4
Wark 1341
The guest chamber at the top of the keep in Wark Castle was a room no man should offer to his horse master let alone to his nephew’s wife. But as I had already discovered, Uncle Montagu was not a man wedded to the courtesies imposed on him by his position. I’d always believed him an unpleasant man, now I knew him to be both brutal and uncaring.
The room was small, its unplastered walls lacking decoration, ice-cold to the touch and without the benefit of any hangings or carpets softening the unyielding hardness of the rough grey stone. There was no hearth or other means of heating and the only light came from a pricket candle and a single narrow window sunk deep into the wall with an opening no wider than my littlest finger. I didn’t fancy sleeping on either of the mattresses which appeared to have been stuffed with twigs and bracken but apart from my travelling chest, which looked wildly out of place in this dingy room, being far too gaudy with its bright iron clasp and pretty incised pattern on the lid, there was nothing else. No chairs, no table, no curtained bed.
After seven days in this dismal chamber I was greatly regretting my decision to leave Cousin Margaret’s house and travel north. It was gross disobedience on my part as Lady Catherine had decreed I should spend time at Croxton with my cousins while she travelled to London to visit her friends. But it quickly became apparent that Alice and I were not welcome. Margaret did nothing but snarl and snap like the meanest of stable cats and no amount of tuneful minstrelsy could disguise the simmering rows and unpleasantness which pervaded the Segrave household. When Alice received an order from her husband to join him at Wark for the Nativity celebrations, I begged to be allowed to accompany her.
‘Nothing to fear, ladies,’ laughed the captain of our escort as we journeyed north towards York. ‘I hear the Earl of Derby has secured the border. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘Not a sniff of a Scotsman,’ said the garrison commander when we reached Berwick. ‘Those varmints will not be back this winter.’
My experience with Thomas had taught me that men lie, but who would have expected such bare-faced deceit from men like this. It had taken me less than a day to realise what a dangerous place the castle at Wark really was but of course by then it was much too late. The feeling of menace was palpable from the moment I set foot across the threshold. It vibrated through the air like a badly plucked lute string, crawling up stairways, sliding across floors and creeping in through the unshuttered windows.
In the downstairs hall stood Uncle Montagu distributing his own particular brand of nastiness. I knew Alice was frightened of her husband – I’d seen the bruises on her body – and the birth of a son in the summer did not appear to have altered his behaviour towards her which was alternately derisively mocking and casually cruel. But if the presence of Uncle Montagu was unpleasant, the sight that first evening of a pink-cheeked, mud-spattered William shocked me into silence. I’d thought he was with Edward.
William’s shoulders had broadened and he was so tall I barely recognised him as the boy I had married. But I was careful of this new William who looked at me with hungry eyes and who was clearly bent on following his uncle’s example in everything he did. This past year I had grown in all the places which men seemed to find most desirable and William eyed me the way men often did, his gaze lingering on my breasts, seemingly unable to drag his eyes away.
I wasn’t particularly scared of him but if my deceit was to be discovered, I didn’t want it to be here, far from anyone I knew, where the word of Alice’s husband was law and the stairways down which an errant wife might fall were exceptionally steep. That first night I barred my door, convinced my greatest danger lay with the presence of my impatient young husband, keen to sample what his father had purchased for him. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I was woken next morning by a hammering on the door and Alice’s voice on the stairs. The Scots had arrived and were intent on besieging the castle. William’s uncle had stolen their gold and their horses and they had come to take them back.
Alice and I spent the next seven days huddled together in my upstairs chamber, forbidden to set foot in the hall, unable to see anything of what was happening yet hearing endless blood-curdling howls as an army of rebel Scotsmen attempted to storm the castle. I knew if they gained entry they would kill the men but I prayed they would be merciful to women.
‘Our grandfather condemned two of the Scottish king’s women to hang in cages from the walls of his castles,’ whispered Alice.
