by Rachel Bard
She paused to get her breath and Joanna managed to interject, “Is Brother Jean-Pierre still here?”
“He is, and he asked me to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you as soon as you feel rested. Your mother has requested that he accompany you to Rouen, where she will expect you to join her after you have recovered your strength. I was to tell you that she wishes to discuss your financial situation with your brother John.”
Oh no, thought Joanna with dismay. Not another tiresome journey, when I was looking forward to staying quietly here at Fontevraud until the baby comes. But when Queen Eleanor issues an edict, one does not dispute. And on reflection she decided the meeting with John was a good idea. Now that she was estranged from Raymond she had no income whatsoever.
The abbess pursued her toilsome way along a lane that led past dormitories, gardens, the nuns’ and monks’ convents, the refuge for fallen women and, well away from the others, the lepers’ shelter. Joanna, Adelaide and Jeanette followed, and bringing up the rear of the procession were several servants carrying chests and bags.
They met three nuns in black robes and white wimples who nodded and smiled as they passed. One was carrying a basket of herbs and lettuce from the kitchen garden. Joanna guessed she was on her way to the communal kitchen. The other two bore between them, each holding a handle, a large basket piled high with neatly folded linens. How comfortable they look with their tasks, Joanna thought, performing them with grace and efficiency. Far down the lane she saw a half-dozen brown-robed monks returning from the fields outside the walls, shouldering their pitchforks and hoes.
Everything Joanna saw was ordered, peaceful, serene. If I lived here, she thought, I believe I could be as content with my lot as those nuns. If only I could be one of those nuns! Safe from the world and its perils. She felt the stirring of a new idea but pushed it aside to think about later.
Finally they reached the substantial structure reserved for important visitors. And none was more important than Eleanor, who had donated generously to the abbey over the years.
Abbess Mathilde conducted Joanna to her door and left to show Adelaide to her room. Joanna and Jeanette walked into a cozy welcoming chamber. A modest fire dispelled the chill that, even in July, was trapped by thick stone walls. Late-afternoon sun poured through the mullioned windows to make graceful patterns on the polished wood floor. Joanna flung off her cloak, sank into a chair and looked appreciatively around at the familiar furnishings. It wasn’t as elegant as Eleanor’s quarters but it suited her very well.
“I spent a good deal of my youth here,” she told Jeanette. “I’m glad to be back. But I’m so tired!”
“Of course you are,” said Jeanette, who was unpacking and arranging Joanna’s effects. “That’s more walking than you’ve done in weeks. Here’s a cushion to rest your feet. And I’ll see about getting you some supper. You’ve hardly had a morsel today.”
“I suppose I should eat something. Maybe later. All I want to do now is lie down.” She looked affectionately at the high bed with its rose-colored hangings. They looked somewhat faded. Could they be the same ones she remembered from her childhood? And there was the squat little stool she’d had to use to reach the bed when she was five, still there as though awaiting the day when she’d come back in need of it again.
Yet even with the stool and with Jeanette’s help, climbing up onto the bed was a chore. Lying there with the covers pulled up to her chin, she looked at Jeanette and smiled apologetically.
“What’s the matter with me? Why am I suddenly such a weakling?”
“It’s to be expected when you’re so close to giving birth. And you’ve had a very active day. Don’t worry, tomorrow you’ll wake up feeling quite yourself again.”
“I hope so.” She closed her eyes and was instantly asleep.
Chapter 71
Joanna spent the next day in her room: dozing, reflecting, doing her best with the tidbits and meals Jeanette brought to tempt her appetite, walking from her fireside seat to the window and back again. She welcomed the quiet respite, the time to gaze into the flames and take stock of where she was and what lay ahead. By the end of the day she felt stronger in body and spirit. She’d examined her doubts and worries of the past several weeks and had arrived at what looked like a perfect solution. She was eager to discuss it with Jean-Pierre before she broached it to her mother in Rouen.
She sent word to ask if he could meet her the next morning in the secluded cloister of the convent of St. Lazarus, well away from the comings and goings of the abbey inhabitants. Joanna arrived first. It was a still, warm day but Jeanette had urged her to wear a woolen cloak over her gown. She’d also given her a cushion because the stone bench would be cold.
