The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  ‘Come on. Up out of there. Put on your mantle, it’s not as warm in here as I would like.’

  With that, he took the poker and stirred the embers in the hearth into life. Flames licked up round the charred logs and shadows danced about the room. I slid silently from the bed, pulled the mantle over my shoulders and pattered across the floor. As I settled myself in a chair on one side of the fire, I looked up at him. He was regarding me sombrely.

  ‘You have nothing on your feet.’

  ‘I couldn’t find my slippers.’

  He crossed to the bed and returned carrying them in his hands. He knelt down at my feet and, holding my ankles, eased first one foot and then the other into the delicate little frivolities.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  He looked up from where he knelt. His eyes were shadowed. The hem of my nightgown brushed the back of his hand where he still held my ankle and I felt the heat of his fingers as a shiver crept slowly up my bare leg.

  ‘I shall fetch you some wine,’ he said abruptly, rising to his feet. ‘No, don’t protest. You will feel better with some drink. And some food too. I noticed you ate little and I know just how hungry young maidens can be.’

  As he fetched the wine and a platter of sliced capon from the side table, I thought - of course, he is the father of grown-up daughters. I also wondered how many other young maidens he had entertained in his chamber since his wife’s death.

  The wine was fierce and burned my throat.

  ‘What shall I call you?’ he said.

  ‘What would you wish to call me, my lord?’ I replied in a low voice. ‘My given name is Marguerite but perhaps you would prefer to call me wife.

  ‘Marguerite,’ he mused. ‘The English daisy, the little French pearl. How apt.’

  ‘Monseigneur?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘The word wife has a chilly ring about it but that is what you are, are you not? You are my wife. How strange that sounds. I had not thought to say that word again but kings have their duties the same as other men.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘I have but one son, my lady. Just one and it is not enough.’

  He sounded angry but looked sad.

  ‘So many little boys but just the one grown to manhood. What use is a man who cannot father and keep living sons? Kingdoms fall apart without strong men to guide them and if anything should happen to Ned, which pray God it will not, men must know there is another son of mine to take the throne.’

  I listened while he despaired, knowing he had no need of me other than to bear him sons. It was ever thus. As my mother had explained to Blanche and me countless times, a wife’s first duty was to bear sons for her husband.

  I put out my hand and touched his with the tips of my fingers.

  ‘I am certain God will bless us with many children,’ I said. ‘I shall pray for a healthy son.’

  He looked at me and smiled sadly.

  ‘You are a good girl.’ He patted my hand. ‘Perhaps we shall make shift together in some way or other. Now, you must distract me from these dismal thoughts. Tell me of your life before you came here. What of your girlhood?’

  What a strange question for a new husband to put to a wife but the English were full of surprises.

  ‘I had a very ordinary girlhood, my lord. I was raised with my sister, Blanche. We did the things that all girls do and learned the things that all girls must. But they would be of no interest to you, my lord. They were merely women’s things.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Women’s things. How well I remember those.’

  There was silence for a minute then he roused himself once more to speak to me.

  ‘Are you pleased to be here?’

  ‘I am surprised.’

  I spoke without thinking and then wished I had not.

  ‘Surprised? In what way, surprised?’

  ‘I thought your grace would prefer to marry my sister,’ I said in a low voice.

  He looked at me curiously.

  ‘And why would I prefer to marry your sister?’

  ‘She is beautiful, my lord.’

  ‘And you think, given the choice, I would have chosen her?’

  ‘Most men made much of her.’

  ‘And ignored you?’

  ‘I don’t think anybody noticed me but I am very small and very plain.’

  ‘And do you think your sister, with all her beauty, would have made me a good wife?’

  ‘Oh, I am sure she would. I love my sister dearly and she will be a good wife to her husband whoever he may be.’

  He regarded me steadily while I wished the conversation ended.

  ‘Do you imagine kings are ignorant of the charms of the girls who are paraded before them?’

  ‘I don’t know, my lord.’

  ‘My brother, God rest his soul, told me everything about the sisters of the king of France. He had observed them closely and spoken with their mother and their brother’s wife, women who knew them well. He told me of the beautiful, delightful Blanche who could charm birds from the trees and a saint from the path of chastity; and he spoke of her quieter, more studious older sister, the kindly child who cared for others before herself. He told me of the jealous tantrums and selfish moods of the one and the generous nature and dogged determination of the other. He told me how the younger practised petty cruelties upon her sister and how that sister constantly turned the other cheek.’

  ‘It was not like that,’ I protested. ‘He was mistaken. Blanche is truly good.’

  ‘Hush,’ said my husband. ‘He was merely doing his duty. Peace was the requirement for both your brother and for me and I was not given the choice. And I am glad I was not, for men are vain and like to be admired as much as women do and I might have been tempted to choose your sister. Think how much envy there would have been from others to see me master of such a beautiful and desirable young woman, and the envy of princes is not something to be set aside lightly.’

  I felt my spirits sink further. For all his kind protestations, I knew he would have taken Blanche rather then me.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked at me thoughtfully.

