6 Ghent, January 1340

6

Ghent, January 1340

On a sharp January morning, Jeanette stood with the rest of the court in Ghent's marketplace to witness King Edward being formally proclaimed King of France before a gathering of allies, burghers and nobles, both Flemish and English. Edward's new heraldry depicted the royal leopards of England quartered above the blue and gold lilies of France, the hierarchy designed to demonstrate the precedence of his claim through his mother's Capet line over the Valois French King Philip, who had occupied the French throne for ten years. Edward was determined to take that throne for himself, and this public display with his pregnant wife at his side was his proclamation of intent.

Jeanette had heard the rumours populating the court – that the King was in straitened financial circumstances, although it was hard to believe it from all this sumptuous array. She had been presented with new clothes for the event: an undergown of red silk hugged her new curves, topped by an open-sided gown of expensive blue velvet powdered with fleur de lys to match the new heraldry.

Edward, resplendent in his new livery, wore a fleur de lys crown upon his wavy golden hair. His household knights were all dressed in new garments and their polished armour glittered with starbursts of light. Jeanette sent a glance towards Thomas Holland; it was the first time she had set eyes on him since his return, and she felt she had grown up considerably during his absence on campaign. In her own estimation she was not only a princess, but a full woman of the court, and this ceremony served to cement that awareness. He, however, had not so much as looked in her direction or acknowledged that he was aware of her presence.

Following the proclamation of Edward's kingship, the citizens were provided with copious amounts of bread, meat and cheese, and the royal company retired to their own celebratory banquet. Queen Philippa had conceived the next royal offspring in the summer before her husband rode off to war, and processed beside the King, her well-rounded belly revealing to all the fecundity of her womb, and the powerful virility of her husband.

Jeanette enjoyed all the set rituals of the feast. The rose-scented water poured over her fingers from a jug shaped like a knight on horseback, with the water flowing out of the horse's mouth. The dainty morsels of fish and chicken, dabbed in delicious spicy sauces. Today was a momentous occasion to add to her collection of memories, like stringing bright jewels on a golden thread. Feasts were familiar territory, but not ones like this in such gorgeous array.

Between the various courses she took her leave with Joan and Hawise to visit the latrine. On their return to the room, Thomas Holland was talking to a duty guard, but paused to bow to the women.

‘My ladies, may I say how fine you all look,' he said, and his gaze lingered on Jeanette as it had not earlier in the day when guarding the King. ‘A man could easily lose his heart.'

Jeanette modestly lowered her eyes. ‘I pray you do not, Sir Thomas,' she said, ‘for I fear you would not find it again.'

‘I think you may have the truth of it there, demoiselle. I shall have to be careful.'

‘Indeed you shall, sire.'

‘Will you ladies be joining the hunt tomorrow, or remaining with the Queen?' he asked. ‘According to one of the huntsmen, a white hart has been seen, although the man might have been trying to please the King, knowing his interest in such tales.'

Jeanette's ears pricked up since she loved Arthurian stories too, with all their colour and drama. Several involved the presence of a mystical white stag. The one she had most recently read was that of Yvain, the Knight of the Lion, who chased one such beast to a magical fountain in the middle of the woods. It had not escaped her that Thomas's own blazon was that of a lion. ‘Yes, we hope to hunt,' she said. ‘Perhaps we shall be fortunate. Have you ever seen a white hart, messire?'

He shook his head. ‘No, but it would be a sacred thing.'

She saw something in his eyes, deeper, more profound than superficial banter.

Otto Holland joined them, with Henry de la Haye at his side, and bowing to the women, he touched Thomas's arm. ‘You are sought by Sir Walter,' he said. ‘Orders from the King.'

‘Ladies, my duty calls,' Thomas said. ‘I must bid you adieu and wish you good rest tonight.' His lips twitched. ‘Keep your windows shut against the night air and I shall see you in the morning at the hunt.' With a bow, he departed, and Jeanette followed him with hungry eyes.

‘Dear God, Jeanette, you are playing with fire,' Joan warned in a whisper. ‘Step away before you are burned!'

‘Tush!' Jeanette snapped. ‘I have done nothing wrong.'

Joan shook her head. ‘I cannot stop you, but be careful.' She squeezed Jeanette's arm. ‘Please.'

‘Of course I will,' Jeanette replied, with barely concealed irritation. ‘You are such a worry-wart, Jo. Nothing is going to happen, I promise.'

Joan still didn't look convinced, but some jugglers had just somersaulted into the room with a little dog wearing jester's bells, and Jeanette tugged her friend away to watch the entertainment, happy now that she had spoken to Thomas, and eagerly anticipating tomorrow's hunt.

