by Rachel Bard
“John!” cried Isabella over the baby’s howling. “Do control yourself!”
I tried to. I sat down and clenched my teeth, glaring at the floor until I had calmed down. I looked up to see that Isabella had taken the child from the cradle and was comforting him. The nurse, alarmed by the uproar, came in and bore little Henry out of the room.
“I can’t help it,” I groaned. “Bad temper runs in the family. My mother used to tell me that mine was even worse than my father’s, and God knows he was a terror when anyone crossed him.”
“That may be, but let’s try to avoid outbursts in front of the baby. Otherwise he might think that’s what it takes to be a king, and grow up with a terrible temper himself.”
She spoke with some testiness. Then she took pity on me, where I sat slumped over in dejection. She came to sit beside me and put her arms around my neck. She held her cheek against mine.
“Dear John, no wonder you have trouble with your temper. I know how this fuss about the Archbishop and the interdict troubles you. It’s not fair for the Pope to interfere in your kingdom, but you’ll find a way out of it. I know you will.” She kissed me and smoothed my hair—I’d been tearing at it in my rage.
I held her close, and gradually I became calm. Sometimes I thought my love for Isabella was all that kept me going. She believed in me and encouraged me when no one else did. She was my refuge.
I didn’t take the Pope’s strictures lying down, though. As the months passed it became clear which of the clergy were with me and which supported Innocent’s position. The latter had an unpleasant surprise. If they obeyed the interdict and closed their churches, my officers were on the scene at once to confiscate their property—churches, estates, homes, everything. Too bad for them, and all the better for my treasury, thanks to their unwilling contributions. I’d laugh at each new encounter and imagine the Pope’s chagrin when he learned how much his stern measures were enriching me. I seriously considered sending him my thanks.
Instead, I gave Isabella a necklace of emeralds. I gave myself a cloth-of-gold girdle studded with pearls from the Orient. The fortunes of my London jeweler improved considerably.
To add to my good cheer, Isabella was pregnant with our second child. The more the better, from my point of view. A king needs a good supply of sons to stand in line to succeed him and daughters to marry off to the highest bidder.
We went to Windsor to keep Christmas, and a merry time we had. I wasn’t going to let Pope Innocent ruin my holidays. On Christmas Day we heard Mass in the chapel, then went for our feast to the great hall in the Round Tower. I looked around in satisfaction as we entered. I’d spent many a Christmas here. The hall looked much as it did during one of those all-too-rare occasions when my family were on sufficiently civil terms with one another to gather for the festivities. A tall holly tree stood in a corner, its tip grazing the ceiling. Green garlands festooned the walls. Warmth spread from the hearth where a huge log blazed enthusiastically. Nearby, a group of minstrels, decked out in smart tunics and hose of red and green, struck up a cheery tune as we entered.
We were about three dozen at table, thanks to my council, Isabella’s ladies, and the troop of courtiers who accompanied us on our many travels about the kingdom. Everybody waited expectantly to see what wonders the cooks had devised for us.
Cheers and applause broke out when three pairs of servitors marched in. Each pair bore, on a yard-long silver platter carpeted with grass, a whole rabbit baked in pastry, complete with tall pastry ears, puffy tail and raisins for eyes. Small roast birds had been set on the grass as though hopping about the rabbits. We admired the realistic effect, but that didn’t stop us from demolishing everything in short order. After several more courses—eel pie, roasted quail, onion tart-- we were served platters of fig tartlets swimming in honey. By then everybody was ready to sit back and let digestion begin, with the aid of a glass of spiced wine.
We talked about what was on all our minds, the standoff with the Pope.
“The people are with you, my liege, no doubt about that,” said Robert de Thorneham.
“I think they are, Sir Robert. But my people can be fickle. How can we make sure they don’t lose heart, and perhaps let themselves be swayed by the arguments the Pope’s agents are sowing all over the land?”
Isabella, who had been sitting quietly at my side, spoke up.
“John, isn’t it true that many of your priests keep mistresses? I know the French clerics do, and I doubt if the English would want to be thought behind the times.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Another black mark for the Pope. Why doesn’t he enforce the rule of celibacy?”
“Then let me put this before you. What if you seized the concubines, held them for ransom, and forced the guilty priests to pay up in order to get their ladies back?”
Not a sound, except a smothered belch from some one down the table.
I laughed aloud—what an original, inspired idea! When the others saw how I’d reacted they began to titter, then let out roars of laughter.
I sent the orders at once. Within a week, sheriffs’ officers began rounding up the unfortunate women, and a fine large number they captured. It didn’t take long for the bereft clerics to pay up to retrieve their companions. Meantime, the good English folk were treated to a most entertaining spectacle. I doubt if the Pope, when he heard of it far off in Rome, found it so entertaining.
My glee over this caper was short-lived. At the New Year when we’d returned to Winchester Lady Anne rejoined our court. She’d been in France staying with her ailing mother for some months. Now the old lady had finally died. Isabella was glad to have Anne back. I wasn’t.
