He bowed to her, smiling. ‘Madam, I but offered the girl a roasted chestnut, and not even a hot one at that. It is no fault of mine.’
‘It never is, my lord,’ Cecily retorted in a voice that Joanna had never heard her use before, for although quiet, it cut like a whip.
De Montfort bowed. ‘I shall give your kind regards to my wife, Lady Sandford.’
‘As you wish,’ Cecily said. ‘Tell her that she is constantly in my prayers.’
She departed the hall, one arm protectively around Joanna’s shoulders. ‘When men gather in groups to drink and feast, they become a pack,’ she said with distaste. ‘The King is not like that of course, but others are made of coarser stuff and you would do well to be wary.’
Once in their chamber, she took Joanna to the stone sink set in the wall, and poured cool water from a jug standing at the side. ‘Come, let us clean you up.’ She tenderly wiped the sooty marks from Joanna’s face and hands. ‘Learn from this experience, child. Do not ever let men tell you what to do, for they are not worthy of your soul – none of them. Indeed, you should be teaching them worthiness.’
Joanna bit her lip, for she could not imagine doing such a thing. Dame Cecily could stand up to anyone without fear, and she longed to be like her, but how could she hold her ground against grown men when they were wolves and she was a small deer?
‘Come with me,’ Cecily said, ‘and we shall pray.’
Taking Joanna’s hand, Cecily led her into the Queen’s intimate private chapel. The beeswax candles gave off a honey light before the altar, and a red glass lamp illuminated an exquisite statue of the Virgin with the Christ child perched on her knee. As they knelt, Cecily squeezed Joanna’s hand. ‘Make your peace,’ she said. ‘Be still, and ask God’s Holy Mother to guide you. She will listen, for she is a woman, and she will always answer another such.’
Joanna pressed her hands together and closed her eyes.
Cecily’s smooth wooden rosary beads clacked together as she unfastened them from her belt and clasped them between her fingers.
Gradually, the peace and the silence filtered their way through Joanna’s jangled being and her breathing calmed. The humiliation and the panic of being singled out diminished to an uneasy flicker. Cecily’s support and tuition had increased her resilience over the past months, but the incident had revived her anxiety about how powerless and expendable she was. A vulnerable little girl to be teased for sport. She opened her eyes and prayed to the Virgin for the wisdom and strength to be like Cecily and to face every trial with grace.
Eventually, Cecily lifted her head. ‘You must not let incidents like this destroy you,’ she said firmly. ‘Let them increase your strength. You shall grow in yourself as you grow in your body and such things will become trivial in time. Never forget, but do not be troubled. Leave it here with God and bring your prayers and fortitude instead.’
‘Yes, Dame Cecily,’ Joanna said, and lifted her head, bolstered with new determination.
‘That’s better.’ Cecily patted her hand. ‘Come, we shall have some sweetmeats and Eunice shall play her harp for us.’
Joanna nodded, keen to put the moment behind her and go forward with her new learning.
3
Royal Palace of Woodstock, November 1238
On a grey morning in late November, the Queen was queasy for the third day in a row, and the royal physician pronounced what everyone had begun to suspect – that Alienor was with child.
An ecstatic Henry visited his young wife and lavished her with gifts and tender attention. The Queen, wan but proud, delicately sipped a ginger tisane prepared by Lady Giffard, the midwife, and basked in her husband’s approval.
Watching their shoulders touch, seeing their absorption with each other, made Joanna feel warm and secure – safe at the heart of a family. Moreover, news had just arrived that Henry’s sister, the lady Eleanor de Montfort, had given birth at Kenilworth to a healthy baby boy. The infant was to be called Henry in honour of his royal uncle, and the joyous new parents had asked the King to be the baby’s godfather.
Alienor took Henry’s hand. ‘It would be generous of you to stand in that role to their child,’ she said, ‘and healing too.’ Setting her other hand to her waistline, she gave Henry a shy smile.
‘You are right, my dear; matters should be mended,’ Henry agreed. ‘I shall ride over to Kenilworth and visit my sister and my new namesake.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘So young to be so wise!’
Alienor blushed coyly, but the look, half hidden by her eyelids, was knowing and strategic.
Joanna had heard that Eleanor de Montfort and the Queen had been good friends before the scandal of the clandestine marriage with Simon de Montfort had torn the court apart. Joanna had often seen messengers being sent to Kenilworth with letters and small gifts for the King’s sister as the Queen played the delicate role of peacemaker and tried to mend the holes in the family fabric.
Henry’s face lit up. ‘I shall bring them the good news that even as I have a new nephew to celebrate, come the summer, they shall be making acquaintance with the heir to the throne.’ He beamed at his wife. ‘What shall they have as a gift do you think? An engraved silver cup perhaps?’ He was off, deciding what offerings to take with him, his enthusiasm like a bright light, as it always was when it came to celebration and gift-giving.
Joanna was glad for everyone’s joy, but privately hoped Simon de Montfort would keep his distance even if ties were being mended.
Three months later, in February at Winchester, the court celebrated the feast of Candlemas, to commemorate the purification of the Virgin Mary, forty days after Christ’s birth. Queen Alienor, resplendent in blue silk, her belly now a proud curve, drew everyone’s eye as she progressed gracefully up the cathedral nave towards the altar, clasping her lighted candle. Joanna loved the smell of incense and the ceremonial and sacred atmosphere – of taking part in a ritual that was holy and ancient and centred around women. The singing of the choir raised gooseflesh on her arms.
Following the mass, King Henry officially invested Simon de Montfort with the title of Earl of Leicester. Safe and anonymous amid the congregation, Joanna was lost in the wonder of the event – the rituals, the textures and colours. She admired the magnificent jewelled belt that the King fastened around Simon’s waist, and the Earl’s coronet with finials of golden roses which he placed upon de Montfort’s wavy dark hair, adding a regal touch to the new Earl’s already impressive height and breadth.
He had been back at court since Christmas, but Joanna had managed to avoid him. She was learning how not to be seen. If he attended on the Queen, Joanna found excuses to be absent, or else performed her duties with quiet diligence, staying within the group, never putting herself in a position where she could be picked off – staying safe.
