Joanna (50 page)

“It is not at all likely that the French will come ashore near Kemp apurpose. There is no good, large harbor there,” Ian explained. “But, should a storm rise in the narrow sea,   as is so common in winter and early spring, it is not impossible that some stray bands will be blown to land there. If Adam is in the keep, there can be neither panic nor treachery. He is wild, but not so much a fool as to chance battle against high odds. And even if Sir Guy cannot stop him, he can send to you for help whether Adam approves or not.”

This advice caused the first really bitter disagreement between Geoffrey and Joanna. Partly it was Geoffrey’s fault for phrasing the idea carelessly. He told Joanna, quite casually, that he was sending for Adam to defend his own lands.

“Adam!” Joanna cried, her heart turning over with fear for her baby brother, “Adam is a child! What madness is this?”

“Adam is not a child,” Geoffrey retorted, all the more hotly because he was trying to convince himself of what he was saying. “He is nearly sixteen years of age. In a year or two he would be knighted and defending his own lands in any case.”

“He might be managing them, with Ian standing by his shoulder,” Joanna said passionately. “He would not be expected to defend them alone against the might of Philip of France.”

At that point Geoffrey made another mistake. He should have shown her Ian’s letter, but in a foolish fit of loyalty he did not want to make Joanna angry with Ian. That would not have been the result. Joanna knew that Ian doted upon Adam; the fact that he had advised the move would have convinced her that there was little danger for her brother. Instead, Geoffrey tried to reason with his wife.

“Nor is Adam expected to do that. Sir Guy will go with him to be sure he does nothing foolish.”

Unfortunately, although Joanna was fond of Sir Guy and perfectly sure of his loyalty and good intentions, she was by no means in the least sure that he could control Adam. “Sir Guy!” she exclaimed. “And how firm do you believe he will be in opposing Adam’s will?”

Touched painfully upon his own fears, for Geoffrey knew   that if harm came to Adam not only would Joanna never forgive him but he would never forgive himself, he turned on her. “What do you desire that I do?” he roared, and then, more quietly, “I must go to Mersea to see to Sir John’s defenses. Do not forget that if Dammartin cannot part Ferrand from Philip, the men of the Low Countries who know well how to deal with Mersea’s marshes will be part of Philip’s force. In that case, Mersea might bear the brunt of a heavy attack. So might Roselynde, which has a good harbor. Kemp is the least likely of all our lands to be struck in force.”

“I see,” Joanna breathed, but there was no change in the set, white misery of her expression.

“I will talk to him,” Geoffrey assured her. I will explain what ruin he will bring upon us if he engages with inadequate forces and fails. Adam is wild, but not stupid and, whether from Mersea or from Roselynde, I am sure I will be able to come to his help before any harm befalls him.”

“I see,” Joanna repeated, and walked away without further argument.

Geoffrey felt uneasily that he had failed her. She counted upon him to protect her and hers from harm and, instead, he was drawing her brother out of safety into the conflict. It was, Geoffrey acknowledged, his duty to protect his wife and her relatives from harm if he could, but he could not repress a flicker of resentment at the fact that Joanna seemed to fear hurt and danger to any one of them more than for him. Geoffrey no longer worried about being distasteful to his wife. It was obvious he was not. She was openly fond of him, but he could see little difference between her fondness for him and her fondness for Brian. She played with them boththrowing sticks for Brain and tumbling in bed with himwith equal good humor and pleasure.

It seemed to Geoffrey that this uncomfortable notion was rather confirmed when, in spite of the depression that held her pale and silent most of the day and evening, Joanna came to him with even more passion than usual that night. Evidently, she accepted his reasoning and was making her   apology in the way she thought would please him best. However, even while Geoffrey writhed and moaned softly as Joanna worked him deeper into the red well of pleasure, some small part of him wished that she would
talk
to himsay she was sorry, say that she loved him, say that she feared for him also as well as for the others she lovedinstead of paying him with physical gestures. It smacked too much of fondling a domestic animal to show you were pleased with it.

