‘That is very good news!’ Joanna smiled at her. ‘I am pleased for you.’
‘I have not told Edward yet, or the King and Queen. I want to be sure, but I am telling you because I may not see you again before the child is born, and you were a friend to me when I was grieving our lost daughter.’
‘I shall keep you in my prayers every day, I promise,’ Joanna said. ‘And ask that you write and tell me your news.’
‘Of course I shall!’
Leonora gave her a swift, spontaneous hug, and departed. Joanna resumed her folding, and her smile remained.
At Winchester Cathedral, William presented the monks with a casket made of the famous copper-gilt enamel ware of Limoges, patterned with the de Lusignan colours. Inside, a smaller, second sealed lead box held Aymer’s embalmed heart. William had carried it with him from Paris and it had been both a comfort and a burden. A part of him, a part of his brother.
Henry had not attended the ceremony, but he had wept and prayed over the little box when shown it at Rochester. William had distributed Aymer’s clothes to the poor and had given the magnificent cloak to be sold for alms. Every part of his brother’s material life was disappearing, and at the end of the obsequies, the hardest thing for William was leaving the little casket with the monks. Aymer’s heart had been a heavy one in several ways. Now was the time to begin afresh and not look back.
John de Warenne had accompanied William and Joanna to Winchester for the ceremony, and as they emerged from the cathedral, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. ‘It brings up sore memories,’ he said. ‘Losing those I love hits me hard, and Aymer was Aliza’s brother and mine too.’ He stood up straight and forced a smile. ‘Still, I have plenty to keep me occupied.’
William turned to Iohan, who had been a model of good behaviour throughout the ceremony and had shushed his little brother when he had started kicking his feet. ‘Your baggage is packed, young man?’
‘Yes, sire,’ Iohan replied with a proud jut of his chin. He was returning to the de Warenne household to continue his training with John.
‘Good, then it is time.’
Iohan turned to Joanna and knelt to her in farewell. She had to swallow a painful lump in her throat, for she had grown accustomed to having him in the household again and parting from him was painful, although at eleven years old he was more than ready. ‘I am very proud of you,’ she said. ‘I shall see you again in the autumn and your uncle John will let me know how you are progressing at your lessons. Be good for him.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Iohan rose and regarded her steadily out of the same grey-gold eyes as his father before going to stand with the others of John’s entourage.
‘Look after him,’ Joanna said, and then laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh, of course you will. It is just a mother’s worry when her chick leaves the nest.’
John kissed her cheek. ‘Do not worry. He shall be safe with me and we shall visit soon.’
Joanna waved them off, watching Iohan on his new bay palfrey. Her heart ached, but it was the way of life. William was smiling with the satisfaction of a task well accomplished, but it was different for him.
‘He could not be better placed than with John,’ he said to her.
‘Yes, I know.’ She swallowed her tears. ‘Come, we should be on the road. We have a long journey to Goodrich and much to do.’
36
Westminster Palace, February 1263
Joanna shivered and pulled her cloak more closely around her for warmth. A bitter wind laced with light snow was blowing off the Thames and through the palace corridors. She and William had not long returned from a lengthy sojourn on their estates and had arrived at Westminster to find the King absent at Merton, but due to return on the morrow.
Joanna wandered through the complex, taking stock and remembering when, twenty-five years ago, she had begun learning the duties of a chamber lady and the etiquette of the court in these rooms. The dangers too, and the constant battles for power, both the subtle and the blatant.
In the great chamber she paused before the figure of Hope and reached out to touch her lavender-blue gown and look into her eyes, wondering at what the painter had seen in them all those years ago. ‘My Joanna of the Stars’, William called her. The figure stared into the distance while the trampled serpent of Despair glared up at her, striving, refusing to die.
Joanna shivered with cold and turned to the fireplace, rubbing her arms. The hearth had cracked badly while Joanna had been away in exile. During its repair, a magnificent Tree of Jesse depicting the family of Christ had been painted on the mantle with exquisite small images of the people in the holy bloodline, and she recognised many of the mannerisms and faces, including a particular angel with curly hair and a sharp nose. Henry, it seemed, unable to have his own family around him, had compensated in other ways.
England was still in turmoil. Henry had overturned the Provisions of Oxford and the barons were more ambivalent about Simon de Montfort, but concord remained elusive. Each side had a staunch core while those in the middle swayed in the wind. Everyone wanted peace, but everyone had a different notion of what that peace might look like. Their own uneasy rapport with de Montfort had not lasted and Joanna feared it would again come to blows. At least de Montfort was absent on business in France, although still determined on reform. There was endemic skirmishing in the Welsh Marches and the death of Joanna’s cousin Richard de Clare had left his volatile nineteen-year-old son up in arms because he had been refused permission to inherit his father’s earldom until he came of age. Edward and Henry were not on the best of terms just now either and William was having to thread a delicate and difficult path between them, often acting as an intermediary.
A servant brought a fresh load of dry, seasoned wood into the great hall and arranged it ready for burning. The fierce heat had begun to burn her cheeks, and with a last look at the Jesse tree, she stepped back and returned to her chambers.
William sat with Agnes, Margaret and William, toasting small pieces of bread and meat on skewers at their own central hearth. Earlier he had taken the children skating on the frozen river, the shin bones of oxen and sheep strapped to their feet by leather thongs. Joanna smiled to see the firelight on their faces and went to answer a few queries from her clerks and chaplain who were working by the last of the good daylight near the window. She spoke to her almoner about the provision of food and coins for the poor and arranged to return the travelling cart she had borrowed from the Bishop of Hereford together with a thank you gift of some candied peel. And then, with a sigh of release, she joined the family at the fire and gratefully took the cup of spiced wine William handed to her. Moments like this were few and far between and she treasured them amid the turbulence. She tried to imagine her husband with angel wings, but could not quite fit the reality to the image.
‘Can we go skating again tomorrow?’ Margaret wanted to know, her cheeks as red as apples in the firelight. ‘Can we, Papa?’
William chuckled. ‘Was today not enough for you, young mistress?’
Margaret shook her head, making her thick curls ripple. ‘Today was just a taste, Papa.’
