‘Then what do you need?’
‘Sleep.’ He rolled over, dragging the bed clothes with him.
Joanna dug her fingernails into her palms and suppressed the urge to pummel him with her pillow. Silence fell between them, filled with thorns. He heaved a sigh, sat up, and by the light of the night candle pulled on his shirt and braies, draped his cloak over, and stamped from the room.
Joanna too sat up, angry and tearful. He made her feel like an ungenerous scold. Cecily was right: young men took a long time to grow up, and tonight she had a man-child on her hands, one who put both of them in danger.
She hoped he had not gone off to continue drinking and dicing with his brothers and the other young rakes of the court, or even to seek another woman’s bed. Some courtiers kept mistresses or made use of the whores, although the King frowned on such behaviour. She thumped the pillow and buried her face in it, telling herself she did not care where he went; but it wasn’t true and she was heartsick.
Weazel leaped on to the bed and butted her, his purr vibrating his whole body, and she took comfort in his warm, tactile presence. After a while, she left the cat and went to sit on the bench by the window to think. She would have to channel William’s energies into less troublesome areas, but without henpecking him. Perhaps engage him in a few projects dealing with their lands. His brothers Aymer and Guy would soon be gone from court, but that still left Geoffrey for William to spark off, not to mention Richard de Clare and John de Warenne.
Still agitated, she was pacing the room when William returned. She was relieved to see him, but unsure whether to be cold or welcoming. And then she saw the look on his face.
‘Edward is sick,’ he said. ‘I went for a walk and came upon Master Dya running to bring the physician.’
Alarm flickered through her. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Purging, burning fever and sweat. He was all right just a few hours ago.’ He looked at her with a glint of fear. ‘The King and Queen are both with him.’
‘No, not Edward.’ She shook her head. There had been reports of the deadly sweating sickness in the city, and the pox, which often left terrible scars even if the afflicted person survived.
William pulled her into his arms. ‘I know you think I behave foolishly at times, but life is too short not to seize it.’ He buried his face in her hair, and she felt him shudder. ‘If he dies …’
‘Don’t say that! Dear Christ, William, do not!’ She pushed away, showing him her own fear. ‘He cannot die!’ All the terror, guilt and anguish associated with her brother’s death washed over her. All the pain of loss. ‘We must light candles and pray for his recovery.’
William swallowed and drew himself together. ‘That is what the King has asked – for prayers.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Joanna, forgive me …’
She raised her hand to close over his. ‘I am sorry too,’ she said. ‘We shouldn’t quarrel.’
Side by side they knelt at the small, portable altar near the bedside. Joanna lit every candle and lamp she could find, and vowed her weight in wax if God would only spare Edward’s life.
‘I am very sorry to see the lord Edward so ill,’ Joanna said as she curtseyed to the Queen. ‘If there is anything I can do.’
She and William had snatched a couple of hours’ sleep at the end of the night and this morning they had prayed again. Her eyes were sore and her head thick with tiredness.
Eleanor de Montfort was present, comforting Alienor, and she eyed Joanna coldly.
The Queen looked up from Edward’s bedside, her face haunted and ravaged. ‘Pray, for my boy,’ she said. ‘The King has sent to every church in the land to hold vigils for his recovery.’
‘Madam, you need to rest.’ Willelma hobbled to the bedside. Her wrinkles were deep furrows this morning.
‘I will stay awhile,’ Joanna offered. ‘Let me wipe his brow and watch him for you.’
‘It is all my fault,’ Alienor said. ‘I should never have let him wander among the men and join their foolish games.’ She flashed a glance at Joanna filled with hurt, bordering on accusation.
Joanna recoiled at the unfair implication. Edward had probably been sickening well before then. To her knowledge none of the men who had been playing dice had been taken ill. ‘With God’s will, the lord Edward will make a good recovery, madam, I am sure,’ she said quietly. ‘He is strong.’
The Queen’s chin wobbled. ‘I cannot lose him,’ she whispered.
‘No, madam. I pray you will not. Please, let me be of service. I want to make amends for any folly on my husband’s part.’
Alienor bit her lip, then nodded, and stood up to allow Joanna to take her place, by which Joanna understood that she was not entirely banished from favour.
The Countess of Leicester put a comforting arm around Alienor’s shoulder, and Joanna saw genuine concern in her expression, one woman to another for the life of a sick child. The Queen indicated the bowl and cloth to Joanna. ‘Just for a short while then.’
The Queen retired to her bed. Joanna wrung out the cloth in the rose-scented water and tenderly bathed Edward’s brow and neck. ‘Come, my little lord,’ she said softly. ‘You are as strong as a lion – as three golden lions indeed.’
Edward responded with a moan and his eyelids fluttered. She remembered watching Iohan die, and being helpless to save him. It mustn’t happen to Edward.
