The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  ‘It’s an insult and it’s entirely your fault,’ he shouted, kicking open the chamber door. ‘The king honours us with a visit and this happens. What did you do? Provide stale bread? Sour wine? Damp sheets? You must have done something. Why else would I be ignored. You’re not fit to be my wife. You’re nothing but a useless drab. And don’t imagine you’ll get another trinket for this. Christ’s blood! You’re barely worth the pittance I got for marrying you. Any fat old dowager would have managed this more cleverly than you. A slut from the alleyways of Great Marlow could have done it better. But not you with your royal kinship and your golden hair. A prize! Christ’s bones! I might as well have married my father’s laundress.’

  ‘William, you’re being unfair.’

  I was stung into retaliating which was a great mistake with a young man like William. I would have done better to have kept quiet.

  ‘Unfair indeed!’ He threw me aside with a careless shove, sending me crashing against the chair. ‘If I don’t have royal favour how shall I advance? Even Edward ignores me since I married you. All the preferments will go to men like Chandos who’s hardly ever out of Edward’s sight and I’ll be left with nothing. My father is leaving on a mission to Avignon with Lord Henry but won’t take me. Says I must remain here. Says it’s time to attend to my manors and to my wife.’

  John Chandos was Edward’s closest companion; an older man, not nobly born but the son of a gentleman. I understood William’s hurt but there was nothing I could do. Friendship cannot be had simply because a man wants it. With nurturing it can flourish; little tender leaves and tiny buds which one day burst into blossom. Perhaps it could be like this for William and Edward and perhaps, just perhaps, although it did seem increasingly unlikely, it might be like this for William and me. If I kept my head bowed and behaved as a wife should, just possibly we might one day become friends.

  I wondered if Thomas Holand would travel with my father-in-law and Lord Henry to Avignon but told myself I wasn’t interested whether he would see the wonders of the Papal Court or whether he wouldn’t. I had put him out of my mind and he was nothing to me any more. Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. I was married to William and that was the end of it.

  William and I spent the late summer travelling. We journeyed down the green lanes of England into the depths of the West Country to visit the manors given to us as part of our marriage jointure. The days were long and lazy and away from Edward’s perfidy and Lady Catherine’s interference we began to do better together. We found more to talk about and wherever we halted for the night, William found some pleasure in introducing me as his wife. He said he was proud of me and sometimes showed little marks of affection. He would pick up my hand and stroke my fingers and once or twice he brushed my cheek with his mouth.

  By the time we reached Donyatt, where William had been born, we had taken to riding side by side sharing our thoughts and occasional smiles. We might not have been handfast lovers at night but in the daytime we were slowly becoming friends.

  We rode along the narrow tracks which crossed the marshes to the abbey at Glastonbury where we admired the tombs of Arthur and Guinevere. We prayed together at the shrine of the Peacemaker and it was there, surrounded by a dozen other pilgrims with the abbey’s monks hovering nearby, that I finally made my silent promise.

  I knew what I had to do. I would learn to be a good wife. I would care for William’s needs and be his comforter, I would manage his affairs when he was absent and be an ornament to his house. I would behave in a meek and loving manner even when provoked and bear his children without complaint. I would even learn to love his mother. I would not dwell on the sinful night I had spent in my cousin’s arms and I would never, ever, ever think of Thomas Holand again.

  That night as I lay in our bed in a nearby priory, William kissed me gently on my lips and told me that he loved me. I wound my arms about his neck and whispered the lie that sensible women have always told their husbands: I love you too.

  In the early autumn we made leisurely progress up the march of Wales stopping at the houses of my father-in-law’s friends and attending a local wedding. At Ludlow we asked for hospitality at the castle and were welcomed by Lady Mortimer herself. This was the tyrant’s widow, an elderly faded little woman with a severe mouth and suspicious eyes. When I admitted to sharing the royal nursery with her grandson, young Roger, she gave a sad smile, but it was clear she didn’t care for William and was icily polite in her greetings. If William had not been there I might have plucked up courage to ask the forbidding Lady Mortimer about my father, but there was no opportunity and in all probability she knew nothing, hidden away down here, far from the royal court.

  We travelled slowly on up the march to our castle at Mold. It was small and in urgent need of repair and the hall was not very comfortable but we made do as best we could. There was a prolonged argument over provisions which had mysteriously failed to arrive and the only food was an undistinguished pottage and some rather tough mutton. The people spoke in a tongue I couldn’t understand and the clothes in my travelling chest felt damp.

  We spent a couple of evenings discussing the possibilities of what could be done with our little castle but then it started to rain. Not the usual gentle rain of an early autumn but cold lashing torrents, driven in from the west which battered the walls and seeped in under the shutters. The river flooded, the roads were awash and the roof leaked.

  After a week we laughed at our predicament.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ said William. ‘I have a longing for our manor near Bisham where the roof is sound and the rain comes down from the sky not hurls itself sideways into your face.’

