17 Royal Palace of Langley, Hertfordshire, June 1341

17

Royal Palace of Langley, Hertfordshire, June 1341

Thomas drew rein as he approached the palace at Langley where the Queen was recuperating, following the birth of a fourth living son, Edmund. The heat of the late morning sun blazed across his shoulders and spine. His blind eye itched and ached behind the leather patch, and he dearly wanted to rub the area, but was striving not to inflame the healing scar.

He was growing accustomed to having sight in only one eye but he still made mistakes and misjudgements, especially of distance, and would grow frustrated and angry to the point of rage, and then be ashamed and mortified at his loss of control. He had to be able to fight and earn his wages and had redoubled his efforts. He had always been the best, and if he had to strive ten times harder than before to achieve it, he would do whatever it took.

They had been on the road home for many weeks, but at least the weather and the sea crossings had been kind. He had continued to heal and regain his strength and had declined to return to court until he deemed himself fit to kneel before the King.

While waiting to take ship from Flanders, he had received a crumpled, travel-stained letter from his sister Isabel, informing him that Jeanette had married William Montagu, heir to the earldom of Salisbury, at Langley in February, before the entire court, and that whatever marriage she had contracted with Thomas had been deemed null and void by her guardians, who had furthermore spread false news of his death. Reading that letter had been like being served a dish of maggots. Jeanette must have been complicit, and it had made him physically sick.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He had ridden to Ghent before embarking for England to seek the friar who had married them in St Bavo, only to discover that the young man had died of a fever in the early winter while at his ministry. Had he been of a superstitious mindset, Thomas might have taken it as an omen, but it only put iron in his soul.

A vast array of tents and pavilions had been set up near the waterside to house the servants, officials and knights of the court. Thomas rode past them, a pang of familiarity clenching his stomach like nauseous hunger. This was the life to which he should be returning, yet he was unsure of his welcome, or even if he wanted it. A hero home from the wars – perhaps – or else a one-eyed soldier, wasted before his time and of no further use to anyone, including himself and the girl who had brought him down. How much was publicly known? How much was hidden in the shadows or locked out of sight and denied? The moment he rode through those gates he might already be a marked man.

‘Tom?' Otto glanced at him with concern. ‘You need not announce yourself today if you would rather stay and pitch our tents, or ride on.'

‘No, I shall face this now.' Thomas set his jaw. ‘Tomorrow will not make matters any different – it will only postpone the inevitable.'

They rode on to the castle and were admitted through the gates by the guards who directed them to a place where they could pitch their tents and deposit their baggage. John de la Salle and a couple of attendants took the horses to the stable block to be watered and tended. Thomas's throat was parched and he gulped from his flask and tasted the tannic flavour of leather. He dared not drink wine for it would only give him false courage and a stumbling tongue.

Once the tent was pitched, and the Holland flag planted, with its rampant golden lion on a blue ground, Thomas washed away the dust of the road and took his green and scarlet court tunic from his baggage, smoothing the creases as best he could. He combed his hair and recently trimmed beard. Now the moment had arrived, he was reluctant to go to the hall, but knew procrastination would only exacerbate his discomfort.

‘Good luck, sire,' said Henry de la Haye, who was staying to guard the tents and finish unpacking their kit.

Thomas adjusted his belt, brushed his hands down his sleeves and, having given Henry a curt nod, stepped outside. Otto was waiting for him, also suitably garbed, his sandy-gold hair standing up in tufts that defied all grooming.

‘Ready?' Otto said.

‘As much as I shall ever be.' The turbulent energy churning inside him was almost overwhelming, and he welcomed Otto's solid presence at his side.

‘The King will be pleased to see us.'

‘You think so?'

Otto shrugged. ‘Why should he not? We've gained experience and prestige and not at his expense. He will be planning new campaigns where our skills will be needed.'

Thomas grimaced, still unsure.

The hall was packed with members of the royal household dining at scrubbed wooden trestles, or at grander tables covered in white napery. Conversation was a steady rumble of voices, punctuated by the scraping of spoons on wooden dishes, and the dull chime of knives against earthenware. An usher found Thomas and Otto places by squeezing them on to the end of a board between two visiting knights. The brothers bowed to the dais where the King and Queen were dining, but with the meal already in full flow, their presence went unnoticed.

