2 Port of Orwell, Ipswich, July 1338

2

Port of Orwell, Ipswich, July 1338

‘You're being watched,' Otto warned his brother.

Thomas Holland looked up from securely stowing his baggage pack and cast a glance over his shoulder at the group of ladies who had recently joined the cog bobbing at anchor, awaiting the tide. The King was still ashore talking to a group of nobles, with Queen Philippa roundly pregnant at his side, but some of the ladies had been sent aboard to ready her quarters for the journey, including the girls and young women who were royal wards of her household, and the two little princesses, Isabelle and Joan, aged six and four.

Thomas was more concerned with seeing to the safety of equipment than paying attention to the women's flurry. He preferred to keep his distance, although the green livery of a household knight was a beacon when it came to being recruited to perform little tasks by the more formidable ladies in the Queen's entourage. They seemed to think that when not on active military duty, the King's knights existed to attend their every whim.

A party of older girls, flighty with excitement at the prospect of a sea voyage, stood in a giggling huddle. One in particular had fixed her gaze on him. She was tall and willowy, with a coil of plaited hair in mingled tones of honey, cream and gold. When he met her stare, she held the contact for a long moment, before looking down, a smile curling her lips.

‘Be wary of that one,' Otto warned, his tone amused but pointed. ‘She's after you.'

Thomas shook his head, smiling, but unsettled by the girl's candid regard. He resumed his own concerns, but remained aware of her scrutiny. If she was with the royal party and among the Queen's women, then she was of high status, and therefore a dangerous prospect. More giggles flurried his way, and a louder shriek of laughter, followed by a sharp rebuke from one of the older ladies that resulted in semi-silence, punctuated by muffled titters.

‘Don't worry, I'm not going to play with fire,' he said. ‘There will be plenty of women in Antwerp without becoming embroiled with one of the royal wards.'

‘Henry says he knows a drinking house where they will take out their combs for three groats.' Otto nodded at one of the other young knights, currently out of earshot. ‘Imagine lying with a woman with her hair down and her legs up round your waist.'

Thomas could more than imagine. He had enjoyed several such encounters on the recent Scottish campaign, including one in Berwick that still gave him sinful dreams. Otto hadn't been with him then. ‘Best keep your mind above your balls until we get there,' he said, and nodded towards the gangway. ‘Here are the King and Queen.'

At Lady Katerine's sharp rebuke, Jeanette tore her gaze from the handsome, raven-haired knight. Her stomach was fluttering and she felt the urge to giggle even more and had to clap her hand over her mouth.

She was saved from herself by a fanfare of trumpets as King Edward and Queen Philippa boarded the cog with the rest of the Queen's entourage. Jeanette dropped in a deep curtsey, her skirts creating a pool of tawny silk on the decking. She dared an upwards glance. The royal couple wore garments dripping with jewels and embroidery. The Queen's gown was loosely cut to encompass her pregnancy and she walked with care, but she had a smile for everyone and an adoring look for her tall husband with his straight, fierce nose and keen blue eyes.

A cushioned, luxurious shelter awaited her behind the mast, protected from the wind and waves by a decorated canvas cover. Once she had been escorted within and settled in comfort, the King kissed her hands and departed to his own ship, for it was unwise for them both to embark on the same vessel, even if the weather was set fair and the voyage only a day and night's sail. Their son and heir, ten-year-old Edward, was remaining behind as a ruling figurehead guided by counsellors until their return.

Jeanette was delighted that the knight she had been admiring was staying aboard their own cog as part of the Queen's guard. Several other girls were eyeing him too, whispering behind their hands while the older women were distracted seeing to their royal mistress.

Beneath Jeanette's feet the cog shuddered as the crew loosed her mooring ropes and raised her anchor. Like a horse released from its halter, the ship bucked and pranced on the tidal drag. The Queen's chaplain stood at the prow, voice and staff raised in blessing, exhorting God to grant them a safe, swift passage.

