Joanna (10 page)

The point Joanna needed to think about was not how she felt about Geoffrey but how Geoffrey felt about herand what to do about it. She had not been in the least troubled by Geoffrey’s passion because she was prepared to render passion for passion and enjoy it. No priest would ever convince Joanna that the pleasures of the body were in themselves evil. The bull and the cow, the horse and mare, the dog and bitch all took pleasure in coupling. Those creatures could not sin because they had no souls. Thus, God had given that pleasure to all, and it was no sin in itself. Joanna was perfectly willing to acknowledge that the pleasure might lead one into sin or that it might be a higher good to mortify the body by denying it that pleasure and so obtain holiness of spirit, but that was not her role in life. Her role and her duty, for which she had been fitted since birth, was the care of her lands and her people, and part of that duty was the breeding up of sons and daughters to follow her.

That was all very well and good. That was Geoffrey’s duty also, and it was right that they should both take pleasure in itbut there was that other thing, that one soft kiss that had nothing of the body in it. That kiss was a message from the soul, as was the soft and slightly broken voice that said, “Farewell, then, beloved.” And, when he bid her not come down to say goodbye, he had said, “It will be hard   enough for me.” He did not speak of his body then because there would be women enough to fill that need. A smile flickered across her lips as she thought of Geoffrey’s attempt to assuage his body on the whores of Bosham. It had not done much good. She had kindled him anew without even trying.

Joanna bit her lip. She knew she was allowing her mind to wander to avoid a painful thought. It appeared that Geoffrey loved her, or was coming to love her, as Ian loved her mother. Joanna had a sharp memory of Ian’s agony when her mother had delivered Simon and the little sister who had lived only a few months. Joanna shook her head. Ian had suffered more than his wife. Alinor made nothing of childbearing, and Simon and his dead sister had been her fifth and sixth so there was much less chance she would die in childbed. Ian’s fear had been foolish, but because he loved he sufferedfoolishly.

Again Joanna shook her head, this-time at herself. Her mother’s life and Ian’s were their own affair. Her business was with Geoffrey. She did not wish, would not allow herself, to love him. Yet if he loved her, was that fair? If it had been impossible for her to love him, that would be one thing. Unfortunately, it would be very possible, actually very easy, to love Geoffrey. It was another thing to deny love deliberately. Impatiently, Joanna dismissed her maids, slipped off her bed robe, and got into bed. The sheets were scented with spice and roses and brought another vivid memory of Geoffrey’s caresses.

Certainly it would be wrong to hurt Geoffrey by coldness. That would be both a violation of her duty as a wife and an injustice to his love. But she dared not love him; she dared not. I am not as strong as mama, Joanna thought. If I suffer as she suffers, I will die; I cannot bear it. I do not know what is right. I only know that I cannot bear it. I will walk between the ways. I will be a good wife to Geoffrey, and I will keep my heart whole. Perhaps he will never know. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, he will forget this little tender love in the months he is away.   That should have been a comforting thought, but Joanna found it strangely distasteful. She turned uneasily, and the movement released another gust of scent from the portion of the sheets her body had warmed. The bench beneath the trellised roses came back to her mind. She wondered why betrothal had been chosen above marriage. I could write and ask, she thought. I could even ask for permission to marry. No, I cannot, Joanna corrected herself sharply. Mama and Ian would agree to itor, at least, Ian would. He always gave Joanna anything she asked for, and he would make Alinor agree, even if it would be a bad thing for them. I must be patient, Joanna thought, sighing. I must endure.  
p.

The week after Geoffrey left Roselynde was a sharp trial to Joanna. Everything seemed to be conspiring to increase Geoffrey’s importance to her. The weather, which had been hot and fine, changed, and an alternation of heavy downpour and light drizzle had lasted for days. This had confined Joanna to the keep and to overseeing the spinning and weaving of the maids. The quality and quantity of the output increased somewhat, but the maids at Roselynde were always well trained and reasonably dutiful. The gown Joanna was making for Geoffrey also progressed. Joanna was an exquisite needlewoman and now, past the resentments of childhood, she enjoyed the work, particularly the delicate, elaborate embroidery. She took great pride in the pictures her fine needles and brilliant threads painted and was well pleased by the image she was creating in gold thread on the soft, golden-green silk she had chosen.

