Chapter 25
Jeanette knelt before the open clothing chest in Edward’s chamber. It was going to be another blazing August day and the sunlight striping through the open windows was hot on the backs of her hands.
Edward had previously been reclining on his bed, but the tincture brewed by his physician had begun to take effect, and he was up and dressed in a shirt, hose and light tunic.
Jeanette could have left a chamber attendant to fold his clothes, but she had always packed a husband’s baggage herself, especially when he was on the cusp of going to war.
The deed was an act of love, imbued with prayers for Edward’s safe return, particularly when in her eyes he should not be going at all.
But even if his body was broken, his will was as strong as iron and he was determined that if his father and brother were sailing to put a stop to French incursions, he was going with them.
She pressed her nose to one of his shirts, inhaling the scent of lavender and hedge-dried sunshine before carefully folding the garment into the baggage chest.
‘I love that you do this for me,’ he said, watching her. ‘When I dress for the day, I know that the last hand that has touched this has been yours.’
She turned to him, forcing a smile and biting her tongue on all the advice and exhortations to be careful.
Begging him not to tax himself was pointless and she would not denigrate his manhood with worried scolding, which would not work on him anyway.
‘How else should a wife bid her husband farewell?’ Going to her jewels coffer she picked out a silver disc on a chain.
‘Will you wear this token of Saint Christopher for me to keep you safe? I had it washed in the holy water of Canterbury and blessed by the Archbishop.’ She came to him and, standing on tiptoe, clasped it around his neck.
He raised his hand to rub his thumb over the token. ‘I am well armoured in your love and the protection of the saint,’ he replied, and kissed her.
Jeanette held him tightly and kissed him back, need rising inside her like a wave.
Edward’s hand moved down over her buttocks, pulling her closer.
She started to draw back, even though she was melting with desire, for she knew what it might cost. But he refused to be gainsaid and drew her to the bed and lay down with her.
She went with the moment, with her need and his ardour.
It had been so long that within moments she was crying out in release, and so was he.
‘This is part of a fine farewell too,’ Edward gasped, his chest heaving and sweat shining on his brow as they lay together in a tangle of clothes, of thrown-up petticoats and undone laces.
‘The better to bring you back to me!’
Against her palm his heart thundered. She straightened her skirts and rearranged them to be more comfortable but stayed quiet in his arms as he drifted into a light doze. What had happened was unwise, but sometimes necessity had a higher need than wisdom.
The French had been making gains in all the English-held lands across the Narrow Sea, and this new campaign was supposed to stop the rot and secure the Gascon ports, especially La Rochelle.
The King, having recovered from his ailments, was determined to rectify the situation with the support of his sons.
A muster had been summoned at the port of Sandwich and was making ready to sail to La Rochelle’s rescue.
The King had been goading Edward, demanding to know what had become of the great war leader, the victor of Crécy, Poitiers and Nájera.
He had almost accused him of shirking his duty and did not seem to realise – or did not want to – that Edward had returned from Gascony because he was physically incapable of governing there.
He appeared to think if he willed Edward to be well, then Edward would be well.
Edward was determined to prove to his father that he was no coward and there had been several robust exchanges between father and son.
Jeanette thought that neither of them was capable of leading a battle campaign.
Edward’s mind was still pin-sharp, but he lacked the physical capacity.
His father had neither the strength nor the clear sight to command an army and was obviously becoming a spent force.
The responsibility for England, for Gascony, for Castile, had settled upon John of Lancaster’s shoulders.
And behind these two failing men, and another staggering under the burden of supporting them, was a five-year-old boy who had barely embarked upon his tutoring.
Jeanette rested her hand on Edward’s forearm and moved her fingers gently up and down his skin, watching the fine hairs rise. He stirred, kissed her, and sat up, still heavy-eyed but smiling.
‘Are you well?’ She searched his face for shadows, but his expression was smooth and composed.
