14 At sea between Flanders and England, August 1340

14

At sea between Flanders and England, August 1340

Jeanette stood outside the deck shelter watching the Flemish coastline slowly diminish from sight. The breeze behind their ship freshened and the square sail bellied out. Gulls teemed above the rigging, and the banners rippled, flying the leopards and lilies of England.

Arms folded beneath her cloak, she hugged herself for comfort, thinking of the voyage to Flanders a little over two years ago – how she had been brimming with excitement at the prospect of adventure. When she had set her eyes on Thomas, it had been like a pillar of golden light shooting through her body. Now, on the return voyage, all that excitement had vanished as though it had been poured into a dirty hole in the ground and stamped over. She was flat, deflated by the things she had learned and experienced. She had arrived a light-footed girl, and returned burdened with invisible weights and a bitter knowledge of what the world could do.

Part of her was glad to be leaving Flanders, but each surge of the ship took her further away from Thomas and the life they might have had in another time and place. She thought of their last whispered meeting in a corridor. He had taken her hands and told her he was leaving in the morning for Tournai and then going to serve God on crusade for a year and a day.

‘I will return for you,' he had said, ‘and I shall put my case before the King concerning our marriage, I swear, but first I must atone for my sins and make my peace with God. All I ask is that you wait for me and make your own peace with Him too, for then we shall have a clean start.'

She had felt as though he was pushing her off the edge of a cliff. He was going into grave danger; she might never see him again. It had been difficult enough when he went to England, and now he wanted to travel even further away. How was that love? ‘You will be gone longer than I have known you,' she had said, her voice quivering with accusation and dismay.

Still holding her hands, he had knelt to her. ‘I vow that when I return, I shall claim you before the King and Queen, and all will know.' Then he had risen to his feet and kissed her, and she had put her arms around him and held him tightly, clinging to him with desperate love and furious anger.

She shivered, and folded her arms more tightly inside her cloak. He had promised to return, but how could anyone make a promise like that with certainty? What if he was going to his death? Everything that had been true and bright now was tarnished. She had a wedding ring, a pendant, a ruby and a marriage contract, and every single item had to be hidden from sight, like the marriage itself. All she had to show to the world were secrets – too many of them. Why should either of them have to atone for love?

Thomas had been gone a week when she had been told to pack her baggage for a return to England. The King and Queen had arranged to send the younger children home for safety while they remained in Flanders. The two little princesses, Isabelle and Joan, and the infant boys Lionel and John were all to leave with their nurses. Lady Salisbury was accompanying them, and Jeanette too. Hawise was attending her, but John de la Salle had gone with Thomas. Thomas's hawk was being returned to England, to his mother's household, to be cared for. Frederick had remained in the royal mews, to be shipped over later in the year with the Queen's hawks.

The wind freshened and the sail flapped. Clouds scudded across the sky, fast as wolves, and a rain squall approached in a sweep from the west. Sighing, Jeanette returned to the deck shelter and found Lady Katerine, green at the gills, her lips pressed tightly together. Jeanette experienced a glimmer of superiority, since her own stomach was sturdy when sailing, and she even smiled a little as she handed Katerine a brass basin and commented how hungry she was, and how she could just eat a big wedge of pigeon pie swimming in cream sauce.

Katerine gave up the unequal struggle, seized the bowl and retched into it.

A few weeks later, Jeanette stood watching a group of youths at weapons practice on the green at the Tower of London. She had escaped the confines of the ladies' chamber by offering to walk with the little princesses Joan and Isabelle, and their lap dogs. Her own Grippe ran with them, sniffing and busy.

The King's heir, the lord Edward, was among the squires, tall for his years, his dark hair glinted with bronze. Her brother John was with him, and flaxen-haired William Montagu, Lady Katerine's son. Edward was besting his opponents with accomplished natural talent, although John and Montagu were doing their best not to let him win. Jeanette, however, was unimpressed. Having watched Thomas and Otto at their own deadly play, these were mere boys in comparison, albeit with developing skills. Edward was easily the most talented, and had the advantage of longer legs and reach too. John was the least enthusiastic, but dutiful and committed.

‘Edward is the best.' Eight-year-old Isabelle delivered her opinion with partisan authority, her delicate nose tilted in the air.

‘Yes, he is,' Jeanette answered with a smile. Perhaps she should praise her brother, but it would not be the truth, and she had no intention of appending any good qualities to William Montagu. In earlier childhood gatherings they had never been friends. The times he wasn't ignoring her, he treated her as inferior because of her sex. When she had been ten and he eight, he had punched her in the stomach and she had tipped a bucket of discarded fish heads over him in retaliation. It had not ended well. She had never understood why Edward and John were his friends, but had decided that it was a matter of masculine solidarity.

Edward glanced up, saw her with his little sisters, and waved. Isabelle and Joan set off at a run and Jeanette followed, with the dogs straining their leashes. Edward grinned, his dark hazel eyes sparkling with good humour.

