When I was alone, I opened my husband’s letter. He was at Carlisle and likely to remain there for some little while and he required my presence. My heart sank. My time with Thomas was to be ended.
I didn’t want to leave him. Naturally I knew it had to end one day, but not yet, not when he was so small and so vulnerable. I thought perhaps I would delay a bit longer. I would wait until the harvest was finished.
Two days later Lord and Lady de Lacy left, but still I delayed. Day followed day and I failed to give the order for our removal to Carlisle. I told myself that Thomas needed me more than my husband did. My son was growing bigger and every moment with him was precious.
On the Feast of the Confessor another letter arrived. This time the instructions were quite clear. Thomas was to be despatched to Woodstock and I was to come to Carlisle without delay. The king commanded it.
7
Autumn 1300
The journey to Carlisle took two weeks in those dark days of an early English autumn. The terrain was difficult with steep-sided hills and narrow valleys and paths which petered out in front of our eyes. We found rivers flooded and bridges washed away. Twice the road became so deep in mud, the carts carrying our belongings got stuck. I longed to be back in the comfort of my chamber at Cawood with Thomas only a few steps away but my son was on his way south to Woodstock with his nursemaids and I didn’t know when I would see him again.
In the fading light of the afternoon the enormous granite castle on the hill looked both imposing and sinister.
‘It’s very impressive, isn’t it?’ said Elizabeth, doubtfully. ‘Oh but look! That tower is in ruins. Are you sure we’re expected? I wouldn’t want to sleep in the shelter of a wall.’
‘Lord de Lacy said the Scots ravaged the castle last year,’ I replied. ‘But his grace, your father, is making repairs. Don’t worry, he wouldn’t have asked us to come unless there were apartments for us. He’s not expecting us to sleep beside our horses in the heather!’
Elizabeth giggled.
As we rode under the inner gatehouse, I saw him waiting on the steps. My heart turned over with a sudden shock. His hair was whiter than I remembered. We’d been separated for five months but I hadn’t expected him to change.
Beside me Elizabeth was fidgeting with excitement.
‘There’s Ned,’ she cried.
Not waiting for the groom to take the reins or the lad to offer her his hands, she slid from her horse and ran to her brother. Forgetting their manners they greeted each other like little children, with hugs and laughter.
Ned was taller and browner than when I’d last seen him. His hair was still golden and his eyes a brilliant blue. He was growing to be an extremely good-looking young man and would surely break a dozen hearts before he was wed. I hoped Philip’s daughter would appreciate such a handsome husband.
It was one of Blanche’s prerequisites when we’d played the game of choosing husbands. Hers had to be handsome and wealthy and important and young and ... I couldn’t remember the other conditions, I just knew she’d never found anyone who matched her ideals and, judging from her letter, Rudolf had also failed the test.
I didn’t long for someone young and handsome like Ned or Humphrey de Bohun. I was perfectly happy with the husband I’d been given - an elderly man with nearly white hair who must once have been handsome but was so no longer.
I stared at my husband who stared back at me. I dismounted prettily and walked towards him.
‘My lord,’ I said, inclining my head and extending my gloved hand.
‘Greetings, my lady,’ he said formally. ‘I see you have brought my daughter. I trust she has been a pleasant companion for you while you idled your days away.’
I had forgotten how frightening he could be. He wasn’t smiling and I realised that by delaying I had seriously displeased him. I should have set out the moment he’d asked me to come. I remembered my good intentions at the beginning of our marriage, how I had promised that any feelings of mine must always be subservient to his. Yet the moment there’d been a conflict, when I’d wanted to stay with my son rather than be at my husband’s side, I had failed him.
We were escorted through the great hall and up dark winding stairs to our chambers. Despite the ever-present noise of masons chipping away at the outer walls, the rooms were comfortable.
My women were delighted to be somewhere new and even more delighted by the presence of my stepson’s household: dozens of dangerous young men newly returned from campaigning who would be anxious to recount stories of their exploits to any pretty woman who cared to listen. These were men who had been without the company of women for many months and in my chamber there was a frisson of excitement as the younger girls planned their dalliances and discussed their prey.
As for me? I was dreading the moment when I would be alone with my husband.
We finished unpacking the chests and I washed and changed out of my travel-stained garments. I was sorting through my jewel casket planning what to wear for the feast, when, with no warning, my husband arrived. With a sideways nod of his head he cleared the chamber. My women scuttled out like frightened hens. I’d never seen them disappear so quickly.
I turned to face him, my back hard against the table, the golden belt studded with rubies, which he’d given me last New Year on his return from Berwick, still in my hands. The light from the fire and the spluttering candles threw huge back shadows across the room.
‘You disobeyed me,’ he said abruptly. ‘I ordered you to come and you delayed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I began.
‘I gave you an order.’ His voice was rising. ‘I thought you understood a wife’s duties.’
‘I do, but ...’
‘So why did you not do as you were bid?’
‘I thought to stay with our son.’
