by Rachel Bard
Raymond, seated next to Richard, asked, “Can you tell me more about this Arthur? I know nothing about him except that his father, your older brother, died when the boy was very young. Is he actually a serious contender for the throne of England?”
“I think it’s unlikely that most Englishmen would accept him. It’s his ambitious mother, Constance of Brittany, who’s so serious. She’s drilled into him since he was a babe that he’s the true heir. He’s been brought up in Brittany and in Paris under King Philip’s wing. He’s become, willynilly, the one whom all Frenchmen who oppose the English presence in France look to as their leader. Though the lad’s only eleven.”
“And,” said Eleanor, “he has some support in England too from those who do not wish for a King John on the throne.”
“Hmm,” said Raymond. “It seems to be open season for would-be kings of England to enter the fray.” Joanna had been listening with growing uneasiness. She thought it unseemly to be discussing events that would take place after Richard’s death. But Raymond seemed impervious to any such sensitivity. He went on. “And in fact…”
Joanna interrupted without taking time to choose her words. “I suggest we leave off talking about any future kings of England. My brother is in the prime of his life and not anywhere near giving up the throne. And besides, he himself might still…” she stopped in confusion. Eleanor came to her rescue.
“He might still have a son who would be the undisputed heir. Which leads me to ask, Richard, why is Berengaria not here?”
All eyes were on Richard. Even the bishop, who had been nodding, sat up and paid attention. Richard’s desertion of his queen had become common knowledge and a subject for gossip.
His face, already flushed from wine and the heat of the fire, reddened even more.
“She was invited. I sent a message telling her we would be holding our Easter court in Le Mans. And I told her I would understand if she feared she would feel unwelcome and would prefer to stay in Beaufort. She replied that was her wish.”
“Of course she did,” said Eleanor. “After such an ungracious invitation, how could she do otherwise?”
Richard looked ready to explode. Joanna hastily intervened.
“Well, what’s done is done. If you will permit me to change the subject, I have a question for Bishop Robert.”
The bishop turned his bland face to her, all attention.
“Will you tell me how far it is to your great Cathedral of St. Julien? I am eager to see it. But can one walk, or must one ride?”
“It’s but a fifteen-minute walk, up a very gentle incline, from the palace square to the cathedral. When do you think of coming?”
“I’d thought tomorrow around midday. We’ll be there the next day for Easter Mass, but I’d like to see it more informally first.”
“Tomorrow at noon it is, then. I would be honored to show you around.” He turned to Eleanor, seated on his other side. “Would you care to join us, Queen Eleanor?”
“I think not. I saw St. Julien some years ago, and I doubt if it’s changed much.” She rose. “Now if you’ll all excuse me I shall retire.” Without waiting to see if she was excused or not, she left.
The bishop and Joanna fell to discussing cathedrals they had seen and admired—or not. Joanna was acquainted with six: Winchester in England; three in Sicily—Monreale, Cefalù and the Messina Duomo—and three in France: Poitiers; Rouen, and St. Sernin in Toulouse. When she closed her eyes she could see each one clearly. They were like milestones marking the course of her life from childhood to motherhood.
The bishop’s list, though shorter, included two that eclipsed hers in fame and magnificence: Notre Dame in Paris and Chartres. Both, he said, were far from complete but promised to become the most glorious temples in Christendom. He described them to her with more animation than he’d shown all evening.
“How I’d love to see them!” she said wistfully. “Raymond says we’ll go to Paris some day. But I wonder when the day will come.”
“If you do get to Paris you must come back and report to me on one matter in particular. We’ve heard that King Philip intends to support the walls of the towers of Notre Dame with what they call arcs boutants—flying buttresses. It’s quite a new idea and we hope to use them at St. Julien. We also hope to complete ours before King Philip has finished his. So I ask anybody who’s going to Paris to take note—have they begun building their arcs boutants yet?”
She promised to do so.
