“Put them into the offering box,” said the Bishop, “and go to your dinner.”
If this was an example of what we were to expect from John, I wondered if the bishops were already regretting their choice.
My mind was taken from apprehensive contemplation of the future by the arrival of Joanna at Fontevrault.
My daughter was in a very sad state. She was pregnant and had been on her way to Rouen to see Richard. Her husband needed help and she had known that she would not appeal to Richard in vain. He had always been a good brother to her and she would never forget how he had come to her aid when she had been Tancred’s prisoner in Sicily.
When she heard that he was dead, she was prostrate with grief.
I was delighted to see her but horrified at her condition. But caring for her did something to assuage my grief. None could take the place of Richard in my heart but I was deeply fond of all my children, and for Joanna to be in need of my love and care at such a time brought me solace.
I often wondered as I sat by her bedside whether she realized that this marriage of hers had been a mistake. She had been sent to Sicily to marry the King when she was twelve years old, and there she had found a kindly and faithful husband; that had been a happy marriage. It seemed ironic that the man chosen for her had been a better husband than the one she had chosen for herself. Of course, she never said a word against Raymond but, in view of his past record with wives, I did not believe for a moment that he would turn into a faithful husband.
Now Raymond was in great difficulties and needed help. Richard was dead; John was unreliable; and she herself was suffering from illness and a difficult pregnancy.
I was very worried about her and grew more so. I insisted on nursing her myself. We talked together of the long-ago days when the children had all been in the nursery together ... all dead and gone now, except Eleanor, who was married to the King of Castile. Matilda was dead ... William, Henry, Geoffrey and now Richard ... all my sons, dead ... with the exception of John.
We wept together. How sad and ironic, I thought, that I, an old woman, should have outlived all those young and vital people.
And now it seemed that I was going to lose Joanna.
I felt so bowed down with grief that I was expecting the worst, so it was no surprise to me when she became very ill indeed. Perhaps, had it not been for her pregnancy, I might have nursed her through that illness. But she was sinking fast. She had one great desire and that was to be a nun of Fontevrault. It seemed a strange request to make, but I feared it would be the last one she ever would, so I wanted it granted.
The Archbishops were against it, declaring that it could not be done without the consent of her husband.
I said: “Her husband is far away fighting for his lands. Can you not see that my daughter is dying? What do rules matter if she can have a little contentment in her last hours?”
She would never take up the life of a nun, for she would never leave her bed, and I was determined that her last request should be granted. And in the end I had my way.
Just before she died, my daughter Joanna was received into the Order of Fontevrault. The Archbishop of Canterbury was in Rouen at that time and I sent for him. It was he who gave her the veil. Then the Abbot of Tarpigny and the monks offered her to God and the Order of Fontevrault.
It must have been the first time a pregnant woman had been received into a convent.
It brought great comfort to Joanna; she changed and seemed to come to peace. She gave birth to her child and died; and in a short time the infant followed her.
I wondered what fresh blows Fate could bestow on me. Of all my children there were only two now living: John and Eleanor.
What followed was scarcely unexpected. Constance of Brittany might not have wanted her son to come to England but she was determined to fight for his inheritance.
There were many who said he was the true heir to the throne. The Bretons under Arthur and Constance were on the march. Angers had fallen into their hands; and Maine, Touraine and Anjou had accepted Arthur as their ruler.
John was worried. He must have wondered whether he had gained his kingdom only to lose it. Philip Augustus had decided to back Arthur. So the position looked dangerous.
John immediately went to Normandy, where he was to be proclaimed Duke at Rouen.
Here again he showed his complete unsuitability for the position which had come to him. In the church were a number of his ribald friends, and during the solemn religious service they were laughing at the ritual and ridiculing the ceremony in audible terms. John kept turning to look at his friends and at one most solemn moment was seen to wink at them; when the lance was handed to him, he was paying such attention to them that he let it slip to the floor. What a foolish young man he was! Did he not know that the people were always looking for omens?
I could see that the peace to which I had looked forward was not to be mine. I had to rouse myself. I had to forget my age. I could see the Plantagenet Empire slipping away. John would have to grow up quickly. He had so much to learn.
In the meantime I sent for Mercadier, the chief of the mercenaries, who was always eager to serve if the price was good.
I had remonstrated with him about his actions when Richard had died. He had seized Bertrand de Gurdun and had him flayed alive. So Richard’s last benevolent act came to nothing. I hoped the boy knew that Richard had had nothing to do with his death and that if the King had lived he would not have suffered that terrible end.
But Mercadier, for all his cruelty, was one of the best soldiers of his day, and fighting was his business. He gathered together his army of mercenaries and I went with the army for I was determined that what had been lost must be won back without delay.
Arthur was only a boy and Constance a woman, but after Geoffrey’s death she had married a Poitevin nobleman, Guy de Thouars, and together they were not to be thought of lightly, particularly as they had the help—though intermittently—of Philip Augustus.
Mercadier soon put them to flight.
John brought out an army and took Le Mans. Alas, he did not capture Arthur as he had hoped to, and the boy escaped and put himself under the protection of Philip Augustus.
I was so tired. I kept telling myself that a woman of my age should be at peace, not in the midst of conflict, but there was so much at stake, and who would act if I did not? There was one thing I could do. I had done it before and it had been successful. I must show myself to my people.
I returned to Fontevrault and gathered together a retinue of bishops and nobles; and then I began a tour of my estates.
I did not this time attempt to promote my son John as I had Richard. I just wanted to show myself as their own Duchess, the one whom they had always loved and only rejected because of husbands brought in to govern them.
I was no longer the beautiful young woman, but they seemed to respect my age. They cheered me and extolled me because I was so old; and though exhausting, it was well worthwhile. They were as loyal to the old woman as they had been to the young.
Brittany might be lost to us but at least I had saved my native country.
Having now established the fact that I was the ruler, I must perform the painful duty of doing homage for my land to my suzerain. It was unfortunate that he should be the King of France.
In Tours we came face to face. He received me with courtesy and spoke of Richard with emotion. He had loved him, I know, while he had worked to destroy him. I had seen such emotion once between Henry and Becket.
We looked at each other steadily and with respect. I knew that he would be a formidable enemy, and John would be no match for him. It was for this reason that I was undergoing this humiliating ceremony. My lands belonged to me, I was telling him, not to my son John ... although, of course, he would be my heir. But old as I was, I was very much alive.