Prince Edward joined them, and Katerine had to curtsey. He acknowledged everyone’s deference, and grinned at William. ‘I hope you’ll be returning to Berkeley after Christmas, but I’llunderstand if you do not!’ he said, winking at him, then turned to Jeanette. ‘I am so glad to see you here, cousin. If you need cheering up as my mother says, I promise you masques and dances and tourneys. There will be no time to be glum, not at this great “Round Table”.’
Jeanette smiled, because this was Edward and his humour and friendship always lifted her spirits, even if it was more of a candle flicker than a steady flame. ‘I am glad to see you too, sire,’ she murmured.
Her brother John had been standing behind Edward, and now came forward to kiss her. ‘Sister,’ he said. ‘How is it with you?’
Jeanette gave him a look. What did he know? He was three years younger. His close friends were Edward and William, and he truly had no notion of the reality for her. ‘I am glad to be back at court,’ she said, and meant it, but with a horrible churning in her stomach when she thought of the false life she was leading. But confiding in anyone would only see her forced back into house arrest.
As they returned in a group to their tents in the lower ward, a party of knights arrived from the training ground, jesting together after their exertions, exuberant, red-faced, breath smoking the air. Jeanette’s gaze lit on Otto, and then Thomas at his side, and she inhaled sharply. So hewasback then! He was deep in conversation with another knight but looked up, and for a fleeting moment their eyes met with an intensity like fire. And then the groups passed each other and the moment moved on, but she was shaken, and desperate to escape somehow and speak to him.
In the late winter afternoon, the court had gathered in the King’s Great Hall in the lower bailey to feast on small dainties and be entertained by minstrels, tumblers and tale tellers. Thebuilding had been transformed into the court of King Arthur for the duration of the winter festivities. Hangings of painted canvas draped the walls, festooned with swatches of evergreen. Embroidered hassocks covered the tiered benches and white napery cloths gleamed on the tables. Glass goblets and dishes of silver-gilt adorned the high table itself.
King Edward presided over the packed hall, not just playing at but becoming King Arthur, with Queen Philippa beside him as his Guinevere. He wore red velvet, embroidered with golden lions, and Philippa the same. Poppet had a collar stitched with gold crowns and acorns from which dangled a leash of golden leather.
Jeanette had been presented with a crimson velvet gown trimmed with ermine, and a gem-set gold circlet for her hair, engraved with running deer. She had been given the part of a court damsel and been presented with an obligatory basket of artificial petals to throw at the knights and performers as they entertained the crowd with feats and tumbling skills.
Thomas stood among the knights gathered around the King and Queen, resplendent in his royal livery of forest-green and scarlet velvet. Jeanette watched him, pouring all her love, longing and frustration into her stare. He avoided looking at her, keeping his focus firmly on the King and Queen.
For the next entertainment, a group of knights disguised in costumes of green rags and dyed red feathers leaped into the centre of the room, twirling and dancing before their audience as ‘wild men of the woods’ brandishing crude wooden clubs. Jeanette saw Thomas unobtrusively leave the room. She started to follow him but her wrist was immediately grasped by her mother-in-law. ‘Stay with me,’ Katerine commanded. ‘I know your propensity for wandering off and there are too many young knights here with their eye on a chance.’
Jeanette set her jaw and looked at Katerine with loathing.
The wild woodmen cavorted and danced in their ragged costumes, uttering halloos, striking their wooden batons against each other, click-clack. A core of them performed an intricate percussion in the middle of the room to the lustful wail of bagpipes, while those at the edges ran at the young women, leaping and leering, wagging their backsides, their behaviour straddling a delicious line between outrage and stomach-clenching mirth, making their victims scream.
When they eventually capered from the chamber, uttering loud wails and unearthly shrieks, the squires and naperers came around the tables and boards with dishes of nuts and sweetmeats, and replenished the jugs. To a fanfare of trumpets at the end of the hall, the doors swung open and Thomas Holland rode into the room on Noir. The stallion’s mane was combed over to one side in a rippling black waterfall twined with red artificial flowers and his harness and breast pieces were spangled with gold stars. Thomas wore a royal livery robe, but of a different style with fancy dagging at the hem and sleeve ends, each point stitched with a golden crotal bell.
He made Noir rear and paw the air, and when he dropped to all fours, Thomas leaped up on to the saddle and stood with his hands on his hips, smiling broadly. He performed a back-flip over Noir’s rump and then made the horse lie down, stretch out its neck and pretend to be dead. He selected a young page from the audience to come and cup his hand over the horse’s ear and whisper the magic words of revival. Noir snorted, pushed to his feet and shook himself, to great laughter and applause.
