‘Yes, I do know, and I also know the cost.’ Otto grimaced. ‘The only way forward is to increase your reputation as a battle captain and become indispensable to the King, and by taking rich ransoms. You will have to put yourself in the thick of the fight.’
Thomas met his brother’s candid gaze. ‘If I forfeit my life, then it will be honourably, and if I succeed, I shall have the resources to claim Jeanette. I cannot trust the English Church – they will support the King and the Montagus. I will take my claim to the papal court at Avignon – eventually. It doesn’t matter what trials are set before me, I will accomplish them or die in the attempt.’ He gave Otto a twisted smile. ‘Is that not what it means to be a true knight of the Round Table?’
Jeanette arrived at the tourney ground in the great courtyard to the south of the royal lodgings. The Salisbury matriarchs were keeping her under close domestic guard and had warned herthat a single word out of place would result in dire consequences for everyone, including Thomas Holland. The onus was on her to discourage him if she did not want to see him come to harm.
Jugs of hot spiced wine were being served to the spectators to keep them warm. Jeanette’s gown and cloak were lined with fur, and the obligatory thick wimple covered her tightly coiled hair. The tension was giving her a headache and she rubbed her temples.
Thomas and Otto had positions as two of the twenty-four knights of the Round Table – Sir Gareth and Sir Gawain – as they prepared, with their fellow chevaliers, to take on all challengers. The Earl of Salisbury in the role of Sir Bors was puffing about, filled with self-importance, his bluster exacerbated by his bad mood. There were mummers, tumblers, folk in fantastical disguises. A dancing bear muzzled and chained.
Jeanette had to look at Thomas. It was like a sailor’s sunstone, seeking its true path across the ocean. He caught her eye and kissed his hand as he had done before. She copied his gesture in a brief flare of defiance, but she was anxious about him in the lists. He would be at a disadvantage, having the sight of only one eye and with the possible threat from the Salisbury faction. Crossing herself, she prayed to God and St Michael, patron of soldiers, to protect him.
The tourney commenced with a series of demonstrations from the squires and aspiring knights. Prince Edward displayed his skills at the tilting ring, riding his new destrier – not the one he had shown Jeanette three years ago, which he had outgrown, but another grey named Wilfrid, taller and stronger with a black mane and tail. Despite her worries, Jeanette was able to laugh and cheer him on as he slid every single garlanded ring on to his lance from the target with smooth skill, and he did look magnificent on his new horse – well made, lithe and beautiful.Glowing with pride, the Queen stood up to applaud his prowess. Edward saluted the stands, made his mount half rear, and cantered off with a flourish.
William Montagu performed the same deed and acquitted himself almost as well as Edward, to great acclaim. Jeanette watched, recognising his skill but feeling dull inside. She knew she should give praise where it was due, but sat with her hands in her lap, frozen.
After the smaller contests and some jousts and tilts run by the young knights to prove their valour came the main event while the winter light was at its zenith, and the knights chosen to represent the King’s Round Table paraded out to take on all comers.
Thomas was riding Noir and the stallion’s black coat was winter-plush where it showed between the blue and gold barding of the Holland heraldry. Noir’s nostrils were wide, his ears pricked as he high-stepped and tossed his head. Jeanette’s heart was so full of pride and fear she was certain it would burst. She had seen Thomas joust before many times in Flanders – could still remember that first time – but the sensations now were magnified to the point of pain.
The knights took turns to ride against challengers who had come to be tried in the arena. It was a way of recruiting youngsters with ability, and an opportunity for the King and his seasoned captains to see who might be worthy of sponsorship and promotion.
Jeanette tightly clasped her hands as she watched Thomas ride against Sir Reginald de Cobham, who was superbly skilled. Both men struck true and rocked each other in the saddle, but neither unhorsed the other, nor did they in the next two passes, and rode off the field together in camaraderie. Otto took on Robert Dalton and unhorsed him, and then was himselfunhorsed by an eager Flemish knight, but emerged unharmed and bowed to the crowd.
The bouts and jousts continued. Jeanette tensed whenever Thomas rode, but relaxed and took pleasure in the sport when he was not on the field. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself and showed no lessening in skill despite his compromised vision, which made her appreciate the fierceness of his will and determination.
The glimpses she caught of him on the side-lines showed him comfortable in the company of other knights, talking easily, slapping shoulders, and she experienced a flicker of envy that he was free to do this in his natural surroundings, while she was trapped with these two women, who were biding their time until they could pack her off to Bisham again, or one of the Salisbury manors in Dorset, away from contact with the court.
