23 Calais, Normandy, February 1347

23

Calais, Normandy, February 1347

Jeanette lay beside her unwanted husband in a bed in the house that the Salisbury family had taken on the outskirts of Calais, feeling like a caged hen. Thomas had left for Ghent yesterday, escorting the Queen, and she had been unable to speak with him before he went. Lady Katerine had remained in Calais, claiming an ague, although in truth there was nothing wrong with her. She just wanted to be near the King.

William rolled over and put his hand on her shoulder to turn her towards him, and she sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘There is no point in us lying together,' she said. ‘I will not conceive whatever you do. I would have done so by now, the number of potions your mother and grandmother have forced down my throat – and yours come to that. And do not even begin upon the anointing of other parts!'

He flushed and looked away.

‘Yes,' she said, ‘I know all about those, but it hasn't made any difference.'

‘But it might. What if I just want to lie with you because you are my wife and I have the right to claim that debt?'

Nosewyse leaped on to the bed between them and gave William a whiskery lick. He pushed the dog away, but not roughly.

‘But I am not your wife, and it is a sin,' Jeanette said with a side glance at her treacherous dog who had quite taken to William. ‘How many times must we return to this? If you must, then you must, but do not expect my joy or God's approval. There are plenty of women in the camp if you have a need. Go and visit one of them.'

For a moment she thought he might indeed force her, but then he made a sound of disgust and raised his hands in capitulation.

‘You know your mother wants for nothing because she has the King's ear,' Jeanette said. ‘Why do you think she is still here when the Queen has gone to Ghent?'

‘Because she has an ague,' he answered defensively. ‘She and my father have long been friends with the King – since well before I was born.'

‘It has become much more than friendship,' Jeanette said. ‘I have seen her standing beside him with her hand below his belt, and he did not push her away. She persuades him to do as she wills. How do you think our own marriage was brokered?'

His blue eyes filled with fury. ‘Do not say such things about my mother!'

‘I am only telling you what everyone knows,' she said. ‘It's becoming increasingly obvious.'

He glared at her. ‘If you say anything like that again, I will beat you – I mean it. I have the right, and no one would blame me.'

She looked him in the face. ‘But I am not your wife, and you do not have the right.'

‘That is not true—'

‘You know it!' She thumped her fist on the bedclothes, and Nosewyse jumped on to the floor. ‘Dear God, we both know it! Even if by some terrible miscarriage of justice we are forced to remain together, there will always be that question hanging over your heir – should you manage to beget one. I am poison for you, William; do you not understand? Accept it, and help us both. Let the marriage be annulled; find yourself a compliant wife who does not have a history – or reputation – like mine. I mean it.'

He shook his head, his expression crumpling into misery. ‘I cannot.'

‘Why not? Of what benefit am I to you?'

‘It is about loyalty,' he said. ‘I owe my allegiance to my family. What allegiance have you ever shown me?'

‘You were pushed into this as much as I was,' she said with scornful impatience. ‘Do not speak of loyalty. What do we owe either of our families between us? If you were free, you could wed again, to someone more suitable. You wouldn't keep being pushed into a room with me and told to make an heir. Be a man in a way that matters.'

He glared at her, gathered up his clothes, and slammed from the room.

Jeanette stared at the vibrating door and bit her lip, aware that she might have goaded him too far. He had been forced into her chamber by his mother and grandmother, in the hope that he would get her with child, but the sowing had been hers and he clearly disliked what she had planted. Whether he would think on it was another matter. She suspected he would just lock it away behind yet another slammed door.

Although she had not managed to speak with Thomas, she knew he had gained a potentially large ransom to fund his court case, but first he had to obtain official recognition of that ransom and an offer from the King, and while Katerine of Salisbury was busy in the royal bed, there was small chance of that.

Nosewyse looked at her and whined. ‘Oh, be silent,' she said crossly, and folded her arms around her upraised knees.

‘Will you not come and play dice with us?'

