10 Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, April 1340

10

Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, April 1340

Jeanette and Thomas were married in the room from which the alms were handed out to the citizens of Ghent. They made their vows before Father Geoffrey, a recently ordained Franciscan friar with whom Thomas had spoken on several occasions, and with four witnesses in attendance – John de la Salle, Hawise, Otto and Henry de la Haye.

‘Are you certain of this?' the friar asked, looking between Thomas and Jeanette, his expression serious. ‘Once you agree to be bound before witnesses, there is no going back and your union will stand in the sight of God until death you do part.'

Jeanette nodded firmly. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I agree to wed this man until death do us part.' She looked at Thomas. He was dressed in his green livery, the best velvet set, brushed and clean, and her heart was melting.

‘As do I agree the same with this woman,' Thomas declared with the same determination. ‘To have and to hold until death do us part, and with all my worldly goods I do endow her. With my body I will honour her, and I shall love and cherish her all of my days. Amen.'

‘Then, as you stand before me now, and before God and these witnesses, let you be man and wife.'

Thomas took Jeanette's hand and slipped his own gold seal ring on her heart finger in token of their vows. And then, Hawise and John de la Salle swore their own vows, and all was witnessed and the hastily drawn-up contracts attested and sealed.

Thomas kissed her softly. ‘Now our child shall be born in wedlock,' he said. ‘And let no one call him or her a bastard, or frame this as a false union. We shall travel this path, and we shall prevail, even if we cannot yet see around the corner.'

Jeanette returned his kiss and silently prayed he was right, and that they had not brought calamity down upon themselves. She turned to embrace Hawise and John, and congratulate them on their own nuptials. At least under the pretext of celebrating her maid's wedding, she and Thomas could have their moment.

‘I am sorry this is not the grand wedding you should be enjoying,' Thomas said as they shared a meal of bread and beef stew in a nearby ale house, ‘but I swear I will cherish you for the rest of our lives.'

They could neither hold hands nor kiss in a public place. That was all for John and Hawise, who drew the cheers and attention, but they did manage to squeeze fingers and touch legs beneath the trestle.

‘It is a finer wedding than any other I might have had,' she said. ‘We may be marrying out of necessity, but we are also marrying for love, and how many married people at court can say the same?'

Later, when Hawise and John had retired to John's lodging by the mews to spend their wedding night, Thomas returned Jeanette to the Queen's apartments, but paused in the shadow of the wall to draw her against him for a long kiss. Holding her close, he stroked her face. ‘We will find a way to bring this into the open, I swear,' he said. ‘We have been wed before witnesses and that is what matters.'

‘I know, I trust you.' Again, she thought of the branch in the flood.

They kissed once more with lingering hunger, before he escorted her to the door of the Queen's domicile and told the guard they had been celebrating the marriage of his falconer and Jeanette's maid. Having seen her safely inside, Thomas returned to his own quarters and leaned against the door, taking a moment to collect himself. His wife, his pregnant wife. He was still trying to come to terms with what he had done, and the future consequences for himself, his family and his beautiful Jeanette. He had said he would find a way. But he did not know what it was or even how to begin.

In the morning, after mass, Thomas was giving orders to the guards when a squire summoned him to the presence of his senior commander, Maurice of Berkeley.

Thomas's stomach jinked, his first thought being that the marriage had been discovered, but the squire's face wore no particular expression and he seemed to think the matter was routine. He followed the youth to Maurice's lodgings and found the banneret seated at a table, a satchel of messages at his elbow. An inky-fingered scribe toiled at a lectern by the open window.

‘Ah, Tom!' Maurice beckoned to him, poured a cup of wine, and shoved a platter of bread and sausage in his direction. ‘Orders from the King.' He extended a strip of parchment. ‘Your services are required in England. Get your men together and find a ship.'

Thomas picked up the parchment and looked numbly at the orders.

‘It's good news for you,' Maurice said. ‘Better than kicking your heels here day and night attending on women. It's an opportunity to climb another rung of the ladder since the King wants you in person.' He gave a teasing grin. ‘You are a marked man!'

In more ways than one, Thomas thought, swallowing.

