29 Windsor Castle, Berkshire, June 1348

29

Windsor Castle, Berkshire, June 1348

Summoned to the court at Windsor by royal invitation, Jeanette arrived on a glorious June evening and was glad to step from the cart, for riding with Lady Elizabeth was always a trial. Katerine and Elizabeth had been tight-lipped at the summons, but could not ignore a royal command. Jeanette knew she would be closely guarded, but still hoped to find a way to speak with Thomas.

Numerous brightly striped tents crowded the castle precincts, hosting a huge gathering of nobility, here to celebrate Queen Philippa's churching after little William's birth, and to attend a grand tourney to honour the new prince and his mother.

Jeanette's stomach tightened with anxiety. It had been an age since she had been among so many people and it was like going from a diet of bread and water to a vast banquet. It left her feeling overwhelmed and nauseous.

The Salisbury lodgings consisted of three silk and canvas tents erected in front of the castle keep, and Katerine hustled her through the flaps and behind a partition at the back of the tent. ‘Do not think that you shall be gadding about the tourney field,' she warned. ‘You shall be a proper wife and remain under supervision until expressly summoned by the King and Queen.'

Jeanette deigned not to reply. Something had hardened and matured within her over the past few years as she had realised that even in a state of supposedly being powerless, a disdainful silence was insurmountable, and gave her control and power of her own. They might be constraining her, but she treated them as if they did not exist.

Jeanette approached the Queen, who was preparing to go and sit in her place of honour to view the tournament parade and the first bouts of the day.

Yesterday in the Chapel of St George she had celebrated her churching and given thanks for the safe delivery of yet another royal son. Jeanette had felt a little sorry for Philippa, who had been barely visible, swamped by her robes of red velvet embroidered in gold and pearls and so heavy with gems and stitchery that the garments could have stood up on their own. The mantle, lined with miniver and ermine, was more fitting to a winter's day than midsummer and Philippa's face had been a flushed dusky red, almost matching her costume. There had been little opportunity for Jeanette to speak with her, for the Queen had been occupied with official ceremonies. Jeanette had not seen her afterwards either, beyond a curtsey, for so many others had been waiting to make their obeisance and the Montagus had declined to linger.

Today there was yet more ceremony and expectation to endure. This time Philippa was robed in blue velvet embroidered with golden birds and a ransom-weight of pearls. The display was utterly sumptuous but uncomfortable for its wearer despite her stoical smile. Jeanette, glad to be much more lightly gowned in her dusky pink velvet with a cream silk underdress, curtseyed.

‘It is a while since we have seen you at court,' Philippa commented, ‘but I am pleased to see you among us again and I trust you are well.'

‘Yes, madam, and I thank you and the King for the summons,' Jeanette replied gracefully. ‘I have missed being among company; I have missed my friends and my kin.' She smiled at Joan Bredon, standing among the Queen's ladies holding Poppet, who was wearing his golden acorn collar.

Philippa turned to her jewel box to select the rings and brooches she would wear to add to her already glittering array. ‘We have missed you too, but we have been aware of your progress. I would not want you to think you were being ignored. Indeed, you have often been on my mind.'

‘Madam, I am glad you have thought of me,' Jeanette replied, wondering where this was leading. ‘It comforts me greatly and gives me hope.'

The Queen held out her fingers for the rings to be pushed on. ‘We should talk further,' she said. ‘I hope you will stay at court for a while. You have a new sister-in-law with whom to become acquainted, and of course your brother is here.' She raised one hand to regard the rings. ‘A word of warning . . . be careful in your behaviour while your case continues. Much as you might wish to linger in the company of certain courtiers, you would be wise not to jeopardise your future by behaving rashly. I hope I make myself clear, my dear. I have your best interests at heart. Do not spoil the broth for want of a little more cooking.'

‘No, madam,' Jeanette said meekly, and thought she would still strive to see Thomas if possible. The broth, as far as she was concerned, had been cooking for quite long enough, and required seasoning!

