Thomas Holland looked up from securely stowing his baggage pack and cast a glance over his shoulder at the group of ladies who had recently joined the cog bobbing at anchor, awaiting the tide. The King was still ashore talking to a group of nobles, with Queen Philippa roundly pregnant at his side, but some of the ladies had been sent aboard to ready her quarters for the journey, including the girls and young women who were royal wards of her household, and the two little princesses, Isabelle and Joan, aged six and four.
Thomas was more concerned with seeing to the safety of equipment than paying attention to the women’s flurry. He preferred to keep his distance, although the green livery of a household knight was a beacon when it came to being recruited to perform little tasks by the more formidable ladies in the Queen’s entourage. They seemed to think that when not on active military duty, the King’s knights existed to attend their every whim.
A party of older girls, flighty with excitement at the prospect of a sea voyage, stood in a giggling huddle. One in particular hadfixed her gaze on him. She was tall and willowy, with a coil of plaited hair in mingled tones of honey, cream and gold. When he met her stare, she held the contact for a long moment, before looking down, a smile curling her lips.
‘Be wary of that one,’ Otto warned, his tone amused but pointed. ‘She’s after you.’
Thomas shook his head, smiling, but unsettled by the girl’s candid regard. He resumed his own concerns, but remained aware of her scrutiny. If she was with the royal party and among the Queen’s women, then she was of high status, and therefore a dangerous prospect. More giggles flurried his way, and a louder shriek of laughter, followed by a sharp rebuke from one of the older ladies that resulted in semi-silence, punctuated by muffled titters.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to play with fire,’ he said. ‘There will be plenty of women in Antwerp without becoming embroiled with one of the royal wards.’
‘Henry says he knows a drinking house where they will take out their combs for three groats.’ Otto nodded at one of the other young knights, currently out of earshot. ‘Imagine lying with a woman with her hair down and her legs up round your waist.’
Thomas could more than imagine. He had enjoyed several such encounters on the recent Scottish campaign, including one in Berwick that still gave him sinful dreams. Otto hadn’t been with him then. ‘Best keep your mind above your balls until we get there,’ he said, and nodded towards the gangway. ‘Here are the King and Queen.’
At Lady Katerine’s sharp rebuke, Jeanette tore her gaze from the handsome, raven-haired knight. Her stomach was fluttering and she felt the urge to giggle even more and had to clap her hand over her mouth.
She was saved from herself by a fanfare of trumpets as King Edward and Queen Philippa boarded the cog with the rest of the Queen’s entourage. Jeanette dropped in a deep curtsey, her skirts creating a pool of tawny silk on the decking. She dared an upwards glance. The royal couple wore garments dripping with jewels and embroidery. The Queen’s gown was loosely cut to encompass her pregnancy and she walked with care, but she had a smile for everyone and an adoring look for her tall husband with his straight, fierce nose and keen blue eyes.
A cushioned, luxurious shelter awaited her behind the mast, protected from the wind and waves by a decorated canvas cover. Once she had been escorted within and settled in comfort, the King kissed her hands and departed to his own ship, for it was unwise for them both to embark on the same vessel, even if the weather was set fair and the voyage only a day and night’s sail. Their son and heir, ten-year-old Edward, was remaining behind as a ruling figurehead guided by counsellors until their return.
Jeanette was delighted that the knight she had been admiring was staying aboard their own cog as part of the Queen’s guard. Several other girls were eyeing him too, whispering behind their hands while the older women were distracted seeing to their royal mistress.
Beneath Jeanette’s feet the cog shuddered as the crew loosed her mooring ropes and raised her anchor. Like a horse released from its halter, the ship bucked and pranced on the tidal drag. The Queen’s chaplain stood at the prow, voice and staff raised in blessing, exhorting God to grant them a safe, swift passage.
Jeanette crossed her breast and momentarily forgot the knight as she absorbed the new experience of leaving dry land. A stiff breeze blew a belly into the striped sail, turning it into an ale-drinker’s paunch, and above it at the pinnacle the lions of England rippled out, fierce gold, tongued with long redstreamers. The waves slapped beneath the cog’s strakes and burst white spume against her sides.