Maurice raised one eyebrow. ‘I can see your good fortune has numbed your delight.'

‘It is unexpected,' Thomas said blankly.

‘Not really.' Maurice cut some sausage from the platter he had offered to Thomas. ‘The King is preparing to return to Ghent but needs aid garnering supplies, and you have a particular skill for it. You will not be gone for long.'

Thomas poured and drank some wine, but ignored the food, his mind racing with the implications.

‘There's a ship leaving on tonight's tide – be on it.'

Thomas nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.'

He took his leave. Maurice pursed his lips and looked at the door and wondered about certain rumours he had heard. Then he shook his head and returned to work. Sometimes it was best not to become embroiled.

Thomas found Otto and Henry at sword practice with the squires. Wiping his brow, Otto gestured for the lads and Henry to continue with their sparring, and stepped aside. ‘What is it?'

‘Orders to return to England immediately.' Thomas showed him the parchment.

Otto read what was written and shrugged. ‘Nothing for it then if it's a royal order. I'll take the lads off their training and begin seeing to it. Duncalfe can go to the docks and talk to the ship's master.' He looked at Thomas, an unspoken question in his eyes.

‘It could not have come at a worse time. I cannot leave her – dare not.'

Otto snorted. ‘Don't talk like a fool. We have no choice. If we disobey a royal summons, we shall be obligated for far more than just a secret marriage. Look what happened to our father when he ignored a call to arms. We are finished if we do not go, and I personally want to keep my head on my shoulders.'

Thomas knew Otto was right – the solid dog in the kennel who never deviated – and he would always speak truth to him, no matter how disagreeable. ‘Get it organised,' he said with a brusque nod. ‘I shall talk to Jeanette.'

Jeanette gazed at the baby lying against his wet nurse's arm. Little John of Ghent had his father's golden-gilt hair, his mother's smile, and he was beautiful. She still could not equate this baby before her with the idea that there was probably another such growing inside her own womb. The act of mating began in such a small way with the meeting of seed, and it was almost impossible to believe that it led eventually to this outcome. The secret of yesterday's marriage was like that too. A seed that would grow and grow, and yet how was it to be told without the world falling apart?

The Queen summoned her to attend on her, together with Katerine of Salisbury and Lady St Maur. Leaving the wet nurse and the baby, Jeanette wondered if the Queen wanted her to rub her feet or comb her hair, but she had not sent the maid to bring her toiletry box and had dismissed the other women, so that no one else was within hearing.

Philippa's expression was pursed and taut. ‘Messages have arrived from the King this morning,' she said, and indicated a piece of parchment set to one side. ‘Jeanette, it seems that Bernard d'Albret has chosen not to pursue the proposed betrothal between you and his son and has informed the King that while he is not averse to negotiating a bride for his boy, he considers you unsuitable.'

Experiencing a rush of relief, Jeanette lowered her gaze, concealing her delight.

‘The King is disappointed that the match has not come to fruition, but will seek a different heiress for our ally. We have no desire to see the family negotiate for a French bride.'

Jeanette wondered why the Queen looked so disgruntled. It was a set-back, but not worth the dark expression on Philippa's face. Lady Katerine on the other hand had perked up, even if her lips were set in a straight line.

The Queen took a deep breath. ‘One of the reasons Bernard d'Albret decided against the match was that he had heard reports of your conduct at court, and he feels his son will be better settled with a bride more likely to attend to her embroidery and her household affairs rather than spending her time flying hawks and being too familiar with servants and soldiers.'

Heat seared Jeanette's face. ‘Madam, I—'

Philippa raised her hand. ‘I do not wish to hear excuses or reasons, and I must take part of the blame. We have all been too trusting and lax with you while I have been in confinement, but that will change immediately. You shall remain at my side and devote yourself to duties in the chamber. If you wish to visit your falcon, you shall go once a week with one of my squires and a senior lady, rather than just your maid for company. There are others who can attend to your bird. The groom will exercise your horse and others shall run errands for the moment. Once the King returns, we shall decide what is to be done to secure you a fresh match.'

