The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  ‘William,’ I began, not quite sure how to raise the matter. ‘Will we live under your mother’s roof now we’re properly married?’

  He glanced over at my breasts from his contemplation of the profusion of white roses.

  ‘No; the king has allowed my father to make over some manors to us. In a few days we’ll be leaving Bisham.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, hoping it was Suffolk or somewhere equally far away.

  ‘A half-day’s ride along the river. My mother thought it good to have us nearby in the early days of our marriage.’

  That night William resumed his war. Like any good captain he spent time surveying the proposed field of battle and eyeing the prize his opponent presented. There was some initial parleying to set the enemy at ease followed by preliminary skirmishes, testing the defences and removing certain obstacles which might hinder his progress. Then, just when it was least expected, he launched a determined attack with overwhelming force and the battle was over almost as soon as it was begun. No prisoners were taken and the enemy was suitably crushed.

  I lay there, surprised at the speed and clumsiness of his assault, but I said nothing for what could an innocent girl who had known no-one but her husband, have to say. This was my only experience of a man. I had nothing else with which it could be compared.

  William of course was not in the least concerned about me. He was only concerned with his own satisfaction and as I had predicted he didn’t find me a disappointment.

  ‘I like you, Joan,’ he said, squeezing my breasts. ‘My father said you’d make a good wife and he was right.’

  Our new home may have been too close to Bisham for my liking but it was very pleasant, a neat little manor house boasting a tower at one end, set back from the river amongst green meadows, with a small wooded park, a cluster of nearby cottages and a tiny church.

  When I pushed open the door and explored inside I discovered the house was larger than it looked. We had a hall of a reasonable size, plenty big enough for our household and any guests we might welcome; a chamber which would be William’s where he could conduct his private business; an upstairs solar for me and a cramped little guest chamber up in the tower. Hidden at the back were the usual buttery, pantry, kitchen and store rooms, and on either side of the gatehouse several long low buildings which William said would be stables and barns for hay and straw and grain. In front was a walled courtyard and to the side, behind a wickerwork fence, a tiny herb garden and an orchard dotted with trees.

  Our household would be run by an ancient steward who had served William’s father for many years and was now nearing the end of his working days.

  ‘My mother says he will be a safe pair of hands,’ said William, delivering a lengthy list of instructions to me. ‘You will need an experienced man when I’m away. Of course if I’m ordered overseas or to Scotland you will return to Bisham or wherever my mother is. I don’t wish you to be alone.’

  ‘But I won’t be alone. There will be the men, and I’ve got a maid and soon I’ll have a couple of young women to keep me company.’

  William put his lips together and frowned. ‘If I wish you to be with my mother that is where you will be.’

  ‘Yes, William,’ I said dutifully wondering if I would ever escape from Lady Catherine’s clutches and thinking this husband of mine was turning into a gaoler.

  Now he had assured himself of an obedient wife, William smiled happily. Tonight would be the first night in our new house and I was sure we would do better together away from his mother. But married life with William was not what I imagined and after a few weeks I began to wonder what else I had misjudged.

  I rarely saw my husband. He spent his time with a growing circle of friends, young men from the neighbourhood who wanted to attach themselves to a man who would one day be Earl of Salisbury. They came bearing their weapons and hunted in our park. At dinner William ignored me, talking to whoever was on his other side and roaring with laughter at jokes I didn’t understand. He drank a lot, like all young men, and by nightfall was often too drunk to do more than briefly take his pleasure and collapse on top of me. He never spoke except for impatient demands to lift my shift or spread my legs and he never kissed me on the lips.

  He was seldom at Mass, using the time to deal with the business of our manor and dictate any necessary correspondence. Even on rainy days he preferred seeing to his hounds or gambling with his friends to being with me. I was never invited to ride with him and we never went visiting together. I began to wonder what he thought a wife was for.

  Naturally I knew the answer to that: a wife’s duty was to give her husband comfort in bed and provide him with sons. But I had hoped for more. I had wanted a husband who prized me and wanted me at his side. I had wanted a husband I could love and I didn’t think I could ever love William Montagu.

  I had my duties but running a household was easy. My clerk of the wardrobe and pantry was a clever young man. He had a clear grasp of what was needed and managed to organise the elderly steward to both his and my satisfaction. Our steward didn’t like me. Although obviously the words were never spoken, I could tell he thought me too young, too frivolous and too extravagant. He demurred at my suggestions for improvements to the hall, muttering about consulting the master, and if I ordered some particular delicacy it was amazing how often it was unaccountably unobtainable.

  Within a month I had acquired two women companions of my own. They were married to the sons of local knights of my father-in-law’s affinity and they took it in turns to serve me. Although they were not perhaps the young women I would necessarily have chosen as friends, I enjoyed their company.

  I was a dutiful daughter and wrote to my mother. I told her of our new manor and all its attendant pleasures. I told her how I was obedient to my husband’s wishes and how satisfied he appeared to be with me. I told her how kind Lady Catherine and Sir William had been in providing a home for us and the men for our first household, and I told her about my lady companions and the news that I now had two maids.

