7 Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, January 1340

7

Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, January 1340

In the morning, Jeanette's misery was compounded when, after mass, a falconer from the mews requested to see her. She recognised Thomas Holland's man, John de la Salle. He was in his mid-twenties with nut-brown hair and a close-cropped beard that glinted with red.

‘My lady, forgive me for bringing you sad news, but your merlin . . . I found her on the floor this morning.' He held out a linen cloth folded in four, and drew aside one of the quarters to show her Athena's cold little body, perfect but lifeless. The chequered brown wings neatly folded, the legs furled, the fine skin closed over her once bright eyes. ‘I am sorry,' he said gently. ‘I know she was old, but I have also seen your love for her. She was a fierce, true huntress and she lived a good life. I have brought her to you, for it seemed wrong to just sweep her into the midden as though she was nothing.'

Jeanette's eyes filled with tears. She stroked Athena's soft breast feathers, and the top of her sleek head. ‘Thank you for your kindness,' she said in a choked voice. ‘I shall bury her in the garden.'

‘My lady,' he answered, bowing. ‘Again, I am sorry.'

Hawise saw him to the door and murmured something to him, and he answered softly in return, touched her arm, and was gone.

Jeanette fetched her cloak, and without begging leave of Lady Katerine, or the Queen, who was resting, went with Hawise to bury Athena in the small garden attached to the Queen's lodgings. She borrowed a trowel from a lay worker, took the linen bundle to a secluded soil bed where the earth was not iron hard, and dug a deep hole. She opened the cloth for a last look and watched the brown feathers stir in the breeze, never to fly again. She kissed Athena and covered her and placed her in the ground, feeling as though she was burying her own younger self; her hopes, her dreams. It seemed like a portent, coming as it did on the heels of the marriage arrangement. Tears rolled down her face as she filled in the hole and the soil covered her little merlin, who had once flown so clean and true, and was now weighted down and grounded.

When she returned to the ladies, the Queen had learned of Athena's death and extended genuine words of sympathy. ‘We all understand what it is like to lose a beloved companion creature, perhaps one we have trained ourselves, and that we have given our heart. I shall arrange for you to have a new bird from the mews. I know your merlin was especially dear to you and it will never replace what you have lost but you will need to hunt and it is time you move on, as in all things.'

‘Thank you, madam,' Jeanette said numbly. The Queen was trying to encourage her to think positively about the proposed marriage, but her heart was so raw she did not think she would ever be happy again. Indeed, she felt as if she had buried that emotion with her beloved merlin.

* * *

A week later, on the Queen's insistence, Jeanette visited the mews for the first time since losing Athena. She was under instructions to choose another bird from those available, and although she was still heavy and sore from the loss, at least it was time away from the bower and all the sewing, gossiping and talk of marriage.

The slatted bars in the door and the window of the mews sent rays of diffused light into the hawk housing and the familiar scent of bird dung hit her, although it was not too pungent, for the mews was kept clean and the sand on the floor changed frequently. In the subdued light, birds sat on perches and blocks, the bells on their jesses tinkling. Some wore hoods and some did not, and perched keen-eyed, or preened their feathers. The falconer John de la Salle was present with a youth, clearly an apprentice. Thomas Holland stood with them, his goshawk Empress perched on his gauntlet, tearing into a gobbet of red meat held in his fist.

Looking up at her entrance, he smiled. ‘The Queen mentioned you were coming to choose a new bird,' he said. ‘I am sorry about your merlin – it is never easy to lose something you love.' Quietly, smoothly, he returned Empress to her perch and left her with her meal.

‘I can never replace her,' Jeanette said with a pang, for this moment was another stage in being forced to let go.

‘Nor should you, but if you wish to ride out to sport, then you must train a new one. I have some skill with birds, as does John here, and I think we may have one for you, but he is still young and he will take a little work. I suspect you are keen for a challenge though.' Their eyes met briefly before he turned to de la Salle and took a young male peregrine from him. ‘Do you have your gauntlet?'

Jeanette nodded, and pulled out the thick suede glove folded over her belt. ‘He is big for a male,' she said.

