Joanna (45 page)
The sanguine hopes of October had gradually faded. Although there was still no active rebellion, John’s confident supposition that Pandulf and Stephen Langton would arrive in England within weeks of his invitation turned out to be false. The situation with respect to the Church had actually deteriorated. Langton and Pandulf, finally impatient after years of fruitless negotiations, had set out for Rome. John’s messenger, hastening after them, had caught them on the road but received a very cold welcome. This was not the first time that John had called them to England with fair promises to settle their differences, and each previous invitationin their opinionshad been a mockery. They would come, they told the messenger orally, after the pope had heard their pleas and he and the council of bishops and cardinals had decided what to do.
John had sent new envoys out directly to the pope when he had that answer, but that the pope would continue indulgent was not to be expected. News of the successful rebellion in Wales, where Llewelyn was behaving with startling wisdom and modestyproof that he had learned a lessonwhich promised a long period of peace and independence for that country, would surely have come to Innocent’s ears. Nor could it be hoped that Innocent would be ignorant of the conspiracy to overthrow the king. The time was ripe to draw the teeth of the viper that had stung the Church again and again.
For those faithful to the king, the times were gray and forbidding as the November weather. The one bright spot was the union of Ian’s strength in the north with Salisbury’s in the midlands and south. Lending an additional glow of hope was the faithful support of the earl of Pembroke who had sent to John with Lord Ian a testament of loyalty, signed by himself and twenty-six barons renewing their oaths of fealty and offering to do whatever service the king required of them. Nonetheless, there was little expectation that the king could retain his power without a bitter struggle and many, although they did not speak of it aloud, did not believe John could retain his throne at all.
News trickled back to England from across the narrow sea. Alinor had it from the merchants in Roselynde town and from the fisherfolk who met and talked with fisherfolk from the continental shore. All said the same. Boats were abuilding, men were being gathered, and weapons of war were being stocked. Philip of France was no sluggard. He hated the Angevins, root, stock, and branch. In addition, England would make a very nice storehouse from which he could draw men and supplies for the conflicts in Europe. Louis, his son, could rule there. It would give Louis good practice in controlling a rebellious populace.
All John’s supporters believed that the moment Philip struck, perhaps a third of the barons would rise and join him. Another third would sit still, too unsure to take sides with Philip but too distrustful of the king to come to his aid. Struck by invasion from without and rebellion from within, what chance did they have? It was no wonder that all eyes were fixed on Geoffrey and Joanna. Everywhere else disaster threatened. It was far better to talk and think and jest about the marriage of the king’s bastard nephew and the daughter of the lady who had sent John scurrying with his tail between his legs. That old story, which Alinor had believed known only to her present husband, her dead first husband, and one other faithful vassal, had suddenly become current.
Furious but helpless, Alinor could only deny with spurious amazement that she had ever resisted the king’s attentionsor had any reason to resist them. All that denial accomplished was to make some scandal-loving fools look significantly from the king’s eldest son, who was as fair as his grandfather and his Uncle Richard, to Joanna’s red head. If the queen and the king were both dark and their son golden fair, was it impossible that John had succeeded with Lady Alinor, and Joanna also took after old King Henry? The old king had had red hair some said. Like mother, like daughter said others, reviving with pleasure the scandalous rumors of the preceding spring about Joanna and young Braybrook.
Two bastards and consanguineous too, the rumors ran, and both lecherous from both sides. Had the times been less precarious, there would have been dead men in the court. Salisbury, Engelard d’Atie, and William de Cantelu had to remove Geoffrey by force from the great hall one day, and it had not been easy to revive the young fool whom Geoffrey had near choked to death. Another time only the king’s personal intervention had saved the elder Braybrook from being torn apart by Ian. Shorter than his tall vassal by more than a head, John was nonetheless as strong as a bull. Perhaps he could not have bested Ian in a fight, but by interposing his own body between the men and wrapping Ian in his powerful arms the king had provided the few minutes needed for Braybrook’s escape.
