The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I am truly grateful. It’s just that…’ I stopped.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve never…’

  He looked at me enquiringly. ‘What? No stolen kisses down in the laundry? Don’t tell me a girl as pretty as you has never felt a man’s lips?’

  I stared at him in an agony of embarrassment. My heart was thumping and I could think of nothing to say.

  After a moment he patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t harm you. I’m not a brute.’

  But before I could stop him he had lowered his head and touched my mouth with his. He was gentle. I should have jerked my head away or slapped his face but I did neither. I stood completely still. My lips trembled and then yielded to the pressure. He stayed like that for a moment, then drew away and laughed.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think next time you’ll enjoy it more. But for now, the ransom has been paid and the hostage is free to go. Shall we see if we can find the Abbey of St Bernard and the rest of the royal household?’

  I nodded, unable to speak, the feel of his lips still stinging my own and the strangest of feelings curled tight in my belly.

  ‘It was the kitchens.’ Lady la Mote was quite adamant. ‘The boys were careless with the fires. The cook left them unsupervised.’

  ‘They say there’s nothing left,’ said Lonata in an awed voice. ‘Just some lumps of roasted flesh and a few charred bones. Nothing else.’

  ‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ Lady la Mote replied briskly. ‘It will save the duke from having to hang them.’

  But I was not convinced. I thought someone had deliberately tried to burn us in our beds and that such a man would find it hard to disguise his hatred of the English king. I was certain it would show in his face if not on the singed tips of his fingers.

  At the welcoming feast, which was prepared in some other great man’s kitchens, I peered at each of the princes in their costly robes to see who had evil in their eyes as well as in their heart.

  The Duke of Brabant in his customary black and gold looked sour but I couldn’t believe he had tried to burn his cousin alive on his first night in Antwerp. It would be against the Church’s rules on hospitality and the duke was supposedly very devout.

  The man next to him had plump cheeks like the queen and seemed friendly.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked the dark-haired man standing by my shoulder. He was one of a group of exotic foreign knights who said they had come with the Margrave of Juliers.

  ‘The Count of Hainault. He is the brother of your queen and his wife is the duke’s daughter. Her mother was cousin to the French king.’

  This daughter kept her chin up and her mouth turned down. Either she didn’t like her sturdy husband or she didn’t like the company he was keeping.

  I was shown the queen’s sister and her husband, the Margrave of Juliers, and an older grizzled man who was glaring at the woman next to him.

  ‘The Count of Guelders,’ said my helpful companion. ‘And his countess, your king’s sister.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Husband and wife, they do not like each other.’

  Further along the table was a nervous narrow-shouldered youth.

  ‘The Count of Namur.’ My informant spoke into my ear. ‘What a fortunate young man. A fifth son. Never expected the honour to be his. Unmarried. He’ll be rich when the old mother dies. A good prospect for some lady’s family.’

  Elizabeth looked with undisguised interest at the Count of Namur but I could have told her that a prince of the Low Countries would never consider marriage with a mere earl’s daughter from across the sea. She would be of no use to him. He would take a girl from another ruling house and I hoped I didn’t have to marry him. He was all hairless chin and bulging pale blue eyes.

  ‘There is an empty seat at the table,’ said my new friend. ‘Do you not see who is missing?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Why, the Emperor, the Bavarian. He has stayed away and it is not a good sign. Perhaps he is not as keen on this adventure as your king believes.’

  ‘Perhaps he holds out for more gold,’ said his companion on my other side whose arm was pushing uncomfortably against my own. ‘Your English king is rich. The Bavarian knows he can afford more.’

  ‘If the Emperor doesn’t want to join with our king perhaps it’s better he stays away,’ I ventured.

  The two men laughed and moved a bit closer.

  ‘If the Emperor doesn’t come then the princes of the Rhinelands will go home. They won’t fight without him.’

  ‘But the others will fight, won’t they?’

  ‘If they are paid,’ said the second man.

  ‘We can pay them in wool, like we will pay the Flemings?’

  I knew the people of Flanders had overthrown their count in order to embrace the English king and his promise of limitless wool for their cloth makers. The count had run away to Paris and left his towns unguarded. Perhaps he had heard of our coming and was nervous of my cousin’s armies.

  ‘There is no more wool,’ laughed the first man. ‘Everybody knows that. The store houses are empty. And the princes want gold not promises.’

  ‘I thought men fought for honour.’

  The men laughed again and the first one put his hand on my arm.

  ‘Honour doesn’t put food on the table or armour on your back, and promises can prove to be as empty as a drunkard’s purse. For the princes up there it’s money first and then they’ll fight for the honour of it. It’s not as if this is a Holy War.’

  ‘Now,’ said the second one. ‘Shall we have a little merriment?’

  After the feast it was a summer of entertainments and picnics and journeys across the river. We girls in the Montagu household visited churches and wandered through the grasses and played games with the younger children. We listened to the duke’s minstrels at the evening displays and wondered at the acrobats while we watched the young men who had come in the princely entourages. We giggled when water slopped over the rim of our boat as we were rowed across the Scheldt, and on the other side we arranged ourselves prettily on little travelling stools waiting to see who noticed us.

