“He is an Angevin prince,” I remind my sister, as well as myself. “If they dare attack him...”
“Oh, they will never go so far,” Joanna says carelessly. “It is all talk and show. He would have to give them an opportunity, an excuse, and he is too frightened to goad them so far, or to be caught alone and in secret—”
“What are you saying?” I whisper. Alone and in secret?
“There have been threats on his life,” Joanna admits. “But it will come to nothing if I can persuade His Holiness to reverse his decision and not have Andrew crowned.”
I hope she is right, but there is more to what I saw than that. It is personal between Andrew and Louis; at least it is for Louis. And Joanna is at the heart of it—Louis made sure she was watching.
“And if you cannot have Andrew’s coronation reversed?”
“I will do it. I must. For the sake of my kingdom.” She glances back at the window. “And for Andrew’s sake as well.”
I doubt that answer will reassure Andrew’s mother, the Dowager Queen Elizabeth of Hungary, if she witnesses anything like what I have just seen. She is arriving tomorrow to visit her son once more before she sails back to Hungary, having spent the time since her visit last summer in Rome and Avignon, stirring up trouble for us. She is sure to be a popular guest.
***
It takes Elizabeth of Hungary less than a day to realize her darling son is in trouble. I don’t believe she ever realizes it is mostly her fault. Or perhaps she does not care. Queen Elizabeth is a wolf-mother; her cubs are either useful to the pack or not. And Andrew will be more useful with a crown on his head.
Andrew clings to his mother. Not, of course, that he actually touches her, but wherever she goes, he is with her, like a puppy always underfoot of the bitch that whelped it. And like a puppy that knows itself to be safe under the protection of its parent, he puffs out his chest, and struts, and looks very brave so that I almost forget the terrified face I saw through the window in the courtyard.
Ridiculous as this appears in a man of nearly seventeen, I find myself, against my will, feeling some sympathy. I have just lost my little Louis—a weakling, according to my mother-in-law, but I loved him all the more for it. Elizabeth of Hungary is in turns impatient and protective of this weakling son of hers. I can imagine feeling the same. Not that Louis would have grown up anything like Andrew! Louis would have been handsome and intelligent—I could see it in his eyes as he took everything in—and gentle and kind, never a bully. These are qualities that more than offset a lack of physical strength and brute courage. Andrew has nothing to commend him. But still his mother fights for him. I cannot help but like her a little for that, even though she does nothing but harm at every turn, to Andrew and to Naples.
We see them every day. Joanna cannot scorn Andrew and keep her distance from him under the watchful eyes of her mother-in-law, so Andrew and his court now dine with us, attend the entertainments with us—tournaments, dances, music, hunts—and visit with us in Joanna’s presence chamber.
I remember the feel of Andrew’s hand at my throat, the horror of it. I was a child then, thirteen, a foolish maiden. Now I am a married woman under my husband’s protection. Andrew would not dare to touch me. Yet still when he looks at me I know he is also thinking of that night, I remember the savage grip of his hand, and I am afraid. I endure his presence but I do not talk to him and sit as far from him as I am able.
It is glaringly obvious to his mother, as it was during her last visit, that Andrew is not invited into Joanna’s privy chamber, where she meets with her ruling council and other advisors. Where she signs laws and edicts and official documents in her name alone. I sit in the presence chamber with Joanna’s ladies-in-waiting on one side of the room, and Elizabeth and her attendants on the other, and call for music and dancing and readings in an attempt to distract Dowager Queen Elizabeth’s avaricious eyes from the door to that privy chamber where Joanna is making all the decisions.
Only one thing distracts her, and that is when she brings up the question of when Andrew will be crowned. Joanna is unfailingly pleasant but vague, saying she can make no decisions until the legate arrives.
“But you can propose a date,” Elizabeth of Hungary persists. “The Pope has approved a double coronation.”
“When the legate arrives, I will be turning my kingdom over to him. Neither Andrew nor I will rule Naples, Madam. There is no point in talking about coronations now.” Joanna’s smile is cool, her voice calm, no one can fault her. But the words come from her mouth sharp as a dagger, as the Dowager Queen, a woman also born to rule, knows all too well.
