Chapter 17 #3
The army that had set out to take Castile for King Pedro returned to Bordeaux in glittering magnificence, their banners waving, their armour polished to a dazzle, and the horse’s coats groomed until their coats shone like mirrors.
The entire city had emerged to greet the conquering heroes of the Battle of Nájera and gathered in a great crowd outside St André’s Cathedral to await the conquering heroes.
Jeanette’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight they made.
Little Edward clung to her hand, wide-eyed, hopping from foot to foot with excitement on seeing the soldiers.
Behind Jeanette, Mundina, Richard’s nurse, gently jiggled him and showed the baby the troops with a pointing finger, which he copied, his blue eyes bright and curious.
Jeanette had received numerous letters from Edward informing her of their successes and was utterly relieved he was home at last, and in one piece.
She watched for his distinctive black armour amid the array, and at last caught sight of him, the ostrich plumes nodding on his helm, and his visor open, revealing his beloved face.
Was it thinner? Were there more lines? But he was smiling.
And Tom rode close to him, his armour flashing with starbursts of light.
Her child was a man, with a golden beard curling on his chin and a confident smile on his lips.
Edward spoke to him and gave an encouraging nod, and Tom kicked forward ahead of the party. Dismounting with an athletic leap, he advanced to kneel before Jeanette and the gathered ladies, including his blushing young wife.
‘My lady mother,’ he said.
Jeanette abandoned propriety, raised him to his feet and threw her arms around him even though she was hampered by the hard steel shell of his armour. ‘Praise God you have come home safely!’ she cried. ‘God has answered our prayers and kept you whole!’
‘By his great mercy, yes,’ Tom replied, smiling. He winked at little Edward, who was staring at him open-mouthed, and then turned to Alys standing at Jeanette’s side.
She sank in a deep curtsey. ‘My lord husband,’ she said. ‘Welcome home.’
Tom took her hands and raised her to her feet. ‘My lady wife,’ he replied, and a long look passed between them.
Edward dismounted from his stallion, gave the reins to a groom, his helm to his squire, and strode over to embrace Jeanette and his children, his eyes bright with emotion. ‘How I have missed you,’ he declared. ‘You are like a fresh rose to the eyes of a man who has wandered the desert for ever.’
And whose fault was that? Jeanette thought, but smiled at him, ablaze with joy and relief.
‘I have missed you too, every hour of every day. Letters are no solace for your touch.’ Mindful of propriety, she turned to greet Edward’s brother, John.
‘I am glad to see you here and whole too, my lord, and I congratulate you on your wife’s safe delivery of a son.
We were delighted to receive the news from England.
’ Her gaze flicked to Johan among his entourage, and she sent him a look full of glowing pride to show him he was not forgotten in the greetings.
John of Lancaster gave her a smile that held a touch more warmth than his usual reserve. ‘I was joyful too to hear in the field,’ he replied. ‘I shall give due gratitude to God now we are in the proper place.’
Once Edward had delivered formal thanks in the cathedral for his safe return and attended mass, he returned to the palace to bathe and change his garments for the celebratory feast in the main hall.
The squires divested him of his parade armour while Jeanette saw to the bathtub herself, testing the temperature and adding precious oils and herbs to soothe and perfume his body.
The tub was the largest one they had with a linen lining and drapes, and servants laboured to fill it with buckets of water, hot and cold, under Jeanette’s exacting scrutiny.
Stripped to his braies, Edward dismissed the squires, and Jeanette sent away her ladies.
Now they were alone, she could examine him candidly without all the armour and padding and was shocked at how thin he was.
He was hollow-cheeked, and his rib bones jutted sharply under his flesh.
This was not a man in toned and lean health, but one who had either been unwell or malnourished.
His body bore no battle scars, and his colour was normal, his complexion neither flushed nor waxen-grey, but this campaign had taken its toll on him, and not for the better.
‘You are far too thin,’ she said, running her fingers over his ribcage, investigating each hill and furrow. ‘You need feeding up.’
‘Indeed, I do,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘We had some difficulties with the supplies, and I had the flux for a time – as did many others, although John and your sons avoided it, thank Christ.’
