Chapter 32
Jeanette sat by the fire, absorbing the heat from the lowburned coals.
She was ready for bed and taking a moment to relax with a cup of wine and a few almond cakes, sharing them with the dogs.
It had been a long day of business with her scribes, writing letters on matters of state and domestic issues alike, and she was tired, but not yet ready to blow out the candles.
Her ladies had undressed her, helped her into a fresh chemise, rubbed her feet with rose-water unguent and combed out then rebraided her hair.
Outside, it was raining hard. She could hear the cold drops splashing against the shutters, driven by an icy February wind. The notion of curling up beneath the bed furs was appealing, although she pitied the people abroad in such inclement conditions.
Parliament had convened several days ago, and despite her recent attempts to bring everyone together, there had been difficulties.
A request for money to assist with the ongoing conflicts with France and Castile had been agreed by the Commons but refused by the clergy, who declared they would block the agreement until John had reinstated the temporal estates belonging to the banished William Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, and welcomed him back to court.
Wykeham had for a long time been John’s friend and ally, but the men had quarrelled over John’s support for Wycliffe’s stance on Church reform, the imprisonment of Peter de la Mare and the release of William Latimer and Richard Lyons from jail.
Their disagreement had festered to the point where they were no longer on speaking terms, and if they encountered each other, glared daggers.
Jeanette mentally rolled her eyes as she shared half a cake with Amber and Damask and ate the other half herself.
The squabbling was all so petty and counter-productive.
All the mending she had accomplished at Kennington had been brought to nothing by prideful men bickering and refusing to conciliate.
Sighing, she dusted crumbs from her fingers.
The small increments of escalation were like gathering storm clouds on the horizon, and God knew they had enough problems already.
She went to kneel at her small portable altar to pray, and bowing her head asked the Holy Virgin Mary to care for those she loved.
She said special prayers for the souls of her beloved husbands Thomas and Edward, while the rain continued to slash against the shutters and the wind shrilled.
A knock at the door interrupted her devotions, and one of her ladies, sleeping in the ante chamber, hurried to answer it.
Her household knight Lewis Clifford craved admittance, and after being bidden inside he knelt to her.
‘Madam, the Duke of Lancaster is in the hall with Henry Percy and begs your attendance.’ His hair stuck up in tufts, revealing that he had been summoned from his bed.
Jeanette stared at him in shock. ‘What, at this time of night? What’s happened?’
Clifford spread his hands. ‘I know not, madam, but the Duke is soaked to the skin. He has travelled across the river by barge.’
‘Thank you. Tell him I will come in a moment.’
He bowed from the room and Jeanette clapped her hands and called for candles to be lit, and for her ladies to dress her again.
She coiled her hair on top of her head, and they covered it with a plain wimple – no time for an elaborate headdress.
Had the King had a relapse and died? Another flurry of instructions sent people hurrying to build up the fires again and prepare hot wine.
She hastened down to the hall, thanking God she had not already retired and was at least awake and aware. As she entered the hall from the tower stairs, John and two other men were arriving through the main door, bedraggled, saturated, dripping on to the floor rushes.
‘God in heaven, what has happened?’ she demanded, hurrying over to them.
‘The Bishop of London and the commoners, that is what!’ John spat.
‘Perfidious Church men every single one!’ His fists were clenched, the tendons in his throat taut as cords.
‘Forgive my manners, sister, for waking you at this hour. I seek your hospitality and succour if you are willing to give it.’ His tone suggested she had no choice.
‘Of course I am willing! And I wasn’t asleep.
’ She looked him over, and the men behind him – Henry Percy and Percy’s servant Hugh d’Ypres.
She brought them to the fireside. ‘I am curious as to the circumstances of your arrival, however. Usually you would send in advance so I could arrange food and accommodation, and usually you would not arrive late at night looking like a parcel of drowned cats.’
‘We were taken by surprise,’ John replied. ‘The reason for our arrival would be better spoken of in private. If you will take us in for the night, we shall be indebted to you.’
‘Stay for as long as you wish, let there be no talk of debt.’