She settled herself and surveyed with pleasure the herb garden in front of her: green, flourishing, tidy. The sage bushes had been properly trimmed, the walks that crisscrossed the square were swept, the scent of sun-warmed thyme filled the air. She let down her hood, closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, luxuriating in the warmth.
She felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Pardon me for interrupting your nap, Joanna. Shall I go away for a bit until you’re ready to greet an old friend?”
She laughed and made room for him on the bench. “Oh, Jean-Pierre, I’m so glad to see you! And how can it be? In spite of the strenuous life you lead, you’ve hardly changed from when I saw you in Poitiers three years ago.” But he had, a little. Though he hadn’t grown any thinner and his face was still brown and weathered from miles of travel in wind, sun and rain, his scanty fringe of gray hair had shrunk so he was almost completely bald. But the benevolence that shone from the familiar face was the same.
“Thank you for staying here until I came,” she continued, now very serious. “You’re the only one who will understand what I feel I must do, and why.”
“I shall do my best. Now tell me all.”
She told him about her flight from Toulouse, the abduction of Raymond le Jeune and her growing fear that Raymond would try to steal her newborn child. She had to find a place of safety, not only for the infant but also for herself.
“I believe he cares more about vengeance than he does for the child. But he may feel emboldened by his first abduction. If he can steal one child, why not two? And if he attacked me physically once, why not twice?”
“I see your point,” said Jean-Pierre. “It sounds like the kind of thing he’d do.”
“Well, I think I’ve found a refuge he couldn’t possibly broach. At the same time, the refuge would give me a way to carry out a plan that’s only recently occurred to me.” She glanced at him. He was listening attentively, waiting to hear more. She plunged ahead.
“Here is my plan. For some time I’ve been searching for a way to serve others, instead of being absorbed in what I see now are my own self-centered concerns. I don’t want to get married again. I’ve had a wonderful husband and another who was far from wonderful. That’s enough. If my mother presents me with a readymade bridegroom I shall resist. I want only to find peace away from the world and to find a refuge for myself and my child.”
“So far, that seems reasonable.” Jean-Pierre squirmed on the hard bench, trying to make his bony frame more comfortable. Joanna wished she’d brought him a cushion too.
She resumed, looking straight ahead. This was the hard part. “And I’ve thought of a way to achieve both those goals. I shall take the veil and become a nun in the convent here. Not even Raymond would dare to break into such a sanctified place. It would scandalize all Christendom. He’s in enough trouble with the church as it is.”
After a shocked silence Jean-Pierre spoke. She’d never heard him sound so severe.
“Joanna, that is impossible. Face reality. It’s absolutely forbidden for a married woman—and technically you’re still married—to become a nun. And a pregnant woman to boot. I know you’re desperate, but this is not the answer. It’s against the laws of God and man.”
“Surely, though,
God would have pity on me and bend the rules in these very unusual circumstances.”
“God might, but Abbess Mathilde wouldn’t, and it would be her decision. She’s adamant about strict observance of the Rule of St. Benedict.”
“But couldn’t you speak to her? You can be so persuasive!”
“I could speak to her but I won’t. In all the years Mathilde and I have known each other I’ve never once interfered in the abbey’s affairs. She rules over Fontevraud, and I respect that. No, Joanna, I wouldn’t even suggest such a radical step to her, much less insist on it.”
“Then I shall just have to persuade her myself.”
“I wish you well but I don’t think you’ll succeed.”
Dejected, she slumped and bent her head. She felt that for the first time in her life Jean-Pierre had let her down.
Suddenly she sat up. She wouldn’t give up so easily. She’d only begun to fight.
