by Rachel Bard
My private audience lasted well into the dinner hour.
A week later a messenger came from France with an alarming letter from my mother.
“My very dear son,” she began, as well she might. I was the only son she had left, and her only hope for ensuring the succession to the throne.
She begged me to come to France to see to my affairs. She reminded me that my nephew Arthur was a growing threat and was being encouraged by King Philip to challenge me for the crown of England. As if this weren’t enough bad news, she said the Lusignans were rising. They’d be able to gather a far greater force than the year before when they chased me across Maine.
“You must raise an English army and come as soon as possible,” she concluded.
I read the letter again, feeling resentful. Did she realize how shaky my support still was in England, no matter how hard I’d been working these past few months? I’d heard complaints, punished evildoers, put King William of Scotland off, collected taxes, and replenished the treasury. I’d dealt temporarily with the barons’ insolent demands. Did she think I could just drop everything and leave?
Obviously she did. I had to admit she was right. It would be foolhardy to delay. We must hold the Angevin territories in France at all costs.
I looked up at the travel-weary messenger, waiting patiently—or perhaps not—for his dismissal and his dinner.
“Did the Queen ask you to give me any further message?”
“Only that she wishes you to send word by me as to when you will embark.”
”Very well. After I’ve met my council, I’ll give you that word.”
I sent for my justiciar, Geoffrey Fitz-Peter. He had served as second-in-command to my brother and my father and ruled for them when they were out of the kingdom. He was not only trustworthy, but also wise in the ways of what a king could or could not do. Calm in crisis, he had a long, deeply furrowed face that reminded me of a benevolent horse. Behind that disarming exterior, though, was the brain of a keen, ruthless strategist.
I also summoned my two stewards and Godfrey de Lucy, the bishop of Winchester. It would take all of us to come up with a way to persuade my fractious barons to lend me their support and their troops.
First, though, I knew I must do something at once to deter the Lusignans.
“We can’t let Hugh and his henchmen think they’re free to do as they like,” I said, when we were all assembled in my chambers. “But how can we do any damage to them, when they command so much of La Marche and Angoulême, and we have no force there to attack them?”
“Perhaps we could deal them a blow outside their homeland,” said William de Cantilupe. “Haven’t I heard that Ralph de Lusignan has some holdings in other parts?”
Then I remembered something Isabella had told me. Her “Uncle” Ralph, as Count of Eu, had a castle at Driencourt, at the northern reaches of Normandy. For a time she’d feared she’d be sent to that faraway place while waiting for her marriage to Hugh.
“Of course!” I said. “That’s the answer. We’ll take Driencourt. They’ll never expect that. It’s probably defended very lightly. My seneschal in Normandy can round up some men and take it before the garrison knows what’s happening.”
“A clever move,” said Robert de Thorneham. “That will put the fear of King John into the Lusignans’ foolhardy hearts.”
I sent for a messenger at once, to take the orders to the Normandy seneschal.
Now, what to do about raising an army?
The bishop, himself one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, knew his fellow barons.
“They won’t be easy to persuade. They keep looking back to the good old days, when they were like little kings in their baronies. They hated it when your father cut their privileges. Now they’re taking it out on you.”
“I know all that, Sir Godfrey. There’s no need to dwell on the same old obstacles. We must come up with a practical plan.”
He pressed his lips together as though holding in a reply. Then his face became bland. He remained silent while the others all began talking at once. The justiciar, Geoffrey, prevailed.
“Perhaps the first step is to send out your orders to your vassals to prepare to join you for the expedition. All those who owe you military service will either agree to meet you at Portsmouth, or they’ll refuse. Thus you’ll know who is with you and who is against you—and you can take steps against the latter.”
Everybody looked relieved and welcomed this suggestion. Though it wasn’t a final solution it was immediate action.
“Excellent, Sir Geoffrey. I’ll have my clerk send out the writs tomorrow.”
After that, we discussed how quickly we could embark from Portsmouth for France. We agreed on May thirteenth. I sent this word to my mother’s messenger.
As the courtiers were leaving, Geoffrey Fitz-Peter held back and asked me for a private word.
“If I may, let me suggest a way to make sure of sufficient support from your barons.” I agreed to listen. Within two minutes he outlined his plan. Within another two minutes I saw how devilishly clever it was.
I clapped him on the shoulder.
“Brilliant! It should work—it will work. But let’s keep it to ourselves. Not a word of this must leak out. When the time comes, I won’t forget you.” We smiled at each other in complete agreement.
The smell of fowl roasting on the spit drifted up from the kitchens below.
“We’d best go down to dinner. But first, will you drink a glass of wine with me?”
I raised my glass. “To success!” I said.
“Let the barons beware,” said Sir Geoffrey.
Chapter 27
Isabella
1201
The chamber at Portchester Castle where John and I were lodged was noisy, which didn’t do much to improve my temper. I looked down from the window that overlooked Portsmouth Harbor. It was growing dark but I could see a dozen ships at anchor. Small boats were ferrying goods out to them, then rushing back to get a new load. They looked like so many waterbugs with flying oars for arms. On the quayside men ran about like ants, each intent on his own task. Carts rumbled over the cobblestones. Horses neighed. Men shouted. My head was beginning to ache.