‘Indeed, and well grown. He is coming up to a year old, so he will last you well, but he is still raw at the edges.'

Thomas placed the falcon on her wrist and the young bird danced and bated, wings flapping. Before she could take proper hold of his jesses, he broke free and flew across the mews, straps and bells jingling. Jeanette knew perfectly well how to handle birds of prey. Thomas was looking at her and she was hot with chagrin at her mistake.

‘Bring him back,' she said. ‘I will be ready next time.'

Thomas took a small, bloody piece of meat from his belt pouch and held it up in his fist. The young falcon launched himself, sailed to his glove, and attacked the meat, gulping it down, eyes fierce. Thomas transferred him to Jeanette, and she gripped the jesses firmly. Thomas gave her another morsel to offer the bird, and when the young peregrine had finished she gently covered his head with the hood Thomas handed to her. The falcon bated his wings, but not vigorously, and she held him and let him settle. As he calmed, something changed within her and settled too.

‘You can have him back now,' she said to Thomas. ‘I shall return to work with him every day for a little while so we may come to know each other.'

He raised one eyebrow, and she realised, mortified, that he might misconstrue her words as referring to more than just the falcon.

Smiling, he inclined his head. ‘I have my duties – the more so when the King takes his leave – but Master de la Salle will be here if I am not and will assist you at need.'

He gently took the peregrine from her wrist, and although there was no physical contact between them because of the gauntlets, the hair still rose on her nape. They were standing in each other's space, and she inhaled the scent of his skin. He bowed to her and she gathered her cloak, nodded regally to him, and went outside, where she took a deep breath of cold air to clear her head before returning to the Queen.

Over the next few weeks Jeanette visited the mews every day to spend time with her new peregrine. She pored over books and treatises on training falcons and sought advice from all quarters, soaking up knowledge like moss soaking up rain water. The Queen, a keen handler of hunting birds herself, delighted in instructing her, even visiting the mews to see the new bird and commend her handling. She presented Jeanette with a gift of a supple white suede glove, decorated with a red silk tassel.

Sometimes Thomas was present and sometimes not. Jeanette lived for the moments when he was there. However, the flame of her infatuation, although still intense, was steadier and more grounded now, because they were both focusing on the birds and it was an area of mutual, serious interest and discussion.

‘You are doing a fine job with him,' Thomas praised as the peregrine flew to her smoothly and settled without bating his wings.

She smiled, and fed the bird a morsel of meat. ‘He is very fine. I am grateful to you and Master de la Salle for all your help and advice.'

‘No, mistress, the work has mostly been yours.'

She flushed at the compliment. ‘I am going to name him Frederick,' she said, ‘for the emperor who wrote the treatise on falconry. I have been reading the Queen's copy.' She secured the falcon on his perch and stepped back to admire him.

‘A fitting name, demoiselle. I was thinking that perhaps he is ready to be taken up on horseback and ridden out?'

Their eyes met in simple friendship. ‘I would like that,' she said. ‘Thank you.'

‘At a time mutually agreeable then.'

The King's falconer arrived as they were leaving the mews, carrying his master's white gyrfalcon on his glove – a magnificent creature, fierce and proud with plumage gleaming like icy snow.

‘Do you know the legend of Saint Bavo to whom this convent is dedicated?' Thomas asked.

Jeanette shook her head. ‘No, sire, I do not.'

‘He was accused of stealing a gyrfalcon and condemned to death, but on the day of his execution the missing bird appeared and flew down in front of his judges to prove his innocence; ever since, he has been the patron saint of falconers. It is said to have happened exactly where we are standing, and there has been a mews on the site ever since that time.'

Jeanette looked round, seeing their environment with new eyes. ‘You have a veritable store of tales and legends,' she said.

‘Everyone should. Stories stir men's minds, hearts and souls until they become part of it. And then they live in the tale and the tale lives in them – and both become immortal.'

His complexion brightened as he spoke, and Jeanette's heart flooded with warmth. She understood precisely what he was saying. ‘Then let us have many tales of our lives,' she said, ‘and let us be magical.'

