14
At sea between Flanders and England, August 1340
Jeanette stood outside the deck shelter watching the Flemish coastline slowly diminish from sight. The breeze behind their ship freshened and the square sail bellied out. Gulls teemed above the rigging, and the banners rippled, flying the leopards and lilies of England.
Arms folded beneath her cloak, she hugged herself for comfort, thinking of the voyage to Flanders a little over two years ago – how she had been brimming with excitement at the prospect of adventure. When she had set her eyes on Thomas, it had been like a pillar of golden light shooting through her body. Now, on the return voyage, all that excitement had vanished as though it had been poured into a dirty hole in the ground and stamped over. She was flat, deflated by the things she had learned and experienced. She had arrived a light-footed girl, and returned burdened with invisible weights and a bitter knowledge of what the world could do.
Part of her was glad to be leaving Flanders, but each surge of the ship took her further away from Thomas and the life theymight have had in another time and place. She thought of their last whispered meeting in a corridor. He had taken her hands and told her he was leaving in the morning for Tournai and then going to serve God on crusade for a year and a day.
‘I will return for you,’ he had said, ‘and I shall put my case before the King concerning our marriage, I swear, but first I must atone for my sins and make my peace with God. All I ask is that you wait for me and make your own peace with Him too, for then we shall have a clean start.’
She had felt as though he was pushing her off the edge of a cliff. He was going into grave danger; she might never see him again. It had been difficult enough when he went to England, and now he wanted to travel even further away. How was that love? ‘You will be gone longer than I have known you,’ she had said, her voice quivering with accusation and dismay.
Still holding her hands, he had knelt to her. ‘I vow that when I return, I shall claim you before the King and Queen, and all will know.’ Then he had risen to his feet and kissed her, and she had put her arms around him and held him tightly, clinging to him with desperate love and furious anger.
She shivered, and folded her arms more tightly inside her cloak. He had promised to return, but how could anyone make a promise like that with certainty? What if he was going to his death? Everything that had been true and bright now was tarnished. She had a wedding ring, a pendant, a ruby and a marriage contract, and every single item had to be hidden from sight, like the marriage itself. All she had to show to the world were secrets – too many of them. Why should either of them have to atone for love?
Thomas had been gone a week when she had been told to pack her baggage for a return to England. The King and Queen had arranged to send the younger children home for safety while they remained in Flanders. The two little princesses, Isabelleand Joan, and the infant boys Lionel and John were all to leave with their nurses. Lady Salisbury was accompanying them, and Jeanette too. Hawise was attending her, but John de la Salle had gone with Thomas. Thomas’s hawk was being returned to England, to his mother’s household, to be cared for. Frederick had remained in the royal mews, to be shipped over later in the year with the Queen’s hawks.
The wind freshened and the sail flapped. Clouds scudded across the sky, fast as wolves, and a rain squall approached in a sweep from the west. Sighing, Jeanette returned to the deck shelter and found Lady Katerine, green at the gills, her lips pressed tightly together. Jeanette experienced a glimmer of superiority, since her own stomach was sturdy when sailing, and she even smiled a little as she handed Katerine a brass basin and commented how hungry she was, and how she could just eat a big wedge of pigeon pie swimming in cream sauce.
Katerine gave up the unequal struggle, seized the bowl and retched into it.
A few weeks later, Jeanette stood watching a group of youths at weapons practice on the green at the Tower of London. She had escaped the confines of the ladies’ chamber by offering to walk with the little princesses Joan and Isabelle, and their lap dogs. Her own Grippe ran with them, sniffing and busy.
The King’s heir, the lord Edward, was among the squires, tall for his years, his dark hair glinted with bronze. Her brother John was with him, and flaxen-haired William Montagu, Lady Katerine’s son. Edward was besting his opponents with accomplished natural talent, although John and Montagu were doing their best not to let him win. Jeanette, however, was unimpressed. Having watched Thomas and Otto at their own deadly play, these were mere boys in comparison, albeit with developing skills. Edward was easily the most talented, and hadthe advantage of longer legs and reach too. John was the least enthusiastic, but dutiful and committed.
‘Edward is the best.’ Eight-year-old Isabelle delivered her opinion with partisan authority, her delicate nose tilted in the air.
‘Yes, he is,’ Jeanette answered with a smile. Perhaps she should praise her brother, but it would not be the truth, and she had no intention of appending any good qualities to William Montagu. In earlier childhood gatherings they had never been friends. The times he wasn’t ignoring her, he treated her as inferior because of her sex. When she had been ten and he eight, he had punched her in the stomach and she had tipped a bucket of discarded fish heads over him in retaliation. It had not ended well. She had never understood why Edward and John were his friends, but had decided that it was a matter of masculine solidarity.
Edward glanced up, saw her with his little sisters, and waved. Isabelle and Joan set off at a run and Jeanette followed, with the dogs straining their leashes. Edward grinned, his dark hazel eyes sparkling with good humour.
‘We stopped to watch our protectors honing their skills,’ Jeanette said, smiling. ‘I am certain we shall never be in any danger with such stalwart assistance.’
Edward swept a courteous bow. John was pink in the face at being observed by his sister and the young princesses. William looked down his nose. ‘Should you not be with the ladies in the bower?’ he asked, mainly addressing Jeanette.
‘Even ladies are permitted to walk their dogs, and we had permission,’ she retorted with irritation, and was aware of Edward looking amused. ‘Perhaps our presence will spur you on to greater effort than you are making now.’
William snorted with contempt, but a spark kindled in Edward’s eyes. ‘Indeed, you are right!’ he declared. ‘Come, the best of three!’
With less alacrity than the Prince, the other two returned to their sparring.
Edward made a few missteps because he was watching her and his sisters from the side of his eye, but swiftly recovered his concentration and disarmed William. Red-faced, the youth scowled at Jeanette, as if it was all her fault. She smiled sweetly in return, and his flush darkened. Edward swiftly divested John of his sword too, his superior skill obvious. Magnanimous in defeat, he clapped the others on the shoulder, declaring it had been a good bout. His eyes met Jeanette’s, seeking approval, but they were filled with mischief too, and she had to smile, while his sisters danced and clapped.
Following dinner, eaten in the royal chambers, Edward lightly touched Jeanette’s arm. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I have something to show you.’ She looked at the other women who were taking out their sewing and preparing to settle down to an afternoon of gossip and stitchery, but Edward was insistent. ‘Leave them. They won’t gainsay me. You won’t get into trouble – hah, and I don’t suppose you would care if you did!’ His eyes sparkled with laughter and daring.
Excitement bubbled up inside her and turned into a surge of the joy she thought she had lost. She took Edward’s outstretched hand, and they sped from the hall, down the steps and across the grass. His grip was firm and she had to hold up her skirts with her other hand and lengthen her stride to keep up with him, laughing out loud.
He led her to the stables where the pungent smell of hay and dust, dung and urine filled her nostrils, but in a familiar way. She wondered why he had brought her here – surely notto go riding because a whole entourage would have had to be organised. Remembering Thomas and the stables at St Bavo, she hung back, so that Edward gave her a quizzical look.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She hid her feelings behind a bright smile. ‘What do you want to show me?’
Edward took her to a stall where a small horse stood champing hay – a compact dappled grey, sturdily built with pricked ears and wide-set intelligent dark eyes.
‘This is Courage,’ he announced proudly.
