Joanna (22 page)

Meanwhile, she addressed herself to writing to Lady Ela, stating flatly that she had left Whitechurch with
no
escort other than Beorn and Knud and the fighting troop. Moreover, she had not laid eyes on Sir Henry de Braybrook since her final morning at court when her last sight of him, struggling to disentangle himself from the rose bushes into which Brian had tipped him, was scarcely likely to engender romantic notions in her. Furthermore, she was shocked and hurt that Lady Ela could think her taste so vulgar and ill-formed as to take pleasure in Sir Henry’s vapid mouthings.

“It is bad enough,” she wrote, “that you should think so ill of my discretion and my powers of dispensing with unwanted attentions. It is far worse that you should believe I would permit that fewmet of a hare to come after me, join me secretly, and remain with me. Quite aside from appearances, I would have had to be rid of himwhatever the queen’s willto save my sanity. Four days of Sir Henry from Roselynde to Whitechurch was enough. Rather than endure four weeks of him, I would have killed him with my bare hands. I do not know what can be done to still the queen’s tonguenothing, I suspect. As for my private honor, except for one day at Shrewsbury, I can prove that Sir Henry was not at any time next or nigh me. I have been in company constantly with the wives and daughters of my mother’s vassals and castellans. Thus, I have no fear of countering any tale told of me, but such things are never brought into the open where they can be disproved.”

“All I can hope for,” Joanna continued, “is that you can by some means discover where Braybrook really was in this time. I have a feeling that he was
not
innocently engaged with his own wife and that discovery of his true whereabouts would provide me with a weapon. Unfortunately, that weapon would be against himand he is a poor frail reed of a thing. Also, if he had allowed this rumor to be spread out of spite against me, I do in some measure deserve it. I was once again carried away by my delight in a jestbut that is better told in your ear than in writing.”

By the time she had written so much, Joanna felt more sorry for than angry with Braybrook. She had little doubt that the queen was the impetus behind his actions. It seemed to her that the poor man would be ground to dust between the nether millstone of her own contempt for him and the upper of the queen’s conviction that he could win her if he would only try hard enough. And, to make matters worse, if Geoffrey’s note had been cold out of jealousy, Braybrook might well be chopped to pieces before he was ground to dust. The turn of phrase made Joanna laugh, but she soon sobered. It was not really funny at all. Sir Henry’s father was a favorite of the king’s and a power in the court. For Geoffrey to kill or even publicly to humiliate the son would be dangerous, in spite of all Salisbury could do to protect him.

Hastily, Joanna unrolled the letter she had just finished   and added a postscript. ‘‘If Geoffrey is at court and has heard of these matters, you may show him this letter if you think it wise. At all cost, however, do not permit him to attack Sir Henry who, I suspect, is more an unwilling tool than an intending seducer.”

The new perspective in which she saw the situation made Joanna revise her intention of leaving for Roselynde at the earliest moment she could. Actually, the change of opinion did not matter, except as it marked the waning of her rage, because the day after Joanna had dispatched her messenger to Lady Ela, Geoffrey arrived. Joanna had been out with Sir Peter when he came into the keep, determining whether a particular stretch of hillside should be retained as common grazing field or returned to woodland, and they came back to find him still in full armor, sitting in a window seat and staring dully at the garden below.

Appalled, Sir Peter began to apologize for his wife’s deficiencies, but in truth he did not know what to say. Mary was not the cleverest of women, but she did know what was owing in courtesy to a guest and, more particularly, to the betrothed husband of the next mistress of the estate.

Geoffrey looked blankly at the man for a moment, then sighed and smiled. “Rather it is I who should beg pardon,” he soothed, realizing why Sir Peter was stumbling and stammering. “It was most discourteous of me to sit like this as if I expected ill in this place. I swear it is not so. Do you please tell your wife I am sorry if I was rude. I am sorely out of temper, but it is no fault of hers nor of yours.”

The remark made Joanna lift her brows, but she did not reply to it directly. There was plenty of time for her to tell Geoffrey what she thought. The most essential thing, as far as Joanna was concerned was to obtain some privacy. Then if Geoffrey wished to quarrel, they could do so with decency.

