Song of Isabel

by Ida Curtis

  Chetwynd stared into the fiery brown eyes that were daring him to try and reason further. Then he started to laugh. He was as surprised at his outburst as Isabel was. As he watched her eyes widen and her mouth open, he laughed harder. That was when she made a fist and struck him on his sore shoulder. He stopped laughing to gasp in pain.

  Isabel was immediately aghast at what she had done. “Saints alive, that’s your sore arm.”

  Chetwynd wiped a tear from his eye. It was from laughter, not pain. “What am I going to do with you, Isabel?”

  His face had softened, and Isabel hoped he was relenting. She moved between his legs and placed her hands on his chest. He watched her fingers move into the pale hairs below his stomach and thought he might stop breathing. Because of the strange roar in his ears, it took him a minute to realize someone was calling his name. He recognized Ingram’s voice.

  “What is it?” he called out impatiently without taking his eyes off Isabel’s face.

  “Chetwynd, it’s urgent,” Ingram called from the other side of the curtain that was pulled across the entrance.

  Chetwynd paused another few seconds as he looked at Isabel, then sighed deeply and gently pushed her away. At the entrance he whipped open the curtain and faced Ingram.

  Before Chetwynd could say a word, Ingram made a blunt announcement. “Queen Judith has arrived at Saint Ives with her entourage. She has been accused of witchcraft by Bishop Agobard and banished to the convent.”

  While Isabel struggled to grasp the meaning of his message, she noticed that Ingram was carrying their clothes. He sent an apologetic look in her direction. Behind Ingram she saw Jerome, his eyes directed toward the floor, and realized he must have brought the message from Saint Ives.

  Chetwynd grabbed his clothes and addressed his squire. “Jerome, wait for Lady Isabel to dress, then bring her back to the convent.”

  Before Isabel could say a word, Chetwynd looked at her with a warning scowl. “Don’t say anything, Isabel. Just this once, do what I ask of you without argument. Jerome will bring you along as soon as you’re dressed.”

  Chetwynd had no need to worry. Isabel was too startled to object to being left behind. In stunned silence she watched as he strode from the room, still wrapped in a flannel. He closed the curtain behind him so she could dress in private. She wondered vaguely if he would take time to dress, and almost laughed at the thought of his arriving at Saint Ives in his flannel. Then she heard Jerome clear his throat outside the curtain, and hurried to put on her clothes.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AN UNEASY SILENCE HUNG BETWEEN JEROME and Isabel as they rode back to Saint Ives at a leisurely pace, neither one of them eager to reach the convent. For the first time, Chetwynd’s squire seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes, and his withdrawal hurt and puzzled Isabel. They had been through a great deal together and had become close confidants while escaping from the outlaws.

  Determined to break the silence without referring to the present situation, Isabel asked, “Have you ever seen a Roman bath, Jerome?”

  “No, my lady.”

  Since baths were no doubt not open to squires, Isabel was not surprised by his answer, but she hoped to at least spark some interest. “The Roman bath was glorious. The water was warm and steamy. It seemed to support my body so that I could float much easier than in the pond back home. Perhaps it’s the minerals in the water. I could smell them and didn’t like the smell at first. But I got used to it soon enough.”

  There was still no trace of the chattering lad she had come to care for. Jerome kept his horse at a slow and steady pace and stared straight ahead.

  Isabel became even more determined to elicit a response from the young squire. “But there was one thing I didn’t enjoy. Lord Chetwynd told me he was leaving me at the convent while he continued on to Aachen. I lost my temper at the news and struck him with my fist, on his sore shoulder just below the big black-and-blue bruise from when I hit him with a rock. You should have seen his face.”

  Isabel succeeded in getting Jerome to look at her. With wide eyes and an open mouth he was searching her face to see if she was serious. “You struck him?”

  “I did. I might have done it again, but Ingram arrived in time to rescue Chetwynd from further attack.”

  Jerome shook his head from side to side, his smile back in place. “I told Lord Chetwynd you weren’t afraid of anything, my lady.”