He bowed to her again, and took his leave, and she watched him go with a new and tender feeling in her solar plexus. Hawise hurried to her side, for, while waiting, she had been talking to John de la Salle, and her own cheeks were pink.

Jeanette returned to the Queen with her mind in a dream. Her relationship with Thomas had changed as they worked together with the birds; she was no longer a silly girl ogling his looks and giggling with the other young women. They were well past that stage. He talked to her as he would to a grown woman of the court, and with the natural camaraderie of a mutual interest – as a friend. But it was more than that. It was like the tension in the air before a thunderstorm. Before the lightning struck the dry grass and set it ablaze.

That night when she prayed, she asked the Virgin and St Bavo to let her have Thomas instead of Armand d'Albret, and swore she would give anything to make it come true – absolutely anything.

‘You know the King is planning his cousin's marriage to the son of Bernard d'Albret,' Otto said.

The brothers were sitting at a table in the guardroom after Thomas had returned from checking the men on duty and ensuring their diligence. Thomas's knight Henry de la Haye was with them.

Thomas poured a fresh cup of wine. ‘Yes, of course. The messengers set out before he left. What of it?' He lifted the cup and drank. The King had departed for England three weeks ago, leaving the heavily pregnant Queen as surety for his return with arms and supplies.

‘Tongues will start wagging if you keep on riding out with Jeanette of Kent.'

Thomas lowered the cup and gave Otto a hard look. ‘I do not,' he said shortly. ‘We have been out on horseback once a week at the most to accustom her new falcon to being carried thus. It's not ready to fly in a big hunt yet but they are doing well. And we always have an escort.' He gestured to Henry de la Haye.

‘That is true.' The young knight lifted his own cup in toast. He was mildly drunk. ‘I can say, hand on my heart – or any other part you wish – that nothing untoward has gone forth.'

‘And you spend time in the mews too,' Otto said doggedly. ‘People notice.'

‘There is nothing to notice, and "people" should mind their own business,' Thomas snapped. Otto was treading on sensitive ground. What had begun as an amusing flirtation to while away the time had developed over the past weeks into something far more intimate and dangerous. He enjoyed her company, and looked forward to their rides together and the training sessions at the mews more than he should. He could not imagine her married to some boy in Gascony. The matter was not yet set in stone for the King baited many a hook to see what he could land, and would sometimes toss back the catch, but it was looking very likely.

Otto shrugged. ‘I do mind my own business, brother, but I always tell you the truth as I see it.'

‘Well, now you have.'

‘I hear there's a new girl at the Gilders,' Henry spoke up. ‘Yellow hair to her arse, and a grip inside like a wet velvet glove.'

Thomas refreshed his cup. ‘By all means try her out then, but when talk flashes around about a new girl, she very quickly becomes not so new!'

‘I'll take that chance.' Henry stood up and waggled his brows at Otto. ‘Want to come, are you up for it?' he asked with deliberate innuendo.

Otto drained his cup. ‘I'm always up for it! What about you, Tom?'

Thomas shook his head. ‘I have duties to attend to,' he said, ‘but you go and enjoy yourselves.'

‘We will.' Otto slapped Thomas's shoulder. ‘Don't get too staid and serious, brother. You need to keep your juices flowing, and better one of the girls at the Gilders than risking other kinds of damnation.'

Thomas rolled his eyes. ‘Be gone. The only kind of damnation I have tonight is checking the stores to see what's needed and making sure the men on duty know exactly what that duty entails. You can tell me about the girl in the morning – if you remember!'

Otto made a rude gesture. ‘At least I will have that option,' he said as a parting sally over his shoulder.

The compline bell was ringing out from the abbey, and as Thomas picked up his wine to finish it his yeoman, Duncalfe, arrived to announce that the Queen's labour pains had begun.

