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

by Rachel Bard

  “Never fear. He left yesterday for Albi. He won’t be back for a week. As to this evening, I’d already asked François Compagne and his wife to join us at dinner. Even though Raymond won’t be here I saw no reason to put them off. We’re old friends and you’ll like them. François is on Raymond’s council and Raymond considers him his most valuable adviser. And there’ll be a musician to entertain us during dinner. Maybe you can persuade him to accompany you while you favor us with one of your ditties.”

  “Ditties! I’ll thank you to have more respect for my songs. They’re often performed by Bernard de Ventadorn and many other troubadours, as you well know.”

  “I do know. I salute my brother, King of the Troubadours!” She kissed him on the cheek and they smiled at each other, happy to be together again.

  Joanna was surprised that she could be so lighthearted. She’d expected it would take her days or weeks to recover from her shock at Raymond’s deceitfulness during the past few months. Maybe in some twisted way it was a relief, she thought. She’d had doubts about his sincerity that she’d managed to repress. Now she knew, and it was as though the burden of so much agony and uncertainty had been lifted. She’d worry later about how to deal with her new situation.

  More immediate was the question of what to wear to dinner. She decided on the green silk and the emerald necklace. She asked Jeanette to coil her hair in a chignon and fetch her silver tiara with the single emerald.

  When she entered the dining chamber she saw that the room was thronged. No one, including the cook, had foreseen that when word got out that King Richard would be present and might give them a song or two, the small circle of courtiers who usually came would be multiplied threefold. Servants dashed into the kitchen, crying out for three more roast fowl, another loaf, a tureen of fish soup, another platter of pickled salmon. The wine servers were extraordinarily busy.

  An hour later Joanna was having an animated conversation about the care of young children with Marie-Louise. The latter, mother of three, had much useful advice to share. On the other side of the table, Richard and François were engrossed in a discussion of the proper design of castles. It was a subject about which Richard knew a great deal and François very little. But he was always willing to learn something new.

  Finally, when the guests were attacking their plum tarts and ginger cakes, the musician, who had been strumming his vielle to universal inattention, picked up his tabor and produced a drumroll so loud and sudden that silence fell like a blanket over the hubbub. The man stood, doffed his cap and addressed Richard.

  “My lord King, we would all be honored if you would give us a song. I will do my humble best to accompany you.”

  Richard strode down the hall and greeted the musician. “Good cheer, Jacques. We met at my mother’s court in Poitiers, many years ago. You play as skillfully as ever.”

  Jacques blushed at this notice from the mighty Lionheart.

  “A fine figure of a man, your brother,” murmured François to Joanna. Richard stood tall and assured, waiting for his audience to become quiet. His hair fell smoothly to his shoulders, as golden as his royal crown. He wore black leggings and a doublet the color of ripe cherries, held in with a jewel-encrusted belt. True, the belt had a little more to hold in these days, but on the whole Joanna agreed with François. Richard bent to confer with Jacques, then announced, “First I will sing you a song by my friend and onetime teacher, Bernard de Ventadorn. He dedicated it to my mother, Queen Eleanor.” He looked around the room to make sure everybody was listening. His pure tenor voice rang out while Jacques produced a subdued accompaniment on the vielle.

  Lady, I am yours and shall be

  Vowed to your service constantly.

  This is the oath of fealty

  I pledged to you this long time past.

  As my first joy was all in you,

  So shall my last be found there too,

  So long as in me life shall last.

  A hush, then cheers, stamping on the floor and cries of “Now one of your own songs, King Richard!”

  He borrowed the vielle from Jacques and plucked a few notes, bending his head to make sure the instrument was in tune. He stood a minute in thought, as though deciding what to sing, and then smiled, pleased with his decision. He ran his fingers rapidly up and down the strings in an attention-getting arpeggio and broke into song to his own accompaniment while Jacques contributed an occasional soft tap-tap on the tabor.