Her words were courteous, but her mind was racing. Half the household had been roused, and the room was golden with the light of refreshed lamps and candles. Beds were hastily being made up for the unexpected guests.
‘You are soaked. You must change into warm clothes before you catch a chill.’
She took John, Henry and Hugh to Edward’s old chamber and had extra braziers lit.
Brisk orders brought blankets and dry clothes from sundry chests to comfort her bedraggled visitors.
She still had some of Edward’s shirts and tunics that were a good fit for John.
A pang squeezed her heart to see him wearing her husband’s garments, but needs must.
Once everyone was drier, warmer and seated, Jeanette sat in Edward’s carved great chair, folded her hands in her lap and regarded the men. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘what has happened? Are you in danger? Is my son in danger?’
John shook his head. His hair stood up in damp spikes and his beard was coarsely curled from the rain.
‘No,’ he said, ‘not that.’ His expression was about as convincing as his words, and Jeanette set her lips.
John cleared his throat. ‘Bishop Courteney has retaliated because of the sanctions I have laid on William Wykeham. He ordered Master Wycliffe to attend a meeting at Saint Paul’s in the Lady Chapel before the bishops to be questioned about possible utterances of heresy, and the situation escalated. ’
‘I see.’ John was avoiding her gaze again, which meant he was dissembling, or only telling her what he wished to tell her. ‘How did it escalate?’
‘Wycliffe was walking into a lions’ den.
’ John’s voice strengthened with indignation.
‘The Church should be putting its house in order, not persecuting reformers, but they have made their views clear. Henry and I accompanied him to Saint Paul’s with our squires and four friars who backed Wycliffe’s views, so that he should not lack support against his enemies – this was yesterday. ’
Jeanette could imagine the scene. She knew what John was like when riled and on his high horse.
It wasn’t just about the Bishop of London.
It was part of the festering relationship between John and the Commons.
Bishop Courteney himself was an expert in stubborn resistance if motivated by self-righteousness. Each was as bad as the other.
‘Courteney objected to me bringing my entourage to the hearing, and we quarrelled,’ John said. He took momentary refuge in a long swallow of wine. ‘I admit I lost my temper, and we exchanged harsh words. Some of the Bishop’s supporters believed I was going to harm him.’
‘Because you had your entourage with you?’
‘They were there to bear witness, to preserve my own dignity and to protect Master Wycliffe,’ John answered righteously.
‘We left the cathedral after that because I did not wish to have further words on the matter. Master Wycliffe left too, but they jeered at us and jostled us roughly as we tried to leave.’
Jeanette suspected he was glossing over the tale to put himself in a better light. ‘Did you lay hands on the Bishop?’
His eyes flickered, and she had her answer.
‘I might have poked him in the chest,’ he replied, defensively. ‘He was shouting in my face to the point of spitting, and threatening excommunication. You would have understood if you had been there.’
‘But that was yesterday, and you would not come to me for succour just because of a robust argument in church. Something else must have happened.’
His gaze slid to the wall. ‘Henry and I spent today considering how to bring the bishops to heel and I appointed Henry Constable of London. We went to dine with Hugh as arranged, and we were sitting over our supper when we learned that a mob had been whipped up against us and were baying for our blood.’
Jeanette pursed her lips, positive now that she was not hearing the full story. This was how matters escalated. One step leading to another and another, each higher than the last, until it became a precipice. ‘Whipped up by whom?’ she asked. ‘Surely not the Bishop?’
‘Possibly,’ said Henry Percy darkly.
Jeanette said nothing. Bishop Courteney was selfimportant and could be forceful in his speech, but he was unlikely to have set a mob on the Duke of Lancaster and Henry Percy under such feeble circumstances, no matter his dislike for them. The tale was clearly being edited.
John’s complexion darkened. ‘That rumour about my birth is still being spread – about me being a Flemish by-blow secreted into my mother’s chamber in Ghent to replace the child that supposedly died at birth.
People have been destroying my livery wherever they see it.
We apprehended the man who we believe started the rumour and threw him in prison, but the mob broke him out and came after us.
If we had not taken Hugh’s barge, we would all now be dead. ’