Sitting by himself in a window seat in Edward's private chamber, William looked up as Edward joined him. ‘I am out of sorts,' he said. ‘Go on without me.' He didn't want to socialise after the verbal bruising he had just received from Jeanette. Why couldn't she be reasonable? He tried his best and she spurned him at every turn.

Edward sat down beside him and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle. ‘I thought you'd retired early to be with Jeanette.'

William shook his head. ‘No,' he said dully. ‘Or at least I did, but then we quarrelled. We always quarrel.'

‘Jeanette can be difficult,' Edward said almost ruefully, ‘but she can be warm and fun, and she is shrewd and perceptive. She reads me like a book at least! I am sorry you and she are at odds.'

William palmed his face. He didn't want to hear that she was shrewd and perceptive, especially after what she had said about his mother.

Edward leaned towards him, his eyes bright with concern. ‘What is it? You know you can tell me anything and it will not go further, I promise on my word of honour as a knight.'

William sighed deeply. ‘My mother and grandmother brought Jeanette to Calais explicitly for us to beget an heir. They say it is past time and they want her with child by Christmas, but I think it unlikely.'

‘If you are not on good terms, it must be difficult.'

William puffed out his cheeks. ‘My mother does not understand – refuses to understand. In truth I would rather spend the night on sentry duty in the snow than perform my other duty in the marriage bed.'

Heat burned into his face at admitting his vulnerability. He could not even get a cockstand these days to do the deed no matter how many potions and unguents he was given. He was eighteen years old and it should come as easily as pissing, but with Jeanette, he was as flaccid as a gouty old man. He wasn't going to admit that to Edward, whether he trusted him or not.

‘She has sworn ever since we were wed that her true husband is Thomas Holland and that they made some kind of binding pact when they were in Flanders. My family has always refused to believe it, and even Jeanette's own mother says it is an untruth and a silly girl's whim – but what if it isn't?' He gave Edward a pleading look. ‘I have seen the way she and Thomas Holland look at each other. Not once in our marriage has she ever given me such a glance. I am at a loss. Even if I do get Jeanette with child, what if she cries abroad that she is someone else's wife? What of my heirs then? They will be deemed bastards.' He picked up his drink and drained it to the lees.

Edward cleared his throat and said nothing.

‘You know about this, don't you?' William accused, feeling sick with betrayal.

Edward winced. ‘Yes, but I have said nothing, for the sake of your reputation and Jeanette's, for I do not know if it is true, or if it would stand up to scrutiny if brought before an ecclesiastical court. I thought it might die down without the need to say anything . . .'

William looked glum. ‘If the marriage with Thomas Holland is true, then her union with me will never be right while God disagrees.'

Edward frowned, wondering how he could help to resolve the situation without doing more harm and without compromising himself with Jeanette, with William, or indeed with Thomas Holland, whose services were invaluable. ‘I am sure something can be done.'

‘Then you are more certain than I am.' William rubbed his face again. ‘I am still your father's ward and he has put me in my mother's care until I come of age, and she will never agree to dissolve the marriage. It would cost too much pride and money. She says it will all go away and that Holland does not have a case.'

‘Do you truly wish your union with Jeanette to be dissolved?'

William grimaced. ‘I wish it had never come about, but my loyalty to my family remains, and your father would never consent to such a thing.'

Edward narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Leave this with me,' he said. ‘I can think of at least one lever, and if nothing happens, you are still no worse off than you are now. If it does work, perhaps I can spring you and Jeanette from this coil.'

The glimmer of hope that sparked in William's breast died in the same moment. Edward was his lord and a dear friend, but he could not imagine what he could do about it. However, he nodded. ‘If you wish,' he said.

‘I believe my mother may be able to help unravel this coil. I shall speak with her when she returns from Ghent. She will give good advice on the matter at the least, and she will have a vested interest, I have no doubt.'

William flushed, thinking of what Jeanette had told him about his own mother and the King.

He met Edward's gaze, and Edward nodded, so there could be no mistaking what they both knew but would not say. ‘You are my friend,' Edward said. ‘You always will be. Now, will you come and play dice and forget your worries? You can do nothing for now. A game of hazard and a cup of wine among friends will do you better than brooding on your sorrows like a laden donkey.'