Not in the least taken in, Philippa held Jeanette's gaze sufficiently long to show how serious she was.

Another young woman arrived, robed in bright brown silk with striking gold embroidery. Her thick brown hair was plaited either side of her face in two coiled braids, with an elaborate veil and circlet draped over. Her dark eyes and the set of her jaw marked her as kin to the Queen. Jeanette had met her brother's new wife briefly yesterday, but had only gained a fleeting impression. The young woman had seemed pleasant enough, with a sparkle in her eyes, and had spoken affectionately of John.

Jeanette curtseyed to her; Isabella reciprocated, and they exchanged cheek kisses under the Queen's benevolent eye.

The entourage moved out to the tournament lodges and Philippa bade Jeanette sit near to her with Isabella. John himself was among the squires and knights on the tourney field, but only as part of the parade, not as a combatant, for his skill lay not in the joust or the sword fight. He was more at home as an administrator, in which role he could wear his Venetian spectacles and see the world with improved clarity. Still, he looked very fine, and when Jeanette said so to Isabella, the latter smiled proudly. John looked up at the stands as he paraded past on a glossy bay horse and cheerfully saluted in the women's direction.

Isabella cast a handful of flowers at him, and Jeanette remembered how she had thrown her own to Thomas at the tourney in Ghent. She looked for him now among the arms and banners and listened as the heralds called out the names of those taking part. The King was jousting today at the head of half of his Knights of the Garter; the other half were riding with the lord Edward. As the King's knights trotted past, gorgeously caparisoned, she stared straight ahead, her hands in her lap.

Isabella eyed her askance. ‘Do you not throw flowers to your lord?'

‘He is not my husband,' Jeanette said. ‘Surely you must have heard the talk at court, and John must have mentioned this to you?'

‘A little. But it is unwise to believe everything you hear, and John says it is a difficult matter and he does not wish to discuss it. He says the papal court in Avignon shall decide the truth.'

‘I have known the truth every day of my life for the last eight years and more,' Jeanette replied. ‘Whatever the papal court decides, I will always know it in my heart and how to weigh it against the falsehood of others.'

Isabella's brown eyes widened and she drew back, clearly at a loss.

Jeanette lifted her chin as the Prince's contingent rode on to the field and the heralds cried the names of the knights fighting under his ostrich-feather banner. ‘There is my true husband,' she said as Thomas passed their stand on Noir, with Otto riding beside him on his rangy chestnut, both men wearing the blue garters that marked them out as elite knights. ‘I do not throw flowers to him either, for we know what is in our hearts, and we have tokens far beyond a moment of public display that would cause trouble for us both.' She looked at Isabella. ‘When I married Thomas, we chose each other. How many people sitting on these benches can say that? Some will come to love and some will come to grief, and some will settle for a partnership of estates and children and daily bread. But I know what I have, and I will never stop fighting for it. I would rather die first.'

Isabella looked shocked and Jeanette smiled, albeit bitterly.

‘What of duty?' Isabella asked. ‘Does that mean nothing? What of honour?'

‘They have their place and I do not deny their worth, but there was no honour in the marriage I was forced to make with William Montagu. They told me I had to wed him; they said Thomas was dead. They said no one would believe us and they tried to bribe Thomas to drop his claim. They said that the marriage was false – that I was a foolish girl, taken in by the blandishments of a man who just wished to have his way. It is their honour that is tarnished, not mine, and I will stand firm unto death in the face of their lies.'

Isabella swallowed, clearly out of her depth, and despite her rancour at the world, Jeanette took pity on her. ‘That is my situation. I do not expect your understanding or sympathy, but whatever your path with my brother, I wish you well, and hope you wish the same for me.'

Isabella nodded. ‘Of course,' she said faintly.

