Chapter 25 #3
‘We could not make headway,’ Tom told her as they made their way into the palace.
He too was thinner and hollow-faced. ‘The winds were constantly against us. We tried waiting it out in the Channel, and thought we might encounter the Castilian fleet, but there was no sign. Sometimes our ships were so scattered we had no idea where anyone was. Even with all our will and prayers, God denied us advantage, and the only miracle was that we did not sink. We finally managed to put back to port and limped home as best we could. My lord stepfather has been sick with mal de mer and his usual ailment has recurred. He was unable to walk or ride when we landed and has been in a litter ever since.’ He dropped his voice.
‘The King is unwell too, and mightily angry that his plans have been thwarted – there is no reasoning with him.’ He swept one hand through his tangled dull gold hair.
‘I wish I could bring you better news, but the expedition has failed. Another may set out later, but not led by my stepfather or the King. Their arrows are spent.’
Jeanette absorbed the information while busying herself with Edward.
He needed warmth, rest and good care. All else could wait – let the King go whistle.
They should never have gone in the first place.
She waved away her maids and personally turned back the sheets and placed a heated stone wrapped in blankets under the covers near Edward’s feet.
Taking his cold, bluish hands, she chaffed them between her own warm ones.
Edward’s eyes remained closed in exhausted slumber, but a flush crept into his face and his body relaxed.
She gazed at the lines carved into his features by illness, his lank hair, thin and stranded with grey.
The expedition had brought him to the edge of ruin.
There would be no more of this, she vowed to herself.
He would rest and recuperate undisturbed, and she would guard him like a lioness.
Edward slowly recovered over the next few days with Jeanette fiercely protecting him from visitors, aided and abetted by her household. Tom remained for a while, before leaving for Arundel to be with Alys, promising to return soon.
The King had settled back at Westminster with Alice Perrers, and Jeanette was soon hearing the same old stories of how she had dug her claws into him and was holding court as his uncrowned queen.
‘Our coffers are almost empty, and the expedition has been a disaster,’ Edward bemoaned from his bed, ‘yet he gives his mistress mountains of jewels and rich cloth to wear and hangs on her every word. If only I had the strength . . .’
Jeanette touched his arm. ‘It avails you nothing to rail against it while you are in this condition.’
‘How can I not rail?’ he snapped. ‘Something must be done.’
Something should have been done long ago, but there was no point in saying so for it would be rubbing salt into an obvious wound.
‘First you must rest and gather strength,’ she said practically.
‘The rest can wait.’ She made him drink a measure of the tincture and he obeyed, but as he handed back the cup, he met her gaze.
‘My body no longer serves me as I would wish but my mind is still sharp enough to know the inevitable. If I have been at fault, it is in pushing matters to one side. There comes a point where pragmatism must come before wishful thinking.’ He held out his hand, and she sat down at his side and clasped his thin fingers in her own.
‘I know that no matter how much I rest, no matter how much tincture I drink, I shall not get better. I have been sick for more than four years and each time I improve enough to believe that the ladder is sufficiently long for me to climb out of the hole, I receive a setback. I left Gascony, hoping life in England might render a cure and allow me to return when I was well. I thought God might grant me a miracle when we embarked on this recent expedition, but know now that He has either turned His face away or wishes me to take a different path. I shall never return to Gascony, it is impossible.’
Jeanette watched him with compassion and a surge of relief. She had wanted him to reach this understanding for a long time, but he was proud and she had supported his will. ‘I applaud your mettle, for it is no easy thing to admit.’
‘It is indeed a bitter pill, but swallow it I must, as must my father. I know he will not want to hear it and will lay the blame at my feet.’
‘That is his decision,’ Jeanette said. ‘You know you cannot govern Aquitaine. Send him a formal letter of resignation and let others handle Aquitaine. You have done your part; let others do theirs.’ She kissed his brow.
His skin was damp and warm, and she wondered if he was starting with a fever and hoped it was just over-exertion.
‘I shall have my clerks draw up a document,’ he agreed.