Isabella was approaching her term. She was easily upset and short of temper. Late one afternoon, two days after Lady Anne’s return, I went to my Queen’s bedchamber, as was my daily custom. I asked her how she was feeling. She was sitting up in bed, with her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes blazed. I anticipated trouble. At the same time, I thought I’d never seen her look more comely.
She brushed my polite questions aside and rushed to the attack
“So my lord, you’ve been amusing yourself with poor little Adèle, while her mother was gone? Seducing an innocent girl, charming her just as you once charmed me? Don’t try to deny it. Adèle has confessed the whole sordid affair to her mother. Well, King John, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I was stunned. I’d taken precautions to keep my dalliance with Adèle quiet. With her mother gone and nobody keeping an eye on her, we had no trouble finding times and places to meet. At first she was prettily modest, then yielded when I told her that no one need ever know. It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed a young girl, especially one who proved so thrilled at this introduction to adult pleasures—and with a king!
In time, though, I lost interest in her. I didn’t seek her out so often. As the affair petered out, she didn’t pursue me, but I could see the hurt in her eyes when we chanced across each other. I suppose it was wounded pride that made her go to Lady Anne and confess.
There was no point in denial. But I had a secret weapon.
“Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone, Isabella. I’ve known for a long time of your assignations with Hugh le Brun, when you were in Angoulême. I didn’t reproach you because I hoped you’d come to me and admit your infidelity, in which case I would have gladly forgiven you. Even now, if you’ll acknowledge your misdeeds, I’ll agree to forget they happened.”
If I thought this would bring her around, I was sadly mistaken. Every word of her disdainful reply was like a spurt of venom.
“I will acknowledge no misdeeds. It’s true that two years ago I saw Hugh in Angoulême—once. There were no ‘assignations.’ He came unannounced and uninvited. We spent about half an hour together. If he had any notion of resuming a relationship with me, I quickly put that out of his mind. I told him I was happy in my marriage, that I loved yo
u and you loved me. Then we parted as friends.”
“ ‘Friends,’ eh? Then how do you explain that embrace and that kiss, just before Hugh was called away?”
“Your spies have been most observant. My congratulations. It’s true Hugh and I exchanged a kiss, no more, in farewell. And farewell it was. We both knew we were unlikely ever to see each other again. You must remember, my lord, that I knew Hugh long before I knew you. We were attached to each other. We were to be married. I still respect him. I see no reason to wipe out that chapter of my history, and you can’t force me to.”
Her words only enraged me more. I had to strike back at her somehow.
“So, you hold yourself up as a model of virtue and goodness? That’s not the picture the common folk of England paint of you. They don’t have as high an opinion of their Queen as she has of herself.”
“The common folk? When do I ever see the common folk, much less listen to them? You might as well tell me what they say. I can see you’re dying to.”
“And so I shall. They call you a witch, an enchantress. They say you’ve cast spells on their King that kept him from defending his kingdom. They say it’s because of you that we have this damnable interdict on the whole land. That’s what they say. And sometimes I think it’s true!”
She gave me one last contemptuous look, then lay back on her pillow and turned her head aside. Silence. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
It was our first serious quarrel. I felt depressed. Part of it was annoyance that she’d learned of my affair with Adèle. Part of it was my grudging admission to myself that she was probably telling the truth about Hugh. I sat there staring at my feet. The light was fading, and I thought dully that I should send for someone to light the candles. I heard a gasp and looked up. Isabella was clutching herself around the waist. She moaned, then she cried out. I ran to her.
“John, call my women, I think it’s beginning!”
I’d had no idea she was so near to giving birth. I rushed out, told Lady Anne and the nurse, and made my way back to my own rooms.
Our second son, Richard, was born later that night. His arrival after a long, hard labor was such a relief and distraction to us both that we put aside the matter of our quarrel about Hugh. But I didn’t forget.
Chapter 40
Isabella
1209-1210
Excommunication! The word had such a horrid ring. It sounded just like what it was: the worst punishment God’s vicar on earth could dole out.
Pope Innocent excommunicated John in the fall of 1209. John sank into one of his black moods where he stayed for two days. At last I persuaded him to walk out with me into the gardens behind the palace at Winchester. He was still glum, but willing to talk.
“Just what will it mean, being excommunicated?” I asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because I knew John rather enjoyed explaining to me the way the world works. “Besides forbidding you to go to mass and confess your sins and all that? I know King Philip was excommunicated because he refused to live with his queen and preferred Agnès de Méran. But as far as I could tell he kept right on doing as he pleased, in spite of the Pope. He certainly didn’t send Agnès away. So what good was the excommunication?”
I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d snapped at me or refused to answer. On the contrary he took my question seriously.
“You’re right, Isabella, as far as Philip’s case goes. It didn’t much affect his ability to govern. But Philip was lucky. Agnès died after she’d given him the heirs he wanted. So as soon as Philip was no longer living in sin, the Pope of course forgave all. What’s more, the French didn’t seem to hold it against him. I’m afraid the English aren’t so frivolous and lighthearted.” We walked on in silence, arm in arm. I could feel his arm stiffen as his tension grew.
