Chapter 12 Poitiers, Aquitaine, November 1363 #2
‘I know what was said about my appearance, but he was entitled to defend his wife. I spent many months on campaign with Thomas, and none of the ladies attached to the soldiers of mercenary companies dressed in such a wise – a battle camp is no place for gauds. But when the fighting was done, if their lords had sufficient gold in their pouches or booty to sell, then why not buy their women fine garments?’ She fed him an almond and watched him crunch it between his teeth.
‘The comment will be reported everywhere, and my notoriety will grow!’ She tossed her head.
‘I say that the Constable of Brittany would do well to let his wife choose for herself. Men will see what they want to see and know what they want to know of women. It has ever been thus. We are taken to task whatever we do, so we might as well travel our own path and be damned!’
He laughed and stroked her hair, winding his fingers through the waves left by the plaiting. ‘Wear what you will, as you choose. There is no woman more beautiful or worthy in the world, and this I know for a fact.’
Jeanette took pleasure in his praise, but the opinions of others did matter when it came to diplomacy and political will.
The Constable of Brittany might be a prudish curmudgeon, but his disapproval was a reminder that goodwill was fickle.
Clothes might dazzle and awe some of the crowd, but other folk were less easily pleased, or held adverse opinions.
While it was initially satisfying to scorn those opinions and turn one’s back, it was better to take note, and charm opponents into a different allegiance – although she had no intention of sacrificing her cleavage!
From Poitiers, the grand progress continued to Angers for the Christmas feast before returning south to Bordeaux and finally settling in Angoulême for Easter.
She and Edward had been married for almost two and a half years, and still there was no sign of a child.
She would soon be eight and thirty and knew how few years remained to her to bear their dynasty.
On Easter Sunday in St Peter’s Cathedral she had said special prayers and begged to be granted a fruitful womb.
Her last flux had finished five days ago, and she begged God to allow her womb to quicken with Edward’s child.
She pondered the matter while watching Tom being fitted for a new tunic of red and gold samite for his forthcoming marriage to Alys FitzAlan, which was to take place at the end of the month in Bordeaux once Alys arrived from England under escort.
The young couple would be a few months short of their fourteenth birthdays and although they would be married before a priest and witnesses, there was to be no consummation until Alys was deemed old enough for childbearing and until Tom was knighted.
Lands had been settled on them in England as a source of revenue and as part of the marriage contract.
Alys would live in Jeanette’s household among her ladies and continue her education towards becoming the future Countess of Kent.
Tom would remain in his stepfather’s retinue and further his own training until parents and guardians deemed that he and Alys were ready to have a marital bed of their own.
In the meantime, Tom and Alys would come to know each other as they matured.
Jeanette’s daughter Maud was also to marry, and under the same conditions.
Her bridegroom, Hugh Courteney, was the heir to the Earl of Devon and twelve years older than she was.
He was joining Edward’s entourage as one of his knights, but the marriage would be in name only for years to come.
Maud had taken it in her stride. She was not being separated from her family, and life would continue as usual.
Jeanette had noticed the girls in the household watching Tom, and was amused to see him returning their scrutiny, but she was watchful too, remembering her own life at court as a spirited young girl and knowing what could so easily happen.
Tom stood patiently while the tailor worked, his training in his stepfather’s household giving him that discipline, but Jeanette knew inside he must be fidgeting, wanting to be away with the other youths of his coterie.
He might appreciate fine garments as a mark of status, but he had no interest in parading like a peacock.
‘Almost done,’ she said. ‘You look very fine.’ Her heart ached that his father could not see him – he would have been so proud. ‘The harbingers say that Alys’s entourage will be here in five days’ time.’
‘Yes, I heard on my way to your chamber.’
She was not fooled by his calm reply. ‘Nothing will change for now even if you are married. Be chivalrous and kind to Alys, as you have been taught, and all will be well.’
‘Yes, mother.’ She knew he was mentally rolling his eyes at her advice.
‘Go on, then,’ she said as the tailor sat back having pinned the last section of hem. ‘I shall see you later in the hall for dinner.’
