The water he had just drunk threatened to come back up. ‘So, I am half blind.’
‘Probably, but your limbs are still sound, and you have the sight of the other eye. You will still be able to do a soldier’s job with a little adjustment.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do not think too hard on it now. Rest and get better first.’
Thomas’s eye socket throbbed to the pounding of his heart, signalling that he was indeed alive, but very changed. Perhaps Jeanette would not want him now that he was not whole, and perhaps it was the price that God was exacting from him for his sins. He was lethargic with exhaustion even though he had only been awake long enough to take a drink, and he felt utterly wretched.
‘Sleep now,’ said the priest. ‘I will return shortly and dress your wound and see if you will take some broth and bread.’
When he had gone, Otto plumped Thomas’s pillow. ‘I am glad you are still here,’ he said.
Thomas was not sure he felt the same way. It might be better for all if he had died. They would grieve and then they would move on and he would have a hero’s memory in their thoughts. Jeanette would be free to wed again, and everything would return to the stream as if there had never been a flood. But if God had willed him to live, it must be for a purpose – or because he had more punishment to fulfil.
Sleep swept over him and this time it was dreamless and only lasted from noon to compline. When he woke again, he was lucid and hungry, and death’s shadow had left the room.
Jeanette went to her wedding in a state of numb shock, silently screaming for help but with none to be had. She had been convinced each morning that something would happen to prevent it. God would stop it somehow, but God was not listening – at least not to her.
Her mother and her uncle had kept her closely guarded, giving her no opportunity to speak out about her first marriage. Thomas might be dead, but potential for bringing scandal to the family remained, and she had been warned that if she said anything at all she would be severely punished and sent to a convent. From now on, her behaviour must be impeccable. They had taken her ring away by force, although she had managed to conceal the ruby and the little belt pendant from them.
She hated her wedding robes. Her undergown of pale gold silk was topped by an overgown of blue and gold brocade, heavy as a hauberk with a trailing hem that took four maids to hold when she walked. She was just the support to wear it and exhibit the wealth and importance of her family – a princess. The headdress was secured tightly to her scalp and her hair had been braided and coiled either side of her temples. Already her head ached from the tug against the pins. She thought of the simple elegance of her first wedding gown, worn from a choice of her daily clothes, and her hair loosely plaited, with barely a pin in sight. She remembered Thomas’s hands in her hair and the melting sensations as they kissed, and lay together. The thought of having to do that with William Montagu made her want to vomit.
Her mother’s and Katerine’s ladies primped and fussed, tweaking and arranging. Queen Philippa had sent her a magnificent pearl brooch, and as she watched Hawise stab the pin into the fabric, it felt like a dagger in her flesh, even though her skin lay beneath miles of heavy cloth. She and Hawiseexchanged a knowing look. So much enforced silence adding to the oppressive weight of the burden she carried.
Her mother, wearing a severe but splendid gown of embroidered dark blue velvet, looked her up and down, and brushed an imaginary speck from Jeanette’s shoulder. ‘Remember what I have told you,’ she said. ‘Remember our bargain. Your life can be comfortable, or not, and the same goes for those of your household who are attending you in service.’ She cast a withering glance at Hawise, who looked down and withdrew a pace.
‘Yes, mother, I remember our bargain with every breath I take,’ Jeanette said, filled with pain that it should come to this with no going back. The bridge was well and truly burning.
Her uncle Thomas, robed in velvet and furs, a gold chain around his neck, arrived to escort her to church. ‘It is time.’ He held out his arm. ‘You know what you must do. It is not about you this day, but about your duty to your lineage, and its future success.’
Still Jeanette hung back, trying to delay the inevitable.
‘I know you are afraid and that you do not want to do this,’ her uncle said, ‘but many young women feel exactly as you do at the outset. The boy is nothing to be afraid of, and if you are a good wife, you will do well together. It will be of great benefit to you to have a settled home and a family away from the court, and one day you shall be a countess, just like your mother.’
Jeanette swallowed bile. Her uncle was a hypocrite. He had married his own wife, Blanche of Lancaster, for love when he was eighteen and without royal consent. Indeed, he had been heavily fined for it, even if the bride’s father had approved. However, he appeared to have conveniently forgotten the circumstances of his own match in his determination to push hers through. His wife, her aunt Blanche, was kind andsympathetic, but neutral, and she could tell everyone thought she was making a fuss over nothing.
Waiting at the church door was Lord Montagu, Earl of Salisbury, with his household, everyone robed in rich winter furs and heavy fabrics. Her husband-to-be, golden-haired and handsome, stood beside his father. At thirteen years old, his features were still cherubic and boyish, but with a glint of hair on his upper lip. The thought of sharing a bed with him repulsed her. She prayed she would not have to consummate the marriage, but knew it would probably happen, for an unconsummated marriage was one that could be dissolved and they would want to secure her dowry and the tie of bloodline. She had nowhere to turn and nowhere to run. The King and Queen were present as witnesses, and both were smiling with benign delight.
The Bishop of London, Ralph Stratford, was present to marry them, adorned in his full robes of office. Closer and closer drew the moment until it was upon her, and the weight of the burden increased until she felt as though she was being crushed. She mumbled her responses without raising her eyes, and refused to look at William Montagu as he pushed the thick gold wedding ring on to her finger. Unable to bear what was taking place, she shut herself away, and it was an emotionless shell that made its way through the ceremony. It was not happening to her, but to someone else who stood in her place.
Following the wedding mass, the party processed to a banquet in the great hall and Jeanette had to rest her hand along her new husband’s arm. His manner was supercilious, and she wanted to kick him. She told herself that soon he would return to Prince Edward’s household to continue his military training, while she would live at court and they would only meet in formal circumstances. Just a few more hours and it would all be over.
The wedding feast involved numerous courses and entertainments to celebrate the marriage and while away the long winter afternoon. Dancers, jugglers and tumblers performed by the light of torch and candle and fire. Beef in rich sauce glistened in the dishes. There was wheat frumenty with spices and dried fruits. White bread, sweet raisin wines and almond sugar-paste, which the pregnant Queen consumed in large quantities.
When it came time for the bedding ceremony, Jeanette retreated further into the shadow-life and let the shell take her place.
A sumptuous chamber had been prepared for the event with braziers burning to keep the cold at bay and the bed piled with covers and furs.
The Queen kissed Jeanette warmly on the cheek, and taking her hand, placed it on her own pregnant belly. ‘May fortune favour you tonight,’ she said. ‘I shall pray that you conceive an heir for your lord.’
Jeanette almost gagged. She swallowed hard, and Philippa pinched her cheek. ‘Do not be shy now,’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘All will be well; it is a natural thing.’
But it wouldn’t be well, it would never be, however anyone tried to cloak it. And it didn’t seem a natural thing at all.
The Queen stepped back and the King took Jeanette’s hand and patted it. ‘You must put the past behind you,’ he said, his expression benign, but warning in his voice. ‘It is time to settle down and find fulfilment in becoming a good and dutiful wife.’ He chucked her chin and looked into her face. ‘Courage, my dear. You were always a wilful child, but now you have it within you to become a strong woman, and one day a great matriarch. Listen and learn, and you will do very well.’ He kissed her cheek, released his grip, and took his leave.
‘Remember what I have taught you,’ her mother said when her turn came. ‘Do not disgrace your family.’
‘I do not think my family could carry any more disgrace than has already been heaped upon it at this moment,’ Jeanette replied in a low voice.
Her mother narrowed her eyes. ‘You are a wife now,’ she said curtly. ‘Do your duty.’
