Chapter 3
Tom stood in Woodstock’s stables, shivering, but not so cold that he wanted to return to his mother and the horrible atmosphere of inconsolable grief.
He and his father had spent many happy moments in the stables at home, bonding over their mutual love of the fine Holland blood-horses.
He had learned so much from him and always looked forward to his lessons, which did not feel like lessons at all.
He wanted so much to emulate his father and command the respect of men.
To be good, honourable and diligent; to be a fine lord and soldier.
He wanted to ride one of the famed Holland black stallions at his father’s side – but that was never going to happen now, and it wasn’t fair.
His father had promised to begin teaching him to joust when he came home, but that anticipation had turned to ashes in a cold hearth.
Before leaving for Rouen, his father had taken him and his brother to visit the Holland archers.
Sitting at the men’s campfire, Tom had been enthralled by the tales of the campaigns they had fought in their lord’s retinue.
His father had impressed on him and Johan the need to respect these men.
‘They are your backbone,’ he had said. ‘Always look after the spine, for how will the legs walk or the head function without one? You treat them with the same respect you would treat any piece of your equipment, for then, they will not fail you, nor you them. It is a sacred bond.’
The image had fixed in Tom’s mind, but he wondered what the backbone would do without a head?
How could he be the head when he was only ten years old?
His mother was in such a state of grief that she was barely present – a sodden wreck so consumed by her pain that she had nothing left of herself for him – and he felt almost as though he had been orphaned and cast adrift, with all the sure channels now seas of miserable uncertainty.
He couldn’t curl up in a nurse’s arms and suck his thumb like Joannie and he certainly wasn’t going to cry like Johan.
He wasn’t a baby; he was the man of the family and had to be strong.
‘I was sorry to hear about your father.’
He spun to face the soft-voiced interruption and glared at Alys FitzAlan, third daughter of the Earl of Arundel. Her shiny brown hair was neatly braided in two plaits, and her earnest, freckled face was full of sympathy.
‘Sorry won’t bring him back,’ he said gracelessly. ‘It’s easy to say that, but what do you know?’ He felt sick that she still had a loving father who doted on her. ‘Go away and play with your pouppets.’
Alys drew back in bewilderment. ‘I just wanted to be kind.’
‘Well, I don’t need your kindness – or your pity!’ The last word emerged as a snarl. What he needed was everything to be back as before, and that was never going to happen.
‘Everyone needs kindness,’ she said. ‘And I do pity you whether you want it or not.’
His eyes started to sting, and his anger increased. ‘Your friends are looking for you,’ he said.
Alys turned her head towards the sound of distant shouts coming closer.
Tom shuddered at the thought of being surrounded by a cluster of nosy, chattering girls.
‘Truly, I am sorry,’ Alys said, adding with sympathy, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep them away.’ Turning on her heel, she ran to answer the calls, her brown plaits snaking behind her.
He sat like a statue until he was sure she had gone, and then bowed his head, filled his fists with his hair, and tugged as hard as he could to feel the pain.
Several days later, Jeanette was feeling lethargic and sick.
She had drunk far too much the previous night because it was the only way she could sleep.
The children had gone out into the park with attendants to walk the dogs because, although she was dressed, facing up to her duties and making a start was like reaching for the moon.
Guilt washed through her at what Thomas would say if he was still here to see her behaviour.
‘Madam . . .’ Hannekyn, her chamberlain, approached her. ‘Madam, the Prince is asking to see you. He says he will go if you wish to be alone.’
As he asked every day. She could not continue to hide for ever, much as she wanted to. ‘No, bid him enter,’ she said, and rubbed her throbbing temples. ‘Bring bread and wine – and some spring water.’
He bowed and departed. Moments later, Edward arrived and told his squires to wait outside the door. She started to rise to greet him, but he gestured her to remain seated and stooped to kiss her cheek.
‘I am not fit to be receiving visitors,’ she said shakily.
‘You need not stand on ceremony with me,’ he replied. ‘I have come to ask how you are faring, not to consider your appearance.’
She had to swallow the aching lump in her throat before she could speak. ‘How do you think I am faring?’
Taking her hands, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. ‘Jeanette, I am sorrier than words can express. I can do nothing for your grief except grieve with you, for I loved Thomas too, but there must be ways I can help.’
She looked away. She wanted the pain to stop, but it never would.
