Chapter 8 Windsor Castle, Berkshire, October 1361
The crenellated walls and turrets of Windsor Castle emerged out of a soft autumn mist as Jeanette’s entourage approached the gates.
Gazing from the arched entrance of the travelling carriage, she felt as if she was experiencing a vision of King Arthur’s palace at Camelot wavering over the reality of solid stone.
A pungent scent of turning leaves and woodsmoke coiled in the grainy air while a blurred pale disc amid the low clouds hinted that the sun might eventually break through.
Jeanette had visited Windsor on numerous occasions – attending on the Queen, visiting the court, sometimes living there for months.
She had watched tournaments with knights thundering down the lists on their caparisoned warhorses, their lances shattering on shields, and had taken part in numerous celebrations, festivities and ceremonies with Thomas at her side.
She could almost see him walking towards her now in his parade armour with his cat-like swagger, that familiar wicked grin lighting his face.
In two days she would marry Edward in Windsor’s royal chapel and become a wife again, and a queen in waiting, with all the duties and baggage attached to those roles. She was queasy with anxiety but determined – and it was too late to change course anyway.
She and Edward had met several times since midsummer, mostly to discuss matters of business.
The estates had continued to be audited, and their future joint household had required organising.
Some of her people had entered Edward’s employ, and several of his had become hers.
Edward’s clerk William Fulbourne, a pleasant young man, was now serving as her chaplain.
Edward had made her gifts of gold and jewels and ordered numerous gowns to be fashioned, including one for her wedding in crimson silk damask embroidered with gold peacocks.
New livery in his household colours of green, white and blue was being stitched for her and the children.
He had vouchsafed her two thousand marks a year to run her household.
During these business sessions they had still found leisure to go riding and hawking together.
They had played chess and tables and dice in the hall, and tentatively enjoyed the ambience of a family household, each stepping carefully around the other.
The constraint of no physical contact beyond hand holding and kisses on the cheek or temple, never the lips, had created its own frisson of anticipation.
Edward had been a model of courteous chivalry, and Jeanette the modest widow with eyes lowered and hair tightly braided beneath a plain wimple – but the tension was palpable, waiting for the change.
The carts halted in the courtyard and a steward was on hand to greet the travellers and escort them to their lodgings.
Jeanette gazed at the familiar buildings, and swallowed at the daunting sight of the dozens of flags and banners decorating the walls, displaying who was here to attend the wedding.
The children were taken by their nurses and attendants to the nursery tower to join the other youngsters of the royal household and Jeanette was escorted to a spacious chamber that had been prepared for her adjacent to the Queen’s apartments.
A bed had been made up, its coverlet of red silk embroidered with golden suns and silver moons, with matching hangings.
Beside it was a laver stand with a silver-gilt bowl and jug, and a crystal phial filled with delicate essence of roses.
Unfastening her cloak, Jeanette wandered to the window and looked out on a vista of people hurrying about their business.
Two men were labouring up ladders, attaching yet more banners to the walls, interspersed with swatches of greenery.
Someone led a mule past laden with packages, followed by a water carrier with his leather sacks slung like panniers over the back of a brown cob.
Jeanette unpinned her wimple. The ornate collar of gold and pearls around her throat followed, and immediately she felt lighter. Her women chattered as they unpacked the baggage that attendants and squires were delivering from the travelling carts.
Jeanette handed the collar and headdress to Hawise and, leaving the ladies to their task, took the stairs to the battlements on the floor above.
It was a difficult climb in her heavy skirts, and she was breathing hard by the time she reached the top, but once she had regained her breath she straightened up and went to gaze out over the landscape, relieved to be alone and free from observation.
No one to scrutinise her expression, no one to speculate.
No one to face with a smile while her heart was breaking.
The breeze on her face was liberating and the sun had begun to emerge, clearing the mist. ‘Thomas, my love,’ she said softly.
‘What would you think of all this?’ She imagined him standing beside her and knew he would be pragmatic.
She remembered a white tunic the King had worn at one tournament with the words ‘It is as it is’ embroidered in gemstones around the hem.
Thomas had often repeated that statement, and it came to her now.
She could not change the past; she could only go forward to the future.
Tears filled her eyes, but she felt something moving and changing within her as though she was setting her face to the voyage as the ship cast its moorings.
She must sail with the tide or else be stranded.
A sense of greater resolution swept through her with the breeze from the battlements.
The feeling was not entirely joyous, but it was solid and determined.
She would marry Edward, and be his wife, his helpmate and lover.
Mother of his heirs, and in due time, his queen.
In a thoughtful, calmer mood, she returned to her chamber, carefully negotiating the narrow stairs. Her ladies had prepared a tray of food and a jug of mulled wine, and Eleanor de la Warre had laid out a blue velvet gown and a clean white headdress on the silk coverlet.
Smiling, feeling refreshed, Jeanette thanked the women for their diligence. She drank a cup of wine, ate several wafers, then set about the matter of changing her clothes to enter public company.
‘I was surprised when Edward told me about the vows you and he had sworn before a chaplain,’ Queen Philippa said.
‘Although I suppose I should not have been.’ She had dismissed all her ladies and she and Jeanette were alone.