‘Very well,’ he answered. ‘I know you worry, but you need not. Even after pleasure, I am not at the end of my strength today.’ He rubbed his thumb over the St Christopher token again.
‘When we leave, Richard shall be nominated as titular head of the country. His will be the legal rule under guidance – and when I say under guidance, I mean yours, and that of a governing body of trustworthy men. You are the first lady of the realm above all others and the peacekeeper as befits your role – until we return.’
She bit her lip. They were going to war, and even if Edward had just made love to her, and still claimed to have vitality left, he remained a sick man who might well not return. It was pointless to say so – they both knew it without words. ‘You can trust me to do all within my power.’
‘I know I can – I trust you more than anyone else in this land. I wish I did not have to go, but I do, and it must be.’
She shook her head. It was absolute madness and could kill him. His father was in wilful denial to the point of stupidity. How did they expect him to take up a sword in battle?
‘All is in order. You have the keys to my strongbox, and you know where all the charters and documents are pertaining to our lands and our marriage and the proofs and dispensations. I have faith in you – now have faith in me.’
‘You have that, you always will.’ She blinked hard, denying tears. There was nothing either of them could do, even if this was a step too far. ‘Just come back to me.’
He stroked her cheek. ‘If I can, but we are all in God’s hands.’
Jeanette grimaced at the wild, rain-laden September gale lashing against the leaded windowpanes of her chamber at Westminster. It reminded her of the violent storms that had ripped away the chapel roof at Kennington the year before she and Edward had sailed to Bordeaux.
She would have been dwelling at Kennington now had not Richard’s presence been required in the council chambers where writs were being sealed under royal authority.
Richard was needed to lend veracity to the proceedings.
An usher arrived to take him there, and Jeanette had to persuade him away from the game he had been playing with a chessboard, putting different coloured jewels on the squares.
He had already learned to count and was absorbed in saying the colours and how many there were and in what order.
‘Come.’ She reached for his hand. ‘You have a duty to do. You are needed to witness in the council chamber.’
Richard ignored her and she had to repeat her words and attempt to draw him away, but he wriggled and tried to shake her off.
Jeanette fetched his cloak with the ermine lining.
‘This is what it means to be a king,’ she said firmly.
‘Your father would expect it of you, and your grandfather on whose throne you sit in his absence.’ The words made him pause, and she immediately seized on the hesitation.
‘You can return to this later and I will find some jewels from my casket to add to your squares, and we shall have hot cinnamon wafers. It won’t be for long, I promise. ’
Finally persuaded into his cloak, Richard took her hand and allowed himself to be escorted to the King’s hall where he was led to a cushioned chair and helped to sit on it.
His feet, clad in gilded slippers, swung high above the tapestried floor.
Jeanette swallowed. He was little more than a baby, and everyone was regarding him with serious eyes. The country’s head of state.
Rain hurled against the shutters and the candles flickered in a bitter draught.
Decisions already agreed were set before Richard who had to nod his consent and approve the use of the seal.
A little figurehead. And so was she to these men.
The wife of their great prince, the mother of the future king, but still a shadow on the wall.
Richard kicked his legs and squirmed. Jeanette stooped to speak with him a time or two, murmuring encouragement, saying how well he was doing and how important he was – and that he was almost finished.
When it was finally over and Richard was physically drooping, she helped him from the chair and gently arranged his cloak, before turning to the councillors and lifting her voice to exert her authority.
‘I thank you, gentlemen, for your advice in these matters and we are grateful for your consideration and counsel.’
There were some sharp looks between the men. A few glances were hostile; some were amused; all were assessing. Jeanette maintained a smooth expression with the merest curve of her lips, determined to give them something to think about.
‘Come now,’ she said to Richard. ‘I will read you a story and you can return to your counting board if you wish.’
Richard hopped off the chair and Jeanette took his hand, and looked at the men, making sure they knew she had marked them and would not be ignored.