“Perhaps it is for the best,” Marguerite of Taranto whispers to one of the other ladies-in-waiting when Joanna and Elizabeth have both left the room.
I pretend not to hear, to be listening only to the music of the lute player, wondering what she will say next.
“I wonder how Queen Joanna dares to rule Naples alone?” the other lady whispers, a new girl whose name I cannot recall.
“King Robert was dying when he made his will, naming the young Queen his sole heir. They say he was not in his right mind,” Marguerite replies.
Who says this? Who dares? But I do not interrupt, wanting to know what else they will reveal.
“A man is better suited to rule than a woman. He has the greater intellect, his heart is more courageous, his will more constant. It is the will of God that women be subject to men, for a man is made in God’s image, and a woman is made from man. It is not natural for a woman to rule over men.”
The new lady-in-waiting, who cannot be more than twelve years old, nods solemnly in agreement with Marguerite.
“Queen Joanna is King Robert’s direct heir,” I say, unable to hold back any longer. “Have you not heard him referred to as King Robert the Wise? Do you know better than all those who called him such? The Queen is divinely ordained, her reign blessed and commanded by God.”
The new girl looks shaken, and quickly begs my pardon, but Marguerite bends over her sewing without responding. And how can I criticize them for their comments? They only say what everyone knows to be true. I could tell them it is treason to suggest Her Highness Queen Joanna should not be the sole sovereign as King Robert named her. I could point out that the rules that govern ordinary men and women do not apply to those of royal blood. But I would only make them distrust me, not change their opinions.
How widespread is this belief?
Later, when I tell Charles what I have overheard, he is not surprised. In fact, he expects me to agree. “You are willing to be ruled by me, are you not, Maria?”
“Of course, but you are not Prince Andrew.”
“Naples is not a kingdom to be ruled by a woman. It is already divided by rivalries and vendettas and alliances that do not last. Naples needs a king without mercy, to hold its noble families together, to make us great by making Naples great—through treaties with other kingdoms, king to king. It does not need a sentimental and compassionate Queen at its head. Naples will only be safe and at peace under a strong king.”
“You cannot want Andrew of Hungary crowned?” I cannot keep the revulsion from my voice. Charles glances at me.
“You know yourself I wrote to my uncle, the Duke of Perigord, urging him to speak to the Pope and delay Duke Andrew’s crowning. My Lady Mother sent the same request to Cardinal Talleyrand. I said, a strong king, not a lawless and foolish boy. Perhaps Queen Joanna and Prince Andrew are not the best rulers for Naples.”
“Not the best—you are speaking treason! You could have your tongue split for saying that.” I look around, as though such words are not safe even in our own castle.
“I am speaking to my wife, the heir to the throne, of what is best for the Kingdom of Naples. That is all.”
“There is no plan—?” I would like to think that the idea horrifies me. It does, I am horrified. But there is a small part of my heart that leaps up at the thought of being Queen of Naples, with Charles as King. No! I stifle
it immediately. “I would never agree to such a plan!”
“There is no plan,” Charles says smoothly. “I am not a traitor. But tell me, which is more important to you: your sister or the good of Naples?”
“They are the same, while Queen Joanna lives.”
He smiles as though he is well aware that behind my cool, firm words, my heart beats hot and unsteady. He knows I am remembering that they are not at all the same thing for Joanna.
***
Elizabeth of Hungary has been at our court five days when she comes storming into the Queen’s presence chamber demanding to speak to Joanna at once. Joanna is in the middle of a game of hazards with Sancia and me, and Joanna is winning.
“Welcome, Lady Elizabeth,” Joanna says, tossing her dice. She smiles briefly as they show another winning outcome and glances up at the Dowager Queen of Hungary.
“I am always pleased to speak to you, Madam.”
“Queen Joanna, I have learned upsetting news. The lawlessness in your kingdom goes unchecked. Even your royal court is beyond your control. I have decided my son, a Prince of Hungary, is not safe here. I am taking him back to Hungary with me!”