Thomas eyed Walter Manny. ‘England?' he said.

The knight leaned back on the bench and picked up his cup. He was Thomas's senior commander in the field and Thomas liked and respected him. Broad-chested and powerful with a sprinkling of early grey in his bronze curls, his eyes were shrewd and hard. ‘Not for you and your men,' Manny said. ‘The King is going to England to raise funds, gather supplies, and muster more troops for our campaign, but the Queen is staying here. She is close to her time for travail and must be protected. She will also stand surety to the Flemish for the King's swift return. Your task is to safeguard her and her household until further orders.'

Thomas dipped his head. He would have liked to return to England to see his mother and sister, but orders were orders and it was not a demotion by any means. Remaining to guard the Queen meant less jostling for position and an opportunity for his star to rise. Plus, the King's delectable cousin Jeanette would be among the Queen's ladies so at least there were some entertaining diversions in prospect.

Walter Manny smiled. ‘The Queen likes your pretty face and your good manners in the hall, so you get the lap of luxury while we have to put up with living in tents and fighting over lodgings. Don't let looking after women dull your edge and turn you soft while we are gone.'

‘Oh, I doubt for a moment he'll be soft!' someone quipped from the back of the gathering.

Thomas flushed but took the ribbing in good part; he would have trusted any of these men with his life. Manny's remark was ironically amusing too – in another life before promotion, he had been the Queen's squire and walker of her hounds.

‘I will ensure the Queen is kept safe and untroubled during her confinement,' Thomas said, once the joshing had died down. ‘My life is hers.'

‘I know you will do a fine job,' Manny said. ‘We have a few weeks yet, but you should begin preparations. The Queen is to spend her confinement in the convent of St Bavo, and you will need to organise the supplies, the guard rota, and liaise with the other captains. I leave it in your capable hands.'

The meeting broke up. Returning to the hall, Thomas found it empty. The revellers had gone and the fire had been covered. A few lamps still burned where people were bedding down for the night. He took an apple from a bowl on a table that was yet to be cleared, and eating it, sought his own bed.

In the clear early winter morning, the court prepared to hunt. Dogs circled the courtyard, panting, yodelling, yapping, tangling their leashes and tripping the less experienced handlers. Horseshoes rang on the cobbles and occasional sparks shot from striking hooves as the grooms fetched coursers and palfreys to their masters. Jeanette's black mare, Ebony, snorted and pawed, eager for the chase, silver bells ringing on her red leather breastband.

A young attendant waited to boost Jeanette into the saddle, but having observed Thomas Holland among the gathering, not yet mounted, she called to him. She had heard while dressing that he was not going to England with the King, but remaining to protect the Queen's household, and she was full of anticipation at the prospect of so many delicious opportunities ripening on the tree.

He walked over to her, the wind ruffling the pheasant feathers in his green felt cap. ‘Demoiselle, how may I be of service?'

She sensed a degree of impatience in his delivery even though it was perfectly polite. ‘I require your assistance to help me into the saddle,' she said imperiously. Turning her back, she lifted her foot to the stirrup. She was riding astride today, rather than using a formal chair seat.

‘Of course, demoiselle,' he answered neutrally. ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure.'

He cupped his hand beneath her shoe and she felt his strength as he boosted her up. Once she was mounted, she raised her skirt slightly. ‘Is my foot secure? I would not want to take a fall.'

He shot her a look that she returned with fierce daring. He grasped her foot and the stirrup in his hands and stroked his thumb over her ankle. ‘In my opinion, you are safe to ride as far – and as hard – as you desire.'

She stared down at him. Usually, he would be standing above her, and their reversed positions made her feel alluring and powerful. ‘Thank you, sire, be assured I shall do so.' She gathered her reins, dug in her heels and flapped her skirt back into position over her foot so rapidly that he had to step back in haste. Thomas watched her ride off, and shaking his head, turned to his courser. His cheek stung where she had flicked him. He should take Otto's advice and leave well alone, for he knew he was licking honey off thorns. But when the honey was this tempting, it was difficult to resist.

He set his foot in the stirrup, mounted his iron-grey courser, Charbon, and trotted to join her. ‘Be careful you are not unseated,' he said.

‘Be assured that will not happen,' she replied with a flirtatious sidelong look. ‘And if I was, I would trust you to help me. I can trust you, can I not, Messire Holland?'

‘With your life – and mine should I need to protect and defend you, but that is not the sole part of trustworthiness,' Thomas said, his voice no longer smooth. ‘Let me give you a word of advice. Those who tease sleeping lions are likely to be mauled.' He touched his hat feathers in salute, and rode off, judging that he had made reparations to his pride. Jeanette swallowed. A thrill ran through her body, part fear, and part response to his challenge. ‘I will show you, my fine lord,' she said softly.

