Joanna (55 page)
Since this was exactly, the opposite of what Joanna wanted to hear, Ian’s kind speech served no particular purpose beyond exasperating his wife. Alinor understood that Joanna, although she might not admit it, would cheerfully have precipitated a cataclysm in England if that would keep Geoffrey at home. She inspected her daughter’s figure carefully, but there was no sign in the narrow waist and small, high breasts that Joanna had conceived. Apparently, the girl took after her in being relatively unfertile. That was unfortunate. A full nursery and carrying a young one beneath one’s heart was a great comforter of the spirit.
“But you must not feel that you will suffer from ennui just because Ian says the land will lie quiet,” Alinor suggested with a lift of one brow. That was obviously a jest. With the responsibility for Alinor’s and Geoffrey’s lands, even if Adam were given the responsibility for Ian’s vassals, Joanna would have more than enough to keep her busy. “I will leave Simon with you,” Alinor continued, laughing. “He will as easily keep you from dullness as any war.”
Joanna’s face lit with pleasure. In fact, her mind and her mother’s had been very close. She, also had been regretting bitterly that she was not with child. Geoffrey did not seem to care. A few times, believing that her barrenness might be the cause of Geoffrey’s half-concealed dissatisfaction, Joanna had mentioned her regret at being unable to provide him with an heir. Instead of showing any sensitivity on the subject, he only laughed, asked if she were taking this subtle way to complain of his efforts in that direction, and promised to try harder. When he saw she was really troubled, he had comforted her more seriously, pointing out her mother’s case and that of the queen, who had not conceived for seven years and then, in a shorter span, had had five healthy young ones.
It was not the fear of being permanently barren that bothered Joanna. She was only afraid that Geoffrey would get himself killed before she had something of him to keep. Simon was no substitute for a child of Geoffrey’s of course, but Joanna knew he would certainly keep her busy and amused. Watching her, Geoffrey was again stabbed by jealousy. It was not that he resented her love for Simonno one could help loving Simon, engaging devil that he was. Only, whatever distress Joanna had seemed to feel over his departure, which was not much judging from her silence and tranquility, appeared to be completely assuaged by Ian’s assurance there would be no danger and by the offer of Simon as an object of attention.
Geoffrey told himself that it was normal and natural for Joanna to think of him as a protector; that was, after all, his first duty toward her. It was also true that Joanna needed an object to work for and care for. Would it ever matter to her who that object was? Geoffrey knew he was an idiot to fret over such a stupidity. He had the most beautiful and most dutiful wife a man could hope for. She was buxom in bed and at board, merry and affectionate. What did it matter that she offered the same heart to all those she loved, since he was one of them?
It was selfish to wish to be first with her. It was insane to be hurt because she did not weep and try to hold him back from going to France. Since he must go, it would be dreadful to endure the pain of such a parting. He did not really want a weeping wife. Nonetheless he wanted something!
p.
On February 6, 1214, John sailed for La Rochelle. With him went Ian and Alinor but not Salisbury and Geoffrey. The only man in the world John trusted as he trusted himself would go to join his allies in Flanders to be sure their purpose did not waver. It was necessary for John to begin operations early because the men of Poitou and La Manche liked him even less than the English. He had not oppressed them personally much, but memories are long in the country of the
langue d’oc
. There Richard was still adored, his faults now forgotten, and John was not only compared unfavorably to him in military matters but also accounted somewhat guilty of his death, even though John and Richard were not at war at that time. They knew that John had dealt treacherously with Richard, and that rankled in memory.
Thus, John needed to make sure Aquitaine would be a firm base, a sound anvil upon which the hammer of the attack from Flanders could smash Philip of France. To do this it was first necessary to show enough force to bring the doubtful Poitevin lords to heel. Second, there was the problem of the Lusignans. Since John had stolen Isabella, virtually on the eve of her wedding, the family had been his inveterate enemies, and they were very powerful.
