by Rachel Bard
“I’d be most grateful. You’ve been enormously helpful. Won’t you stay a bit longer and let me send for refreshments?”
He stood up. “I’d like to, Countess, but I should start rounding up the councilors. But ask me another time. Perhaps after the council meeting, when we may feel we’ve accomplished something.”
She held out her hand in farewell. He pressed it and walked out while she looked after him. How fortunate I am, she thought, to have the help of the one man in Raymond’s council who seems disinterested and truly loyal. She felt relieved, but at the same time apprehensive about the upcoming meeting and whether she could deal with the councilors if there was dissension.
She decided to go up to the nursery and visit Baby Raymond to take her mind off these new concerns. She found him in his cradle, gurgling, and Nurse Jeanne buttoning up her blouse.
“He’s just had his dinner, and what a hungry little boy he was! Oh, look how glad he is to see his mother.” The baby smiled his angelic smile that always made Joanna’s heart nearly stop in her breast. She knew they said babies smiled that way at anyone and everyone and it didn’t mean a thing. But she was sure he was beginning to recognize her and do his best to greet her. She leaned over the cradle and picked him up.
“I’ll just sit here by the window with him for a few minutes.” She carefully lowered herself into a chair. Solemn now, he looked up at her as though trying to memorize her face. She rocked him a little, hummed a tune and thought, the only thing I need to be completely happy is to have Raymond here too.
“Your father will soon be back, my sweet,” she assured the baby. “And then we’ll all be together again.”
When she met with the council two days later, she still doubted her ability to take charge. But she’d given the matter a great deal of thought. She’d observed that Raymond, when presiding, would state the subject to be considered and then ask his councilors what they thought should be done. Almost always one or more would recommend the action Raymond had already decided on, and agreement came quickly. On rare occasions he had to assert his authority and overrule someone. But he was far more interested in harmony than dissension and was often willing to compromise.
She took special care with her appearance. She recalled her mother when she presided over a gathering in her great hall in Poitiers. She always dressed for the occasion in regal gowns and always wore the crown of the queen of England. To the child Joanna, the golden crown with its profusion of brilliant emeralds and rubies epitomized majesty.
She’d realized long ago that she could never be another Eleanor—who could? But she could certainly apply to her own life what she’d learned from her mother’s example.
“I’ll wear the black velvet with ermine trim,” she told Jeanette. “And see if you can find the crown I wore as queen of Sicily. I haven’t had it on since I married Raymond, but I think this is the time.”
“And I know just where it is, my lady. In the locked chest that we keep behind the screen. I’ll fetch it at once and see if it needs a polish.”
When Joanna entered the audience chamber she found six men seated at one end of the long oval table: François Compagne, Henri de Jarnac, Arnaud Cabot the black-haired blusterer, and three she knew only vaguely. They all stood quickly while she took her place at the head of the table. They looked at her with unconcealed admiration. They’d never seen their countess in such fine feathers.
The meeting went as she’d hoped. She told them of the development among the capitouls of Toulouse and the possible implications. She assured them that Raymond would soon return, and asked if they had any suggestions for immediate action.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” snorted Arnaud. “I suspect three of my highborn vassals of supporting the heretics, though I’ve no idea if they’re ready to switch to the Cathar faith. And there may be others for all I know.”
“It’s the same around Béziers,” mumbled Henri, who was slouching in his chair and looked ready for a nap. Maybe too much wine at dinner, thought Joanna. But he sat up and became more animated. “We hear rumors all the time of this lord or that going over to the Cathars. And when it comes right down to it, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same if I had to choose between that and inviting King Philip to send his army down here to squash our little rebellion.”
“And to lay claim to our rightful lands while he’s at it,” growled Arnaud.
Several others chimed in noisily with their own tales of defections, mostly hearsay, Joanna noted. The gathering was threatening to get out of control.
