‘Nowhere,’ Jeanette whispered in reply. ‘I felt sick, and did not want to wake everyone or make more of a stench than there is.’
‘Really?’ Joan’s voice was sceptical.
‘Girls, hush, what are you gossiping about?’ Katerine’s head rose off her pillow. ‘Jeanette, I might have known. Be silent, you will wake the Queen.’
Jeanette murmured an apology, but under the blanket stuck out her tongue in Katerine’s direction.
She thought it would take an age to fall asleep, but slumber washed over her in swift, smooth undulations with the motion of the ship, and in moments she had left the world.
Thomas returned to his own part of the deck, for, as he had said, he was not her keeper. That was up to the women. The passion with which she had spoken about experiencing the voyage rather than sleeping had, however, surprised him, for he would not have expected such a profound thought to occupy the head of a flighty young girl, and she was indeed flighty, no doubt of that – but so very alluring.
Otto was dozing, arms folded behind his head, but cocked an eye at his return. ‘You were gone a while.’
‘One of the Queen’s damsels was out of the nest – watching the stars if you please – never been to sea before.’ Thomas unhooked a leather wine bottle from a peg on the ship’s side and took a swig before telling Otto what she had said.
‘This was the one who was watching you earlier?’ Otto accepted the bottle from Thomas and put it to his own lips.
Thomas sat down and drew his cloak over his long legs. Earlier, judicious enquiry had informed him that she was the King’s cousin, daughter of Edmund of Woodstock and a considerable marriage prize. ‘Yes, but I only happened on her – it wasn’t an assignation if that was what you were thinking.’
Otto passed the bottle back to him. ‘No, you wouldn’t be so stupid when we are clawing back our family’s reputation,’ he said pointedly. ‘What was she doing wandering the ship in the dark?’
Thomas adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. ‘She wasn’t “wandering the ship”, she was standing at the side to take it all in. She made me remember what it was like to experience something for the first time and to be full of wonder at the world.’
Otto snorted. ‘Well, that is fine for a squire, but not for a royal ward. Mark me, she has the potential to cause trouble.’
Thomas said nothing. He liked high spirits in anything, be it horse or falcon, man or woman. In girls of her age and status, the flame was fleeting, stamped out by life’s brutal practicalities, but he sensed an underlying tenacity in her. A bright, fiery lack of compliance. He recognised the danger, but as a soldier he lived with danger and balancing risks every day of his life. The trick was not to fall. Otto was right: she did indeed have the potential to cause trouble – and that made him smile.
3
Antwerp, Flanders, July 1338
In the house where the royal family were lodging, having arrived in Antwerp earlier that day, Jeanette sat with her maid, Hawise, and Joan Bredon listening to a musician singing a lai of King Arthur and felt irritated when Lady Katerine ordered them to retire to bed. The story had just reached the part where Sir Gawain had arrived at the castle of the Green Knight. Jeanette knew the tale by heart, but was always enthralled by the clandestine, forbidden kiss between Gawain and the Green Knight’s lady – the perfect knight resisting the ultimate temptation, until brought to the point of his downfall by a beautiful woman. However, it was useless to argue with Lady Katerine who was still in a sharp and queasy mood after their crossing, especially when Lady St Maur was backing her up.
They were lodged in a fine house by the river while more permanent quarters were made ready and the royal household was cramped together in more proximity than usual, although the soldiers were camped under canvas in nearby orchards.
Jeanette, Joan and Hawise left their places, curtseyed goodnight to the gathering, and climbed the simple ladder stairs to their sleeping quarters on the floor above which had a trapdoor that could be bolted to increase the women’s security. The King and Queen were housed in a more luxurious chamber on the other side of the building.
A series of pallets stuffed with straw lay the length of the room, each one covered by a linen sheet, with a blanket folded on every bed. It was hardly the height of luxury, but Jeanette was accustomed to such when travelling, and this was only for a night or two.
Without space for major disrobing, the girls helped each other to remove their shoes and outer gowns, and loosened each other’s laces. Hawise helped Jeanette to take the gold pins from her hair and softly plaited it for comfort. A swift wash of hands and face, a prayer to God and His Holy Mother, and it was time to snuff the candles.
Jeanette listened to the other girls and their attendants settling down. Joan was sneezing from the straw in her pallet. Petronella had an irritating dry cough. Jeanette wondered if she would be allowed to visit the markets of Antwerp with their interesting array of goods, many from exotic lands filled with strange creatures. Perhaps she would buy John a monkey, which she would train and feed almonds, or instead a green popinjay in a cage with a belled red collar around its neck. A fan of peacock feathers, a new hood for her hawk. Silk belts, hair combs set with pearls. She closed her eyes, imagining the stalls, and the cries of the street sellers. She saw a man balancing a tray of hot pies on his head. Indeed, they were so hot that they were burned and smoking from the oven, and as she tried to avoid their acrid stench, she awoke to Joan shouting in her ear and shaking her.
‘Get up, Jeanette, get up! Quickly! Fire!’
She sat up with a jerk; the acrid scent of burning was real and powerful and she could taste smoke in her mouth. Some of the girls had begun to scream and cry out in panic.
Petronella ran to the trap door and yanked it open, but smoke roiled through the hole, and she reeled back, choking. Jeanette darted forward and slammed the door down, then turned back into the room, coughing hard, her heart hammering. Everyone knew about stray sparks in summer heat and how swiftly a small fire could become a deadly conflagration. Dear Holy Virgin, she wasn’t ready to die with her life unlived.
‘Enough of this!’ Lady St Maur’s voice rose above the wails of panic and distress. She banged a candlestick upon a coffer to draw everyone’s attention. ‘You are like a gaggle of foolish poultry. The next girl that screams, I shall slap! All of you, gather your things together, and return to me in good order. Quickly now!’ She nodded to Katerine of Salisbury, who stood a little to one side, her eyes wide and lips tight. ‘My lady, if it please you, will you unbar the window shutters?’
Katerine went immediately to work with her maid, ramming the latches back and drawing the shutters wide. The window arches were narrow, with perhaps just enough width in them for a person to squeeze through.
Jeanette hurried to her bed, swept her cloak around her shoulders and bundled up her gown, headdress and jewel coffer in the sheet, tying a knot in the top. Although focused and tense, she was not terrified, but instead was filled with a strange, fierce exhilaration. Several girls were weeping and stumbling about, foolish with terror. A sharp snapping sound came from the room below, and then a roar as the flames took hold of some object. Tendrils of smoke began seeping up through the floorboards, and Lady St Maur’s palm cracked across Petronella’s cheek with a savage admonition to stop screaming.
Jeanette darted to the windows and shouldered up against Katerine’s maid, making room to peer down. Torches wavered underneath, where a party of soldiers had gathered. Someone had set a bucket chain in motion, and people were passing pailsfrom hand to hand and beating at the fire with brooms. Several more soldiers arrived at a trot carrying a long ladder, and heaved it up against the window. One man climbed up while another held the base of the ladder. Jeanette twisted to look round and saw the thickening fog of smoke rising through the floor cracks, and the taste of smoke thickened in her nose and throat.
The soldier arrived at the top of the ladder and spoke through the window. ‘There’s a ladder to the ground, ladies,’ he said briskly. ‘You must make haste. I will come down beneath you, and guide you, but I pray you be swift.’ He gestured to Katerine of Salisbury. ‘You first, madam, if it please you.’