Meantime Raymond and Richard, the latter all amiability again, were discussing hunting opportunities in the area. Richard wanted to form a party and go out the next day in search of deer or boar or whatever could be found. “I’m sure the two men from Le Mans who were here tonight will want to join us. They’re keen huntsmen. I’ll send word at once.” They raised their goblets in a toast to good hunting on the morrow. Richard called to Joanna, “I suppose you won’t care to join us?”
“No, thank you. You remember my feelings on the subject, I’m sure.”
Richard came to her side and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Pardon me, bishop, for interrupting but I must tell my sister something.”
Bishop Robert nodded. He rather thought they’d exhausted the subject of cathedrals anyway. Joanna looked up at Richard.
“Since I’ll be gone tomorrow, I hope you’ll welcome a visitor I’m expecting. I may not be back from the hunt when he arrives.”
“Gladly. And who is it I’m to welcome?
“I’m not going to tell you. But it’s someone you’ll be happy to see.” And she could get no more information out of him.
Joanna pondered this as she and Raymond went up to their chambers.
“Who do you suppose it is, Raymond? Maybe Jean-Pierre, I’m always happy to see him. But why make such a mystery of it?”
“I can’t imagine. Maybe Jean-Pierre wants to surprise you.” He yawned. “Anyway, you’ll soon know. As for me, I must get some sleep if I’m to be off at dawn in pursuit of the timid deer and the pugnacious boar.” He was already pulling off his tunic as he headed for the bed. “Good night, my love.”
“Good night. I’ll join you soon but first I’ll go see that all’s well with the baby. Maybe if he’s awake he’ll say ‘maman.’ I’m sure he tried to yesterday.”
The tour of the cathedral the next day was a great success. The bishop made sure they didn’t overlook any of its remarkable features—the lofty vaulted ceilings, the locations of the anticipated arcs boutants, the likenesses of the apostles and the Virgin Mary at the portal. Finally he led her to the Ascension window. While she stood there the afternoon sun came from behind a cloud and suddenly the whole window sprang into life, a rich display of a thousand bits of brilliant color—blue, green, gold and crimson. Joanna was transfixed by the detail the artists had achieved with their tiny pieces of glass. She felt she could read compassion and benevolence in the face of Christ as he rose toward heaven while the apostles watched in awed devotion from below.
“It’s one of the oldest windows anywhere,” Bishop Robert told her. “People come from all over the world to see it. It was created soon after the pope consecrated the cathedral. That was in 1096.”
“More than a hundred years ago,” she mused. “Thank you so much for this wonderful afternoon. If you don’t mind, I’d like to just sit here for a few minutes and meditate, and maybe say a prayer to St. Julien.”
“The pleasure has been mine. We don’t often have a visitor so knowledgeable and so appreciative.”
After he left Joanna sat on her bench and thought about sin. She studied the ascending Christ, remembering what she’d been taught. Having lived on earth as a man, he had a special affinity for mankind and would intercede with his heavenly father on behalf of all sinners. But who were these sinners? She counted up the out-and-out sinners she had known. She could think of only two: Matthew of Ajello, who had tried desperately and criminally to prevent her marriage to William, and William’s crafty old mother, Queen
Margaret, who had tried to poison her. But of course there were plenty of murderers and thieves she’d never run into, as well as other, less deadly sinners: merchants who cheated their customers, men who coveted their neighbors’ wives, promiscuous women, pickpockets, heads of families who ran off and left them. Yes, there was no lack of sinners whose souls a merciful Jesus would try to save. But would he have to intercede for her? She’d tried to be a good Christian and avoid sin. She’d gone to mass, gone to confession, tried to do unto others as she’d have them do unto her. Looking back, she believed she’d lived her life as God would wish. And though there’d been tragedies along the way—the loss of her baby Bohemund, the death of her William—she’d been rewarded with many blessings. She’d had years of happiness as William’s queen, while becoming a good helpmeet to him. She’d had the companionship of fast friends like Jean-Pierre and Berengaria and the joy of seeing her surrogate son, Federico, grow from a ragged urchin to a fine young man, serving her beloved brother Richard. Then just when she’d become mired in self-pity and insecurity, she’d found renewed happiness in marriage to Raymond. And now the final, incredible gift: motherhood.
