Chapter 13 #4
Studying youth and horse, Jeanette’s heart was full and a little painful.
Tom was so swiftly coming to manhood. He might not be skilled or strong enough yet to wield a full-sized lance, but speed and natural talent compensated for much.
She was so proud of him, and a little afraid at the rate of change.
Edward had organised a series of tournaments to celebrate her churching and return to duties after their son’s birth.
Little Edward was three months old and thriving.
His proud father had spared no expense, even providing fodder and stabling for the horses of guests and participants.
Every field and orchard in the vicinity had sprouted clusters of tents, pavilions and open timber shelters draped with coloured cloth in bright spring hues.
Tom clapped his heels against Orage’s flanks and shouted.
The gelding leaped forward, and they raced down the field to the quintain where Tom neatly lifted the garland from the hook on the point of his lance to resounding cheers.
He turned as a squire hung out a second garland.
He repeated the manoeuvre perfectly and saluted the stands.
Jeanette applauded and blew a kiss to him, and Alys rose from her seat and presented him with another garland she had made herself.
He collected it on the end of his lance, bowed to her from the saddle, and galloped off in a bravado burst of speed.
Alys blushed, and Jeanette smiled to herself.
The young couple had mended their misunderstanding and there was a new tension between them that she well remembered from being their age.
She had noticed the way Tom looked at Alys when he visited the ladies’ chamber, and how they behaved in each other’s company.
The frisson was tangible, but it was still too early to take it further.
Alys’s fluxes were established and regular, but she was still young for childbearing, and while she did not doubt that Tom was very capable of siring a child, he was still a lad, not fifteen until the autumn.
Marriage at a young age might fulfil dynastic purposes, but there was wisdom in waiting – as she knew to her own cost and experience.
Edward arrived on the field, caparisoned in his polished black armour overlaid with his padded doublet of scarlet, blue and gold, ostrich plumes tossing in his helm.
Jeanette’s heart overflowed with love and pride – the shining Prince of Aquitaine and heir to the English throne, his court without equal in Christendom.
It was as though they had stepped into the legendary world of King Arthur and brought it home with them through a magical looking glass and made it real.
One of the participants at the tourney was Jean, Comte d’Armagnac.
The previous year he had been taken prisoner by a neighbouring lord, Gaston Febus of Foix, who had demanded an extortionate ransom payment to set him free – a sum Armagnac was unable to raise.
He had approached Jeanette, begging her to intercede in her role as the Prince’s wife and mediator.
She had done so on his behalf, flattering Gaston Febus as a man renowned for his high chivalry towards the tender pleas of women.
Knowing his passion for the chase, she had presented him with a pair of fine English hunting dogs of a breed he had long coveted.
Could he not reduce Armagnac’s ransom as a special favour to her?
Febus, amused by Jeanette’s wiles and enjoying the blandishments of an alluring woman, had agreed, although she suspected it was the dogs that had clinched the deal.
While Armagnac was attending the tourney, Gaston Febus had stayed away despite a warm invitation.
He was proving elusive when it came to performing homage at Edward’s court, and Jeanette doubted that even the bribe of an entire pack of hounds and a golden hunting horn would induce him to appear and swear his allegiance.
Armagnac himself was embroiled in a dispute with Edward over rights in the town of Rodez.
Edward’s seneschal, with as much finesse as a blunt halberd in Jeanette’s opinion, had painted Edward’s blazon over the town gate marking Edward’s dominance there.
Since Rodez was the entrance to Armagnac’s personal territory, Armagnac was refusing to swear allegiance to Edward until the offending heraldry had been removed, and his personal rights acknowledged.
Both men had dug in with the determination of two autumn stags fighting for dominance.
Further diplomacy was urgently required, but untangling the locked horns of obdurate masculine pride was a challenge.
At the close of the day’s tourneying, Jeanette presented the prizes to the knights who had taken part, ensuring everyone was given something, even if it was just a garland, and a warm smile.
The champions received magnificent rewards including fur-lined cloaks, bolts of silk, gold chains and a great ivory drinking horn decorated with silver and emeralds.
During the dancing that followed the feasting and entertainments, Jeanette took a moment to catch her breath and joined Jean d’Armagnac in a window embrasure, intent on having a gentle word.
‘You were a fine sight to see in the combat today, my lord,’ she said with a smile. ‘I enjoyed watching your prowess.’
‘I am honoured, my lady,’ he replied, inclining his head.
Laughter lines fanned out from his eye corners, but the eyes themselves were shrewd and worldly.
He had chestnut curls lightly wired with silver and broad, handsome features.
She had noted more than one of the ladies casting him appreciative glances, especially as he was wearing one of the newly fashionable short tunics that displayed his strong legs well up the thigh.
‘I can tell you are a strong fighter who knows how to stand his ground.’
‘Experience has taught me that I have to be,’ he replied with a thin smile.
‘Indeed, and my husband and I value that experience and your friendship.’
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ he said in a tone sufficiently devoid of inflection to be sardonic.