‘If I improve, I shall assist in governing England and in helping our son on his path to kingship – it is likely he will come to it young.’ He grimaced.
‘Do not look at me like that. I need to be practical, and so do you. My father is ailing, and his wits are growing dull. My body has taken me to the brink several times and at some stage I shall continue into death. You and Richard must be ready when it happens.’
It was the same speech he had made to her before the aborted attempt to go to the relief of La Rochelle and the matter was clearly playing on his mind. ‘We will be ready,’ she reassured him.
‘I shall do all within my power to give him a country that is stable and well governed.’
Jeanette’s heart brimmed with love and grief. The court was a place of dog eat dog, with no one to whip the pack into order, and he could not solve the situation from his bed.
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘There is much to do, and I may run out of time to accomplish everything, but with God’s help, I shall stay as long as I can for you and for my son.’
‘You must involve your brothers in your plans. Make sure they are your allies, not enemies, especially John.’
His gaze sharpened. ‘John is utterly trustworthy.’
‘And I pray he remains that way. We are dependent on his loyalty and support. He is the strongest of your brothers and your father trusts him – for now. Should he seek the crown for himself, he will be a threat. His son is a similar age to Richard, after all. I am being practical,’ she said as he shook his head in distaste.
‘I like John – indeed, I have come to love him dearly – but I shall never take his ambition for granted.’
Edward’s brow remained creased, but he gestured acknowledgement of her point.
‘I understand what you are saying. He will be greatly concerned with matters in Spain now that he is “King of Castile” and with a child to inherit that throne, albeit a girl, but you are right. We should cultivate his goodwill and support. Let me deal with this for now. Even if I am bedridden, my mind is still clear.’
‘Then I shall do as you ask,’ she said. ‘For now, you should rest. I will return in a while and we can eat together if you wish, and I will bring Richard to see you.’
He gripped her hand. ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, it will be all right.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a smile, ‘it will.’
No matter whether either of them believed such words, saying them was better than voicing the alternative.
In the late December cold, smothered in furs, Jeanette knelt at the tomb of her first husband in the church of the Greyfriars in Stamford.
The last time she had visited for the anniversary of his death had been ten years ago before leaving for Gascony – far too long – but now she was here with a gathering of family to pay respects.
His sons Tom and Johan, grown men of twenty-two and twenty, and his daughters Maud and Joannie, sixteen and fourteen.
Tom’s wife Alys was with them too, although she had left her infant daughter and baby son with their nurses at Donington.
Following the celebration of mass where candles were lit for Thomas’s soul, everyone paid their devotion to the tomb and prepared to depart the church to attend a funeral feast in the friary guest house.
‘Go on,’ Jeanette said to Tom as he and Alys waited to escort her. ‘I shall join you in a moment. I just want a little time with your father first.’
He gave her a shrewd look of understanding, and after a brief nod, ushered everyone from the chapel and opened his purse ready to distribute alms to the waiting crowds beyond the church door.
His squirrel-lined cloak flurried as he held out his arm to Alys who smiled up at him and laid her hand along his sleeve.
Jeanette turned back to the tomb and laid her hands on the effigy.
Beneath her fingers the painted stone was icy but possessed its own pure beauty.
The figure wore Thomas’s armour, and a distant likeness haunted the face, but no flame dwelt within it.
She felt closer to the hidden bones than to the image.
His feet rested on a dog – a gazehound like Noble, now buried in the park at Kennington. Thomas had always loved his dogs.
She had arranged in her will to lie at his side when the time came for her own passing from the world.
She loved Edward deeply and he was her oldest, dearest friend, but Thomas had been the love of her young, fierce life when anything had been possible.
If he had lived, who knew what more they might have accomplished together and the children they might have had.
Such regrets were like stones in her stomach.
She seldom dreamed of Thomas these days, but he was never far from her thoughts.
She had been worried about leaving Edward in London while she made this pilgrimage, but he had insisted she go to Stamford; he would manage well enough, he said. Richard would stay with him.