The falconers had brought the hawks from the mews on their cadges, including Jeanette's beloved Athena. Taking the bird on her gloved wrist, she gently stroked the mottled breast. The silver bells on her jesses jingled and her hood was plumed with blue jay feathers. Most of the nobles sported much larger birds. The King had a magnificent white gyrfalcon. Thomas's hunting bird was a strong female goshawk. Watching him gentle her and make soft kissing sounds, she imagined his fingers upon her in the same wise, and shivered.

They rode out into the countryside, and despite the sharp winter cold, everyone was exhilarated. Jeanette did not forget about Thomas, but her emotions became less febrile as she lost herself in the pleasure of the ride in the fresh air and the joy of flying Athena. She always imagined that she was airborne with her, and free to soar instead of being bound to the earth and convention.

The King was in fine spirits, especially when his gyrfalcon brought down a crane to loud acclaim, for while cranes were a common prey of the great birds, they were no victims and could kill in their own right with vicious stabs of their sword-like beaks. Athena, fierce and experienced, took two pigeons and made a creditable showing. She behaved impeccably on Jeanette's fist, unlike some that bated and shrieked, and one that flew off and refused to return to its owner's glove. Thomas Holland's goshawk made several kills, and then took time for a leisurely preen on her master's glove, alert but relaxed.

There was talk of the white stag that had been seen, but the King was not in a mood to chase deer, and the event was set aside for another time. Talk was one thing, locating the creature – if it existed – quite another.

They rode home in the late afternoon with dusk encroaching and a mist rising from the land in grey wraith-fingers. In the courtyard, a groom assisted Jeanette to dismount, for Thomas Holland had given his courser to his squire, his falcon to one of his staff, and was nowhere to be seen. Her mood dampened like the fog as she wondered if he had deliberately made himself scarce.

The Queen, burdened by her pregnancy, did not wish to eat in the great hall. Jeanette changed from her hunting attire into softer garments, and sat down in Philippa's apartments to dine with the other ladies. She was aware of the Queen observing her with thoughtful eyes, and as the attendants were clearing away, Philippa leaned towards her. ‘My dear, the King wishes to speak with you, and I said I would send you to him once we had eaten.' She summoned one of her chamber attendants, Paen de Roet, and bade him to escort Jeanette to the King. ‘Don't look so alarmed,' she added, smiling. ‘You are not in trouble. Indeed, I think you will find what the King has to say very interesting.'

Jeanette curtseyed, eyelids lowered. Her contact with the King was of the passing variety. He would speak to her in the hall sometimes, and if he visited the Queen would include her in the ladies and make sociable remarks of small consequence. For him to summon her personally could only mean one thing, and she was not ready to hear it.

De Roet escorted her to the chamber where the King was busy with matters of administration. At the back of the room, his great bed bore a silk coverlet embroidered with the recent blazon quartering the arms of France and England. A few other nobles were attending him, including the earls of Warwick and Salisbury, and the usual scribes, messengers and envoys, among them a couple of Gascon lords.

Brought to Edward's chair by de Roet, Jeanette sank in a deep curtsey and bowed her head.

King Edward rose, lifted her to her feet, and kissed her cheeks. ‘Cousin,' he said, ‘come sit by me. Did you enjoy the hunt today?'

‘Yes, sire, very much.' He settled back in his chair and she perched on a stool at his feet. ‘I loved flying Athena, and what a sight to see your gyrfalcon bring down that crane.'

He beamed with pleasure. ‘Indeed, it is not every day you see such a thing.' He crossed his long legs, encased in bright scarlet hose. ‘And I noticed that little merlin of yours. You have some skill, cousin.'

‘I have had her since I was a little girl, sire. The Queen gave her to me.'

‘Well, your care for her shows.' He beckoned a servant to pour wine into two goblets of pale green glass decorated with smaller dots of blue. ‘Now, then,' he said when they had each taken an obligatory sip, ‘you may be wondering why I have asked to see you, but I think you may have an idea.'

Her throat was so tight she could barely speak. ‘Yes, sire.'

Edward eyed her shrewdly. ‘I have talked to the Queen, and we are both agreed on the matter of settling your future. If I am to have allies, I must secure the bonds of trust and friendship between us and I know you understand that necessity. That is why I have requested your presence and given you wine as a lady of the court, and not a child. I do not believe you think of yourself as a child, my dear. You are well grown and ready for marriage.'