  But I didn’t tell her about the knife hidden in my chest of clothes and I purposely forgot to mention the little guest chamber in the tower.

  That summer William gave me an exquisite enamelled pendant in the shape of a bird. It was wrought exceedingly fine and I thanked him prettily. But this was not a love token from my husband, it was a reward for bringing him an invitation from the king. He was to attend the marriage celebrations in London for the king’s son, four-year-old Lionel, and his bride, the young daughter of the Earl of Ulster. At the beginning of August there was to be a week of feasting and jousting and entertainments within the precincts of the Conqueror’s Tower.

  William’s invitation was couched in the usual formal language of royal communications but made it abundantly clear that I was to accompany my husband and should be extravagantly gowned and jewelled as befitted my position. This was not just a summons for William, it was also a summons for me.

  6

  A Royal Cousin 1342

  I heard murmurs of appreciation as I walked down the length of the crowded room with my arm resting lightly on William’s satin sleeve. This was my first formal appearance as William’s wife and we had sparked a great deal of interest. As we approached the two royal thrones I felt my heart flutter. I hadn’t seen my cousin for more than seven months and our last meeting was not something I wanted to think about. I had put it behind me and wished it had never happened.

  I made a low curtsey, sweeping the ground with my blue silk skirts, but when I raised my head I saw the glint in my cousin’s eye. He had not forgotten. Of course he hadn’t. He was the king and a king never forgets anything.

  The jousting and other entertainments were great fun but when the last of the feast was over, the young bride and groom were yawning with tiredness. With much bowing and curtseying and cheering they were returned to the royal nu
rsery while everyone else prepared for a long evening of music and dancing. Alice was in no fit condition to dance so we stole away to Margaret’s cramped chamber, hidden half-way up one of the stairways. I was certain we would be undisturbed and that nobody, however grand and important he might be, would be able to find me.

  Margaret lay back against the pillows, stretched out her feet and sighed with pleasure.

  ‘Cover my toes, Alice. I’m cold.’

  Alice, heavy and ungainly with her second child, obediently pulled the coverlet over her sister’s blue stockings.

  ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ she said. ‘A whole evening with just the three of us. It’s like the old days at Framlingham when we were girls. Do you remember, Jeanette?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘And the night before Margaret’s wedding when we gorged ourselves on sugared plums and she threatened to drown herself in the moat.’

  Margaret pulled a face. ‘Sometimes I wish I had.’

  Alice looked shocked. ‘No you don’t. It would be a sin.’

  ‘Where have the men gone?’ I asked, idly twisting a lock of hair which had come loose from its net. ‘I couldn’t see William anywhere.’

  ‘Alice’s husband has arranged a night’s gambling and drinking,’ said Margaret. ‘You won’t see William until he crawls back some time after dawn.’

  At that moment there was a quiet knock at the door and in sidled Margaret’s maid.

  ‘The king’s valet, m’lady. He’s looking for Mistress Montagu. He heard she were here.’

  I should have known nowhere was safe; my cousin’s grasp extended into every crevice in his kingdom.

  I followed the valet through the warren that was the Conqueror’s Tower, down steps, along narrow winding passageways and across empty courtyards echoing with the sound of our footsteps. At the door to the king’s private chamber there was a quick word and the guards stood aside to let me enter.

  My cousin was seated with a quill in his hand. His private secretary stood at his shoulder, busying himself with papers, waiting for Edwardus Rex, the dripping of the coloured wax and the imprint of the king’s private seal. They neither of them looked at me.

  I waited near the door, biting my lip and wishing I was back with Margaret and Alice.

  At last it was done.

  ‘Thank you, Master Kilsby.’

  The man gathered everything together, bowed, gave an incurious small glance and a nod to me and left with the door closing quietly behind him. The two grooms of the chamber padded around, folding and tidying and when everything was done they melted away. Now there was just my cousin and me.

  I lowered myself, murmuring, ‘Your Grace.’

  The light outside was fading fast and even with the candles lit, the room was growing dark. The corners were lost in shadows and I was glad the fire in the hearth was burning. A sleek white dog slept with his nose on his paws and a falcon on a perch dozed quietly while my cousin’s fingers tapped silently on the table.

  ‘I’m going away.’ His voice was low and I wasn’t sure why he was telling me this.

  ‘To Scotland?’

  ‘No, Brittany. I’m taking my army to give help to the duchess.’

  I wasn’t sure where Brittany was. Somewhere across the Narrow Sea? Rocky coasts and pirates was all I remembered of people’s conversations.

  ‘Is the duchess pretty?’

  He laughed. ‘I’ve no idea but she’s sent a chest of gold and asked for my assistance.’

  ‘Is someone attacking her?’

  ‘A nephew of the King of France. He fancies himself ruler of the duchy. He thinks it’s his by right of marriage.’

  ‘But it isn’t?’

  ‘No. The duchess’s husband has the stronger claim but he’s been captured by his enemies and thrown into prison.’

