Chapter 14
Jeanette glanced up from the letters that had recently arrived from England and rested her eyes for a moment to watch her son toddle across the room.
At twenty months old he was a busy little boy, never still, and she and her ladies had to have eyes everywhere.
He was precocious in all ways, had walked at less than a year and had begun talking when other infants were still babbling nonsense.
He was vastly curious and dextrous. Edward adored him and would let him crawl up his leg and sit in his lap or would carry him around on his shoulders with the infant’s fists clutching his hair.
Jeanette was again with child and entering her fifth month of pregnancy.
The baby had begun to stir in her womb and her belly was a half-moon curve beneath her layers of clothing.
A second child was essential, and perhaps a third to enhance the security of their line.
She was two score years old, and time was short to bear another after this.
Life in Gascony was mostly sweet and successful.
Their lavish court was a constant source of wonder to its visitors.
Edward’s rule was generally popular, although he could be irascible and imperious if he was tired or challenged.
Jeanette would sometimes step in with warmth and common sense to mediate and smooth ruffled feathers.
When they were not on display at court in their finery, and in their private chamber, they would remove the layers Edward’s mother had once spoken about and become just Edward and Jeanette.
They would sit together in bed, sharing food and wine, petting the dogs, discussing their day.
They would debate the current political and diplomatic situations.
Edward would seek her advice – not necessarily taking it but holding it in consideration.
They had finally resolved the situation with Jean d’Armagnac – with difficulty.
Edward had agreed to remove the shield painted on the gateway of Rodez but had seen no need to hurry, and Armagnac had still refused to do homage until the decision about whose right it was had been resolved.
Eventually Edward had capitulated and taken down his blazon and Armagnac had performed homage, but not before the King of France had intervened, assuring Armagnac that he would always lend a swift and sympathetic ear to complaint – which, naturally, had infuriated Edward.
Jeanette returned to her letter. The news from England was unsettling.
Queen Philippa continued to decline and mostly kept to her bed, especially since her daughter Isabelle had married a French knight who had been a hostage at the English court.
When he had been ransomed, she had returned to France with him, leaving her mother’s household.
Blanche of Lancaster, John of Lancaster’s wife, had borne two stillborn boys in swift succession.
Jeanette felt sorry for her. Blanche had given birth to five children in seven years of marriage and the three boys had died, leaving only two small daughters.
Jeanette thanked God for the robust health of her own offspring but knew the fragility of their existence and prayed daily for their continuing welfare.
Alice Perrers had borne a daughter as well as a son, and the King remained fully committed to his mistress, refusing to hear a word said against her.
Grimacing, Jeanette set the letter aside, called for her musicians to play and joined her ladies at their sewing.
Edward was absent about the business of government and she did not anticipate his return for several days, so was surprised when Walter de Roet arrived on a lathered horse to give the household notice that the Prince would be here within a couple of hours.
Jeanette hastily galvanised the household into preparing food, heating water for bathing, decanting wine and laying out fresh clothing. Orders went out to the stables and kennels to prepare for an influx of horses and dogs.
‘What is all this about?’ she asked de Roet.
‘My lady, the Prince said he would speak to you on his return. You should not be worried, but he has received news that means he must change his plans.’
Jeanette rolled her eyes. She had learned through experience that instructions not to worry usually meant the opposite.
His riding garments exchanged for a soft velvet tunic, Edward voraciously devoured bread, cheese and wine in his chamber with Jeanette at his side.
His captains and squires had gathered in the room, and Edward announced to everyone that their ally, King Pedro of Castile, had been deposed by his bastard half-brother, Enrique of Trastamara, and had been forced to flee for his life with his two daughters.
‘He seeks our succour and requests military aid to recover his throne – which he has the right to do, by the terms of the treaty between England and Castile.’ He looked around the gathering, at the intent and serious faces of his men.
Those who had been with him were already aware of what had occurred, but this was the first hearing for those who had remained in Bordeaux with Jeanette.
‘I am going to meet King Pedro at Bayonne and escort him and his entourage to Bordeaux.’
He turned to Jeanette, whose neutral expression he was certain masked heightened emotions.
In most circumstances he would have left a pregnant woman out of such a meeting, but he knew his wife would not be gainsaid.
‘My lady, I ask you to make provision for our royal guests while we decide what is to be done.’
She inclined her head. ‘As you wish, sire, gladly.’
Her composed expression remained, but he knew she would already be pondering accommodation and provisioning for the exiled Castilian court.
The prospect of organising a military expedition had kindled a spark within Edward that was already licking into flame.
In the past, campaigning had been his life’s blood and what he did best. He was the glorious hero of Crécy and Poitiers and Calais, and this was an opportunity to control Castile and put the French in their place.
His high reputation for chivalry and success meant that men would follow him with alacrity.
Pedro of Castile’s own standing was tainted: he was known for louche behaviour, lack of fidelity, and for consorting with Saracens and infidels.
Many deemed him fickle and untrustworthy, but he had to be a hundred times better than his bastard half-brother who was allied with the French.
England and Castile had an alliance, and at one time Pedro had been betrothed to Edward’s sister Joan, but the wedding had not taken place for she had died of the great pestilence on her journey to the marriage.
‘I shall write to my father and apprise him of the situation,’ Edward said. ‘And in the meantime, let us make preparations. It is essential we have an ally on the Castilian throne.’
Later, Jeanette watched Edward pacing back and forth across their bedchamber, cup in hand, occasionally drinking from it.