  ‘You are very young.’ His voice was slightly slurred.

  ‘I am nineteen.’

  ‘Yes. But very young. Very untouched. Has your mother told you of what will happen between us?’

  I blushed to the roots of my hair and lowered my face so that it was hidden from him.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  He paused for a moment, then stood up and came behind me. I sat there, the cup of wine, almost finished, clutched in my hands. I could feel his eyes on my nightgown, where the neckline was cut low. I could feel him savouring the curve of my neck, the outline of my small breasts, the length of my legs pressed against the silk and I trembled even though it wasn’t cold.

  ‘Come to bed,’ he said, his voice thick with a hint of what could have been desire or simply hunger for a woman. ‘We must do our duty and make a prince for England.’

  I awoke. He lay beside me, his face younger in sleep. One arm was cast loosely above his head, his hand laid against his cheek. The lines which surrounded his eyes were smoothed away and his mouth was softer. Above all he looked more vulnerable and less of a king.

  I thought of the kisses he had pressed on me in the darkness, of the invasiveness of his lips and his tongue, the roughness of his beard and felt a stir of something deep within me. He had been extremely gentle, handling me like a piece of delicate finery as if unable to believe he had something so fragile within his grasp. When he lay on me it was with care and he had taken me with a tenderness I had not expected. It had been painful but he had held me close and stroked my hair until the tears subsided. Afterwards he had looked at me and smiled, his eyes bright and his teeth white in the half-light.

  ‘Now I shall c
all you wife, he had said.

  I flushed to remember what we had done but reminded myself that our bodies were God-given and if God intended a man and a woman to come together like this then it was no sin.

  ‘What are you thinking, wife?’

  I started. I hadn’t known he was awake.

  ‘I was thanking God,’ I replied quickly.

  ‘I should thank your husband also for he is closer at hand.’

  ‘Thank you, husband,’ I said quietly.

  He laughed and pushed himself out of bed.

  ‘I shall send your women to you,’ he said. ‘And I shall see you later. Today we have a tournament for everyone’s enjoyment and I trust it will amuse you.’

  With that he let the curtains drop back and I heard him call briskly for his attendants. I lay back in the comfort of the bed, breathing in the unaccustomed stale warm smell of a man. It was hard to imagine that from now on, whenever he wished, I would share a bed with this large hairy man I called husband.

  My women arrived, agog with curiosity. I could see they wanted to know the answers to a thousand questions they dared not ask. If I had been one of their own I would have been plagued until I’d told all: What was it like? Did my husband acquit himself well? And how often? But because I was who I was, and my husband was who he was, they dared not open their mouths. However their eyes betrayed them, sliding sideways to gaze at the bed, greedily noting every rumple of the sheets and displacement of the pillows. I would have liked to rub their prying noses into the depths of the marriage bed until they cried out for mercy but that would have been an unworthy act for the wife of a king.

  As I stood naked in the privy chamber, they sponged me and poured warm water over my shoulders, chattering away, and all the while I knew they wanted to touch my skin as he had, smoothing his hard fingers over the length of me. The younger girls collected up my discarded nightgown and as the drying sheet was wrapped around me, I heard one of them whispering to her friend. I blanched at her words and remembered my mother’s warning – “keep your women in order for it is the mark of a lazy mistress if her maids gossip and misbehave, and how can your husband be expected to rule his subjects if you cannot rule your women.”

  I turned and looked at the two girls. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen and had been picked by my mother for their good families and suitable connections.

  ‘I would like you to repeat what you just said.’ My voice was steady.

  They stood there, their mouths opening and closing like little fishes. They hadn’t realised they could be overheard.

  ‘Come along, we are waiting.’

  ‘We were just saying,’ said the braver of the two.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We didn’t say it ourselves, it was what we heard.’

  ‘Yes,’ said her more timid friend. ‘We heard someone.’

  ‘And what did you hear? What was said?’

  They looked one to the other, both desperately trying to avoid what they knew was coming.

  ‘Hurry up,’ I said. ‘What did you hear?’

  The taller one, the braver one, dropped her head and muttered a few words.

  ‘If you can’t speak up perhaps a touch of the rod will help,’ I said sharply.

  I had no desire to beat my women but I knew they must be disciplined or any authority I had would slide away as butter slides from the platter when the day is warm.

  ‘One of the king’s men said it.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He said ...’

  She looked desperately from side to side, seeking a way out but there was no escape.

  ‘He said the king had bought a pig in a poke.’

  ‘And he said, some hope there was for begetting anything with a poke from a grey-beard,’ the other one rattled off quickly as if the faster she spoke the less the awfulness of what was to come.

  I sighed. It was worse than I’d thought and I wasn’t sure what to do. I could certainly keep order in my own household but should I tell the king what was being said by one of his own servants? Then I had the uncomfortable thought that perhaps it was not lowly servant’s gutter talk but the gossip of one of the king’s so-called friends.

  The older women looked at me approvingly as I gave orders for the girls to be beaten and sent to spend the day on their knees. I hoped prayer would bring them to their senses and certainly to miss the tournament would be punishment in itself.

