Chapter 26
Concealing her anxiety, Jeanette watched Edward step into the royal barge at the Kennington landing.
In the bitter February cold his clothes were bulked out for warmth and all the gilded embroidery stitched into the quilting took the eye away from his gaunt face.
He was weak but determined to attend the grand tourney being held at Smithfield as part of the anniversary celebrations of his father’s fifty years of rule.
The King had been planning the event with the vibrant enthusiasm of his younger years when such festivals had happened all the time.
God had allowed them three more years since their discussion in the stables at Kennington, and Richard had recently turned nine years old.
He was tall for his age and athletic, a superb young horseman who loved the hunt and to ride out with the hawks and hounds.
He was well educated; he could write as well as read.
Although he was often awkward with people and would retreat into imperious arrogance and bad temper if feeling insecure or thwarted, he could be utterly charming, especially to those who were no threat to him.
Edward had continued in poor physical health, only able at his best to take short walks and ride a quiet horse for an hour in the park, and at his absolute pinnacle, fly his hawk.
However, his mind remained sharp, and he worked at the business of government from his bed, which had been carried to the window in his chamber so he could watch the world and the changing seasons.
Sometimes he would travel by barge to Westminster, but those occasions were increasingly rare.
He had been ailing since Christmas. Now it was February, and the grand tourney was the first of a series of magnificent events scheduled to last all week.
Edward only planned to attend the first day – he did not possess further capacity – and Jeanette would stand in for him with Richard to ensure their son was seen by all.
Brimming with excitement at the prospect of a day of lavish spectacle, Richard hopped from foot to foot.
He adored colourful parades and ceremonies.
The textiles, the jewels, the pageantry, the thrill of watching knights competing on their powerful horses was all terribly exciting.
When asked, though, if he desired to tourney himself when he was older, he would smile and shrug the question away.
Hunting, which he loved, was one thing, tourneying another.
Let others risk their lives for his entertainment.
Once they arrived at the Tower of London, Edward left the barge and climbed laboriously into the waiting litter.
No longer could he make the pretence of walking proudly but had to be supported by Tom and Roger either side of him.
A crowd of nobles had assembled for the parade, many mounted on richly caparisoned horses.
Hooves clattered on the cobbles and iron shoes struck sparks.
Silk banners augmented with gold thread rippled on painted poles and armour glittered with starbursts of light.
Jeanette was cast back to the days of parades and tourneys when she was a girl at court.
A vision flashed into her mind of watching her first husband joust, seeing Thomas on his black stallion charging down the lists.
He had been a true champion. Losing the sight of one eye in battle had hampered him not one whit, he had just adapted.
Indeed, he had taught the young Edward lance and sword skills during battle practice.
Today, she would cheer for their sons in the lists and knew they would not disgrace his memory, but how she wished Thomas was here to see them.
She joined Edward in his litter and arranged her skirts.
Richard was to ride beside them on Chess and his half-sister Joannie had been deputed to lead the pony on a silver chain.
The order of the parade was for the knights to ride in their polished parade armour, led by the ladies clad in their finery.
Jeanette was glad to be sitting with Edward, for the gowns of the women participants would be covered in filth by the time they reached the tourney ground.
Tom, Johan and Roger were all mounted on black Holland stallions. Their parade armour glittered in the cold February light like hard silver, and Jeanette’s heart hurt with pride and poignant joy to see them.
‘You all do us proud,’ she said. ‘I wish you good fortune at the tourney.’
Tom had tied a ribbon stitched with Alys’s beadwork to his sleeve.
She was not leading his horse as she was in confinement awaiting the birth of their fourth child, and his sister Maud had taken her place to lead his horse.
Johan’s ribbon was of plain red silk and his horse was led out by John of Lancaster’s daughter Elizabeth, thirteen years old, and flushed with the importance of the task she had to perform.
A commotion, a fanfare of trumpets and the cries of heralds announced the arrival of the King to lead the parade.