‘I wonder how the lord of Foix is enjoying his hunting dogs,’ Jeanette remarked blandly, reminding him that he owed her a debt for her intervention. ‘It is a pity not to see him here also.’
‘Perhaps, although I cannot say I miss him.’
‘Still, we are glad and fortunate to have the asset of your company.’
He dipped his head, acknowledging but warily silent.
Jeanette watched Alys and Tom swirl together and apart as the dancing continued, and although she was mainly focused on Armagnac, she experienced a wistful pang, remembering how she had danced with her own Thomas as a young woman, full of joy, feeling the frisson of the lightest touch.
Hugh Courteney, bless him, was dancing with Maud, and was the epitome of the chivalrous courtier despite the difference in their height and ages.
She touched Armagnac’s velvet sleeve, getting down to proper business. ‘I will speak to my husband on the matter of Rodez. I am sure we can reach an agreement that will be to everyone’s benefit.’
He looked at her. ‘Will I not then owe you twice for intervening?’
She tilted her head and smiled at him. ‘Let there be no talk concerning debts among friends and allies,’ she said. ‘If peace comes from this, you owe me nothing.’
It was long into the evening when Jeanette and Edward finally retired to bed.
She had been churched, and her body had recovered from their son’s birth.
Edward was eager to make love with her, but he was tentative and tender, not wanting to harm her recently healed tissues, and their slow, restrained lovemaking was all the more intense for its reserve.
‘I have missed you,’ he said when he could speak again. ‘Not just this, but every part of you – being able to touch and hold you. I have missed you at night, especially.’
‘As I have missed you, my dearest lord.’
She fetched wine and a platter of sweetmeats from a side table, which they ate and drank in bed while discussing the day’s affairs – the tournament, whether the weather would continue fair for the rest of the celebrations, who was most likely to take the prizes on the second day, Tom’s excellent performance.
Jeanette finished her wine. ‘I spoke to Jean of Armagnac after the tourney,’ she said nonchalantly.
Edward regarded her with amused caution. ‘Yes, I noticed.’
‘Could you not see your way to taking down that shield on the outskirts of Rodez?’
Edward’s brows twitched together. ‘Hah, I thought so! I cannot have terms dictated to me by a vassal – you know that. If I agree to his demands, it will open a floodgate. You have a soft spot for him, and he plays on it, but I am not inclined to indulge him any further than I have done already.’
‘Of course I have a soft spot for him. He is a practical, cultured man – and a handsome one,’ she teased.
Edward snorted. ‘Not that I had noticed . . .’
‘Well, you are not a woman, and men see things differently. I would never champion him for those traits alone and I hope you know me well enough to discount such a notion. Women have just as much wisdom as men, but in different ways – and that is why women have the role of peacemakers. We find ways through without resort to swords. Why won’t you take down the shield?
It’s like pissing on the edge of someone else’s territory, is it not? ’
‘It’s a warning not to overstep the bounds of my tolerance. All he need do is swear his oath to me and I will give the command to have the shield removed.’
‘And he says if you remove the shield, he will give you his allegiance. The pair of you are butting your heads together like stags in rut and getting nowhere. At least think on it. If not for yourself then do it for me.’
Edward continued to frown. ‘That won’t work every time you know . . .’
She reached out to smooth his brow. ‘Of course, a man must be a master in his own house, but let a woman serve her purpose too as a moderator and peacemaker. Answer me this. Will you have peace if you refuse him? Will he sleep at night if he refuses you?’
‘If he refuses me, I shall bake him into such a pie that he shall never break the crust,’ Edward growled.
Jeanette shook her head with exasperated amusement. ‘Is that what you would do indeed?’ She kissed him, and brushed crumbs from the coverlet. ‘I wonder what kind of pie he would bake for you, or whether the King of France might come and stick his knife in the pastry?’
‘That weedy runt?’ Edward scoffed.
‘Weeds have deep roots, and they are resilient. I am just saying, you have no need to make him your enemy.’
Edward sighed, puffing air through his cheeks. ‘Oh, very well, I shall see to it, if only to preserve myself from a nagging wife.’
Jeanette sat up straight. ‘Only if heaven does the same for me for a stubborn husband!’ she retorted, but laughed, took his wine from him, and kissed him into further desire.
Eventually, when he was asleep, she left their bed and, going to the window, opened the casement to gaze at the clear velvet sky. The sight of the heavens had filled her heart since childhood, and she always felt closer to God and at one with creation.
She and Thomas had studied the stars together on many an evening, read books on astronomy and pondered what they foretold of their future.
She had had horoscopes cast for all her children by the court astronomers, and they had spoken of dynasty, wealth and fruitfulness, never of storms or grief or defeat.
She wanted to believe them but knew with her logical mind that tales were spun for gold every day.
Did she really want to know if there was heartbreak and disaster in her future?
Was it better to live as a butterfly and not know that winter was on its way?
With every iota of her being, she strove to pick out the patterns in the heavens, name them in her mind, but then to let go and allow the wonder of their vast, distant and Godwrought beauty to permeate her soul.