Chapter 13 #2
‘Sire, thank you!’ Delves bowed.
Chandos slapped Edward’s arm. ‘Great news!’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘A son and heir! Your lady has done you proud!’
Edward struggled for composure, his eyes stinging with tears.
‘She has!’ He clasped Chandos to his bosom and hugged him hard to discharge some of his emotion.
Having dismissed Delves to find refreshment, he went to the boys and stopped their practice.
‘My sons,’ he said, ‘I have wonderful news. You have a new baby brother to welcome into the world, born three days ago. Tom, I am told your mother is well. Go and pack your bags, we are going to Angoulême!’
Edward sent Walter de Roet to summon heralds and messengers.
He felt full to the brim and shaken. Although terrified he might lose Jeanette in childbirth, he had been mastering himself well, but this huge wave of euphoria and relief was overwhelming.
He knew there was still danger from fever and complications.
Babies were so tender in their early days.
Not every live birth resulted in a thriving child, but the first hurdle had been cleared.
During Jeanette’s confinement he had occupied himself with affairs of state to try and keep his tension in check, but now he was desperate to return to her.
There were celebrations to organise – feasts and tourneys to honour the birth of an heir, and to fete his beloved, stubborn, beautiful wife.
He would invite everyone of note, and the gathering would serve the dual purpose of welcoming his son while providing an opportunity to hammer out policy and lay the ground for a bright future.
In the early evening dusk, his way lit by torches, his stomach clenched, his breathing swift, Edward eagerly climbed the stairs to Jeanette’s chamber. He had come straight from the dismount and his garments wore the spatter of hard riding.
Opening the door a crack, he peered into the softly lit chamber, perfumed by the subtle scent of incense and honey from beeswax candles.
He could see a cradle on rockers at the bedside and Alys FitzAlan was leaning over cooing to the unseen baby, one bright brown braid tumbling forward.
The bed beyond her with its blue silk coverlet was partially concealed by the half-drawn hangings and hid Jeanette’s face from his view, but he could see the shape of her legs further down.
Alys glanced up, saw him peeping through the door and turned to speak to Eleanor de la Warre.
Eleanor came swiftly to the door but barely widened the crack. ‘My lord, we did not know you had arrived.’
‘Only just, but I want to know my wife and son are faring well.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘One moment and I will bring him to you,’ she said. ‘Both he and his mother are doing well. Your lady has suffered no hurt, but she is sleeping and should not be disturbed, even for her husband.’
Edward nodded. He knew the etiquette of the birthing chamber given the number of times his mother had gone into confinement – for weeks on end.
It was a sacrosanct domain of women where the only men allowed within were chaplains and priests.
A husband might briefly visit at prearranged times, but mostly this period was a woman’s mystery from which men were excluded.
Eleanor returned to the cradle and stooped to pick up the baby.
Wrapping him in a soft ermine blanket, she brought him to Edward and placed him in his arms. Edward gazed into the face of his heir, and the infant, woken from his slumber, stared back at him out of haze-blue eyes.
A wisp of golden-bronze hair peeped out from under his bonnet.
Edward could see his father in the features, and a little of Jeanette in the shape of the chin and cheeks.
Engulfed by powerful feelings of love and pride, he swallowed hard.
It was not the first time he had held his own child – he had Roger, of course – but this little being was a gift from the body of the woman he had loved all his life, and who had proved time and again she could do anything.
The baby yawned, and it made him smile and marvel anew at how perfect he was.
Blinking away emotion, Edward steadied his voice. ‘Are you sure my lady is truly well?’
‘I assure you she is, indeed, sire,’ Eleanor replied in a soothing tone. ‘Everything is as it should be, but I must take him to his wet nurse now he is awake. He will want to feed.’
Edward carefully returned his son and departed, feeling utterly blessed, but bereft because he desperately wanted to see Jeanette and make sure for himself that she was all right.
Nevertheless, he collected himself; his heart was full of gratitude.
He had a celebration to organise and gifts to arrange for his beloved wife – she deserved to be adorned with clothes and jewels fit for a goddess.
The following morning, Eleanor de la Warre approached him with a request from Jeanette that he come to her confinement chamber again for a brief visit.
