A Reed in the Wind: Joanna Plantagenet, Queen of Sicily

by Rachel Bard

  Just before reaching the port they turned to the right on a narrow, twisting, cobbled street. Joanna looked curiously at the humble shops, offering the most basic of necessities: long loaves of black bread; baskets of onions; dried fish spread on a table, so desiccated-looking that even the flies weren’t interested; yellow turnips as big as a man’s head with the soil from the field still clinging to them. Scrawny chickens scratched disconsolately for something edible in the dirty straw that lined their cages.

  Of these last, “They don’t look very happy,” she commented.

  “They’d look even less happy if they were aware their necks could be wrung at any moment,” said Sir Alan.

  It was noisy. Shopkeepers cried their wares and women in black shapeless gowns, with baskets on their arms, bargained vociferously. Most had a child or two in tow and many another had a sling about her neck from which a tiny face solemnly surveyed the bustle, or squalled in disapproval.

  The three riders, their horses at a slow walk, moved in single file down the center of the street. A few of the people they passed bowed their heads in respect when they saw Joanna. They may have known this was their queen, or more likely they supposed it was some noble lady, visiting their out-of-the-way enclave for whatever reason a noble lady might dream up. But many, when they saw Jean-Pierre, smiled and greeted him.

  “You’re well known here! Do you come often?”

  “Of late, I’ve done so. I must talk to the people so I can report back to the abbey about where we need to direct our efforts.”

  Presently the street petered out in a small, dusty square surrounded by a jumble of wooden hovels so unstable that Joanna was sure they’d all fall down if they weren’t propping each other up. Several boys in ragged, skimpy garments were playing a game with pebbles in the scanty shade of a discouraged-looking tree. They were very thin and very dirty. An emaciated black-and-white-spotted dog approached them hesitantly and sniffed hopefully at the pebbles. The biggest boy kicked the dog viciously and it slunk off. But another boy, smaller, with a mop of curly black hair, protested. Joanna couldn’t make out the words but he was clearly on the dog’s side; he ran after it and petted it and murmured in its ear. The dog licked the boy’s hand and lay down in a patch of sunlight near an old man who was sitting in a chair outside his door. The game resumed.

  A movement on the far side of the square caught Joanna’s eye. She saw an ancient, straggle-haired woman whose back was so bent that she seemed almost on all fours, pulling a rickety two-wheeled cart attached to a cord around her waist. In the cart sat a vacant-faced old man with his bony knees drawn up and his skeletal arms hugging them. Step by labored step, the old woman pulled her burden into a dark alleyway and was lost to sight.

  Joanna was stunned. She’d never seen anything like this—not in England, not in France, certainly not in this city where she’d lived for ten years.

  Jean-Pierre dismounted. The old man in the chair raised a hand in greeting and started to struggle to his feet but Jean-Pierre gestured to him to stay seated.

  “How are you today, Pietro?” he asked.

  “Not much worse than yesterday, I suppose, but better than tomorrow.” He cackled and fell into a fit of rasping coughs that seemed to be tearing his insides apart. Jean-Pierre waited. Meantime, Sir Alan helped Joanna to dismount and they moved to stand beside Jean-Pierre. In time the coughing subsided.

  “I’ve come to ask your help,” said Jean-Pierre. “Will you please see that all the other families around the square are told that if they’ll come to the San Benedetto Monastery tomorrow, we’ll be serving bread and meat broth all day? And maybe if the bakers keep their promise there’ll be enough bread for everybody to take a loaf or two home.”

  Pietro nodded. “I’ll make sure they get the word. They’ll be glad…” His last words were lost as a swarm of children burst out of the house. They surrounded Jean-Pierre and looked up at him like a nestful of baby birds eager to see what their parents had brought. Joanna counted: seven children, from toddlers who could barely walk to a girl of perhaps twelve. They were barefoot and their clothing was threadbare but looked reasonably clean.

  Jean-Pierre introduced the oldest girl to Joanna. “My lady Queen, this is Anna-Teresa, the granddaughter of Pietro here. While the mother of all these children is away, Anna-Teresa is in charge.”