‘We stopped to watch our protectors honing their skills,' Jeanette said, smiling. ‘I am certain we shall never be in any danger with such stalwart assistance.'

Edward swept a courteous bow. John was pink in the face at being observed by his sister and the young princesses. William looked down his nose. ‘Should you not be with the ladies in the bower?' he asked, mainly addressing Jeanette.

‘Even ladies are permitted to walk their dogs, and we had permission,' she retorted with irritation, and was aware of Edward looking amused. ‘Perhaps our presence will spur you on to greater effort than you are making now.'

William snorted with contempt, but a spark kindled in Edward's eyes. ‘Indeed, you are right!' he declared. ‘Come, the best of three!'

With less alacrity than the Prince, the other two returned to their sparring.

Edward made a few missteps because he was watching her and his sisters from the side of his eye, but swiftly recovered his concentration and disarmed William. Red-faced, the youth scowled at Jeanette, as if it was all her fault. She smiled sweetly in return, and his flush darkened. Edward swiftly divested John of his sword too, his superior skill obvious. Magnanimous in defeat, he clapped the others on the shoulder, declaring it had been a good bout. His eyes met Jeanette's, seeking approval, but they were filled with mischief too, and she had to smile, while his sisters danced and clapped.

Following dinner, eaten in the royal chambers, Edward lightly touched Jeanette's arm. ‘Come,' he said, ‘I have something to show you.' She looked at the other women who were taking out their sewing and preparing to settle down to an afternoon of gossip and stitchery, but Edward was insistent. ‘Leave them. They won't gainsay me. You won't get into trouble – hah, and I don't suppose you would care if you did!' His eyes sparkled with laughter and daring.

Excitement bubbled up inside her and turned into a surge of the joy she thought she had lost. She took Edward's outstretched hand, and they sped from the hall, down the steps and across the grass. His grip was firm and she had to hold up her skirts with her other hand and lengthen her stride to keep up with him, laughing out loud.

He led her to the stables where the pungent smell of hay and dust, dung and urine filled her nostrils, but in a familiar way. She wondered why he had brought her here – surely not to go riding because a whole entourage would have had to be organised. Remembering Thomas and the stables at St Bavo, she hung back, so that Edward gave her a quizzical look.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing.' She hid her feelings behind a bright smile. ‘What do you want to show me?'

Edward took her to a stall where a small horse stood champing hay – a compact dappled grey, sturdily built with pricked ears and wide-set intelligent dark eyes.

‘This is Courage,' he announced proudly.

Jeanette made herself focus. Edward was her friend and she didn't want to let him down. ‘What a beauty!' Courage couldn't compare to the magnificence of Thomas's Noir, but she appreciated his quality.

‘My father gave him to me for my year day. I'm going to train for the tourney with him.'

She made suitably impressed noises, and patted the horse's warm grey neck.

Edward took her hand again. ‘I have something else to show you too.' He led her to the harness room, and showed her a long beam along which was spread a swathe of horse barding embroidered with the royal arms of England in crusted gold. Jeanette's jaw dropped. Edward watched her with his hands on his hips and an ear-to-ear smile on his face. ‘My father gave me this on my year day too. It's for parades and special occasions, of course.' He sounded a little put out about that, as if he would like to ride in it every day.

Jeanette tentatively stroked the rich cloth. ‘I can just imagine.'

‘Do you want to sit on it?'

Jeanette saw the devilry sparking in his eyes, and felt an answering frisson of her own. ‘Why not?'

Edward climbed up on to the bar and sat across the barding. He put his hand down to her and pulled her up behind him, but astride, not side-seat. She tucked in her skirts and he began to make the back-and-forth motion of riding, and she moved with him, putting her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek in to his ribcage.

‘Does your horse not go any faster than this?' she asked with mock disdain.

‘Oh yes, faster than the wind! As fast as you want to go, but you must hold on tightly!'

His words reminded her of Thomas's with such a sharp jolt that she stopped smiling. She loved Edward dearly, but he was just one of her brother's friends, and a boy. They shared a sense of humour and adventure and she hoped they always would, but he was the heir to the throne – a future king. Their bond was as strong as rawhide and as fragile as glass. She held on tightly, feeling the discomfort of the wooden bar under her legs, feeling Edward's lean young body under her hands and the swift movement of his ribcage. So very tightly indeed.

‘Do you remember when your mother told you off for riding your hobby horse astride?' Edward asked, laughter in his voice. ‘And you shouted for all to hear that it was a stupid rule and it wasn't fair?'

‘Yes, and I was taken away and beaten for it, and all the boys just carried on playing,' she said indignantly. ‘I still say it's a stupid rule and not fair.'

‘Do you then wish you'd been born a boy?'

‘Frequently,' she replied, and he looked round at her, almost taken aback.

Voices intruded on the moment, and they heard a groom saying to someone that he had seen neither the lord Edward nor the lady Jeanette.