“Well and good,” said François. “But what we need now are facts, not rumors. How far has this gone? How many men and of what rank are taking sides with the Cathars? I’m sure that’s what Count Raymond will want to know. We can help him by going back at once to our demesnes and asking around. Then he, and we his council, can decide whether to let it ride or to take some kind of punitive action.”
“Good idea, but we must keep this to ourselves,” said Arnaud. “We managed to put those nosy inquisitors off, back when they wanted names of suspected heretics. We mustn’t let them get wind of what we’re up to now. We’ll have to be discreet.” Joanna couldn’t imagine loud-mouthed Arnaud being discreet, but hoped for the best.
“Right,” said Henri. “This is our problem, not the king’s and not the pope’s.”
“Excellent. We seem to be agreed,” said Joanna. “It’s something we can start to do now that will be really constructive. And I’ll send a messenger at once to let Raymond know how things stand.”
She looked around the table. She could tell they were surprised at her decisiveness, but nobody could find a reason to demur. So it was settled. The meeting broke up much sooner than anyone had expected. She thanked them for their counsel and signaled to the servant at the door to bring in the wine and bowls of almonds and sweetmeats that she’d ordered to be ready. She had no chance to speak to François privately, but he raised his goblet to her and they exchanged looks of satisfaction.
When Raymond arrived a week later, she gave him a full account of the meeting.
“I ran into Arnaud Chabot at an inn two nights ago,” he said. “All he could talk about was how beautiful you were and how royal you looked. ‘It’s like we have our own queen of Toulouse,’ he said. ‘And I give you credit for finding her and marrying her.’ Which credit I modestly accepted. But he said very little about what went on at the council meeting. It sounds as though you handled it very well.”
“I merely tried to do exactly what you’d do. And I had excellent guidance from François Compagne, both ahead of time and at the meeting. It might have gotten chaotic without him.”
“Yes, he’s a sound man. I should see more of him. I might ask him and his wife to join us at dinner sometime soon.” He stood and stretched. “But now I’m more interested in getting reacquainted with my wife and son. Shall we go up?” He helped her to rise and, arm in arm, they mounted the steps to their private quarters.
When in due time the councilors reported on conditions in their areas, there was little real evidence of alarming support of the Cathar cause from the upper classes. For several months calm reigned from Auch to Avignon. The inquisitors investigated and interrogated as usual, but King Philip seemed to have his mind on other matters than sending troops to put down the unrest. There was no unrest to speak of. Raymond decided it was prudent to lie low and stay alert.
Early in the new year of 1198 on a sunny but cold morning, a messenger was admitted to Joanna’s chamber and presented her with a rolled-up parchment. When she saw the familiar Plantagenet seal with the three leaping golden lions she felt a pang of nostalgia. It was a long time since she’d heard from her mother. She unrolled the parchment eagerly—but it was from Richard. He planned to hold his Easter court in LeMans and hoped that his dear sister and brother-in-law could be present.
“The time is right for a celebration. I have nearly completed my new castle at Les Andelys on the Seine. King Philip and I have a
greed on an Easter truce. So we can gather together in peace and harmony. Queen Eleanor will be there and we hope we will see my brother John as well, with whom we are for the present on better terms. It has been too long since our family met together. I promise you a festive Easter season.”
No mention of Berengaria.
Nevertheless, Joanna keenly looked forward to the gathering. She missed her mother and Richard. She couldn’t honestly say she missed John, but he was her brother. She anticipated introducing them all to her son Raymond, the most beautiful and remarkable baby in the centuries-old history of the Plantagenet dynasty.
Chapter 65
The party from Toulouse arrived in Le Mans on Good Friday of 1198. It was an unpleasant, blustery day. The wind whipped showers of cold rain around corners and into the travelers’ faces as their tired horses toiled up the last hill. Neither Joanna nor Raymond had been in the city before. It was formidable: completely encircled by high walls bristling with towers. As they got closer they peered out from their dripping hoods to see that in spite of the gray day the walls glowed with tawny and rosy stonework arranged in a variety of patterns—squares, crosses, arrows, circles.