This was completely unfair, a not uncommon situation to a young man very deeply in love. Geoffrey knew Joanna was a reserved person who rarely voiced her feelings. But in this case it was fortunate that he kept his longing to himself. Her silence and misery was far more a result of guilt than of fear. As soon as Geoffrey said he would come to Adam’s rescue, Joanna fully realized that to protect Adam would be to expose Geoffrey to greater danger. Her immediate impulse was to cry out that Geoffrey should leave Adam to his own devices. This disgusting notion, of throwing her little brother to the wolves to preserve her husband, so horrified Joanna as to inhibit her from voicing any further opinion on the subject. All Joanna could do was clutch Geoffrey to her while she had him, trying twice and thrice in the night to unite herself with him completely. This unusual behavior made Geoffrey even more uneasy so that he put off leaving for Mersea from day to day, Joanna eagerly helping him to find excuses to stay.

On March 5, action was forced upon them. An official order, which Joanna opened as Alinor’s deputy, came from John. The lady of Roselynde was the king’s bailiff for Roselynde town and in this capacity she was ordered “to go in person, together with the bailiffs of the port, to the harbor in your bailiwick and make a careful list of all the ships there found capable of carrying six horses or more; and that, in our name, you order the masters as well as the owners of those ships, as they regard themselves, their ships, and all their property, to have them at Portsmouth at mid-Lent, well equipped with stores, tried seamen, and good soldiers, to enter our service for our deliverance.”   Cursing himself, Geoffrey dispatched Sir Guy to Kemp, wrote to Leicester and to Adam, and left at once for Mersea, knowing that orders must also have gone out to the sheriffs at about the same time to summon the barons to war. Invasion was then imminent. While he lingered in Roselynde, Geoffrey had hoped that danger was passing. It seemed to him that if the pope had intended to order John deposed, the order should have been already published. But there was no news of it from the Roselynde fishermen or merchants. It was in Mersea, where Geoffrey found Sir John deeply involved in preparations for defense of his own lands and for answering the king’s summons, that Geoffrey finally learned the current rumors. These came not from France but from the court of Ferrand of Flanders, who was suddenly most genial toward English merchants whom, in the past, he had burdened with punitive taxes or forbidden trade altogether.

Stephen Langton had obtained letters of deposition from the pope, but John’s emissaries were already in Rome and had so well impressed Pandulf that he had lingered behind while they presented their case to Innocent. They had convinced the pope of John’s sincerity, also, describing how, at the peak of his power, the king had felt the hand of God and had repented of all spites done the Holy Church. Pandulf had then asked and received permission to bid Langton hold back the letters of deposition while John’s sincerity was tested one last time. The legate Pandulf was no frail priest. He had taken horse, forced a passage across the Alps, and ridden night and day until he overtook Langton. Unless John again refused the pope’s terms, there would be no order to depose him.

That was a considerable relief, but the remainder of the news was not so good. Philip, it appeared, had no intentions of allowing his preparations to go to waste. Counting on the disaffection of the nobility of England, Philip planned to invade anyway. But, Sir John continued, Philip was having his own troubles with disaffection. As evidenced by the sudden cosseting of English merchants, Dammartin was influencing Ferrand. Philip’s son Louis had taken St. Omer   and Aire, and Ferrand, emboldened by Dammartin’s offers of help from John, had demanded the return of those towns to him before he would lend his aid in an invasion of England.

Geoffrey was most grateful for the news and said so. His usual source, his father, had been silent for some weeks because he was not at court. The strain of the past year had been too much for Lady Ela. Shortly after Christmas she had really fallen ill, and Salisbury had taken her home where she would be at peace. She was improving, but was not yet strong enough for her husband to leave her.

So far, Geoffrey’s visit had been a miracle of smooth agreement, considering the times. He had been welcomed into the keep with cries of joy, hustled out of his wet, muddy clothing, bathed and warmed by the fire, pressed to drink hot spiced wine to ward off a chill, and generally cosseted as if he were a prodigal son. Now that the most urgent items of news had been exchanged and the women and children retired to their quarters, Sir John and he lounged alone by the fire. There was wine in goblets at each man’s elbow, but neither was drinking much. Geoffrey was faced with the unpleasant need to assure himself that Sir John’s warm welcome was not a blind; that his talk of preparation for war was more than just talk. He was puzzling over how to introduce this delicate topic without implying any distrust of Sir John when the problem solved itself.

