served in the dining hall of the count’s palace, as the large central building was called. It was a quick, subdued meal. Most of the travelers were tired and eager for bed. They’d run out of things to talk about to each other long ago. The exception was Lady Adelaide. Seated next to Lady Elaine, she delivered a commentary on what she thought of the castle, how glad she was they could rest at last, and what she expected life in Beaucaire would be like. Elaine listened stoically and murmured an occasional “Ah!” or “I expect so.”
Joanna looked across the table, caught Elaine’s eye and smiled. She made a mental note to assure her that despite Adelaide’s talkativeness she was loyal, generous and unfailingly good-humored.
Henri de Jarnac, seated to Joanna’s right and who up to then had paid more attention to his rabbit stew than to her, happened to look up and caught the smile.
He was a large, broad man with a beefy face and full red lips that were mostly concealed by his bushy blond beard. His cap of tightly curled hair was the same washed-out-looking blond. His pale eyes constantly darted about as though on the alert for anything suspicious. Now they were fixed on her, as though challenging her.
“Now what do you find so amusing, my lady? I must say I find this a rather dour company, except for that talkative magpie over there next to my wife.”
These were almost the first words Joanna had heard from him. He’d ridden in the rear with the knights for most of the journey. Neither the words nor the tone were as ingratiating as he obviously hoped.
“I smiled because I’ve known Lady Adelaide so long, and she’s never let up on the conversation, one-sided as it is. I must tell your wife that she really is a good soul and she’ll get used to it.”