Joan Bredon joined them, squeezing herself in at Jeanette's other side, her freckled face bright with pleasure. ‘I saw Donald in Thomas Holland's entourage,' she said. ‘He's got a new horse, one of the Holland blacks.'

‘Yes, I noticed.' Jeanette smiled at her friend. People mistook Joan's wholesomeness as a sign of an uncomplicated nature, and Joan played along and learned much in consequence. She and Donald Hazelrigg had been quietly courting for some time; Jeanette expected they would marry, for they were of similar rank and without impediments. But for now, Joan was one of Queen Philippa's ladies, and Donald was serving under the Holland banner.

Joan lowered her voice. ‘How goes it with your matter in hand?'

‘Slowly,' Jeanette said with a grimace. ‘They keep me confined so I barely know what is happening, and my testimony has been ignored. I am only here because Thomas wrote to the Pope and told him I was being held against my will. I have been released, as you see, but now the Archbishop of Canterbury is ailing, and we hear every day of this terrible pestilence that is advancing on us. Avignon has been struck, and it is creeping ever northwards. I fear my case may never be heard, or that I may die, or Thomas may die, God forbid, while we are still in this dreadful limbo.'

‘Oh, Jeanette.' Joan's hazel eyes filled with compassion. ‘You have always dwelt in my prayers, but I shall mark you especially now – and Thomas. If there is anything else I can do . . .'

Jeanette flicked a glance around to make sure that their conversation was not being overheard, especially by her new sister-in-law of whom she was unsure. ‘Perhaps when you are about the court and if you speak to Donald, you might find a way to give Thomas a message he will find comforting or useful. If you do not wish to do so, I understand. I would not ask save that I am closely watched, and they make it impossible for me to speak to him myself. If they suspect anything, they will lock me up and force me to drink poppy syrup.' She made a discreet gesture in the direction of William's mother and grandmother, sitting in the lodges to their right with some other ladies of the court.

Joan's eyes opened wide.

‘Yes,' Jeanette said grimly. ‘That has been my life for many years.'

‘You have my word that I shall do what I can,' Joan said, her lips set in the way they did when she was determined on a matter.

‘Thank you.' Jeanette touched her arm in gratitude. ‘I will not forget this, I promise you. I know you would never speak of me being in your debt, but I am, and when I am able, I shall repay you, and Donald, ten times over.'

The two teams led by the King and Prince Edward jousted against each other in the lists. The matches were all to prove valour, and once again much of the fighting was for show with moves and moments of drama worked out beforehand to enthral the crowd. There were tricks and feats of skill, near misses and deadly clashes with blows pulled at the last moment. Thomas demonstrated his speed and precision at the quintain, collecting all the rings on his lance, and as always, he and Otto performed a glittering demonstration of fighting skill, their movements a blur, too swift to follow as sword and dagger flashed and challenged, twisted and turned.

Jeanette watched them, her eyes alight, her heart full of love and pride, but trepidation too, given that Thomas had lost the vision in one eye. A single slip could result in serious injury, and their speed was incredible. She dared not show her emotion and had to clench her fists in her lap and remain outwardly calm, knowing she was giving herself away by her very lack of reaction. At least Thomas and William were never pitted against each other, about which she was supremely relieved, and thanked God for the common sense of those organising the bouts.

The contests ended as the light began to fade and the Queen retired from the lists to her chamber to hold a banquet for the ladies, while the King held one for the lords in his own hall. Jeanette had no opportunity to meet with Thomas that night, and impatience gnawed at her, keener than Poppet's teeth on a walnut shell.

In the Queen's chamber the following day, Jeanette gave her statement concerning her marriage to her attorney Master Nicholas Heath, with Joan Bredon and one of the Queen's chaplains as witnesses to her words. Master Heath's clerk, who had taken her original deposition, had been dismissed for accepting bribes, and replaced. A fresh-faced young man with ink-stained fingers and a mop of chestnut hair was now taking notes. Master Heath himself was in late middle age with stiff hips and a cynical, world-weary air, but he listened patiently to everything she told him while the clerk scribbled furiously, his manner in complete contrast to the previous one.