Her complexion red with effort, double-chinned, sweat rolling off her face, Philippa pushed and pushed again with guttural groans as she gripped the birthing ropes. It was the first occasion that Jeanette had been allowed to stay in the birth chamber itself, but with her marriage under discussion she was deemed old enough to do so and watch the process of birth. She was not disturbed, for she had seen a dairy maid at Donington bear a baby, and had witnessed the arrival of puppies, kittens and foals many times over. Her only fear was of this being her lot next year and every year after until her body was exhausted and she died.

The baby's head crowned between Philippa's parted legs and emerged like an enormous apple, and with the next few pushes the entire torso slipped free and into the midwife's waiting hands – bloody, pink and grey, covered in white grease. The midwife lifted the baby on high to drain his lungs and he sent out a loud wail of protest. ‘A boy!' the woman cried in triumph. ‘Madam, you have another son!'

A maid hurried forward with a warm towel to dry him, and the midwife snicked the cord with a small pair of shears. Philippa gasped and laughed as she released her grasp on the ropes, and briefly took the baby in her arms. ‘Little man,' she said, making sure for herself that he was a boy and whole. She kissed his wet brow, then handed him to Lady St Maur to be washed. ‘Send word to my lord immediately!' she commanded, her face shiny with tears of joy and exhaustion.

Jeanette stood by the hearth watching the baby having his first bath in a silver ewer of warm water. He had long limbs, a lick of gilt hair and a lusty cry. A pang went through her at the sight of the miracle of life, and this helpless little creature that needed protection.

Lady St Maur finished washing him and gently rubbed his gums with honey so that he would only ever know life's sweetness.

‘May I hold him?' Jeanette ventured.

For a moment she thought Lady St Maur would refuse, but then, with a reserved smile, she gave him to Jeanette. ‘Just for a moment,' she said.

Jeanette cradled the baby's warm weight in her arms and looked into his screwed-up little face. She touched his miniature clenched fists, then wordlessly returned him to Lady St Maur with tears in her eyes. The other ladies were looking at her knowingly and she turned away, for she could not bear it.

A midwife left the room with the afterbirth in a cloth-covered bowl. The Queen was brought to a fresh bed, and the infant given to her, clean from his bath. Philippa cooed at him with adoring satisfaction. The ladies gathered around, praising the baby and also Philippa for her strength and success in producing a third son for the English succession. A jug of sweet wine and pastries were sent round in celebration, and the messengers went out to proclaim the news far and wide.

Jeanette drank the wine to toast the baby, who was to be named John. Her brother's name, and her own too in male version. She rubbed the Queen's feet with rose unguents, and another lady played a lute softly in the background. A young girl rocked the baby's cradle and he soon fell asleep after his ordeal. The wet nurse sat by the fire, washing and warming her breasts, ready for when the princeling wished to feed, and Philippa's own breasts were bound up to stop the milk, and checks made to ensure the bleeding from her womb had eased.

Jeanette gazed round at the group of smiling women, relaxed and warm together, celebrating a new life. So much pride and joy. Then she thought of going to Gascony as a bride to this unknown boy Armand d'Albret. Having to live among strangers. Having to bed with someone she did not know and might even loathe. She would be expected to do her duty and bear him children in pain and blood and struggle, and was horrified. All these women thought she was tearful over a baby because she wanted one of her own, when it was no such thing.

Eventually the Queen slept, and Jeanette begged leave to go and check on her peregrine, knowing she would burst if she did not escape.

Lady St Maur rolled her eyes. ‘You and that bird,' she said, but she was smiling. ‘Very well, but do not be gone long. Take Joan with you.'

Jeanette needed no second bidding. With Hawise in tow as well, she grabbed her cloak and sped from the Queen's chamber. She wanted to run until she was breathless but could only step out briskly, kicking the hem of her gown.

‘Slow down!' Joan gasped. ‘What's the rush? Wait, wait! I have a stone in my shoe!'

Jeanette sighed in exasperation and danced on the spot while her friend unlatched her soft leather slipper and shook out a piece of grit.

‘Did you see his little hands, and the way he looked at us?' Joan gushed as she pushed her foot back into the shoe. ‘What a perfect little miracle!'

