The Pearl of France

by Caroline Newark

  Mary frowned. ‘Who’s that?’

  About thirty paces ahead of us a man was leaning over the wall at the edge of the causeway. His body was half way over the stone parapet, his feet barely touching the ground. He was dressed in my stepson’s livery and was clearly trying to reach something in the water.

  ‘It’s Master Gaveston,’ I said in surprise.

  The young Gascon pulled himself back over the wall and pushed himself upright. He was a trifle shorter than Ned, pleasant-looking with dark curling hair and a mouth which smiled easily. He was flushed and his eyes were merry. When he saw who we were he gave a deep bow. Flamboyant good manners, I thought, and definitely not an Englishman.

  ‘What are you doing out here, Master Gaveston? Why are you not preparing for tomorrow?’

  ‘Greetings, your grace,’ he said in his familiar Gascon accent. His voice reminded me of home and made me feel more kindly towards him. He was definitely an attractive man.

  ‘Well?’ I said severely.

  ‘It’s Lord Edward, your grace.’

  I frowned. If he was waiting for my stepson why was he hanging over the wall?

  Before I could say more, Mary cried out, ‘Look!’

  Swimming towards us along the great mere were two people, shouting and splashing.

  ‘Is that Lord Edward?’

  ‘Yes, your grace.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s trying to see how fast he can swim the mere.’

  ‘He’s making a great commotion about it. Who’s that with him?’

  Master Gaveston laughed. ‘Robert the fool, your grace. Always one for a challenge. He said he could swim the mere there and back before dinner and faster than anyone else, so Lord Edward pulled him in. Of course Robert changed his mind but Lord Edward would have none of it and has been chasing him the whole way. I volunteered to haul Lord Edward out when he reached the causeway wall but it’s too far down. He’ll have to make his own way ashore.’

  I put up a hand to hide my smile.

  Mary pulled on my sleeve. ‘I think it might be wise for us to retrace our footsteps.’

  ‘Why? This is very diverting.’

  ‘Because, if I’m not mistaken, my brother is clad in rather less than you might think.’

  I laughed. ‘You mean he has no shirt on.’

  ‘I’m not sure he has his hose on either,’ said Mary.

  ‘In that case, Master Gaveston,’ I said, trying to conceal my amusement. ‘We women will leave you alone to rescue your two water sprites.’

  As we hurried back along the causeway we heard Ned calling from the water. I looked back. His arm was upraised in greeting. I waved back. The sight of his firm young body rising from the mere with droplets of water sparkling on his bronzed skin was very pleasing, yes very pleasing indeed. But my gazing at my naked stepson was not something which would please my husband and besides, Mary, as an unmarried woman, should not be allowed to witness such a thing.

  As we approached the keep we parted company. Mary had letters to write but I wanted to see the private garden which Lady de Lacy had said was a delight. I wandered past the stables with my two women idling slowly behind me. A couple of young maidservants were loitering outside the garden but scuttled away as I approached. I pushed the door open slightly, then quickly closed it again.

  ‘Wait for me here,’ I instructed my women.

  I reopened the door and quietly slipped inside. At the far end of the pebbled path, not more than ten paces away, was my step-daughter Elizabeth in the arms of a young man. At the sound of the door closing they sprang apart. I think I was as surprised as they were for Elizabeth’s erstwhile lover was none other than Humphrey de Bohun, the glamorous, eligible earl of Hereford.

  ‘Holy Mary! I thought you were my father,’ said Elizabeth.

  I walked up the path towards them.

  ‘What if I had been? What if his grace had found you manhandling his daughter in this fashion, Lord de Bohun? What would your chances of his favour be then? Or do you consider yourself too great a man to be cast down by your king?’

  ‘Marguerite, you don’t understand,’ cried Elizabeth.

  ‘I understand what my eyes are telling me.’

  ‘Your grace,’ began Humphrey de Bohun.

  I put up my hand to silence him. I was surprised how powerful I felt despite this man being several years my senior and not the insignificant young squire I’d imagined entangled with my step-daughter.