The sun travelled low in the sky, slanting ruddy-gold light over the tourney field as the last bouts of the day were run through the mud. Jeanette folded her arms against the encroaching cold and watched Thomas ride off on Jet, his second-string stallion, followed by his squires with Noir on a lead rein. He dismounted at the corner of the lists, to stay and watch the final exchanges. His helmet removed, he glanced in her direction and gave her their hand kiss signal, which she returned. Neither Katerine nor Elizabeth noticed, for their attention was riveted on the field where the Earl of Salisbury was fretting his bay and facing his final challenger, a powerful Flemish knight by the name of Costen de Roos. The men had worked out a dramatic move to please the crowds and had been practising for several days.
At the herald’s signal, the men unleashed their destriers towards each other at thunderous speed; their lances cracked on their shields and shattered in a spray of splinters. The crowd roared, urging them on to a second run. Montagu turned the bigbay, but as he spurred down the lists again, the stallion skidded on the muddy ground, pitched forward and fell, tossing Montagu over the saddle and slamming him on the ground. The horse rolled to gain momentum, scrambled to its feet and galloped off, reins trailing. Katerine screamed, her hands pressed to her mouth, and people went running to the fallen man, including Thomas, while others sped to catch the horse.
The Flemish lord was out of the saddle and kneeling by Salisbury’s head. Jeanette saw Thomas tear off his scarf and hand it to one of the others bent over the Earl, who bound it around his arm in a tourniquet. Two attendants ran on to the field carrying a board and lifted the Earl on to it. The King’s surgeon arrived to walk at Montagu’s side as he was carried away to his tent.
Katerine stood up, her face white. Lady Elizabeth was gasping like a landed trout, and clutching her breast. ‘My son!’ she wheezed. ‘My son!’ Jeanette knew she should feel sorry for her, but that wasn’t the dark feeling in her heart.
Once within his tent, the Earl was laid upon his bed. Katerine and Elizabeth pushed their way through the press of folk surrounding him while Jeanette stood outside, peering in. She could hear the Earl groaning, so he wasn’t dead, but the sounds were of agonising injury.
Thomas came out of the tent and, seeing her, shook his head. ‘He fell on a lance splinter,’ he said, ‘and the horse has crushed his body.’ Blood from the Earl’s wound had spattered Thomas’s armour and his leg greaves were mud-caked. ‘He will die without a miracle.’ He looked round. ‘I won’t linger, but we must talk. Meet me in the garden by the long stable tomorrow morning after mass.’ He took her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and departed, calling to his squires.
Jeanette watched him walk away and took his words inside her like a golden light, before steeling herself to enter the tent.
The Earl was conscious but clearly in severe pain, with cold sweat clamming his face and his pupils wide, dark holes. William arrived, and stared in glassy shock at his father. A wave of unbidden compassion surged through Jeanette, and she briefly touched his arm, but he ignored her, his attention entirely on his father.
From what she was seeing, and from what Thomas had said, Jeanette suspected that he would not recover. William would become a ward of court under the King’s guidance and the earldom would be subject to administration until he came of age, which wouldn’t be for several years. What it meant for her own situation she did not know, but it would certainly change the future landscape.
The Earl was borne from his tent and taken to a room in the royal lodgings with a bed and brazier. The surgeon had managed to stem the bleeding in his arm and had stitched the wound. He had been dosed with poppy syrup to ease the pain but had several broken ribs, heavy bruising from the fall and crushing injuries down one side of his body.
The King came to visit him, and gazed at his friend, propped against the pillows, his face grey. ‘I am sorry,’ Edward said. ‘Rest and get better. I would not have had this happen to you in ten thousand years.’
The Earl mumbled a vague reply, barely opening his eyes.
The King turned from the bed to Katerine. ‘Kate . . . if I had known, I would never have held this tournament. If there is anything I can do . . . I will help you in any way I can, you know that.’
A long look passed between them. ‘Thank you, sire,’ Katerine said. ‘I have sore need of your wisdom and guidance.’
Observing the way their eyes met, Jeanette was jolted into sudden awareness. That look was entirely familiar, for she recognised it from her own situation with Thomas. Well, well.
The King lifted his hands as if not knowing what to do, then awkwardly patted Katerine’s shoulder. ‘I will return tomorrow and see how he fares. He has the services of my physician, and I shall pray for him and beg God’s mercy.’
