Now at last with the King’s return, the court was a different place, sparkling with danger and possibility. And a tourney was a magical thing – it was like the sugar pinnacle on a subtlety, and Jeanette was ready to devour every moment to the last sweet sliver.
A blare of trumpets heralded the parade of knights on to the field and she craned her neck to watch them ride past in their gorgeous array. The King led them out, clad in the red and snarling gold of England, trimmed with the blue and gold fleur de lys of his claim to the French throne. Heralds and squires, men at arms, accompanied him, their pike-tips flashing in the winter sun. The steam clouds rising from the horses made the array appear otherworldly. Indeed, some of the palfreys were decked out like unicorns with false golden horns twizzling from their brow harnesses.
Jeanette’s heart swelled with joy. The knights rode past the stands in their glittering parade armour and the ladies tossed their flowers over them in a bright shower. She cast her eyes avidly over the procession until her gaze lit upon a jet-black stallion barded in blue and gold, a coppery chestnut pacing in tandem. Here were the brothers Thomas and Otto Holland. Half rising, she threw her lapful of flowers, and watched them tumble against the men’s armour. One of the blooms caught between the mane of Thomas’s horse and the rein guard, and stayed there, the same rich blue as his surcoat.
He looked up, found her with his smile, and her cheeks burned as he saluted her. Lips parted, she followed him with her gaze, until her stare was interrupted by a warning hiss from Lady Katerine, who waved at her to sit down. She obeyed, but had to tap her toes and wriggle, unable to stay still.
The ensuing sport was so exciting that Jeanette spent her time on the edge of her seat, and only the threat of being made to leave the stands for indecorous behaviour kept her from jumping up and down. The knights rode at each other headlong and she gasped at their speed and skill. Even if much of the display was theatrical, with many of the moves worked out beforehand between the men, it was a thrilling spectacle, and a huge element of danger remained as the horses thundered towards each other and the lances cracked and shattered.
Between bouts, the knights and squires displayed their skills at the quintain. There were wrestling matches and demonstrations of weapon-craft in front of the lodges, the blades flickering with the speed of summer lightning.
Her heart in her mouth, her hands clammy, Jeanette watched Thomas Holland gallop down the lists on his powerful black. The staccato snorts of the horse and the drum of hooves on the hard turf vibrated through her own body. He punched his opponent clean out of the saddle with a direct strike, and turned at the end of the tilt to canter back, dismount and assist the fallen man to his feet, making sure he was all right, and slapping his shoulder. The black warhorse stood as meekly as a lamb behind the men, but eventually shoved Thomas in the back with his nose, to laughter and applause from the stands. Thomas bowed to their audience, then tapped the stallion’s shoulder to make him bend a foreleg and bow too. Then he leaped into the saddle and rode off to ecstatic cheers.
Jeanette’s body rioted with overwhelming emotions she had no experience to name and she could not take her eyes from Thomas and his horse as they left the field.
He rode again several more times, taking two more opponents in clear victory and conceding a draw to Lady Katerine’s husband William Montagu, Earl of Salisbury. The latter, in contrast to Thomas’s light-hearted fluidity, sat solidlyin the saddle, treating the joust as serious warfare rather than play. That Thomas emerged with a draw and unscathed was in itself a kind of victory, applauded in the lodges.
Thomas and his brother also demonstrated their sword skills to the spectators. The display, carefully choreographed, was still a dangerous dance, so fast that the blades were a silver blur. These were the elite young knights in the service of England’s king. Highly trained, virile and ambitious, their talent was displayed not only as entertainment for the English court, but to show King Edward’s Flemish allies how strong a contender he was for the French throne with men such as these in his entourage. Jeanette watched, enthralled. Thomas was elegant but powerful and as light on his feet as a swallow in flight.
When it came time for the Queen to present the prizes, William Montagu was awarded the accolade of supreme champion of the tourney, receiving a silver gilt aquamanile in the shape of a knight on horseback, and a bright plume of peacock feathers to adorn his helmet. His wife looked on, flushed with pride. Jeanette thought with partisan indignation that it was only because Montagu was an earl and the King’s close friend that he had been awarded the prize. Thomas had been as good, if not better.