He carefully removed the tunic, aware despite his impatience of its value and the work that others were putting into it, but his speed and eagerness increased as he scrambled into his everyday tunic and hood and latched his belt.
Then he was gone, running out of the door like an unleashed young hound.
Jeanette smiled after him, hoping he was ready. She certainly wasn’t.
Standing in the courtyard of the palace at Bordeaux with his family, Tom watched the cavalcade arrive after the long journey from England and across Gascony.
His gaze took in the richly caparisoned horses, the escort of knights, soldiers and attendants, the decorated carts laden with the bride’s wedding trousseau and furniture, and numerous chests and bundles of supplies and gifts.
Alys FitzAlan might be the third daughter of the Earl of Arundel but was a treasure in every meaning of the word.
She had the prestige of wealth and of breeding, and her father was in high favour with the King and Prince, not least because of the abundant wealth at his disposal.
Outwardly, Tom projected a nonchalant air, but in truth he was wishing to be anywhere rather than nailed here in this courtyard as a centre of attention.
His stepfather placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he swallowed, welcoming the support while feeling slightly resentful.
He wasn’t a child, and he knew his duty.
His mother was smiling but with lines of tension around her mouth.
His sisters were eager to greet the newcomer to their bower.
The cavalcade halted in the courtyard and attendants hurried to assist the ladies from their gaily covered travelling carriage.
Tom had not seen Alys for well over a year, and although he recognised her as she stepped to the ground and shook out her skirts, he was taken aback, for she was not the flat-chested play companion he had carried in his mind, but a young woman with developing curves at breast and hip.
Her brown braids were pinned up either side of her face and covered by a light veil and jewelled band.
The gown clinging to her narrow body was of sumptuous soft-green silk powdered with gold.
His mother and stepfather formally welcomed the Arundel entourage and then it was his turn to make his obeisances to the nobles representing Alys’s parents, and eventually to greet Alys herself with a bow and offer her his arm.
She eyed him sidelong as she placed her hand upon his sleeve, and her cheeks developed a delicate pink flush.
He gulped hard and stumbled out a few tongue-tied words of welcome he was not later to recall, then escorted her inside the palace, strongly aware that everyone was watching them, assessing, smiling and speculating.
Some of Alys’s damsels were suppressing giggles behind their hands and he felt a surge of resentment, especially at Rohese de Bohun, who had always annoyed him.
‘I hope you will enjoy living in our household,’ he said stiltedly.
‘I am sure I shall,’ she replied. ‘Do you like living here?’
‘It is well enough,’ he said. ‘The household isn’t that different from England except that some of our attendants speak the Gascon tongue. The weather is warmer too.’
‘Then I am sure I shall like it too.’
Her reply was formal, but her smile sent him spinning out of his depth.
He pushed against the feeling of inadequacy.
His mother said he should combat his doubts by imagining he was wearing a cloak of courage and should do his duty as the person wearing that cloak until it was part of him.
Relaxing his muscles, he returned her smile and reminded himself that he was an assured and accomplished squire to the greatest of princes, and the future Earl of Kent in his own right.
In the dwelling chamber shared by the young ladies of the household, Jeanette checked on her charges before retiring to her own bed. She stooped to kiss Maud goodnight. Her daughter threw her arms around her neck and hugged her.
‘Alys is upset,’ she whispered. ‘She doesn’t want anyone to know, but she’s been crying. I said I would cry too if I had to leave my family behind, but I told her it was nice here.’
Jeanette smoothed Maud’s brown hair from her brow. ‘Well, that was kind of you and truthful. I will speak to her and set her mind at ease. Now goodnight, sweet girl, and I shall see you on the morrow.’ She kissed Maud again and went quietly to Alys’s bed further into the room.
Alys was lying curled up, and when Jeanette leaned over her in the lantern light, she saw that her eyes were closed, but her lids were twitching, and her pillow was tear-blotched.
‘Alys,’ Jeanette said softly. ‘I know you are awake.’
After several heartbeats of silence, Alys reluctantly opened her eyes and blinked against the lantern flame.
‘I know everything is new and strange, but you will become familiar in time. It takes a while to grow accustomed.’