She launched her campaign against Abbess Mathilde the next day. Strangely enough, she’d never been in the abbess’s quarters, which were in a small, unobtrusive building next to the nuns’ convent. The room Joanna entered was plain but comfortable enough. She saw a few fine objects that seemed out of place, given the abbess’s starchy demeanor, unsoftened by any esthetic sense. A copper vase held sprays of lavender to sweeten the air. A lovely little ivory statue of the Virgin Mary occupied a niche in the wall. The prie-dieu before the statue had a cushion embroidered with a floral pattern in indigo and lavender. Gifts from my mother, I suppose, Joanna decided.
The abbess was seated at a table near the window that had a good view of the entrance to the nuns’ convent. She was studying a parchment. Joanna had never seen her without her white mitre-like headdress that made her look like a lady bishop, if there were such a thing. Her gray hair was surprisingly curly, incongruously youthful with the deeply lined face. Without the headdress she looked diminished. But her authoritarian ways were not.
When Joanna had made her case, much as she had done to Jean-Pierre, the response was even more negative.
“That’s out of the question.” The abbess shook her head energetically and her curls bounced. “In spite of my gratitude for the many benefactions of your family to the abbey, rules are rules. To be sure I’m very sorry for the hardships you’ve suffered. But you ask this for selfish reasons.” Joanna, insulted, was about to protest, but the abbess could not be interrupted
“Have you discussed this with your mother? I can’t believe she’d condone it.”
“I have not, but I shall when I go to Rouen.”
“I’ll be very surprised if she doesn’t agree with me. But there’s one more thing. Do you truly have a vocation for the religious life? If you did, you’d have demonstrated it by good works, by self-sacrifice, by piety. Have you done so?”
“In Toulouse I helped the Sisters of Charity…” Before she could go on the abbess continued. Joanna could no more stem the flow of words than she could keep the sun from rising.
“A few random acts of charity aren’t enough. One must devote all one’s time and energy to the Lord’s work. Are you capable of that? I doubt it, Joanna.” She held up her hand to discourage Joanna’s response. “But if you really wish to reside at Fontevraud, there’s another way. You must be aware that we provide very comfortable lodgings here in La Madeleine for noble women who wish a quiet place of retirement and who can afford it. That would be much more suitable.”
“But that’s not the kind of life I want to lead!” protested Joanna. “Selfish, idle, self-indulgent.”
The abbess ignored her. “Furthermore, you say you are asking this in order to keep your child with you rather than risk his or her being kidnapped by your husband. Are you aware that even if you succeeded in gaining refuge in the convent, after the birth your child would be removed to be reared in the shelter for orphans and would be trained to become either an oblate, a monk or a nun, as the case may be?” She waited for an answer, fixing Joanna with an accusatory stare.
“No, I didn’t know that. Why?”
“Because of the rule, of course. Any nun who gives birth is presumed to be a sinner and therefore an unfit mother.”
“But I’m not…” She stopped. Arguing was getting her nowhere. She felt completely deflated. To lose the child no matter what she did—the child she had hoped to rear and to love—was an outcome she hadn’t imagined. She brushed tears from her eyes and looked at the abbess with such a woebegone expression that at last Mathilde showed a grain of pity. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ve spoken to you very bluntly, but as you see you haven’t thought this through. Your mother may be able to suggest a less drastic course than the unrealistic one you’ve set your heart on.”
“Perhaps. So the sooner I go to Rouen the better. I’m grateful for this talk.” She really was. Now she knew exactly what she was up against.
And perhaps, she thought as she made her way down the lane to her apartment, my mother will agree with me for once. Perhaps she’ll persuade Mathilde to change her mind about me and the baby. Her hopes rose again.
The journey to Rouen wasn’t nearly as long or difficult as getting to Fontevraud had been. The weather was better and so were the roads. Still, they progressed very slowly because Dr. Basilio said they must. The party included Joanna, Adelaide, Brother Jean-Pierre, Jeanette, the doctor, two servingmen, one of Michel’s kitchen assistants who had decided to stay with Joanna, and four of Queen Eleanor’s armed guardsmen. The last rode with their swords at hand and their sharp eyes on the alert for brigands or robbers. Joanna, still fearful of Raymond, took comfort from their presence.