  ‘Don’t say a word.’

  I looked from one to the other. Elizabeth was tousled and defiant while Humphrey de Bohun hid his thoughts behind a face which betrayed nothing. I had no idea what he was thinking or what his intentions were.

  ‘First you, my lord. Why are you are here? I presume this is not your first tryst with my step-daughter. I can hardly believe she would encourage such liberties upon so brief an acquaintance.’

  ‘It is not what you think, your grace,’ he said smoothly. ‘My intentions towards the Lady Elizabeth are honourable. I want her for my wife. I always have.’

  Elizabeth seized both my hands in hers.

  ‘We’ve loved each other for so long, Marguerite. I thought it was hopeless, but now ...’

  ‘We hope to persuade his grace our marriage would be to his advantage,’ continued Humphrey.

  ‘If his grace didn’t favour your marriage before, he’s hardly likely to do so now.’

  I suspected my husband was negotiating another foreign marriage for his daughter and I wanted no part in encouraging these two lovers to hope for his approval.

  ‘But everything is different now,’ pleaded Elizabeth. ‘When I was young my father insisted the betrothal contract with Jan had to be honoured even though I didn’t want it. And he disliked Humphrey’s father.’

  Humphrey de Bohun took over the story. ‘My father and the earl of Norfolk quarrelled badly with his grace. Harsh words were spoken and the dispute almost came to a show of arms. I could do nothing. I was merely my father’s son and there was no possibility his grace would approve our marriage. But now my father, God rest his soul, is dead and I have come into my lands. I’m the earl of Hereford and I want the Lady Elizabeth for my countess.’

  He gazed at Elizabeth with a look of total devotion.

  ‘Very prettily put,’ I said tartly.

  I regarded the two of them. Standing amidst the tumble of orange and yellow gillyflowers, with the currant bushes in full bloom, they looked like a pair of star-crossed lovers. I had sympathy for their plight. I knew what it was like to be in love and their hearts were young, like mine.

  ‘Tomorrow, Lord de Bohun, you leave for the north. I suggest you say nothing until the Scots are defeated and his grace is in a more generous mood. Then, and only then, I shall help you.’

  Elizabeth threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  ‘Oh Marguerite, thank you, thank you. You are the kindest, sweetest mother to me.’

  Humphrey stood with his arms behind his back, a smile lighting up his handsome face.

  ‘Your grace, I don’t know what I can say.’

  ‘Say nothing. We’ve not cleared the first fence, and you still have the Scots to defeat.’

  I smiled at the two of them.

  ‘I shall leave you to say your farewells but I shall expect you in my rooms very soon, Elizabeth.’

  As I slipped back out of the garden, I could not resist turning back to see them clasped once more in each others arms.

  Elizabeth ran into my chamber, rosy pink and breathless.

  ‘Straighten your clothing, Elizabeth,’ I said severely. ‘You look as if you’ve been tumbled in a hedgerow.’

  She smoothed the folds of her gown. As she ran her hands across her hips I had a dreadful thought. I took her by the arm and pulled her into the window embrasur
e.

  ‘I want you to answer me truthfully, Elizabeth. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jan, your late husband?’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘Did you lie together?’

  ‘Did we what?’

  ‘You heard,’ I said. ‘Did you lie with him? Were you man and wife together?’

  She looked me straight in the eye and answered quite coolly, ‘No. Not even once.’

  ‘So you are a maid still?’

  She blushed a deep red, and fiddled with her plaited girdle. ‘Jan never touched me. He was too sick. He was always too sick.’

  ‘That is not what I asked. I asked if you were still a maid, still virgo intacta. Or have you and the handsome earl of Hereford anticipated the delights of the marriage bed?’

  She looked cross, like a child caught stealing cinnamon cakes.

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ she cried petulantly. ‘You’re not my mother.’

  ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I am not your mother but my duty is to protect your honour and care for you as she would have done.’