Jeanette crossed her breast and momentarily forgot the knight as she absorbed the new experience of leaving dry land. A stiff breeze blew a belly into the striped sail, turning it into an ale-drinker's paunch, and above it at the pinnacle the lions of England rippled out, fierce gold, tongued with long red streamers. The waves slapped beneath the cog's strakes and burst white spume against her sides.

Jeanette detached herself from her companions, suddenly irritated by their laughter and shrieks as the cog bowed to the waves. Going to stand at the side on the upper deck, she watched the vista change as they furrowed through the greater waves of the open sea. She didn't want to be confined inside the deck shelter with the other ladies. She could sit on a footstool and gossip any time, but this was her first sea crossing and the experience tugged at her soul. She wanted to remember this for the rest of her life.

The port shrank to a vista of tiny buildings standing on a hemmed colour block of ruffled blue and green. Jeanette lifted her face to the wind. This was what it was. This was how it felt. Absorbing every sensation through her young body, she relished the moment and laughed with joy when a larger wave buffeted the ship, sending up a sparkle of silver spray. The horse was energetic now, eager to chase. When her friend Joan summoned her to eat and drink with the others, she didn't want to leave her position, but obeyed rather than face a reprimand. Once she had made an appearance and behaved meekly, she could escape again to her wave-watching.

She curtseyed to the Queen, to Lady Katerine, Countess of Salisbury, and to Mistress St Maur who had overall responsibility for the royal wards. Supposedly, eating dry bread would stave off the mal de mer as they sailed into heavier seas. Jeanette had noticed some of the ladies looking peaky, but her own stomach growled with hunger and she had to stop herself from wolfing her portion lest she attract censure. Nibbling daintily, she concealed her exuberance, and eventually, when everyone had finished, offered to throw the crumbs overboard.

‘Let the servants do that,' Katerine said sharply. ‘It is not your place.'

‘Oh, leave her, Kate,' the Queen intervened, smiling at Jeanette with a sparkle in her eyes and handing over her own napkin. ‘Do not throw into the wind, or it will blow back upon you.'

‘No, madam.' Jeanette curtseyed, flashed Katerine a triumphant glance, and returned to the ship's side. Mindful of Queen Philippa's warning, she made sure to shake the cloths in the right direction. Now she truly had cast bread upon the waters.

In the corner of her eye she saw Lady Katerine beckoning her to return and considered ignoring her, but eventually complied because it wasn't worth the scolding she would receive otherwise. As she turned, a boisterous wave smacked the ship's prow. Caught off balance, she staggered, and would have fallen except for the support of a firm hand under her elbow.

‘Steady, demoiselle,' said the raven-haired knight. ‘It takes a while to acquire sea-legs.'

His eyes were a rich peat-brown and his smile sent a lightning jolt through her body. ‘I am all right,' she replied, flustered but determined to recover her dignity.

He released his grip and bowed, and when he stood straight, his expression was full of indulgent humour. Jeanette swept him a haughty look, and with head high, returned to the ladies, although inside she was quivering. A swift backwards glance revealed that he had turned away and was already going about his business.

‘Come and sit by me,' Katerine instructed. ‘It is unseemly to go wandering about the ship bothering others.'

‘I stumbled, that is all,' Jeanette defended herself. ‘I wasn't "wandering" and I wasn't bothering anyone.'

‘No, but you lingered when you should have returned immediately. You must learn decorum.'

Jeanette puffed out her cheeks to show what she thought and received a prim glare.

Queen Philippa called for one of her ladies, Petronella, to read from a book of romances – an Arthurian tale of a grand tournament held to find the most valiant and chivalrous warrior in the land. As Jeanette listened, her imagination made the hero into the knight who had caught her arm to steady her, and her heart filled with a hollow yearning.

The wind freshened and the motion of the ship became frisky as they approached the mid-crossing. Jeanette listened to the creak of the ropes and timbers, the shouts of the sailors, and wished she could run up the rigging to the lookout platform where the banner flew. Lady Katerine started to turn green and had to go and lie down. Unaffected, Jeanette turned to her friend Joan Bredon, who was two years older than she was and knew a great deal about everything, and enquired nonchalantly about the knights sailing with them.