A feeling of sick panic rose inside Jeanette. She would suffocate in such a caged existence. She needed to see Thomas; she had to get word to him. Bowing her head, she feigned a contrition she was far from feeling.

Philippa waved her hand. ‘I do not know what else to say. You have such potential, yet you squander it. It is time you took responsibility for your position at court. Do I make myself clear? As has been said to you before, you are a woman now, not a spoiled child.'

‘Yes, madam, and I beg your forgiveness.' The words emerged by rote, while Jeanette's mind raced.

‘Good. Then we shall say no more. You shall remain in this chamber under strict supervision as of now.' She gave Jeanette a hard stare. ‘I suspect it will also assist matters that certain household knights are under orders to leave immediately for England to assist with mustering the fleet.'

Jeanette drew a sharp, involuntary breath, and her chest constricted. She dared not ask the names of the knights, but she already knew.

‘You shall eat here today in my chamber, not in the hall,' Philippa continued, gently relentless. ‘Now, go and join the other ladies and we shall speak no more on the matter.'

Jeanette curtseyed, and feeling as though she was dragging a lump of lead behind her, went to the other women. She had to talk to Thomas.

Katerine of Salisbury sat down beside her and picked up her embroidery. ‘It is for your own good, my dear, as you will come to realise in time,' she said, her blue eyes sharp. ‘I am sorry the Gascony marriage is not to be, but another match will be forthcoming soon enough. I shall write to your mother straight away.'

Katerine's smug expression worried Jeanette: the Countess of Salisbury was a schemer with her claws in many a cloth.

She tried to busy herself with her sewing, but pricked her finger on her needle. The sight of the welling crimson bead of blood made her stomach writhe, and she had to bolt for the latrine, where, leaning over the shaft, she was violently sick.

Katerine, like a hound on a scent, followed her and gave her doubled-over body a thoughtful look. ‘Clearly you have eaten something that has not agreed with you,' she said. ‘Too many sweetmeats, I suspect. That would explain your recent behaviour. Your humours have become badly unbalanced by a surfeit of rich food and excitement. Go and lie down. You can finish your sewing later. I shall prepare you a tisane to set matters right.'

Jeanette was immediately suspicious of Katerine's kindness, but was glad to go and curl up on her bed. What a bind she was in, and Thomas too. If he was suspected of more than flirting, the King would have him put to death, whether she was wearing a wedding ring or not.

Hawise arrived, bearing a cup of spring water.

‘I have to get word to Thomas,' she whispered, gripping the maid's hand.

‘They won't let me go either,' Hawise whispered back, ‘not even to see John, but Hannekyn can take a message.' She gestured at one of the young chamber attendants who always blushed when Jeanette spoke to him.

Jeanette nodded. ‘Send him with a message for John asking him to care for Frederick until I can fly him again, and that I shall count each moment until that time. John will know what it means.'

Hawise curtseyed and went about her usual business, but approached Hannekyn after a while, murmured to him and pressed a coin into his hand. Moments later, the youth collected his cloak and left on his errand.

Jeanette slept briefly but was woken by Hannekyn's return. The young man hung up his cloak and murmured to Hawise, who then came to Jeanette's bedside, her eyes bright with sympathetic tears.

‘Messire Thomas and his brother have already sailed for England,' Hawise said. ‘John is staying to care for the falcons and he said to give you this.' She pressed a falcon's hood into Jeanette's hand decorated with a soft tuft of pheasant feathers. ‘He says to look inside.'

Horrified that Thomas was gone, Jeanette shook her head from side to side. ‘No,' she said. ‘No!'

‘I am sorry, my lady, but it is so.'

Jeanette bit back a howl of anguish, knowing she dared not react. After a moment, she looked at the little hood in her hand, and put two fingers into the soft leather where she felt a small, round, hard object pressed up against the end seam that proved to be a tightly rolled ribbon of parchment. Unwinding it, she read the words, cramped, smudged and written in haste. Thomas exhorted her to be brave and staunch, and said that with God's help he would be with her again soon, but he had no choice except to obey the King's order in the immediate moment.