“Since I must learn to put up with your tempers, my lord,” Joanna said dulcetly, “do you come and let me unarm you so that your appearance will no longer be an offense to our host.”   A slight flush rose into Geoffrey’s cheeks. Sir Peter cleared his throat and shifted his feet uneasily. He was not too clever, but one thing he had learned from long association with the lady of Roselynde was to get out from under when she showed temper. He did not know Joanna as well as he knew Alinor, of course, but he greatly feared it was like mother like daughter.

“If you will give me leave,” he said hastily, “I will go to my wife and tell her you are ready to bathe now, my lord.”

“Yes, certainly,” Geoffrey agreed, “and will you do me the favor of seeing that my men are disposed as is most convenient?”

Sir Peter nodded and moved away. Before he was quite out of earshot, however, he heard the young lord’s voice change.

“That is no way to speak to me, Joanna. I am sorry to have alarmed Sir Peter, but that, as you saw, could be set right with a few words. There is much worse that I cannot set right at all.”

All thought of unjust jealousy flew from Joanna’s mind. It was clear enough that what Geoffrey said had no personal application to her. She dropped her hand to Brian’s head, as if to steady herself and then said quietly. “How bad? How soon?”

“I do not know, and it is my own fault I do not know,” Geoffrey replied bitterly.

That did not need to be explained to Joanna. Geoffrey had spoken out again when he should have been silent. “Only tell me, my lord,” she said softly, “will I need to call up the vassals to our defense?”

Geoffrey had been looking at Joanna’s hand on the dog’s head. Now he looked up and smiled. “
Our
defense? Would you?” he asked, reaching out to draw Joanna closer.

“You are mine!” she exclaimed.

Torn between shock and laughter, Geoffrey dropped his hand. He did not confuse Joanna’s flat statement with tenderness for him. He had heard her say the same thing often enough through the years concerning one thing or another,   most of them inanimate. It was funny and painful at the same time to hear the words applied to himself.

“There is no need for that, and no danger to us more than to any other,” he said, “but I am heartsick. It was I who urged the burning of Bangor, and it was done, and Llewelyn yielded. I hated it, but I thought it would be worth all if it brought a long peace between England and Wales and among the Welsh themselves. Instead, between all those wise menthe king, my father, FitzPeter, all of themthey are sowing the seeds of a worse hatred for England and a more violent rebellion in Wales than tore the land free after the first Henry had conquered it.”

“When?” Joanna asked. “Should I leave the extra supplies stored here? Should I tell Sir Peter to hire more men?”

Then Geoffrey did laugh. Joanna’s total preoccupation with the particular was refreshing, and her absolute reliance upon his knowledge and judgment was soothing. “I might be mistaken,” he warned.

Joanna shook her head. “I do not think it. You are clever, Geoffrey. You see, you remember, you learn, you add things together. Even if matters mend themselves so that what you foresee now does not come about, you will have been mistaken in the right way. There is no hurt in being prepared for trouble that does not come.”

“Well, in any case it will not come until spring. The Welsh who fought against Llewelyn have not yet tasted John’s justice to those he fears may do him hurt, and Llewelyn’s rage against them is still too hot for them to run to him in the next few months. Then it will be winter. They will not fight while the snow lies in the mountains and closes their secret paths.”

“Good. Then there is time to think and talk about what to do. Come now and let me unarm you.” Joanna watched Geoffrey as he sighed and rose to follow her. She saw that he was very tired, but there was something else also. Her heart smote her. If he was grieving over a stupid piece of scandal, she could at least ease him of that. “I fear,” she   said softly, “that there is more burdening your heart than the troubles in Wales.”

“You are so right,” Geoffrey growled bitterly, “that lies heaviest on me because I am guilty of mixing myself into the matter, but, in truth, there is worse. I fear” He stopped and looked at the maids who were laying out clothes for him to wear, cloths for drying, soap, herbs for scenting the hot water that the menservants were pouring into the large wooden tub.

“Let me unarm you while they finish,” Joanna remarked, with a significant nod.

Servants were nothing, but they did have ears and they gossiped among themselves and to the servants of visitors. Thus, a few words, innocent or not so innocent, could be blown up into a whirlwind of rumor that could destroy the unwary. Joanna unbelted Geoffrey’s sword and lifted off his hauberk with almost the quick efficiency of her mother. She wrinkled her nose over Geoffrey’s tunic and shirt.