“How can we possibly be ready to sail tomorrow?” I asked John.
He answered absently. He was busy getting dressed to go down to the hall to meet his barons.
“They’ll manage, even if they have to work all night. We sail at first tide, ready or not. No Peter, not those boots. What are you thinking of?”
“John, please, please, can’t I go to this meeting with you?” I’d asked him before and he’d said no. He said no again.
“It’s not women’s business, Isabella.” He was still preoccupied with donning his royal garb: black leggings, soft leather boots polished to a fare-thee-well, gold-embroidered tunic, jewels, gold chains, everything he needed to make him look and feel like a king at this crucial parley.
I knew it was crucial. It was the last chance to take stock of men and money and to make sure all was as ready as could be for resumption of the battle with King Philip for our lands in France.
“That will do, Peter,” John said when his valet had placed the gold crown on his head and he was satisfied with his appearance.
As soon as the man was out the door, I resumed my arguments.
“Why may I not be present? When I was crowned Archbishop Hubert called me your partner. Shouldn’t your partner be by your side when it’s such an important meeting?”
To tell the truth I was impelled as much by inquisitiveness as by the need to assert my status. I wanted to be in at the end of this exciting story.
John had told me part of it: how he’d ordered the barons who owed him military service to meet him at Portsmouth. They were to bring their knights and sufficient money to pay their expenses during the campaign. Many of them demurred, though. They refused to come unless he guaranteed their traditional privileges. They wanted to return to the days when they ru
led like kings in their own domains, free to dispense justice and levy tributes, unbeholden to any king. John had been furious at this show of independence. When he’d threatened to seize their castles, they were alarmed and backed down. John had told me all this with glee, proud of how he’d shown who was in charge. He was sure he’d prevail.
The rest I’d heard from William de Cantilupe. I’d met him by chance one day just before we left Winchester while I was on my way to hear mass. Several of my ladies were walking along the brick walk through the gardens that led to the chapel. As I drew near I heard them talking and laughing. I was surprised to see Sir William part of this merry group. Perhaps he’s not always the hardworking, unsmiling functionary, I thought.
Though it was May, the breeze was fresh and cool. I asked one of the ladies to go back and fetch me a shawl. Sir William fell in by my side as I walked on toward the chapel.
I asked him what the news was of the barons’ revolt.
“John tells me he’s got the upper hand,” I said. “I could hardly believe that those ferocious subjects of his would cave in so easily. How did he manage it? What have you heard, Sir William? Have the wolves become lambs?"
He was more than forthcoming. He told me that to carry through on his threat, John had been preparing to attack and burn down the castle of one of his staunchest English lords, William of Albini. At the last minute the hapless lord offered his son as hostage if John would desist. John did desist—but held the lad prisoner and threatened to kill him if there were any more insurrections.
“They’ve been quiet since then. But I’d be surprised if they’d turned into lambs. There’s still a lot of fierce resentment at being called to cross the Channel and fight in France.”
That was a week ago. The confrontation would come to a head tonight. From what Sir William had said, there was a real chance that the barons could gain the upper hand. I had no wish for this, God knows, but I very much wanted to be there, to see these fearsome barons in a body and to see how John handled them.
But John had said no.
After he left, I waited impatiently for hours. Lady Anne and Adèle were with me for a while. At first I was glad of their company. My former playmate and I were settling into a new relationship. At twelve, she’d grown taller and had become quite pretty, with her long dark ringlets and hazelnut-brown eyes. When we were younger, she’d deferred to me because I was older and bigger and she was somewhat afraid of me. Now she treated me with respect because I was the Queen, but she’d also gained a certain dignity and self-confidence. She wasn’t simply somebody I could push around, but more of a little sister, who might become a friend. I liked her.
This evening, though, I didn’t like anyone, I was still so annoyed with John. At last I told Anne and Adèle that they might as well leave. I would wait alone. And wait I did, pacing back and forth between my chair by the fire and the window. There’d been no letup in the frenzied activity. Now, under torchlight, it looked like a scene from purgatory. Finally I called my maid and changed into my nightdress (a silky rose confection, one of John’s favorites) and lay down on the bed. I was just dozing off when the door opened and in he came. I was determined to have the first word.
“So. What mighty deeds have you and your men accomplished?”
My sarcasm was lost on him. He walked in like a conquering hero, swept me off the bed and into his arms and gave me a resounding kiss.
“Now they know who their King is and why they should obey him! My sweeting, you would have been proud of me. What a pity you weren’t there.”
I repressed my angry retort because by now curiosity was stronger than resentment. However, I intended to be as cool with him as I could. I slipped out of his embrace and sat down.
“Since I wasn’t there, you must tell me all about it.”
He did, still so full of the story that he couldn’t settle anywhere and paced about the room.
