Joanna (68 page)

“I will faithfully recount to him anything you wish him to hear,” Joanna promised, more concerned with letting Geoffrey rest than with what she might be getting into.

That decided Gilliane. Besides, what Léon had said about Joanna, although not complimentary, infused Gilliane with the hope that Joanna might know what to do.

“You must tell him what you think best,” Gilliane began. “My mother-by-marriage is a good woman,” she said next, “butbut she has had a hard life. Her husband was killed in the wars between Richard and Philip and she had a desperate struggle to hold these lands. Then Léon was taken”

“It is the English she thinks of as devils,” Joanna said with sudden revelation. “She is not mad; she just hates the English.”

“Of course she is not mad.” Gilliane looked surprised. “Well, perhaps a little on that subject, but why should youOh, I see, because she has remained in the women’s chambers. Yes. Well, that was because Léon knew she would not be civil to Geoffrey and he is most strict on polite behavior to a guest. He said she must pretend to be ill. But”

“That was why you locked Geoffrey up.”

Gilliane nodded. “Yes, she was willing to keep him because Louis said there would be a great ransom, but when she heard of the English queen’s offer… . The idea grew in her mind, and it seems that she has been thinking more and more of it since you brought the goldthinking to double it again. I am sorry. It is dreadful, but she is growing old andand the past is more real to her than the present.”

Joanna was not much afraid of the old woman. Having been warned, the danger was gone. The chill she had felt, the “smell” of fear did not rise up. It would only mean that Geoffrey must be guarded while he slept. Even she or Edwina could overpower Sir Léon’s mother. “I will take care,” she assured Gilliane, “that my husband is never alone. I” She stopped speaking abruptly as Gilliane shook her head.

“That is not important except to explain what is worse. Louis is not like Léon, although he used to be. He is not a bad man, but he is bitter? Ambitious? His ties are to his family and very strongly to his older sister whom he supported in her worst troubles. It seems that she has infected him with her hate and,” Gilliane swallowed and her next words came out in a rush, “and Louis plans to set upon your husband when he leaves and”

“How can you know this?” Joanna breathed. She was more than chilled with apprehension now; she was icy with terror.

“When I stopped her fromfrom what she intended, she was so angry that she” Gilliane flushed unbecomingly. “She believes II betrayed Léon with your husband. She said I could not save my lover thus, and she told me”

“How will Sir Louis know when Geoffrey leaves?” Joanna asked, pressing terror down, fixing on practicalities.

“We are near neighbors, as you know. The serfs, the servants, they are all bound together. Louis has been substitute master here so often that if he bid them send him word they would do so, any or all of them.”

Joanna knew that the male servants paid little attention to Gilliane. She did not ask for her help. “Cannot Sir Léon” she began and, seeing the terror in Gilliane’s eyes realized what she was asking.

If Sir Léon was apprised of his uncle’s plans, either that would start a quarrel between them, or, what Joanna feared much worse, being intent on Geoffrey’s welfare rather than that of her host, he might be convinced to join the plot. It would be madness to hint such a thing to Gilliane. Joanna stared sightlessly at the floor, driving her mind to stop squirreling around and fix on some plan that would save them.

“We must not begin any quarrel between your husband and his uncle,” Joanna began again, her voice only slightly tremulous. “We must arrange somehow that both of them be gone, best together so that neither can blame the other. Only for a day or two. Think, Gilliane, what do Léon and Louis customarily do together that takes them from their keeps for a few days at a time?”

The first response to that, to Joanna’s surprise, was an angry flush. Then she understood. Louis and Léon went whoring together. Gilliane herself was surprised by her   reaction. She had never minded in the past, yet now the thought that Léon would seek his pleasure elsewhere angered her. In any case, that was not a pastime any modest, pious wife would urge upon her husband. She racked her brains for a moment, then nodded.

“They have a hunting place in a wood, I am not sure where, but I know it is at some distance and that when they go it is for a few daysbut how can I suggestIt is not my business to tell Léon what he should do.”

A brief effort subdued Joanna’s impatience with that sentiment. Naturally, a wife did not tell a husband what to do. Even such indulgent husbands as Ian and Geoffrey would respond to such temerity with a box on the ear. Nonetheless, there were many, many ways to make a man do something you desired without
telling
him.