She looked up at the Ascension window again and said a prayer of thanks to Jesus for the many blessings she’d been granted. She sat on, captivated by the dazzling colors and caught up in a strange feeling of closeness to the risen Christ. She didn’t know how long she sat there, transfixed, but suddenly it seemed that he was looking straight at her, calmly and reprovingly, and he spoke.
“Beware of pride, Joanna. While you congratulate yourself on the rewards of a sin-free life, have you forgotten that there are sins of omission as well as sins of commission? What have you done for others outside of your small circle of friends and family? Have you kept in mind my teaching that true Christians are to do God’s work on earth? To what strangers have you given food or drink or care, as I bade men to do if they would be truly blessed? Beware of pride, Joanna.”
Stunned, she struggled to understand how those words applied to her. The church darkened and she looked up to see that clouds had again obscured the sun and the window lost its brilliance. She rose slowly, stiff from sitting so long. The cathedral was gloomy and empty. The manservant who had accompanied her was dozing outside on the steps.
On the way back to the palace she was almost in a panic at the thought of the opportunities for Christian charity she’d ignored. She saw now how smug, self-satisfied and selfish she’d been. Only once, years ago in Palermo, had she made more than a token effort to help the poor and downtrodden, when she joined Jean-Pierre in his work. Then, after rescuing just two people, her beloved Federico and the waif Emilia, from a dismal life, she’d thought no more about it. Was it too late?
Her thoughts were still tumbling about in her head when, as they neared the palace, she heard shouts and hoofbeats. They arrived at the crowded palace square just as the hunters were dismounting and accepting the congratulations of the spectators on their trophies. A small mule was laden with a magnificent buck with an impressive set of antlers. Its feet were trussed together under the mule’s belly. Its sightless eyes stared into the crowd. Joanna thought it looked as though it had made a great leap and to its surprise landed on the mule in that ignominious position. Another mule bore a smaller deer, and a third had two large lumpy sacks that probably contained pheasants and pigeons.
She was about to walk over to greet Raymond and Richard when another mounted party trotted into the square from the opposite side. Four knights, all with the golden Plantagenet lions on their scarlet tunics, approached the palace entry, halted and dismounted. The tallest, who seemed to be the leader, was black-haired with a small, neat black beard. She stared in dawning recognition. She gathered up her skirts and ran, pushing her way through the crowd, to throw her arms around him.
“Federico! Is it really you?”
They stood there a minute, holding each other close. She drew back and looked up into his face. She could tell he was as glad to see her as she was to see him, and not at all embarrassed to show it. With years he’d gained assurance.
“Yes, here I am, and I gather nobody told you I was coming.”
“No, Richard told me only that he was expecting a visitor today and that I should welcome him if the hunters were still out in the forest. But I never guessed it might be you. And here you are! And if you’ll forgive my maternal pride, you’re even more handsome, if that’s possible. Oh dear, I’m not making sense. But I’m so very glad to see you!”
“And I you.” He surveyed her with the merry black eyes she remembered so well. “But if you’ll pardon me, you’re the one who’s even more handsome. Marriage and motherhood must agree with you.”
“Thank you, my dear. I believe they do. Now tell me, why are you here?”
“King Richard has appointed us”—he gestured to the other three, who were conferring with grooms about the horses—“to serve as his honor guard in the procession to the cathedral tomorrow. Ah, here he comes. I must report to him.”
The crowd’s fascinated attention had been divided between the hunters and their prizes and this mysterious black-haired soldier who seemed to be on such good terms with the countess. Now they made way as Richard, Raymond and the others approached. Federico bowed his head and bent his knee to Richard.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “We report for duty.”
“Very good. Your duties will start tomorrow but tonight we feast. I trust you’ve been properly welcomed by my sister.”
“Yes, we’ve had a most joyful reunion.” And to Raymond, “And this is my first opportunity to congratulate you on your marriage to Queen Joanna.”