Jeanette forced a smile but it fell from her face almost immediately. ‘I don't want that to be me in a year's time in Gascony,' she said. ‘I don't care how miraculous or beautiful. I would rather be an outcast on the road than have that happen.'

Joan stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘You do not mean it.'

‘I have never meant anything more sincerely in my life,' Jeanette said grimly.

‘How do you know it will be terrible? Your husband might be as handsome as the sun and you might adore him.'

‘I doubt it. He'll be a boy, thinking that he can have anything he wants, and encouraged by his father to take it, and unable to do any wrong in the eyes of his mother.'

‘It will only be terrible if you make it terrible,' Joan remonstrated. ‘Look on the good side. You shall have fine weather and good wine. You shan't have Lady Salisbury breathing down your neck, and you will have the eternal gratitude of the King and Queen. Your husband's family will treat you well because you are the King's own cousin and they dare not do otherwise.'

Jeanette shook her head. ‘You do not understand,' she said impatiently. ‘You are not the one being sent to Gascony.'

Arriving at the mews, she put on her glove and went straight to Frederick's perch, persuading the young peregrine on to her wrist with a shred of meat.

John de la Salle appeared from the depths of the building and bowed to the young women. ‘Great news so I hear, my ladies,' he said. ‘A new prince has been safely delivered.'

‘Yes,' Jeanette replied. ‘We saw him born, and the Queen is well. Where is your lord?'

‘Attending his duties,' John answered. ‘Were you particularly seeking him?'

She shook her head and blushed. ‘No – it was a passing enquiry.' She fussed Frederick for a little longer before going to Thomas's goshawk where she perched on a stump. The bird regarded her with bright amber eyes before turning to preen her wings, at ease in Jeanette's presence.

She stayed a while longer, until the sun was starting to set, and Joan was fretting to return to the ladies, but then saw Thomas and Otto crossing the yard with Henry de la Haye and several other knights, and her heart kicked as it always did.

Evidently having caught sight of them too, Thomas approached and bowed. ‘I would have thought you ladies would be with the Queen.'

‘I came to visit Frederick,' Jeanette answered. ‘We have the Queen's leave.'

‘And I assume you are bound back to her chambers before the dark catches you outside?'

Jeanette saw the indulgent amusement on the faces of the men with him, and a devil took her tongue. ‘Where else would we be going, Sir Thomas?' she asked. ‘To the tavern?'

‘That I do not know, but it is my duty to escort you to safety and protect you whatever your destination.'

‘Then, thank you. In that case, I know I shall always be safe wherever I find myself.'

‘Indeed, that is true,' he replied, and set out to walk her, Joan and Hawise back to the Queen's apartments with the other men.

At the doorway, Jeanette paused and turned to him. ‘I shall be doling out alms tomorrow in thanks for the Queen's safe deliverance,' she said. ‘Perhaps you might escort us there and assist us – unless of course you have other duties.'

He tilted his head. ‘It may be possible. I make no promises, but we shall endeavour to join you. We bid you good evening, ladies.' He bowed, and walked off with his companions. He didn't look round but Henry de la Haye did, and winked roguishly.

Joan clucked her tongue at his impertinence. ‘I cannot believe you suggested such a thing!'

‘Why not?' Jeanette asked. ‘It will be more fun to have their company, and safer too.'

‘I am not so sure of that. What will the Queen say?'

‘Why would she object?' Jeanette raised her brows. ‘It will reflect well on the household if we are all involved. Sir Thomas and his brother are valiant knights and well thought of and Sir Henry is one of theirs. I am certain that Messire Hazelrigg can be persuaded to attend too.' Jeanette looked at her friend with her tongue in her cheek.

Joan shook her head, but blushed furiously, for she had her own soft spot for the northern English knight who was often in Thomas's company. ‘What about the Countess of Salisbury?'

‘What about her? It will be a public and religious duty, and the men will give it gravitas – even Henry de la Haye. She will have no cause for complaint and we won't be the only ladies present. You worry too much.'

Joan gave her a reproachful look. ‘And you take too many risks.'

‘Hah, then we shall meet in the middle,' Jeanette said incorrigibly.

