Swanscombe, Kent, Spring 1250
Fastening her cloak, Joanna inhaled the smell of the estuary through the open window – the enduring scent of her childhood at Swanscombe. She remembered walking along the river bank as a little girl, tightly gripping her mother’s hand, smelling the tang of salt and reeds in the brackish water and watching the swans that gave the place its name, floating in white majesty on the current.
She had arrived on a barge sailing downriver from Westminster leaving William occupied with the King’s business, and had come to show her father his baby grandson. Joanna had thought long and hard about returning to Swanscombe but had eventually decided it must be done. She was a great lady in her own right, and nominal Countess of Pembroke. Her husband was the King’s half-brother and their son his nephew. What greater prestige could there be? She had left Swanscombe as a little girl without prospects, pushed from the nest, and was returning in triumph, gowned in silk, a jewelled circlet on her head and a collar of gems at her throat. The plain little cygnet had become a swan.
Her father had leaned over his paunch to embrace her with an awkward kiss of welcome. He had always been overweight but vigorous, now time had made his jowls pendulous and his hair was retreating from his brow faster than an ebbing spring tide. After the court and Hertford, the chambers at Swanscombe seemed small and dingy. The plain hangings and the lack of embellishment were a contrast to the colour and opulence of the court, and she realised how different her life had become. Her childhood home was now an outgrown shell.
Her stepmother, Dionysia, had curtseyed to her when she arrived and had pushed her half-brother Guillaume forward to make his greeting – thirteen years old and wearing a thunderous scowl. Last time Joanna had seen him he had been a blond toddler. Now, on the cusp of manhood, he was Swanscombe’s heir. Joanna had tried to swallow her antipathy with little success, for its cause was rooted in her childhood and her resentment of the woman who had taken her mother’s place.
Leaving Iohan with his nurse, Joanna made her way to the church to visit her mother’s tomb, and as she knelt, she remembered praying beside the slab on the day she left for the court – a miserable, unhappy little girl, sent away so that Dionysia could make way for her own cuckoo. She had travelled a long way since then. Her heart still hurt, but she could detach a little now and see from a greater distance. Her father had been trying to do his best by her, and her life at court had changed her world. What a different path she would have trodden had her mother not died.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her father, who joined her and struggled to kneel down beside her.
‘We have not been close, have we, daughter, and I am sorry for it,’ he said, his voice breathless and a wheeze in his chest. ‘I would mend it if I could but I fear it is too late for that. I want to tell you I am proud of you. I could never have imagined you becoming sister-by-marriage to the King and Queen. You were such a quiet, plain little thing. When I look at my grandson, I know his future will be far greater than I could have mapped for any son of mine.’
She wanted desperately to be left alone, but she made herself answer him. ‘Caused by accidents of birth and death,’ she said. ‘I too wish that the past had been different, but I am here to leave it behind and move forward.’
‘You are a good girl. I am sorry your husband could not come too.’
‘He has business with the King,’ she replied. ‘I am sure William will visit on another occasion.’ Another platitude. William did not think her quiet and plain. And these days she knew her own value – Cecily had taught her that.
Her father cleared his throat. ‘There is something I want to ask you.’
‘Of course,’ she said stiffly.
He hesitated, then said, ‘Now you have the King’s ear at court through your husband … and I know the King is fond of you …’
‘You want me to ask for favours?’ she finished for him.
His complexion reddened. ‘I would not have put it as bluntly as that, daughter. What I would say is that you are in a position to enhance your family’s standing.’
‘You may take it as a given that I will always do my best for my family, as will my husband,’ she said primly.
‘Then thank you.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘There is another thing though … I am not getting any younger. If anything happens to me before your half-brother reaches maturity, I ask you to take care of his welfare. You are well positioned to see to his wardship until he comes of age.’
Joanna suppressed a grimace, but it was a matter of duty and family, as he said. Besides, should her father die before Guillaume attained his majority then she and William would have the right to administer the estates, not Dionysia, and that was a satisfying thought. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘but you must make it very clear in your will that it is your wish, lest others object.’
‘There will be none,’ he said curtly. ‘I am head of the household. But you are right, the intention needs to be mooted beforehand, and I trust you to speak to the King.’
‘Then I will do so.’
He gave a forced laugh. ‘I have no intention of dying before my son comes to manhood, but it is better to be safe, and I trust you. Swanscombe may not approach the value of your inheritance, but it is still a wealthy estate and I do not want it picked over by carrion crows.’
Joanna looked down at her clenched fists, feeling ill.
‘Well then, I shall leave you in peace with your prayers,’ he said gruffly. ‘I know what your mother meant to you, and I am proud of you as I was proud of Iohan.’
Joanna pressed her lips together.
‘I did love her,’ he said quietly. ‘No matter that you think I did not. But she was the river and I was the land.’
He left, but she heard him pause and speak at the chapel door. Glancing round, she saw him talking to her half-brother, who had clearly followed him, and had probably overheard their discussion. He sent her a narrow scowl before their father turned him by the shoulder and took him away. Joanna bowed her head and tried to focus on prayers for her mother’s soul. It took a long time, but eventually she found the necessary calm. When she had finished, all she wanted to do was go home to William and be a family with him.
Joanna watched William playing with their son, dandling him in his lap. The baby laughed and danced his sturdy legs on William’s thighs, and her heart swelled with love.
At nine months old, little Iohan had four teeth and two more coming through. He had William’s hazel-mica eyes, and her smooth brown hair – a confident child with a happy chirrup. Now crawling, he had to be constantly watched for Weazel’s tail fascinated him, although the cat usually stayed well out of the baby’s reach and slept on the sideboard.
William had recently taken an oath to go on crusade, horrifying Joanna. It had been a general vow taken by many courtiers including the King, but she did not want to lose him for years on end, if not for ever. Simon de Montfort might have taken his wife and children halfway to Egypt with him when he had gone on crusade, but Joanna had no intention of traipsing across Christendom, through hostile lands, living in camps, even for love of her husband. She was keeping silent and hoping that the idea would lose its shine.