  Somewhere on our long journey back along the muddy roads of Middle England I thought I might like to fall in love with my husband and by the time we saw the welcoming sight of our own gates, I believed we were part way to building a good marriage. My sins were well hidden in the past and I had done penance for them. From now on I swore I would be a good wife to William and he seemed more than willing to be a good husband to me. I had stopped dreaming of my cousin and I had promised I would never think of Thomas Holand.

  We spent the Nativity celebrations that year with some friends nearby and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. William gave me a silver gilt pin as a New Year gift and told me once again how much he loved me. I gave him a pair of embroidered leather gloves which cost far more than I could afford but I wanted him to know I was his dutiful wife. And I did so enjoy buying beautiful things.

  7

  Death and Danger 1344

  After Christmas an invitation arrived for the king’s great winter tournament at Windsor. It was to be the grandest gathering of men for years and every young man with a sword would be there. For some reason William seemed to think the invitation was my doing. He grabbed me round the waist and kissed my mouth with a lingering appreciation which was something quite new. I pushed back my hood and smiled, liking my husband more and more. A few days later he gave me a ring, just a little garnet set on a narrow silver band, but it was beautiful.

  ‘I picked it up in Brittany,’ he whispered as he slid the ring over my finger. ‘I thought it would give you pleasure.’

  William might have been overjoyed at our invitation but I was plagued by an uncomfortable feeling in my belly which felt horribly like fear. At the royal palace on a grand occasion like this there could be no possible way of avoiding my cousin and my cousin was the one man I didn’t want to meet.

  It was more than a year since he had ridden away from me without a backwards look and in all that time there had been no word, no message, no token; nothing but silence. At first I made excuses for his neglect, telling myself he was far too busy with his kingship, believing he would send for me when he could, but as the months passed and still there was no word, I came to accept he no longer desired me.

  One night in our paradise for fools. That was all there would
ever be and there was no point in regretting any of it. It was what men did and I was the only fool for thinking it was more than a passing fancy. I had believed him when he had said he loved me and wanted to keep me at his side but I knew now I was nothing but another plaything to be picked up, enjoyed for the moment and carelessly discarded when the game was over.

  When the week of the tournament arrived we travelled the short distance to Windsor with William’s parents and throughout the journey Lady Catherine and Sir William spoke barely a word to each other. The earl’s face was a thundercloud of fury while Lady Catherine turned away from her husband with rigid shoulders and lips clamped tightly shut. I had no idea what their quarrel was about or whether it concerned me but wisely averted my eyes and tried to think of something other than what lay ahead.

  Windsor, with its great round tower and glorious rooms for entertaining, was a magnificent palace, a vast sprawling fortress built overlooking the river. I’d been there many times as a child but this visit was different. I was no longer little Jeanette from the royal nursery in her short silk gowns and white satin slippers, I was Mistress Montagu, daughter-in-law of the king’s closest friend and a woman loved by her husband.

  Once we had washed the grime of travel from our faces and changed into our best clothes, we joined the long procession of people in the royal presence chamber waiting to be presented. Music from the king’s minstrels filled the air and at the far end of the panelled room sat my cousin and the queen on their gilded thrones.

  My heart bumped and fluttered as I caught sight of him gleaming in his regal finery. He was every bit as handsome as I remembered and the red and white velvet of his robes suited his golden fairness admirably. I thought he looked magnificent. I barely noticed what the queen wore but it didn’t become her. Her gown might have been cut from the richest of cloths and stitched all over with jewels but she was never going to be beautiful.

  In front of us an important-looking man in the extravagant dress of a nobleman made impatient noises while a knight from Dorset stumbled over the introducing of his wife.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I whispered to William.

  ‘The Earl of Arundel, one of the king’s commanders, very well-liked. His wife’s a Despenser.’

  I watched as the earl made his bow and conversed happily with the king and queen. William was right, the earl was a favoured man despite his unfortunate choice of wife. How lucky I was to have a mother whose foresight had seen me married into one of the richest and most influential families in the king’s circle of friends. Despite the lingering shame of my father’s death I had achieved a very prestigious marriage and one day I would be Countess of Salisbury and people would marvel at my beauty and wit and my cousin would realise too late what a prize he had let slip through his fingers.

  Thomas Holand could never have brought me the honours and riches that William would bring and life with him would have been very ordinary and very dull. There would have been no royal invitations and no extravagances, no costly silks or precious gifts and I rather doubted his ability to put meat on my table. I recalled with a shudder the dried fish he had offered me in Ghent and the only jewel had been that tawdry bit of rubbish he’d doubtless picked up from some pedlar’s tray. I was well rid of him and told myself I was perfectly happy with William.

  We were next. As our names were called, William and I approached the dais with measured steps. My cousin looked straight at me and gave me his regal smile, a bare raising of the corners of his mouth accompanied by a haughty coolness in the eyes. He was the king and I was his subject.

  I knew the smooth contours of his body, the firmness of the muscles on his arms and the softness of the golden hairs on his chest. I knew the touch of his mouth on mine, the weight of him and the smell of him, and yet here he was greeting me as if I was someone he barely knew.

