Chapter 11 Royal Palace of Kennington, London, November 1362 #2
Her infant daughter escaped from Katherine de Roet’s arms and ran to her mother.
Blanche picked her up and hugged her, but in an instant the child wriggled free and twinkled over to Jeanette to demand attention from her too.
Jeanette lifted her into her lap and gasped at the surprisingly solid weight of the little girl. ‘And who might you be?’ she enquired.
‘I’m Fippa,’ little Philippa of Lancaster declared confidently, her pale golden ringlets bobbing. She had her father’s eyes, dark in the encroaching afternoon shadows, but in fact a deep blue like the ocean in mid-Channel.
‘And I am your aunt Jeanette and delighted to meet you.’
‘Dat’s John.’ The child wriggled off Jeanette’s knee and ran to stand on tiptoe at the side of the cradle. Katherine hastily took her in hand before she wakened the baby and drew her to look out of the window at the barges sailing past, pointing out one with a striped sail.
‘You have two beautiful children,’ Jeanette said, ‘and another one soon to be born.’
Blanche smiled. ‘I know my duty to John, and his to me. I am fortunate to conceive and bear easily, but it is not the same for every woman.’
‘No.’ A pang arrowed through Jeanette’s solar plexus – a sensation of longing bordering on envy.
‘I suppose it will happen for you and Edward soon enough, since you both have children already,’ Blanche said brightly. ‘He has already fathered a son, and you have four of your own.’
‘God will decide, as He decides everything,’ Jeanette replied with dignity. ‘And we shall be ready to obey His will.’
‘Yes, of course, that is all we can do,’ Blanche said, and passed the platter of wafers.
That evening, the palace of Westminster was ablaze with torches and candles.
Tom and Roger were attending the Prince in the King’s chamber, but he had let them off the leash to listen to the musicians and enjoy leisure time with their friends and peers.
The boys were playing a boisterous game of hoodman blind.
One player covered their eyes with a hood while the others tied knots in their own hoods and struck the blind player until he managed to catch one of his attackers and thereby change places.
Tom excelled at the game, having the swift reflexes of a cat.
Roger, if the hoodman, sometimes caught him, and Johan was occasionally lucky, but Tom could usually outguess and evade everyone.
However, in the interests of fair play, he volunteered to be the hoodman and swivelled his hood back to front until he was encased in a clothy, wool-scented darkness.
He felt the other hoods flicking at him, and the shrieks of delight as someone got in a solid blow.
He allowed them their small victories, because that too was power.
Permitting others their moment of success kept them invested in the game – especially his younger brother, who had less patience and a short temper.
Another hood flicked at him and this time he grabbed it and reeled its owner close like catching a fish. There was a lightness about the body, and on tearing off his hood he discovered he had captured Alys FitzAlan who had arrived late to the game, and suddenly he was awkward.
‘Hah!’ Johan cried. ‘Looks to me as if you have caught yourself a wife, brother – or else she is fishing for a husband!’
Tom’s face burned.
‘I wasn’t!’ Alys declared, blushing furiously. ‘But I caught him anyway, and now it’s my turn!’ She jammed the hood over her own head, wrapping the long tail around her temples and across her eyes. ‘Who shall I catch?’ She stretched out her hands and curled them like claws.
‘Not me!’ Galvanised into action, Tom flicked at her and danced aside, and the game resumed.
One of the boys, over-boisterous, struck her with his knotted hood just as she was pivoting, and she staggered, but after regaining her balance she retorted with an almighty whack.
The blow struck Alice Perrers across her rump as she paused to speak to wealthy wine merchant Richard Lyons, who was standing in the peripheral area of the game talking to acquaintances.
Mistress Perrers spun round, dark eyes flashing. ‘What is all this unseemliness?’ Her voice was a sharp dagger in a silk sheath. ‘How dare you!’
Alys tugged off her hood and took a hasty back-step, her eyes widening with shock. ‘My lady, I am sorry. I did not know you were there.’
‘That is no excuse for such unruliness.’ Alice regarded her with disfavour. Jewels and golden bezants coruscated on her gown of bronze silk and every finger sported a gold ring – evidence of the King’s indulgence.
Richard Lyons looked on with sharp amusement. ‘Let them be, Alice,’ he said tolerantly. ‘Were you not a child once?’