  Anna-Teresa was so flustered to be meeting the queen of Sicily that she was tongue-tied. Joanna tried to put her at her ease.

  “You have a great responsibility, indeed! Is your mother away often?”

  “Every day except Sunday. She’s a washerwoman at the royal palace.” She smiled shyly. “That’s where you live, isn’t it? Mother says it’s very big and very beautiful, at least the little bit of it she’s seen. How I wish I could see it some day!”

  “Well, perhaps you will.”

  Some of the younger children were jumping up and down, their eyes fixed on the pouch hanging from Jean-Pierre’s belt. He smiled around the circle of hopeful faces and opened the pouch, handing a small brown nugget to each child. They scampered off, sucking on their treats.

  “What are those strange, unappetizing-looking objects you’re distributing, Brother John?” Sir Alan asked. “Are they really edible?”

  Jean-Pierre laughed. “The Sicilians call them ciottolini—little stones. They’re hardly more than bread dough sweetened with plenty of honey and baked to a considerable degree of hardness. The idea is to see how long you can suck on one before it begins to crumble in your mouth.”

  While he was handing out the little stones, the gaggle of ragamuffins who had been playing under the tree approached silently and stood a few yards off, watching. The pouch appeared to be bottomless. Jean-Pierre reached in and, just as impartially as with Pietro’s grandchildren, gave each boy a sweet, even the one who’d kicked the dog. They ran off, whooping. But one—the black-haired boy who’d defended the dog—looked up at Jean-Pierre and said “Thank you, Father.” Joanna saw that beneath the grime he had the face of a cherub. He smiled so angelically that she caught her breath. Jean-Pierre ruffled his black curls and said, “You are very welcome, Federico.” The boy ran to join his companions.

  “My goodness!” said Joanna. “Do you know them all by name?”

  “Not all. But that one’s caught my eye before. His mother’s dead but she must have taught him some manners before she went.”

  Sir Alan, like a horse eager to get back to his barn and his oats, was getting restive. “The afternoon’s advancing and I do believe we should be starting our return journey. Are you nearly finished here, Brother John?”

  After a final word with Pietro and a wave and a smile for all the children in sight, Jean-Pierre remounted. Joanna and Sir Alan were already in their saddles. Joanna would have liked to say goodbye to Anna-Teresa, but the girl had disappeared into the house. The three of them walked their horses out of the square.

  Almost all the way back she was silent, trying to understand what she’d observed. She’d known the world contained poor people as well as rich. Hadn’t Jesus preached that the poor are always with us, and that good Christians should be charitable to them? And when she’d gone with her parents to Westminster she’d seen among the throngs on the London streets many who were ill-clad, scrawny and not very clean. King Henry and Queen Eleanor had paid no attention to them so she didn’t either.

  Never until today had she given a thought to where such people lived, and how.

  How sheltered I’ve been, she mused. And how blind! I must find a way to help.

  Jean-Pierre had glanced at her occasionally, guessing at what was going through her head. When they’d almost reached the palace she spoke.

  “I suppose, from what you’ve said, that the city contains many other districts where the people are just as ill-provided as in that one little square we saw. Do you think King William knows how much poverty there is in Palermo?”

  “I’m sure he does, in theory. I doubt if he’s observed much of it first
hand.”

  “But wouldn’t he do something about it, if he knew?”

  “Oh, he does. Or at least the Royal Treasury does. The kings of Sicily have always seen that a certain amount is allotted to serve the poor. I’ve talked about this to Count Florian. He says the money goes directly to the monasteries and churches that are best equipped to dole out alms and food. But he concurred in my suspicion that along the way a certain amount is siphoned off. Unfortunately, not only are the poor always with us, so are those who prey on the poor.”

  “I must talk to William about this. But Jean-Pierre, I want so much to do something right now. I was wondering—could I take little Anna-Teresa under my wing, and find something for her to do at the palace, maybe in the kitchen or as a helper for my lady’s maid, Mary? She seemed quite bright and I think she’d learn quickly. And it would be one less mouth for her mother to feed.”