  Brightly beam my true love’s eyes,

  Like twin stars sparkling in the skies.

  When on me her glance doth dart,

  I swear it pierceth to the heart.

  Yet, pleasuring in cruelty,

  She turns her lovely face from me.

  Oh lady, lady, hear my prayer

  And I’ll be your true knight for e’er.

  But life is short and time is fleeting

  And other ladies wait my greeting.

  So lady fair, do not delay

  And hear my plea, or I’ll away.

  He ended on a crescendo, holding the last note, bowed to Joanna and to his listeners and resumed his place at table to noisy approbation. Jacques played a few notes on the vielle, ready for an encore.

  Joanna, applauding with the rest, caught sight of movement at the door.

  Raymond had just entered. At first he smiled as broadly as Raymond ever smiled, believing this to be an unusually vociferous welcome to himself. Then he took in the number and merry mood of the guests around the tables, and his smile gave way to a look of incomprehension. When he saw Richard seated between Joanna and François with an arm around each, his face darkened with fury. He approached Joanna, and without a word or glance to anyone else, bent and spoke in her ear. His voice was cold and controlled.

  “I shall be waiting for you in my chamber.”

  Chapter 68

  Within five minutes the banquet hall was empty. The guests filed out, whispering to each other, nonplussed by Raymond’s behavior and feeling vaguely guilty for having such a delightful evening in his absence.

  François Compagne and Marie-Louise also departed, after thanking Joanna for her hospitality. They made no reference to Raymond but the pressure of their hands on hers and their looks of sympathy and understanding told her what they were thinking.

  Alone except for the servants who hurried to clear the tables and sweep the floor, Joanna and Richard looked at each other.

  “I’ll have to see him,” she said. “I want to get whatever’s enraging him out in the open so we can deal with it. But you’ll come with me?”

  “Of course. He won’t like it but I’ll not leave you alone with him.” He took off his heavy crown, placed it on the table, scratched his head and paced back and forth. “We must give this some thought. I’m sure he’s so angry because he guesses I’ve come to tell you about the pact he and I made—that he’d stop abusing you and I’d not invade his lands. He’ll become even angrier if he realizes I’ve told you it wasn’t penitence but self-interest that made him suddenly start playing the role of the loving husband.”

  “So we must be prepared for a very angry Raymond.”

  “We must. Let’s try to get the first word, before he starts accusing you of whatever’s upset him.”

  When they entered Raymond’s chamber Richard saw that it was far less comfortable and charming than Joanna’s, though there were indications of an expensive if austere taste: mother-of-pearl-inlaid carvings on the bedposts, chests embossed in silver with the crest of the counts of Toulouse. The sixth count was sitting in an elegant, highbacked chair before a polished table on which lay a single sheet of parchment that he was studying. Every black hair was in place. His tunic and leggings were supple fawn-colored velvet. Joanna thought he looked as though he were posing for a portrait of patrician elegance.

  When he saw Richard he scowled and gestured toward the door.

  “Please leave us, Richard. I asked to see Joanna, not her meddlesome brother. What are you doing in To
ulouse anyway?”

  Richard ignored him and calmly took a seat. Joanna remained standing, her gaze fixed on Raymond.

  “Raymond, whatever you have to say to me you may say in front of Richard.”

  He scowled even more fiercely. Joanna had thought her husband one of the most handsome men in the world. Now looking at his angry, twisted face, she saw him transformed into one of the ugliest.

  “Richard is here because he is my brother and he’s welcome to call on me whenever he likes. He brought me some information, an old story to you, that he wished to tell me in person. I think you can guess what it is.”

  Raymond glared. Joanna had never stood up to him like this before. Her brown eyes blazed like embers. There were no tears, only a steely calm.

  “Telling tales, is he, of that night in Le Mans? Well, it’s his word against mine. Nobody else knows what passed between us.”