Jeanette detached herself from her companions, suddenly irritated by their laughter and shrieks as the cog bowed to the waves. Going to stand at the side on the upper deck, she watched the vista change as they furrowed through the greater waves of the open sea. She didn’t want to be confined inside the deck shelter with the other ladies. She could sit on a footstool and gossip any time, but this was her first sea crossing and the experience tugged at her soul. She wanted to remember this for the rest of her life.
The port shrank to a vista of tiny buildings standing on a hemmed colour block of ruffled blue and green. Jeanette lifted her face to the wind. This was what it was. This was how it felt. Absorbing every sensation through her young body, she relished the moment and laughed with joy when a larger wave buffeted the ship, sending up a sparkle of silver spray. The horse was energetic now, eager to chase. When her friend Joan summoned her to eat and drink with the others, she didn’t want to leave her position, but obeyed rather than face a reprimand. Once she had made an appearance and behaved meekly, she could escape again to her wave-watching.
She curtseyed to the Queen, to Lady Katerine, Countess of Salisbury, and to Mistress St Maur who had overall responsibility for the royal wards. Supposedly, eating dry bread would stave off themal de meras they sailed into heavier seas. Jeanette had noticed some of the ladies looking peaky, but her own stomach growled with hunger and she had to stop herself from wolfing her portion lest she attract censure. Nibbling daintily, she concealed her exuberance, and eventually, when everyone had finished, offered to throw the crumbs overboard.
‘Let the servants do that,’ Katerine said sharply. ‘It is not your place.’
‘Oh, leave her, Kate,’ the Queen intervened, smiling at Jeanette with a sparkle in her eyes and handing over her own napkin. ‘Do not throw into the wind, or it will blow back upon you.’
‘No, madam.’ Jeanette curtseyed, flashed Katerine a triumphant glance, and returned to the ship’s side. Mindful of Queen Philippa’s warning, she made sure to shake the cloths in the right direction. Now she truly had cast bread upon the waters.
In the corner of her eye she saw Lady Katerine beckoning her to return and considered ignoring her, but eventually complied because it wasn’t worth the scolding she would receive otherwise. As she turned, a boisterous wave smacked the ship’s prow. Caught off balance, she staggered, and would have fallen except for the support of a firm hand under her elbow.
‘Steady, demoiselle,’ said the raven-haired knight. ‘It takes a while to acquire sea-legs.’
His eyes were a rich peat-brown and his smile sent a lightning jolt through her body. ‘I am all right,’ she replied, flustered but determined to recover her dignity.
He released his grip and bowed, and when he stood straight, his expression was full of indulgent humour. Jeanette swept him a haughty look, and with head high, returned to the ladies, although inside she was quivering. A swift backwards glance revealed that he had turned away and was already going about his business.
‘Come and sit by me,’ Katerine instructed. ‘It is unseemly to go wandering about the ship bothering others.’
‘I stumbled, that is all,’ Jeanette defended herself. ‘I wasn’t “wandering” and I wasn’t bothering anyone.’
‘No, but you lingered when you should have returned immediately. You must learn decorum.’
Jeanette puffed out her cheeks to show what she thought and received a prim glare.
Queen Philippa called for one of her ladies, Petronella, to read from a book of romances – an Arthurian tale of a grand tournament held to find the most valiant and chivalrous warrior in the land. As Jeanette listened, her imagination made the hero into the knight who had caught her arm to steady her, and her heart filled with a hollow yearning.
The wind freshened and the motion of the ship became frisky as they approached the mid-crossing. Jeanette listened to the creak of the ropes and timbers, the shouts of the sailors, and wished she could run up the rigging to the lookout platform where the banner flew. Lady Katerine started to turn green and had to go and lie down. Unaffected, Jeanette turned to her friend Joan Bredon, who was two years older than she was and knew a great deal about everything, and enquired nonchalantly about the knights sailing with them.