This was part of her wedding present to her husband, and she had given considerable time and thought to what would become him. She had been pleased that Geoffrey’s gold-brown hair and gold-brown eyes would be bleached into insignificance by the brilliant tints Ian wore. Frankly she was tired of sewing crimson and brilliant blues and greens. It was nice to love one’s stepfather, but it was nicer to have a man of one’s own to sew for, and it was nicer still to have them so different.

There was no need to remind oneself that this gown was for Geoffrey. Ian would have looked dreadful in it, his dark skin turned sallow by the soft color. Geoffrey, on the other hand, would glow more golden. At that point, Joanna checked her thoughts and sighed with exasperation. There   was nothing golden about Geoffrey. He was a clean, nice-looking young man with very beautiful eyesthere she was, doing it again! She caught her needle in a safe spot in the fabric and pushed the frame away, searching in her mind for some active thing to do. If she sat pent up in the keep for much longer, Geoffrey would assume a halo.

That notion relieved Joanna’s mood a little. When she thought of the scrapes Geoffrey had got her into, there was no chance of investing him with a halo of saintliness. Joanna jerked more upright in indignation suddenly. Why, it was Geoffrey who had dared her to climb that part of the cliff where she had fallen. How dare he scold her for something he had taught her to do. She burst out laughing. Just wait until she reminded him. The gloom descended again. That was all she could dowait. Repressing an urge to scream, run around the hall, or beat her maids, Joanna slowly reached for her embroidery frame again. As if to prove that patience brings rewards, the movement was interrupted by the double tramp of heavy feet.

Joanna looked up eagerly. A messenger from Ireland, perhaps, or even word of a fight among the men-at-arms that she would have to settle. Anything would be welcome to break the tedium of the day. The first glance showed her that what came was no domestic crisis nor a letter from her mother. Beorn was leading a man she knew, and he was not a part of any household related to her. The second look tightened Joanna’s throat and made her fold her hands together so that they should not twitch with nervousness. On his breast the man wore the royal arms of England. He was not merely a noble visitor passing through; he was acting as a messenger for the king. When the two men drew nearer, Joanna could only hope she did not look as pale as she felt.

Henry de Braybrook bowed gracefully before Joanna and proffered a scroll. “From the queen,” he said.

“The queen?” Joanna echoed, at once relieved and puzzled.

Queen Isabella had never paid the slightest attention to her, except once to sayin her hearingthat it was a pity   she was so red and fox-haired because one so red could never approach beauty. Caution, however, restrained Joanna from saying any more. She knew that Isabella hated Geoffrey and guessed the queen must know she was now betrothed to him. Her eyes were wary under their downcast lids as she reached for the message. It was very brief and in the beautiful, clear writing of a scribe. Joanna raised her eyes to Beorn. “Please see to Sir Henry’s refreshment while I take this to Father Francis to read,” she said. It was no business of anyone’s that she could read and writea most unwomanly ability and one that Braybrook might well not have himself.

When she returned, Sir Henry was seated with wine at hand, Beorn standing silently a slight distance away. Joanna looked at the old master-at-arms. “The queen invites me to come to her at Whitechurch,” she said.

“Leuedy,”
he burst out,
“thou sholdest nat faren.”

Braybrook looked sharply from Beornwho had spoken excellent French to himto Joanna, but nothing showed in her face. After a moment of staring at Beorn, as if she did not understand what he said or was surprised by it, she smiled uncertainly at Sir Henry.

“This has thrown me all of a maze,” she murmured. “I never dreamt to have so much honor done me as for the queen to call me to her. Thus, I am all unready for her gracious summons”

“I would not deny her, Lady Joanna,” Braybrook remarked. “She iserof high spirit and easily offended.”

“Oh, I would not want to offend the queen,” Joanna twittered in a high, unnatural voice, as if suddenly stricken by fear.