‘What happened to them?’
‘He left them there to rot.’
I wasn’t sure that was something I wanted to know.
Our only source of news was the old man who brought us food and water and emptied the slop pail. Each morning he told us how many prisoners the garrison had taken and each evening he gloomily listed the tally of the dead.
‘Help’s a-coming,’ he said, one morning, with slightly more enthusiasm than usual.
‘From where?’ said Alice, trying unsuccessfully to look out of the window slit.
‘The wee lord’s gone to Cornhill.’
‘Which wee lord?’
‘The lord’s nephew.’
‘William?’
‘Och, I dinna know his name, lady. The wee boy who fancies hisself a man.’
I smiled, thinking William would not appreciate that description.
‘You mean he’s gone outside the castle walls?’ said Alice.
‘Aye. Rode out last night.’
‘Through the Scottish lines? But he’s only a boy. Why didn’t my lord go? Or send one of his men.’
‘Och lady, ‘twas a grand game with the dice and the wee boy won. Beat the gang of them so he got to ride out.’
‘Why has he gone to Cornhill?’ I asked.
‘They’re saying yon king’s there with his army.’
We waited all day while the hours crawled slowly by. Shortly before dusk we heard the noise of our royal rescuers and discovered to our surprise that the besieging Scots had packed up their baggage and melted away like phantoms into the mist. After surveying the terrain, my cousin brought a few favoured companions into the castle keep but wisely left a dozen knights and their men outside behind the walls in case the Scots returned.
I stood on the lower step in a corner of the stairway watching Alice as lady of the castle make her formal greeting to the king. He was dressed in the usual wool and leather of campaigning, his armour bright, his helm carried for him by a squire, and looked most unlike my royal cousin. His face was smeared with dirt and sweat and he seemed younger and more carefree than usual, smiling broadly and laughing with his men as his eyes scoured the hall. It wasn’t long before he found what he’d been looking for and as his gaze met mine, his eyes darkened and deep inside myself I felt a bird’s wing flutter.
I sat on the stool in my heavy silk nightgown with a fur-lined robe over my shoulders watching my maid fetch my slippers and the little bag containing my ribbons and combs. While she combed out the long golden tresses I closed my eyes and thought of Alice waiting in her husband’s bed, of William far away at Cornhill and of my cousin, sitting downstairs, sated with food and wine. I refused to think of Thomas Holand. I had sworn I would never think of Thomas Holand again.
When at last the girl was finished, she plaited a thick braid, tied a narrow ribbon round the end and skilfully pushed the few strands of hair which had escaped, beneath my cap. While she pattered around gathering up my clothes, I knelt to say my prayers. I had just removed my robe and was preparing to get into bed when we both heard a noise on the stairs. I nodded and she opened the door a crack to see who was outside. My cousin stood in the doorway. He had discarded his campaigning clothes and was wearing a furred chamber robe of crimson velvet. None of his men were with him, he was entirely alone. I watched in silence as the girl dropped a curtsey and at a sign from my cousin,
scuttled away leaving the two of us together. He stepped across the threshold and very carefully and very deliberately closed the door and dropped the bar.
‘Your Grace.’ I sank to the ground, as low as I could, wondering why he was here and what he wanted. I hadn’t seen him for nearly a year, not since my wedding day, and it was a very long climb up the winding stairway to my room.
He signalled for me to rise and for a minute didn’t speak. He simply stared at me.
‘Take off your cap.’ His voice was thick with too much wine.
‘My cap?’
‘Yes. And your hair. Unbind it. Quickly.’
I had no idea why he wanted me to remove my cap and let down my hair but naturally I would do as he asked. Memories of my last disobedience were too fresh in my mind for me to risk displeasing him. On that occasion it had only been my mother’s quick thinking and determination which had saved me from utter ruin.
