Anna at once assailed him with questions, none of which he could answer. Sitting down in a window-seat, he found himself wondering if Joanna could be with child again. She’d suffered greatly from nausea in her past pregnancies, yet nothing like what he’d just witnessed. Could she have sickened after eating tainted food?
“My lord count.” A young woman was standing before him. She was clad as a nun, but he still took notice of her long-lashed blue eyes and heart-shaped face; he often joked he’d be paying heed to a woman’s beauty on his deathbed. When she introduced herself as the Prioress Aliza, he quickly rose and greeted her as gallantly as if she were a lady at the royal court.
Once she was sitting across from him in the window-seat, though, he began to question her, no less intently than Anna had tried to interrogate him. How long had his wife been ill? What was being done for her? Why was Queen Berengaria not here with her? And when would her mother return to the abbey?
The abbess would have bridled at his peremptory tone. Aliza was more forgiving. “She has been with us for over a month, my lord, and I regret to say that she has been ill every day since her arrival. We love her dearly and you may be sure that she has wanted for nothing. Queen Berengaria was here with your wife until she had to depart for the wedding, and your lady’s mother—”
“What wedding?” Realizing how abrupt he sounded, Raimond made amends with a quick smile.
“Queen Berengaria’s youngest sister, Blanca, is to wed Thibault, the Count of Champagne, at Chartres. I think it eased some of the queen’s grief to be able to take part in planning the wedding festivities. She then traveled to Poitiers to meet Blanca and escort her to Chartres. But she is devoted to your wife, as you well know, and I am sure she will return ere the summer is over. You asked about Queen Eleanor, too. Once the progress through her duchy was done, she rode straight to Fontevrault to check upon Lady Joanna. She could not stay for long, though, as she has to be at Tours in July to do homage to the French king for her Poitevin domains. From there, she must ride to Rouen to meet with King John, but she promised your lady that she will be back here in plenty of time for the birth.”
Raimond was astonished by the prioress’s casual comment about Eleanor doing homage to the French king, for women did not do homage in their own right and his mother-in-law loathed Philippe Capet. But that was quickly forgotten when he heard the word “birth,” spoken no less casually. She’d taken it for granted that he knew of his wife’s pregnancy. Why would she not? He was spared the need to respond by the appearance of Mariam in the hall; she glanced around and then came swiftly toward him.
JOANNA HAD BEEN PUT to bed. They’d cleaned up the soiled floor rushes, but a faint odor still lingered. Raimond noticed that there was an empty basin and chamber pot on the floor by the bed, water buckets, flagons, herbal vials, and a stack of towels and blankets on the table. It looked more like the nun’s infirmary than Eleanor of Aquitaine’s elegant bedchamber. As soon as Mariam and Beatrix withdrew, leaving him alone with his wife, he pulled a chair over to the bed. “Why did you not tell me that you are with child?” And despite his best efforts, he knew his tone sounded accusatory.
“I did not know when I left Toulouse. I was not sure until I missed a second flux in April and the queasiness began. I thought of writing, but decided that it was best to wait until I could tell you, for I knew you’d worry.”
Christ on the Cross, how could he not worry? Three pregnancies in three years? He reached over and took her hand in his; he was startled that her skin felt so cold. “I know you’ve always suffered more from morning sickness than most women do. But nothing like this. What does the midwife say? You have seen one?”
“Of course. She is said to be the best midwife in Saumur, very experienced. She told us that nausea like mine—so overwhelming and so frequent—is not common, and thank God for that, for no woman would ever have another child after going through this.” Joanna mustered up a wan smile. “But she said she had encountered it twice over the years and she assured us that both women stopped vomiting after the fifth month. So . . . I shall be counting the days until August,” she said, forcing another smile.
Raimond was at a rare loss for words, for sharing his fears would only add to her own burdens. Why did God make childbirth so difficult and dangerous for women? He’d never understood that. Last year as Joanna labored to give birth to their daughter, he’d confided his concerns to her chaplain, Jocelyn, only to have the man remind him that it was punishment for the sin of Eve, quoting the scriptural verse in which God said, I will greatly multiply your pain in childbirth. In pain you shall bring forth children. Raimond had wanted to hit him.