The King gestured and the women drew the bar to admit Joanna’s uncle, Gilbert Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, a wide-shouldered man with heavy brows and watchful dark eyes. He and Henry were of a similar height, but the Earl looked taller because of his breadth.
‘Sire,’ he said, bowing, ‘we have caught and disarmed an intruder intent on doing you harm. He awaits your interrogation.’
Henry nodded stiffly. ‘How did he get in?’
‘Climbed in through your chamber window, sire – so I believe.’ The Earl pushed one hand through his thinning hair. ‘I was retiring to bed when I heard the commotion and rallied the guards. If you had not been visiting the Queen …’ He let what he did not say speak for itself.
Henry exhaled hard. ‘Have the rest of the palace searched – every room, every chest and cupboard. Check behind the hangings and curtains. Leave nothing to chance. Let me dress and I will speak with him. Thank God, my lord Marshal, that you keep late hours.’
‘Thank God indeed, sire,’ Earl Gilbert said, and bowed from the room.
Henry turned to the women and Joanna noticed he was shaking, just like her, and the night was not cold. Was the King afraid? But he had possessed the courage to face the danger with his sword, as had her uncle. She clenched her fists, determined to be as brave as they were.
‘Ladies, all is well,’ the King said tremulously and gestured with his free hand. ‘Our thanks are due to Madam Biset – her quick thinking has saved us all. Pray settle yourselves and return to bed when you are ready.’ Handing the sword to his squire with a grimace of distaste, he retired to the bedchamber to dress.
The hearth maid poked the embers to life and Lady Giffard set about preparing hot spiced wine to calm everyone’s anxiety.
Dame Cecily kissed Joanna’s cheek. ‘Come, child, it is over and no harm done. Indeed, we may benefit from this because we are warned now to take better precautions. There are remedies for any situation if you ask for God’s help and use the wits He has given you.’
Joanna nodded wordlessly. Fear still churned in her stomach like indigestion, but Cecily’s words comforted her.
The King re-emerged from the bedchamber fully clothed, followed by Queen Alienor, a cloak covering her chemise and her hair a loose brown cascade down her back. ‘Be careful, sire,’ she entreated, touching his arm.
Taking her hands, he raised them to his lips. ‘I promise I shall, have no fear. I will return later, and in the meantime, take succour from your ladies. Your door will be safely guarded for the rest of the night.’ He kissed her forehead and took his leave.
The Queen watched him close the door, and then with a sigh, sat down by the fire.
Cecily gave Joanna a few sips from her cup of spiced wine before sending her back to bed with Mabel. ‘Go to sleep,’ she said gently. ‘In the morning all of this will be behind us.’
Joanna climbed between the sheets, drew her knees towards her chest and faced the fire and candle light to watch the women gathered at the hearth. Listening to their low-voiced conversation as they sat over their wine, she put her thumb in her mouth – something she had not done in many weeks, but tonight she needed that security. When Sausagez leaped up beside her and curled up nose to feathery tail, she did not push him off.
‘Thank God the King was with me,’ the Queen said. ‘He might have been killed. Indeed, but for Dame Margaret’s quick wits we could all have been murdered in our beds.’
‘You should not dwell upon it, madam.’ Dame Cecily’s voice was soothing. ‘God has seen fit to preserve us all.’
Alienor gathered her loose hair over one shoulder and ran her fingers through it, rich, dark-brown in the firelight. ‘But we should not make it more difficult for God than it has to be. I will insist that my lord puts bars at all the low windows tomorrow.’
Joanna’s eyelids fluttered down. Bars at the windows. Would they too be like prisoners? In her mind’s eye she saw the man running at them again, ready to do murder, and shivered, but she remembered too Madam Biset’s swift reactions to the crisis and Cecily’s calm protection. She thought of the King holding his sword, ready to fight, although he had been afraid. She was safe in her bed, watching the women share companionship and reassurance by firelight. The lesson here was to rise to the challenge, face it, and never let fear take control no matter how scared you were.
In the morning Queen Alienor spoke to the King about fitting bars to all the low windows in the palace. Joanna’s brother, Iohan, was among the attendants of the courtiers who had gathered to discuss the night’s disturbance, and Joanna brought him a cup of buttermilk. He was eleven years old to her eight, and a page to their uncle Gilbert, Earl of Pembroke, a great and powerful lord, well positioned to advance his nephew. Iohan was heir to Swanscombe with a bright future, and he regarded Joanna with a superior air, for her prospects in comparison to his were modest and of small consequence.
‘The man Uncle Gilbert caught had already come before the King yesterday, claiming he was the true heir to the throne, but the King dismissed him as a madman to be pitied,’ Iohan said, taking the buttermilk. ‘Uncle Gilbert says he should never have been set free. He stole one of the big knives from the kitchen to murder the King and would have done so if we hadn’t arrived.’ He expanded his chest and spoke as if he had played an active part in the arrest.
‘Yes, I saw him.’ Joanna related her own part in last night’s events.
‘Well, it’s a good thing we caught him,’ Iohan said, peeved at having his glory stolen. ‘We saved all your lives for certain.’
Joanna said nothing. She was learning from Cecily which battles were worth fighting, especially with males. ‘What will happen to him now?’
Iohan shrugged and drank the buttermilk, leaving a white moustache on his upper lip. ‘He’s confessed to plotting the King’s murder so he’ll be put to death. He’s going to be tied to two horses and torn apart, and then beheaded as a warning to others.’ His voice rang with relish and bravado.
Joanna shuddered at the image.
‘It does not do to be a traitor,’ he added, folding his arms and regarding her sternly. She recognised his attempt to maintain his superiority by intimidating her. She would never be a traitor in thought or deed, but it would be terrible for someone to think such a thing when she was innocent.
‘I am glad you and Uncle Gilbert are here to keep us safe,’ she said to mollify him. Words cost nothing, and she was indeed glad to be protected. Cecily said the instinct should be encouraged and directed in men.
Iohan preened and looked supercilious.