“That is a serious allegation, Madam,” Joanna rises at once to face her mother-in-law. “Come into my privy chamber and tell me what you have learned.”
We all sit stunned to silence as they go into Joanna’s privy chamber. If it were not so serious, I would be inclined to laugh. A grown man, a prince and a husband, being dragged home by his mother like a child late for dinner? I glance sideways at Sancia and see on her face, too, a mixture of horror and humor that almost undoes me.
Sancia moves her chair closer to mine. “She is right,” she whispers to me. “Louis will kill Andrew if someone else does not do it first.”
“Lord Louis will never stoop to murder his own cousin.
“Andrew is in his way. Louis wants Queen Joanna.”
“And Joanna wants Louis. But that is nothing new.” I look at her. Her eyes are wide and she bites her lower lip nervously. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Louis has been content to influence Joanna’s decisions—something Andrew cannot do. But if Andrew is making decisions, if he has power? A double coronation changes everything. Andrew will soon have two things Louis wants, and Louis will have nothing.”
“Joanna will control Louis.”
“Will she?”
I draw myself a little aside from Sancia. “My sister would never condone murder.”
“No, of course not,” Sancia agrees. “I meant the Queen does not entirely dislike Louis’ jealousy.” Sancia gives a little shrug. “What woman would not? Louis is strong, handsome, and passionate, and he is wild for her. She wants to believe he is honorable, as well.”
“God help her—God help us all if Elizabeth of Hungary finds out any of this!”
“Oh, she will not. The Queen is too intelligent for the Dowager Queen Elizabeth.”
“Is your grandmother still sleeping outside the Queen’s chamber?” I ask, trying to hide my grin.
Sancia gives a snort of laughter. “Not since your Lady Grandmother went to Santa Croce. The threat is gone. But there is no need. As long as the Queen refuses to sleep with Prince Andrew, she cannot sleep with Louis, for how would she explain any... outcome? And if she invited Andrew to her bed, even she knows Louis would not bear it.”
I look at the door to the privy chamber. “What do you think she is telling Andrew’s Lady Mother?”
“That she loves her son so much she cannot bear to have him leave.”
I look at Sancia, catch her expression, and cannot help it—we both burst into laughter.
***
Elizabeth of Hungary calls on the members of the ruling council, along with Catherine of Taranto and my mother-in-law, Agnes of Perigord, as the heads of the two most powerful families in the kingdom, outside of the Queen herself. Being a dowager queen, Elizabeth has more respect for dowager duchesses than young dukes. They all assure Elizabeth that her son will be safe here in Naples and should stay.
“Why not let him go?” I ask Joanna when we are alone in her bedchamber, having a meal together as we used to. “No one wants him here, least of all you. And you know he is not safe.” I imagine never having to see him again, never being reminded of that night...
Joanna stops eating. She stares at me, the meat speared on her knife halfway to her mouth. Slowly she lowers it to her plate.
“Do you know, Maria, the single greatest threat to my kingdom?”
I swallow the food in my mouth. “The royal families themselves,” I say, ashamed of my previous naiveté. “I did not know at the time—”
“You are wrong,” she cuts me off. “Though not far wrong. The greatest threat to Naples is Hungary.”
“But we have a treaty. Your marriage—”
“My marriage sealed that treaty. Andrew keeps Naples safe. If Andrew leaves, do not doubt for a moment that his brother King Louis of Hungary will bring him back at the head of a Hungarian army so huge we will fall before it like weeds before the plough. They have the power to utterly destroy us. King Louis prays daily, I am sure, for an excuse to take my kingdom by force. If anything happens to Andrew, I am dead, and Naples is forfeit.”
I stare at her. “But he is not safe, there have been death threats. What if...” I cannot finish, I am so terrified at the vision she has created.
“There have been threats against his life, and some are real. Most of them I made up myself, to make certain he and his guards take care, that they keep him safe, that he is never alone.”
