Chapter 9 Windsor Castle, Berkshire, October 1361
Never had Windsor seen such a wedding as that of England’s heir, Prince Edward, to his Jeanette, Countess of Kent.
The marriage vows were conducted at the scarlet church doors prior to the bride, groom and congregation entering St George’s Chapel and processing to the altar for the wedding mass and sermon.
The chapel’s interior glimmered with hundreds of beeswax candles, the flame-light reflecting on polished wood, brass and gilt.
A powerful, evocative scent of rose water and frankincense permeated the air and was inhaled with each breath.
Banners hung from every hook and beam, the silks brightening the patina of the wood.
Jeanette paced at Edward’s side, her head raised, her expression smooth and regal.
Her crimson silk damask gown, woven with golden birds, was high-waisted and gathered, displaying her full bosom to its best advantage.
A headdress of gold-threaded sheer silk covered her head with her lustrous braids looped either side of her ears, draped by a golden net laced with rubies.
Resting on her collar bones was a gold necklace presented by Edward that morning, set with a ruby gemstone that dipped into her décolletage.
Jeanette knelt beside him at the altar and her ladies arranged her train.
The chapel was crowded with the earls of the realm, barons and high clergy pressed shoulder to shoulder, but with a greater space for the King and Queen and various of Edward’s brothers and sisters.
Jeanette felt the scrutiny of the congregation and sensed the emotions of those around her like tangled threads – delight and kindness, speculation and interest, and darker undercurrents of disapproval, contempt and envy.
Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury, bound their hands together with his silk stole.
Only two days earlier the Archbishop had questioned Edward, asking him if he truly knew what he was doing.
Was he absolutely certain? Jeanette suspected the King had asked Islip to make a final plea to Edward not to go through with the marriage. If so, it hadn’t succeeded.
Following the mass and a pointed sermon from the Archbishop on the duties and obligations of marriage, Jeanette and Edward processed from the chapel, emerging through the ornately decorated red doors to a bright fanfare of trumpets.
The October sun gleamed upon the rich fabrics, gold and jewels, and people were waiting to shower them with grains of wheat symbolising fertility.
Jeanette smiled at Edward, and he smiled back, his eyes sparkling. ‘Wife,’ he said. ‘My dearest wife, for all of our days.’ He leaned in and kissed her lips tenderly to shouts of acclaim.
Jeanette gasped at the sight of the decorations as she entered the King’s great hall.
Thick greenery clustered, hangings and banners adorned the walls.
The back of the great dais bore canopies of embroidered textiles and goldwork, bordered with swathes of wired pearls and artificial flowers.
Behind her chair, a hanging depicted her device of a kneeling white doe in a flowery meadow, collared with a delicate golden crown.
Tablecloths of white napery fringed with gold served as a backdrop to settings of silver-gilt plates, cups and dishes and great salt boats encrusted with rubies.
Edward was smiling broadly as he looked at her face.
‘Did you plan all this?’
‘With my father’s assistance – as you would expect.
You know he has a particular skill in these matters, and such tasks are always certain to banish any sourness from his mood.
But I also wanted to mark the day that begins our true married life – our reign and partnership together.
’ He lifted her hand and kissed her wedding ring. ‘It is for ever, my dearest heart.’
He was wrong. Thomas had told her it was for ever, but it wasn’t, because no one could defy God’s will.
She thrust the thought aside. She was in the right place for herself, for her children and their future.
‘You are so good to me,’ she said. ‘This is truly, truly wonderful, and I will always treasure this moment.’ The bright smile she gave him was genuine.
As the afternoon wore to dusk and followed into nightfall, Windsor Castle resounded with sounds of feasting, entertainment and music.
Edward and Jeanette matched each other step for step as they danced.
Jeanette felt disorientated that the hand clasping hers was not Thomas’s.
Last time she had danced with Edward had been at New Year, the day before she learned that Thomas was dead, and the memory encroached like a thin shadow through the frisson between them.
She and Edward danced with the children, hands linked in a circle of protection.
Afterwards, she watched Maud run off to play with the other little girls of her coterie, all wearing their new gowns, bright and chattery as finches, and her heart melted.