  It was the very best place to be, seated high above the lists. There were thousands of people crammed into the arena and the scene was awash with golds and blues and silvers and crimsons. At each end of the grassy course were gaily coloured tents with flags flying from their pinnacles, and beside them, dozens of gorgeously arrayed knights and their horses. The noise was tremendous.

  I sat beside by husband under the canopy in the royal pavilion and was very glad of the cushions at my back because the day was going to be a long one. Louis, seated on the king’s other side, was conversing happily with an elderly grizzled man about the respective merits of the contestants.

  I touched my husband’s arm.

  ‘My lord, who is my brother talking to?’

  The king looked to see and then smiled.

  ‘The earl of Surrey, John de Warenne. An old friend and one of my best commanders, though we’ve had our difficulties over the years. A bit long in the tooth these days, to tell you the truth, but he keeps a good stable.’

  He patted my hand companionably.

  ‘It is going to be a fine display for you today, my lady, and we have a weighty purse for the winner. There’s Lord de Lacy whom you already know.’

  I gazed at the noble earl hoisting himself into the saddle, ably assisted by his squire. His opponent looked an insignificant knight. The herald announced the combatants and at a signal the two men thundered towards each other. I closed my eyes and missed the moment when the earl tipped the younger man off his mount onto the grass. The crowd howled its approval. Lord de Lacy was clearly popular.

  ‘Why do you close your eyes?’

  The question came from behind my shoulder as my husband’s son slipped into his seat beside me.

  ‘Sorry, I should have greeted you properly, lady mother, but the sight of you with your eyes screwed up reminded me of my sister, Elizabeth.’

  His father seemed to have no objection to him calling me lady mother and he really was a very charming boy.

  ‘I don’t like seeing them come together,’ I said, smiling. ‘I hate to see a man hurt.’

  ‘There’s not much damage done, not since his grace, my father, banned the use of pointed lances. He was losing too many good knights. The older men complain the fun’s gone out of the sport. They liked the old ways when men got killed.’

  ‘Are you not taking part?’

  He frowned.

  ‘His grace, my father, prefers me not to fight. He says the people cannot afford to lose me. So I have no skill.’

  How odd! Every boy I knew loved to joust. Fighting was what turned boys into men.

  ‘Where is your sister Elizabeth?’ I asked in a low voice. ‘His grace doesn’t care to talk about his daughters.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. A couple of years ago he was so angry with her he seized her by the hair and shook her like a pup. Then he threw her coronet into the fire saying she was not worthy to wear it. Elizabeth thought he was going to strangle her.’

  ‘Sainte Vierge! What had she done?’

  ‘Refused to accompany her husband, back to Holland after their wedding. She said Jan was a miserable little runt and she wanted to stay in England. His grace shouted she would do as she was told or she was no daughter of his. Everybody heard them. It was a spectacular row.’

  ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Fourteen. I advised a fine display of tears but it didn’t work and in the end
she had to go and live with Jan. She should have learned from Mary who always gets her own way.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ I said, feeling sorry for this unknown step-daughter of mine.

  ‘She was foolish. She chose exactly the wrong moment because he was already in a fury over our sister, Joan.’

  ‘The countess of Gloucester, yes, I remember. She paid her respects yesterday at the wedding feast.’

  ‘Joan pays no attention to his grace and it annoys him immensely.’

  At that moment there was another roar from the crowd and I looked up to see Humphrey de Bohun riding his great black horse slowly up the side of the course towards our pavilion. He looked very handsome dressed in azure and gold.

  My husband leaned towards me and spoke softly. ‘I think, my lady, you have a champion. It seems the earl of Hereford would care to fight under your colours.’

  I had no desire to anger my husband by favouring another man but he appeared happy enough at the recognition of his wife. I knew what I was supposed to do and fumbled in my sleeve for a piece of pale green silk to fix to the earl’s lance.

  ‘Thank you fair lady.’ Humphrey de Bohun bowed his head to acknowledge the favour then looked straight at me with his bright blue eyes before cantering away to the end of the course.

  My husband shifted to get himself comfortable before inclining his head and whispering in my ear.

  ‘He is a pretty young man, is he not, wife? I trust you do not have a penchant for pretty young men.’

  He was amused, not angry, so I smiled politely.

  ‘No, my lord, I prefer men with more maturity.’

  It was clearly the right thing to say as he leaned back with a satisfied smile.

  I touched my husband’s arm.

  ‘Does the earl of Gloucester not fight, my lord?’

  ‘Hardly, he’s been in his grave four years. I think it would take more than a summons from you for Red Gilbert to rise up and fight again.’

  ‘Oh, but I thought...the Lady Joan, is she not his countess? I thought her husband...’

  I stopped hastily. His face was darkening but I didn’t know what I’d said to displease him.

  ‘I do not care to discuss my daughter’s so-called husband with anyone and if you value your position in this family, madam, you would do well to remember that. No bastard will ever win my approval and no child of his will cross my threshold. Do I make myself clear?’