  I clapped my hands together. ‘So you’ll rescue him.’

  ‘We’ll defeat the army of the Valois nephew and reclaim the duchy. And we’ll make sure the new Pope’s cardinals agree with us.’

  If the duchess’s husband was the rightful ruler I couldn’t see why the cardinals would disagree.

  ‘Will you take the princes from the Low Countries to help you fight?’

  ‘No, they’re proving less than trustworthy and have bled me dry. I’ll take my English friends. They’ll be happy enough for glory and the spoils of war.’

  I remembered Thomas’s words from long ago: rich towns to be plundered, merchants stripped of their wealth, wagon-loads of jewels and furs, and the greatest prize of all – a ransom.

  ‘Can war make a man’s fortune?’ I asked, wondering if it was true.

  ‘Why are you worrying about such matters, little cousin? War is men’s business. I didn’t bring you here to talk about the dirt and horrors of battle. You are far too beautiful for that.’

  He waved his fingers ordering me forward. ‘Come here.’

  I walked slowly round the table and stood beside his chair. He had moved it sideways so that he sat facing me. Rather than look at him I stared at the intricate carving on the chair back, wondering how it had been done and if the master carver had ever allowed his knife to slip.

  ‘Lady Catherine informed me today that you and young Montagu are living together.’ His voice was curt.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘He’s been in your bed?’

  I lowered my eyes. ‘Yes.’ My voice was getting smaller and smaller and I wished myself a hundred miles away.

  There was a long pause and when he spoke his voice had changed. His words were silky on his tongue. ‘So, come close.’

  I moved a half-step forward.

  ‘Closer.’

  I took another small step.

  ‘Now, let down your hair for me.’

  I hesitated and then raised my arms. It was difficult without a maid but soon I had the nets and pins in my hand and my golden hair spread like a veil across my shoulders.

  He sat like a man transfixed. He stared and stared and said not a word until I wondered what I was supposed to do.

  ‘Your Grace?’

  He slid his eyes back to mine.

  ‘You are very beautiful. I sometimes think I am bewitched by you.’

  A girl in Ghent had once consulted a wise woman but how could he think that of me? Such things were forbidden and very dangerous. The girl had needed a love charm but all I had ever wanted was for my cousin to love me the way he once had.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said gently.

  He touched the nape of my neck softly with his fingers. ‘Do you remember how I stroked your hair that night at Wark, when we first spoke of this?’ He paused. ‘It’s been more than half a year. You’re a wife now and there can be no more excuses?’ I heard the uneven breaths catching in his throat.

  I said nothing. I was much too scared to say anything.

  He put his hand under my chin and tipped it up. ‘Ah, Jeanette. Look at me. You’re not a child any longer. You know what this is.’

  Of course I knew. I think I’d always known.

  He placed his other hand on my waist and slowly pulled me onto his knee. At Woodstock it would have been my place of safety, nestled against his chest, my cheek smoothed by the velvet warmth of his tunic. But here in the royal chamber with nobody but the two of us it was shockingly intimate. This was the kind of thing a husband did.

  He kissed me. He wasn’t rough, not like William who bruised my mouth. His lips were gentle but determined and it was not by any means a cousinly kiss. As my mouth opened under his, he pressed harder and wound his hand into my hair.

  ‘I could command you to my bed,’ he whispered, ‘but I would so much rather you came of your own free will. Oh, my dear heart, I can’t continue like this. How can I plan a campa
ign when you haunt me day and night? I can’t think, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I want you so much.’

  Since the last time at Wark I had begun to have disturbing dreams about my cousin, dreams which I had admitted to no-one not even my confessor, dreams of a closeness which I knew could never be.

  ‘I… I am afraid.’

  ‘Ah, sweeting, you don’t need to be frightened of me. I’d never harm you. I’d be very gentle. And if you came to me it would please me greatly. Don’t you want to be my little Jeanette again? Don’t you want to please me?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I breathed. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Then come to me now and let me love you.’

  I hesitated and he must have seen the doubt in my eyes because he kissed them shut and whispered. ‘What can I give you in return? What gift would you like? A jewel? A new gown?’

  I nearly said I would give myself freely when I realised there was something he possessed that I wanted, something I had wanted for as long as I could remember, something which was easily within his power to give me.

  ‘There is a gift I would like,’ I whispered. ‘Something I would treasure.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said eagerly, pulling me even closer.

  ‘It costs nothing.’

  He laughed at my naivety, after all what experienced woman would choose a mare’s nest when she could have the mare. ‘Very well, it is yours, dear heart.’

  ‘Tell me about my father.’

  He took his hands away and regarded me in amazement. ‘Your father? You want to know about your father?’

  ‘Yes. If you promise to tell me about him and why he died I will promise myself to you in return.’

  He smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘A bargain?’

  He was clearly amused by my choice.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  ‘How do I know you would keep your side of the bargain?’ he teased. ‘Young women are known to be duplicitous in such matters and it would not be good for the King of England to appear a fool.’