Chapter 18 Angoulême, Aquitaine, late September 1368
Making ready to attend the midday meal with Edward, Jeanette watched their eldest son playing in the chamber, chasing about with some other little boys of the household, shouting in high-pitched voices with the joy of their game.
He was a sturdy child, strong-limbed with wavy fair hair and wide blue eyes.
And such a winning nature. He was biddable but spirited and already rode his small pony with the confidence and dexterity of a much older child.
Her golden boy, this future king. His brother, not quite two, was playing ball with his nurse, Mundina.
He too was beautiful, almost angelic, with soft red-gold curls and the same blue eyes as his sibling – her eyes.
His nature, however, was less sunny. He wanted everything, and if his demands were not met, he screamed.
He had a limited ability to concentrate for more than an instant, and would flit from one thing to another, unless something truly caught his attention, such as a bright jewel or some coloured, textured cloth.
Then he would focus on it to the exclusion of all else.
He was strong and well grown though. He knew his shapes and colours already, and the names of many things.
Indeed, he was so mentally alert that it was part of the reason he was so difficult.
The world moved too slowly for him, and his own body did not always obey the speed of his mind.
She returned to choosing what she was going to wear to the meal in the public hall and decided on her red silk gown with the blue velvet surcoat trimmed with ermine.
A thin golden fillet studded with sapphires for her hair, with a veil of gauzy silk tucked into the fillet and folded around her throat.
Although she was dressing to dine in the hall with retainers and guests, including many of the Gascon nobility, she was being less ostentatious than usual.
Her jewel coffers, once brimming with gems and trinkets in precious gold, pearls and colourful Limoges enamels, had been whittled down to necessities.
The same with the rich textiles she had bought before with extravagance.
All had been curtailed. Every bit of cloth was now utilised, not a scrap wasted, and garments that were wearing out were cut down and repurposed.
Seamstresses who once spent their time stitching hundreds of pearls and gold buttons on to garments were now removing as many as they dared and making over older gowns to refresh their look.
The gold plate and silver dishes had been sold until only sufficient remained to give the illusion of great wealth, but there was no substance, no depth.
The Castilian campaign and the inability and refusal of King Pedro to pay what he owed had left them almost destitute.
The coin to pay their debtors had to come from somewhere.
All they had received from Pedro was ten thousand pounds from his personal treasure, but it was a drop in the ocean.
Funds had not been forthcoming from England, and Pedro was again being threatened by his bastard halfbrother who now had French support.
Edward had had to impose a hearth tax on the people of Aquitaine, which had proven highly unpopular and a cause of revolt.
Some barons had defected to the French, while others were in rebellion.
Edward was striving to deal with the situation, but it was like fighting a many-headed monster; as soon as one head was cut off another grew in its place, while others snapped and bit and undermined.
Sometimes he would pace most of the night, trying to work out how to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.
Often, he did not come to bed but slept in his day chamber for a few hours after a night of work.
If she tackled him about it, he became defensive and irascible; his temper was always short these days.
The growing difficulty of their situation could not just be slashed aside by a sword, and every decision stirred an ants’ nest of consequences.
The women came to the hall in their matching red and blue garments.
Edward and his knights joined them to a fanfare of trumpets and escorted them to the table.
Jeanette thought Edward looked more tired than usual, the dark circles under his eyes particularly pronounced.
He kissed her hand in formal appreciation, and she smiled at him as if nothing was wrong, as if brightness would turn the gathering storm into a fine, clear day.
He eased himself carefully into his chair.
The recurrent soreness in his male parts had been uncomfortable for several days and his physician was treating him with an ointment of mallow.
Jeanette dared not show her concern in public, and Edward refused to acknowledge there was a problem.
They dined on bread and roast fowl with a herbed green sauce, and small, crisp marrow tarts.
The wine as always was excellent, produced in nearby vineyards, and as they ate and drank, colour flushed Edward’s face and he revived enough to smile a little.
Jeanette slowly began to relax and enjoy the meal and the moment.
