Although shaken by the event, she stayed a little longer at the stalls to show she was not intimidated.
‘He’s not one of ours, my lady,’ the miller said, solicitous and angry at having his village shown in a bad light. ‘I have seen him here before, but he comes from over Buckland way. I am sorry for what he said.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘It is not your fault and I am grateful for your intervention. In every place there are those who live their lives well, and those who do not. A night in the stocks will either bring him to his senses or herald his downfall.’
On her return to the manor, Joanna discovered that a messenger had arrived from Leonora, and her body tightened with new tension.
‘Madam, I am sorry to bear sad tidings,’ the man said. ‘The little lady Katharine has died of a fever and is among the angels in heaven.’
‘No!’ Joanna’s mind filled with the image of the beautiful little girl and her eyes brimmed with tears. Dear God, poor Leonora and Edward.
‘The lady Leonora said to tell you that although she is grieving, she is in good health in her condition and that she hopes for better news soon. She bade me give you this and say she keeps you in her thoughts.’ He presented Joanna with a small purse embroidered with the arms of England. Inside was a brooch in the shape of a golden heart with the motto ‘In place of a friend’.
Swallowing on tears, Joanna thanked the messenger. ‘Take time to eat and care for your horse and I will send you back with a reply.’
He bowed from the room and left her with the letter. Leonora had written the sad news of the infant’s death without elaboration. Joanna went to look at little Isabelle, slumbering in her cradle, her cheeks rosy with life, and wiped away a tear for Leonora’s child. Her own offspring had survived illness and danger thus far, but she knew the grace and fragility of life and thanked God daily. The little brooch pinned to her gown, she wiped her eyes and read the rest of the letter.
Leonora said that the King’s health was reasonable but his spirits were heavy. She hoped to hear from Edward soon in his own captivity. Joanna wondered if the statement held a hidden meaning, but everything was vetted and it was difficult to tell. Leonora added that even while grieving she had put her trust in God, and she asked Joanna to write back to her.
Joanna summoned her scribe and dictated a letter of condolence. She sealed it and gave it to the messenger, together with the little golden jug from the market, protected in a nest of straw. ‘Tell the lady Leonora that I hope to see her before too long,’ she told him, ‘and that I pray she finds solace and comfort in God as she wishes.’
That evening at dusk as Joanna played with Isabelle in her crib, she was interrupted by a commotion at the manor gates. Her heart began to pound. She gave Isabelle to the wet nurse to tend and threw on her cloak. Thomas hurried to find out what was happening and swiftly returned with news. ‘There’s a band of ruffians in the village, madam. They have sprung today’s drunkard from the stocks and are assaulting the mill.’
Joanna compressed her lips at this challenge to her authority. ‘Summon the household,’ she said, ‘every able-bodied man who is capable of carrying a cudgel or handling a weapon. Send them straight to the mill. Apprehend the ill-doers and bring them straight to me for judgement. You know your business.’
‘My lady.’ Thomas saluted and left.
Joanna swallowed her fear and rallied. Bidding the children remain in the upper chamber with their nurses, she went down to the hall with Robert her cook and her groom, Joli, for protection. The folk at the manor and the villagers were far stronger together than any band of chance-come ruffians. She just prayed no one of her affinity was injured.
Night had fallen by the time the party from the village returned, dragging with them the corpse of the man who had been sprung from the stocks, who had died on the edge of Thomas’s sword. The miller sported a shiny blue egg of a bruise on his temple and his knuckles were scraped and swollen. Another ruffian had fallen into the mill leat while trying to escape and had drowned. He too was laid out before Joanna.
She gazed impassively at the corpses and then raised her head to the villagers, all full of themselves but anxious and a little overblown too. She ordered cider, bread and cheese to be brought from the stores and doled out to everyone, and commanded the two dead men to be taken out and hanged on the gallows as a deterrent.
‘For a month,’ she said firmly, ‘until after the next market day, and then let them be taken down for burial.’ The approval on people’s faces told her she had done the right thing. ‘I want to thank you all for your stout defence. I am in safe hands, and I value all of you for your service and protection. Please, eat and drink at my board and then return to your homes.’
The villagers sat down at three hastily erected tables and shared drink, food and talk of the moment. Joanna watched them and felt a warm surge of affection. No one would harm her here, and she was equally determined that she would let no one harm them.
Eventually they took their leave, some carrying extra bread wrapped in cloths. When the last one had departed through the gates, wobbling slightly, Joanna looked up at the star-scattered sky. ‘Oh William,’ she said softly, and rubbing her arms, returned inside.
Three weeks later, Joanna was in the mews inspecting her hawks and falcons when she heard horses in the courtyard. With her female peregrine on her glove, she went outside and found the space full of big, glossy horses, and dismounting from one of them her second cousin Gilbert de Clare, who was in Simon de Montfort’s camp. He had the beacon-red hair of his father’s family, a freckled complexion and sharp green eyes. A stocky young man, in his early twenties, he was dressed for hunting but his accoutrements were very fine and as much for show as for the field. De Montfort referred to him half disparagingly as his ‘red-dog’. William said he was an entitled brat who would change allegiance on the turn of a coin to further his cause, or just because he happened to have woken up in a sulk that morning. But he possessed strategic lands and held the balance of power.
Although astonished to see him, Joanna put on a warm smile. ‘Cousin, you are welcome, even if it is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We are travelling to Gloucester, but if you have some wine, it will serve to break our journey.’
‘Of course.’ She started to give the peregrine to her falconer but Gilbert stepped in. ‘May I?’
Joanna gestured, and her falconer handed the Earl a spare gauntlet. He pulled it on to his fist and took the bird. ‘What a fine creature.’ He gently stroked the back of the falcon’s head, while it stared round with fierce black eyes. ‘Is she your lord’s?’
‘She is mine,’ Joanna replied. ‘Would you like to see the mews?’
‘Indeed!’ His face lit with enthusiasm as he returned the peregrine to her.
Joanna took him and his entourage to the mews, and as they looked at and remarked upon the various hunting birds on their perches, she pondered what they were really doing here. Gilbert was no ally, nor, although her kin, did she like him, but she prepared to be diplomatic.
He examined the birds with a covetous eye, especially another peregrine. ‘I shall send you this one if you wish,’ she said. ‘Or if you want to take her with you, I can arrange that too. She is fairly advanced in her training and swift as an arrow.’ She gestured, and her falconer unfastened the falcon from her perch and placed her on Gilbert’s fist.
‘You are most gracious, cousin,’ Gilbert said, giving her a vulpine smile. ‘I shall be glad to take her now. How fortunate that I should happen by.’