Through February and March the news Joanna received was all excellent. The fortress of Milecu fell almost at once, and this brought in a number of barons who realized John was not only serious in his intentions but had power enough to enforce them. In March, John took his army down the Charente through Angoulême to the Limousin. Those nobles who did not come voluntarily to do fealty and to swell his forces, he reduced with an efficient ferocity that served as an object lesson to others. In April, he marched into Gascony, repeating his tactics and making all secure in the south at his back. Men did fealty and came themselves or gave John hostages. The king made certain that the tale of the hanging of the Welsh hostages was told and retold, both of the kind care they had had while their kin were faithful and of the ruthless execution when those who gave them as pledges rebelled.
By the end of April, John was ready to turn his attention to Lusignan. First, he let it be known that he was prepared to be conciliatory. He offered his eldest legitimate daughter, also called Joan, to the son of that Hugh who had been betrothed to Isabella as a reasonable palliation of the offense he had given. However, he made it plain that he was not sorry when the offer was ignored. Ian wrote to Alinor and she to Joanna that the king, “felt the hand of God upon him. Since he has settled his differences with the Church and the pope makes everything easy for himeven robbing churchmen and the Church itself so that John’s burden should be lessa cloud is lifted from his mind. Never has the king been so sure in war and so surely right. All that he lays his hand to turns to our good.”
Although they were ready, John waited a few weeks until the truce he had made with the counts of La Manche and Eu came to an end. Not even in so small a matter would he violate his word, given with holy relics to witness, at this time. Then he marched on Mervant and took itthough it was said to be impregnableby assault. From there they moved to Voucant, but that was a harder nut to crack because Lusignan’s brother Geoffrey and two of his sons were in the keep. The defense might be expected to be more determined, and they brought up their siege engines. In three days it could be seen that an assault would soon be possible.
Early in June, Joanna had news of what seemed to be the final outcome of the quarrel with the Lusignans. Alinor wrote, “Ian is here for a few days rest. He had an arrow in the thigh when they took Mervant, but naturally did not regard that as any reason not to go with the king to Voucant. Fortunately, an assault was not necessary there. Just as they were making ready to storm the walls, Hugh Lusignan himself rode in and made his homage to John. Better yet, he persuaded his brother Geoffrey and the cubs to throw themselves upon the king’s mercy. ThenI am almost growing to believe Ian’s notion that God’s hand is in this matterword came to them that Louis, Philip’s son, was besieging Geoffrey Lusignan’s castle of Montcontour. Truce was declared between the king and Lusignan and they all rode off together to attack a common enemy. Louis promptly lifted the siege and withdrew so that Hugh and Geoffrey saw the benefit of being at peace with their overlord.”
“Ian is in the best of spirits,” Alinor continued, “even though he is hobbling about like a cripple. He thinks the contract made to marry Joan to Hugh’s son will heal the hurt to Hugh’s pride that was done when Isabella was reft from him. I, however, fear that it was not only Hugh’s pride that was hurt. I think he desired, and still desires, Isabella herself. Ian says I am mad and that no man as sensible as Hugh could want a movable statue like Isabella, but he forgets that Isabella was fourteen when John took her and Hugh was, himself, very young. Since then Hugh has not seen her, and I believe her image has grown more perfect in his mind. He cannot, after all, know what she really is. To me, this bodes ill. Hugh is said to be an honorable man. I doubt that he will attack John treacherously, but I fear that he will find some ‘honorable’ stratagem to do the king hurt.”
Alinor ran the feather of the quill back and forth against her cheek. She did not wish to add to her daughter’s unhappiness, but there was a warning she must transmit. “Having mentioned Isabella, I must tell you that although she is not, in general, ill natured, being too much enamored of herself to feel much about anyone else, she has conceived for you and for Geoffrey a hatred that is deep and lasting. I am very, very glad, my love, that Geoffrey will be with his father in Flanders rather than here. You must do whatever is in your power to prevent Geoffrey from coming here. The queen’s gentlemen are often at the front with the king and all of them know that Isabella would grant
any
favor to the man who accomplished Geoffrey’s death. What makes this worse is that they are aware this would please John almost as much as Isabella, so long as Salisbury does not come to know his approval. Ordinarily this would not matter, Geoffrey being well able to take care of himself, but it is altogether too easy for a stray arrow or blow to be launched from behind in a battle.”