  I lifted my chin and smiled back, a brittle little smile. After a moment I dropped my eyes letting my lashes brush my cheeks. I had no wish for him to know how much he had hurt me and how much, despite his neglect and all my promises, my disloyal body still yearned for him.

  On the first day a magnificent feast was held by Queen Philippa. Hundreds of us gathered in an upper room, giggling with pleasure at the absence of our husbands and the discovery that two handsome French knights were to wait on us. Everybody wore their finest gowns and the quantity of jewels on display would have paid the ransom for several princes and still left enough to fill a lady’s chamber. I smoothed the shimmering silk of my own gown, glad William had agreed I could have a new set of robes.

  ‘I have some news.’ Alice blushed and gave me a shy little smile.

  ‘Another child?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes and my husband has given me this.’

  A magnificent emerald ring sparkled on her finger, not the sort of jewel which suited Alice but a wonderful gift nonetheless. Perhaps I had misjudged her husband. Of course he would want another son, men expected at least two and preferably a quiver-full like the king.

  ‘What’s afoot in the Montagu household?’ asked Margaret, making herself comfortable next to Alice. ‘You could hear the earl shouting all the way from the upper ward and Lady Catherine’s chamber is in uproar. What’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Lady Catherine was in tears,’ said Alice.

  I looked at the top table where my mother-in-law sat with the other countesses. The queen was flanked by the king’s mother on one side and her mother-in-law’s namesake, twelve-year-old Isabella on the other. There was a plump elderly woman I didn’t recognise sitting next to the king’s mother being very familiar, laughing and gesticulating with her hands.

  ‘Margaret, who’s that?’

  ‘Lady Jeanne, Countess of Suffolk. She’s a tremendous gossip. It’s a shame about her husband.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Margaret laughed. ‘No! I mean her situation.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper and put it close to my ear. ‘He’s got a woman. Keeps her in the country. She’s rumoured to be very young and very comely and he’s infatuated with her, just like the last one. He wants to marry her but the countess won’t let him go, and why should she?’

  ‘She’s very friendly with the king’s mother?’

  ‘Yes, they’re close.’

  I watched how the countess tapped the king’s mother on her arm in an intimate way as if they were indeed great friends. The witch knew why my father was killed and what the secret was. If she and the countess were as close as it seemed, it was possible the secret had been shared.

  Afterwards, in the hall there was music and dancing and a lot of behaviour to give Bishop Simon food for thought.

  ‘Look!’ said Margaret.

  It was the Earl of Arundel handclasped with the queen’s friend, the widowed Lady Beaumont.

  ‘She says he will marry her,’ whispered Margaret.

  ‘I thought he was…?’

  ‘He is. But Eleanor Beaumont is Lord Henry’s sister. A valuable alliance for the Arundels. The Despenser woman is to be set aside.’

  ‘Is that possible? Can a man rid himself of an unwanted wife?’

  Margaret laughed. ‘With money, anything is possible and Richard Arundel is extremely rich.’

  I joined hands with William and we danced, singing and tripping into the centre and then out again. I tipped my head back and laughed and William caught me to him and kissed me full on the mouth in front of everyone. We moved faster and the candles flickered, the torches flared and couples stole off into the shadows. On the dais my cousin whispered in the queen’s ear. She blushed like a girl and smiled at him. As we moved round I came near but his gaze never drifted my way.

  Countess Jeanne beamed at the sight of a new acquaintance and I smiled shyly back. I lowered myself in as deep a curtsey as I thought appropriate, holding out the sid
es of my rose-coloured skirts and only just able to hear the soft rustle of the very expensive cloth above the chatter of her women. William had blanched when his clerk had told him how much the silk had cost but I thought the final result was worth every penny.

  ‘Very prettily done.’

  She looked me up and down in an admiring way, noting the cut of my gown and my fashionable hair arrangement with the pearls sewn into the golden nets.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Tell me who you are, Mistress Montagu, and what I can do for you?’

  ‘I am the king’s cousin,’ I began.

  She clapped her hands together. ‘Of course you are! I see it now. You are Edmund’s daughter; I should have guessed. You have his eyes and his hair and the way you stand. Oh my dear; you bring it all back.’ She wiped a tear from her eye.

  I wriggled my toes in my slippers and wondered how much she knew.

  ‘I believe you were acquainted with my parents, Countess?’

  ‘We were close,’ she confided. ‘In Paris we were very close. I was your mother’s confidante when she and Queen Isabella fell out. But it was such a long time ago and of course of no interest to somebody young like you.’

  ‘On the contrary, I was hoping you would tell me about my father. I know so little and people don’t like to talk about him.’

  She smiled with a twinkle in her eye as if what she was about to divulge was something sinful but pleasurable. I guessed she was a woman who liked winkling out other people’s most intimate secrets.

  ‘What a handsome young man he was. The women ran after him. When he was young he was a heart-breaker but later he had eyes for no-one but your mother and she, wise woman that she was, accepted his courtship. Isabella was furious.’