  The princes paid friendly visits to the queen bringing their wives and their children but the queen’s brother didn’t come, not even once. Somebody said he was wavering in his support for the king’s war and it was very difficult for the queen.

  But as the end of summer drew nearer, the princes spent more and more time closeted with my cousin, devising their strategies and planning what should be done. And there was still no sign of the Emperor.

  I was frightened Philip of Valois and his army would arrive before my cousin and his friends were ready. He would attack and we would be trapped. There would be no escape. He might burn our ships and we would have no way of getting back to England.

  ‘Where is the French king?’

  ‘Hiding in his grand palace near Paris,’ said one of the girls. ‘He’s been told by his astrologer not to meet our army in battle because he will lose.’

  But she was wrong because the very next day my cousin received word from his spies: Philip of Valois was marching towards Amiens with the war flag of France. The French king was preparing to fight.

  It was time for the King of England to settle matters with the Bavarian.

  At the end of the month we travelled to a place called Herenthals where Joanna’s household joined with my cousin’s for the long journey into the unknown lands of the all-powerful Emperor.

  ‘We will rest with the queen’s sister, the Empress, at Koblenz before we travel on to Vienna,’ said Lady la Mote with understandable pride.

  ‘When will you return?’ I asked politely.

  Lady la Mote looked regretful. ‘We won’t. The Hapsburg court will be the Lady Joanna�
��s home for the rest of her life.’

  The queen wept. She didn’t want Joanna to go but Joanna was her father’s child and everyone knew she must carry out the duties of a royal daughter. Her little household left, weighed down with cartloads of jewels and furs and glittering gifts, and as we waved them farewell, I looked at the queen’s drawn face and thought of the king’s mother and wondered if Joanna had done something to anger her grandmother. Why else was she being sent so far away?

  Gloom descended over the whole household and as soon as we returned to Antwerp the queen retreated into her new lodgings at St Michael’s Abbey and held no more entertainments. I thought she probably wanted to weep in private. I understood how she must feel because I too felt like weeping.

  Throughout the autumn everyone said we were edging closer to war. After my cousin’s visit to Koblenz, the Emperor was now our friend and had given my cousin a golden crown. But this must have annoyed the French king because he captured some of our ships and burned the town of Southampton. When Elizabeth’s father returned from Arras he said he couldn’t see the point of all this talking as nobody wanted peace except for His Holiness; the French king was determined to keep the duchy of Aquitaine for himself and the King of England would never agree to that. War was inevitable.

  As the weather grew colder, occasional flurries of snow blew from the east and the water in my bowl became rimed with ice each morning. To my joy, Alice arrived for the Christmas festivities, but this was not the Alice I knew. Like Margaret she was now a married woman. My uncle after a long deliberation had agreed a marriage for her with the Earl of Salisbury’s brother, Sir Edward Montagu. I thought him rather old to be a husband for Alice but nobody had asked my opinion. When she came into the room, two steps behind Lady Catherine, she barely acknowledged my presence and when I smiled she lowered her head and refused to look at me.

  In the days which followed, Lady Catherine and Alice paid numerous visits to the queen, who was recovering from the birth of yet another baby, but I was not invited to go with them.

  ‘Are you having a baby?’ I asked Alice.

  ‘No.’ She blushed and lowered her head.

  ‘Does your husband mind?’ It was almost a year since the wedding and the earl’s brother looked an impatient man.

  She flushed a deeper red. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘He wants a son.’

  It was almost the feast of the Epiphany and the Christmas celebrations would soon be over. When I’d heard Edward and Isabella were arriving for a Christmas visit to see baby Lionel, I’d expected an invitation to join them but there had been nothing. I’d been forgotten by my cousin and the queen. However much I regretted what I’d done and no matter how hard I prayed for forgiveness, I knew I would never again be part of their family. They had remade the tapestry of their lives without me and I was nothing but an unwanted ravelling, cut off and discarded onto the floor.

  But next morning a royal summons arrived at the Montagu lodgings.

  ‘Today,’ said Lady Catherine, running her eye over the note which had come with the king’s messenger. ‘You are to attend the king at the abbey.’ She pursed her lips and frowned. She didn’t like me being favoured in this way.

  ‘Is it an entertainment, Lady Catherine?’ I enquired politely.

  She tapped her fingers on the table and looked at the note again.

  ‘I have no idea why the king wishes to see you and it is not important you know. Now, the matter of your clothes.’

  I spent hours in the wardrobe selecting something suitable to wear as I was determined to look my best. Outside there was sleet on the ground so with the help of one of the maids I put on my heavy silk under-gown, the blue one with the lambswool lining. I smoothed the folds and thought how well it fitted me now my figure had grown a little rounder in certain places.

  I slipped on my red surcote and let the girl comb out my hair, fixing it in place with a narrow gilded chaplet. I peered into Alice’s little silver mirror. I did look pretty. I hoped my cousin would notice.