Jeanette swallowed, feeling cornered. She had known this was coming, but her stomach still plummeted.

‘I know you may be shocked, but you are the same age as the Queen was when we were wed, and you are just as courageous. I know your father would be proud of you.'

Jeanette took another sip of wine, and almost choked. ‘Who am I to marry, sire?'

Edward glanced towards the two Gascon nobles. ‘The seigneur Armand d'Albret, son of Bernard d'Albret. He is a fine young man of your own age. His father is an ally and keen for the match.'

Jeanette fought to keep the dismay from her expression. Gascony was somewhere she had often heard mentioned in conversation, but it was a distant place, far from the court, with a different culture and language. She might thrive on adventure and new experiences, but she had no desire to be an isolated, powerless bride to a youth she had never met. She would have no friends and little influence beyond that of a marriage contract. She might never see Thomas again – or her brother for that matter.

‘I believe the match will suit you very well indeed,' Edward continued when she did not reply. ‘We shall pursue the contract once I return and hopefully you shall be wed by the autumn.' He regarded her expectantly. ‘I shall tell your mother as soon as I return to England.'

Jeanette gulped against the dreadful tightness closing her throat. ‘Sire, I . . . I thank you,' she said hoarsely. ‘I do not know what to say.'

He raised his brows. ‘I see I have taken you by surprise. I am putting the negotiations in the hands of Sir Oliver Ingham, my steward in Gascony, for the time being, and until matters are settled beyond a doubt we shall not make a public announcement. However, I counsel you to prepare your trousseau, and make ready for your new role.'

Jeanette bowed her head, lost for a reply. She rose to her feet at his gesture. She could see others poised on their toes, ready for their turn to speak with him, and he was already moving on from their interview.

She knew she could not refuse; she was a sparrow tossed in a storm wind, wings over tail. She curtseyed, and took her leave, carrying herself with pride and grace until she was out of the door, but then grabbed her skirts in her fists and started to run despite Paen de Roet's shout. On and on, through corridors and cloisters, past the startled guards and into the raw January air, until her legs gave out and she buckled to her knees, a terrible stitch in her side. The enormity of what she had tried to outrun caught up with her like a gazehound on a hare, and she sucked breath after breath over her larynx, filled with a visceral revulsion so strong that it made her retch.

De Roet appeared, striding swiftly, and paused to lean against the wall and press his hand to his ribs. ‘Young mistress, we should return to the other ladies,' he panted, and after a moment stooped to take her arm and draw her to her feet, clucking his tongue. ‘This will not do, indeed it will not. What will the Queen say?'

Jeanette slowly straightened up and swallowed hard, still feeling that she might vomit at any moment, but trying to control herself, trying to think rationally. She would not wed this youth, whoever he was. If there was a way of preventing it, she would find it. Brides had to be suitable after all, and opening a negotiation was not the same as accomplishing the end result. ‘Yes,' she said, and drawing a deep breath, looked into de Roet's anxious brown eyes. ‘We should return to the Queen. And you are right that this will not do at all.'

By the time Jeanette returned to the women, she was composed, although she could do nothing about her blotchy face, or the soiled patches on her gown where she had fallen to her knees. The women looked at her askance and a few shook their heads in outright disapproval. Philippa dismissed everyone and commanded Jeanette to come and sit at her side.

‘Well then,' she said. ‘The King has told you the news.'

‘Yes, madam.' Jeanette folded her hands in her lap.

‘I see it has come as a shock, but it is a good match for you, and no reason to weep. Indeed, I should have thought to see you smiling.'

Jeanette's chin trembled. She could not have smiled if her life depended on it.

‘You are of an age, and it is your duty, as well as one of the reasons you sailed with us to Flanders,' Philippa continued. ‘It will be good for you to take responsibility for a husband and household, and you will be forming an alliance to benefit your cousin the King. You have it within you to be a fine consort and mother to strong children who will be a credit to your lineage.'

Jeanette almost shuddered. She didn't want to become a ‘fine consort' in the mould they intended for her. What was fine about being sent to Gascony to wed someone she had never seen and be put to work bearing children and organising a household amid strangers? ‘I do not want to leave you,' she said. ‘The court is my home.'

‘But you are ready to fly this nest and make one of your own,' Philippa said. ‘Come now, let us have smiles, not tears, and tomorrow we shall begin finding fine cloth and jewels for your trousseau. Won't that be delightful? This match means a great deal to the King, and it is your duty to please him and your family. You would do well to remember it.'

Jeanette retired to bed early and curled up in a ball, feeling miserable and trapped – and more determined than ever that she was not going to Gascony. There had to be a way out.