‘Were you placed here by your family?’ I asked politely thinking it was a shame she hadn’t been allowed a husband.
My remark caused her to break into peals of laughter again.
‘No, no, no! On the contrary, I had to battle against my family. They’d picked a fine young man for me to marry. My mother wanted grandchildren and my father coveted the young man’s wealth. But I knew what God wanted of me and I was determined to live the way He intended that I should.’
‘So you chose the béguinage?’
‘Yes. Here I serve God with my prayers and my hands. I am like Martha. And I serve my fellow béguines. Not all are young and strong like you and me and some have no money at all.’
She led me past the gardens where a couple of old women on their knees poked diligently at the soil.
‘The seeds are up already,’ called one. ‘God has blessed us this springtime.’
‘The vegetables,’ explained my companion. ‘Some of the beguines would spend all day planting and hoeing if they could. Now, what do you think of this?’
It was an imposing building, beautifully decorated and painted.
‘The infirmary,’ she said with undisguised pride in her voice. ‘For the old and the poor and the sick. It is our pleasure to care for them. It is why we are so grateful for your offerings.’
‘I thought you would spend your days praying.’
‘Oh no. We do God’s work in whatever way we can. Those béguines who have no money but some learning go into the town and teach the children of wealthy merchants because there are many men who wish their daughters to rise in the world. They know a wife unable to manage her husband’s accounts is of no use to any man be he a weaver or a banker.’
‘What of those who have no money and no learning?’
‘If they are young and strong they take in laundry from the rich houses. Behind these buildings you will see our drying meadow. It grows larger each year. I think we wash linen for every household in the whole of Ghent.’
She showed me the church and the cabins where the béguines lived, and a large building where I admired the plain wooden benches.
‘We come here to discuss what needs to be discussed and make our decisions. We are not ruled over by a man.’
‘But surely you have a bishop?’
‘No. We elect one of our own to guide us. This is a place where women are at peace and do God’s work without the interference of men.’
I was silent. The idea of a woman choosing her own life was so odd that I had to examine it over and over again in my mind. My new friend’s family had arranged a marriage for her and yet she had defied them. She had chosen this life. It was not what her father or her brothers wanted and it was not what her cousin had ordered her to do. If he had presented her with an elderly lord from a faraway duchy, she would have refused the marriage. She would have chosen to live here.
As we walked back along the path the mid-March sunshine warmed my face, but somewhere in a dark corner of my mind the seed of an idea was beginning to grow. If it was possible for a béguine to choose her life, why then should it not be possible for me?
She kissed me on both cheeks and bade me farewell, then slyly suggested a stroll amongst the early blossom in the orchard. With a final murmured blessing and a wave of her hand, she disappeared through her little wooden door.
I stepped out of the shade of the archway and into the light. Thomas Holand was waiting for me, sitting comfortably on the wayfarer’s bench with his legs stretched out in front of him. When he saw me he got quickly to his feet.
‘My lady?’
I hesitated. I wasn’t comfortable giving him orders and yet it wasn’t right to ask his permission.
‘I wish to walk in the orchard and I need you to accompany me in case…’ I stopped. I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. I could think of no good reason why I should need Thomas Holand. ‘In case I…’
‘In case you become lost?’ He obligingly finished my words.
I nodded. ‘Yes, there are a great many trees and it might be…’ I was going to say “dangerous” but he might think me foolish if I did, so I said nothing and left the missing word floating idly in the air.
We walked along the path which bordered the wickerwork fence until we reached the gate. He undid the latch and stood back to allow me through. A small breeze rose up from nowhere but it wasn’t enough to stir the grass, and under the trees it was warm.
I didn’t know about orchards. I thought the grove of gnarled old trees whose lichen-covered branches almost touched the ground might be quince but I wasn’t sure. The stately trunks with canopies high above my head looked more familiar. There were trees like this, with branches covered in early blossom, in the queen’s secret garden in Woodstock where we used to play as children. They were pears.
As I walked further in amongst the trees I could see huddles of leafless bushes growing untidily in small secretive clusters and beyond them dozens of delicate spindly trees laid out neatly in rows. Perhaps they were cherries or possibly damsons. I didn’t know and had no-one to ask. A wisp of sheep’s wool was snagged on the bark of what I believed might be an ancient plum but there was no sign of its owner.
When I could no longer see the beautiful buildings of the béguinage or the shiny pointed rooftops of Ghent, I stopped. I could be anywhere. I could indeed be lost. A faint drift of sweetness filled the air, and a softness. It smelled like home, like the fields beyond the park at Woodstock: the grasses, the fresh green leaves and the welcoming scent of springtime. I thought I had come to puzzle out what to do but now I was here I felt nothing but a steady calmness and an inner peace.
I knew he was behind me.
‘I am to be married,’ I said at last. ‘At Easter when the king returns.’
There was a pause and then he said, ‘I know.’
It never occurred to me to ask him how he knew.