Edward stopped, and Jeanette loosened her arms from around his waist. He jumped off the bar and lifted her down, and she hastily straightened her gown, her heart thumping. Going to the door, Edward opened it on the senior groom and one of the chamber stewards.

‘Were you seeking us?' he enquired. ‘I was showing my cousin the new barding for my horse.' His manner had changed from that of smiling youth to imperious prince, but Jeanette squirmed, for by explaining himself he had made the moment seem suspect. She would receive the blame yet again for being unseemly. Things were still unfair.

The steward dropped his gaze and said neutrally, ‘Sire, you are both sought. The Dowager Countess of Kent is here.'

Jeanette's stomach knotted at the news of her mother's arrival. Edward shot her a sidelong glance. ‘Then we shall come.' He held out his arm to her. ‘Cousin,' he said, ‘we should not keep your lady mother waiting.'

Jeanette laid her hand along his sleeve. ‘Indeed not,' she replied, thinking the opposite, thinking that her mother could wait for ever.

On her return to the great chamber on Edward's arm, she saw her mother sitting in a window seat, waiting, hands folded tightly in her lap, watching everyone who entered the hall. On seeing Jeanette, Margaret rose to her feet.

Edward walked over to her and bowed deeply, and Margaret curtseyed.

‘My lady mother,' Jeanette said formally, and curtseyed too.

‘I beg your indulgence, madam,' Edward said, ‘it is my fault Jeanette was not here to greet you. I pray you will forgive me.'

‘Of course, sire,' Margaret replied, her own smile strained.

Edward excused himself, abandoning Jeanette to her fate, giving her arm a surreptitious squeeze as he departed.

Jeanette discovered that she was looking down at her mother instead of being eye to eye as before and was now a full head taller. Two years had wrought so many changes, her height the least of them.

Margaret stood on tip-toe to kiss her daughter on either cheek with her customary cool peck. Then she stepped back, her gaze wandering to the stalks of straw clinging to the hem of Jeanette's gown.

‘The lord Edward invited me to see his new horse and the barding for it,' Jeanette said, heat sweeping into her cheeks. ‘It would have been unseemly to refuse.'

‘And the moment you see an open door, you are straight out of it,' her mother said, brows knitted. ‘That has not changed. Come, we shall talk.'

She drew Jeanette to the window seat and sat down, decorously arranging her skirts. Jeanette swept the straw from hers, and, belatedly noticing some dung on her shoes, tucked her feet under the shelter of her hem.

Margaret asked her how she had fared in Flanders – how far her education as a highborn lady of the Queen's chamber had progressed, and what she had learned. Jeanette answered in a voice devoid of colour, giving her mother the hard, small fruits, and none of the harvest. What could she say that would not bring opprobrium down on her head? Let her ask Katerine of Salisbury if she wanted to know more, although for certain Katerine would say nothing since her own reputation lay at stake. The same for Lady St Maur.

Her mother's expression grew more set with each monosyllabic reply, and Jeanette's stomach tightened until she thought it must surely touch her spine. They had so little in common; it was like talking through a narrow gap in a wall, each of them speaking but not hearing what the other said – not wanting to hear.

‘I am glad to see you and I understand you are doing well,' Margaret said, ‘but I was disturbed to learn that the Gascon marriage the King was planning for you had failed because of your skittish behaviour. Considering the state of your gown, you do not appear to have moderated it in the time since.'

Jeanette flashed her mother a resentful look. ‘The Gascon marriage failed because the lords in question were not sufficiently committed. They were flirting with the French too, and it did not suit their purpose.'

Her mother eyed her narrowly. ‘That may be the case, although from what I have heard from the Countess of Salisbury, you were certainly to blame in part, because it did not suit your purpose either. Now you are home, it is time to pay attention to that improvement of decorum. You will learn to behave as befits your womanhood.'

Jeanette let the words wash over her like water off wax.

‘I have your best interests at heart,' her mother said. ‘Believe me.'

Jeanette said nothing. The interests of her mother's heart were locked into the prestige and status of the family and there was nothing left for love – indeed, perhaps love was the enemy, for love was belief, not reason.

As soon as she could, Jeanette escaped to play at tables and hazard with the other young courtiers, Edward among them, and swiftly engaged herself in their company. When she did cast a side glance in her mother's direction, she saw that Katerine of Salisbury had joined her, and also Katerine's elderly but still robust mother-in-law, Elizabeth de Montfort. The women were talking together in a huddle like witches over a cauldron, and she saw them look at her.

‘That's plotting if ever I saw it,' Edward said with amusement as he prepared to cast his dice.

Jeanette sniffed and turned a little on her stool so that her back was to the women. ‘They are probably just numbering my faults between them and deciding how to put me in a cage.'

‘They'll have a hard task doing that.' He threw his dice, cursed at his score, and handed the horn shaker to Jeanette.

‘Yes, I'd rather die,' she said.

‘Hah, rather them in the attempt!' he replied, and grinned at her.