William rose and joined her. ‘It will be glorious if it can be achieved, but it will be expensive on top of all other expenses – and that includes payments to Simon de Montfort for releasing him from his Gascony contract. It might be worth pursuing, but it is mostly a matter of advantage to the Queen’s uncles. It is their influence at work on this.’
Joanna shivered. She didn’t want to become involved in any more arguments surrounding the Queen and her faction.
‘What of de Montfort?’
William curled his lip. ‘We have managed very well without him. Naturally he is still demanding money with threats but he can wait a better time.’ He put his arm around her waist and changed the subject. ‘Now, what did you write to me about Goodrich, and studying the stars?’
At Fontevraud Abbey a richness of sun imprinted the turning autumn leaves with an additional patina of gold and the clear October air was kind enough for cloaks to remain open. Joanna had never before visited the abbey, housing the royal tombs of Henry’s dynasty. Of William’s too. Henry had arranged for their mother’s body to be removed from its original burial place outside the abbey and transferred to a more exalted tomb in the choir.
In the nuns’ cemetery, two lay brothers had opened the grave and piled a mound of soil to one side like a gigantic molehill. On the other side stood the sealed lead coffin of Isabel of Angoulême, erstwhile Queen of England, and Countess of La Marche.
Joanna could see from William’s taut expression how affected he was as the priest brushed away the soil and draped the coffin with a rich pall of purple silk and another of cloth of gold.
The coffin was placed on a bier, and each of Isabel’s sons took a pole. William and Henry at the front, Geoffrey and Guy at the rear, they bore their mother’s remains into the abbey church for a funeral mass followed by reinterment before the altar. Henry had commissioned a wooden figure, designed to match the other effigies already present, and the carver had excelled himself, depicting an elegant woman robed in a blue gown, her cloak swirled stylishly across her body. Her hands were crossed at her breast and a jewelled crown secured her white veil. The effigy’s eyes were closed, as though she was resting for a moment rather than for eternity. Moved by the grace and beauty of the image and the evocative, holy chant of the requiem mass, Joanna began to cry, and taking the music into her heart, she allowed it to be sung for her mother too, and found healing comfort.
In the clear night, the stars were scattered like salt crystals across the sky as Joanna and William walked hand in hand back to their pavilion from the guest house where they had dined with the King at the requiem feast.
‘I think your mother is at peace,’ Joanna said.
‘I hope more than she was in life.’
‘It is a tranquil and holy place.’ She slowed down. ‘I have some news for you. I believe I am with child again.’
He slipped his arm around her waist. ‘So soon?’
She laughed ruefully. ‘I thought I might be barren when I wed you, but these days you only need to look at me and I quicken.’
‘I would not make of you a brood mare,’ he said sombrely, ‘even though it is good news.’
She shook her head. ‘You do not, and we both know there are ways of being careful. We need another son – one to name for his father.’ She touched his face and smiled. ‘I wanted to tell you now, at Fontevraud. If it is a girl, we shall name her Isabelle, and if a boy, he will bear your name.’
*
From Fontevraud the court travelled to Chartres where Henry and Alienor were greeted by Louis of France and his queen Marguerite, Alienor’s sister. Also arriving at Chartres were Alienor’s younger sisters Sancha, who was married to Henry’s brother Richard, and Beatrice, wife to the King of Navarre. The four sisters, all wed to royalty, had come together for a reunion. Joanna thought she had seen all the glory possible at the English royal court, but this gathering surpassed all her previous experience.
Riding into Paris they were greeted by the citizens, cheering and waving. The students from the university serenaded the royal procession with music played upon lute, viol and gittern and escorted them into the city, to the pinnacle of Christian worship at the exquisite church of St Chapelle, glowing with jewelled colours like a reliquary. The gold and silver and filigree light graced the relic of the holy crown of thorns that had pierced Christ’s brow. On his knees, Henry wept over the artefact, overwhelmed almost to the point of drowning in passion.
The English court spent its first night in Paris among the labyrinthine buildings and passages of the Old Temple, but moved next day to lodgings in the royal palace. From his own purse Henry fed copious numbers of the Parisian poor and presented lavish gifts to all who dined at his tables, determined to have his largesse witnessed and exalted, even if it was not officially a contest to decide which monarch expressed the highest generosity.
It was a family gathering too, and even if the hosts and guests were often rivals and sometimes enemies, they still had much in common. Henry and Louis respected and acknowledged the bond of marital ties and shared experiences, opinions and sentiments. Like the fires that burned in the great hearths for everyone’s comfort in the deep winter season, warmth and friendship glowed beyond the spectacle.
One frosty morning, as Henry prepared to depart for England, King Louis took them on an excursion to a hunting lodge outside the city. With sparkling eyes and in high good humour, he led them to a large, closed barn. Joanna could hear something huge lumbering about inside and grasped William’s arm for reassurance.
At a gesture from Louis, two of his knights pulled out the great wooden bars securing the doors and swung them open. The winter daylight poured into the barn to reveal the strangest creature Joanna had ever seen. It was twice the height of a horse with wrinkled grey skin, huge, flapping ears and a long, snakelike nose. Its feet were the size of giant drums, and two enormous ivory tusks thrust upwards from either side of its pouting mouth. Heavy chains hobbled the animal’s feet and it had a keeper, bearing a stout, knobbled club. Joanna had read about elephants in bestiaries and had heard tall tales from merchants who had seen them on their travels, but the reality took her breath.
Louis presented Henry with a basket of apples and gestured him towards the beast. Henry looked positively aghast.
‘It is a harmless creature, I promise you,’ Louis said, smiling broadly.
Henry, stiff with tension, approached the elephant and extended the basket. The trunk came questing, delicately lifted an apple, and conveyed it into a pursed mouth. Then again and again. Emboldened, Henry held one in his hand, and the elephant took it with courteous dexterity. Henry laughed aloud, captivated. The elephant raised its trunk and trumpeted so loudly that everyone clapped their hands to their ears.
‘I knew you would like it,’ Louis said. ‘And who in our lands has ever seen such an animal before? You have many marvels at your Tower in London. Lions, I am told, and a great white bear that fishes in the river.’
‘Yes indeed,’ Henry said, smiling but dubious.
‘It is only fitting, then, that I should present this beast to you as a parting gift, so that it may further enhance your collection.’
A look of startlement crossed Henry’s face, swiftly concealed. ‘That is very gracious and generous of you, my brother.’