William shrugged, found a smile from somewhere and, rising to his feet, followed Edward to the convivial arena of the gaming board.

Almost a month later, Edward sat with his mother in his chamber on the outskirts of Calais. A bitter late winter wind whistled at the shutters and they were both wrapped in fur-lined cloaks and eating small balls of stuffed marchpane at the fireside. He had invited her to his dwelling to play tables with him. A few members of her private household were present too, including Thomas Holland, who had been seconded to her employment for the past several weeks. He had been restored to her favour now that he possessed more maturity and had proven his exceptional military abilities.

Taking a respite from the game, Philippa leaned back and drank from her glass goblet. ‘You wrote to me about William Montagu's marriage to Jeanette,' she said.

‘I did,' Edward replied. ‘We spoke of it before and you said we should leave it and see what happens, but it has gone neither forward nor back, and it needs to be made right. William doesn't want to be wed to Jeanette any more than she wishes to be wed to him, but he will do his duty by his family and will not actively seek to end the match. They are both miserable. I don't think I've ever seen him so out of sorts.'

‘And you think that I can do something about it?' Philippa raised one eyebrow. ‘Or that I should even want to do something about it? Is there a reason for me to rock that particular boat – a good reason? Many marriages are not made in heaven, but they are still successful. I thought Jeanette and William would be a good match, I still do, or I would never have endorsed it.' Her tone was defensive as she popped another marchpane ball into her mouth.

Edward contemplated the wine, shining golden-green through the goblet glass. ‘Jeanette insists she was married within law to Holland at Saint Bavo, and he has told me the same tale. If true, it will damage the legitimacy of any heirs William does have with her, and if we turn a blind eye, are we not ignoring God's will?'

‘That is something to consider,' she conceded, ‘but more proof is needed than hearsay.'

‘I want to help all of them. The Church will decide, I know, but the Church is open to other influences – including words from kings and queens.'

‘Sometimes,' Philippa said. ‘It does not always hold true.'

‘My father gave Jeanette's marriage to the Salisbury family as a personal favour – the Countess pursued the matter strongly at one time, as did Jeanette's mother.' He saw his mother's lips purse. ‘Perhaps you might think it fitting to take an interest, and voice your concern over the validity of the second marriage, given Jeanette and Thomas's insistence that they were wed in the eyes of God.'

Philippa said nothing, but did not stop him.

‘Moreover, the Hollands have proved their exceptional worth on campaign. Thomas especially could rise to be much more. He understands not just battle, but logistics, and he knows how to get the best from men. It would be no mismatch or disgrace for Jeanette to be his wife. Perhaps it is time to show the dowager countesses of Salisbury and Kent where the influence of women truly lies.'

Philippa gave him a sharp look. ‘Do not over-salt your dish,' she warned.

‘Holland needs funds to pursue his case, and a good lawyer who knows his way around the Avignon court,' Edward continued. ‘He needs letters of recommendation to the Pope – I thought you could write one. Holland has yet to be paid for the capture of Raoul de Brienne, and still hasn't been granted an audience to discuss it. If he could secure that ransom, he would have a fighting chance. It would be your right to intervene, and would be asserting your authority as Queen. If the directive comes from you, my father will not be able to put it aside. Lady Salisbury might have a certain power, but compared to yours, it is nothing.'

‘You have thought this through indeed,' she said.

He shrugged, affecting nonchalance, but was secretly pleased. ‘It addresses many concerns. Thomas shall have his ransom money, sufficient that his case is given a fair hearing. Whatever happens will be God's decision and our consciences will be clear for we shall have done our best and, in so doing, fulfilled our duty and made things right.'

His mother stroked her sleeve, changing the velvet from violet to midnight purple as her finger swept over the pile. ‘What kind of sum did you have in mind?'

‘I thought you might have a notion, mother. How much do you think Master Holland should be awarded for his capture of Raoul de Brienne?'

