Chapter 21 Angoulême, Aquitaine, August 1370 #3
He held her for a while longer, and it was a relief to have his granite solidity as she wept out the storm. At last, she drew back and dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and swallowed. ‘I . . . we are in your debt.’
‘None of that, I will not hear it,’ he said sternly. ‘I will go to my brother; leave him with me. Take a moment to yourself, or you will be of no support when he needs you.’
Jeanette nodded, feeling a great wave of relief that she had been allowed to relinquish her burden for a moment, but guilt still pierced her.
It should have been Edward receiving her tears, but he was in no state to fulfil that role.
Their son’s death had taken him to despair.
He was expending what strength he possessed in prayer for the little boy’s soul.
He had commissioned a magnificent tomb to be made for him and in the meantime his remains would be sealed in a lead coffin, but Edward could not come to terms with his son’s death, certain it was a punishment from God.
A few weeks later, announced by Hannekyn, Tom entered his mother’s chamber.
Following Edward’s death his stepfather had confirmed his intention to return to England so he was not surprised to be confronted by the sight of the ladies busily packing, and storing items not required for conveyance.
His mother was overseeing the work, directing what should go where.
Tom’s stomach churned with apprehension, but he squared his shoulders and walked forward.
His mother turned, saw him and came to him with a smile, but he could see how tired and careworn she was.
‘What brings you here?’ she enquired. ‘Usually men flee at the sign of baggage packing.’ A look of realisation crossed her face. ‘Have you had news?’
He nodded, and looked down at the parchment rectangle in his hand. ‘I have a daughter,’ he said. ‘A healthy baby girl, baptised Eleanor. And Alys writes that she is recovering well from the birth.’
His mother’s eyes lit up. ‘That is wonderful news!’ She kissed and embraced him. ‘Well then, I am a very happy grandmother!’ She drew back and searched his face. ‘Is there something wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but I thought . . . I thought it might sharpen your grief because of losing my half-brother.’
‘No, of course it doesn’t!’ She reassured him, while her eyes brimmed with tears.
She kissed him again. ‘Indeed, it eases me to know there is a new little soul in the world – I cannot wait to see her. You should be proud – more than proud of yourself, and your wife and daughter.’ She called over Maud and Joannie to tell them the news and, filled with excitement, they immediately began planning things they could make for the baby and Alys.
‘See?’ said his mother. ‘You have lit a new candle, not blown one out. This is wonderful news!’
Tom gave a big sigh to release the burden of tension he had been holding and then went to Richard, who had been sitting aloof on the window seat, gazing at the illustrations in a beautiful illuminated book.
His youngest brother looked angelic with his ruddy-blond curls and delicate features, pure in the light from the window.
‘Alys has borne a baby girl,’ he told him, sitting down at his side. ‘She’s called Eleanor, and you are her uncle.’
Richard nodded without looking up and continued to turn the pages of his book. ‘I’m not a baby,’ he said in a non sequitur. ‘I am going to be a king.’
Tom was at a loss. Richard was such a strange child, and engaging with him was unpredictable. He dwelt in a world of his own with a door between that was sometimes open but just as often closed.
‘Well then, I hope you will be a good one, and it is important to have a family around you, even if you are a king.’
‘Yes, but my brother is dead. I do not have him.’ Richard turned the page to an illustration of St George killing the dragon.
‘But think on what you do have,’ Tom said. ‘One brother is dead, but you still have me and Johan and your sisters.’
When Richard did not answer, Tom looked at the book and commented on the colours and the fancy golden wheel spurs St George was wearing. Richard immediately grew animated and began discussing the colours, the clothing, the motion. Tom experienced a disturbed but also protective feeling towards him.
‘I will give the baby this book,’ Richard said. ‘I think she will like it.’
‘I think she will too, when she is a little older,’ Tom answered, and rose to take his leave. ‘I will come another time, and we can read together for longer.’
Richard nodded with alacrity but swiftly returned to his absorption in the pages.
‘Thank you for being patient,’ his mother said as he came to kiss her farewell. Her words were quietly heartfelt. ‘He is missing his brother – as we all are, but he and Edward had a special bond.’
‘You said we should help him, and I am older now and I understand a little more.’ He gave her a pensive smile. ‘I’ll go now and tell my stepfather about Eleanor’s birth and hope he approves.’
‘Of course he will – although what he will say about being a grandsire, I know not!’
* * *
At long last their departure day arrived – cold and grey with rain in the wind.
Fittingly, an ‘English Day’. Tom and Roger helped the Prince into his litter.
Edward’s lips were blue, and his breathing laboured.
He was forty, but looked twenty years older.
His servants tucked fur-lined blankets around him and placed a wrapped hot stone at his feet.
Edward had congratulated Tom on his daughter’s birth and presented him with a silver cup for little Eleanor, but with forced interest – not for want of joy for his stepson, but because he was hoarding his energy for the journey to England in the hope of reaching it alive.
Jeanette prepared to enter her own travelling cart with Richard, her daughters and her ladies, but first she embraced Johan, who was staying behind in the Lancaster household, and exhorted him to be honourable and to do his best for his family name.
Turning to her husband’s brother, she drew a deep breath.
‘We are indebted to you,’ she said. ‘We would not have coped without your strength and support.’
‘I have told you there should be no talk of debts between us,’ he replied, kissing her on either cheek. ‘If ever I should need to call on you, you would do the same for me.’
‘You know we would. Send us news, as we shall send you ours from England.’ Their eyes met in understanding.
Jeanette climbed into the carriage and settled Richard on one side of her, the girls on the other.
Despite Richard’s foibles, he was a good traveller, always interested in the views from the apertures, and the way the scenery passed in time to the pace of the horses.
He was fascinated too by the notion of going to England with his family and meeting his grandsire.
On the matter of his brother, who they were leaving behind to his burial in Bordeaux, he had said very little since his tearful outburst and his single conversation with Tom, but sometimes when he thought no one was listening he would talk to him as though he was still alive, falling silent the moment he was noticed.
Jeanette gazed out of the aperture as the carriage plodded along, taking them from Bordeaux to Bayonne and the waiting ships.
It would be a difficult voyage in January, with unpredictable seas, and was a measure of how desperate they were to leave.
She was praying that a return to the place of his birth would help Edward recuperate.
Certainly, he was too heartsick and beset here in Aquitaine to heal, and she feared for his life.
For herself, she moved from one moment to the next, keeping busy, keeping her feelings flat and practical.
She had learned of a necessity to build walls to withstand a crisis.
It was her turn to shield Edward and help him eke out his dwindling strength.
As he had once been her shield and protector, so now she must be his.