Joanna left the chapel with the bag of rings at her belt, two silver-gilt candlesticks and a little reliquary with a fragment of Mary Magdalene’s finger bone. It seemed strange and almost wrong to be taking treasure from the King’s private collection, even with sanction, but she was grateful to Henry and a little tearful to know he had not abandoned her or William.
Slipping through the great chamber, she paused before the figure of Hope, trampling Despair, and renewed her acquaintance with a part of her own likeness. In silent communication she asked the boon of her company in the days to come, for to travel without hope was a terrible thing and there were times when she was perilously close to despair instead. Tonight, though, she held the stars in her hands.
31
Boulogne, France, Summer 1258
‘They’re leaving,’ Guy announced, hurrying into the room.
William abandoned the piece of harness he had been mending and went to look out of the window. The de Montfort sons and their hangers-on including Joanna’s brother had packed up their equipment and were showing signs of quitting their flamboyant but ineffectual siege of the lodging tower.
‘I told you,’ Aymer said. ‘It would seem our letters have had an effect.’
While the de Montfort contingent were still busy with their baggage, an envoy from the French royal court arrived, and on being admitted he presented William and his brothers with their safe conducts in the form of parchments bearing the royal seal. William was also requested to attend on King Louis before he departed south, to apprise him in person of what had been happening.
‘I spoke to your guests as they were leaving,’ the envoy said, eyeing them curiously. ‘You have some bad enemies in England.’
‘There are always those who quarrel with others because of their own lack,’ William answered grimly. ‘I am glad the King of France has been gracious to us and risen above petty sordidness.’
‘He is a lover of peace as much as any man,’ the messenger replied with bland diplomacy.
William and his brothers swiftly packed their belongings and an hour after noon emerged from their refuge into the hot, sea-scented air. William almost expected a last-minute ambush from their tormentors, but they had gone, leaving wind-blown ashes and a broken ladder. It was almost a disappointment to release that tension, like air farting from a pig bladder.
William squared his shoulders and approached his saddled horse. Now that they had their safe conducts, they could begin the fightback.
John de Warenne sat before the brazier in Joanna’s small room and took the cup of spiced wine she gave him. It was raining heavily and the sound of water gurgling along the gutters filled the chamber. The wall by the ill-fitting shutter gleamed with damp.
‘That is the last of the nutmeg,’ she said with regret, ‘but at least the wine is decent. The King sent me a keg yesterday, and a haunch of venison.’
‘It’s very good,’ he replied after an appreciative sip, and then looked at her over the rim of the cup. ‘How are you faring?’
She sighed. ‘I am doing my best to keep the household on what I have. The King does what he can and the lady Leonora is very kind to me. But when I make approaches to have what is mine by right, I become invisible. I know why, but it is not the justice of which those around the King speak so loftily. My lands have been taken from me – stolen.’
‘I am sorry.’ John looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. ‘I have brought you something that might help a little.’ He handed her a small leather pouch. ‘It is only five marks, but it will keep your household in food and firewood for a little while.’
‘Thank you.’ She took it because she could literally not afford to be proud.
‘If there is anything else I can do, you need but name it – I mean it.’
‘There are a couple of things. I do not know if you will be able to accomplish them but—’
‘Tell me and we shall see.’
She gave him a steady look. ‘The first concerns my missing funds. You could speak to your brothers since they are part of the King’s advisory group, Hugh in particular. He might lend a sympathetic ear and have some influence. I have received nothing even though I was promised I would have money to provide for my household. There is more than sufficient coin stored in the Temple Church.’
Weazel twined around John’s legs, and he gently scratched between his ears. ‘I will have to choose the right moment, but I can try. Hugh is indeed the person to approach, not Roger.’ He grimaced.
‘I am grateful,’ she said.
‘And the other matter?’
Joanna lowered her voice. ‘The King has given me the key to his personal treasure and bidden me to take and sell whatever I need.’
John’s eyes widened and he stopped petting Weazel.
Joanna fetched the little jewelled reliquary to show him. ‘I need to obtain the best price for this I can get,’ she said, putting it in his hand. ‘I cannot sell it myself, too many questions would be asked. I need to convert it into coin and I wonder if you could do it for me?’
John looked down at the intricate, beautiful object and then closed his hand over it. ‘Yes, of course I will, but it may take a few days to arrange a buyer. I will come back to you as soon as I can.’ He looked at her with eyes full of wonder and a dawning wariness – as if a cat had suddenly become a lion.