In the sultry August evening he had removed his tunic and wore only his shirt, sleeves rolled back.
He was tense and eager, like a fresh horse ready to race.
Throughout their marriage he had not taken part in any major military campaign.
If he went to war in Castile, he would be crossing mountains into hostile territory, far away from her, with difficult lines of supply.
Her stomach clenched at the thought of being separated from him by distance and war, and the emotions she had felt on losing Thomas reared up and affixed themselves to the situation she faced now.
If Edward went, then Tom would go too. She had coped with agonising grief and loss before but could not face the thought of losing them both and having to do it all over again, this time with an infant’s welfare at risk, and a baby in her womb.
‘I will go to Bayonne to meet him,’ Edward said, ‘and bring him and his household to Bordeaux, at least for now, but shall establish him elsewhere soon while we wait for my father’s reply.’
‘How is this campaign to be funded if it goes forward?’ Jeanette asked. ‘What resources must we find, and what does Pedro offer in return?’
‘He will borrow the money and repay all of my expenditure the moment he is restored to his throne,’ Edward replied.
‘He has given his word. His daughters are unwed, so if we find them English husbands and restore him to his throne, we shall have a vested interest in Castile from the postern door as well as the grand gate. We are obliged anyway by our treaty to render him assistance.’
Jeanette shook her head. ‘Is it a good idea to come between warring brothers and to bear the brunt of the expense ourselves in hope of repayment? Aquitaine is at peace, and your rule is respected. You could jeopardise everything by going to war on this man’s behalf.
I know many of your advisers would agree with me. ’
‘I am not a fool,’ he said sharply. ‘I know warfare and politics better than most.’
‘I know you are not a fool,’ Jeanette said in a conciliatory tone, and came over to embrace him, the moon curve of her belly pressing against his body. ‘You are decisive, and fierce, but you should be very certain before you strike – for my sake, and that of our children.’
He stroked her cheek with a forefinger. ‘I do intend to be very sure, my love. I shall succour Pedro as one prince to another, but our support will come with conditions, and he will know he is indebted. I have no personal love for the man, but the situation is difficult. The French support his usurping half-brother, and we cannot have Enrique of Trastamara as the main influence in Castile – which is what he has become by deposing Pedro.’ He angled his head and kissed her.
‘Come to bed. You should be resting, not worrying and creating shadows for yourself.’
‘Then you should not make me worry,’ she retorted, but followed him to lie down, and wrapped her arms around him craving security, fearing for the future.
A fortnight later, Pedro of Castile arrived in Bordeaux, preceded by a parade, a fanfare of trumpets and a host of rippling banners.
Edward had presented Pedro and his daughters with gifts of embroidered silk garments lined with fur and ensured that they arrived as royalty, not refugees – as if this was a state visit, not a bolthole.
Castile’s king-in-exile was an imposing figure – tall, muscular and lithe, with curled golden hair and piercing brightblue eyes that took everything in at a sweeping glance.
His daughters Constanza and Isabella were girls on the cusp of becoming women and both possessed his height.
Constanza’s hair was sultry gold, and her eyes sharp blue like her father’s.
Isabella’s hair was darker, a rich bronze, and her eyes more muted.
As the girls curtseyed to Jeanette, she recognised their jewelled headbands which she had last seen in one of Edward’s jewel chests.
Indeed, she had worn the one given to Constanza the previous Easter.
King Pedro brought no queen with him. The girls’ mother, Maria de Padilla, had been dead for several years but had shared some similarities with Jeanette’s own history.
She and Pedro had married secretly as infatuated youngsters, but then Pedro had been forced by his family into a match with a French noblewoman whom he had later repudiated.
After her death, he had married Maria again, officially, and claimed her as his one true wife, and his children by her as his heirs.
Their only son was dead, but he still had his two daughters.
Jeanette curtseyed to him and hid her unease, welcoming him with a warm smile.
He was charming and effusive as he raised her to her feet and delivered two hearty kisses to her cheeks, his breath scented with cardamom.
His eyes were full of admiration, and she would have basked in their warmth if she had believed his sincerity.
His facade might be that of a hero from a romantic tale, but somehow it seemed superficial.
Like the ink on the page of such romances, it could be washed away.
The men she trusted were those she had known all her life, not effusive charmers with perfumed breath and deliberately curled locks.
That night in their chamber, Jeanette spoke to Edward of her worries, and he replied with a shrug.
‘We need him as our ally. If we remove his half-brother and restore Pedro to his throne, we shall have our reward.’ Edward picked up a silk pouch that was lying on top of his clothing chest and removed from it a large polished ruby, gleaming with a heart of red light.
‘This once belonged to a Moorish prince; Pedro tells me there are many more like it in his treasury that will pay for our help.’
Jeanette held the stone in her hand, still warm from Edward’s touch, and shuddered. ‘Why does his promise look like a clot of blood?’
‘You are being fanciful,’ he replied impatiently.
‘Am I? I do not trust him.’
‘I will pin him down. He is the supplicant, not I. If he does not agree to our terms, he shall have nothing. Do not worry. I shall deal with the situation.’
Although he had not said as much, Jeanette suspected he thought her pregnancy was interfering with her wits – it was common lore among men.
Some women believed it too. Jeanette thought it so much rot.
If a woman was more alert to such things when she was with child, it was because of the heightened need to protect her unborn offspring from the stupidity of others.
Edward returned the ruby to its pouch, and they went to bed, but it was a long time before she fell asleep and the baby was restless in her womb, turning and twisting, refusing to settle.