  ‘She never cared for me,’ muttered Elizabeth, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

  Young women who cried were annoying. For pretty young women it might prove a successful strategy but it wasn’t going to work with me.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ I said firmly.

  ‘It’s not nonsense. If she’d cared for me she wouldn’t have left me.’

  ‘Oh, Sweet Mother Mary, Elizabeth,’ I said as she began to weep in earnest. ‘It was God’s will your mother died. She would no more have wanted to leave you than I would. But when we are called we have no say in the matter. She was sick and God delivered her from her misery. I am certain she loved you.’

  I put my arms around her and tried to think like a mother. What would Eleanor have done?

  ‘Listen to me. If your marriage with Jan was not a true marriage then we must protect you. Girls do not make assignations with handsome young men no matter how much they may yearn for them. If your hopes for this marriage come to nothing then your reputation as a maid must be unblemished.’

  She lifted her tearful face to mine.

  ‘If I can’t marry Humphrey, I shan’t marry anyone.’

  ‘It is not for you to decide who you marry. I shall do my utmost to help but the decision is not mine and it is not yours either. Now dry your tears and come and help me finish putting away my things. Tomorrow the men leave and you don’t want Lord de Bohun to carry the image of a miserable face all the way to the border.’

  The day went too fast. By evening the men were packed and ready to depart. They would go at first light as soon as they had broken their fast. The courtyards were full of loaded wagons and through the upper windows I could see the flickering lights of camp fires in the park beyond the causeway. Tomorrow they would be gone and I would be on my way back to Woodstock and my son.

  ‘I think I shall miss you, my little pearl,’ said my husband as we lay in bed. This would be the last time he would be with me for many months.

  ‘I shall miss you too, husband,’ I said, my mind half on our son, wondering how much he had grown and hoping he remembered me.

  It was stuffy behind the curtains and I thought idly of how pleasant it must be to lie encamped under the stars feeling the soft night air on one’s cheeks. I wondered if my husband would hold me tightly in his arms if we lay out there together amongst the grasses looking at the stars.

  ‘De Lacy said something today,’ he continued.

  ‘What was that, my lord?’ I said, bringing myself back from my dreams of a nocturnal tryst.

  ‘He talked of a coronation. His words reminded me how remiss I’ve been in not offering you a crown.’

  A crown! The prize I had dreamed of for many months ever since I realised how much I cared for him. It was true everyone called me your grace and referred to me as my husband’s queen, yet it must be obvious that without a coronation, an uncrowned, unanointed wife would in truth be no such thing. Eleanor had been crowned. She had been a true queen.

  I waited for the rush of excitement but it didn’t come. Coolly I examined his offer but knew before I counted the advantages, that I would refuse. I had imagined I would fight tooth and nail to acquire this ultimate symbol of my importance to him. But his casual offering of my greatest dream in the same way he would cast a bone to one of his hounds, disappointed me. If he had implored me to accept, if he had pledged his devotion, told me how important I was to him and his realm, or if he had said he cared for me, then I would have accepted. But it was another woman’s leavings and I didn’t want it.

  I looked at his face. The lines of worry had grown this past winter, and his hair was now completely white. He might be old, he might be bad-tempered but I loved him. It ripped me apart sometimes knowing how much I loved him and how little he truly cared for me. I knew he had worries, not least his perennial problems with money. He was in debt to several of his nobles as well as the Italian bankers, and Ned said that Master Lovekyn had still not been paid for our wedding feast.

  ‘I don’t need a crown, my lord,’ I said staunchly. ‘It would not make me any more your wife nor would it make me care more for your realm or your people. I told you once I was yours for as long as I live and a crown was not part of my bargain. And a coronation would be an unwarranted expense when you are so short of funds.’

  He took my hand and kissed it.

  ‘Ah, my sweet little pearl. What a good bargain you were: a son in the cradle, another in your belly, and now an economical goodwife as well. I think I shall put you in charge of my treasury and that way I’ll never run short. If we’re not careful your brother will demand further concessions from me saying I have more than I was entitled to under our marriage contract.’