She unclasped her hands and allowed them to flutter apart, to her throat, to her lap when she had seated herself to play with her jeweled belt. Had Geoffrey been there he would have roared with laughter. Joanna was imitating Lady Ela with devastating effectiveness. Like a snake-charmed bird, Braybrook’s eyes followed her hands, fixed on them when they nervously, seemingly unconsciously,   smoothed the fabric of her gown so that her thighs were sharply outlined. Joanna, meanwhile, had raised her eyes to Beorn’s, dropped them to Braybrook, and looked at Beorn significantly again. Infinitesimally the old man nodded. He would do nothing until he received orders.

“No, no, of course I cannot deny her, but I cannot go today, nor yet tomorrow”

“Why not, Lady Joanna? I and my men will escort you safely. There is naught for you to do but bid your maids pack your garments. The queen will find all else for you.”

Find all else, indeed, Joanna thought, rage at being considered such a ninny taking the place of fear, which had momentarily drained her face of color. Doubtless Isabella would find a locked room for her, bonds for her hands and a gag for her mouth. Yes, then Ian would come home. He would fight for the king; he would allow himself to be spitted like a pig to get her free. And her mother would come, weeping for her daughter’s life. Oh yes, Isabella would certainly find all else.

“Oh yes, oh yes,” Joanna twittered, picking at her skirt so that it rose and exposed her pretty slippers and ankles. “Of course. Then I can go tomorrow, but not today. See how it rains. Why my lord, how silly a thing I am. You are soaked through. You must have a hot bath and dry garments immediately.

Before he could protest, she had clapped her hands and a maid came running. “A bath for Sir Henry in the east wall chamber,” Joanna gasped nervously. “You will pardon me,” she cried, jumping to her feet. I must find you something suitable to wear. Oh, dear!” And she fled away, unheeding of Sir Henry’s denials.

Upstairs, Joanna stood for a moment to catch her fluttering breath and rearrange her thoughts. Her first instinct, born of terror, was to order all of them killed. Reason corrected that notion at once. That would be open treason, an act of war. An accident might befall Sir Henry; that would solve the problem also because the men-at-arms were not dangerous without their master. Another moment’s thought   made Joanna dismiss that idea also. First of all, there was no reason to believe Braybrook was guilty of anything beyond carrying out his mistress’s orders. He might be totally innocent of any evil intention and totally ignorant that treachery was intendedif it was intended. There was no proof yet that Isabella wished to do harm, except her known antipathy to Geoffrey. Perhaps there was some other reason for the invitation.

As practical thought supplanted fear, Joanna began to wonder if she had not leapt to a false conclusion. Geoffrey and Salisbury would be at Whitechurch also and in control of a great part of the army. How could the queenor even the king, shielding himself behind the queenplan to do her any harm then? Nonsense. In general, Salisbury might love his brother and look aside from the evil the king did, but Geoffrey would never allow Joanna to be a victim and neither would Salisbury allow the king’s evil to touch
her
. Nonetheless, there was something rotten in Isabella’s invitation. Obviously Braybrook had been told to bring her with him quickly and without opportunity to make provision for the protection of Roselynde and without her own troop of men.

Joanna stared blankly ahead of her for a few minutes. Then a smile began to pull the corners of her lips and she began to giggle delightedly. “Edwina,” she called softly.

Edwina was the daughter of Beorn and Alinor’s maid Ethelburga. She was plump, lively, flaxen-haired, and pretty, and had served Joanna all her life. Neither ever forgot her station or the difference between them, but Edwina would go a long way to serve Joanna and Joanna would stretch a good many points to protect Edwina.

The tale of the invitation and the danger that might be hidden in it was related in a minute. Then Joanna said, “Start the other girls packing. Then find Sir Henry some guesting clothes, the richer the better, even if you must raid Ian’s chests, and go down and bathe him. In God’s name, keep him busy.”

“Is he handsome? Shall I bed him?”   “As for that, he is well-looking enough and I know no ill of him. Do as you like. Only keep him in that room for a hour or so. I must have time to speak to your father and to go to the garden and see the cooks.” She began to laugh again. “His men are going to be afflicted with a most deplorable disturbance of the mind and a flux of the bowels.”

“Oh my lady,” Edwina gasped, giggling too, “but how can it be done? If all our people refuse to taste a certain dish”

“Sacrifices by some must be made for the good of all,” Joanna remarked. “It is not impossible that a troop of my men were out on some dutyLet us not waste time. I will tell you the whole later. Go now.”