‘Next time?’
‘How else will I improve?’ he asked, as though he was being perfectly reasonable.
Joanna shook her head, too full to speak. Aliza had been right: she should not have come.
At the banquet following the tourney, Joanna sat beside William and wore a forced smile. William played his role to the hilt, and no one would have guessed that his ribs were bandaged under his tunic and that he was in serious pain. He could not, however, conceal the swollen bruise that had almost shut his right eye, but most of the opposing team were sporting battle injuries too and his visible ones did not especially stand out above the others. He raised toasts and laughed and acted as if all was well, taking glory even in defeat, and Joanna smiled for all she was worth, and felt sick.
When they retired, he fell on the bed on his back and was asleep within moments, still in his clothes. He had drunk far too much, although she supposed it might be a blessing if it rendered him insensible. She eyed him with exasperation. He had not even taken off his boots. She tried to pull off some of his clothes but he grunted and rolled over and finally she gave up and stalked off in disgust.
Going to the window seat, she sat down and picked up a cushion she had earlier been embroidering. Holding it against her body, she rocked back and forth for comfort. Why did men enjoy doing this? She had seen it in her brother and her male cousins the same, and her own grandfather had made a career of the sport.
King Henry was not obsessed with fighting, but men looked at him askance and thought less of him for lacking the warrior abilities. But perhaps he was the one in his right mind. What if she and William had sons who turned out to be like that? They would be regarded as fine, robust males by society and William would take great pride in them. She was starting to understand a little better the Queen’s concerns about Edward.
She glanced at William’s sprawled figure. She could not talk to him because he was heavily, drunkenly asleep. She was expected to tend his wounds, commiserate with him, and praise him for his endurance. But what was the benefit to her? After all the preparation, after all the energy expended and all the building of expectation, he had failed, and she had now to look others in the eye and take on his failure. What would Cecily say? The thought brought her to a standstill.
She ceased rocking and set the cushion aside. Whatever happened, she had to find her own strength and not depend on him or anyone else. William was what he was and at least he was true to himself. She had to be true to herself and make the best with him if they were to survive.
She left the window and undressed without summoning her maids. She washed her face and hands and climbed into bed beside him. She could have sought another place to sleep tonight, but doing so would be the first step away and it would lead to another and another until there was a gulf. However, she punched the pillow very hard before she set her head on it. William groaned in his sleep and then flopped over on his side, put his arm out and reached for her.
‘Joanna,’ he said, a catch in his voice. ‘Joanna, never leave me. I could not bear it.’ His hand slid over her hip and he nuzzled her neck. She gave a small shiver and turned towards him, and then he was over her, and despite all his injuries and the drink, he was ready, and so was she. She opened to him, still angry, but relieved too at the surge of his life force and that his injuries could not be that bad if he was this capable and interested.
In the morning, Joanna observed William closely as Jacomin helped him into his clothes. She took an inventory of the bandaged ribs, the cuts and scrapes. His black eye had flourished into a ripe purple cabochon, but he was trying to continue as normal, and there was no self-pity; despite his folly, she admired his fortitude.
They broke their fast together as they had done on their wedding morn. William took her hand and kissed it across the small trestle table. ‘I know I am in a state, and I know you think me foolish, but I have learned from yesterday’s drubbing and in a situation where I have survived. It would not have been the same on the battlefield, so the tourney has proved its worth. I have learned from my mistakes. Next time it will be different, you wait and see.’
‘You are incorrigible!’ Joanna shook her head. ‘I love you, but do not ask me why, for our children may never have a father and I may not have a husband if you continue at such a pace, whatever you say about learning lessons.’
His ears grew red. ‘I cannot live a coddled life. This is part of what and who I am.’
‘I know, and I know it is your duty to be highly trained in military matters, but you must also understand the repercussions to me,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘You are playing for high stakes, and the things you say you hold dear may be broken along with your lance and never mended again.’
‘It will not happen again. I promise. I will show you something to have faith in, and never let you down.’ He leaned forward, intending to kiss her, but she drew back.
‘Then do so,’ she said. ‘Sweet words and promises are nothing without deeds and true intent.’ She rose from the table. ‘And for my sake too, go and chew some liquorice before you try to kiss me again. Your breath smells like a wine cellar.’ She tugged her cloak from its peg and swept it around her shoulders. ‘I am going to see Aliza.’
When she had gone, William groaned and slumped. A dull headache invaded his skull. Weazel was watching him intently. ‘Women,’ he said to the cat in disgust, feeding him some scraps of smoked herring left on the side of the dish. ‘It’s the price you pay for being a man.’ But eventually he sought a liquorice stick to clean his teeth, and for good measure chewed some cardamom pods too, because however exasperated Joanna made him, she was usually right and he still wanted to kiss her.
16
Palace of Westminster, August 1248
William stepped back from the baggage cart and wiped sweat from his brow. An August sun sweltered from a sky burned almost white by the fierce summer heat. Aliza was retiring to Lewes for her lying in and Joanna was accompanying her. Although the birth was still six weeks away, Aliza had judged it time to retire from the daily bustle of the court and the Queen had granted Joanna leave to attend the confinement. For his sins, William was supervising the loading of Joanna’s baggage, including Weazel, who hunched in his wicker travelling cage, lashing his tail from side to side, growling ferociously and swiping a bad-tempered paw through the slats at anyone who came too close.
The court would be so empty without Joanna. Her presence soothed him, and helped him make sense of the world. He only had to look at her for his heart to fill with joy. Some of his companions had waggled their eyebrows and jested about just what he could get up to during her absence. William had smiled at the innuendo but said nothing, for that was not how it was between him and Joanna. Taking other women to his bed would be dishonourable and put him in bad favour with the King and Queen who were the most faithful of couples. Besides, why drink inferior wine when you already had the best in your cellar?
He would have more time for hunting and jousting, and for ordinary socialising with his friends, including the delights of dice and other gambling, but they were no substitute for lying with his head in Joanna’s lap while she stroked his hair. Being parted also meant they had no opportunity to conceive an heir. They had been married for a year without a sign of a pregnancy and he sometimes worried that he and Joanna had displeased God; the pressure to perform was a weight upon both of them. Then again, not being together would alleviate the expectation.
More baggage arrived to be stowed, and he grimaced. At this rate they were going to need an extra horse to pull it all. Returning to the hall, to find out how much more there was, he noticed Aliza sitting in the window embrasure as her maids bustled around with last-minute tasks. The light outlined her full round belly. Catching his eye, she smiled and beckoned to him.
‘I swear, I have never seen so much baggage in my life,’ he said. ‘Not even when the King moves palaces!’
‘William, you do not understand the needs of a woman building a nest,’ she replied with superior amusement, ‘but your time will come.’
The sunlight shone on her bronze-gold braids, coiled over her ears and half concealed beneath a gauzy headdress. Pregnancy had lent extra plumpness and radiance to her face. He had the slightly blasphemous thought that his sister looked like a Madonna.
She glanced around the room, making sure no one was watching, and covertly handed him a small drawstring pouch. ‘I want you to keep this for me.’
He looked down at the little bag, made from cloth of gold and expertly embroidered with the crests of Lusignan and de Warenne.