  That wasn’t quite true, Isabel thought. She was afraid of being abandoned. But events had taken a drastic turn with the appearance of the queen. Would Chetwynd still leave for Aachen as he had planned? Isabel had overheard Ingram tell Chetwynd that the queen had been banished to the convent. It was hard for Isabel to believe she had heard correctly.

  “Jerome, can you tell me exactly what happened after we left Saint Ives?”

  Jerome thought about her question for a minute, perhaps wondering if his loyalty to Chetwynd would be compromised if he gave her the information she sought. He must have decided it wouldn’t because he signaled his horse to move closer to hers.

  “It was shortly after the noon meal. Two messengers galloped wildly into the courtyard. I could tell by their speed that something was afoot. They asked to see the abbess. It wasn’t long before word spread that Queen Judith was on her way.”

  After looking about, Jerome slowed his horse even more and continued his story. “You should have seen the nuns running about. They were buzzing like a hive of bees.

  “I stayed close to the porter, offering to help cool the horses of the messengers. They are especially bred to race long distances, you know. You should have seen them, my lady. Not big like war horses, but thinner and lighter. It must be heaven to ride such a horse.”

  Isabel nodded. Of course he would notice the horses. “Did you learn anything about why the queen was arriving unexpectedly at Saint Ives?”

  There was a slight pause as Jerome shifted his mind from horses to people. “A messenger came to the stable to check on the horses. I overheard him confide that one of the bishops, I forget his name, had banished the queen from court. When the porter questioned him, the messenger said King Louis was on a religious retreat. The bishop acted while the king was away.”

  “I can see that you have a talent for being in the right place at the right time, Jerome.”

  She needn’t have worried about him going silent again. Jerome was now into his tale.

  “In no time, rumors about the queen were flying about. Suddenly there was a great noise in the courtyard. The clatter of horses and clinking of armor brought everyone to attention. A special troop of guards led the way, mounted on giant war horses. They were the queen’s escorts.”

  Isabel stared ahead and tried to picture the scene. If the queen had been banished, would the soldiers be guarding her to prevent her escape, or were they protecting her?

  “What about the queen, Jerome? Did she ride a horse?” she prompted. Everyone who had seen the queen always mentioned how beautiful she was. Except for Chetwynd, but then he had said little about her.

  “The queen rides in a litter decorated with fancy draperies she can pull for privacy. There were also dozens of servants and many wagons loaded with furnishings. I heard a nun say the queen always brings her own tapestries for the walls and serving dishes for the table. I even saw some fancy chairs tied on top of one of the wagons. You had to see it to believe it.”

  Jerome painted quite a vivid picture. “Was there any talk of why Queen Judith was banished? Did you hear anything about that?”

  “I did hear the word witchcraft.” Jerome whispered the word, looking around again. Witchcraft was never spoken of casually. “I’m sure it had something to do with witchcraft.”

  Isabel appreciated the fear the word evoked. The charge of witchcraft, used mostly against women, was a dangerous accusation because it was difficult to defend yourself against it. She shivered at the thought, remembering women in Narbonne who had been accused of performing the devil’s work. It was hard f
or her to believe the charge would be brought against the queen.

  On the other hand, Isabel had no doubt the queen had angered religious leaders with her ambitions for her son. Her grandmother, who fancied herself knowledgeable about royal affairs, had explained that the bishops’ main concern was keeping the Christian empire united under the king’s three grown sons. Still it was hard to imagine they would retaliate so strongly.

  “Do you think the queen has done something recently to anger the church fathers?” Isabel asked.

  He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I heard no rumors. Didn’t really have time. Queen Judith spotted me in the crowd at Saint Ives and called me to her.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Jerome seemed to regret he had spoken them. But he hurried on, avoiding her eyes. “Lord Chetwynd is well-known by everyone at court. The queen asked about him, and told me to find him.” Jerome seemed embarrassed by the part he had played.