Joanna was startled to hear herself referred to as Queen Joanna. But that was who she’d always been to Federico.
Raymond darted a sharp look at him. “Or, as she’s known nowadays, the Countess Joanna.”
Richard announced that he was going to confer with the cook and impressed on all that they must not be late to dinner. The group dispersed. Raymond took Joanna’s arm and without a word propelled her up to their chamber. He closed the door and with no warning struck her on the face.
She was more astonished than hurt. She put a hand to her cheek and looked at him in amazement.
“How could you disgrace me so?” His face was contorted with anger.
“What are you talking about? Disgrace you how?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Before half of Le Mans, to throw your arms about another man and make such a public display of affection. What will people think of me when my wife has so little regard for appearances?”
“But Raymond, it wasn’t ‘another man,’ it was Federico whom I brought up like my son since he was nine. I still think of him as my son and love him as a son. Nothing will change that. Certainly not blows.”
It was as though she hadn’t spoken.
“Furthermore, how do I know what went on between you two during that journey from Saint-Gilles to Poitiers? When I thought I saw signs that you could care for me? Was that just to divert me from where your real affections lay?”
His face was contorted with scorn and he was shouting. She had never seen him so out of control. It was frightening. But she was calmer now. She struggled to sound reasonable, to contain her outrage.
“Raymond, listen.” There was a catch in her voice and she had to stop and take a deep breath. “I’ve been a true and faithful wife to you. I’ve come to love you as I hoped I would when we were married. Your suspicions are completely unfounded. Before you say something that you will regret even more I think you’d better leave.”
Without looking at him she turned, walked into her dressing room and closed the door. She sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands, letting the tears flow over her clenched fingers. Presently she heard him slam her chamber door.
What had happened to the marriage she’d thought so secure? Was this simply a temporary aberration? Should she look on it as a sign of his regard for her that he hated
to see her show affection for another man? Yet to be jealous of Federico, of all people!
Or was this madman the real Raymond and had she been deceived all along?
Chapter 66
Joanna sent word that she wouldn’t attend the Easter feast that evening. She wanted a quiet time alone in her chamber so she could recover from the horror of the ugly encounter with Raymond. She longed to recapture the sense of communion and purpose she’d felt in the cathedral.
She sat by a window and looked toward the west where the sun was sinking below the city walls. She closed her eyes and imagined herself again in the dim quiet of St. Julien, surrounded by a magical luminescence from dozens of windows. She recalled her first view of the Ascension, her fascination with its message of hope and redemption, the way that Christ’s eyes seemed to meet hers before he spoke. Once more she heard his words, the gentle chiding.
She opened her eyes. She knew at once what she must do.
She walked up and down the room, arms folded and mind busy. As soon as I get back to Toulouse, she told herself, I shall go see Bishop Garnier at St. Sernin. He’ll know if anyone is doing what needs to be done to help the poor and hungry folk. Oh, how I wish Jean-Pierre were here to guide me! But I remember what he said—that every big city has its share of people in need, and that because we don’t see them we pay no attention. Well, I shall pay attention.
She wished she could start this minute, she was so full of energy. She’d succeeded in pushing Raymond’s unpardonable behavior to the back of her mind.
Her maid Jeanette came with a message. “Nurse Marie says if you want to see the baby before he goes to sleep, you’d better come now.”
She found Marie holding Raymond le Jeune, as they’d taken to calling the younger Raymond. He squealed when he saw her, pounded the air with his tiny fists and kicked vigorously.
“Oh my lady, I’m so glad you came. We want to show maman what we can do, don’t we, my cherub?” She gently set him down on the carpet. He immediately flopped over onto all fours and started crawling industriously toward Joanna. She laughed in her delight and when he reached her she scooped him up. She ran her hand lightly over his hair, remembering how it was a golden fuzz when he was newly born. Now it was smooth as a kitten’s fur, darkening to a reddish brown. He’s growing up before my eyes, she thought. Yet he’s still so vulnerable, so innocent, so trusting. I must do all in my power to keep him from harm. She kissed him on the cheek and held him close for a moment.