“There is no need to tell him, but you could say that you have not had fresh venison for a long time. And you could say also that Louis has been so busy between caring for his lands and trying to help you that it is long and long since he had a time free to hunt. And you could say that you thought venison was a more strengthening meat than beef or mutton, and boar still more strengthening, hinting that such meats would be of benefit to Geoffrey and a politeness due a guest in ill health”

“He would know I was pushing him if I said all that.”

Joanna bit her lip, but her voice did not betray her irritation. “You must not say it all at once, of course. You must say one thing now, another at another time, always waiting until your husband starts the matter.”

“But Léon must know nothing”

No wonder most wives bore black and blue marks, Joanna thought, if they were so clumsy in handling their men. “Listen to me,” she urged. “If Sir Léon should mention his unclewhich I have heard him do a dozen times a daythen you might say first how helpful Louis was to you. That is true, is it not? Then you can say that he had no time for recreation. Then you could mention hunting and then Geoffrey’s health and”

Gilliane stared at Joanna wide-eyed, and then a slow   smile began to grow on her face. “So I could,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, I believe I could.” The smile disappeared and she looked anxiously at Joanna. “The bad thing is that it will have to be done soon. I am afraid Louis will refuse to go if we wait until Geoffrey has most of his strength back. Léon’s mother is not mad. When her rage cools, she will begin to think of what she told me. She will suspect I am trying to save Lord Geoffrey by this ruse, even if Léon does not believe it is a ruse, and she will tell Louis. Even then, I do not know how much time you would have. I fear that when you leave she will find a way to send a messenger to Léon and Louis. I would not dare stop her openly. I am sorry”

“Dear Gilliane,” Joanna said, “do not apologize. You have done more for Geoffrey and for me than we had any right to expect. And I never even thanked you, never even said how grateful I was that you preserved him for me. You could well have hated me for my unmannerly bearing”

“Oh, no.” Gilliane smiled with singular sweetness. “You do not know it, but you have done as much for memore perhaps than I for you.”  
p.

The plan that Joanna and Gilliane devised worked well, but unfortunately it worked too soon. Both women had expected that it would take a week or two to implant the idea of a hunt into Sir Léon’s head. What happened was that no sooner had Gilliane mentioned the word venison than Sir Léon was off. At least, that was how it appeared to the startled plotters. Actually, Sir Leon took the time to apologize to Geoffrey for leaving, giving him the excellent excuse his wife had providedthat boar and venison were strengthening to an invalid. He also sent a messenger to his uncle and waited for the reply. That, however, was all he waited for. In two days he was off, promising to return within the week with fresh game enough to restore Geoffrey’s health.

“We must try again,” Joanna said to Geoffrey the night before Sir Léon left. “You are not strong enough. We will think of something else.”

“No,” Geoffrey replied. “We will go.”

“You cannot!” Joanna exclaimed.

“Do not be a fool. If I must, then I can. I will not take the chance that ‘something else’ will work. Sooner or later Louis will ask about me, and Leon will tell the truthwhy should he not?that I mend apace. Louis will not be led away again.”

From this position Geoffrey would not be moved although Joanna alternately wept and pleaded and raged and stormed. He proffered no other reason. He could not because his real reason would merely have distressed Joanna more. It had occurred to Geoffrey that, if he were to be slain, it would be necessary to kill Joanna also. Obviously, his body could not be presented as that of a knight casually come upon and killed while trying to resist or escape when   his wife could, and would, cry the truth aloud to the world. For Joanna the only safety lay in instant flight. It would not matter if he died on the road; that, in fact, would improve her chances for safety.

It was a nightmare journey. For Joanna, mounted pillion behind Geoffrey, all sense of time disappeared, and yet she was horribly aware that time was important. The effect was heightened by Geoffrey’s orders that they must not pass through any village or town. Because Joanna was not familiar with the territory and the land was flat and featureless, they seemed to move continuously on the same stretch of road and woodland.

