these thoughts, though, choosing to laugh at herself instead. What did she expect? That flesh-and-blood men and women burned with the grand passion of the lovers in troubadour songs?
But on this particular night, she had more on her mind than the carnal pleasures which the Church said were sinful if not undertaken for the purpose of procreation. She was resentful that William had not come to her bed last week, when she’d been at her most fertile. It was every wife’s duty to provide her husband with heirs, a duty all the more urgent when a kingdom was at stake. Joanna’s yearning for a baby was much more than a marital obligation, though. It was an ache that never went away, hers the pained hunger of a mother who’d buried a child.
She still grieved for the beautiful little boy whose life had been measured in days, and did not understand why she’d not conceived again in the eight years since Bohemund’s death. She’d been worried enough to consult the female doctors at the famed medical school in Salerno, and had been told that a woman’s womb was most receptive to her husband’s seed immediately after her monthly flux ended. Joanna had relayed that information to William, but he did not always come to her at these critical times, and when that happened, she could only fret and fume in silence, angry and frustrated.
It seemed unfair that he should have complete control over conduct that mattered so much to them both. But she could not come to him unbidden. The few times that she’d done so, he’d obviously been displeased by her boldness. Although this passive role did not come easily to her, she’d done her best to play by his rules, for it would have been humiliating to go to his private chamber and find him in bed with one of his Saracen concubines. The Church might preach that husbands and wives owed a “marital debt” to each other, but how was a wife to collect it when her husband had a harim of seductive slaves at his beck and call?
She still remembered how shocked she’d been to learn of his harim, a year or so after her arrival in Sicily. As young as she was, she already knew that fidelity was thought to be a mandate for women, not men; her father’s affair with Rosamund Clifford had been an open secret for years. But this was different. How could a Christian king embrace such a debauched, infidel practice? Why would he want to live like an Arab emir?
When she’d confronted William with her newfound knowledge, he’d been amused by her forthrightness, explaining nonchalantly that he was merely following in the ways of his father and grandfather. Sicily had its own customs, its own traditions, and his harim had nothing to do with her or their marriage, which he was sure she’d understand once she was older. Even at age twelve, Joanna had known she was being patronized. She’d consoled herself that surely he’d put these women aside after she was old enough to share his bed.
But he hadn’t. They’d consummated their marriage once she turned fourteen, yet nothing changed. By then Joanna fancied herself in love with him, and that had been a painful time for her. Looking back now, she felt a wry sympathy for that young girl, so innocent and starry-eyed. How could she not have been bedazzled by William, who’d seemed like one of the heroes in those troubadour tales she so enjoyed? He was tall and graceful, with long fair hair, compelling dark eyes, and an easy, engaging smile; he was also courteous, good-natured, and well educated. She’d felt herself so blessed, so fortunate that it seemed churlish to object to a few snakes in her Eden, even if they were alluring, dusky-skinned temptresses who were sleeping with her husband.
Joanna was not sure when she’d fallen out of love with William, assuming it had been love and not youthful infatuation. It may have begun after they’d lost their son, for they were both devastated by his death and yet they grieved alone. She’d turned to him for comfort, but he’d withdrawn into his own sorrow, and instead of coming closer together, they’d drifted further apart.
But a good marriage did not need love to flourish, and people did not enter into matrimony with expectations of finding their romantic soul mates. Joanna had many reasons to be thankful that she was William’s wife, and she knew she