Chapter 12 Poitiers, Aquitaine, November 1363
Jeanette arrived in Poitiers on a chilly winter’s day, borne through the grey and brown countryside in the litter she had especially commissioned when they had been in London this time last year for the King’s anniversary festivities.
The litter was comfortably padded within and had space for her and her daughter Maud.
They had a window on the world and an oiled linen screen to hook in place should they wish for privacy, or if it rained.
The other children and maids were either riding, as in the case of the boys, or travelling in covered carts as the court of Aquitaine made its way to Poitiers on their great royal progress.
They had arrived in Bordeaux six months ago on a glorious May morning, with the world flourishing around them in the beauty of high spring.
A substantial number of the region’s nobles had arrived to swear allegiance to their new prince in the first weeks and Edward had held a series of banquets and tournaments throughout the summer as a backdrop to political discussions, securing friendship and patronage.
The tailors and sempsters who had travelled from England with the Prince’s entourage toiled each day and long into the twilight, fashioning garments for the Prince and his family, making of their court a new Camelot that shone like a beacon amid the courts of Europe – indeed more brightly than England itself, where its rulers were wearing the tarnish of their years.
Edward and Jeanette glowed at their vibrant pinnacle, the perfect golden couple.
They had spent three months in Bordeaux, establishing their rule, before moving north.
Life was different in Aquitaine, riper and more somnolent than England.
It was like changing the contents of one’s goblet from plain to sugared wine, fragrant with spices.
In the high heat of early August they had set out on a progress of the cities and towns of the region to show themselves and take more homage.
First to Bergerac, then Périgueux, followed by Angoulême, where Jeanette had fallen in love with the region and had chosen to make the castle there her home when not in Bordeaux.
Then on to Cognac, Saintes, Saint Jean d’Angley, La Rochelle and now Poitiers.
From Poitiers they would travel to spend the Christmas season in Angers, one of the former heartlands of the kings of England.
The pace was gruelling. She and Edward were constantly on show and expected to make a fabulous impression.
The feasts, tournaments and distribution of largesse were continuous.
Nevertheless, Jeanette was enjoying the experience.
She loved the spectacle, and even when tired had the ability to project her charisma and smile, maintaining an air of gracious warmth.
Providing she had a few moments of prayer and peace to herself each day, she could sustain the pace of the progress.
Time inside the litter afforded her moments when she could close her eyes and think her own thoughts if she wished.
Edward had wanted her at his side every moment and her desire to be with him was mutual.
She had often accompanied Thomas on campaign and had relished those times and the different way of life.
She was discovering how to be the wife of a great prince and drawing from hitherto untapped reserves of smiling patience.
She was learning to be still in the storm – although not always succeeding.
The children too were benefiting greatly from this long journey on the road.
Tom had grown in confidence and had also shot up in height as though he had hidden stilts in his boots.
A downy fuzz edged his upper lip, and his voice had begun to grate as it deepened.
He was riding in his stepfather’s coterie of squires with Roger.
Now and again she would glimpse him on his black palfrey, one hand on his hip, the other on his reins in direct imitation of his stepfather.
Johan was a junior squire in John of Lancaster’s household and had remained in England to serve his new master.
Joannie, now five years old, was travelling in a large covered cart with the children belonging to the household, accompanied by their nurses and attendants.
Jeanette’s ladies journeyed in yet another covered cart – except for the practical, forthright Eleanor de la Warre, who preferred to ride her palfrey astride like a man and not be led.
Crowds had gathered to line the main thoroughfare into Poitiers and had packed into dwellings overlooking the route to peer from balconies and galleries to watch the royal cavalcade roll into the city, accompanied by parades of minstrels playing drums, trumpets and pipes.
The laden sumpter horses, the squires and knights and banner bearers added to the noisy, colourful melange.
Well versed in the routine, Jeanette’s attendants showered coins and small gifts into the crowd – tokens, artificial flowers, small pouches of dried fruit.
Jeanette waved and smiled, and seven-year-old Maud copied her.
‘They will not see such sights often, if ever again,’ she told her daughter.
‘They will talk about this for years to come and tell their children and their grandchildren. A crowd easily becomes a mob if they do not love you. Your father always said we must acknowledge them fittingly. We have a duty to serve them even as they have a duty to serve us. Without them we would not survive.’
Maud was thoughtful. ‘And without us, would they survive?’ she asked.
Jeanette eyed her daughter. Maud was a quiet, obedient child, very unlike herself at that age, but she possessed the same busy thoughts beneath that calm exterior and Jeanette was eager to give them rein.
‘I think perhaps they would, but matters would still be much the same eventually. There are always those who rise and those who fall. They would make kings and rulers from among their own, and still there would be divisions. We are taught that some are born to rule, and some to pray and some to work. Your life will depend upon the state of your birth as God has ordained. But while birth ordains your beginning, it does not always ordain your end.’
Maud regarded her quizzically.
‘Look at Master Samson,’ Jeanette said. ‘He was an ordinary cottar’s son in one of your father’s villages, but he was a quick thinker and skilled with a bow, and he joined your father’s company of archers.
He served your father so well that he took him into his personal guard.
He is now a yeoman, and his son is following in service and has learned to read and write.
Rank and birth are not always as rigid as some would have us believe.
We can rise on Fortune’s wheel, and we can fall, and it is not only a matter of fickle fate, but of what we achieve for ourselves. ’
Maud nodded seriously, and Jeanette wondered from which part of herself that speech had emerged.
She was aware of her own great wealth and privilege but often felt as though she was perched precariously at the apex of Fortune’s wheel, and any moment might be tipped off into the mire. One turn to glory, one turn to fall.
When they reached the palace, the litter halted, and attendants hurried to assist the ladies down.
Jeanette’s gown of scarlet velvet decorated with gold fringing boasted a neckline that exposed her cleavage in the latest fashion.
She knew people were staring at her – some of the men had their eyes out on stalks.
Their response amused her and brought out her defiance, causing her to play up to the image of being larger than life.
Not just a princess, but a golden goddess, ripe as a pomegranate.
But it was falsehood too. The more fantastically she dressed, the less real everything seemed, and sometimes she felt as though she was becoming an illuminated figure in a book of hours – painted in bright beauty, but stylised and detached.
Later, after all the feasting and what seemed like interminable presentations were over, Jeanette and Edward retired to the sumptuous bedchamber that had been prepared for them.
Her women undressed her to her chemise, combed out her hair and departed.
She could hear Edward’s duty squires outside the chamber, talking softly to the guards, and the click of dice rolling across a board as they played to while away the time.
‘You made quite an impression on the Constable of Brittany,’ Edward said with amusement as she joined him in bed with a cup of wine and a platter of nuts and cheese to share.
Jeanette rolled her eyes. John de Mayenne, Constable of Brittany, had attended their arrival to swear his allegiance to Edward.
He had presented his wife, who had been garbed like a nun in a gown of sober dark grey wool with plain wooden buttons up the sleeves and a severe white wimple.
In contrast, Jeanette’s gold-fringed gown and daring neckline, enhanced by a collar of gold links and rubies, had drawn every eye.
Eleanor de la Warre had made a tactless and foolish remark about people not showing enough respect by appearing dressed like peasants before royalty.
Jeanette had silenced her with a look, but the damage was done, and the constable had been heard to say later in disgust that he would rather his wife dressed respectably than turn herself out like a mercenary’s harlot.