When he was first lifted to the saddle, Geoffrey laughed in spite of his pain, saying it brought back memories of his early childhood to be so mounted. He talked a little to Joanna at first also, pointing out a place where he thought he had camped before they brought the army to confront Philip, remarking on the gait of her mare and how it differed from that of his destrier. He fell silent after that, thinking of the three horses he had lost and hoping they had found new masters who would be kind and appreciate them. Alarmed by his silence, Joanna asked if he wanted to stop to rest and Geoffrey told her rather sharply that they were scarce an hour on their way. That, too, contributed to her confusion. To her apprehensive mind it seemed they had been riding most of the day.

As time passed Geoffrey spoke less and less. When he had to answer a question, as when Sir Guy, who was ranging ahead to divert them from any town, asked for instruction, his voice was low and breathless. Later, Joanna saw blood seeping through his tunic from the hip wound. She wept softly, knowing there was nothing she could do for him. To stitch the flesh again was useless; it would only tear-anew. Later still, his body began to sag against hers, but when she cried out that they must stop, Geoffrey roused himself enough to countermand the order.

Joanna might have overborne himthe men were hers and would obey herbut Geoffrey said softly, “It will only serve to lengthen my torment. I cannot suffer more, but I   can suffer longer. Dear heart, if I should fail and you are strong enough to hold me, ride on and ride faster. I will not feel it then. Better still, let one of the men mount behind and hold me.”

There was good sense in what he said, and Joanna yielded except that she would let no one else hold him. Her arms ached and her body screamed with pain because she held herself all twisted so as to avoid rubbing Geoffrey’s torn shoulder. To compound her misery, it began to rain on the second day. Geoffrey shivered, but he constantly threw off the cloak with which Joanna tried to cover him, muttering that the rain was goodso cool. And when Joanna touched his face she found he was burning with fever.

Despite her weariness, Joanna did not sleep at all that night. Geoffrey tossed and moaned and called pathetically for her, but he did not know her when she soothed him. She did not think they could go further, only toward morning his fever dropped and he begged hoarsely to continue.

“I cannot bear to get a little better and then begin again, he sighed. “I want to go home where I can rest.”

Again Joanna yielded, not only because of Geoffrey’s pleading but because she could do so little for him in a woodland camp, because she knew he was so near unconscious most of the time now that he suffered less. It was growing colder too, especially at night, and they had nothing really dry and warm. To let Geoffrey lie cold and wet might be his death as easily as traveling onward. Throughout the day Geoffrey slipped in and out of consciousness, in and out of delirium. He would not eat at all that night, and did not recognize Joanna again.

Edwina consulted Sir Guy and then, trembling, confronted her mistress. “You must leave him to me,” she said. “He does not know you anyway, and you must sleep or you will not be fit to help him.”

“Yes, yes,” Joanna agreed absently, “I will sleep. Let me be, Edwina.”

“If you stay here, you will not sleep. You will hear him call and run to him even though you know he does not know you. The rain is over. You must go out of here and sleep   away from Lord Geoffrey. My lady, you have the right to flay me or even kill me, and you can order Sir Guy to be punished also. Nonetheless, if you do not go of your own will, we will drag you.’’

There was not strength enough in Joanna for rage to come. She wept, but when Sir Guy picked her up and carried her out, she did not struggle. She lay, wrapped in three cloaks, sobbing softly and listening for Geoffrey’s voice. He seemed much quieter, now that she was gone, and she wondered guiltily if she had violated one of her mother’s maxims and allowed her own anxiety to make her patient uneasy. Exhaustion did not permit guilt, or any other notion, to torment her long. It was just as well because, if she thought about it she might have guessed another reason for Geoffrey’s silence. Edwina, far less tender than her mistress, was muffling his cries with a firm hand over his mouth.

Not everything was bad. At least they were not pursued. Sir Guy continued to avoid towns and villages because there was more likelihood of French being there, and the French might ask awkward questions. As they came deeper into Flanders, the country folk were less to be feared. In spite of sporadic enmity over the question of who should grow and who weave wool and where the greatest profit should be, the Flemish preferred the English to the French. Besides, just now the outrages of the French were freshest in their minds. They would give no voluntary information to the conquerors even if they did guess that an English knight had passed.