by Rachel Bard
I knew John was proud of me and wanted to show me off. I knew it was my duty to help him to maintain the fragile ties that bound his vassals to him. But I thought they and their frumpy ladies were a sorry lot. When we entered the hall a half-dozen men stood around the huge fireplace, laughing, talking loudly and calling to the cupbearers to keep their mugs full. A fine cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, but puffs of smoke escaped into the room. At least the chimneys at Chinon drew properly. Then I got a whiff of the sour smell from the trampled, musty rushes on the stone floor. They must not have been changed for weeks. Even the acrid smoke was preferable. I looked at Lady Anne and she too was wrinkling her nose in disgust. I was glad when John led me across the room to where the lady of the castle, Blanche, was sitting with her companions. A little fire of rosemary and thyme stalks burned nearby in a brazier, dispelling the stench from the old rushes.
The ladies hardly knew how to take me. They couldn’t very well include me in their gossip about their children, their troubles with their household servants or their husbands’ bad habits. So they pretty much left me alone. The men’s talk was getting louder. I overheard their gory tales of hunting exploits and boastful accounts of their bravery as Crusaders.
After a short time Lady Blanche remembered her manners and invited Lady Anne and me to come with her to her chamber to wash off the grime of the journey and arrange our clothing before the meal. The two others started back to the great hall ahead of me. Alone, feeling my way along the dark passageway, I was about to round a corner when I heard my name. I stopped. Two men who must have just left the latrine were talking.
“So at last we get to see Isabella, the King’s poppet. A toothsome little sweetmeat, isn’t she? No wonder he keeps her all to himself up there in his stronghold.”
“Ah, but the tale is, he hasn’t bedded her yet. Her parents forbade it until she’s sixteen. If I were in his place I’d ignore that and have her between the covers in two minutes. What sport we’d have! She’s ripe for the plucking, anyone can see that.”
“What I hear is, the only way he can stick to his promise is to pay a private visit every so often to Madame Albertine on the Rue Charles. You know the one I mean?”
“Ay, and a handsome lass she is. But only kings can afford the likes of her.”
“Well, this king has always managed to find willing bedmates, for free or for a price. What I’d dearly love to see is how long it takes when he’s back in England and settled in with his Isabella for him to seek out another Albertine.”
They moved on down the corridor. I waited a few minutes, wishing desperately I hadn’t heard them. I stood there in the gloom, fighting back angry tears and trying to come to terms with this shattering glimpse of how the world saw the man I’d married. I had no doubt of the accuracy of the picture. It explained a great deal.
After a time I felt calm enough to rejoin the company. For the rest of the day and during the ride back I mulled over what I’d learned. I said hardly a word to John. I doubt if he noticed, being in one of his withdrawn black moods. I didn’t confide in Lady Anne. This was my affair, no one else’s. It was up to me to try to comprehend John so I’d be prepared for whatever life brought when we were truly King and Queen, man and wife. Married life might not prove as idyllic as I’d dreamed.
The very next morning John announced that we were to prepare for the long-anticipated journey to England. The news lightened my spirits marvelously.
“How soon do we go, John? Shall I tell the ladies to start packing?”
“Yes, the sooner the better. I hope we can leave day after tomorrow. On the way we’ll stop to see my mother at Fontevraud Abbey.”
That pushed everything else out of my mind. At last I was to meet the legendary Queen Eleanor.
Chapter 18
Isabella
September 1200
When we rode down a lane and into the great courtyard of Fontevraud Abbey I drew my breath in sharply, pulled my horse to a halt and stared. It was like a city. From the enormous church with its spiky towers a network of streets and paths radiated, leading to substantial buildings and, in the distance, fields of grain. Flower gardens, vegetable patches and beds of herbs filled the spaces between the buildings. Black-robed nuns and a few monks walked purposefully and quietly along the paths.
A white-robed figure materialized beside us and announced that she was Abbess Marie, sent by Queen Eleanor to greet us. She was as generously proportioned for an abbess as the church was for a church.
“Queen Eleanor wishes to see King John first, then Queen Isabella. You know the way, I believe, my king. Meantime, if you wish, Queen Isabella, I will be pleased to show you around our abbey.” Tired from riding and full of curiosity, I dismounted gladly while John went off to see what his mother would demand of him. His expression was ludicrous—half defiant, half fearful, like a small boy being summoned for punishment.
In an hour, though, I didn’t see the half of it, because my plump guide had to stop and catch her breath every ten steps or so. Moving or standing still, she was as loquacious as a magpie. At first I couldn’t take her seriously. She looked like a large white egg waddling along the stone-flagged walks. Only her towering, stiff-starched headdress gave her the dignity of her office.
“As you see, we’re quite self-sufficient here. The abbey church, of course, is the center of it all.”
“Yes, I can believe that.” By sheer size, with its sprawling annexes and lofty towers, it announced its supremacy over the whole complex. Its tawny golden stone seemed to glow with sunlit warmth even on this cloudy day.