  The queen had recognized Chetwynd’s squire. In spite of the information Isabel had already received through gossip, as well as from Chetwynd himself, the intimacy that recognition implied startled Isabel. Now her husband was rushing to be at the queen’s side. Isabel reined in her horse, upset enough to think about not returning to the convent.

  Jerome rode a short distance until he realized she had stopped; then he turned and rode back to her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, my lady.”

  “You didn’t upset me, Jerome,” she lied. “Thanks for telling me about the queen’s arrival.”

  Because his unhappy face made it clear that he didn’t believe her, Isabel smiled at him. “I’m not going to kill the messenger.”

  “Good,” he replied simply.

  Isabel urged her horse forward. “Let’s get back to Saint Ives so I can see for myself what’s happening.” As appealing as not returning to the convent seemed at the moment, she knew it wasn’t a real possibility.

  Jerome nodded, but he remained silent for the rest of their ride. Isabel was relieved, as she had heard enough.

  As soon as they entered the gate, the porter informed Isabel that Gilda was waiting for her in her bedchamber. Lord Chetwynd was nowhere to be seen, but the courtyard was full of activity. There were many newly arrived servants unloading wagons. One of the women greeted Jerome and turned to study Isabel.

  Ignoring the woman’s open appraisal, Isabel stared at the chairs and tables that awaited placement. Jerome’s description had been accurate, but it had not prepared her for the number of people and volume of goods. She wondered if there were enough rooms at the convent to lodge the queen and her followers.

  Rushing to her room, Isabel found Gilda and Marianna packing her things. Before she could ask what they were doing, Gilda embraced her warmly, then stood back to peer at her face.

  “I can’t believe how much better you look today, Lady Isabel. Of course your bruise is still quite colorful. Did you enjoy your visit to the bath?”

  “Very much. I wish we could have stayed longer.”

  “We need more powder for your face, my lady,” Marianna remarked.

  “I imagine the water washed the powder away,” she answered as she looked around the room. “What are you doing here?”

  Gilda wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’m sorry for the confusion. We need this room for some of the queen’s party. You can share my chamber for now. Chetwynd asked me to fill you in on what’s been happening here. He’s busy at the moment, or he’d talk to you himself, I’m sure.”

  Busy with Queen Judith, were the words Gilda omitted. Isabel nodded to indicate she understood. “I’ll help you pack.”

  Gilda suddenly waved her hand at the disruption in the room and turned toward a bench. “The queen has us all scurrying about. I’m going to sit for a minute so we can talk in peace,” she explained.

  Isabel smiled, remembering Jerome’s description of the nuns. Clearly Gilda didn’t enjoy buzzing about like a bee.

  “I’ll finish up here while you talk,” Marianna offered.

  As soon as they settled side by side on the bench, Gilda sighed and said, “I’ll tell you what I know, Isabel. The queen has been banished from court and is to be cloistered at our convent. Bishop Agobard claims Judith has been bewitched by Gerberga, a nun I have met a few times. The bishop has either persuaded the king, or taken it upon himself—I’m not sure which—to banish the queen. The deed has taken us all by surprise, as you can imagine.”

  Isabel shook her head. “I don’t understand how this could happen. Why would the king agree to the queen’s banishment?”

  “We don’t know for sure that he did, but I can guess at one reason. King Louis is getting old. All he wants to do at this stage in his life is enjoy a little peace and prepare to meet his maker. I have no doubt the king wishes to retire to a monastery himself and leave his grown sons to govern the empire. It’s not uncommon for noble men and women to spend their last years in a monastery or convent.”

  “That may be true, Gilda, but the queen is young.”

  “Ah yes. That’s where the witchcraft charge comes in. No doubt it’s meant to force her into a convent.

  “Bishop Agobard wishes to rid the court of a powerful queen who upsets his hopes for a united and strong empire. This isn’t his first attempt. About a year ago, Bishop Agobard tried to convince the king that Judith had committed adultery with Bernard of Septimania and that Charles was Bernard’s son. If his accusation had been believed, Charles would have lost all rights to a royal inheritance.”