  “True. But I prefer to take the word of a man I know to be unfailingly honest than one who’s a past master at guile.”

  “Guile, is it? Who are you two to accuse me of guile, when the minute my back is turned you begin conniving with that two-faced François Compagne? I’ve suspected him for some time. And now he’s cozying up to Richard, no doubt telling him everything he wants to know about my affairs. If I hadn’t had to return sooner than I intended I’d never have known what you were up to until it was too late, would I?”

  He moved threateningly toward Joanna. Richard quickly stepped between them. Joanna knew Richard as a man of action rather than one of diplomacy, but now he was both. She had to admire the way he adroitly reduced the tension.

  “Nobody was conniving. We were gathered tonight for a pleasant evening of dining and music, and I heard more than one say what a pity you’d been called away and weren’t present to enjoy it. Joanna had engaged one of your favorite minstrels.” Raymond was still glowering but he sighed heavily as though humoring a bothersome child and sat down. Richard continued.

  “As to your question about what I’m doing here, I’m on my way to Perpignan to confer with my brother-in-law, Sancho of Navarre. King Sancho and I have a firm agreement to protect each other’s borders. It goes back to long before I went on Crusade, and it’s time we met to bring each other up to date. I hope I may tell King Sancho that my similar pact with you, to refrain from invading each other’s territories, will give him the same assurance it does me—that he has nothing to fear from an aggressive count of Toulouse. What do you say, Raymond? Surely you see the wisdom of affirming our agreement and surely you’ll give me your word—again—that you won’t mistreat my sister.”

  Raymond looked at Richard coolly as though considering his options. Then, “Very well,” he said sullenly. “You have my word.” His voice had lost most of its menace. As if to demonstrate that he was still master of the encounter, he turned his back and picked up the parchment he had been studying when they came in. They were dismissed.

  “Well done, Richard,” Joanna said as they walked along the corridor to her room. “You got his compliance, yet you let him save face.”

  Richard left the next morning after an inspection of Raymond le Jeune at Joanna’s urging. She never missed a chance to show off her son.

  “You’re the one who said he could be king of England some day,” she teased. “Don’t you want to see if he still looks like royal material?”

  Richard hefted the child and jiggled him up and down. “He’s put on a bit of weight, that’s good. A king needs to be solid and strong.” Nurse Marie stood by, looking anxious. Richard stared down at his nephew, who stared back as though memorizing his face. “And I believe he’s developing the Plantagenet nose. That’s good too.” The baby grinned and said “Nose!” He pointed at his own nose, then at Richard’s. Marie giggled but with relief took the child when Richard handed him over.

  Before he left Richard impressed on Joanna that she must send him word at once if Raymond became threatening again. “I’m leaving two of my knights here to keep an eye on you, and they’ll always know how to reach me. I hope you’ll have no more trouble, but I’ve ceased to trust Raymond.”

  “So have I,” she admitted sadly, “at last. This insane jealousy and suspicion have finally killed any respect I had for him.”

  After Richard’s departure she and Raymond made no reference to their recent clash. To Joanna’s relief, they saw very little of each other. He made no pretense of seeking her bed, for which she was thankful. They met sometimes at dinner, always in the company of others. Any conversation they had was about their son and her health, about which he dutifully inquired. But she could tell he was far less concerned about this unborn child than he had been about Raymond le Jeune. Now that he had his heir, another child was less relevant.

  He was away a great deal, seldom telling her where he was going or when. He didn’t include her in council meetings anymore. Occasionally François knew something of his affairs and told her. “He’s off to Albi again,” which meant the trip had to do with the Cathars. Or “He’s going to Bordeaux, though I don’t know why.” She didn’t either, but supposed he might have some commercial ventures there. Bordeaux was a major trading port.