They arrived in Rouen on September 10, a little after noon. They went straight to the royal palace. Joanna had never felt comfortable in Rouen. She thought it a cold, austere city, flaunting its importance as seat of her family’s power in France ever since her great-grandfather, the Norman William I, conquered England in 1066. Though Toulouse held bitter memories, she found herself comparing its lighthearted, lively ambience with this chill, straightlaced northern city.
When she dismounted, she staggered and almost collapsed onto the flagstones. Jeanette and Adelaide caught her and helped her up the steps, with Dr. Basilio just behind. She stopped and caught her breath when they reached the top.
“I’m sorry—thank you—I don’t know when I’ve been so tired. I feel like a wet rag that’s been wrung out and tossed aside. I suppose I look like it too.” But when they reached her room, and Jeanette was helping her out of the dusty, wrinkled traveling gown and into a robe, she lectured herself: I mustn’t give in to this. I must gather my strength for the coming encounter with my mother. She sent Adelaide to tell her mother she would come to her chamber in two hours.
Two hours later, feeling somewhat stronger after a nap and in a fresh gown, she entered Eleanor’s apartment. She was amazed at how Eleanor could make any place she inhabited uniquely her own. The room was almost interchangeable with those in Fontevraud and Poitiers, crowded with the same evidence of her refined and expensive taste. Some things Joanna remembered from previous visits—a jeweled Bible on an ornate stand, a thick Persian carpet, glazed windows. The queen always insisted on that.
Eleanor was seated on a throne-like chair, wearing a robe of wine-colored velvet. Her white wimple had slipped to one side. She was asleep.
At the sound of Joanna’s footsteps her eyes opened, she adjusted her wimple, sat up straight and turned her head to receive her daughter’s kiss on her cheek. She peered up at her.
“My dear child! How very pregnant you appear! Dr. Basilio has been here and said that we may expect the birth within the month. Now sit down, you look quite worn out with the journey. Are you?”
“In truth, I am. I don’t want to climb on a horse ever again.” She sat down heavily and groaned. “I think the birth may be sooner because the baby’s getting very active. I’d hoped to have it in Fontevraud, but I see now that the journey back, in the state I’m in, would be a very bad idea.”
&nbs
p; “Yes, much better to stay here. Have some of this spiced wine. Maybe it will put some color in your cheeks.”
They both sipped. Joanna put down her goblet. “Now mother, I need to ask…” She was interrupted by a knock and the entrance of Jean-Pierre and the queen’s secretary, Henri.
Eleanor held out her hand to Jean-Pierre. “Ah, there you are, my friend. I’m glad you could come. You’ll need to witness the agreements we’ll be signing. I’m expecting John at any minute. But while we wait I’ll explain what he and I have discussed. You may take notes, Henri.”
The secretary had arranged a parchment, a quill pen and an inkwell on the small table before him. He assumed an attentive, respectful expression.
Joanna, at first confused, remembered that Abbess Mathilde had said something about John being in Rouen and her mother’s plan to talk to him about Joanna’s need for money, because Raymond had stopped supporting her. Though she fervently hoped that soon, as a cloistered nun, she’d have no such worldly concerns, it was gratifying that her family cared. Eleanor continued.
“But before I forget, Joanna, I’ve asked your former lady-in-waiting, Mary, to come here for your lying-in. She sent word that she would and I assume she’s on her way. Jean-Pierre, can you find out how far she’s come?” He nodded as though locating an English lady somewhere between Yorkshire and Rouen were the kind of task he undertook every day.
“That’s good news!” exclaimed Joanna. “I’ll be happy to see her after all this time.”
“Now, to business. John has agreed to grant you one hundred marks now, and an additional three thousand marks to be paid in installments so that you will be well endowed when you make your will. I suppose you haven’t done so?”
It took a minute for Joanna to take this in. Henri’s pen could be heard scratching on the parchment.
“No, I’ve never thought of making a will. I’ve never had much money to dispose of. But now I suppose I should.” Why this sudden concern about my will? She wondered. Then it came to her. They think I may not survive the birth. I’ll show them! I’ve got to live—for my child, and somehow, somehow to find a way to live away from the world and to serve God.