‘I must marry the man my cousin has chosen for me.’
He said nothing.
My flesh crawled at the thought of marriage and what it meant: the old man’s hand creeping under my nightgown, his wrinkled face pressed up against mine and his tongue sliding into my mouth. He would devour me at his leisure and I would have to submit.
I turned to face him. ‘What can I do?’
He looked at me curiously. ‘Are you asking me for advice, my lady?’
I nodded. ‘Please help me. I cannot marry him.’
‘But it is a good marriage.’
Of course it was. My cousin would never give me to an unworthy man.
‘I don’t want it,’ I said with rising panic.
I had no idea how I could defy my cousin. No girl could think of refusing marriage. It was impossible. Lady Catherine would lock me up and have me beaten if I showed the slightest disobedience in this matter and I had no-one to protect me.
For a few moments neither of us said anything. My mouth was dry with fear and he was only Sir William’s steward and could have no opinions of his own, or none that could be voiced aloud.
‘I have a sister,’ remarked Thomas Holand. ‘A little older than you, I think, but she finds herself in much the same situation. She doesn’t wish to marry the man my brother has chosen for her. It’s a good marriage, a very good marriage, but she’s adamant she won’t have him. She’s set her heart on someone else.’
‘So what is to happen?’ I asked politely, knowing his sister couldn’t possibly be in my situation.
He smiled. ‘This other man admires my sister. He wants her. He showers her with gifts and has made my brother an offer.’
‘Is he rich?’
‘Immensely.’
‘So there’s no problem.’
‘As far as my brother is concerned there is a very great problem. The man is married. He wishes my sis
ter to become his concubine.’
I blushed. How dreadful! How could his sister even consider such a thing?
‘Do you think she should refuse him and marry the man she has already rejected, the man she doesn’t wish to marry?’
I tried to imagine myself as Thomas Holand’s sister, pursued by a rich admirer, but all I could think of was the horror of those clawed fingers and rheumy eyes.
‘I have no wealthy admirers.’
‘But you could marry someone else, someone of your own choosing. If you did they couldn’t make you marry this man.’
Someone else? Marry someone else? My mind skittered over the men I knew, the sons and brothers of my cousin’s friends. Their names and faces were a blur and I could think of no-one. Only Edward; and they would never let me marry him.
‘There is no-one,’ I said in a small voice, aware of the impossibility of following any other course than the one chosen for me by my cousin. ‘I thought it might be possible to choose a different life, one that I could accept, but it’s not.’
The air was very still, the slight breeze lost in the trees. All I could hear were the voices of two béguines in the drying meadow calling to one another as they laid out the sheets.
‘You could marry me.’
Above my head a bird began to sing. The noise was pure and sweet like those first clear green days of springtime before the heat of mid-summer burns everything to dust. A small yellow butterfly wavered in mid-air, danced briefly and then flitted away out of sight.
At his first shot my fragile defences had been breached.
‘That would not be possible,’ I whispered.
I thought I might have imagined my words but he answered me.
‘Why not?’
‘You are too poor. You couldn’t provide for me.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I shan’t always be poor, my lady. As I told you, one day I shall be rich and then, if you were my wife and if it gave you pleasure, I’d scatter jewels across our marriage bed.’
It was an appalling image: Thomas Holand casting jewels across my marriage bed. My knees trembled. I closed my eyes to hold the picture sharp in my mind.
‘And I would look after you very well,’ he said softly. ‘Very well indeed.’
‘They would never let me marry you.’
‘We shan’t ask them.’
The thought was so shocking, I gasped.
‘But they would…’ I wasn’t sure what my cousin or Sir William would do but I knew their revenge would be terrible.
‘Are you afraid of them?’ He seemed amused.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the worst that could happen?’
I sensed the hardness of the king’s eyes, the scrawled Edwardus Rex, the dripping wax, the impressed seal, and my father’s bloody head rolling onto the waiting straw.
‘They could kill you,’ I whispered.
‘For marrying you? An honourable marriage?’
‘A very dishonourable marriage, done without the king’s permission. You may be able to marry any woman you like, Sir Thomas, but I can only marry with my cousin’s consent and he would never agree to this foolishness.’
He touched the tips of my fingers with his.
‘Is it so very foolish?’
I couldn’t look at him. I could never be his. Never. It was impossible. He was not someone I could even consider. I was the king’s cousin and he was nobody.
When I spoke it was almost in a whisper. ‘It is foolish. You know it is. And it’s dangerous.’
My heart skipped a beat and then stopped as his fingers closed over mine.
‘Perhaps as a fighting man I’m used to danger.’
His hand was firm, a soldier’s grasp. If he held me he wouldn’t let me fall. I’d be safe.
‘You must be acquainted with many girls, Sir Thomas. Why would you want to marry me?’
He smiled gently. ‘Do you need to ask?’