“If Dammartin should fail,” Geoffrey said, “the Flemmands will come with Philip. You are somewhat north of where they might be expected to make first landfall, but winds are variable and Mersea does lie in a direct line from the ports of Flanders. Moreover, the Flemmands, as you know, will be familiar with the ways of overpassing your marshes.”

“I thought that was what brought you here,” Sir John said. “Thank you for waiting until my wife left us. She does not like to hear of such thingsand you are quite right. That is what I have been busy about. Will you do me the honor, my lord, to look over what I have devised to defend us and   speak to those I have appointed to rule while I answer the king’s summons?”

“I will gladly look,” Geoffrey agreed, masking his relief. He was, after all, younger than Sir John and was always a bit surprised at the deference shown him in military matters because he did not realize the impression he had made on the men who accompanied him through the Welsh campaign. “But I doubt I will have any advice to offer you. You know these lands and the men too, far better than I.”

To that Sir John smiled approval. Geoffrey’s open acknowledgement of such truths and his own willingness to take advice were two good reasons why Sir John was so willing to ask. He knew the young lord would not meddle just for the sake of meddling or to show his power.

“That may be true,” he replied, “but it is the strange eye that sees small things familiarity overlooks. I may also hope,” he added anxiously, “that you or Lord Ian will bring me aid if I find myself overmatched?”

“Unless we are utterly overpowered ourselves, I can promise you that,” Geoffrey assured him. “The inland keeps will be safe if we hold firm, and the forces of Ealand or Kingsclere can be dispatched to you. I have sent them notice already that more men must be readied than what will fulfill the king’s summons, and I am buying mercenaries as I see those worthwhile.”

Geoffrey hesitated. Sir John had implied that he intended to answer John’s summons and had made that decision before Geoffrey arrived. Considering how ambivalent Sir John had been toward the king when Joanna visited him last autumn, the change in attitude was interesting. Again Geoffrey was saved from the need to ask delicate questions by Sir John’s trust and respect.

“I suppose Lady Joanna told you that I was not much displeased when there was some hope of absolving the lords from their vows of obedience to the king,” he remarked.

“She told me,” Geoffrey replied with a shrug. “You were not alone in the way you felt, but there is no one else. I will say again what I have said to othersit is not reasonable to cut off one’s head because it aches. No more is it reasonable to destroy a king because he is not perfect. The body will not survive the first; the realm will not survive the second.

Sir John did not look convinced. “Well,” he temporized, “heads cannot be replaced, kings can.” Then his jaw set. “However that may be, I do not intend that French Philip shall have the ordering of who shall or shall not sit upon the throne of England.”

Soon it was apparent that Sir John’s sentiments were held by the majority of the country. They might overturn the king themselves, but they wanted no outside interference in what they regarded as a private struggle. The response to the king’s summons was overwhelming. Men poured out of great keeps and small holdings, and they came prepared to fight. For a wonder, John’s mood held steady. He greeted his vassals cordially, thanked them for their loyalty, and listened to their advice without any sign of either cringing or pride. His disposition of his forces was sensible. Groups large enough to withstand a first assault were dispatched to Ipswich, Dover, Faversham and other threatened ports. The groups were made up largely of men whose lands were in the area and who would have good reason to fight hard, guided by a leader with his own troops whose loyalty John trusted. The main body, sixty thousand strong, was encamped on Barham Down, closest to the easiest landfall from France but yet clear to move if the attack should come elsewhere.

Geoffrey himself was not kept long with the main forces. He was directed to leave his own troops from Hemel and the other inland estates in Ian’s hands and himself take the men from Roselynde, Iford, Kemp, and the other seaside villages to Portsmouth. Their familiarity with the sea and ships, would make them more useful there in the armada gathered to stop Philip at sea and inflict damage upon the ships and ports of France before or after the invasion was launched.

Although Geoffrey saw the logic in the king’s order, he   cursed it vilely. Portsmouth was far too close to Roselynde. Joanna would expect him, and Geoffrey feared he would be unable to resist riding home. He wanted to be there, but if he was at Roselynde he could not properly do his duty. In his efforts to explain to Joanna why he would come the few miles between Portsmouth and Roselynde so seldom, Geoffrey inadvertently painted a picture of his central importance to the enterprise.