Chapter 22 London, April 1371
On a bright April day of blue skies and sailing white clouds, with the trees clad in fresh green leaves and petal blossom drifting in the air, Jeanette and Edward prepared to enter London and return to the heart of the English court.
Heralds had arrived ready to escort them into the city where the King, the mayor and citizens waited to greet them.
Jeanette regarded Edward, a smile on her lips, her eyes anxious. He had insisted on riding into the capital, adamantly refusing to be borne in a litter. Jeanette and Richard were using it instead, and their transport was decked out for the occasion with shields and garlands.
She watched Edward approach the mounting block.
His horse, magnificently caparisoned, was a glossy black Holland stallion with a fine crest and powerful build but was an older beast of placid temperament.
Jeanette did not think he should be riding a stallion at all but knew for his pride and for public expectation he would endure, and she had held her tongue.
They had sailed into Plymouth in mid-January, escorted by numerous flag-waving English vessels.
Sir Guy Brian, Admiral of the Fleet, had greeted them on behalf of the King, but Edward had been so wretched and sea-sick he had barely been able to acknowledge the salutation and had retired to the priory at Plympton to recuperate throughout the rest of the winter and into the spring.
At first he had been so desperately ill Jeanette had feared for his life, but he had improved by gradual increments – part of that recovery being the relief of not having to deal with Aquitaine and instead being surrounded by an atmosphere of tranquillity and spiritual contemplation.
Jeanette had watched his slow, painful retreat from the precipice.
He had again reached the stage where he could leave his bed, dress and walk about without needing a stick.
They had enjoyed a pleasant interlude, rediscovering the pleasure in each other’s company, playing games of chess and tables, gently walking in the grounds as Edward’s stamina increased.
The black cloud inhabiting his mind dissipated, and his smile grew less strained.
The affairs of the kingdom remained a burden, but not all-consuming, and Jeanette had done her best to keep them from encroaching on his improving health.
They had received visitors regularly during his recovery, including Tom’s wife Alys with baby Eleanor.
Alys had joined their household in early March, and Jeanette had welcomed her joyfully.
Her little granddaughter was a delight, entering the stage where she smiled and gurgled and waved her arms around when out of swaddling.
The baby had the same warm brown eyes as Tom’s father, and Jeanette’s heart filled with wistful pleasure to see her first husband living on in a new generation.
Richard was captivated and would stand over her cradle watching her with fascination. He would sit at her side and tell her stories from his books, or his own imagination. He liked Alys too, especially when she gave him a pouch for his belt decorated with a white hart of stitched pearls and gold.
While dwelling at Plympton they were kept abreast of what was happening in the country, and messengers arrived frequently with news.
Edward had his own knights and clerks at his father’s court, and they conveyed the undercurrents that formal information did not.
The King remained infatuated with his mistress, Alice Perrers, who was Queen in all but the title; she was the King’s closest adviser and confidante.
It was said that the King’s mind was not his own.
Her influence was common knowledge, and Jeanette and Edward learned how deeply she had entrenched herself in the dealings of the court and its finances.
The King’s own steward was in her pocket, and apparently she had influenced the choice of London’s current mayor.
Edward’s father permitted her meddling with smiling indulgence and would brook no argument.
Many of the letters that found their way to Plympton consisted of pleas for Edward to do something about the situation, and he had written back promising to address the matter, but it was not simple.
Alice had already borne the King two children and had spun a web of intrigue and financial and political dealing, that would be difficult to disentangle.
Depriving her of her power and influence would call for strength and cunning, and Alice herself would be fighting for her own influence and livelihood with the advantage of access to the royal bedchamber.
Edward set his foot in the stirrup, gripped the reins with hands encased in jewelled kidskin gloves, and with a mighty effort pulled himself into the saddle.
His squires hurried to arrange his cloak and adjust the harness.
He had gained a little flesh during their stay in Plympton, and even if his cheekbones were blades with hollows beneath, he was still handsome.
His tailor had padded his garments to make him appear broad and strong, although Jeanette knew the truth of what lay beneath, as did his squires and physicians.
