The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  ‘Nettie,’ she hiccupped.

  ‘Yes Jo, it’s me.’

  ‘Bella,’ she wailed and started crying again.

  ‘She’s missing her sister,’ said Lady la Mote. ‘She wants the Lady Isabella.’

  ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart,’ I said, stroking my finger over Joanna’s smooth cheek, feeling the damp softness and wondering why she, of all the royal children, had been chosen to accompany her parents to Antwerp. ‘Your lady mother doesn’t want you to cry.’

  ‘She was sick on the sea voyage, poor little mite,’ said Lady la Mote. ‘And now we’re here she’s frightened of the people and the peculiar way they speak.’

  I thought of the odd-looking men in the streets of Antwerp and the dreary flat countryside outside the town walls which was not in any way like home, and knew exactly how Joanna felt.

  ‘Would you like me to sing to you?’

  Joanna nodded her head.

  I clambered up onto the bed and made myself comfortable. Joanna snuggled herself up against me with my arm curled round her shoulders. I began to sing. It was only a little made-up lullaby, nothing special, but it had the desired effect. Soon her eyelashes drooped, her breathing became slower and after a few moments she was asleep.

  ‘May Our Lady bless you for that,’ said Lady la Mote.

  ‘I’ll stay with her,’ I offered. ‘But Lady Catherine must be informed and I’ll need my nightgown.’

  ‘Lonata has a spare one.’

  I smiled at Joanna’s maid.

  ‘She doesn’t know yet,’ said Lady la Mote quietly, gazing at Joanna. ‘She’s so young. It seems cruel to send her away.’

  ‘Send her away?’

  ‘To Vienna, to the Austrian court. She is to be brought up alongside her betrothed.’

  ‘Oh no!,’ I gasped. ‘Surely not. She is the queen’s baby girl.’

  But of course this is what happened to the daughters of kings. They were married off to men they had never seen, whose customs they didn’t know and sent far away from their families. Their happiness counted for little compared to the sealing of an alliance or the making of a peace. Margaret said that many years ago the king’s mother had sold her little daughter to the Scots for the price of a worthless treaty.

  ‘Perhaps the queen’s next child will be a girl,’ said Lonata, handing me her nightgown.

  ‘Hush!’ said Lady la Mote sharply. ‘Don’t gossip.’

  Lonata coloured and lowered her head.

  The nightgown wasn’t as fine as mine but it was clean and smelled of lavender. When I slipped it on I was surprised by the roughness of the linen against my bare skin. I wriggled my shoulders to make it more comfortable and less scratchy and then after saying my prayers, climbed in beside Joanna.

  While the others prepared for bed I lay thinking of Joanna being sent away to live with her betrothed and wondered if my cousin had a marriage in mind for me. Had the king’s mother whispered in his ear and might I too be sold to an enemy as her little daughter had been? And what would a husband like that do to me?

  Eventually the snuffling and shifting and sighing stopped and all I could hear were the rumbling snores of Lady la Mote and the whimpering of the youngest nursemaid who was missing her mother. Then, nothing but breathing.

  The blue-grey half-light had gone and the room was full of inky blackness. No glimmers of torchlight filtered through the shutters and apart from a single candle which barely shed its light onto the floor let alone through the bed curtains, we lay in the dark.

  I must have drifted off to sleep. I was dreaming of water: water on the quayside lapping greedily at the toes of my boots; smelly green water in the little ditches of Antwerp; and the dark slow-flowing river water which I saw each morning from the door of the beautiful Montagu manor at Bisham.

  I awoke. At first there was no sound. I sniffed and wrinkled my nose. The kitchen boys must be up early. I moved my head to make sure Joanna was asleep. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks but she didn’t wake.

  I sniffed again. Smoke! A boy had put wet logs on the fire which was no surprise. In this watery world it must be hard to keep anything dry.