  They’d reached the palace steps. They dismounted and Sir Alan called a groom to lead away the horses.

  “Thank you, Sir Alan,” said Joanna. “Once more you’ve kept the forces of evil at bay and we’re safely home!”

  He didn’t smile. “No matter what you think, my lady, if I hadn’t been there with my sword ready to draw, who knows what villains might have sprung out on us, along those dark streets!”

  “Yes, I shouldn’t make light of it. I do truly appreciate your vigilance and protection.”

  Somewhat mollified, he touched a hand to his brow and left. The other two mounted the steps and by common consent sat on the same bench in the palace entry where they’d conferred only a few hours before.

  “As to bringing Anna-Teresa to the palace to live, I’m not sure it would be a good idea, though I appreciate your motives. It’s true, it would be one less for her mother to feed; but she’s very useful to her mother, watching over the younger children as she does and keeping the little dwelling in order and tending to the grandfather.”

  Joanna looked disheartened. She’d already begun to visualize Anna-Teresa in a neat gown and proper shoes, helping Mary with the sewing and learning how to care for the royal wardrobe.

  “However, let me make a different suggestion. Thanks to the mother’s employment, at least that family manages to keep body and soul together. But there are many others, young and old, with no homes, no way to earn a penny, no future. For example, the boys you saw in the square today. They live by handouts, they sleep in alleys and in a few years I have no doubt every one will have taken to thievery. By rescuing just one from that kind of life you’d be going a long way to insuring yourself the place in heaven that our Lord promised to those who give to the poor.”

  She looked doubtful. “But what do you mean, ‘rescue’? What would I do with a little boy?”

  “Just what you’d do with Anna-Teresa. Bring him to the palace and see that he’s trained in some useful trade or occupation. He could work in the stables, in the kitchen or even, if he looks like good material, as a page.”

  Her mind had raced ahead. “Yes! A splendid idea! And could it be the child you called Federico? You said his mother was dead. Do you think there’s any other family?”

  “I’m pretty sure there isn’t, but I’ll ask around. And of course I’ll explain to him what we have in mind and give him a chance to think about it. But, young as he is, he’s smart enough to see the attraction of trading a life in the streets for a warm bed and a full belly. I expect we’ll see him here in the palace within a day or two. I applaud you, my lady.”

  She pressed his hand. “What a good man you are, Jean-Pierre. Thank you for opening my eyes to what the real world is like. It’s been a most instructive afternoon. And I hope you’ll let me do what I can to help in your charitable work. Maybe I could come and ladle soup tomorrow!”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think that would be quite the thing, but be sure I’ll find some task for you. Meantime, you’ll be quite busy supervising the transformation of the child Federico.”

  “So I shall.” She rose. “I must go. But the more I think of it, the more I can see him as a page. It would be a pity to waste that sweet face and those black curls on horses in the stable or cooks in the kitchen.”

  “We’ll see, we’ll see. Meantime, I’ll let you know as soon as soon as he arrives. Good evening, my dear lady.”

  He watched her affectionately as she plucked up her skirts and ascended the stairs. I believe she’s right, he thought. I’ve opened her eyes to the real world. And she’s just the kind who can help to make it a better one.

  Chapter 37

  William arrived home from Messina two weeks later.

  It was nearly noon of a dark, overcast February day. He went straight to Joanna’s chamber where he knew he’d find warmth, a loving greeting and an attentive ear. They embraced, holding each other close, glad to be together again. Joanna took his hand and led him to a bench just big enough for two, in front of the tall window that overlooked the park. William kicked off his boots, stretched out his legs, wiggled his toes, and leaned back. Joanna curled up beside him. He put an arm around her shoulders and sighed with satisfaction.

  “I have so much to say to you, love. I’ll start by complimenting you on that fetching green gown. Is it new?”

  “Oh William, you always ask that. I’ve had it for ages. But thank you. Now before you begin you must listen to me for just a moment.” She closed her eyes briefly, concentrating, then opened them and recited the Arabic greeting she’d memorized, welcoming her husband and hoping he wouldn’t leave her again. She gave special emphasis to the last word, Insha’Allah—God willing. She liked it: such a useful expression in so many circumstances.