They were picking at nuts and dried fruit, and a fresh cask of sweet wine had been broached, when a messenger arrived with news from England.
With the messenger kneeling before his chair, Edward broke the seal, and as he read what was written all the tension returned to his face, and his mouth turned down at the corners.
‘Blanche has died,’ he said.
Jeanette gasped. ‘No!’ She put one hand to her mouth.
‘At Tutbury. John was at her side.’ He passed her the letter. ‘Nine days after childbirth. A baby girl, who has also died and gone to Our Lord in heaven.’
Swallowing, feeling sick, Jeanette read what was written. The letter had come not from John but from the unwell and bedridden Queen Philippa, whose scribe had written the news.
‘My poor dear sister-in-law.’ Jeanette bit her lip at such terrible sadness. ‘And poor John. He must be distraught, and his children, deprived of their mother and still so young.’
‘It is a dreadful thing,’ Edward agreed sombrely.
Jeanette’s eyes filled with tears of pity – for the children, for John, and most of all for Blanche, who was still so young and who had barely spent a day free from pregnancy since her marriage.
She wiped her eyes on her napkin. ‘I shall have masses said for her soul and for the baby too, and I shall pray that John finds comfort for his grief.’
‘Amen to that,’ Edward said. ‘He loved her deeply, and she was a dear, gentle lady.’
Silence fell as they digested the shocking news.
Edward palmed his face, but Jeanette also saw him glance at their two hostages, King Pedro’s daughters, and knew why.
Constanza was past fifteen years old, well grown, handsome and imperious.
She was heir to her father’s kingdom – unless he married and begot a son, which currently seemed unlikely.
The young woman harboured a burning hatred for Enrique of Trastamara.
She had been marked to marry Edward’s brother Edmund, but now that John was free, and had fought in Castile, he was the better candidate.
Jeanette felt deep compassion for John and genuine distress over Blanche’s death, but they had to be practical.
Of course they must mourn her passing, but John was a prince and, as was the way when she lost Thomas, the wheels still had to turn.
Edward rose to issue orders, but as he stood up his eyes rolled back, his legs gave way and he crumpled to the floor, senseless, sprawled across the dais, almost striking his skull on a bench.
Jeanette gave an involuntary scream. Flying from her seat, she crouched beside him. ‘Fetch a physician!’ she cried. ‘Fetch one now!’ She leaned over and patted his face, which was waxen-grey. ‘Edward! Edward, beloved, what is it?’
People ran for help. Tom and Sir John Chandos stooped beside her. Maud and Joannie’s nurses hastily removed the girls from the scene.
Jeanette’s heart pounded in hard, sick strokes. ‘Edward! Wake up!’
The physician arrived, his satchel banging at his side, and knelt to examine the Prince.
As he ran his hands over him, Edward coughed, and his eyelids fluttered.
Slowly he regained consciousness, but he was disorientated, incoherent and struggling for breath.
The men lifted him up and helped him to his chair.
Someone tried to give him wine and Jeanette shouted at them to desist, for what if someone had poisoned his cup?
Edward raised his hand to bat people away but started to slump again. ‘Catch him!’ she shouted, and the men hurriedly took his weight.
Under her instruction, servants fetched a litter, and bore Edward away to his chamber where they put him on his bed and propped him up against a pile of bolsters and pillows.
‘Better for his breathing,’ the physician said.
He opened Edward’s clothing and, taking a hearing trumpet, listened to the beat of his heart.
Then he looked under Edward’s eyelids and peered inside his mouth.
Edward groaned and slowly, once more, returned to consciousness. His eyes opened properly this time, and he gazed in bewilderment at the people surrounding his bed. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Why am I here?’
‘You were taken ill as you rose from the board,’ Jeanette said. ‘We could not rouse you at first, and when we got you back in your chair you fell again.’
Edward stared at her in alarm. ‘The last I remember is standing up – then nothing – blackness.’ His breathing laboured as he tried to speak.
‘You should rest,’ she soothed. ‘You have given everyone a fright.’
‘I am all right.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Or I shall be in a moment. I just need to get my breath.’