Jeanette snatched the casement shut and pressed the palms of her hands to her hot face.
‘Do not let Lady Katerine catch you talking out of windows to men at night,’ Joan Bredon warned.
Jeanette puffed out her cheeks. ‘I was only looking out for a moment and Messire Holland happened past with Blanchette.’
‘Yes, but you called out to him – in your chemise, with your hair uncovered!’
‘You are as bad as Lady Katerine!’ Jeanette snapped. ‘It is not fair that a man may walk alone with his dog at dusk, but if I did such a thing, I would be thrashed!’ She was so annoyed at the thought of how unfair it was that she stamped her foot.
Joan looked hurt. ‘I’m your friend – I don’t want you to get into trouble and undo all your hard work. It may not be fair, but it is the way things are.’
‘Well, it shouldn’t be!’ Jeanette retorted, but then went to Joan and hugged her fiercely before getting into bed.
‘He is handsome though, isn’t he?’ she said after a moment.
‘I suppose so,’ Joan conceded, punching her pillow. ‘But is he really worth all the trouble you’d be in?’
Jeanette let out an irritated sigh. ‘Well, he will be gone tomorrow, so I won’t know.’
The thought of not seeing Thomas again for months on end quenched her spirits like descending fog. Hanging out of the window for even that brief exchange had been worth every iota of the risk she had taken, and she didn’t care.
6
Ghent, January 1340
On a sharp January morning, Jeanette stood with the rest of the court in Ghent’s marketplace to witness King Edward being formally proclaimed King of France before a gathering of allies, burghers and nobles, both Flemish and English. Edward’s new heraldry depicted the royal leopards of England quartered above the blue and gold lilies of France, the hierarchy designed to demonstrate the precedence of his claim through his mother’s Capet line over the Valois French King Philip, who had occupied the French throne for ten years. Edward was determined to take that throne for himself, and this public display with his pregnant wife at his side was his proclamation of intent.
Jeanette had heard the rumours populating the court – that the King was in straitened financial circumstances, although it was hard to believe it from all this sumptuous array. She had been presented with new clothes for the event: an undergown of red silk hugged her new curves, topped by an open-sided gown of expensive blue velvet powdered with fleur de lys to match the new heraldry.
Edward, resplendent in his new livery, wore a fleur de lys crown upon his wavy golden hair. His household knights wereall dressed in new garments and their polished armour glittered with starbursts of light. Jeanette sent a glance towards Thomas Holland; it was the first time she had set eyes on him since his return, and she felt she had grown up considerably during his absence on campaign. In her own estimation she was not only a princess, but a full woman of the court, and this ceremony served to cement that awareness. He, however, had not so much as looked in her direction or acknowledged that he was aware of her presence.
Following the proclamation of Edward’s kingship, the citizens were provided with copious amounts of bread, meat and cheese, and the royal company retired to their own celebratory banquet. Queen Philippa had conceived the next royal offspring in the summer before her husband rode off to war, and processed beside the King, her well-rounded belly revealing to all the fecundity of her womb, and the powerful virility of her husband.
Jeanette enjoyed all the set rituals of the feast. The rose-scented water poured over her fingers from a jug shaped like a knight on horseback, with the water flowing out of the horse’s mouth. The dainty morsels of fish and chicken, dabbed in delicious spicy sauces. Today was a momentous occasion to add to her collection of memories, like stringing bright jewels on a golden thread. Feasts were familiar territory, but not ones like this in such gorgeous array.
Between the various courses she took her leave with Joan and Hawise to visit the latrine. On their return to the room, Thomas Holland was talking to a duty guard, but paused to bow to the women.
‘My ladies, may I say how fine you all look,’ he said, and his gaze lingered on Jeanette as it had not earlier in the day when guarding the King. ‘A man could easily lose his heart.’
Jeanette modestly lowered her eyes. ‘I pray you do not, Sir Thomas,’ she said, ‘for I fear you would not find it again.’
‘I think you may have the truth of it there, demoiselle. I shall have to be careful.’
‘Indeed you shall, sire.’
‘Will you ladies be joining the hunt tomorrow, or remaining with the Queen?’ he asked. ‘According to one of the huntsmen, a white hart has been seen, although the man might have been trying to please the King, knowing his interest in such tales.’
Jeanette’s ears pricked up since she loved Arthurian stories too, with all their colour and drama. Several involved the presence of a mystical white stag. The one she had most recently read was that of Yvain, the Knight of the Lion, who chased one such beast to a magical fountain in the middle of the woods. It had not escaped her that Thomas’s own blazon was that of a lion. ‘Yes, we hope to hunt,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we shall be fortunate. Have you ever seen a white hart, messire?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but it would be a sacred thing.’
She saw something in his eyes, deeper, more profound than superficial banter.
Otto Holland joined them, with Henry de la Haye at his side, and bowing to the women, he touched Thomas’s arm. ‘You are sought by Sir Walter,’ he said. ‘Orders from the King.’
‘Ladies, my duty calls,’ Thomas said. ‘I must bid you adieu and wish you good rest tonight.’ His lips twitched. ‘Keep your windows shut against the night air and I shall see you in the morning at the hunt.’ With a bow, he departed, and Jeanette followed him with hungry eyes.
‘Dear God, Jeanette, you are playing with fire,’ Joan warned in a whisper. ‘Step away before you are burned!’