“Over there to the west you see our dormitories. Most of them house the sisters of the order and the noble widows who have come here to retire from the world. Queen Eleanor lodges in the house with two turrets, halfway down the lane. She says she hopes to end her days here. Poor lady, that could be soon. May she find peace and repose as her end approaches.” She crossed herself and cast a stern glance at me to see if I would do the same. I complied.
I knew the Queen was old but somehow I’d never thought of her as old enough to die. While I tried to look suitably solemn the abbess took my arm and moved briskly for five paces. Stopping with a wheeze, she pointed. “That farthest dormitory at the end is the refuge for fallen women who have repented. Queen Eleanor, bless her, cares for the unfortunate as well as those who are well off.”
“How long has Queen Eleanor had this abbey?”
She let out a cackling laugh that led to a fit of coughing. “It isn’t hers, my child. It belongs to the Order and has done for a hundred years. But the Queen and all her family have been wonderfully good to us. It’s become a tradition for the Angevin monarchs to donate generously to the maintenance and enrichment of the abbey. We never forget them in our prayers.”
She peered at me from her little button eyes.
“And may you and your good husband King John remember that in years to come.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to think of myself as a benefactor of worthy causes. How wonderful it would be if John and I could make some munificent gift to Fontevraud Abbey and thereby earn the gratitude and devotion of its nuns. Not to mention, when the time came, their prayers for our eternal souls.
“I’m sure we’ll remember,” I smiled at the abbess. She gave a little nod.
A veiled sister, one of the nuns who were sworn to silence, approached. By her gestures she indicated it was time for the abbess to take me to the Queen.
The Eleanor I saw when the abbess delivered me to her chamber was far from what I’d expected. I knew the reputation of Eleanor of Aquitaine: Wife of two kings, mother of ten children—two of them kings, two of them queens. An indomitable woman, renowned for her ability to take charge of any situation.
I’d envisioned a tall, regally clad woman, an erect and redoubtable presence. The room would be brightly lit to show off its royal occupant amid her rich furnishings.
But when the door closed behind me I could hardly see her. The gl
oom was relieved only by one candelabrum in a corner and the flickering light of a fire. Draperies covered the windows. The room was airless and hot. When my eyes became accustomed to the dimness I made out a chair by the fire in which the Queen seemed to be dozing. Her head was bent. Her hands were folded in her lap.
I stood mute, wondering what to do or say. She looked up.
“So there you are, Isabella. Bring the candle here and put it on the table so I can get a look at you.”
She straightened her back and sat erect. Her voice was as strong and commanding as her words. What had appeared to be a limp insensible old woman was now every inch a queen. When I set down the candle I could see she wore an ermine cape around her shoulders over a gown of deep blue wool. Her hair was covered by a white wimple, held in place by a delicate gold circlet. Her pale austere face showed lines of aging, but this was clearly a woman who had been very beautiful and knew it. She did not smile.
Standing before her I felt diminished. She was totally unlike the only other queen I’d met, Richard’s widow Berengaria. During our brief acquaintance my awe at Berengaria’s dignity and beauty had given way to liking. I’d come to see that she had human qualities, that she might even become a friend. Not so with Eleanor. I was transfixed by the steady gaze of those cold blue eyes, the silent assessment. Despite the heat of the room I felt chilled.
“John chose well.”
I managed a half-smile. I felt like an ungainly duck in the presence of a swan.
“John tells me that although you’ve been married two months you haven’t lain together. Apparently your parents made it a condition of the marriage that it should not be consummated until you are sixteen. Is that your understanding?”
“Yes. My mother told me so. She said that John had agreed.”
“John will agree to anything to get what he wants.” Her lips curled scornfully. “Your parents were overly cautious. As far as I’m concerned, only one thing determines when a bride is ready to become a wife. Have your monthly flows begun?”
“Yes. Last spring.”
“Very well. I told John and now I tell you: it is your duty to procreate and the sooner you start the better. The English throne requires an heir. John seems eager enough to take steps to become a father. I hope that you are just as determined to mother a son and that your enthusiasm will match his.”
After one long look to make sure I’d fully understood, she turned her head and closed her eyes.
I walked slowly toward the door while her words sank in. I’d given no thought to becoming a mother. I’d dreamed of lying with John and of the pleasures of the bedchamber. But motherhood had been far from my mind. Eleanor’s words were a shocking reminder that there might be much more to being a queen than crowns and gowns and an attentive king.
When I came out into the hall John was waiting. He was indeed attentive. He seized my arm and his black eyes searched my face. He looked as agitated as a kettle on the boil. First his lips trembled and he seemed about to smile, then he became as solemn as a bishop. His very beard seemed to quiver.
“Our time has come at last, Isabella. Are you glad?”
“Yes,” I whispered. But in truth I was apprehensive as I was glad. John led me down the hall to his chamber—now ours.
Chapter 19
John
September 1200
I woke to see her beside me, sleeping soundly. She was curled up in a ball as though hugging herself. Her face was childlike and innocent, but her lips were curved in a little smile: the smile of a woman who has learned something children don’t know. I could hardly believe that only yesterday we were more like polite acquaintances than friends or lovers.