“I beg you to let him be,” John pleaded, when he had finally quieted Ian enough to lead him into a private wall chamber. “Doubtless you know the truth of that tale. Lady Alinor did resist mequite successfullyand in any case it was years after that when Lady Joanna was born. God knows, I am not innocent with regard to women, but’’ a faint smile bent John’s lips, “I would not touch that viper of yours for anythingexcept perhaps if it would bring peace to my kingdom.”
“I will not challenge him,” Ian agreed, passing his hand over his face. “He meant what he said for a jest, but”
“We are all raw and sore,” John sighed. “It is very hard to wait. In the uneasiness of our hearts, each man pricks his neighbor to ease his own pain.”
The voice that said those words knew the truth of them. Something inside Ian shuddered, and he was deflected from his own rage as he wondered what gargantuan pain had eaten the king all the years of his life that made him take joy in hurting others. Whatever it had been, it was temporarily stilled, or John had better control of himself than any Angevin before him. For this past month, John had been the perfect kingattentive to business and gentle, although by no means cringing, to his vassals. The king had done much good. He had eased the severity of those who enforced the Forest laws, given strict orders to his officers to cease molesting pilgrims and merchants, and given justice without fear or favor to those who appealed to him.
It was too late, of course, but in this time, when he could with perfect right have been distrustful of almost every man he ruled, John seemed to have shed suspicion. He displayed no foolish confidence. He was well aware of the disaffection around him and he took sensible precautions to protect himself and his children and to check the spread of panic. Nonetheless, he showed no fear of the future. Quietly, he took counsel with those he did trust and mapped out plans for the defense of his kingdom against enemies from both within and without.
If John had not learned how to control himself in times of success, he had certainly learned how to behave in times of adversity, Ian thought. It was some comfort to know that the king would go down to defeat like a man. Ian only wished he was equally confident thatif they should somehow triumph against all the oddsJohn would not revert or even degenerate into a worse tyrant.
The worst sufferers, of course, were Joanna and. Geoffrey. Their condition was pitiable. Pursued by whispers, which hissed behind her back and dissolved into false smiles when she turned to confront them, Joanna took refuge in an apparent bovine placidity. Because she dared not permit any crack in her protective shield that might allow her fear and incipient hysteria to break out, she treated Geoffrey with the same dull acceptance that she presented to malicious ill-wishers and genuine sympathizers alike.
Joanna’s first private meeting with her betrothed had been uncomfortable. She had stiffened like a spear shaft when he tried to take her in his arms, and when he begged her to tell him why she was so cold, she had torn loose altogether and run away. Poor Joanna dared not answer for she knew she would burst into tears and beg Geoffrey to believe in her, not to repudiate her if her body betrayed her and refused to give proof that she truly was a virgin. It was the worst thing she could do, she thought. It would increase his suspicion and jealousy to show that she was conscious there could be a doubt of her purity.
Night and day, awake and asleep, she thought and dreamed about Geoffrey’s reaction. Had Ela told him? Ordinarily, Joanna would not have doubted her foster mother, but Ela was not normal these days. Her world was dissolving around her, and she often spent days at a time in bed, just staring. If Ela had told him, had he accepted his stepmother’s information as true? Ela would do anything to save Salisbury and, thus, much against her will, to save the king. Geoffrey might think the tale just a device to make him keep an unchaste wife for political reasons. Even if he believed Ela, would he help Joanna if she needed help? Would he think he could overawe the court into silence? If he believed Ela, why did he not tell Joanna all would be well? Why did he not assure her he would love her and protect her no matter what happened? The second private meeting between Joanna and Geoffrey had been a disaster. This time, knowing the filthy tales that were abroad, Geoffrey made no physical approach to Joanna, hoping that his restraint would communicate his respect for her. Naturally enough, considering her private fears, Joanna saw what was meant to be a tender consideration as a cold rejection. In desperation, Geoffrey faltered out some platitudes on his happiness at the nearness of their proposed union, looking so miserable all the while that his hesitant advances seemed like calculated insults.