  I closed my eyes and then opened them again. Someone was shouting. Then a scream. I sat up. The smell of smoke was worse. I turned back the cover, climbed out of bed and tiptoed my way across the floor trying not to step on any of my sleeping companions. When I reached the door I opened it a crack then quickly slammed it shut.

  ‘Wake up!’ I shouted, shaking the shoulder of the nearest girl as I made my way back to Joanna.

  ‘What is it?’ said the annoyed and sleepy voice of Lady la Mote.

  ‘Fire! The house is full of smoke.’

  At that moment the door burst open and one of the king’s men appeared in the doorway. The smoke came after him, swirling like mist across the floor.

  ‘The Lady Joanna?’ he asked urgently, looking around him for the precious bundle of the queen’s daughter.

  ‘She’s here,’ I said, climbing back onto the bed and waking Joanna.

  ‘Come, sweetheart. Let me wrap you in your cover.’

  But the man didn’t wait. He snatched a startled Joanna from her bed and raced to the door, ‘Remove yourselves! As quick as you can. It’s fire.’

  The next moment he was gone.

  Two of the nursemaids began screaming as if Satan himself was at the door. A girl fell to her knees and another clutched Lonata shrieking for Our Lady to help her. ‘Oh Holy Mother of God, save me,’ someone murmured.

  ‘Shall I pack the chests?’ a girl’s voice wavered as the question died on her lips.

  ‘Sainte Vierge! We’re going to die!’

  In the panic someone knocked over the candle and we dropped into darkness. From outside came screaming and shouting and the sound of people’s feet. I could hear Lady la Mote muttering, ‘Sainte Vierge, aidez-nous, aidez-nous,’ over and over again. I kicked the girl crouched on the floor. ‘Get up! Get down the stairs!’ She scrambled up and I felt her run.

  I stumbled my way to the door using my hands to tell me where I was. I could see nothing. The smoke was getting thicker and there was a strange roaring noise from somewhere under my feet. The outer chamber was crowded with people shoving and pushing and crying. Men’s voices shouted for their servants and women screamed for their children.

  I couldn’t remember which way led to the stairs but it didn’t matter because the press of people was so great I was pushed along in the crowd. I had no idea where the others were. I twisted round to see if there was light behind me but could see nothing, just shapes in the darkness. I started coughing. Smoke was burning my throat.

  Now the roaring sound was getting louder and I could feel the heat and hear the sparks. At that moment someone behind me shoved against my back and I fell sprawling to the floor. No-one stopped to help me. No-one took any notice. Feet pushed past my face and trod on my fingers and toes. I tried to get up. I raised myself to my knees but a man’s boots knocked me down again. This time my head hit the wall and I lost my nightcap.

  I hauled myself upright but had no idea where I was or which way was safety. Tears ran down my face as I struggled for breath.

  A woman grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust her face into mine. ‘Babette?’ she shrieked. But I wasn’t who she was looking for. She pushed me aside, sending me crashing down onto my knees again. I could see a man with a lantern, just a little wavering light. There were two men carrying an iron-bound chest between them which prevented people behind from getting past. There were shouts and blows and the lantern fell to the ground. I was plunged back into darkness.

  By now I could hear the crackling of flames. I began to pray. I was going to die. I knew I was going to die. I curled myself up into a little ball on the floor and tried not to think what it would be like to bu
rn. I coughed and spluttered as smoke billowed about my head.

  I tried to pray to St Polycarp, whose blood put out the flames when the Romans tried to roast him at the stake. He knew what it was like to burn. But all I could think of was my cousin’s face and the way he used to smile at me. I would never see him again.

  ‘Holy Mother of God, Blessed Virgin,’ I prayed. ‘Forgive me my sins.’

  All of a sudden I felt two hands slip round my shoulders and under my knees, and someone I couldn’t see lifted me bodily up. I was too exhausted to struggle and wondered for a moment if this could be St Polycarp. I hid my head in the rough cloth of a man’s jacket and tried not to breathe in the smoke which was swirling around us. His large hand pressed firmly against my hair so that I could neither see nor hear anything other than the roar of the flames and the pounding of my heart.