“And now your false threats have frightened the Dowager Queen into—”
“She will not take him. I will not let her. I will keep Naples safe, even if that means keeping my foolish husband here.”
“Our Lady Aunt Catherine and my Lady Mother-in-law have spoken with her.”
“Together, in the same room,” my sister smiles. “For the first time they are in complete agreement.”
“We quarrel among ourselves, but when there is a real threat, we are united.”
The smile leaves my sister’s face. “Do not rely upon it. Lord Robert of Taranto and Lord Charles of Durazzo hate each other. My dukes are like wolves fighting over each other’s territory, never noticing the lion until he is upon them. One day they may look up from their rivalry too late.”
I push my plate away. I, too, went running recklessly after what I wanted, ignoring the consequences it would set in motion.
“But you have learned,” Joanna says, guessing my thoughts. “And this time, Durazzo and Taranto have looked up and noticed the lion in time. We have convinced my Lady Mother-in-law to honor the treaty and leave her son with us.”
Elizabeth of Hungary and her entourage sail home at the end of February, without Prince Andrew.
Chapter Seventeen: Kingdom Without a Monarch
Joanna storms into her presence chamber. I follow reluctantly.
“Out!” she screams at her ladies-in-waiting and the few courtiers chatting and flirting with them while they waited for the Queen’s return. “Get out!” They scramble to obey.
Joanna waves Sancia over. “Send for your grandmother.” Your grandmother, I think. Not ‘Mother’, not even ‘Philippa’; just Sancia’s grandmother.
“Bring us cool rose water to wash off the dust of our journey,” I murmur to one of the hastily-departing ladies. The cooler the better I think, glancing at Joanna.
“How dare he?” she fumes, as soon as the door closes and we are alone. “How dare he!”
All during the ride back from the monastery of Saint Antonio, just outside Naples, where the papal legate, Cardinal Aimeric de Chatelus, is lodged, Joanna maintained a calm exterior, her face stiff—only I could see the tension in it—a smile pasted on her lips as she waved to her people. She hurtles her travel cloak to the floor, her pent-up fury erupting into a stream of insults and oaths aimed at the pompous, infuriating Cardinal Aimeric. She is entirely justified; I am angry
enough to add a few oaths of my own, but I keep silent and let her rant.
She does not even pause when Philippa arrives accompanied by two servants bearing bowls of water. They stare wide-eyed at their Queen, pacing the room and swearing, before Philippa abruptly gestures them to set down the bowls and leave. I wash the dust and the insult of our journey from my face, neck, and hands while Joanna continues to unleash her fury on our ears, pacing the room like one of the fierce feline predators in our menagerie. Finally she stops in front of the bowl of water left for her. Philippa lifts the cloth, wrings it, and wipes Joanna’s face soothingly with the cool, sweetly-scented water.
“He refused you again,” she says. It is a statement not a question, but so incredible it can hardly be believed. This is the third time the Queen has ridden out to offer her vow of obedience to Cardinal Aimeric.
“He has not yet received all the necessary papers from Pope Clement VI,” Joanna quotes, mimicking the high nasal tone of the Cardinal’s voice. With a little shriek of rage she lashes her hand across the table, sending the bowl flying across the room, scattering water and rose petals over the floor rushes until it shatters against the wall.
I stare at my sister open-mouthed. I have never seen her give in to her temper like this.
“I am still Queen, thanks to Cardinal Aimeric’s stubbornness. It is mine to break,” she snaps. I shut my mouth.
“Do you feel better now?” Philippa asks disapprovingly.
“Yes,” Joanna surprises us both by saying. “Yes I do.” She grins. “I should have tried breaking things before this.” I find myself grinning, too. After a moment Philippa gives a pained smile, which makes us laugh harder.
***
“What happened today in the Queen’s rooms?” Charles asks me, as he does every evening when we have left the grounds of Castle Nuovo for the short ride back to Castle Durazzo to sleep. “I heard she had a tantrum, and ordered everyone but you away.”
The Girl Who Would Be Queen Page 16