“Well, they came here as ordered, two dozen of the mightiest lords of the kingdom, with their money and hundreds of their men. But I knew they’d been complaining to anyone who would listen about having to leave their homes and go abroad for a foreign war. Once we got to France, I doubted if they’d serve me with the dedication I needed. So what do you suppose I did?”
“I have no idea.”
“First I had my treasurer collect all the coin and gold they’d brought. And a goodly pile it was, my sweetheart! You would have been amazed! We had to send for two more chests. Once that was secure and locked up, they stood before me, sullen as beaten hounds, waiting for instructions for departure tomorrow.” He stopped, looked around, and asked peevishly, “Why is there no wine here?”
“Because, my lord, I ordered none to be brought. I had no idea when or whether you would return. However, we can certainly send for refreshments now.”
He stamped to the door, hallooed and gave instructions to the page who came running.
He went on with his tale. His black eyes were flashing, and his beard quivered as it did when he was excited.
“I thanked them for their ‘loyal support.’ I was really ridiculing them, and it wasn’t lost on them! Then I asked my justiciar Geoffrey Fitz-Peter, who was beside me on the dais, to stand up.
“ ‘Sir Geoffrey,’ I told them, ‘will be my deputy here in England while I’m in France. If you have any complaints while I’m gone you may present them to Sir Geoffrey.’ You should have seen their faces then! Mouths hanging open, wondering what I was up to. I soon set them straight. ‘Because, my lords, in view of your reluctance to fight for England, you may all go home, and take your knights with you.’”
A servant came in with wine and a bowl of nuts and figs. John poured himself a goblet and sank into a chair.
“Then I thanked them for the tithes they’d brought and I pointed to the chests. I told them that without their generosity, I wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to hire soldiers in France. That was about it. They were so thunderstruck, they just stared at me trying to take it in. Some of them began to grumble, but what could they do? Nothing. So they left.”
He took a handful of nuts and chewed, watching me, waiting for my praise.
I was a little thunderstruck myself. So this was what a king could do. It smacked of deceit, but on the other hand, what a monstrous joke he’d played on those horrid barons!
“King John, I congratulate you. What a clever scheme! Tell me though, did you have it in mind even when you sent out the orders to the barons from Winchester?” I knew he could act decisively but it was often on impulse and rashly, with dire results. This would have taken a great deal of planning.
“I did. I put it to Sir Geoffrey, no one else, and he saw at once how well it could work. ‘Brilliant,’ I believe he said. So now, since my chicken-hearted barons won’t be going to France, I don’t need to be afraid of desertions or treachery. And when we get across the Channel, I’ll see how things stand with Philip. If I decide it’s time to hire mercenaries I’ll have all the money I need.”
“Well done! Shall we celebrate your victory? Shall I send for more wine?” I’d forgotten how cross I’d been, how I’d determined to be cool and withdrawn. I felt only astonished admiration.
“No, I think I’m ready to celebrate in a more intimate fashion.”
He stood, lifted me onto the bed and bent over me. He ran his hands gently over my cheeks and traced the outline of my lips with his finger. Very slowly, he inclined his head and brushed his lips against mine.
There was a knock and Peter poked his head in the door. Perhaps he wanted to atone for his selection of the wrong boots.
“Do you wish more wine, my liege? And do you wish me to assist you now with your preparation for bed?”
“No thank you, Peter. I believe the Queen and I will manage on our own tonight.”
Chapter 28
Hugh le Brun
1201
God saw that none were rendering him glory and he was displeased. He turned aside and his anger consumed him so gre
atly that instead of the peace we had enjoyed, troubles broke out, especially in Poitou.
Chronicle of the Abbey of la Couronne, Angoulême, 1201
In the spring of 1201 God seemed to go to great lengths to punish us in Poitou.
From Poitiers all the way to the Atlantic, fields that should have been green with young wheat were soggy and barren. A severe freeze and ice storm the year before had killed trees and vines. Then torrential fall rains made harvesting and threshing impossible, much less replanting. People who had been able to eke out a living on their plots, albeit a poor and chancy one, now suffered from near-famine. Whole families, poor and hungry, wandered about the countryside, hopeless and ready to steal or kill to keep body and soul together. The church viewed it as divine vengeance.
It had been a dreadful spring for me too, with one piece of bad news after another for our Lusignan clan.
First we heard that John’s forces in Normandy had taken Ralph’s castle at Driencourt, near Eu. Then we learned that even before the loss of Driencourt, John had seized Ralph’s holdings in England. Most serious of all, an army of two hundred warriors under the famous and feared English knight, William Marshal, was poised to make a sweep of Normandy and Poitou. John had instructed them to seize the castles and lands of those lords who refused to submit. Geoffrey’s castle at Moncontour was sure to be on their list.
Finally I heard that John himself had landed at Cherbourg in early June.
The vow I’d made the year before when he escaped to England burned in my brain: “Next time, I’ll be ready.”
It was time to keep my vow. I sent swift messengers to my half-brother Hugues de Surgères and to our kinsmen at Lezay, Angles and elsewhere, as well as to a dozen other Poitevin families who were not close kin, but longtime allies.