Jeanette climbed into the decorated cart, and Richard joined her.
‘You look very fine,’ she said as he settled down.
He was robed as a miniature version of his father, resplendent in scarlet, blue and gold.
He was not a child who wriggled and fidgeted in fine clothes; he already understood and enjoyed the value of display – indeed, the more embellishment the better.
He gave her his sweetest smile. ‘You look beautiful too, Mama.’
‘What a chivalrous little knight you are, my love.’ She kissed his soft cheek.
They set out in a proud cavalcade, banners waving in the fresh April breeze, and were greeted by a troupe of minstrels garbed in royal livery to escort them into the city to the beat of drums and the fanfares of trumpets.
Cheering citizens lined the streets or craned from balconies, galleries and open windows beneath the eaves.
Crying Edward’s name in adulation, they tossed spring flowers on to the freshly swept road.
Fathers sat children on their shoulders, mothers rested infants on hips and pointed.
Young girls flirted with young men. The elderly pretended to have seen it all before but joined in anyway.
Cutpurses took advantage of the glut. Hucksters and pedlars were out in force, selling eels and pies, sweetmeats, gingerbread, ribbons, trinkets and tokens – all that glittered and was not gold.
Jeanette sensed their optimism and joy now that their hero prince had returned.
She watched Edward sit erect in the saddle and nod and smile and gesture.
Her heart ached, for she knew what it was costing him, and that all the progress he had made recuperating would be spent in this moment.
A few people might have heard rumours of Edward’s illness, but none of the ordinary citizens knew how vulnerable he was.
All many of them saw was the hero of great battles against their enemies – Crécy and Poitiers, and now Nájera.
Places far away whose names were bandied about in alehouses and taverns with a glamour far removed from reality.
The crowds roared at the sight of Richard peering out of the litter in his bright costume with his tumbling red-blond curls. Loving the spectacle, he smiled and waved from the side opening. ‘They love us, Mama!’ he cried, his little face alight.
‘Yes, they do,’ Jeanette replied, smiling too, while knowing how fickle people were. How easily flowers could become spears and pitchforks, and adoration could turn to hatred. Yet, for now, it was a glorious spring day, the sun was shining, and the crowds were cheering.
They were greeted by London’s mayor, John Bernes, alongside various officials, knights and soldiers, and in their midst came the King, riding a fine white stallion trapped out in sumptuous harness with velvet padding, and he himself blazing with jewels and robed in gold-woven cloth, embroidered with the heraldry of England.
His beard was a silver waterfall to his waist, and his face was ruddy and windburned with broken veins.
Heavy pouches half circled his eyes and, although he carried no surplus weight, there was a sagging quality to him, as though his bones no longer fully supported his flesh.
‘See,’ Jeanette murmured to Richard, ‘there is your grandsire, the King. You must remember your manners, for he rules all of England and he is a great man.’
Richard gazed at him. ‘He has a very long beard,’ he said.
‘He will want to speak to us later,’ Jeanette reminded him, hoping Richard would remain in a cooperative mood.
The Mayor of London had a gift for the Prince – the Londoners had promised to replace the gold plate Edward had been forced to melt down to pay his troops in Gascony following their return empty-handed from Castile.
Edward thanked him, a sheen of tears in his eyes at the gesture.
Jeanette thought it magnanimous, but the offer was not entirely selfless.
Favours given now would have to be repaid later.
They paraded on through the city, accompanied by more musicians, the crowd cheering and ogling until they came at length to the Savoy Palace, the magnificent London home of John of Lancaster, ready now to house Edward and Jeanette during their stay.
The walls shimmered their reflection in the river like a vision of Camelot.
Servants waited to greet them as the King dismounted.
Edward dismounted too, and knelt to his father, his neck muscles taut, his jaw set.
Jeanette bit her lip as she saw the force of his will and his courage.
Somehow he managed to rise and stand unaided after his father had stooped to give him the kiss of peace, but it took a tremendous effort.