As Eleanor ushered him into the room and the women curtseyed, the nape of Edward’s neck prickled at the strangeness. It was like welcoming the ladies of the court inside his battle tent and was disturbingly unconventional. He could not envisage his father ever doing such a thing.
Jeanette called to him from her bed, and he tentatively approached. She wore a chemise with silk white work embroidery. Her hair was loosely plaited and her face fresh and radiant. In the crib beside the bed, the swaddled baby was asleep.
Holding out her hand to him, she smiled with pride and affection.
‘You do not know the battle I have had with my own women to allow you into my chamber even for a moment,’ she said.
‘They only yielded when I threatened to leave my bed and come to you instead. I wanted to show you that I am whole, and unharmed, and we have a beautiful son.’
Kneeling at the bedside, Edward clasped her proffered hand and kissed it. ‘I am at your mercy, my beloved wife. Whatever you desire, you shall have.’
Jeanette laughed. ‘I already have everything I desire – what more could I want? I shall leave confinement as soon as I can – you know how much being cooped up is against my nature. Your mother always escaped early – twenty-nine days as I remember from your brother John’s birth instead of forty.
We shall be together before long. Come, look at our son, and then you must leave, before the sky falls in! ’
‘I would not care if it did!’
Jeanette looked wry. ‘You are not the one who would be blamed.’ She made a superior face and put on a censorious accent. ‘Men will say of me – “Look! That woman who wears the clothes of a harlot is now inviting men into her birthing chamber!”’
He chuckled but took her point. ‘The first one who does that will also be the last!’ Regaining his feet, he gazed into the cradle at the sleeping baby.
‘You could have had many of these already,’ she said pointedly.
‘But he is the culmination,’ he replied.
‘He is perfection and worth waiting for.’ He stooped to kiss his son’s brow and then reluctantly took his leave, aware of the women’s narrow glances.
He had been given an inch; he was not to take a mile.
With the feel of the baby’s soft skin tingling on his lips, he vowed to be the perfect father and give this child the world like an orb to hold in his hand.
In the hall, Tom played dice with his companions, feeling disgruntled and out of sorts.
He had been allowed a swift look at his new brother, but it was just a baby like any other.
It wasn’t as if he had been born with a halo, but the way everyone was celebrating, it was like having the infant Jesus in the family.
His stepfather had been to see his mother and reported that she was well, but he had not been allowed to visit yet.
However, his little sisters were permitted to dwell in the confinement chamber because they were girls, the same with Alys, and it just wasn’t fair.
Now that his mother had borne one child, what if it opened the floodgates and she continued to produce babies at the rate of one a year?
He might have to deal with a whole host of half-siblings, clamouring for her attention in the nest and devouring resources, yet he was expected to celebrate and be overjoyed.
He wondered what his father would think of it all.
The girls kept glancing in his direction, nudging each other and giggling, and his sister Maud had joined in with them. Alys was blushing furiously as Rohese whispered to her behind her hand.
Tom lost the next throw of the dice and with it the last of his silver. He could have asked his stepfather for more and it would have been willingly given, but he was done, and suddenly it seemed foolish to gamble money on the throw of a dice and not be in control of his destiny.
Roger eyed him in surprise as he rose to leave. ‘Aren’t you staying? You could win it all back.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Or lose even more – I’m not in the mood.’
He had to pass the group of young women to leave the room. They were playing a dice game of their own invention. Each number corresponded to a suitor with different points scored on the throw for wealth, age and prowess.
‘Will you not stay and keep us company, my lord?’ Rohese enquired, egged on by the giggles of the others.
‘No, mistress,’ he said rigidly. ‘Not this night, I am weary.’
‘But what of your rose without thorns?’ Rohese enquired, quoting from the letter he had sent to Alys. ‘Don’t you want to sit with her and tell your future together?’
The girls all spluttered and laughed, except for Alys, who looked mortified.
Tom narrowed his eyes. ‘I know my future,’ he said curtly, ‘and it does not involve playing foolish games that have no place in truth.’ He glared at them, then turned on his heel and stalked out.
Alys leaped up and hurried after him. ‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘Wait!’