30 Papal Palace at Avignon, September 1348

30

Papal Palace at Avignon, September 1348

Thomas stepped forward and faced Cardinal Robert Adhemar and his clerks and officials who had finally gathered to hear the evidence concerning the disputed marriage. The chamber was hazy with smoke from the braziers burning incense and herbs to ward off the miasmas of the great pestilence that held the city and surrounding towns and villages in its grip.

He repeated to the Cardinal the information he had given almost a year and a half ago when here with his mother. ‘I married the lady Jeanette, daughter of Prince Edmund of England, Earl of Kent, in good faith and before these people in the April of 1340 before I left to attend the King in England.' He gestured to the bench behind him where the witnesses waited their turn. ‘The lady was of an age to consent and did so freely, as Master Heath will attest from the deposition he took from her at the English court. The marriage was consummated – on numerous occasions.' He explained about going on crusade and returning to find that Jeanette had been joined to William Montagu in his absence.

The clerks scratched away, making notes. The smoke from the incense burners caught in Thomas's throat. Behind him, Otto suppressed a harsh cough against his clenched fist. Thomas looked round at him briefly. His brother was sweating, his fair hair lying in dark strands against his scalp. Thomas experienced a frisson of anxiety. The pestilence was rife in the city. Thousands of victims lay rotting in mass graves. Pope Clement himself sat in his chamber between two fumigating fires just like these and allowed no one to approach him closely. Everyone attended church and made confession at least once a day and regular penitential processions chanted through the streets, ringing bells and crying to God for forgiveness, mercy and protection.

Just before he left for Avignon, the English court had been cast into deep mourning by the news of the death of Princess Joan, just fourteen years old. Travelling to her marriage in Castile, she had contracted the pestilence during a stop in Bordeaux. And then the new baby, William, whose birth had been celebrated at the Windsor tourney, had also died – not of pestilence, but of a fever. Perhaps it was indeed the end of days, as many were saying.

He was worried for Jeanette, and his family. A merchant had arrived in Avignon two days ago and told them that the pestilence was ravaging London, and no matter how much people prayed and were penitent, the relentless spread continued unchecked.

Having given his evidence, Thomas sat down on the bench beside Otto. The latter rose to take his turn, and swayed as he adjusted his belt and straightened his tunic. He approached the Cardinal and the clerks and cleared his throat again with another cough. Amid wafts of eye-stinging incense smoke, he gave the papal committee his statement in a hoarse and gravelly voice. ‘In all my life I have never been more certain of a fact – that my dearest brother Thomas Holland was married in the presence of all these witnesses at the Abbey of Saint Bavo. I can vouch for everyone here. I know that the marriage was consummated, for my brother told me so, and I trust his word. He would not lie to me, and I do solemnly give my oath to my statement.'

Master John, the Montagus' attorney, raised his brow. ‘You may trust your brother's word, but if you were not present in the room, then you cannot vouchsafe that part of the proceedings. All you can say is that you were present at a marriage that was conducted by a friar who is now "unfortunately" deceased.'

Otto flushed. ‘I stand by my word. Master Heath will confirm what I say through the sworn testimony of the lady herself.' He turned to look at Jeanette's attorney, and suppressed a bout of coughing.

Master Heath shuffled his documents. ‘Indeed, the lady has made such a statement. She declares that the marriage was consummated on several occasions and that she was coerced into the match with William, Lord Montagu.' Master Heath submitted the document. ‘I spoke to her in person and she confirmed all this to me in person.'

The Cardinal passed the documentation to a clerk and summoned the next witness, Henry de la Haye.

Otto returned to his seat on the bench and slumped, head down, lips pressed together. When Thomas laid a hand on his forearm in concern, Otto waved his hand in a gesture to say he was all right, but clearly he was struggling.

Henry de la Haye gave his witness statement, then John de la Salle, and then lastly Hawise stepped forward, her chin jutting and her face pale.

‘I have attended my lady for many years,' she said. ‘I served her in Flanders when she was a lady in Queen Philippa's chamber, and I was present at many of the meetings between herself and Messire Holland before they were married. I witnessed that marriage; indeed I was married myself that day. I attended my lady on occasions when she went to her husband, Messire Holland, and I assisted her when she had need. I state clearly that Messire Holland was her carnal husband and a great wrong has been done by forcing her into a marriage that was beyond her powers to refuse.'

Thomas looked at Hawise with pride and gratitude and swallowed emotion at her staunchness in his and Jeanette's defence.

William's attorney, Master John, folded his hands around his cloak edges. ‘I am sure these witnesses all think they know what happened,' he said, ‘but we have the sworn testimony of no less than the Lady Elizabeth Montagu – the former Earl of Salisbury's mother – the Countess of Salisbury, and indeed the lady's own mother, the Dowager Countess of Kent, that the bride was a virgin when she married William Montagu. All of these good ladies attest that they witnessed the sight of her virginal blood on the sheet and upon the bride's thighs on the morning after the consummation of the marriage to William Montagu her husband. I would welcome the opportunity to conduct further investigation into this matter, for clearly there are two versions of events very much at odds with each other.'

Thomas stood up again, frustration burning in his chest. ‘Then clearly one is wrong,' he said, ‘and I, and these people here, know which one. Please excuse me, Your Eminence, with your leave, when I married my wife she was carrying my child, and Mistress Hawise will confirm that I tell no lie.'

‘Indeed, it is true,' Hawise said. ‘My lady miscarried the child after the Countess of Salisbury gave her certain herbs in a tisane. The event was covered up, but that makes it no less real.'

Master John narrowed his eyes. ‘None of this is reported here.' He turned to Jeanette's attorney. ‘Master Heath?'

The latter shook his head. ‘I would have to say that the lady made no mention of this when I spoke to her.'

‘Then we do not know whether it is the truth, or yet more fabrication,' Master John said forcefully. ‘Not until we question the lady herself.'

Cardinal Adhemar surveyed the gathering with weary exasperation and clasped his hands on the table. ‘This is a tangled matter indeed. I have listened to the claims and counter claims and must weigh them carefully. I cannot give you a judgement today, for this matter requires further investigation and clearer documentation. I am not satisfied with either testimony and I wish to know the true circumstances without hearsay. I will not require the witnesses again, but I do require further full depositions from all attorneys by Lent of next year. This is too important an issue for mistakes to be made and I want to be satisfied on all counts.'

Thomas pressed his lips together, striving to remain stoical and steady as the Cardinal swept from the room followed by his assistants and scribes. In reality he wanted to upend tables and smash things.

‘It was less than I had hoped for, but not a complete disaster,' Robert Beverley said, joining him. ‘I think the Cardinal favours our case, but since your wife is the King's cousin and the opposition is the Earl of Salisbury, the judgement must be sound and without room for repercussion.'

Thomas exhaled with irritated anger.

‘I understand your ire, my lord,' Beverley said, ‘but a sound judgement now without room for error will set matters in stone. Should Lord Montagu choose to wed again, he will need to show documentation to prove that he was never married to the lady. The matter has great implications for inheritance.'

‘I have no doubt that it does,' Thomas growled, ‘but I do not see why it should take so many more months to sort out.'

He turned at a sudden commotion behind him and saw Otto dash from the chamber, and then an instant later came the sound of heavy retching. Thomas left his attorney and hurried outside to his brother, who was doubled over.

Thomas touched Otto's brow. ‘Dear God, your skin is burning,' he said. ‘We should get you back to our lodgings.'

‘I am all right,' Otto wheezed. ‘There is nothing wrong with me – it's all that damned smoke in there!'

‘Mayhap, but we should do as I say. There is nothing here for us at the moment.'

Thomas took his arm, and looking at the others of their party, saw the same fear in their eyes that he felt within himself.

Once at their lodging, Thomas laid Otto down on his pallet. His brother's teeth were chattering as though he was frozen to the marrow, but his body was scorching to the touch. Thomas stripped him to his shirt and braies while Hawise fetched a bowl of tepid water and a cloth to wipe him down.

Their landlord was unhappy when he heard that one of his lodgers was sick, and Thomas had to pay an increased rent in order to stay, and eventually add the persuasion of his sword point to the exchange.

Food was left outside the door and they were abandoned to their own devices. Otto turned his head away from the bread and cheese that Thomas tried to feed him, but managed to swallow some water.

‘I should make my will,' he croaked. ‘My throat feels as though a butcher's been using it to strop his knives.'

‘Do not talk like that,' Thomas said furiously. ‘And do not think I shall be a tender nursemaid either. I won't let you go, even as you refused me that option in Prussia.'

Abruptly, he rose from the bedside and began pacing the room, too full of restless energy to sit still. Otto had been at his side all of his life. His earliest memories were of playing with him, tumbling like puppies in their mother's chamber. Of learning together, competing with each other, but always side by side, with him the protective older brother, and Otto bound in loyalty. How much he had taken Otto for granted. To think of losing him was unbearable.

Hawise wiped Otto's brow and brought him a soothing tisane. He struggled to a sitting position and took a few sips, even though it was obvious that swallowing was excruciating.

‘This will help you rest and sleep,' she murmured. ‘My lady used to drink this to ease her if she had an ague.'

Otto forced another swallow of the tisane. ‘It is in God's hands,' he croaked.