After what the Queen had said, she felt sick with terror for Thomas's life. This scrap of a note might be the last thing she ever had of him apart from the child growing in her womb, for which she would be disgraced. ‘What will become of us?' she whispered, feeling overwhelmed by the welter of recent events and how alone she suddenly was. They were doomed. She pleated the parchment back into the falcon hood and put it in her jewel casket with her rings and brooches. Then she curled up again on her bed and drew out the ribbon on which Thomas's belt pendant was threaded, and beside it, his gold seal ring – her wedding ring. She gripped both in her hand, imprinting their shapes into her flesh.

Katerine arrived, bearing a cup filled with a steaming tisane. ‘Come,' she said briskly, ‘I have prepared this to balance your humours.'

Jeanette turned her head away, and Katerine's voice became stern.

‘You must drink it while it is hot. I promised your mother I would care for you as if you were my own daughter. I am sorry to say I have lapsed at times, but I intend to make up for it now.'

Jeanette just wanted to curl up and be alone, but perhaps if she drank the tisane, Katerine would let her be. She sat up and sipped the brew, grimacing. Katerine watched her. ‘All of it,' she insisted. ‘Even the dregs, for they are the part that work best. You must drink another cup of this after dark, and when you wake in the morning, all will be well.'

Shuddering, Jeanette finished the tisane. The gritty dregs in the bottom made her retch, but Katerine gripped her shoulder. ‘None of that now. You must keep it down or it will not work.' She gave her a box of sweetmeats and made her eat a small piece of sugared ginger. ‘Rest now, and I shall return later.' She touched Jeanette's cheek with her fingertips. ‘A word of advice. You may dislike me, but you will discover for yourself as you grow what it is to be a woman in this world, and that we must deal according to our resources, and turn them to our advantage.' Rising from the bedside, she took the cup and departed in a whisper of silk.

Feeling heavy and lethargic, Jeanette closed her eyes and slept. Katerine returned soon after dusk with a second dose of the tisane and Jeanette was so groggy that she could barely sit up to drink it and soon fell into a deep, drugged slumber. Towards dawn, she awoke to griping pain in her lower abdomen. Staggering from the bed, she managed to reach the latrine, and as she sat over the hole, her bowels voided themselves in a sudden, agonising plummet. Pain expanded through her lower back and became a griping, constricting agony. And then red, sticky heat between her legs. She lifted her chemise above her waist, looked down and screamed.

Hawise appeared at her side with a candle, her eyes enormous.

‘Help me,' Jeanette whimpered. ‘Dear God, Hawise, help me! What is happening?'

Hawise stared. ‘My lady, your flux has come!'

Countess Katerine arrived and her nostrils flared at the stench of faeces and blood. ‘Go and fetch Mistress St Maur,' she commanded Hawise. ‘Quickly and quietly now.'

Hawise hurried away and Katerine gripped Jeanette's arms. ‘Come now,' she said. ‘In order to balance your humours, you first have to purge out the bad ones until nothing remains.'

Consumed by fiery pain, Jeanette was beyond responding. Lady St Maur arrived and, clucking her tongue, took charge.

‘Not a word of this beyond this space,' Katerine said to the woman as they exchanged glances, and Lady St Maur nodded her head in complicit agreement.

‘Come, come, Jeanette,' Lady St Maur soothed. ‘I know it is bad now, but it will ease soon.' She turned to Hawise. ‘Have a bowl of warm water ready and your lady's flux cloths, and more to spare.' She examined Jeanette again. ‘There now, the worst is over. You will bleed for some days but your womb will settle down, and you will be better.'

Jeanette moaned and shook her head, certain that she wouldn't.

Between them the women helped Jeanette to a freshly made bed, and dressed her in a clean chemise, with a wad of flux cloths placed between her legs to absorb the blood. She felt weak and sore and empty.

‘Sleep now,' Katerine murmured, stroking Jeanette's brow. ‘We shall watch over you, and as I promised you, all will be well.'

Jeanette wanted to pull away in disgust from Katerine's cool, long-fingered touch, but she lacked the strength. ‘No, it won't,' she whispered. She knew she had lost the child. That her dilemma was solved should have filled her with relief, but there was only shock and misery and pain. She turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes, and let the tears come as the blood trickled slowly into the flux cloths.