They clasped hands, and John departed with the empty satchel under his arm.
Thomas sat down heavily on the bench and, puffing out his breath, picked up the letters to read again. ‘I embarked on this road determined to see it through whatever the outcome,’ he said, and looked across at Otto. ‘I have often wondered if I was fooling myself – I know you have thought so.’
‘Many times,’ Otto admitted, ‘but the further you have travelled, the more I have realised it is your true path, even if the most difficult. I doubt you would know an easy road if you saw it. Even if I do not always agree with you, you have my respect.’
‘Thank you, brother,’ Thomas said. ‘They will claim the letters are forgeries, even with a seal, but each piece adds to the weight of our evidence and lightens the argument of theirs.’
Robert Beverley, back from Avignon, arrived in Windsor at dusk on the same day that the Queen gave birth to another healthy son, christened William. In the summer evening, banners fluttered from the walls and balconies of castle and town, and the air rang with joyous celebration. The church bells pealed the news, and messengers rode out to declare the birth across the land. The castle wards seethed with people carousing and dancing. The King was already planning a grand tourney to mark the birth and the Queen’s safe delivery.
Lantern light gleamed in the long twilight, softening the shadows. Master Beverley took a long drink from his cup. Although dusty and red-eyed from his day on the road, he was smiling as he addressed Thomas and Otto at a trestle table inside their tent.
‘I have good news,’ he said. ‘The Pope has responded with concern to your information about your wife’s confinement.The Archbishop of Canterbury and the bishops of London and Norwich have been instructed to enforce the matter of her right to speak freely and openly without coercion. I travelled from Avignon with the messenger myself, and I have a copy of the letter for your own document chest.’ He indicated the bulging satchel at his side. ‘I shall do my best to ensure the matter is dealt with swiftly and that your wife is permitted to report her side of the case in a full and thorough manner to someone who is not in the pay of other parties. I shall be at court for the next month, and then returning to Avignon – all being well.’
‘Thank Christ!’ Thomas said on a huge surge of relief. ‘They did not even allow her to attend her brother’s wedding, but kept her locked up at Bisham.’
‘Well, that will change under this decree,’ Beverley said, ‘although it does not mean she will have the freedom to come to court unless expressly summoned by the King or Queen. However, her attorney will be expected to make a full accounting without bias or prejudice.’
He sat back as Thomas’s squire arrived from a cookshop with a roast hen on a platter, white bread, and a dish of green herb sauce.
‘How will that be enforced?’
‘A member of the clergy could attend,’ he said, ‘or perhaps an independent witness, or a family member without a particular bias.’
‘Her brother might be willing,’ Thomas said. ‘He is now the Earl of Kent and wishes to see justice done. Indeed, I have my own letters for you and evidence that the Dowager Countess of Kent knew of the first marriage, and discussed it with the Countess of Salisbury.’
Beverley paused, a piece of chicken halfway to his lips. ‘That is indeed useful information.’
‘The Earl of Kent will swear to finding the documents in the family strongbox and to handing them over to me.’
‘Excellent!’ Beverley attended to his food for a moment, then wiped his lips on a napkin. ‘I have every hope of winning this case. William Montagu’s attorney is accomplished, but he is no match for our evidence.’ He laid his chicken bones at the side of his dish and picked up the second leg. ‘I should warn you to expect some delay – there is serious pestilence in many of the cities of the south.’
Thomas frowned. ‘We have heard rumours, and some say it is creeping closer to our shores. Do you know its nature?’
‘I have not seen it for myself, but I have heard from those who have, and two people of my acquaintance at the papal court have died.’ He shook his head, his expression sombre. ‘If you catch the ordinary pox or the mezils, you have a chance of surviving – sometimes scarred, it is true, but you will live out your lifespan. Some die, some live. But I have not yet heard of anyone who has survived this new disease. It kills whoever it touches, whatever their condition in life. It starts with fever and malaise. Some folk void their stomachs, some do not, but soon swellings like eggs appear in the neck and armpits and groin and they quickly become black and putrid. Other lesions fester on the body and the dying person often coughs up gouts of blood. By the end, and by the mercy and pity of God, they are insensible. A man may come home, eat his dinner, play with his children, love his wife, and within a week every one of them will be dead or dying.’
The attorney crossed himself, and so did Thomas, alarmed, for Robert Beverley was pragmatic and not given to flights of fancy.
‘Some say it is God’s punishment and we should be better Christians, but whatever the reason this pestilence brings instant death,’ Beverley went on. ‘Will England escape? I doubt it. For all that we have a moat and barrier of sea, we trade widely,and travel between cities on our business. Sooner or later it will come here and then God help all in its path.’
Hearing this, fear shivered up Thomas’s spine. What if all this striving was for nothing? When death came calling, there was no recourse to appeal.
‘I say we should continue as we are but take precautions,’ Beverley said. ‘We should be humbler before God than is our wont, and keep ourselves shriven and in a state of grace. That is all we can do.’ He finished his wine and rose to leave. ‘I should go. I have much to do and the Queen to attend on the morrow, but we shall speak again soon, and I thank the Earl of Kent for his cooperation.’
When he had gone, Thomas rubbed his jaw and looked at Otto. ‘Sobering news,’ he said. It made him even more determined to win his case, but he had a gnawing feeling that time was not just passing, it was running through his hands, and running out.
29
Windsor Castle, Berkshire, June 1348
Summoned to the court at Windsor by royal invitation, Jeanette arrived on a glorious June evening and was glad to step from the cart, for riding with Lady Elizabeth was always a trial. Katerine and Elizabeth had been tight-lipped at the summons, but could not ignore a royal command. Jeanette knew she would be closely guarded, but still hoped to find a way to speak with Thomas.
Numerous brightly striped tents crowded the castle precincts, hosting a huge gathering of nobility, here to celebrate Queen Philippa’s churching after little William’s birth, and to attend a grand tourney to honour the new prince and his mother.
Jeanette’s stomach tightened with anxiety. It had been an age since she had been among so many people and it was like going from a diet of bread and water to a vast banquet. It left her feeling overwhelmed and nauseous.
The Salisbury lodgings consisted of three silk and canvas tents erected in front of the castle keep, and Katerine hustled her through the flaps and behind a partition at the back of the tent. ‘Do not think that you shall be gadding about the tourney field,’ she warned. ‘You shall be a proper wife and remain under supervision until expressly summoned by the King and Queen.’
Jeanette deigned not to reply. Something had hardened and matured within her over the past few years as she had realised that even in a state of supposedly being powerless, a disdainful silence was insurmountable, and gave her control and power of her own. They might be constraining her, but she treated them as if they did not exist.