‘Not like this,’ she snapped. ‘I knew my manners.’ Her eyes lit on the boys. ‘If you are going to indulge in foolish horseplay then go outside. This is not Twelfth Night!’
‘We were doing no harm, my lady,’ Tom replied, coming to Alys’s defence.
‘You were causing a nuisance,’ Alice answered curtly. She looked him up and down, recognition entering her gaze. ‘I would be careful if I were you.’
Tom returned her stare to show he was not intimidated although his heart was pounding.
Alice’s face suddenly changed, and she curtseyed. Richard Lyons, still smirking, bowed.
‘Mistress Perrers,’ Jeanette said sweetly, appearing behind Tom. ‘Why should my son be careful? For what reason do you take him to task?’
Tom breathed shallowly, sensing his mother’s tension at his back. In cloth of gold trimmed with ermine, she was a lioness.
‘The children were being unruly, madam, I merely chastised their behaviour,’ Alice responded calmly. ‘They should not be running amok when adults are trying to converse in a civilised manner.’
His mother drew herself up. ‘The children were certainly not running amok. I would rather watch them playing in simple joy than witness the scheming, plotting and petty cruelties that happen in certain corners of this court. Perhaps you should be the one taking care. You may go.’ She flicked her hand as if dismissing a nobody.
A pink flush swept over Alice Perrers’ cheeks. ‘Madam, I shall heed your advice.’ She curtseyed, stood upright again, and walked away, her velvet train dragging behind her like the tail of a serpent. Richard Lyons bowed and followed in her wake, making discretion the better part of valour.
Jeanette turned to the children. Tom watched her face for clues but thought her wonderful.
Her eyes were still full of battle-light as she turned to Alys FitzAlan who stood a little to one side, her chin dimpling.
‘It was an accident, and you have done nothing amiss, any of you,’ Jeanette said.
‘Mistress Perrers shall not trouble you again I hope, but if by mischance she does, come straight to me, or the Prince, and let us deal with the matter. Alys, give me your hood.’ She held out her hand.
Alys put the hood into it, biting her lip.
Jeanette tied it around her own eyes, using the long end as a blindfold. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘let us continue the game, and no one shall interfere! Hah, who shall I capture first?’
Jeanette played several rounds with the children and laughed aloud as she twirled – the first time Tom had seen her do so since losing his father.
A flood of affectionate warmth surged through him, watching her romp.
She had not only defended them but restored the fun and put the Perrers witch in her place.
The Prince joined them. Tom watched his mother catch the tail of his hood and wind him in until they were face to face, then she removed her blindfold, laughed and tugged his beard, and arm in arm they returned to the high table.
The sight still gave him an unsettled feeling, although not as much as the early days.
‘I am so glad I am going to be joining your family,’ Alys said to Tom. ‘Your mother is so kind and brave.’
Tom agreed with her statement about his mother, but he didn’t want to think about being betrothed or married to anyone. ‘You won’t be joining it yet,’ he said. ‘I am going to Bordeaux, and nothing is decided.’
Her face fell, but then she pushed out her chin. ‘But it will be decided because your stepfather needs my father’s money and support. I will miss you, you know.’
He gave her a courteous half smile to be polite, thinking he would not miss her in return.
Although they socialised as part of a group at court, she was just one of many playmates, not a major part of his life.
She was a girl like all girls, except that her father’s wealth was of great use to his stepfather.
The betrothal was a way of building closer ties.
For now, a whole new life awaited him, but it didn’t mean settling down with a wife!
Edward rolled over in bed beside Jeanette. ‘You were tweaking the cat’s tail there,’ he said with a chuckle, and nuzzled into her breasts.
‘What if I was?’ she answered. ‘It needed doing, and even if she is a cat, she should not sharpen her claws on lions. She has notions well above her measure the way she orders the other ladies about. I hope your father’s desire for her runs its course swiftly.’
‘Amen to that,’ he agreed, thinking there was no sign of it thus far, rather the opposite.
‘We’ll be gone from court soon and she won’t be an irritant in our lives.
We still have much to do before the spring.
I’ve to find another dozen ships and masters to carry our supplies and arrange finances – although Arundel is being accommodating.
’ He tenderly stroked her hair and gathered her into his body.
‘She will overstep herself eventually and we have greater horizons to consider.’