His horse was a spirited pale dappled stallion with arched crest and high-stepping gait, caparisoned in red and gold, with bells braided into its mane and jingling on breastband and reins.
The King was not wearing armour, but his robes glittered like frost in cold sunlight and a crown set with crystals and rubies adorned his head.
The horse pawed the ground, striking sparks.
‘Dear God,’ Edward muttered to her, ‘what is that?’
Jeanette’s eyes widened at the sight of Alice Perrers riding a bright copper-chestnut gelding, its mane plaited with golden ribbons.
She rode side-seat, her gown of rich russet wool trimmed with white ermine fur, which only those of royal blood were permitted to wear.
Topping the gown, her cloak was lined with a fire-red taffeta silk, and shimmering upon it, a tissue of fine golden net.
Every surface was stitched with pearls and between the pearls gleamed gold jetons shaped like flaming suns.
Around her white throat, a gold collar of sunbursts shone, and a coronet of the same design secured a gossamer red veil over her burnished hair.
As she rode to the King’s side, he stretched out his hand to her, and she took it in a full clasp.
Riding at her side was a boy also clad in the red and gold, with features Jeanette recognised in her husband and his brothers, and indeed her own son.
The same Plantagenet nose and jaw, the same hairline.
This child, riding closer to the King than her own son, was Alice Perrers’ bastard, John de Southray.
Alice’s gaze flashed around the gathering, hard as the jewels that swathed her, alert for threats. She met Jeanette’s stare, and her expression narrowed before she jutted her chin and looked away.
Edward stiffened. ‘She is wearing my mother’s brooch,’ he said with indignant fury. ‘How dare my father allow this! As the next Queen, it should be yours!’
Among all the gauds and glitter, Jeanette saw the brooch pinned high on Alice’s cloak shoulder and recognised it now it had been pointed out.
Clustered with pearls and gemstones, it had indeed been a favourite of Philippa’s, and it was shocking that the royal mistress should wear it so brazenly today.
That it pleased the King in the fiftieth year of his reign was no excuse.
‘I would not want to wear it now anyway,’ she said.
‘My father has lost his mind,’ Edward said grimly.
‘There was a time when we would go hunting together or sit in the garden or by the fire, and we would talk about anything. We were as one, but now we are often barely on speaking terms. We are like a pair of withered creatures hiding within glorious shells, and neither of us can step outside that protection for fear of naked exposure.’
‘Never say such a thing!’ Jeanette cried.
‘I will not have it – I will not – for you, at least. It is your body that is failing, not your mind! Your father has been a changed man ever since your mother’s decline and death.
She was his foundation. Without her, he has built himself another one – made of parasites. ’
‘In that you are right,’ he said. ‘That woman has bewitched his wits.’
The parade set out from the Tower to the sound of drum and trumpet led by Alice Perrers in gaudy triumph, waving to the crowds, her tissue sleeves billowing in the breeze.
Minstrels escorted the cavalcade of knights and squires, lords and ladies.
After what Edward had said, Jeanette thought it was indeed a false shell, all glitter and hollow inside.
But still the crowds cheered and waved, anticipating and expecting a largesse of food and money to be distributed among them.
Richard had been given a purse containing coins and tokens to cast into the throng, and performed the task with theatrical joy, his face alight.
The cheers for him were resounding, as they were for Edward and Jeanette.
‘I am not well, and neither is my father,’ Edward said as they swayed along the route.
‘I hope we can be reconciled even if it can never be as it was before. But I shall wait a better moment to speak with him when it is quieter. I want us to be closer as once we were, but it is difficult while Mistress Perrers rules the roost. But let her have her moment today. Let my father enjoy the tourney and let our sons exhibit their prowess and woo the crowds.’ He squeezed Jeanette’s hand and gazed out of the litter at Richard, who was waving and smiling and sitting upright on Chess with perfect posture.
Jeanette squeezed his hand in return and the parade continued towards Smithfield. When they arrived, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment to centre herself, and when she stepped down from the litter her smile outshone that on the face of the King’s ‘Lady of the Sun’.