Joanna retreated to watch the baby being washed and then gently dried before her little limbs were rubbed with scented unguent. She had a quiff of gilt-gold hair and already a look of her father in the way she pursed her lips. Clean and swaddled, the new princess was brought to her mother who took her with tearful joy.
Joanna tidied in the background, watching and smiling. She had been involved in a royal birth three times now, and still the novelty and miracle enthralled her. A new life, a new little person. She decided she would write back to Aliza today, sending her an embroidered napkin and the joyful news of the baby’s birth. Last week a letter had arrived from Aliza with the gift of a pretty braid belt, and this news would be a fine way to reciprocate.
Joanna gave Iohan a cup of watered wine and watched him down it in a few swift gulps, the liquid spilling from the sides of his mouth. In the month he had been gone on campaign he had grown yet again and his throat showed the apple swelling of an adult male.
He gasped and returned the cup to her with a nod of gratitude as she refilled it. The great hall of the Shadow Palace heaved with the commotion of a returning army. The pungent smell of sweat from men who had ridden hard in summer heat filled the room. There were wounded among them; the worst affected were being tended in another part of the complex, but there were superficial injuries aplenty among those gathering in the hall. The King had gone straight to the Queen’s chambers, ostensibly to see the new baby and speak to his wife, but also to avoid the unsettled melee.
The Queen, still in confinement following the birth, had sent several of her ladies including Joanna to help where they could. Joanna had heard the gist of what had happened from the heralds who had ridden in ahead of the dust-smothered troops. The campaign against the French had been a calamity and they had lost swathes of land, including the ground they had come to safeguard. The King’s stepfather, Hugh, Count of La Marche, on whose behalf they were here, had turned tail when put under pressure and yielded to the French to preserve his hide. The English had been saved from full disaster because the French troops were suffering badly from the flux and had drawn back, reluctant to pursue Henry all the way to Bordeaux.
‘The King promised Gascony to Earl Richard if he could effect a truce between us and the French,’ Iohan said. ‘Earl Richard went to the King of France and begged him to allow us time to withdraw. But the Earl cannot have Gascony because the lands are the lord Edward’s inheritance, so who knows what will happen now.’ He screwed up his face. ‘The Earl of Leicester was raging when we had to flee. He’s behind us, but not far – he’ll be arriving soon.’ He gave her a warning look. ‘It is not good for the King. He has suffered a harsh defeat and the best we can do is negotiate a better truce than the one granted to allow us to retreat.’ He returned the cup. ‘I have to go, I have duties.’
‘I am glad you are safe,’ she said.
‘So am I.’ He kissed her cheek in a rare gesture of affection. ‘I’m going to be saddle-sore for days after the pace we had to set!’
When he had gone, Joanna moved among the crowd, serving more watered wine, making sure the jugs were replenished and directing the servants. Then Simon de Montfort arrived, striding into the room, shouldering people aside, his expression thunderous. His garments were filthy with dust and battle stains, including ominous red-brown splashes on his surcoat. He slammed through the hall like a mighty wind and disappeared in the direction of the chamber that had been made ready for him.
Returning to the Queen’s apartments, Joanna had to step aside for Eleanor de Montfort, who was hurrying to join her husband. She ignored Joanna, taking her curtsey as a given.
Within the chamber, Henry sat on a bench, hands covering his face. The Queen, dressed in a loose linen robe, stood over him, calm but purse-lipped.
‘You have done your best in trying circumstances,’ she was saying. ‘It is not your fault that others have let you down and deserted. You are safe now, and we shall manage affairs between us. All is not lost. You should not have told Richard he could have Gascony, but you made that choice in the need of the moment and we can change it. If he is to wed my sister, he will agree to relinquish the lands even if he complains.’
Henry raised his head and gave her a sheepish, relieved look. ‘I wish I had had you with me at the time to give me counsel.’
‘I wish I could have been there too,’ Alienor said, looking exasperated.
