Jeanette approached the Queen, who was preparing to go and sit in her place of honour to view the tournament parade and the first bouts of the day.
Yesterday in the Chapel of St George she had celebrated her churching and given thanks for the safe delivery of yet another royal son. Jeanette had felt a little sorry for Philippa, who had been barely visible, swamped by her robes of red velvet embroidered in gold and pearls and so heavy with gems and stitchery that the garments could have stood up on their own. The mantle, lined with miniver and ermine, was more fitting to a winter’s day than midsummer and Philippa’s face had been a flushed dusky red, almost matching her costume. There had been little opportunity for Jeanette to speak with her, for the Queen had been occupied with official ceremonies. Jeanette had not seen her afterwards either, beyond a curtsey, for so many others had been waiting to make their obeisance and the Montagus had declined to linger.
Today there was yet more ceremony and expectation to endure. This time Philippa was robed in blue velvet embroidered with golden birds and a ransom-weight of pearls. The display was utterly sumptuous but uncomfortable for its wearer despite her stoical smile. Jeanette, glad to be much more lightly gowned in her dusky pink velvet with a cream silk underdress, curtseyed.
‘It is a while since we have seen you at court,’ Philippa commented, ‘but I am pleased to see you among us again and I trust you are well.’
‘Yes, madam, and I thank you and the King for the summons,’ Jeanette replied gracefully. ‘I have missed being among company; I have missed my friends and my kin.’ She smiled at Joan Bredon, standing among the Queen’s ladies holding Poppet, who was wearing his golden acorn collar.
Philippa turned to her jewel box to select the rings and brooches she would wear to add to her already glittering array. ‘We have missed you too, but we have been aware of your progress. I would not want you to think you were being ignored. Indeed, you have often been on my mind.’
‘Madam, I am glad you have thought of me,’ Jeanette replied, wondering where this was leading. ‘It comforts me greatly and gives me hope.’
The Queen held out her fingers for the rings to be pushed on. ‘We should talk further,’ she said. ‘I hope you will stay at court for a while. You have a new sister-in-law with whom to become acquainted, and of course your brother is here.’ She raised one hand to regard the rings. ‘A word of warning . . . be careful in your behaviour while your case continues. Much as you might wish to linger in the company of certain courtiers, you would be wise not to jeopardise your future by behaving rashly. I hope I make myself clear, my dear. I have your best interests at heart. Do not spoil the broth for want of a little more cooking.’
‘No, madam,’ Jeanette said meekly, and thought she would still strive to see Thomas if possible. The broth, as far as she was concerned, had been cooking for quite long enough, and required seasoning!
Not in the least taken in, Philippa held Jeanette’s gaze sufficiently long to show how serious she was.
Another young woman arrived, robed in bright brown silk with striking gold embroidery. Her thick brown hair was plaited either side of her face in two coiled braids, with an elaborate veil and circlet draped over. Her dark eyes and the set of her jawmarked her as kin to the Queen. Jeanette had met her brother’s new wife briefly yesterday, but had only gained a fleeting impression. The young woman had seemed pleasant enough, with a sparkle in her eyes, and had spoken affectionately of John.
Jeanette curtseyed to her; Isabella reciprocated, and they exchanged cheek kisses under the Queen’s benevolent eye.
The entourage moved out to the tournament lodges and Philippa bade Jeanette sit near to her with Isabella. John himself was among the squires and knights on the tourney field, but only as part of the parade, not as a combatant, for his skill lay not in the joust or the sword fight. He was more at home as an administrator, in which role he could wear his Venetian spectacles and see the world with improved clarity. Still, he looked very fine, and when Jeanette said so to Isabella, the latter smiled proudly. John looked up at the stands as he paraded past on a glossy bay horse and cheerfully saluted in the women’s direction.
Isabella cast a handful of flowers at him, and Jeanette remembered how she had thrown her own to Thomas at the tourney in Ghent. She looked for him now among the arms and banners and listened as the heralds called out the names of those taking part. The King was jousting today at the head of half of his Knights of the Garter; the other half were riding with the lord Edward. As the King’s knights trotted past, gorgeously caparisoned, she stared straight ahead, her hands in her lap.
Isabella eyed her askance. ‘Do you not throw flowers to your lord?’
‘He is not my husband,’ Jeanette said. ‘Surely you must have heard the talk at court, and John must have mentioned this to you?’
‘A little. But it is unwise to believe everything you hear, and John says it is a difficult matter and he does not wish to discuss it. He says the papal court in Avignon shall decide the truth.’
‘I have known the truth every day of my life for the last eight years and more,’ Jeanette replied. ‘Whatever the papal court decides, I will always know it in my heart and how to weigh it against the falsehood of others.’
Isabella’s brown eyes widened and she drew back, clearly at a loss.
Jeanette lifted her chin as the Prince’s contingent rode on to the field and the heralds cried the names of the knights fighting under his ostrich-feather banner. ‘There is my true husband,’ she said as Thomas passed their stand on Noir, with Otto riding beside him on his rangy chestnut, both men wearing the blue garters that marked them out as elite knights. ‘I do not throw flowers to him either, for we know what is in our hearts, and we have tokens far beyond a moment of public display that would cause trouble for us both.’ She looked at Isabella. ‘When I married Thomas, we chose each other. How many people sitting on these benches can say that? Some will come to love and some will come to grief, and some will settle for a partnership of estates and children and daily bread. But I know what I have, and I will never stop fighting for it. I would rather die first.’
Isabella looked shocked and Jeanette smiled, albeit bitterly.
‘What of duty?’ Isabella asked. ‘Does that mean nothing? What of honour?’
‘They have their place and I do not deny their worth, but there was no honour in the marriage I was forced to make with William Montagu. They told me I had to wed him; they said Thomas was dead. They said no one would believe us and they tried to bribe Thomas to drop his claim. They said that the marriage was false – that I was a foolish girl, taken in by the blandishments of a man who just wished to have his way. It istheir honour that is tarnished, not mine, and I will stand firm unto death in the face of their lies.’
Isabella swallowed, clearly out of her depth, and despite her rancour at the world, Jeanette took pity on her. ‘That is my situation. I do not expect your understanding or sympathy, but whatever your path with my brother, I wish you well, and hope you wish the same for me.’
Isabella nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said faintly.
Joan Bredon joined them, squeezing herself in at Jeanette’s other side, her freckled face bright with pleasure. ‘I saw Donald in Thomas Holland’s entourage,’ she said. ‘He’s got a new horse, one of the Holland blacks.’
‘Yes, I noticed.’ Jeanette smiled at her friend. People mistook Joan’s wholesomeness as a sign of an uncomplicated nature, and Joan played along and learned much in consequence. She and Donald Hazelrigg had been quietly courting for some time; Jeanette expected they would marry, for they were of similar rank and without impediments. But for now, Joan was one of Queen Philippa’s ladies, and Donald was serving under the Holland banner.
Joan lowered her voice. ‘How goes it with your matter in hand?’
‘Slowly,’ Jeanette said with a grimace. ‘They keep me confined so I barely know what is happening, and my testimony has been ignored. I am only here because Thomas wrote to the Pope and told him I was being held against my will. I have been released, as you see, but now the Archbishop of Canterbury is ailing, and we hear every day of this terrible pestilence that is advancing on us. Avignon has been struck, and it is creeping ever northwards. I fear my case may never be heard, or that I may die, or Thomas may die, God forbid, while we are still in this dreadful limbo.’
‘Oh, Jeanette.’ Joan’s hazel eyes filled with compassion. ‘You have always dwelt in my prayers, but I shall mark you especially now – and Thomas. If there is anything else I can do . . .’