  One of Lady Catherine’s women came to see where I was and ask why I wasn’t in the hall as the king’s man was waiting. I shrugged myself into my hooded winter cloak, bit my lips to make them redder, and ran down the stairs. I could feel the flush on my cheeks. I was being brought back. the king had remembered me and I had been forgiven. I was still his favoured cousin, his little Jeanette.

  Lady Catherine stood by the foot of the stairs. She had a faded sort of beauty like a rose whose petals are about to drop but there were lines about her mouth and below her chin the flesh was slightly pouched. She ran her gaze over my clothes, peering closely at every seam, looking for something to criticise. I saw the serpent of jealousy in her eyes and knew she wished it was her being summoned to the royal presence.

  ‘The king has sent an escort for you,’ she said, snapping out the words.

  She nodded in the direction of a man standing in the shadows at the back of the hall. At that moment I should have known who he was but I didn’t. He stepped forward and my heart lurched. It was him!

  He was clean. No streaks of dirt, no ash smudges, no black marks on his clothes, no filthy smoke-filled hair. Dark clothing, the leopards of England on his tunic. He stood looking straight at me but betrayed no sign he knew who I was. Did he know? Did he remember? Did I look so very different all dressed up in my fine clothes? I felt my hands begin to shake and tucked them quickly into the folds of my cloak so that he couldn’t see.

  I was unable to stop looking at him. I should have dropped my gaze, I knew I should. Girls did not stare at men, particularly men they didn’t know. Girls kept their eyelashes lowered and their faces averted.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, bowing correctly. Just the right degree for a girl who was the king’s cousin but somewhat in disgrace. Not too low but not insultingly shallow.

  He looked me straight in the eye but still betrayed no sign he knew who I was. Surely seeing me close to, he must know? He stepped back to let me walk through the door and down to the courtyard. At every step I felt his presence behind me, walking and watching. I gripped the rail tightly, afraid I might stumble. I heard the creak of his boots and the rasp of his breath and wondered if he could hear the thumping of my heart.

  I walked unsteadily to the water steps.

  ‘Shall I help you down, my lady?’

  He knew! I was certain he knew. I could tell from the way he asked the question, from the way he spoke the last word and the way he stood just that little bit too close.

  I kept my head turned away from his. I didn’t dare look at him. I bit my lip and swallowed hard. I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t know what to do.

  ‘My lady?’

  His voice was flat and impersonal. He didn’t know. I was imagining it.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said as graciously as I could.

  He stood on the lower step holding out his hand. I felt the pressure of his fingers on my embroidered glove. He was strong, but I knew that already. My cloak brushed his face as he helped me into the barge and escorted me to the raised seat beneath the canopy.

  The space on either side of me was empty and I would gladly have offered to share it with him but I didn’t dare. I sat amidst the cushions all alone.

  ‘Are you ready, my lady?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  We travelled upriver on the running tide in complete silence. Each time I summoned up the courage to speak, the words died on my lips when I saw his closed expression. I began to think I had made a huge mistake and he was nobody I knew at all. But the next moment I was certain I wasn’t wrong. He looked the same, he sounded the same. It must surely be him.

  The journey to the abbey was only a little way but seemed endless. I kept my head lowered and was surprised when a bump indicated we had arrived at the water steps. I peeped out of my hood and saw him standing talk
ing to some other men. A moment later he remembered his duty and came over to hand me out, taking great care the hem of my cloak didn’t fall into any puddles. As our eyes met for a brief moment I thought I saw a flicker of recognition, but when I turned to thank him, he had gone and one of the king’s attendants was at my shoulder waiting to lead me into the light and warmth of the abbey.

  I was taken through a maze of richly painted rooms, each one more gloriously decorated than the one before, until at last we reached an echoing space with two vast carved doors at the far end. People were gathered in small knots talking and nodding, some in a great state of agitation. This had to be the king’s outer chamber where men and women waited, hoping for an audience with my cousin.

  The two men-at-arms in royal livery who guarded the doors with crossed halberds looked curiously at my reddened cheeks, my unbound hair and the sleet melting on the folds of my cloak, but after a hurried conversation with my escort, they signalled for us to go ahead. A soft knock at the door and it was opened silently from the inside.

  I stepped through. The room was dark and shadowed apart from the glowing circle of light where my cousin sat. He looked as he had always done: hair gleaming tawny gold above the furred collar of his robe, eyes a piercing blue. When he turned his head and smiled, the memories came flooding back of the last time at Woodstock when I had sat on his knee. The queen, who had been seated at his side, had failed to smile at me embracing her husband and in her displeasure had sent me away.

  Today, the person in the chair beside my cousin was not the queen, it was a grey-haired old man. He was being very familiar, laying his hand on my cousin’s sleeve and leaning towards him so that their shoulders touched. He spoke easily like a friend would and laughed at a joke my cousin was telling. They were totally absorbed in their conversation and didn’t notice me until the man looked up, tapped my cousin’s arm and nodded in my direction.

  My cousin crooked his finger, summoning me forward. I walked unsteadily into the pool of light, held the heavy folds of my skirts between my fingers and lowered myself to the ground. I heard the blue silk rustle and was glad I’d worn it. I wanted him to know how sorry I was, how I regretted my banishment, how much I wanted to return to being his little Jeanette.