Chapter 29 #4
Richard’s young face was serious. His chaplains and tutors had been preparing him for what was to come, and he knew his father was dying.
Jeanette wanted to fold him in her arms and hug him, but the expression in his eyes held her back.
He was indeed being the man of the household, and an embrace from her at this point would shatter that construct.
What she herself wanted – what she needed – she could not have.
‘I will be a good king,’ he said.
‘Yes, my love, you will.’
Richard jutted his chin and looked imperious. It was an expression she had seen before, but she knew it concealed the emotions of a frightened little boy who was having to grow up too fast because his father was about to die, and his grandsire was not in much better case.
It was over. Jeanette sat in the stillness of the moment following Edward’s final shallow exhalation.
The windows were open on the glorious June afternoon, warm with sunshine and birdsong.
The thick smell of incense filled the room, and a soft haze hung in the air.
The Archbishop leaned over the Prince and made the sign of the cross.
Edward’s eyes were slightly open, showing a sheen beneath the eyelids.
Chrism oil gleamed on his brow and his folded hands were clasped upon a jewelled cross.
The atmosphere was akin to the still before the first heavy rumble of thunder heralding a storm.
Jeanette stood up. She was shaking with the effort of not giving in to her grief.
She had spent every hour with him following her brief rest yesterday evening, holding his hand, saying how much he was loved, hoping he would hear her.
Telling him he was a great and chivalrous knight, and that she would be strong for him and care for their son.
That he had lived his life in truth and honour, and she would always cherish him for it.
The first grief-stricken cry that pierced the silence came from the King.
Distraught, he fell to his knees and folded over.
‘My son, my son!’ People rushed to pick him up and help him to a bench.
Unable to move, Jeanette stood locked within herself as others burst out wailing and the King’s sobs surged like waves.
Might well he care when it was too late.
‘Mother?’ Tom put his hand on her shoulder.
She struggled against the engulfing rigidity and found her voice. ‘I am a widow again,’ she said. ‘I have known for a long time I would be, but . . .’ There was a stone ball in her throat. ‘Dear God, Tom, he should never have gone to Castile.’
‘He had to, but I wish the same if it would have saved him.’
John of Lancaster joined them, his blue eyes dark with grief.
‘I am so very sorry. I have known for a long time that he was dying – I saw what was before my eyes and we spoke of death, but I still hoped he would rally. He would have been a great king, but he was always my brother first.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Whatever your need, let me know. I have sworn to protect you and Richard, and I shall do so with all I have.’
She nodded stiffly, trying to stay present in the moment and not take the awful fall into darkness. ‘I know, and I thank you.’
John turned to Tom. ‘Bring your mother and Richard to the Savoy,’ he said, ‘your sisters too. My household will care for them and ensure their well-being and safety.’
Tom began to acquiesce, but Jeanette shook her head. ‘Not yet, not for me. I will see my lord husband fittingly laid out first. But Tom, if you will take Richard and your sisters there and see to them . . . and John, thank you.’
Tom nodded. ‘Of course.’
Composing herself, she approached the King, who was sitting on the window seat, still doubled over. Behind her, Tom began gathering his siblings together.
‘Sire.’ Jeanette crouched and took his veined hands in hers. ‘Sire, we have lost him. I have no words, but we share our deep love of your son.’
He gazed at her through red, brimming eyes. ‘I am broken,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I loved him. Why would he not stay?’
‘Sire, he was very sick. He is in a better place now.’
‘I wish I was too,’ he croaked. ‘I wish I was there in his place and that he could have lived.’
‘I wish it too,’ she replied, ‘with all my heart.’
Arriving at the Savoy Palace, Jeanette was welcomed and taken by one of John’s senior attendants to a pleasant private chamber.
A subdued fire burned in the hearth, for although it was early summer the evening was chilly, and the warmth from the flames was life-enhancing.
In a short while she would go and find her children, but she needed a moment to herself.
Sitting before the fire, she massaged her temples where a vicious headache had begun to pound.
The burden of grief and solidified tears had built so tightly inside her, there was no space for release.
A woman was lighting lamps in the chamber, and as she finished and blew out the taper, Katherine Swynford arrived with another maid bearing a jug of warm water, a bowl and a towel.
Katherine told the woman to put them on a low table, and coming to Jeanette, knelt before her and removed her shoes and stockings.
‘I am sorry for your news,’ Katherine said quietly as she poured the water into the bowl and prepared to wash Jeanette’s feet. ‘The Prince was always kind to me, and I shall grieve, but so must you even more – and your children.’
Jeanette closed her eyes. Katherine’s hands were gentle and her words softly spoken and compassionate.
They did not unlock the tears, but they eased some of the horrible, coiled tension inside her.