‘I know the one you are really asking about,' Joan said, not in the least fooled, and shook her head as Jeanette started to protest. ‘You would be wise to leave him well alone.'

‘If you know his reputation, then you must know his name,' Jeanette persisted.

Joan rolled her eyes. ‘If you have to be curious, he is Thomas Holland, one of the sons of Robert Holland of Thorpe. The fairer one with him is his brother, Otto.'

‘Why would it be wise to leave him alone?' The idea that this Thomas Holland might be dangerous sent a delicious shiver up Jeanette's spine.

‘Because your rank is far above his and the King will want to arrange your marriage for advantage to the crown.'

Jeanette sniffed in disgust. ‘That's exactly what my mother would say. It's not as though I'm about to marry him!'

‘Even more reason to keep your distance!' Joan leaned in closer and lowered her voice. ‘His father betrayed his sworn lord, Henry of Lancaster. He was supposed to come to his aid in battle and he stayed at home instead. The King pardoned him all past transgressions, but his enemies bided their time, and they ambushed and beheaded him for his want of loyalty.'

Jeanette thought of her own father who had also been executed, caught out by the shifting sands of court politics. She had been too young to remember him, but she had been told the story, and knew he had been wronged. She didn't judge – she had learned not to believe everything she was told. Besides, a child was not its parent, God forbid. People always had their reasons for what they said and few were pure of intent. ‘But he is a household knight,' she said. ‘He's guarding the Queen, so King Edward must trust him.'

‘He and Otto have proven themselves in loyalty and battle,' Joan replied, ‘but you should still keep your distance. Being loyal to the King and fierce fighters does not mean they are like lap dogs. Imagine wolves instead.'

Joan's warning only stoked Jeanette's interest, not least because she and Thomas Holland shared a common bond regarding the fate of their fathers, and she could add sympathy for him to her curiosity. The notion of him being untamed was an intrigue, not a deterrent.

The sun set behind their ship and the moon rose in a broken silver path across the sea. People wrapped themselves in their cloaks and went to sleep. Jeanette dozed, but could not settle for her mind was still buzzing like a midsummer hive, and eventually she rose and tip-toed from the deck shelter. The sea had calmed from its earlier choppiness and was an undulating black glint. The heavens were an endless vista of stars, and she felt herself expanding to join all that space. This was what mattered in the world; this was beauty, this was God – not that deck shelter of petty rules enclosing the mounds of sleeping women amid aromas of wine and vomit.

In the darkness a shape moved quietly to join her, and she gasped in alarm before she recognised the knight she now knew as Thomas Holland.

‘Mistress, should you not be soundly asleep with the Queen's ladies?' he asked, his voice pitched low.

She heard the soft clink of his sword hilt against its fixings and the faint creak of leather. The feel of him so close raised the hair on her nape and she had to strive to control her voice. ‘Are you going to send me back there?'

‘I am not your guardian, demoiselle, but it is my duty to ensure the safety of all during the voyage. If you fell overboard now, who would know until the morning?'

‘I am perfectly safe, as you can see,' she replied pertly, ‘unless you think a sea monster is going to rise up from the depths and snatch me off the ship.'

‘No, but there are far worse fates than sea monsters, mistress, believe me.'

She shivered, feeling his breath against her cheek, but she wasn't afraid. The sensation was as new and exquisite as the voyage itself. Lady Katerine was always warning her about worse fates, although she was never specific as to what they might actually be. ‘No one will harm me on this ship,' she said. ‘Their lives would be forfeit – a single scream would be enough.'

‘You would not have time to scream,' he answered. ‘You are fortunate that I am honourable and diligent in my duty.'

Unable to think of a fitting retort, Jeanette lifted her gaze to the night sky. ‘Why would anyone want to sleep rather than see and feel all of this?' she asked. ‘One is being alive; the other is not.'