  He sat up, surprised. “Excellent! You’ve been working on your Arabic?”

  “Yes, but we’ll talk about that later. I have so much to tell you! But I must have your news first.”

  “Very well. To start with, I was already in Messina when Tancred returned. He made a most heartening and informative report. You’ve never met him, have you?”

  “No, though sometimes I feel I have, he’s so much spoken of.”

  “Well, some day you will. I hope to keep him in my service. But I wish you could have heard from his own mouth how he kept this whole Byzantine campaign from being the total disaster it might have been.”

  He stood up and began pacing up and down, declaiming like a Roman general relating his conquests to the Senate.

  “His performance as fleet commander was absolutely brilliant. He brought the ships almost to Constantinople but not quite in sight of the city. There they waited for our army to arrive and take the city. Which, alas, they could not. But the moment Tancred received the news of our army’s rout by the Byzantines, he ordered the fleet to weigh anchor. If the emperor’s forces had been paying more attention they could have bottled up all our ships in the Sea of Marmara. But Tancred managed to elude them and sailed on through the Dardanelles and into the Mediterranean. The weather was mean, but he’s a skilled sailor and he knows those seas well. In short, he got every one of the three hundred galleons safely home.” He resumed his seat beside her. “And that’s exactly what I’ll tell the council tomorrow.”

  “He does sound like a man you’d want to keep on your side. I’d be happy to make his acquaintance. Is he as pleasing to look at as he is brave in battle?” She was imagining a tall, commanding man in spotless admiral’s dress, with a flowing mustache and piercing blue eyes.

  William smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid not. He’s very short and you might say ugly, with a pinched little face; in fact some unkind folk have given him the nickname ‘The Monkey.’ ”

  “Really! So he doesn’t take after the rest of the family. Wasn’t your Uncle Roger his father? And wasn’t Roger a tall, good-looking man, like all you Hautevilles?”

  “Yes, he was. So Tancred must resemble his mother, whom nobody knows much about. And if that’s the case it makes one wonder what Roger saw in her, though come to think about it, it may explain why he didn’t marry her. Well, all tha
t’s neither here nor there. While I tell you the rest of my news shall we have some wine? And perhaps something to nibble on to keep me going until dinner?”

  “Indeed we shall.” She rang a little silver bell and the door opened at once. William looked up to see a very young page who bowed to them both, and stood awaiting orders. He looked nervous, and Joanna nodded at him encouragingly. “Federico, will you please go down to the kitchen and bring us a decanter of wine and a bowl of almonds? And ask the pastry cook if she has any of the anise cakes that King William likes?” The boy frowned and narrowed his eyes, committing all this to memory, then smiled timidly, bobbed his head, and hurried out.

  “New, isn’t he? I’ve not seen him. He looks very young for a page.”

  “Yes, he’s only nine. But I’ll tell you about him later. Do go on—are we finished now with the paragon Tancred? May we hope he’ll pay us a visit soon?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve sent him to Apulia where he’s justiciar, to see to affairs there. But as luck would have it, now when I need someone to take charge of an expedition to Cyprus, Admiral Margaritus of Brindisi appears. Precisely the man I need—bold and fearless and a veteran of many a naval battle. We had a long talk before I left Messina. I believe he may have gotten his sea legs as a pirate, but he’s given all that up, and he rose quickly to admiral in the Sicilian Navy. I expect him to make short work of that ridiculous, overbearing Isaac Comnenus who’s proclaimed himself emperor—emperor, of all things—of Cyprus.”

  Joanna groaned. William looked at her in concern.

  “Whatever’s the matter, my love?”

  “William, surely you’re not going to try to save another country from a despotic ruler! Wasn’t Byzantium enough? Why should you go to the rescue of the Cypriots? What has this Isaac ever done to you?”

  Before he could answer there was a knock and the page came in with a well-laden tray, which he carefully set on a table. He looked at Joanna. “Will there be anything else, my lady Queen?" Joanna surveyed the tray quickly and smiled at him. “No, you’ve done very well. Thank you, Federico.”