As dishes of spiced wheat grains and salmon in green herbs were brought to the board, Thomas gazed around and saw Jeanette sitting at one of the wings of the high table with Katerine of Salisbury to one side of her, and Lady Elizabeth de Montfort on the other. A plain wimple of white linen tightly framed her face, giving her the appearance of a nun. The veil part had fallen forward, covering her cheek, and her head was down. Her gown was simple too and of a grey-blue shade that drained her complexion. As she picked up her spoon, a plain gold ring gleamed on her wedding finger, and it was not his.

Thomas swallowed down his nausea. Being told in a letter by his sister that Jeanette had entered into a marriage with William Montagu was one thing, but seeing her sitting with the family was another. There was no sign of the youth she was supposed to have married and Thomas felt that he might kill him with one blow if he was here.

He took some of the frumenty and salmon, struggling for normality, but all he wanted to do was pick up the table and overturn it. Otto watched him with concern. Thomas tried to eat but almost choked on the first mouthful. He forced it down with a difficult swallow, but could not manage another morsel, and pushed to his feet.

‘No, stay,' he said as Otto started to rise too. ‘I need to be on my own.'

He strode rapidly from the hall and immediately vomited, clammy with cold sweat. He cursed himself for the world's greatest fool that he could face anyone in battle yet not find the wherewithal to sit and dine in the royal hall, as he had done unthinkingly so many times before his wounding and before Jeanette.

Straightening up, ignoring the curious regard of the soldiers on duty, he made his way to the stable block where he rinsed his mouth and swilled his face at the trough, steadying himself with the actions of routine. Having dismissed John de la Salle, who was seeing to Noir, he gripped his fingers in the stallion's rippled black mane and pressed his face into the warm neck.

Jeanette had looked up from her meal when she heard a commotion at one of the benches and started when she saw Otto sitting there and Thomas leaving. Katerine had not noticed, being deep in conversation with one of the other diners. Jeanette caught Otto's eye, and he gave a swift shake of the head and looked down.

Jeanette wiped her lips on her napkin and murmured to Katerine that she had to visit the latrine.

Katerine looked heavenwards. ‘Can it not wait?'

Jeanette shook her head and clutched her stomach. ‘I fear not, my lady mother.'

‘Well, make haste,' Katerine said irritably. ‘It is not seemly, but I do not know what else I should expect.'

Jeanette curtseyed to her mother-in-law and fled the table. Otto raised his brows at her but she ignored him and hurried out.

There was no sign of Thomas, but she saw John de la Salle and, blank-faced, he directed her to the stables where she came upon him standing with Noir, his head pressed into the stallion's neck, his body shuddering.

‘Thomas?'

He spun round, and she gasped at the sight of his eye patch and the scar running into it.

‘Go away,' he snarled. ‘Have you not done enough to me?'

‘It is not what it seems,' she whispered. Her heart flooding with love and pain, she held out an imploring hand.

‘Is it not when you wear another man's ring?'

‘I swear so, on my life! I had no choice. You weren't here, although I prayed and prayed for you to come. I tried to stop the marriage. I told my mother and my uncle that we were already wed, but they wouldn't listen. Everyone said it was no solid marriage, but a foolish lust – that I had been duped and seduced out of my maidenhead. My mother ripped up my contract and burned it in front of my face, and she took my ring.' Her eyes blazed with tears. ‘They showed me a letter that said you were dead and told me if I did not wed William Montagu they would put me in a convent. What was I to do? The King is close friends with Lord and Lady Montagu and would not have listened. Everyone was determined the wedding should happen. I fought it until I could fight no more. You must believe me.'

Deep creases engraved his cheeks, and he turned his head away.

‘Why don't you look at me?' she asked with hurt bewilderment.

After a long pause he did turn round, but his expression was inscrutable. ‘I do not know what to believe.'

‘I am telling you the truth, Thomas. I was forced into this marriage that is no marriage at all. I am still wedded to you. I shall live my life in a place of nothing because I do not have you.' She grasped his arm and felt its rigidity. ‘Help me out of this bind, I beg you.'

