by Rachel Bard
He took me in his arms. I turned up my face. We kissed.
The crowd cheered.
Chapter 25
Isabella
1200-1201
“After six months here, I’m afraid I find the English rather stodgy and unrefined. What do you think, Anne?”
“I agree, my lady. They certainly don’t have the wit and fine manners of our French nobility. And they do seem to drink a great deal at dinner. It makes them even ruder.”
It was the evening of Easter Sunday. We were lodged in the suite reserved for royal guests of the archbishop’s palace at Canterbury. John and I had just been recrowned in Canterbury Cathedral. John lost no opportunity to wear the trappings of royalty before his people. This was his third crowning.
I’d soon tired of the din and confusion of the banquet that followed the ceremony and had left John to his roistering knights. I was exhausted after so much traveling over half of England. John had felt it necessary to meet face-to-face with as many of his vassals as he could. Since our coronation at Westminster we’d been to Guildford, Marlborough, Malmesbury, Gloucester, all over the Welsh March, to Lincoln and even to Newcastle and the old Roman Wall. There in the north our long, cumbersome procession with its barons, knights, outriders and creaking wagons paused so John could treat with King William of Scotland, whose demands had brought us so hastily back from France.
Now, thankfully, I could settle for a while and rest.
Of course I’d enjoyed all the chances to stand by John’s side as his queen, but I was not quite as tireless a traveler as he. It was heavenly to be here alone with my old friend while she bathed my face and brushed the tangles out of my hair. Though I’d acquired three or four other ladies-in-waiting, all chosen by John from the wives of his English barons, I couldn’t feel completely at ease with them. Anne was my only confidante, my only tie to the past.
I smiled at her remark about the uncouth manners and fondness for wine of our hosts.
“I hope you didn’t suffer any rude advances this evening?”
She looked at me a moment as though wondering what to answer, then her infectious laugh erupted. She put down the brush and drew up a chair near mine. In company Anne usually managed to look the soul of circumspection, a proper middle-aged lady whom nothing could ruffle. But when we were alone together she could relax. She was bursting to tell her story.
“I did receive unwanted attentions. But you’ll never guess from whom, and who my savior was. You couldn’t see from the head table, but I was seated between Robert de Thorneham and some Saxon noble. Horace was all I caught of his name. I knew Sir Robert was a famous trencherman, but I must say Horace gave him a good run. I never saw so much roast beef and stuffed capon go down two gullets so fast. Of course it helped to wash it down with plenty of wine. We had very little conversation, they were so devoted to their meal. Finally, when the puddings and sweetmeats had been served and the page had refilled their goblets for the sixth time I suppose, Horace hiccuped and turned to me. Maybe he was remembering his duties as citizen of the host country to make his foreign guest feel at home.”
“What did he look like, this Horace the Saxon?”
“He was not exactly prepossessing. Tallish, thinnish, baldish, with a wispy blond beard and a beaked nose like a parrot’s. Not to mention smelling like an old wine vat. But I tried to look polite.” She straightened her face and assumed her dignified public expression.
I was laughing now too, picturing the scene. Anne went on, mimicking the Saxon’s slurred, rumbling speech.
“ ‘Quite the mousy little creature, aren’t you?’ said he. ‘I thought all you French ladies could talk a man’s head off.’
“ ‘For all you know,’ I said, ‘I could have been chattering like a magpie but you were making so much hubbub with your tankard and your knife and your platter and your roaring for wine that you wouldn’t have heard a syllable.’
“ ‘Ho, so that’s how it is! Well, lucky for you, my lady, I like a woman with spirit.’ And he put his arm around me and tried to get me into his lap.”
“Oh my dear, how awful! What on earth did you do?”
“There wasn’t much I could do. He was very strong, and he had me in such a grip that it hurt. But my savior turned out to be Sir Robert, bless him. All the drink hadn’t totally dulled his good sense. It took him a while to hoist himself up out of his chair, he’s such a great heap of a man. But he managed, and he yanked Horace by the collar and jerked him to his feet. He growled at him like a mad lion. ‘You’d best mend your manners, my friend. Don’t you know this is lady-in-waiting to the Queen of England?’