‘I need to go home,’ she said. ‘And I need to bring my husband home too – to the Greyfriars in Stamford. I will not have him lying alone in a tomb in Rouen when his widow and children are here. The friars have always been good to us.’
‘Then I shall see to it. Of course he shall come home, and with all honour due. If you wish, I shall look at what needs to be done to your estates and make it right with my father. You will not have to worry about that part at all – if you will trust me.’
Tears gathered again although she had already cried enough to sail a ship to France.
‘You know I trust you,’ she said, her voice quavering.
‘I did not know how I was going to face such things, and you have thought of me even while you have your own concerns.’ She tried to stifle a sob, but couldn’t, and yielded to a fresh outpouring of grief.
When he put his arms around her, she leaned against his body, desperate for his strength and comfort.
Edward kissed the top of her head and patted her back. ‘My concerns are of no matter and this is the least I can do. Let me know when you are ready to leave court, and I will arrange everything.’
Jeanette blotted her tears on a linen kerchief tucked in her sleeve, already damp from earlier tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You cannot know what this means . . .’
‘No, I cannot, but I know what it means to me,’ he said gently. ‘I am always here if you have need – for as long as I live – that is a promise.’
He stayed to eat with her, and his practical talk and solid support steadied her. He was a rock, not a cushion, and precisely what she needed, and as he rose to take his leave, she thanked him again.
He kissed her cheek. ‘I will help you in any way I can,’ he repeated, and hesitated. ‘Jeanette . . .’
She looked at him, but clearly thinking the better of what he had been about to say he shook his head. ‘Know that you are in my prayers always,’ he said, and opening the door, beckoned to his squires.
By the time the children returned, red-cheeked from their exercise in Woodstock’s park, Jeanette had rallied enough to be present for them.
The raw fragility still lingered near the surface, but at least there was a scab on the wound; Edward’s visit had contributed to that first fragile layer of healing.
She gathered her offspring round the fire after they had eaten bowls of sops in spiced, sweetened hot milk and steeled herself to speak and remain composed.
‘You all know your father left to serve the King in Rouen and do his duty,’ she said.
‘Well now he has had to go further away – a long journey where for now we cannot reach him, but one day we shall all be reunited, for God says it is so. I want you to think of him travelling on that journey and to pray for him on his way.’
‘Will he come back?’ Johan asked. His blue eyes demanded reassurance and held a desperate trace of hope that would have broken her heart were it not already in splinters.
‘No, but one day you will go to him, and he will be waiting for you. For now, you must continue along your own path, while he rides his. I hope you will be a worthy man and live up to his name – indeed, all of you. You are his exemplars in the world now. Always think of him in everything you do.’
Tom frowned, and she wanted desperately to hug him again but knew better than to offend his burgeoning masculine sensibilities in front of his siblings.
As the eldest and the heir, he had always owned a keen sense of duty and obligation.
It was a heavy burden to set upon a ten-year-old, bereft of a father’s guidance.
Since he was underage, the Kent estates would be put in the Crown’s care, and effectively that meant into the hands of whoever the King chose to administer them.
There was even a terrible possibility that the children could be separated from her and end up in wardship to the highest bidder.
When she thought of what might happen and everything she must face, she wanted to dive back into oblivion.
But Thomas would expect better of her, and she expected better of herself.
She was awake in the world again, no matter the pain, and she would defend her precious children with all she could bring to the fight.
Later, she sat with Tom on his own in an embrasure seat as the winter sun sank in red fire beyond the windows of the palace tower.
Reaching out, she tenderly stroked his tawny hair away from his brow, uncovering his frown.
‘I am sorry I have been absent from you in my great sorrow,’ she said, ‘but I am here now and I will try not to disappear again. I know you are all hurting too at your father’s loss. ’
He gave her a wary look. ‘What will happen to us?’
‘I cannot say for certain, my love, but the Prince, your godfather, has promised to help us. We do not have to shoulder the burden alone and he will ease the path when it comes to dealing with the estates and our future, and that gives me cause for hope – even while things can never be the same.’ Cause for hope.
She realised as she spoke that it was another sign of healing even amid terrible heartache.
A few days ago she had possessed no hope at all.
Tentatively, she embraced him, not knowing if he would rebuff her out of his growing sense of independence and manhood, but after a brief hesitation he flung his arms around her, and his thin frame shuddered with sobs.
Holding him tightly, she bent her head over his and cried with him in the give and take of grief, but at least there was a road before her now, not a deep, black hole.