She regarded him with alarm – the flux could be serious, sometimes deadly.
He touched her cheek. ‘It is all right. I am over it; indeed, I am eating with a full appetite. But it has been a hard campaign. I am home now with you and our children, and all is well.’
From the look on his face there were things he was not telling her – things that cast shadows over the light. But for now she did not want to know, and suspected that neither did he want to share them.
She gestured to the tub, and he shed his braies and climbed over the side into the water, before holding out his hand to her.
‘And your own health, my beloved wife?’
‘I am fully recovered,’ she said. She did not tell him it had taken her almost until Easter to recuperate. ‘I have missed you every day you have been gone, and I have treasured your letters.’
He kept hold of her hand. ‘Take off your chemise and join me,’ he said, his hazel eyes bright with desire.
Need burned within her, and in an instant she was casting off her remaining garments and clambering in to join him.
They sank down together with a splashing displacement of water.
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her forward, and she straddled him, gasping with pleasure and the sheer fulfilment of having him home again in one piece, even if he was lean to the bone.
He kissed her mouth, and she kissed him back, and rose and fell with him in sinuous, slippery abandon.
After they had renewed their acquaintance with each other’s bodies, she stayed in the tub and washed him with perfumed soap and thought it ironic that it was made from the finest Castilian olive oil.
‘I am overjoyed you are home,’ she said as she rinsed his body. ‘Your sons need to know their father. I tell them about you all the time, but it is not the same as having you here to teach them to be men.’
‘I promise I shall be as attentive as you and they could wish,’ he replied. ‘I need to rest, even if I still have work to do.’
‘Indeed, and put flesh on your bones!’
‘Do not worry, I shall eat for ten now I am home.’
‘Is all well in Castile now?’
‘Yes, for now,’ he said after a hesitation. ‘Pedro was overjoyed at our victory at Nájera – as well he should be.’
‘But . . .?’
‘But the bastard Trastamara escaped our clutches. He evaded capture during the battle, despite all our efforts – changed his warhorse for a fast courser and was gone. I sent out scouts; we pursued and chased high and low, but he still evaded us, and that does not augur well. He will seek succour in France, and from there continue to harass Pedro. Yes, the rightful king has regained his throne, but for how long?’
Jeanette said nothing. This was not the moment to reiterate he should never have gone to war for Pedro of Castile. The escape of Enrique of Trastamara to France was not good news no matter that the battle had been won.
‘Pedro will bear watching. I am not inclined to return his daughters to him until he has paid what he owes.’
‘And just what does he owe?’
Edward’s lips thinned.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘More than four times what he agreed to pay in the initial treaty. We have brought him, by coercion, to promise to pay his debts. He has put his seal to another contract, but since our men began to sicken we had to return with that part unresolved. I have yet to make a true accounting, but I shall know the full amount by early autumn.’
The tone of his voice said it would not be a happy event. Jeanette listened and nodded and with an effort held her tongue. Difficulties would be better addressed when he was rested and fed. The deeper dissection could wait; she was not going to spoil this moment.
The water was scummy and beginning to cool.
Leaving the tub, she wrapped a linen towel around her body, aware that if he was too thin then she had taken a turn the other way, with surplus flesh rolling on her belly and thighs.
Despite being active, her body had not returned to the way it was before carrying Richard.
She felt like an overblown flower, its petals about to drop.
Edward certainly didn’t seem put off. ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world,’ he said gallantly, diverting the subject from the matter of the victorious failure of the Castilian campaign.
She regarded him coquettishly over her shoulder and tossed her head, allowing her hair to ripple.
That, at least, was still glorious, and she would take Edward’s compliment as the truth seen through his eyes.
‘And you are the most handsome of husbands,’ she answered.
‘But we should dress, for the others will be expecting us to preside over the banquet, and heaven forbid we should miss it, no matter how much we would prefer to stay here. I shall summon our attendants.’
He made a sound of assent and shrugged ruefully, then added as she prepared to call their attendants: ‘Have you spoken to Alys?’