Removing the cap was easy but my fingers fumbled with the narrow ribbon and the awkwardness of untwisting the braid. Once it was done I bent down and placed the cap and ribbons neatly on the pallet bed and turned to face him with my hair spread loosely over my shoulders.
He didn’t smile but I heard his little sigh and knew I must have pleased him. I waited, unsure what I should do next. The air was chill and I was missing my robe but didn’t like to ask if I might put it on in case I spoiled this sudden closeness which had sprung up from nowhere. It was a long time since I had been his little Jeanette and I yearned to rekindle what there had once been between us.
He beckoned me forwards with his fingers, a remembered gesture from my nursery days. ‘Cousin, I think you should thank me properly for rescuing you. You must understand, I could have simply sent my men, I didn’t need to come myself. But when I heard you were here…’
He left the rest unsaid but I understood what he meant: the King of England, my royal cousin, had ridden all the way from Cornhill to rescue me. He hadn’t come to rescue Alice or Uncle Montagu or to save the castle garrison and he hadn’t come to engage in battle with the besieging Scots. He had come for me.
I went swiftly to his side. ‘I am truly grateful to you, Your Grace.’
He laughed and caught me in his arms.
‘Cold words, little cousin,’ he said, trying not to smile. ‘Not much gratitude there. Don’t you think a grateful subject should kiss her king?’
And when he did smile I knew what he wanted. What foolishness! In my years apart from him I had forgotten how we behaved together. In the circle of his arms I stood on tiptoe and placed my lips on his cheek. His skin was bronzed from his weeks of campaigning and, close to, I could smell this evening’s wine on his breath and I wondered if perhaps he was a little drunk.
He tightened his grip. There was nothing between us but the warmth of his velvet robe and the heavy folds of silk clinging softly to my skin.
‘Not good enough,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d not go half a mile for a kiss like that. Shall we try again?’
I looked up into his eyes and in that instant saw what I should have seen before. It was a year since I’d been this close to him but tonight he had the selfsame look he’d had when he’d kissed me at my wedding to William. I’d seen that look in other men’s eyes and at fifteen I was old enough to know exactly what it meant.
‘Kiss me properly.’
Now, with the realisation of what this was, came fear. I wasn’t sure I wanted to kiss him again but he was the king and I must do as I was bid. I tipped back my head and placed my mouth against his. I’d kissed him many times over the years but this time I knew what he wanted from me and it wasn’t a cousinly kiss, not the sort a friend or close kin might bestow, but something else entirely.
My kiss was hesitant and trembling, like that of a nervous child, but his was a lover’s kiss: insistent, devouring and overwhelming. As my lips were forced open I felt his tongue probe the edges of my mouth and his fingers thrust hard into the depths of my hair. I pushed away unbidden thoughts of Thomas and our night in the attic room in Ghent and what this kiss might mean.
‘Ah Jeanette,’ my cousin whispered as he paused for breath. ‘Jeanette. My sweetest Jeanette. I’d thought you too young. But when I saw you on the stairs tonight… Oh Christ! Tell me I wasn’t wrong. Tell me you want to please me.’
‘Naturally I wish to please Your Grace,’ I said, pulling my mouth away, wondering how I could escape. ‘But. Your Grace, I have a husband.’
‘Young William?’ He laughed. ‘He’ll never know.’
‘But what if he should find out?’
He undid the ties on my nightgown and kissed my bare shoulder.
‘Hush sweetheart. Montagu will explain matters to the boy. He knows there is no dishonour in any of this. It is a privilege for a man to have his wife honoured by his king and for the woman it can bring nothing but pleasure.’
I didn’t want what he was doing. It felt wrong. He was my cousin, the father I had never had. Only Thomas had touched me like this.
‘Your Grace?’
His lips kissed the soft skin at the base of my throat and I began to shiver under the brush of his fingers.
‘Your Grace?’
‘What?’ he said impatiently.
‘William and I…’ I whispered. ‘We’ve never been… We’ve never been… together.’