‘Why do you think I am more able than you to do so?' he demanded bitterly. ‘Who will listen? And if they do listen, what do you think will happen? You had better go – your husband will be wondering where you are.'

Her anger rose, and her frustration at his obtuseness. ‘He is not here, and he is no more my husband than is a sheep in a field. You are my true husband in God's eyes, and in mine – and I shall love you until the end of my life, I swear it on my soul.'

He looked at her, a muscle flickering on one cheek.

‘When they said you were dead, I believed them – everyone did. I only discovered you were still alive after my marriage to William Montagu – your sister told me, and she likes me not.'

She reached up to stroke the damaged side of his face with a feather-touch, and he drew back, but not all the way, and she continued her tracery. He closed his good eye and his throat worked.

Jeanette took away her hand, opened her alms pouch, and brought out the rough-cut ruby. ‘You gave me this in token of your heart, and I kept it, and it became mine. Now I return it to you as a changed thing – as my own heart.' She placed it in the centre of his palm. ‘Do with it as you choose, for it is yours and always will be. I ask you to help me annul this marriage. I have two lives and I am living the wrong one – and I do not believe either of us can bear it.'

She turned and walked away from him, not knowing how she managed to put one foot in front of the other but making the steps anyway in the certainty that she had to do it before they were discovered, and before the enormity of the moment went beyond bearing.

Back in the great hall, her mother-in-law was waiting to pounce, her eyes sharp. ‘You were gone a long time.'

‘I am not well, madam,' Jeanette answered. ‘I beg leave to retire.'

Katerine eyed her narrowly, but gestured for her servant, Mary, to accompany her with Hawise.

Once in her chamber, Jeanette sat down on her bed and stared at the wall. She did not know if Thomas would fight for their marriage or let it go. If he broached the subject to the King and Queen, he would be putting himself in terrible danger. With the Montagus so high in royal favour, he could do nothing. That was the depressing reality.

‘Thomas is back,' she told Hawise, ‘and so is John. Go and find him – seek your own joy.'

‘My lady . . .' Hawise's face lit with a mingling of pleasure and doubt.

‘I do not know how long they will be here. Go.' Jeanette waved her hand. ‘Make haste.'

Hawise took her cloak, curtseyed to Jeanette, and sped from the room on light feet.

Jeanette folded over, her face in her hands, feeling utterly wretched.

In the stables, Thomas shuddered, then drew a deep breath. He knew Jeanette was not lying. She had asked him to get her out of the marriage, and he had felt a treacherous glimmer of hope that there might be a way forward, but he would have to wade through so much mire to do so, and against such odds. Was it worth it? Why not just burn his own marriage contracts, swear the witnesses to silence, and ride away? The priest was dead, and he knew Otto would be relieved.

He gazed at the ruby she had returned to him, glinting like a dull red coal in his hand. And then he put it in his pouch and turned to harnessing the stallion.

Otto arrived as he was adjusting the girths. ‘Where are you going? The King will be asking for you.'

Thomas shook his head. ‘I cannot go and I cannot stay,' he said. ‘I am caught in limbo.'

‘Shall I come with you?'

Thomas regarded his brother's earnest, troubled face and shook his head. ‘No. I am in sore need of my own company for a while.'

‘I take it you have spoken with Jeanette?'

Thomas strapped his travelling pack to the back of the saddle with his spare cloak and bed roll. ‘They told her I was dead. She says she was forced into the match with William Montagu and has asked me to help her.'

Otto lifted his brows. ‘That is a tall and dangerous order.'

Thomas set his foot in the stirrup. ‘Since when has that ever been a hindrance?'

‘Never, so far, but you keep on raising the stakes.'

Thomas swung into the saddle and gathered the reins. ‘The higher the stakes, the greater the prize – so they say.'

‘But the greater the loss if the gamble fails,' Otto warned.

Thomas puffed out his breath. ‘I need to think and I cannot do that with Jeanette a breath away from my body. If anyone enquires after me, including the King, say you do not know where I am, but you are certain I shall return soon.'

Otto rumpled his hair, making it stick up more than ever. ‘Well, make sure you do not make a lie of my certainty,' he said, to which Thomas raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgement before turning his rein to the gate.