“So I escaped. The last I saw of them, Horace was trying to fight Sir Robert, but Sir Robert just picked him up and sat him down in his chair. For all I know, they went at the wine again and ended the evening the best of friends.”
“Poor Anne! But good Sir Robert. I’m so glad he was there to rescue you.”
“As it turned out, I had still another champion. When I reached the door on my way out, there was William de Cantilupe. He must have been watching all the time, ready to intervene if need be. I must say he was kind and courteous, not so withdrawn as he usually appears. He said the incident was most unfortunate, and asked if I’d been injured in any way.
“ ‘I shall certainly report this to King John,’” he said, ‘and I shall advise him to remove Horace Wyndham from his body of household knights. Meantime, my lady, let me accompany you to your lodgings, to make sure you are perfectly safe.’ Which he did, and here I am, perfectly safe.”
She sighed and I took her hand. Though she made it seem like a joke, she’d been distressed by the assault, harmless as it turned out to be.
“We can’t have this kind of thing, Anne. Remember that time in Lincoln, when John was closeted with King William and we went walking in the town with my other ladies? And we got separated in the crowd and some local oaf saw you alone and tried to get familiar with you? You look altogether too pretty and nice for your own good sometimes!”
“Well, I can’t help being what I am. I try to think the best of everybody, I’m sure. What can I do about it?”
“I’ve been thinking about this, Anne. I believe we should send for Adèle to come to England. If you’re seen as a respectable widow with a twelve-year-old daughter, you’ll get fewer unwanted attentions.” Anne had decided to leave Adèle in Angoulême with her grandmother while we were in England. I hadn’t realized until I saw her radiant face how much she missed her daughter.
“Oh my lady, I would be so very pleased, if you are sure she’ll be welcome. I know she’s not at all happy staying with my mother. The child has seen nothing of the world, nothing at all, and it worries me that she’s growing up such a little provincial.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll talk to John about it and I’m sure I can get him to agree.”
An hour later when John appeared he wasn’t as morose as he sometimes became after an evening of carousing. He did, however, seem extraordinarily tired. Maybe this pace we were keeping up was beginning to tell on him, too. All he wanted to do was to take off his leggings and belt and tunic and prop his feet up on a stool before the fire. I sat by him and smoothed out the furrows in his forehead and massaged the back of his neck.
“Ah, sweetheart, that feels good,” he sighed. “What a wearisome evening it’s been. I know I have to put on a show of being the great all-powerful monarch, but sometimes I feel nothing’s accomplished. Tonight the best thing that happened was that Hubert Walter didn’t tell me again that I was neglecting my Christian duties.” Hubert, the Archbishop of Canterbury, had chastised John more than once, and the memories rankled.
“Do you sometimes wish you could just eliminate him, as your father was said to do with his troublesome archbishop?”
One of the first tales I’d heard on arriving in England was of how King Henry was so angry at Thomas à Becket that he ordered his men to murder the defenseless archbishop in Canterbury Cathedral.
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br /> John turned on me in a cold fury. I shrank, almost afraid he was going to strike me.
“Don’t ever joke about that, Isabella! My father never gave that order, he never wanted Becket killed, and he did penance for his unwitting part in the deed. Haven’t you heard how he wore sackcloth on a pilgrimage to Canterbury, and bared his back and ordered the monks to lash him with hundreds of strokes? Our whole family was in disgrace for years. You’d do well not to be such a gullible little sponge, believing every wild tale you hear.”
“I’m sorry, John. I hadn’t heard that part of the story. Of course, I don’t believe your father would have ordered the murder, any more than I can imagine you doing such a horrid deed.”
He was still glaring at me like a maddened bull. Then he sank back in his chair and sat brooding for a few minutes. I tried to think of a change of subject. It was John who broke the silence, but not with an apology for his outburst.
