Hawise took her cloak, curtseyed to Jeanette, and sped from the room on light feet.
Jeanette folded over, her face in her hands, feeling utterly wretched.
In the stables, Thomas shuddered, then drew a deep breath. He knew Jeanette was not lying. She had asked him to get her out of the marriage, and he had felt a treacherous glimmer of hope that there might be a way forward, but he would have to wade through so much mire to do so, and against such odds. Was it worth it? Why not just burn his own marriage contracts, swear the witnesses to silence, and ride away? The priest was dead, and he knew Otto would be relieved.
He gazed at the ruby she had returned to him, glinting like a dull red coal in his hand. And then he put it in his pouch and turned to harnessing the stallion.
Otto arrived as he was adjusting the girths. ‘Where are you going? The King will be asking for you.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘I cannot go and I cannot stay,’ he said. ‘I am caught in limbo.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
Thomas regarded his brother’s earnest, troubled face and shook his head. ‘No. I am in sore need of my own company for a while.’
‘I take it you have spoken with Jeanette?’
Thomas strapped his travelling pack to the back of the saddle with his spare cloak and bed roll. ‘They told her I was dead. She says she was forced into the match with William Montagu and has asked me to help her.’
Otto lifted his brows. ‘That is a tall and dangerous order.’
Thomas set his foot in the stirrup. ‘Since when has that ever been a hindrance?’
‘Never, so far, but you keep on raising the stakes.’
Thomas swung into the saddle and gathered the reins. ‘The higher the stakes, the greater the prize – so they say.’
‘But the greater the loss if the gamble fails,’ Otto warned.
Thomas puffed out his breath. ‘I need to think and I cannot do that with Jeanette a breath away from my body. If anyone enquires after me, including the King, say you do not know where I am, but you are certain I shall return soon.’
Otto rumpled his hair, making it stick up more than ever. ‘Well, make sure you do not make a lie of my certainty,’ he said, to which Thomas raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgement before turning his rein to the gate.
Leaving Langley, Thomas rode along the river bank for several miles. Eventually, at dusk, he pitched his makeshift canvas shelter under an oak tree, and hobbled the stallion to graze. Gazing up at the stars, his arms pillowing his head, he wondered what everything was about. All of this small petty striving set against God’s great firmament.
Did he want to fight for Jeanette, or did he want to leave it all behind and pretend it had never happened? But he had never been any good at pretending. Jeanette was his wife – that was the heart of the matter, encapsulated in an imperfect red jewel. She had beseeched him to help her. God alone knew what pressure she had been put under to agree to the marriage, and she had thought him dead.
If he made his claim before the King now, he would not succeed for there was too great a boulder blocking his road. He needed to find a way forward or around. He had to find allies at court, and someone he could trust to give him an honest opinion and support while remaining pragmatic. Not Otto, who might be loyal and stalwart but barely hid the notion that while he supported Thomas, he thought him mad and that he should move on to pastures new. His consideration landed on John de Warenne, his sister’s lover. John would have the understanding, and the legal knowledge, because of his own enduring marriage dispute. He would know who to approach, and what to do.
Eventually, he fell asleep, wrapped in his cloak, while the stars wheeled above him, and the world turned. When he woke in the grey pre-dawn light, the dew was glistening on the grass, and as he broke his fast on stale bread and a lump of cheese, he knew his road, even if the boulder still remained.
The King greeted Thomas cordially later that morning as the trestles were being set up for dinner, remarking that he was glad to see him returned, and sorry that he had been wounded. Nothing in his demeanour suggested disapproval or knowledge of the clandestine marriage. Everything seemed to have been swept into a neat pile and disposed of by others. The King was relaxed and intent on military matters.
‘It has not affected my ability in the field, sire,’ Thomas said, keen to dispel any notion that he was now infirm. ‘I am eager to serve you in any way you wish.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Edward replied, ‘for I shall have need of your services, and even if you cannot fight, you are invaluable to me as a quartermaster.’
‘Sire, I assure you I can fight,’ Thomas said vehemently. ‘My injury has only increased my will to prove myself. You will not find me lacking in any part – indeed the opposite.’
Edward raised his brows at Thomas’s intensity. ‘Well, we shall see. I am glad to have you back, as is the Queen, and I shall send you to her now.’ He waved to an usher and gave him the order. ‘I’ll need you for organising the campaign in Brittany at summer’s end.’
‘Sire.’ Thomas bowed. ‘May I then request your leave to visit my mother in the meantime?’
‘As you wish, but be back within a month.’ The King waved his dismissal and Thomas bowed once more and followed the servant out.
The Queen’s chamber was occupied by a multitude of seamstresses busily creating and embellishing the lavish wardrobe demanded by a royal lady. Italian silks and velvets in opulent tints and shades of violet, crimson and emerald green were spread across trestle tables. Bags of gemstones far-travelled from the mines in India and Ceylon, pearls and gold and silver wire. Linens, soft, clean and white in contrast, decorated with delicate German smocking. The spaces between the industrious seamstresses were occupied by maids and nursemaids, servants and clerks, dogs and scribes. The Queen was busy with one of the latter, but looked up at Thomas’s arrival, and a smile lit her face. ‘Ah, Thomas!’ She beckoned to him, then set her hand over her rounded belly. She was notcurrently pregnant, but the constant bearing of children had taken its toll on her figure, as had the box of sweetmeats always at her side. Poppet, her squirrel, perched on her shoulder, eating almonds.
A concerned look crossed her face. ‘We were all so sorry to hear of your injury. Indeed, we were told that you had died, and I am deeply glad that our mourning was premature.’
