‘I would never think that, sire,’ William said hastily.
‘I am glad to hear it.’
William cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering if I might have leave to go and train with weapons for a while.’
Henry eyed him with indulgent humour. ‘You truly have the restlessness of youth. Very well, be off with you. If I am going to knight you then you must be worthy of your sword.’
William’s eyes widened, and Henry laughed. ‘I have in mind to perform the deed on the Feast of St Edward. I have a most precious relic to bestow on his abbey and it will be an auspicious occasion. Of course, your nuptials come first and that is our concern for now, and there is the matter of settling lands upon you so you have an income and a proper place at court.’
‘Thank you, sire!’
Henry waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Go, we shall talk later. I have little interest in the military arts, but if you have an aptitude then away and develop it, my boy.’
William bowed and departed, his stomach churning with so much excitement that he wanted to leap and run to burn off the excess. Marriage to a beautiful, modest young woman, an heiress beloved by the King and Queen whose vast lands would become his at the church door – that alone was a banquet; but now he was to be knighted too, and at Westminster on the Feast of St Edward! All his life he had been the younger son, following his brothers around, loved but patronised. But when he became a great lord, they would have to depend on him to keep the King’s goodwill and largesse. That prospect filled him with anticipation, a hint of fear, and a wild burst of exhilaration.
Joanna sat by the window in the warm afternoon and stroked the curled-up kitten at her side while she struggled to adapt to the notion of being married. This time next year she might have a baby in her arms; this time next year she might be dead. Hastily she pushed that thought aside. The will of God could not be altered and what would be would be. She would have a husband to protect her and share her burdens, which might be a good thing, but her lands were a means to an end – as her mother had been a means to an end for her father. Smiles and easy words, especially for a courtier, often masked the language of truth, and she did not want to be paid in false coin.
Through the open window she could see the tilting ground and the young men of the household at their training. William arrived with John de Warenne and some young knights and older squires, including another cousin of hers, Richard de Clare, with his conspicuous bright auburn hair. She drew a short breath and her stomach gave a strange, pleasurable twist. William had borrowed another of the King’s horses, a fine bay, and was rubbing its nose and offering it titbits on his palm. His behaviour towards the horse suggested he might be kind to his wife and his children, more so than someone who brought a whip to the meeting.
He mounted the bay in a single lithe movement, ignoring the mounting block, and drew the reins through his gloved hands. He made the horse sidestep and then rear. Shouts floated up to her on the breeze – the laughter, the banter of young men – and she smiled, responding to their joy. He raced with his companions, chasing and weaving. In fierce competition with de Clare, he held his own with assurance, despite de Clare being ten years older.
Once warmed up, they turned to lance work. William took his turn at catching on his lance rings suspended from a pole and succeeded every time, even when the hole size diminished, and despite riding an unfamiliar horse. Joanna admired his accuracy, his seat in the saddle and the controlled force. While not powerfully built, he was strong and supple like a good bow.
He took another run at the quintain rings and looped a row of them on to the end of his lance, before turning towards the window where she watched. Joanna gasped and pulled back from the chained casement as he levelled the lance to the horizontal, holding the tip steady before raising it in salute. And then he reined around to rejoin his companions.
Aliza came over to the window. ‘William is mad for the tourney,’ she said. ‘Every chance he had when we were at home he would be out practising.’
‘He has great skill.’ Joanna put her hand against the strange twist in her stomach.
‘It is woven into his soul. When you take him as your husband, you will be wedding the sport too.’
‘Is that a warning?’
Aliza laughed. ‘Perhaps, but I do not mean it in a spiteful or critical way. I confess I should not have favourites, but I love William the best of all my brothers – and I hope you will come to love him too.’
Joanna blushed. ‘I will try,’ she said, and thought that it would not be difficult.
Golden evening light warmed Woodstock’s great hall. Sitting in the embrasure sewing with Cecily, Joanna saw William slip into the room and stand looking around, searching, and her heart leaped. She had been expecting him for a while, and had begun to doubt his earlier sincerity. He was holding a small parcel wrapped in purple silk and tied with a gold ribbon. Catching her eye, he smiled and made his way around the room to her side.
‘My lady, I am sorry to be late. I did not expect to be so long, and I crave your pardon.’ He bowed very correctly to Cecily, who raised one eyebrow at him, but acknowledged him and gathered her sewing together.
‘I shall leave you to talk for a short while,’ she said, and went to join Madam Biset in the next embrasure, having cast a warning look over her shoulder at William.
William looked rueful. ‘She does not think well of me,’ he said.
Joanna shook her head. ‘It is her duty to guard and protect me until I am wed, and she is rightfully cautious.’
‘And I suppose I must prove myself worthy and she does not know me.’
‘Neither do I … are you worthy?’ His tardiness had set her on edge.
He gave her a wry look. ‘I want to be,’ he said. ‘I would have been here sooner, but I wanted to bring you a gift.’ He presented her with the small silk package.
She took it from him and unfastened the ribbon and opened the cloth, expensive in itself, to reveal a little trinket pot, enamelled like her ring in rich blue and gold, with small touches of green and red too. Dainty heart-shaped curves joined each other around its perimeter and it had a hinged lid with a gold knob on the top. She could put her rings in it, including her betrothal one, or anything else she chose. It contained a small scroll of parchment secured with gold thread, and when she unfastened and unrolled it, written upon it in exquisite lettering was a brief note: ‘Lady, you shall have me faithful, henceforth I will think only of you. This stands as a symbol of my captured heart, and it is in your keeping for ever.’
Joanna swallowed, thoroughly unsettled. The gift and the words were so beautiful that they were beyond reality, and even dreams. ‘I am deeply moved by your gift and the honour you do me, but do not be so swift to give me these things unless they are true and more than courtly trifles.’
He looked wounded and a little indignant. ‘I would never tell you a lie, my oath on it.’