“Come to think of it, there was one other good thing tonight. William de Cantilupe seems to be learning how to conduct himself. I had to reprimand him a while ago and he’s learned his lesson. Tonight he asked very civilly for a word with me and gave me a useful bit of information. He said one of my knights, Horace Wyndham, had been abusive and almost injurious to one of your ladies. He himself witnessed the incident. We can’t have that kind of behavior. I told him we would have to send the fellow from court, and he agreed.”
“I’m glad to hear that. The lady in question was Anne, and she told me the whole story. She said Sir Robert was a powerful champion, and Sir William was helpful and sympathetic.”
Though Anne’s name had been mentioned, I felt this wasn’t the time to bring up the subject of having Adèle join her. John was still too touchy, and I knew he wasn’t well disposed toward Anne. I’d never known why. Then it came to me: Why did I need to ask his permission?
You are the Queen of England, Isabella. You are the King’s partner, not his subject. If you wish the daughter of your lady-in-waiting to join your court, that’s your affair. Besides, Count Aymer and Countess Alix are Anne’s employers, not John. They send a regular stipend for her expenses, and will certainly add something for Adèle.
I sat there staring at John while I absorbed this new reality: I no longer had to assume my elders were in charge of my life. Not even when this particular elder was my husband.
“Why do you look at me so intently, my sweeting? Have I bit of pudding in my beard? No need to hesitate, just tell me so.” He’d regained his good humor.
“No, I was just thinking how interesting it was about Sir William. You must have handled him extremely cleverly, to make him change his ways like that.”
I did indeed find the steward’s softened manners interesting. It looked as though he’d begun to see the value of suggestion over highhandedness. Perhaps it was time for Sir William and me to get to know each other better.
Chapter 26
John
1201
Our grand tour of the kingdom had been strenuous but worth the time and effort. Many of the barons hadn’t been called on by an English king for decades, and they’d gotten altogether too high and mighty. I did my best to show them a monarch they’d do well to respect and obey. I’d even put a burr under the saddle of that troublesome old Scot, King William the Lion, what with my ostentatious tour all along his southern border. It shortly appeared that the lion’s growl was worse than his bite.
Now, after the coronation and Easter festivities at Canterbury, which were hardly restful, we’d come with our court to Winchester to take our ease for a time.
I was looking forward to showing Winchester Palace to Isabella. When I led her into the great hall, she stopped short in amazement.
“This is beautiful, John! It’s so big! I was expecting just another cold old barn of a place like so many of the castles we’ve been staying in.”
“King William built it,” I told her. “When he conquered England, he needed a castle strong enough to keep his enemies at bay, and an audience chamber that would impress his subjects. But by my father’s time, what kings needed was a royal residence, not a stone-cold fortress. So he added onto this hall, and did a lot to make the living quarters more pleasant.”
“Was it your father who put those lovely big tapestries on the walls? From what you’ve told me, King Henry didn’t have time or taste for pretty things to look at.”
She ran to look at a tapestry and called out, “Oh John, how beautifully it’s worked! It’s a hunting scene, and here’s the deer flying away and the huntsman blowing his horn! You can almost hear it!” She cupped her hands to her mouth and produced a creditable blare.
I covered my ears with my hands. “Careful! You’ll frighten the deer right out of the picture!” She giggled, and I walked over to examine it. “That was one of my mother’s additions, I think. But you’re right about Henry’s tastes. He wanted plenty of room, but he didn’t care if there were rushes on the floor or carpets. To please my mother, though, he went well beyond bare necessities. After all, he imprisoned her for fifteen years, a lot of that time right here. The least he could do was make it agreeable for her.”
“There’s so much I still don’t know about your family. Now you must tell me why on earth the King of England put his Queen in prison, even if it was in a pleasant palace.”
