*
The weeks passed in a blur as pestilence struck Windsor’s occupants. Some attributed the malaise to the constant rain for scarcely a day passed without a downpour and spotting the tiniest patch of blue became cause for pointing and wonder. The sun, the moon, the stars, all vanished behind heavy clouds for days on end, and a bitter wind blew. The crops failed to germinate and a murrain and foot rot struck the sheep and cattle.
All of the children succumbed, and Joanna spent one sleepless night after another tending Iohan then Agnes and Margaret, and little William. The smell of sickness and nostrums pervaded the nursery. Fires remained lit when usually the hearths would have been swept for summer, and anyone well enough to be out of bed huddled around the hearth coughing and sneezing. An elderly maid died, and so did the son of a garrison soldier.
As others made a slow recovery the Queen remained perilously ill, refusing sustenance and sleeping propped up against a bank of pillows, her ribs creaking with each breath, and eventually arrived at a plateau where she grew no better but no worse, day upon day the same.
Joanna nursed her children out of danger, but as they started to recover, she succumbed, and spent a fortnight in bed, exhausted, wheezing and snuffling.
At last the weather cleared for a few days and the Queen left her bed and sat by the window, wrapped in furs. Her frame was skeletal, deep hollows shadowed her cheekbones, and her eyes were dull with misery.
Clutching her ribs, sore from coughing, Joanna craved leave of Alienor to take the children to Hertford.
Alienor waved her hand. ‘Do as you will,’ she said indifferently and stared out of the window, gripping her prayer beads like a drowning sailor clinging to a rope from the shoreline.
Joanna hesitated in the doorway, but without looking round the Queen said flatly, ‘What are you waiting for? I said you could go.’
Joanna curtseyed and left, feeling hollowed out. All the nurturing warmth of loyalty and trust between them had become a barren wasteland.
28
Bishop’s Palace, Southwark, London, Autumn 1257
William leaned back from the gaming board and handed a pouch of coins to Jacomin. ‘Go and bring three pies from Albricht’s shop,’ he said. ‘The beef and marrow ones.’
‘Sir.’ Jacomin pouched the money and reached for his cloak.
‘And no loitering in the bathhouse.’
‘No, sire.’ Jacomin looked thoroughly offended, as if such a notion had never crossed his mind.
Aymer leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind Jacomin. ‘I could have sent for pies earlier if you’d said.’
William shrugged. ‘No matter, Jacomin will bring them. Albricht’s are the best. No gristle or umbles under the crust. You should employ him.’
‘I’ll think on it,’ Aymer replied. ‘How is Joanna?’
‘She is well,’ William said. ‘I’m riding over to Hertford to join her for a few days. She will be at court for Christmas, so you will see her then.’
Aymer nodded, and his eyes strayed to the red-haired young woman replenishing the wine jug. An ornate gold and gemstone brooch closed the neck opening of her gown. William’s gaze followed Aymer’s but he said nothing until she had moved away to serve John de Warenne.
‘Isn’t that the brooch the Queen gave you last year?’
Aymer shrugged. ‘It suits Emma more than it does me and I like to give her pleasure since she pleasures me.’ One side of his mouth quirked upwards.
William shook his head and stifled a laugh. Aymer was utterly incorrigible. Emma in her furs and jewels was no longer recognisable as the serving girl from the Bishop’s manor at Hatfield. She was a swift learner and working hard to retain her position as the mistress of a well-connected bishop in waiting. Aymer, who remained greatly at odds with Archbishop Boniface, declared that unlike certain men of the clergy he was not a hypocrite to kick his sins under the rug and pretend they did not exist.
‘Do not worry, I won’t bring Emma to court. I know that the higher our star climbs, the further our reputations sink into the mire.’
‘And the more we garner enemies and rivals. The Queen is furious that we are assisting Edward with his finances and that the King continues to favour us.’
‘We are rivals for patronage and power,’ Aymer said. ‘And we have every right to it too.’
John sauntered over from the window, cup in hand. ‘You ought to tread carefully though. I received a warning from my brothers today – a friendly one, but a warning nevertheless.’
William eyed him sharply. ‘What about?’
‘They advised me to spend less time in your company. Roger said I should drink with honest men instead of lounging around with “that Poitevan rabble”.’