The next day, Jeanette, Joan, Hawise and several other ladies from the Queen's chamber gathered to dole out alms to the poor at the monastery gates. Usually, the almoners and designated servants distributed the donations, but today, in thanks-giving, the Queen's ladies were involved in the task, and as well as the food, small amounts of money and items of clothing were handed out.

Jeanette played her part with a whole heart and a wide and ready smile. She was in charge of dispensing the bread, while Joan ladled pottage into the bowls people had brought with them. Thomas and Otto arrived with their retinues to assist and stand guard, and the loaves of bread and jugs of beer were soon emptied, and all the money and clothing gone.

‘Thank you,' Jeanette said, smiling at Thomas as she gathered up the empty baskets.

‘It has been my pleasure, demoiselle.'

He had brought one of his old hoods and two thick blankets to give away and had provided a small purse of alms money. His manner towards the folk who had come to receive charity had been courteous and good-humoured. Jeanette had noted his common touch which did not detract from the authority he possessed to lead men and maintain his rank. He had tousled a small boy's hair, and jested with a toothless old woman who had cackled at him with lecherous appreciation, saying if she had been thirty years younger . . .

Once more, he escorted her and the ladies back to the royal apartments, and carried the baskets himself.

‘You look like a housewife going to market,' she said, amused and very aware of his presence at her side. Their pace was a saunter, eking out the moment.

‘Looks can be deceptive,' he replied. ‘It is what lies beneath that matters.'

He leaned a little towards her, and Jeanette's breath shortened.

‘Then I suppose that like all truth it is buried, and must be sought by diligent investigation,' she said pertly, giving as good as she got, and was rewarded by the flash of his grin.

‘I have always found that to be the case, demoiselle,' he said, as they came to the Queen's door. ‘And usually well rewarded.'

‘Is that so?' she said with a provocative, sideways look, and gestured to Joan and Hawise to go ahead, each carrying some baskets. Taking the last two from him, she stepped so close that their outer garments brushed against each other. ‘Shall we take the hawks out soon?'

‘Do you not have the Queen to care for?'

‘As long as I comb her hair properly and rub her feet, she will give me permission. Indeed, I do not know for how much longer I will be able to train him if I have to go to Gascony.'

He cleared his throat. ‘Nothing will be decided until the King's return. You still have time.'

‘No, I do not,' she said bitterly, her mood dampening. ‘I don't want to go to Gascony, but who listens? If I refuse, I will be accused of shirking my duty and being ungrateful. Indeed, they will not let me refuse. Do you think it is ever possible to wed for love? To wed for choice?'

He looked taken aback. ‘I suppose it must be, but it is easy to say and much less simple to do, and seldom for the likes of us, for we are bound by duty and family expectation.' He took a back-step. ‘You should return to the Queen.'

She remained where she was, her eyes drinking him in. The last thing she wanted to do was be trapped in the bower again.

‘Jeanette!' Joan hissed, coming back down the stairs. ‘What are you doing? Make haste before you get us both into trouble!'

The spell broke and she tore her gaze from him, but as she started up the stairs, she looked over her shoulder and gave him another long look.

When she was gone, Thomas palmed his face. This beautiful, mercurial girl so knowing but so vulnerable was twisting him in knots and it was not good. He would find himself thinking about her at odd moments of the day and he looked forward to their training sessions with the hawks, with a hungry, hollow sensation of need in the pit of his belly.

She was so different from the other young women at court. He loved her unaffected walk – no silly mincing steps like some of the damsels, but a proper long-legged stride. Her natural manner, her smile, her mischief that sparked his own. The scent of her, and the changing expressions in her eyes. Otto was entirely right to warn him against dallying with her, but he could not stay away. Last night he had taken himself off to the Gilders with Otto and Henry, and had relieved some of the pressure in his cods. The new girl had been exactly as his brother described, but it hadn't stopped him thinking about Jeanette. It was probably fortunate that she was going to this Gascon marriage soon, and that he too would be called away to his duties, because otherwise, rather than dancing around the fire, he would well and truly be in it.