  For the first time, Isabel was beginning to feel sympathy for the queen. “I had heard rumors from my grandmother, but nothing specific. What happened?”

  “Fortunately for Judith, Charles bears a strong physical resemblance to the king’s grown sons. The queen was able to convince the king the charge against her was false. This latest maneuver to remove her is dramatically different, but the goal is the same.”

  “Does the bishop have a chance of making this accusation any more believable than the first one?”

  “There is background to support the charge. The queen and Gerberga, a nun who resides in Aachen, are close allies. For many years there have been rumors that Gerberga practices black magic and witchcraft. These accusations may have started because she uses her skills as a healer to help women with health problems of various kinds. The most dangerous advice she gives is how to prevent pregnancy and space children. It’s a practice the church opposes, as do some husbands.”

  Isabel nodded her understanding. “There was a woman in our village who was branded a witch for similar practices. My grandmother supported her and saved her from her accusers.”

  “Yes, unfortunately it’s a common story. For the most part, the good that Gerberga does works in her favor. She is very popular among women who fear having children one after the other. Even a few church officials support her work.”

  Isabel was puzzled. “What does this have to do with Queen Judith?”

  “The queen has always supported Gerberga. Bernard of Septimania is the king’s chamberlain, and Gerberga is his sister. I imagine he brought them together. I suspect Judith had advice from Gerberga when she wished to conceive a child with an elderly husband. Having a child was important to Judith. It was a way of assuring her position as queen.”

  Isabel couldn’t help being curious. “Are there means of helping with conception?”

  Gilda shrugged and smiled at her interest. “So some women believe. But I’ve never had much faith in potions. The latest rumor is that Gerberga has predicted that Charles will one day take his father’s place as Holy Roman Emperor. Of course the bishops are outraged at this, as is Lothar, the king’s eldest son.”

  “Why would Gerberga make such a dangerous prediction?”

  “She probably believes it. Considering this, Charles is a lot younger than his three brothers and may indeed one day be emperor. The abbess knows Gerberga well, and she says the nun is getting old and is unconcerned about her own safety.”

/>   “How does her prediction result in the charge of witchcraft?”

  Gilda rested her head on the wall as though the story tired her. “Gerberga has been accused of reading the entrails of chickens. It’s an old Roman ritual for predicting the future. Of course the church frowns on such practices, but they never really died out completely. Whether Gerberga has been doing this is uncertain, of course, and I myself doubt it.”

  “So the bishops are using the queen’s connection with Gerberga to drive her from court,” Isabel said.

  “That’s the way it seems to me. It’s unlikely they will be able to force Queen Judith to take the veil, but they can keep her here for a long time. It has happened before. When Charlemagne died, and King Louis became emperor, the first thing he did was send two of his sisters to a convent. Each had consorted with several men and had several children out of wedlock. It was behavior encouraged by Charlemagne who they say was fond of having grandchildren. But Louis the Pious has different ideas about how women should conduct themselves.”

  Gilda stood up and brushed at her dark habit. “I have wandered with my explanation, Isabel. Queen Judith will be with us for a while, although I somehow doubt it will be for long. I’m sure she has plenty of resources to call upon for help. In any case, being sent to a convent is not the worst thing that can happen to a woman.”

  Isabel nodded, remembering Gilda’s own story. “I noticed the queen has brought a great many of her belongings with her. She intends to be comfortable during her stay. Is there room enough at Saint Ives to accommodate her?”

  “We’ll have to move some people around, including you. But there’s also a large guesthouse reserved for royalty when they come on retreats. Queen Judith will be afforded the best accommodations, although I suspect she is already making plans for her return to the palace.”

  Just as Gilda was preparing to help Marianna move Isabel’s belongings, Chetwynd appeared at the door. Isabel noticed that he didn’t look in any better humor than when he had demanded that she stay at the bath and return with Jerome. The scowl on his face deepened as he looked at the small stack of Isabel’s things that Marianna had piled by the open door.