His fingers stopped.
‘What?’
‘Lady Catherine has forbidden it.’
‘You’re a maid?’
‘William and I have not bedded.’ I said primly.
‘Not even once?’
‘No.’
‘Sweet Jesu!’
He took his hands away and practically pushed me onto the floor.
‘Christ’s bones!’ he shouted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t take you if you’re a maid.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, frightened by his sudden anger. I wouldn’t tell him his assumption was wrong. Nobody must know the truth. Since my wedding to William I had spent every night telling myself I was still a maid, I was untouched, no man had ever had me.
He pulled his hand through his hair as if to rid himself of whatever demons were racing through his head. ‘No, no. It is I who should apologise to you. I would not have treated you so if I’d known. I am not a barbarian.’
‘Did I do wrong, Your Grace? Have I displeased you?’
He regarded me soberly. ‘No sweetheart, you have not displeased me. But you must learn not to look at men the way you do. You smile with invitation in your eyes. I truly thought you were as eager as I was but, however much I want you, and you can be assured it is a very great deal, I cannot be the first. That privilege belongs to young Montagu.
He took two deep breaths while I re-tied the ribbons on my nightgown, watching him warily in case he should change his mind.
He traced the curve of my cheek with his finger. ‘I married you carefully, little cousin. There were many offers but I chose to give you to Montagu for his son. It kept you close. I didn’t want to lose you.’
I lowered my head, trying to show my gratitude for his care, although I was almost shivering with fright.
‘You know I would have you in my bed if I could, sweetheart. There is nothing I want more. But for now that cannot be.’ He paused with his hand on the door. ‘I pray you sleep well,’ he said softly.
Next day Alice and I left Wark Castle with a royal escort of armed men and by nightfall were sheltering in a windswept priory somewhere south of Berwick. Alice looked weary, as if she might blow away with the flurries of snow driving in off the sea but the privacy of our tiny whitewashed cell encouraged confidences.
‘The king rebuked my lord in front of his men for putting our lives at risk,’ she whispered. ‘It was utterly shaming and he was furious. He has lost the king�
�s favour and blames me. He said if we had not been there he wouldn’t have had to send for help.’
I tried to comfort her but there was nothing I could say to make her situation better. A man could not prosper without the king’s favour.
‘The king spoke well of William,’ said Alice turning the pillow and testing the mattress for bedbugs.
I said nothing, not wishing to think too much about my cousin.
‘Jeanette?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you ever think of Thomas Holand?’
I climbed in beside her and snuggled into the warmth of her body, noticing with sadness, the fresh bruising on her shoulder.
‘Sometimes. But it’s past and my mother says I must forget.’
‘Of course.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It wasn’t right, I know that, but you did say he was kind.’
‘No he wasn’t Alice. He wasn’t kind at all.’
I turned over, closed my eyes and, with a great effort of will, banished Thomas Holand to the darkness and the rising winds beyond the priory walls.
5
Marriage 1341
It was almost summer. In Quarry Wood the air was full of the scent of bluebells and the little Montagu girls came home each afternoon with posies of stitchwort and windflowers and drooping rose-red campion.
There was a flurry of activity as the seamstresses were ordered to start stitching my new nightgown, and two sisters from one of Lady Catherine’s favourite orders arrived with a gift of magnificent embroidered linen. When unpacked this was to grace the bed where William and I would spend our first night together and I was required to be suitably grateful. Three days later a woman was brought from Great Marlow to instruct me on my duties in the marriage bed. We met privately. If nothing else, she told me, I was to remember that a wife should be obedient.
Every time I thought about the great deception which I must practice on my husband, I shivered in fear. It must be successful because discovery would mean the end of my time as William’s wife. If I avoided a push on the stairway I would be taken from Bisham to some faraway convent where I would remain, cold and hungry, paying till the end of my days for Thomas Holand’s sins.
The Fair Maid of Kent Page 12