Rather than alarming Joanna, the warning served to reconcile her a little to the situation that existed. Geoffrey had already left for Flanders with his father. Perhaps he would be better off there, even when it came to war, than at home. Had Geoffrey remained in England, John or Isabella could have found some cause to summon him to France. As it was, the king would let well enough alone, knowing that his brother’s suspicions would be aroused by a singling out of Geoffrey. All in all, the letter left Joanna in a strange, uneasy mood. Her pride in the prowess of the English fighting men was flattered by John’s successes; yet, had the king’s attempt to bring his French barons to obedience failed, likely the attack in Flanders would not have been carried through. Joanna could only pray that Ian was wrong, that God was not directing John’s moves, and that the Lusignans would somehow bring about John’s defeat without involving Ian in the disaster.
Certainly, there seemed to be no immediate answer to Joanna’s prayer. In the English camp in Flanders there was great rejoicing at the smoothness with which the plans to crush France were proceeding. Every move John made was successful. A feint toward the French army drove them to retreat again and permitted him to seize Ancennis. Then he marched upon Angers as if to encircle it and, when the defenders drew in upon the city, he struck west across the border of Brittany and attacked and took the seaport of Nantes. This contained a very rich prize, the person of Philip’s cousin, Peter of Dreux, who ruled Brittany in the right of his wife, Alice.
Having thus secured a seaport closer and more convenient to his operations, John turned his attention again toward Angers. The citizens and garrison of that city had seen enough. They opened the gates and welcomed the king into the principal seat of his father’s holdings, long lost to him. However, a few miles outside of Angers stood the fortress of Roche-au-Maine, and there Philip’s seneschal held firm. In the middle of June, John settled his forces around this stronghold intending to reduce it and remove the most important focus of resistance to his power in Anjou.
Philip’s son Louis, however, also believed that Roche- au-Maine was essential. Gathering his forces, the French prince began to move upon the king. During the last week in June, John’s spies reported this and the king wrote to Salisbury, Ferrand of Flanders, and the Emperor Otto. He urged them to attack Philip, who was on the Flemish border, as soon and as strongly as possible. It was, John said, the best opportunity they would have as his forces were far stronger than Louis’s, yet Louis would not dare leave Roche-au-Maine to be taken. If Philip could not come to help Louis, John expected to beat the prince easily and the whole south of France would be open to him. Moreover, Louis would be unable to come to his father’s support; therefore, the task of the allies in Flanders would also be much easier.
Unfortunately, when John’s letters arrived, his allies were not ready to do his bidding. It was through no fault of their own. Ferrand was under arms and, of course, Salisbury had been in Flanders for some weeks, cleaning out small detachments of French and French sympathizers in a keep here and there. Otto, however, was having trouble gathering his Rhineland princes and dukes. Although all were willing to fight Philip, they were so busy bickering among themselves that it was difficult to drag them away from their private feuds. At last they mustered and began to march northwest.
Before Otto had reached the border, John’s fortunes had taken a drastic and desperate turn for the worse. Hurried messengers carried the news that the newly cowed nobles of Poitou had played the king false. When he summoned a council to decide the order of battle against Louis, they said with one voice that they would not fight. Treachery, John thundered. Lusignan denied the charge. He had done his lord’s bidding in taking Ancennis and Nantes; he had come here to the siege and had done good service. However, he pointed out, Philip was
also
his overlord; he held lands in France as well as in John’s territories. Thus he could not attack his overlord’s son.
At this point, John lost his hard-won veneer of a rational and moderate king. Instead of discussing reasonably the number of men owed him against the number owed Philip and demanding in a rational way that the men owed to him be left, either with a leader of their master’s choice or a leader to be supplied by John, the king said what could not be endured. Ian nearly wept aloud, but he was powerless to interfere in any way, and Salisbury, who might have been able to curb his brother, was hundreds of miles away.