Nevertheless, the Holland brothers received a pair of engraved silver bowls for their sword skills. As they knelt to receive their reward, Jeanette noticed with a flash of excitement that Thomas had threaded her blue flower through a band on his sleeve. She watched him avidly for a look or a sign, but his attention was focused on the King and Queen, and then he and Otto bowed and moved on to make way for the next prize winner.
Jeanette would have rushed after him, but it was impossible, and anyway, she would not have known what to say. She felt giddy, as though she had been drinking effervescent wine, andonce more received a sharp reprimand to sit still and behave, this time from Lady St Maur, her eyes narrow with disapproval.
Leaving the stands a short while later with the Queen’s entourage, Jeanette walked across the frozen ground where Thomas had fought with Otto and felt a sudden sharpness under her shoe. Wincing in pain, she looked down and saw a small, shield-shaped belt pendant sticking out of the mud at a slanted angle. The piece was enamelled with the Holland blazon of a golden lion on an azure background. Her heart leaped, for it was a sign!
‘What’s that?’ Joan asked her as she stooped to pick it up.
‘It’s a belt fitting,’ Jeanette said. ‘It must have fallen off during the fighting.’ She closed her fist over it. ‘I shall keep it for luck, and to remember this day.’ And because it belonged to Thomas, but Joan didn’t need to know that.
Holding hands with the little princesses, Joan on one side and Isabelle the other, Jeanette stepped with the household maidens in a round dance they had been practising for the pleasure of the King, the Queen and their guests. The knights had performed their part in parade and joust; now it was the turn of the court damsels to provide an entertainment.
Jeanette was a light and skilful dancer. She loved moving her body and adored music. No one called her to task, and her willowy grace commanded approving smiles. She wore her thick golden hair in an ornate braid decorated with a chaplet of evergreen and red berries. A red velvet gown clung to her lithe body. Her shoes were gilded green leather with lozenge-shaped cut-outs. Her white silk hose, fine as gossamer, were a gift from the Queen. The allowance she received from her mother did not run to such extravagance. Every now and again Jeanette flicked her gown to show a momentary peek of her ankle, embraced by the delicate strap of her shoe.
Dancing before the court, relishing the moment, she experienced a sensation of power. Thomas Holland was standing among a group of household knights and she tried to catch his eye. He looked up once, and smiled at her with impersonal courtesy, before tilting his head to listen to what a companion was saying.
The dance ended on a flourish of pipes, and the maidens swept curtseys and returned to their places on a wave of applause. Dishes of sugared fruit and nuts were handed round the tables, and a group of tumblers took their turn before the high table, juggling with balls, painted to look like golden apples. The young princesses were carried off to bed by their nurses, but the older maidens were permitted to stay a little longer. It was not just an indulgence of the season, but an opportunity for the royal family to display the young ladies – rare jewels in their wardship – as potential marriage partners for the right alliance.
Several women, including married ones, had gathered around the knights, eager to enjoy the presence of virile prowess. Jeanette watched Thomas laugh and flirt with the ladies every bit as much as they flirted with him. She fiercely willed him to look her way. At last he did, and, smiling, excused himself from the group and made his way across the room to her.
She inhaled the scent of rosemary and sandalwood from his clothes. His green household robe was different and newer, embellished with velvet. Pinned to his breast in a garland were several cloth-and-wire flowers that the ladies had cast earlier, including her own.
‘Demoiselle,’ he said, ‘I hope you enjoyed today’s sport?’
‘Indeed, yes,’ she replied. ‘You are wearing my flower, the blue one – I made it myself.’
‘Then I shall treasure it.’ Gravely amused, he touched the little decoration. ‘Which part of the tourney did you enjoy most?’
‘Why, that you all survived, of course,’ she answered pertly.
‘Would you expect otherwise? The King has every faith in us.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘Do you think you could hold a seat as well?’
Jeanette put her nose in the air. ‘I am a good enough rider, messire.’
‘I am sure you are – in many circumstances.’
His words sent a delicious frisson down her spine, and an awareness of danger. For him, it was clearly a routine exchange of courtly flirtation, for she sensed his attention wandering and knew he was about to move on.