He departed to deal with his courtiers, but Alienor wanted to know what was being said and, since she was still in confinement, sent Joanna and two other ladies to stand in the background and listen. Joanna found an unobtrusive place at the side of the chamber, near the door, and stood quietly with her head bowed and her hands clasped.
Simon de Montfort appeared as the last courtiers were assembling in the chamber. A sombre brown tunic had replaced his stained armour and he wore soft leather shoes and a plain belt. Ever since the King had castigated him at Queen Alienor’s churching, he had affected a much simpler mode of dressing, although his wife remained wedded to her silks and cosmetics.
Stony-faced, he gave Henry a perfunctory bow. ‘Sire,’ he said. ‘We have turned away from battle with no credit and no honour. We have lost Saintes. We have been pushed back by the French from every place we were supposed to hold and secure. All of it gone, and they would be at our doors now had the bloody flux not struck them down, and had the Earl of Cornwall not begged for a truce. Hugh of Lusignan has turned traitor and submitted to the French like the vermin he is. We shall be pushed from the map when there was barely a place for us before. It is the worst defeat we have ever experienced!’
De Montfort’s words were like fists and Joanna kept her eyes down, fearing to meet that devastating rage full on. His bold, forceful voice and the way he stared into the audience as he spoke made it personal while being a speech for all. His plain garments stood in direct contrast to the King with his golden garland and green silk robes, but it seemed as though de Montfort should be sitting in Henry’s stead.
His complexion flushed as the King said nothing. ‘What do we have left?’ he demanded. ‘This shameful thing has been brought on the entire English court, by following this man.’
Henry drew himself up. ‘How dare you speak to me in such a wise!’
De Montfort’s top lip curled. ‘How dare I? When I see what we have lost in following your foolish enterprise? When I see that your supposed Lusignan allies have deserted you? Their respect for you is obvious by their deeds, but I do not hear you saying “How dare they?” By Christ, you should be locked up with bars at your windows like Charles the Simple. I do wonder if you are “Henry the Simple” for you could not make a more bungled fist of this matter if you had tried.’
Joanna gasped at the blatant disrespect verging on treason. De Montfort stared around, seeking and expecting agreement. People murmured and exchanged embarrassed glances. There were even some dour smiles, but no one spoke up in support for it was too stark an accusation.
‘This man is no better than any one of you, and he should not be allowed to dictate our defeat!’ De Montfort was almost grinding his teeth.
‘Yet again, you forget yourself, my lord of Leicester,’ Henry retorted, his voice quivering. ‘I could have done nothing else. There was no other outcome, and if you say there was, then I am but one man. I have to go by what my advisers and my soldiers say. You should have given me the benefit of your wisdom before we got into this position rather than turning with a sneer on your face and criticising me now and causing further division. How does this help us, my lord?’ Henry waved his hand. ‘You are dismissed. Be very careful what you say to me, or you may find yourself looking through a prison grille, whether you are married to my sister or not.’
‘This is not finished by a long way,’ de Montfort said, almost choking, and having flourished a savage bow he stormed from the room.
Henry drew a breath down his larynx like a drowning man fighting for air. ‘I am the King.’ His voice quivered with strain. ‘I am God’s anointed, and I will have respect for that position.’
Joanna bit her lip. The King should be more forceful. He made errors of judgement and had suffered misfortune too, but de Montfort’s outburst had undermined him before all, and not for the first time.
Although visibly shaken, Henry rallied, and encompassed his barons with an imperious look. ‘Now is not the time for discussion, my lords. We will deal with matters in the morning when we have rested. Gentlemen, you may take your leave.’
By the time Henry returned to the Queen, Joanna and the ladies had made their report, and Alienor was fully apprised of the situation.
‘That man is outrageous!’ Henry said tearfully, approaching her as if she was the mother and he the child. ‘Did you hear him? If he thought he could do better then why did he not advise me? He is the one who has reneged on his duty to his king.’