I felt a shiver run through me as I remembered how he’d held me in his arms and kissed me when he’d thought I was nothing more than a nursemaid. He hadn’t known my value in the marketplace and yet he’d prized me; he’d wanted me and had sought me out. I lowered my lashes. I couldn’t look at him because I knew what was written on my face.
‘You are very sweet, my lady,’ he said quietly, ‘and very beautiful. I think any man would want you as a wife.’
At the softness of his voice I looked up and that was my undoing. His eyes spoke of something I’d never seen before. I thought it might be love. I was very young and knew nothing at all about men but I thought I saw the flicker of desire in Thomas Holand’s eyes.
He released my hand and stepped back. Now an empty coldness lay between us and I felt more alone than before.
‘Think about it, my lady. Think carefully but don’t delay. The king will return in a few weeks and the vast wardrobe won’t wait long.’
He was gentling me with words and the steady persuasiveness of his voice, but it wasn’t necessary because, although he couldn’t know it, his battle was already won.
He glanced up and down the rows as if expecting someone to step out from amongst the trees. Then he looked back at me. He didn’t press me further. He’d shown me my escape route if I was brave enough to take it.
He turned towards the gate.
‘We should go.’
The River Scheldt had narrowed to a tricking stream, so slight I could bridge it with a tiny step.
‘Please,’ I said, placing one foot hesitantly across the abyss which had once divided us. ‘Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. I… I don’t need to wait.’
‘So?’
He sounded less than interested. I stared uncertainly at the toes of my boots. What if I’d been mistaken and he hadn’t meant what he’d said? What if I was about to make a fool of myself? What if he laughed?
I opened my mouth to speak but the words died on my lips. I tried again.
‘I… I think I would like to marry you.’ My voice tailed away into a whisper.
For a moment there was no sound at all, not even a bird or an insect or a breath of wind. I wished I was somewhere else. I waited for his laughter and embarrassed explanations of how I had misunderstood his words, but nothing came. When I thought I could bear it no longer I felt his hand touch mine.
‘I’m glad, my lady, because I very much want to marry you.’
‘You do?’ I looked up.
He smiled at me with my whole world reflected in his eyes and at that moment I had no need of anything else.
‘How would we do it?’ I whispered, distracted by the unaccustomed sensations in the pit of my belly and a sudden wish to have him place his mouth on mine. ‘The bishop would never agree to marry us.’
He laughed. ‘No, he wouldn’t. But we don’t need the bishop. You can leave that to me; I’ll arrange it.’
‘What about Lady Catherine and Sir William?’
He began to stroke my hand with his fingers.
‘We must keep this a secret.’
‘But everyone will know. How can they not know?’
‘Listen’ he laid his hands on my shoulders. He looked very serious. ‘For now this must remain a secret between the two of us. After we are married you will continue to live in the Montagu household and…’
‘I thought we would live together,’ I said, not liking the idea of returning to Lady Catherine one little bit. ‘I thought we would have our own lodgings. I know how to run a household if that’s what’s worrying you. It’s what I’ve been taught to do.’
He reverted to stroking my palm again. ‘No. I won’t have you live like I do now, you deserve better. Later, when I’ve made my fortune, I shall come and take you away.’
‘And we’ll be together?
’
‘Yes, but until then if they try to marry you to anyone else you’ll be able to say that you’re already married: to me.’
My toes tingled at the thought of being married to Thomas Holand. Now that I could see clearly, I thought him very good-looking.
‘How will you make your fortune?’
‘War makes men’s fortunes, my lady. It’s easy. Rich towns to plunder, merchants to be stripped of their wealth, wagon-loads of jewels and furs to be taken, and the greatest prize of all – a ransom. Look at my friend Walter Manny; one moment nothing but an esquire carver in the queen’s train and ten years later, admiral of the northern fleet, the king’s man in Merioneth and a fortune in ransom money stashed in his saddle-bags.’
‘And you could be like that?’
‘I could.’
I liked his vision of the future and never considered for one minute that he might fail.
‘When can we marry? Can it be soon?’ A girl shouldn’t ask such a question but our conversation was already so peculiar, like something imagined not something real, that he didn’t seem to find it odd in the slightest.
‘The princes are coming to the abbey tomorrow to speak with the queen and her advisors. The place will be overrun with strangers. Half the queen’s ladies are being moved out of their chambers to make room for the great men. There’ll be so much coming and going you’ll be able to slip away and no-one will notice in amongst the chaos.’
He put out his hand as if to touch my face but changed his mind.
‘You do understand what will happen, my lady? You do know about marriage?’
I blushed and couldn’t look at him. ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘I know.’
‘When we have exchanged vows it will be necessary to lie together. You understand what that means?’
‘Yes.’ My face was the colour of the setting sun it was so hot.
There was a long silence.
‘Good. It’s settled then. Tomorrow, when the Vespers bell sounds I’ll send my brother to the postern gate. You remember my brother, Otho? And you must bring one of your women, someone to be a witness, someone you can trust to keep silent.’
The Fair Maid of Kent Page 7