  My rescuer held me tightly as we pushed through the crowd. I felt myself jolted up and down. That must be the stairs. People bumped against us but my rescuer had me held so tightly I knew if I fell, so would he. The journey down the stairway to the door took an eternity, a burning, choking, smoke-filled lifetime but just as I thought I could bear it no longer, I felt cold air on the back of my neck and the roar of the flames receded.

  We were outside. His grip relaxed and I lifted my head.

  The house was ablaze and I could see a woman in her nightgown surrounded by mounds of baggage. She was weeping pitifully over the loss of a favourite piece of finery. Next to her stood a man with hollow eyes holding the charred remains of a fur-lined cloak. A half-naked groom was leading a terrified horse to safety from the stables where the thatch was already alight and a boy was wailing for his mother.

  My rescuer carried me to a place far from the burning building and set me down on a bench. I was filthy with smoke in my hair and dirty smuts of black on Lonata’s borrowed nightgown. My feet hurt, my eyes stung horribly and my throat was raw. But I was alive.

  ‘All well?’ He was coughing too.

  I nodded. ‘Where are the others?’ All I could think of was Joanna and her little household.

  ‘Who have you lost?’

  ‘The Lady Joanna, the king’s daughter. One of the king’s men took her.’

  He smiled; a surprising flash of white teeth in a face that was probably as black as mine. ‘She’s safe. I saw them carry her out. And our king and queen, they’re safe too. I saw them leave.’

  In my panic I had forgotten about my cousin and the queen.

  ‘Everyone’s safe,’ said my rescuer. ‘We were the last. I’d have been out sooner myself but I saw you curled up asleep and it was quite a struggle to get to you. I had to fight my way across the room so next time would you please choose a place closer to the door as your bed for the night.’

  He wasn’t old. A few years younger than my cousin, I thought, and his voice told me he was English. He had dark hair, or at least it looked dark, and his face and clothes were filthy. They were smudged with black marks and covered in ash. He certainly wasn’t anyone I knew.

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ I said indignantly. ‘I was praying.’

  ‘I should use the chapel for your prayers in future.’

  ‘I was praying to St Polycarp and to Our Lady to save me.’

  ‘How sensible. And your prayers were heard because here you are safe and sound.’

  ‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ I said politely. In my relief at being rescued from the fire I had forgotten to thank him and, despite his rough appearance, it had been a kindly act. I touched my waist but of course I didn’t have my purse with me. It was awkward because I should have given him a coin.

  ‘The pleasure was mine.’

  He was looking at my nightgown. I shivered and wrapped by arms around myself.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘A little.’

  I couldn’t understand why I was cold because I could still feel the heat from the burning building on my face.

  ‘Wrap this round you.’ he said, removing his cloak.

  It was thick rough cloth without any fur either as a lining or as a trimming. It smelled disgustingly of horses and leather and smoke.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded his head, watching me carefully as despite the cloak I continued to shiver. ‘It’s the same after a battle. Men feel cold and frightened just when there’s no further need and everything is over.’

  ‘Are you a fighting man?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m one of the king’s men. I give my sword to his service.’

  I smiled at him.

  ‘And you my young friend? What do you do for the Lady Joanna? Sing her lullabies?’

  How funny. He thought I was a nursemaid. I looked down at the plain linen nightgown and thought about my hair and my face and my bare feet. I must have looked like all those other weeping women, covered in smoke and grime and smudges of ash.

  ‘Yes,’ I said truthfully. ‘That’s what I do. I sing her to sleep and make sure she sleeps soundly.’

  ‘Just what I’d expect from a pretty little maid like you. And I can think of nothing sweeter than to be lulled to sleep by a soft voice like yours and wake in the morning with you by my side.’

  I felt myself blush. He was flirting with me which was wholly improper for a man like him. Of course he didn’t know who I was and perhaps that was an excuse.