Leaving Langley, Thomas rode along the river bank for several miles. Eventually, at dusk, he pitched his makeshift canvas shelter under an oak tree, and hobbled the stallion to graze. Gazing up at the stars, his arms pillowing his head, he wondered what everything was about. All of this small petty striving set against God's great firmament.

Did he want to fight for Jeanette, or did he want to leave it all behind and pretend it had never happened? But he had never been any good at pretending. Jeanette was his wife – that was the heart of the matter, encapsulated in an imperfect red jewel. She had beseeched him to help her. God alone knew what pressure she had been put under to agree to the marriage, and she had thought him dead.

If he made his claim before the King now, he would not succeed for there was too great a boulder blocking his road. He needed to find a way forward or around. He had to find allies at court, and someone he could trust to give him an honest opinion and support while remaining pragmatic. Not Otto, who might be loyal and stalwart but barely hid the notion that while he supported Thomas, he thought him mad and that he should move on to pastures new. His consideration landed on John de Warenne, his sister's lover. John would have the understanding, and the legal knowledge, because of his own enduring marriage dispute. He would know who to approach, and what to do.

Eventually, he fell asleep, wrapped in his cloak, while the stars wheeled above him, and the world turned. When he woke in the grey pre-dawn light, the dew was glistening on the grass, and as he broke his fast on stale bread and a lump of cheese, he knew his road, even if the boulder still remained.

The King greeted Thomas cordially later that morning as the trestles were being set up for dinner, remarking that he was glad to see him returned, and sorry that he had been wounded. Nothing in his demeanour suggested disapproval or knowledge of the clandestine marriage. Everything seemed to have been swept into a neat pile and disposed of by others. The King was relaxed and intent on military matters.

‘It has not affected my ability in the field, sire,' Thomas said, keen to dispel any notion that he was now infirm. ‘I am eager to serve you in any way you wish.'

‘I am glad to hear it,' Edward replied, ‘for I shall have need of your services, and even if you cannot fight, you are invaluable to me as a quartermaster.'

‘Sire, I assure you I can fight,' Thomas said vehemently. ‘My injury has only increased my will to prove myself. You will not find me lacking in any part – indeed the opposite.'

Edward raised his brows at Thomas's intensity. ‘Well, we shall see. I am glad to have you back, as is the Queen, and I shall send you to her now.' He waved to an usher and gave him the order. ‘I'll need you for organising the campaign in Brittany at summer's end.'

‘Sire.' Thomas bowed. ‘May I then request your leave to visit my mother in the meantime?'

‘As you wish, but be back within a month.' The King waved his dismissal and Thomas bowed once more and followed the servant out.

The Queen's chamber was occupied by a multitude of seamstresses busily creating and embellishing the lavish wardrobe demanded by a royal lady. Italian silks and velvets in opulent tints and shades of violet, crimson and emerald green were spread across trestle tables. Bags of gemstones far-travelled from the mines in India and Ceylon, pearls and gold and silver wire. Linens, soft, clean and white in contrast, decorated with delicate German smocking. The spaces between the industrious seamstresses were occupied by maids and nursemaids, servants and clerks, dogs and scribes. The Queen was busy with one of the latter, but looked up at Thomas's arrival, and a smile lit her face. ‘Ah, Thomas!' She beckoned to him, then set her hand over her rounded belly. She was not currently pregnant, but the constant bearing of children had taken its toll on her figure, as had the box of sweetmeats always at her side. Poppet, her squirrel, perched on her shoulder, eating almonds.

A concerned look crossed her face. ‘We were all so sorry to hear of your injury. Indeed, we were told that you had died, and I am deeply glad that our mourning was premature.'

‘As you can see, madam, I am well, and not greatly discommoded,' Thomas replied, sweeping Philippa a deep bow. He could feel Katerine of Salisbury's gimlet stare upon him. Jeanette sat in the background robed in plain colours, that horrible tight wimple framing her face.

‘I thank God for it, but still you have been sorely wounded,' the Queen said.

‘Yes, madam, sadly I lost the sight of an eye, but I hope I have gained wisdom and experience in exchange.' He smiled ruefully. ‘I assure you I can still tourney and compete with any knight in the land.'