Thomas commanded him to paw the ground with his hooves to count out how many children the King and Queen had, right leg for the boys and left leg for the girls. And finally, at a touch, Noir bowed his head and foreleg before the diners at the high table. Philippa clapped, enchanted, and threw Thomas a soft velvet purse of coins. The King’s son John offered Noir anapple, which the stallion took with precise delicacy before loudly crunching it up. Man and horse bowed once more. Thomas leaped back into the saddle and rode out. On the way, Noir snatched a hat off someone’s head to raucous applause, and Thomas retrieved it and set it on his own.
Jeanette’s hands stung with clapping and her heart brimmed with pride. She remembered how he had always been teaching Noir such tricks when they were in Flanders. Some people had frowned on it, but Thomas said that a fully trained horse was a partnership you could trust in battle.
Katerine’s lips were tightly pursed, but her husband was cuffing tears of mirth from his eyes – until Katerine spoke to him in a low voice that did not carry but which wiped the humour from his face and replaced it with irritation.
When Thomas returned to the feast, to loud acclaim and whoops of delight, Katerine grabbed Jeanette’s arm. ‘Make one move towards that man and you shall be on the cart back to Bisham tomorrow morning, I swear,’ she warned, and drew her away into a tight group of ladies, which only increased Jeanette’s determination to find a way to speak with Thomas – even if it was to bid farewell.
Katerine personally escorted Jeanette back to the Salisbury tents and soon afterwards the Earl arrived, still looking annoyed. He sat down on a chair in the main tent and punched the fleece-stuffed back cushion. Then he regarded Jeanette, his brows drawn into a heavy frown.
‘I have heard arrant nonsense about this supposed marriage between you and Thomas Holland for almost three years now and I have held my tongue and left my wife to deal with the matter,’ he said. ‘But it seems I must step in. I well know these young bucks at court and their ways, especially those Holland boys. Without them the Flanders brothels would not have turned so great a profit while we were there. Do you really thinka match between you and the younger son of a disgraced knight will stand up to scrutiny? You were married in church to our son and the match has been consummated. We have clear evidence and reliable witnesses, which is more than you have for your tawdry claim to be wed to Thomas Holland.’ He leaned forward, fixing her with his stare. ‘We were on campaign together for nine months and not once in that time did Holland broach the subject to me. Nor has he made any approach since we have returned. Why is that, do you think? Perhaps because it was never real? Perhaps because it was a foolish flirtation best forgotten by all?’
Jeanette swallowed a choking sensation of fear. What if he was right? ‘He is my husband, sworn before a friar and witnesses at the Abbey of Saint Bavo, and although my own mother took my ring and tore up one contract, there are others. There is plenty of evidence.’
The Earl raised a scornful brow. ‘So much evidence that Holland hasn’t seen fit to come forward to put his case?’
‘Because he has no funds to do so. God knows the truth.’
‘There was no first marriage,’ Katerine said coldly. ‘You would have needed the consent of your mother and the King, and since neither were forthcoming, it renders the matter null and void. The burden of proof may not fall on us, but such falsehood certainly falls upon our reputation. We shall not allow our honour to be sullied by your pernicious lies and silly delusions, and you shall certainly not be permitted to spread them abroad.’
‘They are not lies and delusions!’ Jeanette cried in distraught frustration. ‘I am telling the truth!’
‘I have heard enough,’ the Earl growled, and he looked at his wife and mother. ‘I see what you are up against. Take her from my sight and confine her until she learns that silence is a virtue. I shall speak to Holland myself, and see what can be done.’
Jeanette stood her ground, ready to fight, but a flick of the Earl’s fingers brought his squires from the side of the room, and they took her by the arms and dragged her away to a separate tent and set a guard. Lady Elizabeth followed and, leaning on her stick, regarded Jeanette with angry contempt. ‘I will tie you to the tent post if I must,’ she said.
Jeanette knew Elizabeth would do exactly as she threatened, and beat her too. She sat down on the bed, folded her arms and turned her head away, determined she would find a way to contact Thomas. If he believed the marriage was not real, then let him tell her himself.
* * *
Thomas was sitting on his bed polishing his tourney armour, and Otto was resting on his own pallet, arms behind his head, when a squire put his head through the tent flap to announce that the Earl of Salisbury desired to have words.