‘I shall see what I can do for you,' Master Heath said as he gathered his materials together when they had finished. ‘I am sure we can resolve the matter in your favour.'

‘Do you truly believe so?'

‘Yes, I do. I shall have to go through this again with the other attorneys, and it will be for the Cardinal to decide. However, I have every hope that we shall prevail.'

‘When will I hear more?'

‘That will depend on the papal court and the state of the hearings. We are due to present ours in September with the depositions from the witnesses and pleas from both sides. I expect to be able to report back by Christmas.'

‘And will it be done by Christmas?'

He made a tutting sound. ‘I counsel you to patience, my lady. The wheels grind very slowly in Avignon and it will depend on how many protests and challenges we receive from Master John, your husband's attorney, and how we respond to them. Yours is not the only case upon which the Cardinal must give his judgement, and with the disruption of the pestilence . . .' He let the words hang.

‘Then when?' she demanded. ‘Some time never perhaps?' To her mortification, her eyes filled with tears.

‘My lady, I beg you, do not weep.' He signalled to Joan Bredon, who was already on her feet.

‘Then give me an answer. Tell me when. I have been waiting for almost eight years! You counsel me to patience. How much more do I need?'

He gave her a compassionate look. ‘I cannot say Christmas, because I do not believe it will be then. Let us say before next spring is in full bloom, hopefully by Easter.'

‘Easter?' Jeanette cried. ‘But that is more than nine months away!'

He opened his hands in apology. ‘I wish I could say better than that, but if you begin counting the days now, it is truly not so long. I know it is a burden, and I am sorry. I shall do my best, I promise.' He bowed and rather swiftly left the room with his clerk. The Queen's chaplain followed.

Jeanette wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

‘At least he is doing something,' Joan said, ‘and at least you have a date.'

‘That may never come,' Jeanette said bitterly. ‘I want Thomas now, Joan, not at some mark in the future that keeps being moved ever further away.'

‘I know, and I wish I could help.'

The door opened again and another lawyer entered – an older man this time, with a pristine white cap and black hat. He had rounded features and hooded, shrewd eyes, the tawny colour of new ale. He bowed to Jeanette and introduced himself as Master Robert Beverley, attorney at law representing Thomas.

‘How did matters go with my colleague?' he enquired.

‘Well enough, I think,' Jeanette answered, rallying, not wanting to be caught in tears. ‘I told him all that I knew, and how matters stood.'

‘We will win this case,' he said, his tone matter-of-fact. ‘They have little to go on. There are some challenges, naturally, but they will not stand up against our testimonies.'

Jeanette swallowed. ‘What challenges?'

‘Counter claims concerning the veracity of the evidence of the witnesses. The lady Elizabeth Montagu swears on oath that the marriage was consummated and that there was evidence of your virginity on the sheets the morning after the wedding night.'

‘She is lying.' Jeanette's lip curled in disgust. ‘The blood on the sheets was planted. Surely you do not believe her above those who were witness to my marriage?'

‘Of course I do not,' he said, ‘but I am telling you what you need to know. Your mother has confirmed by letter the same story as Lady Montagu, and the Countess of Salisbury.'

‘They would all agree with each other,' she said with scorn. ‘It is no less than I expect.'

‘Indeed,' he said gravely. ‘And their word as three ladies of high birth and substance will carry weight in the court. But at the same time, I have a letter in my possession from your mother to the Countess of Salisbury that mentions an awareness of your first marriage and assuring the Countess there will be no impediment. My evidence will show how these ladies have colluded in laying a false trail.'

Jeanette shook her head in contempt. ‘What does my supposed husband William Montagu have to say on the matter?'