  She refused to give in to melancholy, to sit around brooding. She threw herself into her work with the Sisters of Charity, taking food to the hungry and tending to their needs. Sometimes she went out with the Sisters twice a week. She spent as much time as she could with Raymond le Jeune, who at a year and a half had become a very active child. She delighted in his growing awareness of the world and the people around him. He was full of curiosity and had a sunny disposition. How fortunate I am, she thought, and wondered if her husband could have been such a happy, loving child at this age. She doubted it.

  One morning in the third month of her pregnancy she sat down to write to Berengaria and ask if she could come for a visit. Ever since Richard had come and gone, she’d scolded herself for not asking him how things stood between the two of them. I was so full of my own concerns, she sorrowed, that I didn’t bring up the subject. If he’s continuing to ignore her I could have at least tried to persuade him to go back to her. My poor friend, she must be suffering as much as ever. Just getting away from her lonely castle at Beaufort would do her good.

  She smoothed the sheet of parchment, picked up her pen and dipped it in the inkwell. Before she’d written a word there was a knock on the door.

  “Sir François Compagne and his lady wife,” announced the page. Joanna, all smiles, rose to greet them.

  “Such a pleasant surprise! What brings you here on this dull, gray March morning?”

  “We’re sorry to burst in without warning,” said Marie-Louise. Her round, rosy-cheeked face, ordinarily so bright and smiling, was far from cheerful. François too looked unusually serious. Joanna urged them to sit down. She seated herself opposite them. She felt unease, then dread.

  “You must have bad news. Has something happened to Raymond?” In spite of everything, he was still her husband, the father of her children, a central figure in her life.

  “No, well, not exactly, but yes, in a way. And we thought you should be told…” He stopped and looked at Marie-Louise for help. Joanna had never seen him unable to express himself clearly and succinctly.

  “He’s trying to say that it’s something Raymond has done that affects you directly,” said Marie-Louise.

  Joanna forced herself to speak calmly. “And what has he done?”

  François, now more in control of himself, took a deep breath.

  “This is hard for me to tell you and even harder for you to hear. We’ve learned that Raymond plans to repudiate you and take a new wife.”

  Involuntarily, Joanna pressed her hands against her stomach as though to protect the child. Her face was ashen and she felt frozen, unable to get out more than “Are you sure?”

  “Alas yes, we’re sure. Raymond has made no secret of his pursuit—and conquest—of the woman. It was only a matter of time before you heard the gossip.”

>   “And we felt it was far better for you to hear it from friends,” said Marie-Louise. “But, dear Joanna, there’s more. Raymond’s inamorata is known to you.”

  Joanna stared at her, bewildered. “I know this person? Who is she?”

  They looked at each other, both unwilling to deliver the final blow. François said, as gently as he could, “She is Beatrix, the Cypriot princess who was with you in the Holy Land and who returned with you to Poitiers. She and Raymond became acquainted during that journey.”

  The memories rushed back. Joanna saw Beatrix and Raymond emerging from the subterranean chambers of the arena at Nimes, looking disheveled and self-conscious. She remembered her worries that he might be trying to seduce the young and impressionable Beatrix, and Berengaria’s warning to Raymond that his attentions might be misconstrued. Whereupon Raymond had assured them that he saw himself as Beatrix’s guide and friend, not as a suitor. And from then on he had almost ignored Beatrix and had become more attentive to Joanna.

  “But I don’t understand,” she faltered. “Beatrix married that conceited rich man from Bordeaux, I forget his name. She seemed to adore him. What happened—did he die?”

  “I don’t know,” said François. “Either he did, or they found themselves so incompatible that they agreed to live separately. We do know that she has been spending most of her time without him, at one of his estates in Bordeaux.

  Joanna sat motionless, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. She was not weeping nor was she moaning or crying out. Her anger was too deep for tears. Her lips were closed tightly over clenched teeth as she struggled to maintain control. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

  Marie-Louise sat beside her and put her arms round her. “My poor dear friend, we’re so very sorry to be the ones to bring you this pain. I wish we could offer you something beyond sympathy.”