‘True,' he said, after a hesitation, and leaning beside her, loosely clasped his hands. ‘Have you sailed before?'

‘Only on rivers and inshore,' she said. ‘But this is like riding a horse – a wild one. Have you, sir?'

‘Many times, demoiselle, enough that I would rather roll myself in my cloak and value sleep above novelty. But you remind me of that first sense of wonder, and you are right about riding wild horses – although I wouldn't encourage it on land,' he added with a smile in his voice. He straightened and stood with legs planted to keep his balance. ‘But sleep is also a necessary thing. You should bid me goodnight, and return to the ladies, for whether you are safe or not, you will be reprimanded if they find you gone.'

She gave an uncaring shrug. ‘I am always being scolded for this or that. I shall tell them that I wanted to be sick, and better over the side than in their shelter.'

He gave an amused grunt. ‘You have a good excuse at hand, but in truth, I cannot go to my own slumber unless you are safe with the other ladies, for it is my sworn duty, and I am sure you would not want me to be wakeful the night long.'

His tone was light and teasing, but it kindled a flame in the pit of her belly. ‘No,' she said untruthfully. ‘I would not want to be the cause of that.'

She remained a few moments more beside him to make the point that she could stay as long as she wanted, but he was right, and since he was being courteous rather than issuing a blunt command, she was more disposed to cooperate. ‘Then I will bid you goodnight, messire, and I shall sleep well, knowing you have my best interests at heart.'

‘Demoiselle,' he said, bowing.

Returning to the women's shelter, she eased in beside Joan, who was awake.

‘Where have you been?' Joan hissed.

‘Nowhere,' Jeanette whispered in reply. ‘I felt sick, and did not want to wake everyone or make more of a stench than there is.'

‘Really?' Joan's voice was sceptical.

‘Girls, hush, what are you gossiping about?' Katerine's head rose off her pillow. ‘Jeanette, I might have known. Be silent, you will wake the Queen.'

Jeanette murmured an apology, but under the blanket stuck out her tongue in Katerine's direction.

She thought it would take an age to fall asleep, but slumber washed over her in swift, smooth undulations with the motion of the ship, and in moments she had left the world.

Thomas returned to his own part of the deck, for, as he had said, he was not her keeper. That was up to the women. The passion with which she had spoken about experiencing the voyage rather than sleeping had, however, surprised him, for he would not have expected such a profound thought to occupy the head of a flighty young girl, and she was indeed flighty, no doubt of that – but so very alluring.

Otto was dozing, arms folded behind his head, but cocked an eye at his return. ‘You were gone a while.'

‘One of the Queen's damsels was out of the nest – watching the stars if you please – never been to sea before.' Thomas unhooked a leather wine bottle from a peg on the ship's side and took a swig before telling Otto what she had said.

‘This was the one who was watching you earlier?' Otto accepted the bottle from Thomas and put it to his own lips.

Thomas sat down and drew his cloak over his long legs. Earlier, judicious enquiry had informed him that she was the King's cousin, daughter of Edmund of Woodstock and a considerable marriage prize. ‘Yes, but I only happened on her – it wasn't an assignation if that was what you were thinking.'

Otto passed the bottle back to him. ‘No, you wouldn't be so stupid when we are clawing back our family's reputation,' he said pointedly. ‘What was she doing wandering the ship in the dark?'

Thomas adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. ‘She wasn't "wandering the ship", she was standing at the side to take it all in. She made me remember what it was like to experience something for the first time and to be full of wonder at the world.'

Otto snorted. ‘Well, that is fine for a squire, but not for a royal ward. Mark me, she has the potential to cause trouble.'

Thomas said nothing. He liked high spirits in anything, be it horse or falcon, man or woman. In girls of her age and status, the flame was fleeting, stamped out by life's brutal practicalities, but he sensed an underlying tenacity in her. A bright, fiery lack of compliance. He recognised the danger, but as a soldier he lived with danger and balancing risks every day of his life. The trick was not to fall. Otto was right: she did indeed have the potential to cause trouble – and that made him smile.