‘Yes, it is, but we should help Him too,' she said. She took the cup from him and straightened the sheet. ‘Rest now.'

His lids drooped, and within moments he had fallen into a heavy sleep, his breathing stertorous.

‘You should sleep too,' Hawise said to Thomas.

He shook his head. ‘No, I will watch him as he watched over me. He is my responsibility.'

‘As you wish,' she said, ‘but let others relieve you if you have need.'

‘You and John,' he said, his voice thick with emotion, ‘you are part of my foundation and Jeanette's. I swear I shall reward you if ever I am able.'

‘Let there be no talk of that now,' she whispered. ‘We know and understand.'

Thomas settled himself to watch over Otto, observing each breath, each twitch and groan. He wiped his brow and packed up the pillows behind him when Otto's throat rattled in his sleep like a bag of rusty nails. As the hours passed in agonising slowness, Otto woke occasionally to cough and retch. Hawise frequently came to check on him, and in between the racking spasms gave him more sips of tisane.

‘I'm not dead yet,' Otto managed to rasp at Thomas towards morning. ‘You can stop looking at me as though I'm a corpse – but Christ, my throat. Someone's lined it with iron filings!' He drank again, spluttered, and drank some more.

‘Take off your shirt,' Thomas commanded.

‘What?'

‘Take off your shirt. I want to see if you have the marks of the pestilence.'

Otto shuddered. ‘No,' he said. ‘I'm finished if there are.'

‘Christ, man, come on, do it.'

Setting his jaw, his face filled with fear, Otto struggled to remove the sweat-soaked garment, but was too exhausted, and Thomas had to tug it over his head.

Hawise came to the bedside and examined him thoroughly. ‘Thank the Holy Virgin, I can see no marks on you,' she said.

‘Are you sure?' Otto anxiously peered into a hair-tufted armpit.

‘Yes, but you are burning and you are very sick.' She turned to Thomas. ‘Keep cooling him with that cloth, while I make a herbal plaster for his chest.'

Thomas grimaced when she returned shortly with a pungent herbal mixture involving a lot of mustard to deal with his racking cough, which she spread on a bandage and wrapped around his chest.

‘I know,' she said as Otto added a retch to his coughing, ‘I am sorry, but it will draw out the evil humours.' She added a strip of parchment to the plaster on which was written a prayer to St Joseph to intercede and restore Otto to full health. ‘See if you can go back to sleep,' she said. ‘I will renew the plaster in a little while.'

Otto closed his eyes, and Thomas resumed his vigil, his own good eye burning with fatigue, but not for a moment would he close it. He desperately needed his brother to live; to continue to be his rock, his stalwart, his companion. It couldn't end here like this. When they fought together, they were in complete synchronicity, and he could not imagine doing that dance with a death-shadow at his side when there should be a whole man.

As dawn broke, Thomas stood up to stretch his cramped muscles. His bladder was twinging and he badly needed a piss, but was reluctant to leave Otto even for a moment. Perhaps they could find a physician to tend him, although given the reaction of their landlord, and the state of the city itself, it would take a miracle. All of those educated in treatment and healing of the sick had either already died from the pestilence or were too frightened of contracting it to come to the bedside of a foreigner.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, and when he looked up again, discovered that Otto was looking at him.

‘Brother,' Otto said, and was then seized by another heavy coughing fit. Thomas rushed to prop him up on the pillows and had the tisane ready at his lips. Hawise joined them, bleary with sleep, a shawl around her shoulders.

‘No buboes,' Thomas said, having checked again, ‘and I fancy he is not as hot as he was before.'

Hawise tested Otto's forehead against the back of her hand. ‘I think you might be right, thank God.'

Otto slept again, and Hawise took over the watch from Thomas who went to attend to his bursting bladder and then to lie down wrapped in his cloak. He felt as if his vision was filled with sawdust, and his own throat was gritty and sore, the more so when he wept with delayed reaction and relief, choking as he tried to suppress his sobs.

Over the next few days, Otto made a slow recovery and managed to leave his bed and sit by the fire, though still riven by a hacking cough. By this time, Thomas and Henry de la Haye were both suffering from the same malaise. Hawise and John de la Salle were less badly affected and cared for everyone else, although Otto seemed to have had the worst of it.

No one developed the dreaded buboes of the great pestilence, but the malaise still proved to be debilitating, and although everyone gradually recovered, they were left with the legacy of a gravelly cough and weak exhaustion. It was several weeks before they were well enough to face the return journey to England. Seeing the daily procession of shrouded corpses through the streets as they left Avignon, Thomas knew how fortunate they were to be among the living – for now – and gave great thanks to God, while wondering just what they might find on their return.