A Reed in the Wind: Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily
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“Yes, it’s time to say goodbye. God has granted me the two things I’d begged of him—the child I prayed for, and my acceptance as a nun at Fontevraud. In his wisdom he calls me to him before I can enter the convent, but I’m at peace at last.” She gasped and had trouble catching her breath, then fell silent, staring into the distance as though at something only she could see. Dr. Basilio bent to listen, looked up and shook his head. He gently closed her eyes.
Chapter 74
When Abbess Mathilde finally arrived, she went at once to Eleanor’s chamber. Eleanor told the story of the past few weeks, including the last heartbreaking event—the death of Baby Richard, two days after his mother died.
The abbess listened with hardly an interruption.
“I deeply, deeply regret that I wasn’t here.”
“If you had been, would you have changed your mind and permitted her to take holy orders?”
“After what you’ve told me, I believe I would. I’ve always loved Joanna. Perhaps it was because of that love that I didn’t want her to take such a wrongful step. Now I see that my opposition was misguided. I was more preoccupied with observing the rules than with helping a tortured soul serve God in her own way. May the Lord forgive me.”
“Don’t accuse yourself. She died as she lived, surmounting each blow of fate as it came, going on to meet the next.”
Mathilde’s wrinkled old face broke into a smile. “I’m just remembering when Joanna was born. She lay there in her cradle and I asked you what you would name her. You said, ‘Joanna, after John, who was a voice crying in the wilderness to prepare the way for Christ. Then if she is buffeted by the winds of the wilderness, God will give her the strength to go on.’”
“Yes, I remember. And then I think I said, ‘And when those winds assail her, she will not break, but bend like a reed and hold her head high.’”
Epilogue
Eleanor of Aquitaine died in 1204, outliving Joanna by five years. In fact, she outlived all her children except King John of England and her daughter Queen Eleanor of Castile. At the very end of her life she wearied of governing and the constant travel throughout the English possessions. She retired to her ancestral Aquitaine, first to Poitiers and then to Fontevraud Abbey. Here she found peace and, according to some chroniclers, took the veil just before she died. It would be tempting to think that Joanna’s example influenced her to do so, but probably not. Eleanor was always one to influence others rather than be influenced.
She was buried in the abbey church. Her tomb is between those of her husband Henry and her son Richard. Joanna’s tomb is nearby.
Count Raymond VI of Toulouse embarked on one more marriage after Joanna’s death and the collapse of his relationship, perhaps marriage, with Beatrix. His final wife was Leonor, daughter of King Alfonso of Aragon.
He continued to maintain cordial relations with the heretic Cathars, many of whom were his important supportive vassals. He became a master at temporizing when pushed by the pope, the church and the king of France to pursue and punish them. He refused to join what became known as the Albigensian Crusade, so named for Albi, where many Cathars lived.
Presently the dispute became deadly. Raymond had always been a reluctant warrior. Nevertheless, along with other powerful magnates, he joined the battle against the Crusaders—who by now were as motivated by greed for territorial gains as they were by holy zeal. His major enemy was Simon de Montfort, ruthless and fearless in battle. To Simon, Raymond lost Toulouse, then Béziers, Carcassonne and Beaucaire. After Simon de Montfort was killed in battle in 1218, Raymond, aided by his son Raymond VII, eventually prevailed and won back the lost cities. He died, once more count of Toulouse, in 1222.
History has judged Raymond to be, in his maturity, an able and fair ruler who promoted the welfare of the middle classes under his governance, reducing taxes and confirming freedoms.
He was just not a very good husband.
Raymond and Joanna’s son, Raymond VII, never knew his mother, but there is evidence that he revered her memory. He named his daughter Joanna and, possibly at his own request, was buried next to his mother in the Fontevraud Abbey church.
From the age of nineteen he fought against the Albigensian Crusaders at his father’s side. After the latter’s death in 1222, his son continued the battle and, victorious, made peace with France. Peace was short-lived. Louis VIII resumed the war and eventually Raymond yielded. As a provision of the peace treaty, he had to agree to the marriage of his daughter and heir, Joanna, to the new king’s brother, Alphonse. After Raymond died in 1249, Alphonse became the last count of Toulouse. Thus did Louis IX gain the long-sought control of Languedoc, which was annexed to France after Alphonse’s death.
The seventh count’s marital record was less mind-boggling than his father’s—only two wives. His first marriage, to Sancha of Aragon, lasted thirty years. His heir Joanna was their daughter.
King John of England, Richard’s successor, is better known for his faults than his virtues. Though he paid close attention to government, far more so than Richard ever did, his reign was marked by cruelty, deviousness and the loss of most of the English lands in France that his predecessors had struggled to acquire and to hold. He is perhaps most noted for presiding over the signing of the Magna Carta in 1215, which guaranteed the rights of England’s feudal barons. John signed under pressure and renounced it as soon as the barons left. After his death in 1216 it was resuscitated, amended and lived on to become the basis for English law.
After Constance said goodbye to Joanna and left Sicily in 1185 to marry King Henry of Germany, she dutifully tried to be good German queen, but it was a loveless and childless marriage. In 1194 she went with Henry when he set out to claim Sicily in her name as the legitimate successor to King William. During the journey, to the amazement of all who’d ceased to hope that she’d produce an heir, she gave birth to a son at the age of forty. Tancred died, Henry claimed Sicily’s throne, and he too died in 1197. That left Constance as co-regent of Sicily with Frederick, her four-year-old son. She fought to assure his succession to the throne and succeeded. But she died in 1198, and never saw Frederick become a brilliant and learned ruler, eventually Holy Roman Emperor, known as “Stupor Mundi”—Wonder of the World.
If Constance and Joanna had had a reunion, they’d have had much to talk about—memories of Sicily, difficult husbands, and the joys of late motherhood.
Berengaria, Joanna’s dear friend, went through a few hard years. Her brother-in-law, King John, promised repeatedly to give her the inheritance due her as Richard’s widow, but repeatedly failed to deliver. With no income, she went to live with her sister Blanche, the countess of Champagne. Berengaria kept after John and enlisted the aid of the pope, who threatened John with excommunication. Nevertheless, John never kept his promise. After his death in 1216 his son, Henry III, sent Berengaria all that was due her.
Meantime, help had come from an unlikely source. King Philip of France named Berengaria as Dame of Le Mans in 1204. The city was her fief for her lifetime. Until her death in 1230 she was a wise, skillful administrator, beloved by the citizens. Her legacy is visible at the Abbey of Epau, which she founded in Le Mans.
Bibliography
Déjean, Jean-Luc, Quand Chevauchaient les Comtes de Toulouse. Fayard, Paris, 1979
Hallam, Elizabeth, ed., The Plantagenet Chronicles. Weidenfeld and Nicolson, New York, 1986
Hallam, Elizabeth, ed., The Plantagenet Encyclopedia. Viking Penguin, London, 1990
Kelly, Amy, Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings. Harvard University Press, 1950
Norwich, John Julius, The Normans in Sicily. Penguin, 1991
Strickland, Agnes, Lives of the Queens of England. Vol. I, London, 1857
Vic, C.D. and Vaissette, J.J., Histoire Générale de Languedoc. 1736