Joanna shook her head. ‘You have many brothers and sisters.’
‘Sometimes it is like living in a litter of puppies! There’s Aymer too, but he’s at home.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘My brothers think they know it all, but women have the better awareness. I love them to the marrow of my bones, but I shall never let them think for me.’ She glanced towards her mother, deep in conversation with Alienor, and grew more serious. ‘It has been difficult for Mama. She had to leave England after King John died – there was no role for her, no purpose, and no acceptance; some wounds do not heal even when a fresh start has been made.’
‘Indeed,’ Joanna said, thinking of her own mother and how much she missed her. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘No, only a couple of days. A battle muster is not the best place to gather and we would not have come save to meet our kin. And you?’
‘South, to La Reole and then to Bordeaux for the baby’s birth, depending on the Queen’s health.’
Aliza nodded. ‘It is good for my half-brother to have a child born on Gascon soil,’ she said. ‘But tell me about England, what is it like?’
That evening the King presided over the family gathering with pride. The hostilities with the de Montforts had been put aside if not forgotten, and the rift bandaged over. Toasts were raised and brimming cups sent around the table. Alienor sat at Henry’s right hand and his mother at his left with Henry’s brother Richard beside her, full of bonhomie. Arrangements for his match with Queen Alienor’s younger sister Sancha were being finalised, and he would soon be a married man again.
Joanna quietly observed King Henry’s half-brothers. She remembered what Aliza had said about them being a litter of puppies, but to her mind they more resembled lean young wolves. Hugh, the oldest, was a grown man, tall and strong. Guy and Geoffrey had not attained full manhood, but were not far off – brash, self-assured young men. The youngest, William, was just entering adolescence. He had a mass of tight brown curls flashed with gold, and intelligent eyes, flecked like grey agate. He and Aliza shared the same sun-bright smile.
Later, there was informal conversation and music. Tables were set up for games of chess, dice and merels. Joanna introduced Aliza to her brother, and to her cousin John de Warenne.
‘I would never guess you were kin,’ Aliza said to the youths. ‘One so fair and one so dark. Who is the oldest?’ Her gaze lingered briefly on John.
‘I am.’ Iohan puffed out his chest. ‘I am fourteen.’
Aliza smiled. ‘My youngest brother is almost your age.’ She sought among the gathering, and waved to catch the attention of the curly-haired youth, who left his companions and joined them. ‘This is William,’ she said as introductions were made. ‘I try to keep him out of mischief, but I don’t always succeed.’
The youth rolled his eyes. ‘Do not believe her – it’s usually the other way round!’
Aliza laughed. ‘Well then, we know each other’s deeds well enough to look innocent and promise to say nothing.’
He inclined his head. ‘As you say, sister.’
‘I have to go.’ John stood up in response to a summons from Peter of Savoy and concealed a grimace. ‘We are leaving for Provence at first light and the baggage must be ready or I’ll be to blame.’ He nodded to William and bowed to Aliza. ‘We shall meet again.’
‘I hope so. Godspeed and a successful mission,’ Aliza said graciously.
Bereft of a partner, Iohan invited William de Valence to play chess and the youths went off together to find a table and a board.
‘I do love William,’ Aliza said. ‘He will have no great wealth unless he marries a rich heiress but he will inherit a few castles and our brothers will look out for him and keep him employed.’ She looked over to where William and Iohan were now sitting over a chess board arranging the pieces. William said something that made Iohan laugh. ‘He puts his whole heart into everything he does. He wants to do well; he wants to belong. If you keep poking him, he will eventually round on you, but mostly he’s well mannered – unless he’s up to mischief.’
Joanna raised her eyebrows and Aliza laughed. ‘I remember him sitting in a tree dropping green apples on the people passing beneath, including a bishop. Our mother was so cross with him! If he’s not kept constantly occupied, he causes trouble, but he starts his full training once we’re home and then he’ll have no time for pranks.’
Joanna shook her head and wondered at the propensity of males for behaving thus. It would never have entered her head to do such a thing.
‘I wish we could spend more time together,’ Aliza said, ‘but we are leaving in the morning. I truly hope to see you again.’
‘I hope so too,’ Joanna said, for her heart had warmed to Aliza de Lusignan and she felt as if she had known her for much longer than a day. ‘Perhaps we could write.’
Aliza gave her a broad smile. ‘Yes, I would like that.’
The afternoon sun was so hot that the sky was white and shimmering waves rose from the land, although the walls of the Ombrière Palace in Bordeaux kept the burning light at bay. Joanna paused to wipe her brow, and then carried a fresh bowl of rose water into the birthing chamber where Alienor had been in travail since dawn. They had been a month in Bordeaux and the midsummer heat had burned the grass into dormancy. The King was on campaign in the field against the French, accompanied by his brother Richard, his Lusignan stepfather and Simon de Montfort.
Joanna entered the chamber as the Queen gave a drawn-out groan of effort, and was in time to see Sybil Giffard lift a blood-streaked baby from between Alienor’s parted legs, attached by a writhing bluish cord. ‘A fine little girl!’ Sybil laughed as the baby started to bawl. ‘Just listen to her lungs!’
Joanna’s heart expanded with relief and happiness. She had been so anxious for the Queen and the baby because Alienor had been unwell and they had been forced to move swiftly from La Reole to Bordeaux when war had threatened their refuge.
Lady Giffard cut the cord with a little pair of shears and carried the baby away to be cleaned and bathed.
‘Joanna, don’t just stand there like a ninny, bring the rose water,’ Eleanor de Montfort snapped.
Concealing a twinge of resentment, Joanna brought the bowl to the bedside. The Countess took it from her, wrung out the cloth, and wiped the Queen’s brow. ‘You may go,’ she said imperiously.