We’d continued our stroll around the room and up onto the red-carpeted dais. The well-polished table of state stretched across its whole width, almost from wall to wall. We sat at its center as though presiding over a banquet, though the hall was empty and our words echoed from the stone walls.
“It’s a long story.”
“Of course it is. So do begin.”
As we’d grown used to each other, she’d often asked me to tell her more about my childhood and young manhood. When I did, it was usually a lazy recalling of this or that while we were in bed. Somehow we’d never gotten around to my mother’s long imprisonment, which had begun long before Isabella was born.
“I’m sure you know that my mother and father were at each other’s throats a lot of the time, far more often than when they managed to be civil to each other.”
“I have indeed heard that. And I hope devoutly that such behavior doesn’t run in the family.”
“Well, you may also have heard that my older brothers plotted to rise up against our father. They went so far as to ask the King of France to help them. The long and short of it is that the King accused the Queen of encouraging them. In fact, he suspected she was conniving with King Louis. Louis was her former husband, and she’d lived with him long enough to produce two daughters before they divorced. I expect my father was always a little jealous.”
“And had she been conniving?”
“Who knows? I wouldn’t put it past her. She was spending most of her time in Aquitaine. It would have been easy to keep in touch with Paris. But I doubt it. I think that even after their differences she still bore Henry some love, certainly some loyalty, as the father of her children. Anyway, he decided he had to keep her from making more trouble, so he snatched her away from Poitiers and shut her up in Salisbury, then here at Winchester. I will say, though, that he built her a chapel and a fine suite of chambers, just for her and her ladies. You’ll see them.”
“Fifteen years! That does seem hard on poor Queen Eleanor. Promise me John, that you’ll never, never imprison me!”
“I do so promise, unless you give me sons who turn against their father.” I sealed the promise with a kiss.
Both of us, I think, were half joking, half serious.
I sat there, remembering living in this castle as a very young boy. Those had been the happiest years of my life. I was only six when Queen Eleanor was brought here. None of my brothers were around to claim her attention. I had her all to myself. By the time I was about eleven, though, I was more often with my father. By the time I was fifteen, when my mother was given her freedom, I was already involved in our family squabbles and making life difficult for
my father. How long ago it seemed. Now I was learning for myself how hard it is to be a king.
Isabella rose and pulled me to my feet.
“No moping, my lord. Let’s go on with our exploration. I can’t wait to see the queen’s house. Is your mother likely to come again, to claim it as hers?”
“No. I think she’s perfectly happy to stay in France for the rest of her days.”
“Then it’s all mine! I think I will require you to make an appointment whenever you wish to come see me.”
“In that case, I request a private audience immediately.”
Arm in arm, we left the great hall, walked out into the spring sunshine and passed the herb garden. Several of Isabella’s ladies were seated on benches nearby with their embroidery. I glanced at them, then asked Isabella, “Who is that slim, dark-haired girl standing by Lady Anne? She’s a pretty little thing.”
She turned toward where I was looking. “Oh, that’s my old playmate Adèle. She’s Anne’s daughter. She came over to join her mother a few weeks ago, because Anne was missing her so much. I told Anne it was all right—I hope you don’t mind?” She waved at the girl, who smiled shyly and waved back.
“Well, it’s one more mouth to feed, when our court expenses are already far too high.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that. My parents are already sending an allowance for Anne, remember? They’ll just add something on for Adèle.”
“All right then. She doesn’t look as though she’d eat much, anyway.”
We went on to the little stone house on the other side of the garden. We passed through the anteroom, off which the rooms for the ladies-in-waiting gave, and on into the Queen’s chamber. Isabella stood at the door and gasped with delight.
“It’s absolutely elegant, John! I can tell at once that Queen Eleanor has lived here.”
She danced about like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, peering into corners, opening chests and cabinets, examining a silver ewer and looking at herself in a mirror with a jeweled frame. Then she jumped up on the high gold-canopied bed and leaned back against the soft silken pillows. She sighed languorously, beckoned me and announced, “The Queen will now receive the King.”