Johan was busy with some newfound companions he had made in the children’s household, including the King’s youngest son, Thomas of Woodstock, and she was pleased to see him enjoying himself too.
During another pause between dances, she sought out Tom, her chest tight with love and pain. Her beautiful boy, looking so much like his father.
‘I am proud of you,’ she said, touching his sleeve. ‘You have conducted yourself today as a man. You mean the world to me, and always will, I hope you know that.’
He gave her a strained smile. ‘I am glad for you, Mama – truly.’
‘It will grow easier. I know it is hard for you – for me too – but it is the right thing.’
‘Yes, mother, I understand,’ he said.
He bowed to her before being called away to his new duties and she watched him go, her underlip caught in her teeth.
Edward had told her he was delighted with Tom’s progress among his squires – that he was hard-working, spirited and well liked by the other boys.
She hoped Tom did indeed understand. It was a lot to ask of an eleven-year-old boy who had lost his father and was now watching his mother marry another man.
Even if he was accepting, her guilt was an arrow in her heart.
Edward’s brother John joined her. She knew he disapproved of her marriage to Edward.
He had never said so to her face, but his body language spoke for itself.
He believed that Edward had acted foolishly and he was not her natural ally.
But he loved his brother fiercely, and he was loyal and upright, even if unyielding.
Jeanette had witnessed his birth, when she was one of his mother’s young damsels, and had watched him grow up, although she had not had much to do with him in later years.
She knew, though, that he set a high value on proper etiquette and obedience to worldly order.
She strongly suspected he regarded her as a disruptor of that order, a bringer of chaos, especially when applied to his family and his beloved brother.
His wife Blanche was cast in a similar mould, although gentler.
Cool and fine and distant as moonlight. Her immaculate velvet skirts were never disgraced by dog hair or mud, and her household ran with tight precision.
Yet she was kind and charitable to the poor, had the sweetest smile, and the King and Queen approved of her, probably far more than they approved of their new daughter by marriage.
Smiling, Jeanette remarked to John how pleased she and Edward were to have him and Blanche attend their wedding.
He dipped his head in punctilious courtesy. ‘We were glad to bear witness and we both wish you great joy and success in your marriage. Edward is most dear to me.’
Was that a warning? She met his gaze candidly. ‘He is most dear to me too, as I hope you know. I intend to devote all my care and attention to the matter, and prove the naysayers wrong.’
‘It gladdens my heart to hear you say so,’ he replied stiffly.
A fanfare sounded, interrupting their exchange.
The King mounted the steps to the dais and his ushers called for silence.
Jewels flashed at the cuffs and hem of his velvet robes.
Crystal dewdrops of sweat beaded his hairline, and his veined cheeks were bright red as he raised a decorated golden cup on high, the interior darkly glistening with wine.
‘Friends, lords, bishops, archbishops, knights and noble dames,’ he cried, ‘I am joyful to see us gathered to witness and celebrate the marriage of my dearest son and heir, Edward, Prince of Wales, to my beauteous cousin, Jeanette, Countess of Kent, who has long been a close and loyal companion of our court and a member of my kin. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to see this union come to fruition today!’ His words rang out convincingly, devoid of all doubt and antipathy – the consummate actor.
He spread his arms in an expansive gesture that rippled his sleeves.
‘Let everyone enjoy themselves long into the evening, but before we are overwhelmed with wine and merriment, I must congratulate my son and his new bride on their well-deserved marital bliss. The Queen and I are proud and happy at this fruitful match for England, and we shall have a settled, prosperous and fertile future as my family continues to plough the furrow!’
His words received bawdy cheers and applause. Jeanette raised her chin, and her cheeks glowed, but she was not abashed and owned the words proudly. Her duty was indeed to provide an heir for England and God willing she would do so and show her worth to all.
‘I hope you will join me in saluting the happy couple and in wishing them every success in their marriage and their endeavours. To Edward, and to Jeanette!’
The roars of acclaim and the fist-thumping on tables grew deafening as the King drank from the golden cup, before beckoning Edward and Jeanette to join him and drink from it too, and salute their guests.