‘I think you would beat me, cousin,’ Henry said, looking a little resentful.
‘But still, come, race with me,’ Edward cajoled. ‘You have a head start back to the stables, and see if I can catch you.’ He waved his arm to show that they should all join in.
Thomas exchanged looks with Edward and fretted his roan, before turning to urge Henry de Montfort into the race with him. A spark of competitive annoyance lit in Henry’s eyes and he spurred his bay, stealing several yards on Thomas, who gave a yell and set off in pursuit with the others, except for Edward’s groom. Edward immediately reined the black around and spurred him in the opposite direction, riding for freedom, although after the first spurt he controlled the horse to a steady gallop, knowing he must not spend the horse early when speed might be useful later. The black’s gait was economical and ground-eating. The groom rode behind on Bayard, now miraculously cured and showing a clean pair of heels.
They heard the sudden shouts behind them and Edward urged the black to a faster pace but still not a flat-out gallop. Exhilaration burned in his chest at the joy of the steady speed and the wind in his hair. Freedom held the scent of summer grass, of sunlight, of the working horse beneath him, of warm leather. He let out a triumphant whoop and the stallion’s ears flickered. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he laughed, for their pursuers were pulling up with the gap too wide to close, and lengthening all the time. Edward eased the black down again, not wanting to founder him or risk him putting his hoof in a hole.
A couple of miles further along their road, trotting briskly, they saw horsemen riding to meet them, wearing the blazons of Mortimer, de Valence and Warenne. ‘Hah!’ Edward kicked on towards them in triumph, and then drew the sweating black to a halt. ‘A fine day for a ride, gentlemen!’ he cried, his face alight and exuberant. ‘I hope you all have horses as fast as mine!’
Amid laughter and back slapping, someone tossed Edward a costrel of wine and he caught it and drank. ‘To freedom!’ he toasted. He looked round at the gathered, jubilant knights. ‘When my great uncle Richard Coeur de Lion was liberated from wrongful imprisonment, his enemies received warning to beware, the devil was loose. Now I say that the lion has been unleashed, and let my enemies tremble in fear!’
*
Joanna took Isabelle’s hand and walked her across the chamber. Her daughter had begun taking her first steps a fortnight ago and, although unsteady, was improving daily. As though her name was a portent, she had her grandmother’s golden fair hair and blue eyes. None of Joanna’s other children had blue eyes, all were variations of hazel or brown. What would William say when he saw her for the first time?
The July morning grew hot as the sun climbed in the sky. Joanna had received several letters from William in the field informing her of progress. She had replied, sending him sacks of flour from Bampton mill. Edward had been free since May and men had flocked to his standard. Gilbert de Clare had honoured his word and William had occupied Pembroke unopposed. The Irish mercenaries had arrived and William had moved out across Wales. Edward had taken both Worcester and Gloucester, but where William was now she had no idea. She was terrified that de Montfort still might prevail, as he had done before against the odds, but comforted herself with the thought that William too had survived against the odds and so had she and their children.
Hearing horses in the courtyard, she handed Isabelle to her nurse and hurried to the window. Two serjeants wearing the livery of de Warenne were dismounting in the courtyard, and they had Iohan with them. Joanna’s heart began to beat in hard, swift strokes, and with a soft cry she sped down to greet them.
Iohan turned and dropped to one knee. ‘My lady mother,’ he said.
She lifted him to his feet and abandoned formality to throw her arms around him and kiss him soundly. ‘It is so good to see you! What are you doing here?’
‘My father and the Earl de Warenne have sent me to protect you and my brother and sisters.’ His tone was neutral, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that he was not pleased to be here.
The serjeants bowed and led the horses away to the stables, except for the sumpter which Iohan’s servant was unburdening.
‘Come within – have you eaten?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but we haven’t ridden far.’
‘Still, you will be hungry; young men of your age always are. You have hollow legs. I swear you are as tall as your father now.’
‘We are of a height,’ he said.
Agnes and Margaret came running to him with squeals of joy and he hugged and kissed them. Will arrived on their heels – ten years old and shiny-eyed at the sight of his manly big brother whom he aspired to be. He wished he had whiskers and a deep voice.
‘And this is your sister Isabelle.’ Joanna took her youngest daughter from the nurse.
Iohan squatted to a level with the fair-haired, blue-eyed infant and hugged her too. ‘Strange,’ he said, ‘to meet a sister and already it is a year since her birth.’
‘Yes, so much time has been stolen from us by this war – your father has yet to see her too.’ She forced a smile. ‘How is he?’
‘He is well. I have a letter for you in my baggage.’ His tone held a vestige of irritation.
The wine arrived, and Joanna sent the younger children off to play.
‘They sent me away,’ Iohan said in an aggrieved tone. ‘Protecting you and my siblings is an important task, but it is not the main reason I am here.’
Joanna waited for him to speak, not prompting him. The servant returned with a platter of small tarts filled with marrow and dried fruit. Iohan took a napkin and devoured a couple at speed.
‘There is going to be another battle,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘Without quarter. The lord Edward has given orders that Simon de Montfort is to be brought down and killed whatever it costs.’
Joanna shook her head. Matters had been leading to this for a long time, like a gathering storm that had to disperse its energy before the sky would clear. Nothing would ever be the same again. At least if de Montfort was brought down the rebellion would be cut off at source, but at what price? She looked at little Isabelle in her nurse’s arms. William had to live because he had never laid eyes on his daughter.
‘The lord Edward is right,’ she said as Iohan claimed a third tart. ‘Nothing will stop de Montfort save death. I am very glad your father sent you here.’
Iohan continued to look disgruntled.