She gave him a considering look. ‘He will need to pay a good lawyer, and have funds for the papal court. And money to live on beyond a soldier's wage should the court find in his favour and he has to support a royal wife. I shall think on the matter.'

Edward took her hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Mama.'

She smiled at him fondly but shrewdly. ‘I think we must both thank each other,' she said. ‘When the time comes, you shall be a worthy king.'

Three nights later, Philippa dined privately with her husband. They had enjoyed roast venison in piquant sauce, mopped up with good white bread, and were now picking at nuts and fruit and sipping sweet wine. She had been deliberating her approach to him on the matter of Raoul de Brienne's ransom and had even wondered, despite her discussion with Edward, whether she should do this at all, because once embarked upon, there was no going back. However, she was not going to have Katerine of Salisbury dictating policy, and her eldest son seemed to think that none of the three people involved in the marriage were happy with their current lot.

Her husband would expect to lie with her tonight – that was why they were eating in private. He would be appreciative of their bond and considerate, and would send her jewels and gifts in the morning as tokens of his esteem. She loved him with all her heart. A powerful soldier, a player in the great game, and she was his consort, mother of his children, ruler of his domestic household and a diplomat behind the scenes. But like so many men, especially the active, virile ones, he could be a complete fool sometimes with other women. The pressure to release his superfluity of seed when she was not nearby sometimes regrettably caused him to stray.

‘You are quiet, my dear.' He gave her a speculative look. ‘Is something troubling you?'

She looked at his long fingers playing with the stem of his cup, hands that knew the most intimate parts of her body – hands that had wandered elsewhere of late. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Something is troubling me deeply.' She left the table, returning with a small gold brooch in the shape of a heart set with sapphires, and placed it on the table between them. ‘Do you recognise this?'

He looked at the ornament and gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Where did you happen by it?'

Philippa picked up the jewel and tossed it at him. ‘You know full well whose it is, since she constantly wears it on her headband and her husband had it engraved with their initials entwined when they wed. How do you explain its presence amid your bedclothes? A laundress found it and brought it to me, although she might just as easily have turned the other way and let you or Katerine bribe her to silence.'

He stared at the brooch, his cheeks sucked in.

‘I suppose you were offering her comfort and succour because her husband died.' The cold anger with which Philippa had started warmed to a simmer. ‘Your sworn duty is to your queen, and not only to your queen, but to me, your wife, the mother of your heirs. Without me you would not have heirs, and yet you have taken up with your best friend's widow, who, for all that she is a countess, is no better than a common harlot in this matter. You are both shamed. William Montagu must be turning in his grave!'

‘It is not what you think . . .'

‘Then what is it?' she demanded. ‘You both lacked the control? You only intended to comfort her? Are you going to throw feeble excuses in my face? Am I not worth more than that?'

He swallowed. ‘Philippa, I am sorry . . . I did not . . .'

‘Expect to be found out? How could you! How many do you think are laughing at us behind their hands? The great chivalrous king who is no more faithful than a rutting dog! Your eldest son knows full well. The Archbishop knows. Everyone from common soldier to earl of the realm is a party to my humiliation!' She did not have to feign the tears in her eyes. ‘It is not the first time, and I know beyond a shred of doubt it will not be the last!'

Edward sat immobile for a moment, then pushed through the horror and guilty shock and, taking her hands, knelt at her feet. ‘I am truly sorry,' he said. ‘I love and revere you above all women, I swear, but I am a weak fool and I do not always resist temptation when you are not here. I know I should contain myself, and I beg your forgiveness for my lapse.'

‘You speak fair words, but I do not trust you.' Her voice wobbled. ‘Why, for the sake of your children, can you not save yourself for me? Why do you have to seek other pastures? Especially William Montagu's widow. How could you!'

‘She was only a means to a release – she is nothing compared with you . . . I never meant it to happen.'

Philippa was not ready to yield her grievance. ‘I have loved you since I first saw you and you cannot imagine what it does to me to see you dallying with other women and breaking your vows while I have remained true and faithful to mine. If you did not mean it to happen, then you should have ensured that it did not!'