“The Romans built these walls, I’ve heard,” said Raymond. “I’m amazed that they took such pains to make them decorative as well as defensive. Nobody bothers with such niceties nowadays.”
“So they’ve stood here since the Romans? That’s a thousand years!” She stopped her horse to gaze, awestruck, but hurried on. It was too wet for sightseeing.
Sentries must have been keeping a lookout from the towers because no sooner had they reached the city gate than two knights appeared, in the familiar livery of the Plantagenets. One of them addressed Raymond and Joanna.
“I bring you greetings from King Richard. We will escort you to the palace of the counts of Maine, where he is lodged and where you will be as well.”
Within ten minutes they’d reached the square in front of the palace, which was tall and massive with a tower on either side. The ten-foot-high door stood open and there, framed by the arched doorway, stood Richard. His broad smile, the gleam of his red-gold hair and the scarlet of his tunic made the rain and gloom seem inconsequential.
He sprang down the steps as agilely as ever, Joanna noted, in spite of his increasing girth. He strode toward her, reaching out his arms to help her dismount, and she stretched out hers to embrace him while he gently lowered her to the ground.
“My little sister! Here you are, as pretty as ever, and here is my brother and ally Raymond. But where is my nephew? Surely you didn’t carelessly leave him behind in Toulouse?”
At that moment Nurse Marie appeared, carrying young Raymond. Richard poked aside the blankets that enveloped the baby and they regarded each other.
“So, young Count Raymond. Welcome to Le Mans, capital city of Maine. Remember what you see. You might be the king of England who maintains his continental residence here some day.”
The baby blinked and gurgled. He reached up to explore Richard’s beard.
“Richard!” expostulated Joanna. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s not so ridiculous. If I don’t have an heir, which I fear will be the case, and if John doesn’t have an heir either, your son will be next in line, won’t he?” He tickled the baby under the chin and they grinned at each other. “But I mustn’t keep you out here in this foul weather. In we go and I’ll meet you in the dining hall after you’re dried off and changed. I hope you’ll be comfortable in your lodgings.”
They were not only comfortable, but extremely well served by the palace staff. Joanna hadn’t realized how tired she was until she entered her chamber and found it warmed by a fireplace and braziers and brightly lit by candles in sconces on the walls. She saw a bed with fine white sheets, a mound of pillows, a gray silk coverlet and curtains of pale gray velvet.
She flung her sopping cloak on a chair. “I’ll lie down for just a few minutes,” she told herself. But before she could move two maids came in with basins of warm water, sponges and soft towels. One helped her shed her wet clothes and bathe while the other unpacked her chests and bags. Cleansed and dry, Joanna asked Jeanette to bring a gown she’d often worn and felt at ease in, rose-colored with bands of white ermine at wrists and neck. As the gown settled over her shoulders the fur and silk gently caressed her bare skin. So warm, so reassuring.
When Raymond entered to escort her to dinner he looked at her in pleased admiration. “Can this be the same damp and bedraggled lady who entered Le Mans not two hours ago?”
“So it is, and thanks to your obvious approval I feel confident enough to go down and confront my family.”
“Let us hope,” said Raymond, placing her hand on his arm, “that it won’t be a confrontation.”
“One can always hope. But you have never been present at one of our family gatherings.”
With which sobering thought they walked down the stairs and paused at the entrance to the dining hall.
It wasn’t a large chamber and the presence of three highly volatile, argumentative people made it seem even smaller. Eleanor was already seated at the table, listening morosely to John and Richard who stood in front of the fireplace with raised voices and, occasionally, fists.
Joanna caught Richard’s curt “Certainly not. Not now. Are you mad? Do you have the faintest notion of what kind of unrest that would stir up here in Maine? To say nothing of Anjou?”