  ‘I think I should look for Lady la Mote,’ I said primly trying to cover my confusion. I’d never had a man flirt with me before. Elizabeth and the older girls were always getting smiles and sideways glances from various young men but nobody had ever bothered with me.

  ‘Is she your mistress?’

  ‘She is the Lady Joanna’s governess.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The senior lady of the household who wields the big stick. Would you like me to ask? That’s if anyone knows where anyone is in a melee like this.’

  ‘Yes please,’ I said in a small voice, aware that the churning in my belly was getting worse.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I think I am going to… I don’t feel very well.’

  ‘It’s the smoke. Here, let me hold you.’

  He sat down beside me and placed his arms round my shoulders and held me while I retched. I lost my supper onto the cobbles and sat there shivering and crying in his arms.

  ‘There, there, little girl,’ he murmured, his face in my hair. ‘Don’t cry. It’s all over now. I’ve got you.’

  He sat me upright and smoothed the tangles away from my eyes. He smiled. ‘You do look a sorry mess.’ He took the edge of his cloak and spat on it and proceeded to wipe my face. He was surprisingly gentle for a rough soldier but he really shouldn’t have been touching me.

  ‘It’s no good, he said. ‘We need water. Wait here.’

  Before I could protest he was off into the crowd. I sat wrapped in the borrowed cloak, waiting for his return. I sniffed a bit, feeling very sorry for myself and looked to see if there was anyone I knew. Probably half the town was out on the streets. There was no sign of anyone from the royal household and nobody I recognised but with all the black-streaked faces that was not surprising. Probably none of my friends would recognize me. My legs felt too weak to stand and by now I was frightened to move in case I got lost. This was a strange place with strange people and somebody had tried to burn us to death in our beds.

  My rescuer returned carrying a small bowl and a large cloth.

  ‘I got it from a woman in the house over there.’ He gestured with his free hand towards a row of houses where women and children were crowding out of their open doors. ‘From what she said I gather we’ve given the townsfolk of Antwerp a good night’s entertainment.’ His smile widened. ‘And I discovered the king and queen and their little daughter have been taken in by the sisters at St Bernard’s, so now
we know where you belong.’

  He thrust the bowl at me. It was full of greenish-looking water. I splashed my face. The water was cold but welcome. I began to wipe with the cloth but had no idea if I looked any cleaner.

  ‘Let me,’ he said, taking the cloth from my hands. I closed my eyes while he scrubbed my face and round my neck. ‘There! Now you look less like an urchin from the city ditches and more like a nursemaid who rocks the royal cradle. I’ve cleaned the worst of it off but your hair needs combing. And I suggest you change your nightgown as soon as you can as it’s not fit for a beggar.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, let’s see about getting you back on your feet.’

  He put his arm round my waist to help me up. My legs trembled but I just about managed to stand. He didn’t remove his arm. I stood there rather awkwardly, aware of the pressure of his hand and the unaccustomed nearness of this man whom I didn’t know. There was a moment of fear. Where was he going to take me? What would he do with me? Every girl knew how dangerous men could be.

  ‘I think I shall be alright by myself,’ I said in a small voice, moving away from him and looking to left and right in panic, wondering where I should go.

  He laughed and came closer. ‘I don’t think you will. Night streets are dangerous places for young girls out on their own, particularly ones as pretty as you.’

  He put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘No, really,’ I said, trying to move sideways.

  ‘Listen, my young friend,’ he said, tightening his grip. ‘Stop struggling. It is a rule of war; soldiers who capture prizes are allowed to keep them. There is always a price to pay and captives don’t go wandering off just when they feel like it. The ransom must be agreed first.’

  ‘I’m not a prize.’

  ‘That’s where I beg to differ,’ he said, smiling and turning me round to face him.

  ‘Please,’ I said, my eyes filling with tears. ‘Take me back to the royal household. I promise I won’t run off, but please take me back.’

  He shook his head and smiled again. ‘If I’d known what I was getting myself into I would have left you behind curled up on the floor. It seems that rescuing young maidens is a thankless task.’