‘I do not doubt it,' Philippa answered with compassion, and Thomas realised that to be taken seriously again he would have to prove himself beyond words. The awareness was unpleasant, but further whetted his determination.

‘I understand you and the King are to be congratulated on the birth of a new prince.'

Philippa's face lit up with a smile. She signalled, and the new addition to the royal family, wrapped in swaddling, was presented by his nurse. ‘This is Edmund,' she said. ‘Born almost three weeks ago.'

Thomas looked dutifully at the parcelled child that resembled any other small baby to his masculine eye. He made suitably admiring remarks and enquired after the health of the others. Edward, the heir, was absent at Berkeley, but his brothers Lionel and John were summoned from their play, and Thomas commented on how much they had grown – busy infant boys of two and a half and fifteen months. Isabelle and Joan greeted him with smiles and silent but curious regard for his eye patch.

When it was time to take his leave, the Queen gave him a green jewel for his hat from her famous trinket box and said she hoped to speak to him again later. Thomas thanked her with courteous enthusiasm and turned to go.

While he had been speaking with Philippa and engaging with the royal offspring, Jeanette had positioned herself near the door, and the flash of her gaze as she lifted it to his opened up a cavern of memories and longing within him – indelible and visceral. He wanted to seize her in his arms and ride off with her, away from all this falsehood and incarceration. The irony was that he had every right to do so, yet was unable to act.

He drew a deep breath and strode from the room before he betrayed either of them, and, returning to his tent, slumped on his camp stool and groaned.

Otto shouldered through the tent flaps and looked at him. ‘Where did you go last night?'

Thomas raised his head. ‘I slept under the stars in no man's land. Just me and my horse and my ghosts and God.'

‘And did all of you come to a decision?' Otto went to the wine jug.

‘Not immediately, but yes, we did.'

‘And?'

Thomas fingered the green hat jewel, wondering how much it was worth if he sold it. ‘I still love her. I still want her with all my being, and she is my lawful wife. She married William Montagu under coercion, believing me dead. Yet I cannot claim her because we are in the same quandary as before. No one will believe us if we speak, and everyone except me and Jeanette is delighted with a match that unites their interests. I am just a damaged household knight with a traitor for a father.'

‘That sounds rather like you have decided to give up,' Otto said.

Thomas shook his head. ‘I considered it, but I think of Jeanette and know I cannot. I have to find the funds to challenge the match and employ an attorney to speak for me. I shall discuss the matter with John de Warenne – he has long acquaintance with such dealings and will advise me well.'

Otto raised his cup. ‘De Warenne has not had much success though, has he? He's still married despite decades of trying to obtain an annulment. I hold out little hope that our sister will ever stand at the church door with him.'

‘Even so, he has the experience to advise me.'

Otto conceded the point with a shrug. ‘Will you make it public knowledge?'

‘It would be pointless. I need to be on solid ground with the funds to carry it through the Church courts if I am to stand any chance of success. If I do it now, I will be dismissed out of hand, endanger my own life and destroy my family's reputation. That is why I need to speak to de Warenne. He will not steer me false.' He grimaced in frustration. ‘I must bide my time, and it is beyond hard when I want it to be now.'

‘You would not consider giving her up?' Otto ventured, stepping into the lion's den. ‘Would it not be better for all concerned?'

‘No,' Thomas said vehemently. ‘We made our vows before God. I cannot make that go away. Jeanette was coerced into this match by her family, and she does not wish to remain wed to William Montagu. It is a matter of sacred vows and honour as well as love. I thought about it all of last night and I am still thinking now, but I still come to the same conclusion. I cannot and will not give her up.'

Otto grunted. ‘I am glad I am a younger son and a simple man. I earn a wage, I tumble a woman for a coin and put no fetters on myself.'

‘There is certainly wisdom in that approach,' Thomas said with weary amusement.

Otto pressed a light hand on Thomas's shoulder. ‘I won't say all will be well – I am not sure it can be – but I will pray for the best outcome, and you have my loyalty whatever happens.'

‘Thank you,' Thomas said, deeply touched and even a little guilty. ‘I owe you more than I can ever repay.'

‘Call it quits,' Otto said with a grin. ‘I will remind you next time I need to pay my gambling debts.'