‘I know, I know. Don't weep. I hate to see you weep. I shall shrive myself and swear to cleave only to you if you will forgive me.'

Philippa sniffed, and eventually dried her tears, allowing him to cajole her as part of the mending process, and she could not resist the hangdog look in his eyes. He would stray again, led by that unruly instrument between his legs; nevertheless, he had a conscience and she had brought him back to his duty. For the moment, his pattern would be one of guilty, intense attention and lavish gifts. At this stage she could have whatever she wanted of him and he would be clay in her hands.

They went to bed and made love with passion, abandon and tenderness. Edward's chagrin made him thorough and eager to please, and Philippa wrapped herself around him, crying out, taking extra satisfaction in having him back in her bed and she with the upper hand.

In the early morning, before they went about their daily duties, they lay in each other's arms, having made love again with leisurely affection. Edward gently stroked Philippa's wide belly with its silvery striations, tracking the evidence of the ten children she had carried in her womb. She watched the slow movement of his hand, and returned the compliment, gently tugging on the stripe of hair that ran down his navel into the bush at his groin.

‘I have been meaning to talk to you about something else,' she said.

‘Oh yes?' Edward's tone was warily amused. They both knew the game, and the penances involved.

‘About many things,' Philippa said, ‘but one in particular because it worries my conscience.'

‘And what would that be?'

‘The matter of Jeanette of Kent's marriage to William Montagu.'

‘Oh that,' he said, and the amusement left his voice, like the sun vanishing behind a cloud.

‘Yes, that. Your son says that William is not content with the match, and Jeanette is insisting she was married to Thomas Holland, and forced by her mother and the Montagus into a marriage with young William. She won't reconcile herself to her circumstances. In hindsight, we should never have promoted the match, even if it seemed a good opportunity to do a friend a favour, and even if we knew nothing about Thomas Holland's claim then. Indeed, we do not officially know even now. It has all been hearsay and gossip behind curtains and tapestries – but it exists nonetheless.'

She felt the tension creeping into his body. ‘I do not see what we can do about it.'

‘Do you not? I can tell you a way, and it is one you may have been avoiding – perhaps as a result of pillow persuasion?'

‘I am not sure I know what you mean,' Edward said stiffly.

Philippa gave a swift tug on the hair stripe running to his groin, but then moved her hand to soothe and venture lower. ‘You need to speak with Thomas Holland,' she said. ‘You have Raoul de Brienne's ransom to agree. Our son tells me you have been promising to do so, but avoiding the matter. We owe the Holland brothers a debt for their skills on this campaign, be it in battle or ensuring supplies and command. It will be some time before William Montagu will be of service to you, but you could be using Holland now by raising his status. Give him sufficient funds to at least have his case heard. That would be fair and just.'

Edward made a dubious sound.

‘Look at the weights in the scales,' Philippa persisted. ‘William is still in wardship. You need not abandon him, but we should set this thing to rights and make it certain, whichever way it is adjudged.'

‘That girl has caused so much trouble,' Edward said irritably. ‘If she and Holland had not overstepped the boundaries in Flanders, none of this would have happened.'

‘If they overstepped the boundaries, then what of the Countess of Salisbury?' Philippa retorted. ‘Her exploitation of your weakness notwithstanding, she was responsible for Jeanette in Flanders and her lack of care permitted that relationship to flourish. Thomas Holland was led by his loins like so many men, but both he and Jeanette have been steadfast in their intent. Who are we to stand in their way?'

Edward looked away for a moment, his face flushing with chagrin and exasperation. He turned back to her. ‘How much do you think Thomas Holland should be given for this ransom?'

‘We can talk about that tonight,' Philippa said, ‘and you should send Katerine from court. There is no reason for her to be here. Her son has able servants to run his own household. I do not want her among my waiting women, and I am sure she has business to conduct in England now she is a widow.' Her voice was steely. ‘That is what I want, more than gifts and promises.'

‘Then you shall have it,' Edward replied. ‘For I had no wish to hurt you, and I want us to be as we were.'

‘So do I,' Philippa said.

They kissed again, and she smiled against his mouth.