Beverley rubbed his chin. ‘He says he will abide by whatever the court decides and without rancour, but as far as he knew, you were a virgin on your wedding night with him, and he took the women's word for the evidence on the following day, for although he was a man in that way and able to procreate, he was not familiar with the deed as such.'

Jeanette snorted down her nose. ‘Nothing happened on our wedding night, and he knows it. If I may speak frankly, I had been familiar with that deed on many occasions with my lawful husband.' She gave him a firm look. ‘I am no wanton who speaks out of turn, but I am telling you truthfully how it was – as I told Master Heath, and that first clerk of his who was accepting bribes from the Countess of Salisbury and her mother-in-law.'

‘And I thank you for your candour, my lady,' Beverley said, although he looked taken aback, and his neck reddened.

‘Master Heath said it might be Christmas-tide before he reported back, or even after.'

‘He is probably correct,' Beverley said. ‘The meeting will take place at the end of September and the witnesses will be questioned and other matters ascertained. Master John will try to persuade the papal authorities to hear the case in England, and ask why it came before Avignon in the first place. The decision will then go before the Pope. With the sickness that is rife in Avignon and elsewhere, court proceedings have slowed down, and they were never swift at the outset. I am sorry, but that is the way of things. I am afraid that the three ladies opposing you have dug in their heels and will not yield – they have come too far to turn back.'

Jeanette sat up straight. ‘So have I, Master Beverley.'

He bowed to her. ‘And I shall see it through for you and Master Holland, you have my pledge.' He smiled wryly. ‘I know the word of a lawyer may not count for much in some circles, but I have always prided myself on mine.'

Jeanette rose to see him out and felt just a little relieved because she believed in him. ‘Thank you,' she said, ‘I do trust your word.'

‘He seems like a good man,' Joan Bredon said when he had gone. ‘Do not worry, you will win.'

‘But I do worry,' Jeanette said. ‘What if the Pope does pass the case over to the English courts and they do not decide in my favour?'

Joan shook her head. ‘The Pope will not hand over that authority, especially at this stage. The Montagu lawyer is grasping at straws.'

The door opened again, and this time Thomas slipped into the room. Jeanette gasped his name, ran to him, flung her arms around him and raised her face to his. They kissed hard and long, and when they drew apart, her lips were tingling.

‘I cannot stay, but I had to see you,' he said. ‘I am leaving for Avignon again any day. We must be stronger than ever now.'

Jeanette nodded, but thought that she had put so much strength into this already, she did not know how much she had left. Or that a moment would arrive when she would become a burnished column of endurance, without any other purpose except to withstand the storm. Perhaps it was the same for Thomas. What kind of relationship waited for them at the end of all this striving? She had been falsely married to William Montagu for four times longer now than she had known her true husband.

They kissed again, holding each other, rocking. ‘I should leave,' he said against her lips, but still he held her, and Jeanette clung to him to feel his body and his touch, trying to make the moment stretch for eternity. ‘Stay with the court if you are able. I have spoken to your brother and to Prince Edward. They will do what they can to make sure you are not forced back into confinement.'

The door opened again and they sprang apart, but it was Robert Beverley, who rumbled his throat and gave them a warning look. ‘I am not accustomed to standing as a lookout at lover's trysts,' he said. ‘Messire Holland, your borrowed time is now looking like a dangerous moment.'

Thomas acknowledged him with a nod. ‘Thank you.' He squeezed Jeanette's hands a final time and followed the attorney out, giving her a single glance over his shoulder. Returning it, she felt bereft to the point of pain. Seeing him leave was unbearable. She started forward, but he closed the door, and Joan grasped her arm and pulled her back. Jeanette struggled for a moment and then turned into her friend's arms and wept.

‘It is hard,' Joan said, ‘I cannot begin to know, but you have friends and good people who will love and support you.'

‘Yes,' Jeanette said desolately, ‘but they are not Thomas, and I need a respite from staying strong.'