‘You thought? You thought? I want none of your French manners here, madam. I have no interest in how you behaved in your brother’s house but here you will do as I say. Is that understood? And when I tell you to come you will drop everything and pack up your household and come. I thought I made myself plain last time we had this discussion. You must obey me. You are not a child any more. I have quite enough disobedient children and I will not tolerate a disobedient wife. Now that you have a child of your own you are fully a woman, and women are obedient to their husbands. Do you understand?’
He was looming over me and I tried not to feel afraid. He was very much taller than me and considerably stronger. If he wished, he could knock me over with a single blow of his fist, and yet in the fourteen months we’d been married he had never lifted a finger against me. There were times he’d been sorely tempted because I’d seen it in his eyes.
If he had loved me I would have felt safe but I knew any kindness was born of a regard for my position as his wife rather than any particular feelings he had for me. A fleeting thought ran through my mind and was gone - had he and Eleanor quarrelled? Had he ever struck her in anger?
‘Our son needed me,’ I began lamely. ‘I thought to stay with him.’
‘Our son is a babe and it is no part of your duties to care for babes. He has a household of women for that, women whom I pay well. Your duty is here by my side.’
‘A child needs his mother,’ I said stubbornly, beginning to feel stirrings of anger.
‘Phaw!’ he said. ‘Peasant talk! If you want to grub around in a hovel with a bunch of brats then you can go for you have no place in my life. I didn’t marry you to acquire a nursemaid. I married you to get me a wife.’
His anger was misplaced and by then I was feeling thoroughly self-righteous. I had only done what I thought was right. But a little worm of doubt was already wriggling at the corner of my mind. Deep within me I knew I hadn’t done what I thought was right, I had done what pleased me and that was to remain with Thomas.
‘Have you no understanding of y
our position?’ he thundered. ‘You are my wife and a husband needs his wife more than a child needs his mother. What would you have me do if you’re not here? Take a woman? Is that what you want? Shall I select one from your chamber? I’m sure there are some who would be happy to share a bed with their king. Is that what you think I should do?’
‘Of course not,’ I cried. ‘But you are a grown man and can reason. Thomas is just a baby. He can’t understand why I have left him.’
‘That is ridiculous. Thomas doesn’t even know you. What you wanted was to idle your time away playing with him, wasn’t it? You never once thought of your duty as my wife.’
‘How dare you say Thomas doesn’t know me,’ I shouted. ‘He knows I’m his mother. You haven’t seen him for five months. How would you know anything about him? Just because you don’t care for him there’s no need to assume I don’t. He is my son.’
‘He is my son too.’
‘I know just what store you set by your sons, my lord.’
There was a deep well of silence into which you could have dropped a bucket.
‘What do you mean by that?’ His voice had a dangerous edge to it.
‘I know what you said when they brought you news of your little son’s death.’
‘And what did I say? Think carefully before you speak, madam.’
If I had been sensible I would have heard the note of warning in his voice, but I was beyond sense, beyond reason. I was speaking from my heart and the heart is the most unguarded of speakers.
‘They told you your father was dead and your son, John, also. And you said “I can always make another son but God has given me only one father.” That’s what you said, my lord - you could make another son. Is that what Thomas is? Just another son? One that might die but it doesn’t matter because you can always make another. How could you be so callous?’
He was white around the mouth and his eyes were narrowed in fury. I had heard the same story both from my step-daughters and from Lady de Lacy.
He put out his hand and held onto the back of one of the chairs. He said nothing while I tried to get my temper under control. I was trembling because I hadn’t realised how angry I was.
‘If you really think that of me,’ he said with a dangerous calm, ‘then our life together has been a waste of my time and yours. I thought you understood my feelings and my aspirations, but clearly you have a perverted view of me as some soulless monster. Naturally you are far too young to understand a world where men are killed and children die. You didn’t fight to be who you are so you’ve not the slightest understanding of what my kingship means to me. I saw my father nearly lose his throne through being weak and vacillating. I saw him beaten into the ground by his barons. I had to fight for my crown. I nearly died for it. And then I had to watch my wife lose child after child and despair of ever keeping one alive. Just because they were small and just because we were not with them, do you think we loved them any the less? Do you love Thomas less because you are here and he is elsewhere?’
At that point I did what I’d promised I would never do, and what any sensible woman would have done sooner - I burst into tears.
‘You don’t understand,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m torn in two. I want to be with you and be a good wife but I also want to be with Thomas. I know he has to have his own household, and I know it’s best for him to live at Woodstock where he’ll be safe, but I feel so alone without him.’
‘Don’t you think it’s the same for a man? Do you think my men like being away from their wives and their families? But it’s part of their duty. Perhaps, contrary to what you believe, men know their duty better than women.’
By that point I was blinded by tears. All the sorrow at parting from my son and the exhaustion of the journey combined to fuel the flood of weeping. I covered my face with my hands in a vain attempt to hide the tears. I sniffed and hiccupped while a torrent of tears ran down my face. It was then, in the lowest moment of my despair, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve tried so hard to be a good wife.’
‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Hush, don’t say any more. We’ve both said far too much.’
He pulled me against him. Through the veil of tears I could see the deep red of his velvet robe where it brushed against my cheek and worried I was making it damp. Slowly I stopped crying.
‘Time is too short to spend our hours fighting,’ he said. ‘I thought once I had finished with the Scots I was done for the season. I hadn’t expected to encounter another assailant in my own castle.’
As an attempt at a joke it was rather feeble but it was what I needed. I smiled and laid my hand on his chest. It was reassuringly solid and comforting.
‘Oh my lord, I’m sorry. My words were cruel and I shouldn’t have spoken them.’
‘Sometimes it is better to speak one’s thoughts than to suppress them. Men like to know where they stand.’
‘Yes, but ...’
‘But what, my dear? You heard I was cold and heartless and you believed it. They were dark days but they are in the past and I do not care to remember them. The past is the past and cannot be reclaimed and we must live for today. So dry your eyes and let me see you smile. We will say no more for we are man and wife and it’s well known Adam and Eve quarrelled in the garden, so why should we not do likewise.’
I dried my eyes on my sleeve and let him seat me in the chair. He sat opposite and began to tell me of the last few weeks, of his unpleasant meeting with Archbishop Winchelsea, of his difficult journey back across the firth in foul weather and of his despair at ever persuading his council to grant him sufficient money to gather an army large enough to deal with the Scots.
I listened with half my attention, horribly aware that we had only postponed the discussion of our differences not solved them and that neither of us really understood the other at all.
For the feast I wore my pale green brocade gown with the rose-coloured surcote and my dark green velvet mantle lined with lambswool to keep me warm. The November rain was finding its way through windows and under doors, and the stone walls felt cold and damp to the touch. All I wanted was to huddle round a fire.
With my husband’s present of a new gold circlet on my head, I took my place beside him in the great hall. We were flanked by Ned and Elizabeth and my husband’s senior nobles. I could see the earl of Warwick, Guy de Beauchamp and my husband’s half-cousin, Aymer de Valenece, the Pembroke heir. Humphrey de Bohun was there, as sleek and good-looking as ever, along with the two Lancaster brothers.
After my encounter with his wife I paid particular attention to the earl of Lancaster. I wondered how loyal he was and wondered how Ned would cope when the day came for him to take the throne. Through the brightness of the flickering candles and the talk and the music there was an undercurrent of danger. It was hard to know who was a friend and who might, one day, turn out to be an enemy.
When the acrobats had finished cavorting for our amusement and the minstrels were playing a last low melancholy tune, I noticed Ned further down the hall in earnest conversation with a dark-haired young man. Ned was seated sideways on the bench listening intently to what the young man was saying. After a moment he burst out laughing and clapped him on the shoulder. The young man grinned, his dark eyes dancing with pleasure.
‘Who is that?’ I asked my husband. ‘The man talking to your son.’
He glanced down the hall and smiled.
‘One of mine. A promising young fellow, name of Piers Gaveston. Father’s a Gascon noble in Béarn but fell foul of your brother and fled to England, bringing the boy. I’ve agreed to transfer him to Ned’s household. They seem to get on well and I think he’ll be a good example for my son. He’s a talented soldier and Ned has much to learn in that department. It should work out well.’
The fire had burned low but with so many people feasting and merrymaki
ng the hall was still warm. There was no reason why I should suddenly have felt cold, no reason at all. I was surrounded by my family. The food and wine had made everyone happy and sleepy, and all seemed well with our world. It would be many years before I would remember this moment and by then of course it would be much too late.
8
Spring 1301
I poked my nose out from under the fur covers. The air felt cold despite the heavy curtains and the warmth of my husband’s body. I moved closer. He was lying on his side facing away from me, his gentle breathing telling me he was still asleep. Being careful not to wake him, I laid my cheek against his back, loving the feel of his solid presence. As long as he was here beside me I knew I was safe and I could pretend I was loved.
Ever since our quarrel before Christmas he had been especially kind, visiting me nearly every night. Our togetherness had brought me great joy and when I told him of my suspicions that I was again with child, he had held me close, the smile on his lips pressed against my hair, the strength of his embrace warming my heart.
‘I think it will be towards the end of the summer,’ I said, thinking of practical matters. ‘Will you mind if I am not with you?’
‘The safety of our second son is more important than my desires,’ he replied. ‘I shall send you to Woodstock. I want no repeat of your near disaster of last time and you can spend time with young Thomas.’
I was amused at how he assumed it would be another boy.
‘What about the safety of our daughter?’ I moved away from his exploring fingers.
He laughed, and pulled me tightly against him.
‘We make sons, my dear. It will be another boy and we shall call him Edmund in honour of my brother.’
‘But if it’s a girl?’ I persisted.
‘Then you may choose the name. But I should warn you, if it’s a girl, I’ll have you back in our bed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail to make another boy.’
The Pearl of France Page 13