How sweet she’d been, my darling Isabella. I’d never known love like this. Of all the women and girls I’d taken to bed, none had made me feel so protective, so eager to please them as much as they pleased me. How different from my first night with my first wife, an unfeeling lump of a woman then and colder and stiffer with every year of our marriage.
Isabella had been warmer and more eager to partner me in our lovemaking than I’d dared to hope. We’d fall together almost in a frenzy, then when our appetites were appeased we’d draw apart, murmuring and caressing each other, then doze until one of us woke. Then we’d talk. For the first time we talked with ease, without constraint.
“You’ve never been to Normandy, my love, have you?” I remember saying drowsily while we lay holding each other close.
“Never,” she said and tickled my ear. “Why?”
“It’s been practically a part of England ever since my great-great-grandfather came from there to take the crown as the first Norman king of England. It’s a friendly land. They like me there. They’ll like me even more when I show them their beautiful new queen. We’ll go right through Normandy on our way to Cherbourg. It will be our honeymoon and we can take all the time we like.”
She raised herself on an elbow.
“Not all the time, John. Didn’t you say you’d arranged for the coronation to be in October? I wouldn’t want to miss my own coronation!”
“And so you won’t, my sweet. But if we dally along the way, what harm? We can always put the ceremony off a few days.”
“So we can. After all, we’re the King and Queen! We can do what we like.”
I laughed and pulled her down.
“And can you guess what the King would like now?”
Now a few hours later, as dawn crept through the windows and I watched her, I gloated over my good fortune in capturing this bewitching creature, so young and unspoiled, for my own. She opened her eyes.
“Good morning, John.” Her voice was a whisper but her smile was a radiance. “Now we are truly man and wife, aren’t we?” She raised her arms above her head and stretched with the luxuriant languor of a cat before the fire. She kissed her fingers, then placed them on my lips.
“I think now I will tell you I love you.”
She gave my beard a little tug. Suddenly she sat up, pulled the curtains aside and jumped down from the high bed to the floor. She was as light and quick as a kitten. She ran to the window.
“Oh John, what a lovely day! It would be heavenly to go out riding. They must have horses here—they have everything else.”
Shafts of golden morning light streamed through the window. I could see every curve of her slender young body in its diaphanous white shift.
I wasn’t quite ready to go riding.
“Of course, my love. We’ll go find some horses if that’s what will please you most. But it’s early yet. Let’s lie a little longer and stay warm under the covers.”
I held out my arms. After a moment she scampered over and climbed back into bed. I pulled the coverlet up over our heads.
I heard a tap at the door. I could hardly believe anyone would interrupt the King in his nuptial bed. It must have been my imagination. The tapping became an insistent pounding. I heard a familiar voice, the deep bass of my chief steward, Robert de Thorneham.
“My King, I beg you to forgive me. But we have urgent news. May I enter?”
Hoping to put him off, I growled, “What can be so urgent that it can’t wait a few hours?”
“It has to do with the Lusignans, my lord.”
I felt Isabella tense in my arms.
“Come in, Robert.”
I opened the bed curtains and put out my head. The heavy oak door creaked open, and he strode in. He was perspiring as though after a run. Probably he had indeed run all the way from the household knights’ quarters. He was a large, heavy man. It took him a moment to catch his breath.
“Hand me that cloak on the chair, please, Sir Robert. Wait for me in the anteroom. Then I’ll hear what you have to say.”
I leaned down and whispered to Isabella, “Never mind, it’s probably nothing. I’ll join you in a few minutes. Close your eyes. Rest.”
She looked at me wide-eyed, almost in terror. We’d never talked about it, but she knew as well as I did that the Lusignans would
never forgive me for snatching Hugh’s bride from him. I wondered fleetingly if her concern were for me or for Hugh. No time to think of that now. I kissed her, got out of bed and pulled the curtains closed.
Robert stood in the anteroom waiting for me, nervous and fingering the ruby clasp of his cloak. It was a jewel I’d given him. Robert shared my appreciation of precious gems. I was glad to bestow them on him if it kept him loyal and trustworthy.
His broad forehead was creased with worry.
“One of our messengers has arrived with word that Hugh le Brun and his brother and uncle and two-score or so of their knights are riding toward Le Mans. Our informant overheard enough to believe they intend to ambush you as you ride north toward the Channel.”
I was speechless with shock and anger.
“We must assume they know you’ve sent the army on ahead and that we have only a handful of knights.”
I’d felt safe from Philip, in view of our recent agreement. It hadn’t occurred to me that other enemies might be lurking. I’d been thinking only of riding with Isabella and a small party, carefree and unencumbered by a large army. Now what should have been my honeymoon was more likely to be an ignominious flight.
“Where were they when your spy saw them?”
“Within a day’s ride of Orléans. But they must be well beyond it by now.”
I was too full of resentment to think clearly. Why should this happen when all I wanted was to go back to bed with Isabella?
Robert was looking more anxious by the moment.
“Do you think we can catch up with our army before the Lusignans intercept us?”
“I do, my lord, if we leave today—by noon, I’d hope.”
“Do what needs to be done, Robert. And thank you.” As he was leaving I thought of one more thing. “And Robert, please find someone to send the Queen’s women to her.”