Philippa sat in a chair before the hearth and appeared to be in better health and spirits than their last meeting.
Snawit perched on her shoulder, dextrously shelling a fresh hazelnut, her eyes twinkling like black dewdrops.
‘To be frank, my dear, many at court do not approve of this match – as I am sure you realise.’ Her tone was serious but not unkindly.
‘Madam, I want to assure you that I did not set out to entrap the Prince in any way,’ Jeanette replied. She sipped the sweet wine Philippa had provided and nibbled on a sugar-dusted wafer.
‘I am sure you did not. Our son is a grown man who makes his own decisions and defends them to those who disapprove. He has always been fond of you – I doubt you had any need of entrapment beyond being yourself. You know the ways of the court; you know my son and have the wherewithal to make him a fine wife. You can provide him with what he needs, and that includes heirs. Even if you do not, he has brothers. Soon he shall go to rule Aquitaine, and you will be his consort with all the challenges that will bring.’
‘I will endeavour to be a good wife – you need have no concerns on that score,’ Jeanette replied. She knew she was not here just to visit politely and make small talk over wine and wafers. She and Philippa were demarcating lines.
‘But I do have concerns,’ Philippa said. ‘I hope you understand that what I say is advice, not criticism.’
‘Of course.’ Jeanette put the wafer down on its silver-gilt platter, knowing another bite would choke her.
‘Edward has gone his own way in choosing you as his wife, and he is stubborn. You are headstrong and have been known to go your own way also. You must bring that strength to bear in the best way possible, because one day you shall be not only Edward’s consort but England’s queen and, by God’s mercy, mother of a dynasty.
That is a great responsibility and I need you to recognise that and act accordingly.
’ Philippa leaned forward and gripped Jeanette’s arm.
‘My body is declining. My back pains me constantly and I am often tired. I cannot be at the King’s side as much as I desire.
I need you to be the stuff of which queens are made, not scandalous young women.
Do you understand me, my dear? You must step up to your duty and be a fitting partner for my son – and for England’s Crown. ’
Jeanette looked down at Philippa’s hand clasping her arm, the pudgy fingers adorned with rings, some biting into the flesh, then lifted her head to the shrewd brown eyes and saw the political will there, hard as stone.
The challenge and the warning. ‘I shall not let you down,’ she said.
‘I know what this marriage demands of me, and I shall perform my duty to the full. I am not the naive and reckless girl who married Thomas Holland for love more than twenty years ago. I am not even the wife, helpmeet and mother who supported him and loved him dearly – some would say beyond reason itself. They still dwell within me, but grief has tempered me, and I know where I stand. I shall be stalwart beside my husband, and I will help to uphold the English Crown, no matter how heavy the burden, so help me God.’ She blinked hard, unexpected tears filling her eyes.
In a rustle of velvet, she dropped to her knees and put her hands between Philippa’s.
‘This I do solemnly swear as my oath to you, on my very soul.’
Philippa looked a trifle taken aback at Jeanette’s passion, but recovered and embraced her.
‘Come, come, my dear, enough. You have shown me all I needed to know. You have much to learn in the coming weeks and months, and it will not be easy. I learned as a young bride what it was to be a queen, but you must acquire the knowledge as a grown woman with a reputation. You must forge a different kind of reputation, and it begins from this moment.’
‘I shall prove myself,’ Jeanette said firmly. ‘You shall not find me wanting.’
‘I have faith in you that I shall not.’ Philippa’s words were spoken warmly but held a note of warning.
Feeling wrung out, Jeanette left the Queen’s apartments and returned to her own chamber. On her way, William Montagu, Earl of Salisbury, and his young dark-haired wife happened across her path.
Jeanette stopped abruptly, then dipped her head to the couple in acknowledgement. Montagu returned the salutation while his wife performed a demure curtsey. He was tall and handsome with clear blue eyes and a crisp beard, bright as gold wire.
‘Countess,’ he said, blandly polite, ‘my condolences on the Earl’s loss, but may I offer you felicitations on your forthcoming marriage to our prince.’
‘Thank you on both counts, my lord,’ Jeanette replied with a strained smile. ‘You are gracious.’
For almost ten years as adolescents they had endured a false and bigamous marriage while his parents and her mother strove with might and main to disprove her union with Thomas Holland whom they regarded as beneath her – a household knight with a soiled family reputation.
She and William Montagu had lived in misery and bitter acrimony, but as they grew and endured, they had arrived at an understanding, and these days dwelt in a state of neutral courtesy.
Unspoken between them as they faced each other was the awareness that William was alive, vital and handsome, and that had she stayed with him, she would have been on his arm now.
‘I wish you well,’ he said, ‘truly I do.’
‘And I you.’
‘If there is ever anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.’
‘Thank you, my lord, you are kind, but I shall not.’ She inclined her head and went on her way, a tender pang in her breast. They were ships passing in the night, nothing more, the seas between them safely navigated. But the genuine concern in his eyes had moved her.
Once back in her chamber, she sat down on her bed, and her hands were trembling.
What an enormous step she was about to take, and there was no going back.
For richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health unto the parting of death.
‘Oh, Thomas,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, dear God, Thomas.’