‘Yes, I grieve,’ she said, ‘but I dare not go into that darkness. Richard needs me, and I learned when my Thomas died that time does not stop because of a single lost life. I shall mourn my husband and deeply, but for now I must be strong.’
‘But not at this moment,’ Katherine murmured.
‘Tomorrow, yes, when your children wake, for they are sleeping now. When people come to ask things of you and speak to you as the Prince’s widow and the young Prince’s mother, then you must stand your ground, but not tonight, not here.
You are safe and may do as you wish. No harm will come to you, and you will not be bothered. ’
Jeanette felt the stone inside her begin to crumble at the edges. ‘I am so tired,’ she said, ‘so very tired.’
Katherine worked on her feet and signalled a servant to pour wine. ‘I suppose you have not slept well in a long time.’
‘Days and nights and days again,’ Jeanette admitted. ‘How could I sleep when Edward was still in the world but soon to enter eternity? I have lost the habit of slumber.’ Her entire body felt heavy in a sinking way, though it was not unpleasant.
‘Then God pray you might do so a little tonight, and if not, at least you can rest.’
‘I realise why the Duke values you so highly,’ Jeanette said. ‘You bring peace to strife.’
‘I see what it is like for him,’ Katherine answered.
‘And for others too. If I can soothe him and make all less turbulent, then it benefits all. Everyone needs a safe harbour, and you were that to the Prince. That he could talk with you and share company and conversation in a place of comfort and safety made a great difference. He could always rely on having that from you.’
Jeanette’s throat tightened at Katherine’s perception.
This woman understood, and her intention was as steady and flexible as good steel.
As John’s mistress, she had a position both influential and precarious.
She was just as astute and determined as Alice Perrers but a constant rock rather than sly quicksand.
A servant removed the water bowl and Katherine produced some embroidered slippers for Jeanette’s feet.
‘I shall not forget your comfort and service,’ Jeanette said. ‘You have been very kind to me.’
‘I am honoured to do this for you,’ Katherine replied. ‘You are my lord’s sister by marriage and a great lady. I owe you my service.’ She performed a deep curtsey.
Jeanette accepted the formality with an inclined head. ‘And I in my turn am grateful for that service, and thank you for your compassion.’
A pink flush edged Katherine’s cheekbones and she curtseyed again.
When she had gone, Jeanette at first picked at the food provided, but gradually her appetite sharpened, and once more she found herself eating as an affirmation of the life force until she could eat no more, and yet still she was ravenous.
She had not long finished her meal when Tom arrived with Johan and they came to sit with her. Tom took her hands in his, much as she had taken the King’s several hours ago. His father’s emerald ring gleamed on his middle finger.
‘Richard and our sisters are asleep,’ he said. ‘The girls cried enough to sink our barge even on such a short journey, but they will be all right, I think.’ He poured wine for himself and Johan, and another cup for her.
‘And Richard?’
Tom shrugged. ‘He was quiet – no tears. I am not sure what lies beneath though. My youngest brother is a hard one to read.’
Jeanette recalled the tantrum Richard had thrown at his big brother’s death.
‘We shall watch him and do what is best,’ she said.
‘He may react later – and we must be ready.’ She looked at her sons.
‘Both my husbands have brought me great love and great grief. You know what it was like when I lost your father.’
Both young men nodded.
‘It was hard for all of us, and I know we were all scarred. You and Johan must have felt like orphans in the weeks after he died.’
Tom grimaced. ‘A little.’ He shared a glance with his brother.
‘More than a little, I know that,’ Jeanette said, experiencing a flash of guilt.
‘I swore when I recovered enough to understand that I would never take myself down that tunnel again to the place I went when your father died. And I will keep that vow, for I know if it happened again, I would be lost for ever. But that is with my knowing mind. Deep down . . .’ She swallowed and shook her head.
Deep down there would always be that terrible hollow and hungry place.
‘I have you, my beloved sons and daughters, I have my grandchildren, and you are all beautiful and reasons for joy. I will grieve for the loss of my second love, but I will not allow it to engulf me.’ She took a swallow of the wine and then set it aside as her stomach rolled.
‘I do not know how you feel about the death of your stepfather, but you have always honoured and respected him.’
‘Always,’ Johan said. ‘I have been trained in the Duke of Lancaster’s household, but I still saw him often and I know he loved and cared for us. I will gravely miss him.’
‘I still have that pouch he gave me when he told us you were to marry him,’ Tom said. ‘I still have the tokens and even the gold coins, and in time I shall pass them to my son and tell him their story. I will always revere his memory and do my best for Richard, because he is our brother.’
Jeanette blinked hard, threatened by tears. ‘He loved both of you as his own and he was always proud of you – as I am proud. Your father and your stepfather have created and raised two fine men.’
Her sons took their leave, and she saw them out with affection and gratitude, and even in the midst of raw grief felt as if a comforting blanket had been draped around her shoulders.