  ‘My lord, I shall always do what is best for you. And my brother knows nothing of our marriage. As I am sure you know, I do not correspond with him, only with my mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he laughed. ‘You are such a delight to tease. You take everything so seriously.’

  He was already removing the ribbons and unbraiding my hair. Having thus undone a large part of my women’s night-time efforts, he turned his attention to my nightgown. While one hand played with strands of my hair which now lay fanned out across the pillow, letting his fingers trail through the tendrils, brushing any wisps away from my face, his other hand began gently stroking my breasts. Any thoughts of annoyance faded as I felt the accustomed pleasure at his touch. But however much I had him caught, and the nets of our passion did indeed hold him tightly, I too was a prisoner. And I was trapped more securely than he was because by tomorrow his desires would have faded while mine would still be alight, fuelled as they were by love.

  ‘Will you come to me at Christmas?’ he murmured, moving closer and planting kisses on my neck. ‘After our son is born.’

  ‘I will come whenever you command me,’ I whispered, all thoughts of my child banished from my mind as the joys of passion took over.

  At that moment I truly believed I would cross the oceans for a single night in my husband’s bed. It was only later as he lay sleeping that I realised I would always have to be the one to take ship because he could never bring himself to quit the shores where his beloved Eleanor lay. She held him tight in her cold, dead arms and he had no wish to leave. He desired me, he lusted after me but he didn’t love me, not the way he loved her and certainly not the way I loved him.

  The time had come. My husband gave a nod of his head. ‘Take good care of yourself and our son, my lady. I shall see you at Christmastide.’

  I wondered for the hundredth time why he never asked me to accompany him. Eleanor had travelled with him on his campaigns, a constant helpmeet at his side, a pair of loving arms to comfort him each night. But I was only fit for sending back t
o the nursery, to sew and spin and be with our son. I was of no importance to him, of no worth. In truth, I felt undone.

  ‘God speed, my lord,’ I said, trying to keep back the tears. ‘May Christ and His Saints ride with you.’

  We watched them, a long line of men and horses strung out along the causeway, disappearing into the mist, their brightly coloured banners held aloft, the pennons limp in the damp morning air. They were followed by hundreds of heavy wagons piled high with the necessities of war, the horses already heaving under the strain.

  ‘No tears this time, your grace,’ said Lady de Lacy as I stood dry-eyed watching my husband ride away.

  ‘I’m learning, Lady Margaret,’ I said, too miserable to cry.

  9

  Winter 1301-2

  I could see nothing but dark swirling waters beneath my feet and was frightened I would fall into the chasm below. A hand stretched out of the gloom and grasped mine.

  ‘Nae worry, lady,’ said a gruff voice. ‘You’re safe now. Just a wee bit further. I’ll nae let you fall.’

  He was a burly man, wrapped in dark cloth, with a bonnet pulled low on his brow. I could barely see his features, hidden as they were by a beard and a mass of dark-red hair, but his words were kind and his grip was strong. I climbed up the slippery steps to the wharf, thankful to be on firm ground once more. I looked around me: grey mist, grey sea, grey walls and grey land.

  ‘A thousand greetings to you, my lady,’ said my rescuer. ‘Welcome to Blackness. We’d nae expected you so soon. I’ve sent the boy to Linlithgow to tell them you’re come. Oh my, but there’ll be celebrating there tonight. Away inside now, out of the damp. The lassie will make you comfortable till your companions are ashore.’

  The dark-haired girl who opened the door stared at me with large round eyes. She couldn’t have been more than six years old. Her gown was grubby and far too small, showing her bare legs and feet. She stood aside for me to enter. I found myself in a small stone chamber hardly big enough for two of us. The girl was too over-awed to speak but seeing a low wooden bench I sank onto it. Gradually the world stopped swaying and my belly returned to its normal state. It had been a long and uncomfortable journey but it seemed we were nearly at our destination.