“My aging bones were not keen to travel so far in the dead of winter. Since I’d already seen Richard several times whilst he was at Chinon, I decided to celebrate Christmas here. It is not as if Richard plans any elaborate or lavish festivities, after all. I suspect his stay at Rouen will more closely resemble a council of war than a Christmas Court.”
Joanna thought it passing strange that Richard would not want to make much of his first Christmas back in his own domains. “It would have been a good time, though, to introduce his queen to his vassals and the people of Rouen,” she said, but her mother merely shrugged. Watching as Eleanor stroked Iseult, her elegant new greyhound, Joanna realized that as much as she loved her mother, she would not have wanted to have been Eleanor’s daughter-in-law. She at once tried to suppress this sacrilegious thought, reminding herself that Eleanor had seemed very fond of Hal’s wife, Marguerite. But Marguerite had grown up at the royal court and by the time she was old enough to be a true wife to Hal, Eleanor was Henry’s prisoner. John’s wife did not count, since he saw her so rarely. That left Constance and Berengaria. Eleanor returned Constance’s hostility in full measure. And while Eleanor had shown no antagonism toward Berengaria, Joanna could no longer deny her mother’s indifference toward her son’s queen.
“I am dining this afternoon with Prioress Aliza, and of course you will join us now, Joanna. I’ve become quite fond of Aliza. Even though she has been at the abbey since she was thirteen, she retains a lively curiosity about the world beyond these convent walls and she rarely fails to make me laugh—just as you do, dearest.”
Eleanor gave Joanna such a fond smile that she felt a pang of guilt for having entertained such uncharitable thoughts about her own mother. She was grateful when Eleanor turned to a safer subject, sharing family news. John was still on his best behavior, doing whatever Richard asked of him, although he spent little time in Richard’s company, which doubtless suited both of them. Geoff was continuing to trail turmoil in his wake. Hubert Walter had confiscated his estates that summer, but Richard had restored them when Geoff had appealed to him, pardoning his latest offense on the promise of payment of eleven thousand marks. She’d had another letter from Marie in Champagne, she confided, obviously very pleased that contact had been restored with the daughter she’d not seen since divorcing the French king more than forty years ago. Joanna was just as pleased when Eleanor let her read Marie’s letter. Marie had enjoyed a very good relationship with her half brothers, especially with Richard. But she and Joanna had yet to meet, and Joanna was quite curious about this worldly elder sister, having heard many loving stories about her from her son, Henri, during their time in the Holy Land.
Eleanor had news about Henri, too; Richard had gotten a letter from his nephew just before he’d left Chinon for Normandy. Henri reported that Saladin’s sons were squabbling with one another, and Richard had cursed the French king in language that might well have shocked a sailor, so angry was he that he could not yet join Henri in retaking Jerusalem, as he’d vowed. Anna’s father had been released from his prison by the Knights Hospitaller, as demanded by the Duke of Austria, and Isaac had promptly confirmed all of the rumors of his being in league with the Saracens by going to the Sultanate of Rum in Anatolia. According to Henri, he was said to be plotting against the Emperor of the Greeks, apparently realizing he had no chance of regaining control of Cyprus from Guy and Amaury de Lusignan.
“Henri did have some good news, though, Joanna. He and Isabella have had their first child, a daughter. Since they named Isabella’s daughter Maria after her mother, they named this lass Marie after Henri’s mother—which pleased her greatly.” Eleanor’s smile shadowed. “Henri’s decision to stay in Outremer and marry Isabella was a heart’s wound to Marie, for she knows how unlikely it is that she’ll ever see him again.”
Joanna was glad for Henri and Isabella; she loved her nephew and liked his bride very much. She still felt a small dart of envy, thinking how lucky Isabella was to conceive again so quickly, thinking of those long, barren years in her own marriage after the death of her infant son.
“Oh, and there is interesting news from Toulouse, Joanna. The Devil has called their count home.”
Joanna’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “The father, not the son?”
“The father, of course. I do not see Raimond as one of the Devil’s acolytes, although the Church most likely would disagree with me about that.”