“From where did you come?”

“Northampton.”

“Northampton! I thought you were in Wales.”

“I was. The terms were made with Llewelyn on the twelfth. That same night, the king received a messenger saying that the emissaries from the pope had arrived and also Renaud Dammartin from Boulogne”

“Then he has broken with Philip?”

“You had better say that the other way. Philip has broken with him. He has done more. He has disseised him. He has forced Lady Maude, Renaud’s daughter, to marry his son out of Agnes of Meran.”

“Philip Hurepel?” Joanna lifted her brows and bit her lip. “I am glad I warned the guildsmen in Roselynde town and sent word to Mersea. My people will be ready for any little game that lame one wishes to play.”

“You warned them already? How did you know?”

“Cockerels crow at court when they strut before a henand there was only one kind of crowing to which this hen would listen.”   The words, half-contemptuous, half self-satisfied were out before Joanna thought. Geoffrey’s expression froze. Fool! I am a fool! Joanna thought. She snapped her fingers at the servants and they made haste to finish what they were doing and clear the room. Geoffrey had turned away, toward the tub, while Joanna sought wildly for something to say that would soothe him. Instead she pushed Geoffrey gently. “Go to. Get into the tub.”

She poured water over Geoffrey’s head and ran the soap over his fine hair. “Finish your tale. How came you to Northampton from Wales?”

“In the morning the king left for Whitechurch, where he had ordered Marsh and the rest of the court to meet him. I and some others remained with the army to be sure that the twenty-eight hostages would be given up to us as arranged. The Welsh allies were given leave to go. When the hostages came, we marched the men back to Whitechurch, but the king was gone from there. I had already sent a messenger craving leave to come here to you at Clyro, but I found waiting a command to bring the hostages with all haste to the king at Northampton.”

Feeling Joanna toweling his hair dry, Geoffrey began to sit erect. “No, stay,” she said. “It is easier for me to wash you. Wait, let me put a cloth behind you to ease your head.”

What am I to her, Geoffrey wondered, as he watched Joanna fold the cloth she had used on his hair into a thick pad to protect his neck from the sharp edge of the tub. I am herslike a farm or a serf or a horse, so she will care for me. She thanks God for meon Sir Peter’s word that I led and cared for the men wellbecause I am a careful steward of her property. But she did kiss meof herself… .

“So then I know how you came to Northampton, but I do not see why you are so troubled,” Joanna urged. “Come, tell me. It is like drawing teeth to get a tale from you. Was it something you saw on the march to Whitechurch?”

“Oh, no. I was content enough then, although to tell the truth I had my bellyful of John’s company and I would have   been better pleasedNo matter. It was at Northampton that I saw shadows of things to comeevil shadows.”

The words were full of foreboding, but Geoffrey’s voice was more relaxed, sad still, but not so desperate as he had sounded in the hall. Joanna had been badly frightened by the controlled hysteria under the words he had said then. It was that emotion to which she had responded by asking if she must call up her mother’s vassals. Now she realized that it had been fatigue and the inability to talk to anyone that had come close to unbalancing Geoffrey. The warm water, the soothing attentions she gave him, the opportunity to say things aloud and hear a response to his ideas were permitting him to see the situation ahead in better perspective.

“You said the Welsh would break loose again. Why?”

“Because John now thinks to rule them with fear and power. When he first spoke of this campaign, he said he would keep England outside of Welsh affairs as the balancer and the settler of problems, thus also giving the princelings there no need to unite. I was well content with that. Nothing could be better. It was what Llewelyn was trying to do but with the advantage that John would be arbiter in Llewelyn’s place and thus the Welsh would have no strong central leader who could weld them into one.”

“But if Llewelyn failed, why do you believe John could succeed?”

“Because John is
not
Welsh. Do you not see? Gwenwynwyn, Maelgwyn and his brother Rhys, and all the rest of the petty princes see Llewelyn as one of themselves, raising himself over their heads with no more right to lead than they have. That John is greater than any of them, they do not contest. Thus, had he kept himself apart from them, after proving he could overpower the greatest among them, they would have obeyed him gladly. They would even, I think, have paid a reasonable scutage to keep the king’s favor, and they would certainly have been strong allies in any war against the French or the Scots or anyone.