“For God’s sake,” he had blazed at last, “if you want none of me, say so. Doubtless it will bring the kingdom down around our ears, but”
“You know and I know that it is absolutely imperative that we marry,” Joanna replied stonily. “You can”
She was about to say that he could repudiate her later, if he could not trust her honesty, but fortunately she did not get that far. Geoffrey had flung the table near him right across the room, badly denting two gold goblets and shattering to pieces a priceless glass decanter. Then he had rushed out, slamming the door, before he flung Joanna after the other objects. Joanna knelt on the wine-soaked floor picking up the pieces of glass and sobbing softly.
“Broken, it is all broken,” she wept when Edwina flew into the room five minutes later.
“Hush, dearling, hush,” the maid comforted, holding Joanna against her warm, full bosom. “Life does not break like glass, love. Life mends itself.”
It gave no appearance of mending over the last week before the wedding. Joanna and Geoffrey were not speaking to each other at all, except for icily polite salutations at greeting and parting. Strangely enough, the one emotion that did not wound Geoffrey was jealousy. He never doubted Lady Alinor’s faithfulness to her first husband and, even if he had, did not care who Joanna’s father was. The rumors about Braybrook, when he realized they were rife again, only pained him for Joanna’s sake. His whole attention was concentrated on the agonizing fact that, apparently, Joanna did not wish to marry him. It would not have been so bad if he could have believed she did not understand her own heart. Then he could have hoped to win it. She had still been unsure before the fire, yet she had been fond enough to seek him amidst the holocaust. They had quarreled and, somehow, that had set her to examining her own feelings more closely. Plainly what she discovered had not been in his favor.
Her feelings did not matter, of courseexcept to him. Joanna would marry him because she was a dutiful girl with a clear vision of the catastrophe that would follow her refusal. She would be a good wife too, Geoffrey thought, grinding his teeth and barely restraining himself from tearing his hair or beating his head on the wall because his father would rush over and stop him and begin to ask questions again. Joanna was resigned to her fate. She had made her decision. Calmly and placidly she would couple with him, bear his children, help him to keep his lands and hers in perfect order, nurse him when he was sick or woundedand all the time, deep, deep in a buried corner of her heart she would wish she was free of him.
Lady Alinor was not blind to the trouble of the young people as Lady Ela was. There was, however, nothing Alinor could do for them. If she spoke to Joanna to try to comfort her, the girl might break down completely. She could not speak to Geoffrey because she did not know the basis of his obvious distress. To reassure him of the wrong thing might cause greater difficulties. All she could do was hope that Joanna’s control would hold and that Salisbury could keep Geoffrey from killing someone important.
From her heart Lady Alinor cursed the necessity of this court marriage. Not only had it laid two young people, already under a severe strain, open to the vicious tongues of a fearful and disappointed crowd but it had removed all possibility of keeping Geoffrey and Joanna employed. In an ordinary way, both of them would have been kept so busy making ready to entertain their guests, that they would have had no time to quarrel with each other or even to think much about each other. Alinor would have seen to it that the full weight of ordering supplies and overseeing their use fell upon her daughter. Geoffrey would have been sent out to hunt, not for pleasure but like a butcher for meat for the table. And she would have harried both with constant complaints until every spark of fear or uncertainty would have been channeled into anger at her unreasonable demands. Lady Alinor’s one comfort was the memory of how miserable her first wedding had been and how happy the marriage that followed it.
At last, however, the first day of December dawned. Joanna, both out of fondness and superstition, had chosen her mother’s wedding day to be her own. She lay in her bed, watching the cold light of winter grow slowly stronger, remembering her mother’s glowing beauty and sparkling happiness on that day six years ago. She hoped her long sleepless night would not be too apparent in shadowing her eyes and draining the color from her cheeks. She wished the queen had not been so generous in providing a magnificent wedding gown. It was true that Isabella’s choice was tasteful and appropriate for Joanna’s coloring and normal complexion, but the rich blue tunic and cloth-of-gold cotte would make her look like a corpse if she was as pale as she felt.