“That Pope! He’s as good as branding me a leper in the eyes of my own people! They’re already angry about the interdict. Now when they learn I’ve been expelled from the church they’ll respect me even less. I’ll lose even more of the support of my vassals. They’ll decide they have no more reason to obey me. By God’s ears, I’ll show them!”
His face reddened as his famous temper rose. He glared at a page who was passing and shook his fist as though confronting his enemy the Pope. The poor terror-stricken lad scurried out of sight.
John couldn’t go to war with the Pope, but he struck out at his enemies at home. He’d become obsessively convinced that he was being assaulted from all sides. In Scotland, Ireland and Wales his barons were defying him. He spoke often of another expedition to regain the lands lost to King Philip. But first he’d have to put down his unruly subjects at home. He set about it with rare vigor.
First he took on King William of Scotland. John suspected him of conspiring with his enemies. He managed to muster a formidable army which he deployed on the Scottish frontier. William, old and tired, sued for peace.
Next John sailed to Ireland and chased a troop of rebellious barons the length of the country and into the sea. They fled to France.
What with all this warring, John wasn’t present when our daughter Joanna arrived in the summer of 1210. She joined Henry, aged three, and Richard, not yet a year old.
She was smaller and more delicate than my sturdy sons had been at birth, with blue eyes and a fuzz of blond hair. Lady Anne was almost as enchanted with her as I was.
“She’s identical to the way you looked as a baby, my lady. So I expect we’ll have another beauty in the family.”
Much as I loved my babies, I thought three in three years was enough. I was afraid of losing my looks. When John returned after Joanna’s birth, sometimes I would try to put him off when he was eager to make love. I seldom succeeded, nor did I always want to. Even after ten years of marriage we could still fall into each other’s arms as though we were honeymooners. I could see that, so far, my childbearing had not made me less desirable to him. Yet I worried.
Anne came in to my chamber at Winchester one day to find me examining my face in the mirror, searching for wrinkles. Satisfied that all was still well on that front, I asked her to help me into the blue gown I’d worn at my coronation, to see if I showed any bulges. I’d always seen to it that my ladies took good care of my favorite gowns because they had to last a long time. It was not easy to wheedle money from John for new clothes. Fortunately, this one still looked nearly new.
I stood in the light near the window so Anne could study me critically.
“Well, perhaps a bit tighter around the waist. But my lady, you’ve no need for concern. You’re only twenty-four after all, and as slim and smooth as you ever were.”
“But I want to stay that way. Anne, aren’t there certain teas or possets a woman can take to keep from getting pregnant? Do you know how to find them?”
“I’ve heard vague old wives’ tales, and I suppose I could ask around. But my dear, your husband would be very angry if he knew you were taking measures like that. He’s a true Plantagenet, anxious to have as many children as possible.”
“He needn’t know. I think I’m entitled to a few secrets from John. Don’t you keep some things from Sir William?”
“Of course I do, though not many. But that’s different. We’re not married.”
“More’s the pity.”
She’d told me by now that she and William de Cantilupe were deeply attached to each other. Ever since she’d confessed to me about Adèle’s affair with John, Anne and I had drawn closer. I think she was grateful that I hadn’t blamed Adèle. As for me, I was increasingly glad to have one friend to whom I could talk freely.
“What’s the word about his mysterious unmentionable wife who’s hidden somewhere out in Wessex? Isn’t there something we could do to hasten her demise?”
“That’s a matter that William doesn’t talk about. And I don’t pry. All he says is that he can never live with her again. Is she demented, is she an impossible shrew? I have no idea. Yet there she is, his lawful wife. So what future is there for us?�
��
I’d seldom seen Anne despondent, much less so close to tears. I went to her and put my arms around her.
“There there, my dear friend. Let’s not torment ourselves thinking of the future. At least you have the present. And as long as I can help I will.”
She knew what I meant. She sniffled a bit, wiped her eyes, then regained her good humor.
“And how grateful we are to you, my lady.”
While we were in Winchester, where I had my private apartments, I’d been glad to let Anne and William meet there, discreetly of course. They were always careful to avoid going in or leaving together. Anne’s room was near mine so I could help them keep watch. I enjoyed the sense of intrigue. And what harm did it do?
Most of what I knew of John’s doings when he was away I learned from William. Besides being chief household seneschal, he was John’s deputy in several important shires so he traveled often throughout the kingdom. News also came during the council meetings, where Geoffrey Fitz-Peter reported on the King’s campaigns. As justiciar and John’s second in command, Geoffrey was the first to receive dispatches when John was campaigning. The council meetings were attended by the chancellor of the exchequer, the royal treasurer, the seneschals, the household stewards, and other officers and clerks who kept the realm’s business moving. The primary reason for the gatherings was the perpetual need to find new revenue sources. Warfare was expensive.
In John’s absence I presided at these meetings. I’d asked John if I could, and he’d said indulgently, “Of course.” He doubtless thought I saw it as merely a ceremonial recognition of my status. That was largely true, though I fully intended to speak up if I saw the need. Maybe one day I’d take on Sir Geoffrey. His whole bearing, haughty and unsmiling, showed how he disapproved of the presence of a mere woman, queen though she be, in the council chamber.