“But you promised!” John voice rose to a whiney treble. “You’ve acknowledged to me and to our mother that you intend to make me your heir. Why not make a public declaration?”
Richard was trying to contain his disdain. “Because, you idiot, that would give a clear signal to the barons of Maine and Anjou that I’ve gone back on my vow to them that I’d make Arthur of Brittany my heir, if the children of King Henry don’t produce a son. Arthur, as you may remember if your brain hasn’t gone completely soft, is the son of our late elder brother Geoffrey. His claim to the throne is as direct as yours. He may be little more than a child but he’s become a rallying point for those local lords who are already teetering between France and England. Do you see, do you see, you dolt? We can’t antagonize them now or they’d go straight to Philip.”
“But you promised!” bleated John. He glared at Richard and his expression changed from a pout to a sneer. “And if you think you can shunt me aside from my rightful place you’ll have another think coming one of these days! King Philip would be happy to accept my allegiance and make my battles his battles.”
Richard’s face turned a fiery red and he was temporarily speechless. In the moment of silence Eleanor spoke, not loudly but with perfect clarity.
“John, come sit by me and let your brother calm down enough to eat his dinner, which will be brought in shortly. I’ll explain to you a lesson that apparently you’ve yet to learn: a monarch cannot always follow his first inclination.”
John, sulky, walked slowly to the table. Joanna recognized the same sullen obedience he showed when as a boy he was reprimanded by his parents.
She and Raymond were still standing, unnoticed, at the door. Joanna had been watching with weary familiarity, Raymond with incredulity. His councilors didn’t always agree with each other or with him but their disagreements were more like bickering than the naked antagonism he saw here.
Richard, still fuming, snatched the goblet that a timorous servant offered him and downed the wine in two gulps. He saw Joanna and Raymond and walked to greet them.
“Come in, and welcome, Raymond, to the happy Plantagenet family at home.” He led them to the table. “I think I hear them bringing our dinner now. We’ll see how the cooks here compare with that fine fellow in Poitiers.” Joanna could tell that he was making a tremendous effort to regain his composure. “I’m glad to say they agreed to observe the modern dispensation, that we may break the Lenten fast any time after Maundy Thursday. If my nose doesn’t deceive me there’s roast pork on its way.”
Several invited gu
ests from Le Mans were shown in—the bishop, another churchman and two local magnates with their wives. Sensing the tense atmosphere, they confined themselves to polite greetings to Eleanor and nods to the others. They took their seats at table and conversed quietly among themselves. The brothers still smoldered. Echoes of their dispute hung in the air and made it difficult for Joanna or Raymond to think of a harmless topic of conversation. Eleanor ate methodically and deliberately and had hardly finished the first course, poached fish with leek sauce, when John polished off the last of his apple tart and without a word or look to anyone stamped out.
Richard brightened as soon as the corner of John’s black cloak disappeared through the door. Joanna was always surprised at how quickly he could switch from fury to affability. He made an expansive gesture that took in the guests as well as the family.
“Now, good people, let us remember this is the Easter season, a time for rejoicing and coming together by men of good will. I’m sure my brother John will remember that and by tomorrow he’ll become his usual jovial self.” He looked around, straight-faced, daring anyone to laugh. He caught the bishop’s eye.
“Shall we pray for that happy eventuality, my lord bishop?”
“We shall. For truly, the age of miracles has not passed.”
At that, good humor was restored. Even Eleanor produced a thin smile. Richard and the bishop raised their goblets in salute to each other.
Replete, the diners moved to armchairs by the hearth for nightcaps of mulled wine. The bishop settled into a commodious chair and sighed the contented sigh of a man who has enjoyed a fine free meal and is ready for a nap. The other guests from Le Mans, after a few minutes of polite conversation with Queen Eleanor and words of gratitude to Richard for his hospitality, took their leave. Joanna sat by the bishop, content to relax in an atmosphere free of discord.