‘We will.’ Otto slapped Thomas’s shoulder. ‘Don’t get too staid and serious, brother. You need to keep your juices flowing, and better one of the girls at the Gilders than risking other kinds of damnation.’
Thomas rolled his eyes. ‘Be gone. The only kind of damnation I have tonight is checking the stores to see what’s needed and making sure the men on duty know exactly what that duty entails. You can tell me about the girl in the morning – if you remember!’
Otto made a rude gesture. ‘At least I will have that option,’ he said as a parting sally over his shoulder.
The compline bell was ringing out from the abbey, and as Thomas picked up his wine to finish it his yeoman, Duncalfe, arrived to announce that the Queen’s labour pains had begun.
Her complexion red with effort, double-chinned, sweat rolling off her face, Philippa pushed and pushed again with guttural groans as she gripped the birthing ropes. It was the first occasion that Jeanette had been allowed to stay in the birth chamber itself, but with her marriage under discussion she was deemed old enough to do so and watch the process of birth. She was not disturbed, for she had seen a dairy maid at Donington bear a baby, and had witnessed the arrival of puppies, kittens and foals many times over. Her only fear was of this being her lot next year and every year after until her body was exhausted and she died.
The baby’s head crowned between Philippa’s parted legs and emerged like an enormous apple, and with the next few pushes the entire torso slipped free and into the midwife’s waiting hands – bloody, pink and grey, covered in white grease. The midwife lifted the baby on high to drain his lungs and he sent out a loud wail of protest. ‘A boy!’ the woman cried in triumph. ‘Madam, you have another son!’
A maid hurried forward with a warm towel to dry him, and the midwife snicked the cord with a small pair of shears. Philippa gasped and laughed as she released her grasp on the ropes, and briefly took the baby in her arms. ‘Little man,’ she said, making sure for herself that he was a boy and whole. She kissed his wet brow, then handed him to Lady St Maur to be washed. ‘Send word to my lord immediately!’ she commanded, her face shiny with tears of joy and exhaustion.
Jeanette stood by the hearth watching the baby having his first bath in a silver ewer of warm water. He had long limbs, alick of gilt hair and a lusty cry. A pang went through her at the sight of the miracle of life, and this helpless little creature that needed protection.
Lady St Maur finished washing him and gently rubbed his gums with honey so that he would only ever know life’s sweetness.
‘May I hold him?’ Jeanette ventured.
For a moment she thought Lady St Maur would refuse, but then, with a reserved smile, she gave him to Jeanette. ‘Just for a moment,’ she said.
Jeanette cradled the baby’s warm weight in her arms and looked into his screwed-up little face. She touched his miniature clenched fists, then wordlessly returned him to Lady St Maur with tears in her eyes. The other ladies were looking at her knowingly and she turned away, for she could not bear it.
A midwife left the room with the afterbirth in a cloth-covered bowl. The Queen was brought to a fresh bed, and the infant given to her, clean from his bath. Philippa cooed at him with adoring satisfaction. The ladies gathered around, praising the baby and also Philippa for her strength and success in producing a third son for the English succession. A jug of sweet wine and pastries were sent round in celebration, and the messengers went out to proclaim the news far and wide.
Jeanette drank the wine to toast the baby, who was to be named John. Her brother’s name, and her own too in male version. She rubbed the Queen’s feet with rose unguents, and another lady played a lute softly in the background. A young girl rocked the baby’s cradle and he soon fell asleep after his ordeal. The wet nurse sat by the fire, washing and warming her breasts, ready for when the princeling wished to feed, and Philippa’s own breasts were bound up to stop the milk, and checks made to ensure the bleeding from her womb had eased.
Jeanette gazed round at the group of smiling women, relaxed and warm together, celebrating a new life. So much pride and joy. Then she thought of going to Gascony as a bride to this unknown boy Armand d’Albret. Having to live among strangers. Having to bed with someone she did not know and might even loathe. She would be expected to do her duty and bear him children in pain and blood and struggle, and was horrified. All these women thought she was tearful over a baby because she wanted one of her own, when it was no such thing.
Eventually the Queen slept, and Jeanette begged leave to go and check on her peregrine, knowing she would burst if she did not escape.
Lady St Maur rolled her eyes. ‘You and that bird,’ she said, but she was smiling. ‘Very well, but do not be gone long. Take Joan with you.’
Jeanette needed no second bidding. With Hawise in tow as well, she grabbed her cloak and sped from the Queen’s chamber. She wanted to run until she was breathless but could only step out briskly, kicking the hem of her gown.
‘Slow down!’ Joan gasped. ‘What’s the rush? Wait, wait! I have a stone in my shoe!’
Jeanette sighed in exasperation and danced on the spot while her friend unlatched her soft leather slipper and shook out a piece of grit.
‘Did you see his little hands, and the way he looked at us?’ Joan gushed as she pushed her foot back into the shoe. ‘What a perfect little miracle!’
Jeanette forced a smile but it fell from her face almost immediately. ‘I don’t want that to be me in a year’s time in Gascony,’ she said. ‘I don’t care how miraculous or beautiful. I would rather be an outcast on the road than have that happen.’
Joan stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘You do not mean it.’
‘I have never meant anything more sincerely in my life,’ Jeanette said grimly.
‘How do you know it will be terrible? Your husband might be as handsome as the sun and you might adore him.’
‘I doubt it. He’ll be a boy, thinking that he can have anything he wants, and encouraged by his father to take it, and unable to do any wrong in the eyes of his mother.’
‘It will only be terrible if you make it terrible,’ Joan remonstrated. ‘Look on the good side. You shall have fine weather and good wine. You shan’t have Lady Salisbury breathing down your neck, and you will have the eternal gratitude of the King and Queen. Your husband’s family will treat you well because you are the King’s own cousin and they dare not do otherwise.’
Jeanette shook her head. ‘You do not understand,’ she said impatiently. ‘You are not the one being sent to Gascony.’
Arriving at the mews, she put on her glove and went straight to Frederick’s perch, persuading the young peregrine on to her wrist with a shred of meat.
John de la Salle appeared from the depths of the building and bowed to the young women. ‘Great news so I hear, my ladies,’ he said. ‘A new prince has been safely delivered.’
