The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  Very slowly I turned around.

  Thomas Holand.

  There was a sensation of the ground slipping away like the waters of the river and danger lapping at my feet.

  We stood looking at each other. Neither of us said a word.

  It had been four years and yet he’d barely changed. His face was a bit leaner, his eyes a bit darker and there was a small scar on his left cheek that hadn’t been there before. He was bare-headed and the mist had beaded his hair with a fine speckling like dewdrops which made me want to stretch out my hand and brush them away.

  All the words I’d imagined saying if I should ever meet him again dissolved the moment I saw him and I found myself as tongue-tied and as awkward as a country girl in the presence of her master.

  ‘You’ve grown,’ he said.

  I shrugged in embarrassment.

  ‘I thought you’d gone to Gascony.’ I blurted out.

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  I shook my head and stared at my feet aware of how little had really changed in those four years for all my good intentions.

  ‘I’m only here because my husband received an invitation,’ I muttered, the words spilling out in a rush. ‘I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  I open my mouth and then closed it again and found myself floundering.

  His mouth twitched in a small smile and he took a step closer. I immediately took a step back.

  ‘You’re every bit as beautiful as you were,’ he said gently. ‘Old age hasn’t spoiled your looks.’

  I swallowed hard, trying to remember who I was: I was the lady of Bisham, I was William’s wife. One day soon I’d be Countess of Salisbury.

  I raised my head and stared him straight in the face. ‘Why are you here, Sir Thomas? What do you want with me?’

  He lowered his gaze to where my cloak was wrapped securely over the skirts of my gown.

  ‘I heard you were unwell.’

  For a moment I couldn’t believe what he’d said. It was impossible that he could know.

  ‘Who told you?’

  He smiled as if our conversation was amusing.

  ‘This is a royal palace. No bit of information is so small as not to be of value to some great man. And where there is a willing buyer you will always find a willing seller.’

  ‘But I was in my room.’

  He gave a short laugh.

  ‘Oh come, my lady, you know how little maids love to chatter and as I’m sure you remember, I am an extremely good listener.’

  I could feel the blush rising as I recalled the hours we had spent together and the words we had spoken; the way he had patiently listened to me as we had lain entwined in each others arms.

  ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of what maids say,’ I said.

  ‘Is it true?’

  I looked at him warily. ‘Is what true?’

  ‘Is it a child?’

  I couldn’t believe he would ask me. Men didn’t talk about such things. These were matters for women.

  ‘Don’t you dare question me,’ I said, trying unsuccessfully to sound fierce. ‘It’s none of your business. It’s a matter between my husband and myself.’

  ‘Exactly. Between your husband and yourself. I told you once that you shouldn’t risk a child because it would spoil our plans.’

  I half-closed my eyes. I was lying in his arms in our bed beneath the thatch. He had held me close and kissed me and told me I was too young for a child. I remembered every moment, every touch of his fingers, every beat of his heart.

  ‘I have no plans with you, Sir Thomas,’ I whispered, feeling hot tears well up at the back of my eyes.

  He reached out and took my hand and I didn’t have the strength or the will to resist. He must have noticed the tears because he said gently, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you but your care is my concern, it always has been.’

  He began to stroke my fingers the way he had before, the way I remembered.

  ‘You weren’t just a little trinket I picked up and cast aside once I’d had my enjoyment, you know.’ He paused and bent his head forcing me to look into his eyes. ‘It was enjoyable, wasn’t it my lady? I wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t just wifely duty, was it?’

  I felt a rush of desire which caused my legs to tremble and my heart beat faster. I wanted to close my eyes.

  ‘Go away, please,’ I said in a small voice. ‘Leave me alone, there’s nothing you can do for me.’

  He continued to gaze into my face and then he said very slowly and deliberately, ‘Oh I doubt that, I doubt it very much indeed. You look half-starved.’

  It took me a moment to recover some semblance of composure.

  ‘I have eaten perfectly well,’ I said. ‘My cousin, keeps a good table.’

  He smiled and I swear he knew how my whole body was trembling.

  ‘I didn’t mean food. A woman can find herself starved of things other than what she takes from the table.’

  I felt another blush rise up into my cheeks as I realised what he meant.

  ‘My marriage has nothing to do with you,’ I whispered.

  He stepped closer so that our bodies almost touched and I was unable to pull away because he had hold of my hand.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I think your marriage has everything to do with me. You may have forgotten the time we spent together in Ghent but I can assure you, I haven’t.’

  Of course I hadn’t forgotten.

  I raised my eyes to his. I could feel the tears beginning to spill over.

  ‘Please leave me alone,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t want to get into any more trouble.’

  ‘The prince?’

  I nodded.

  He made a short dismissive movement and began to stroke my cheek.

  ‘The whole palace is talking of little else. The king’s son rolling on the floor with the wife of one of his noble friends. Now that is a very choice piece of gossip.’

  I had to fight the desire to rest my head against his chest and allow myself to be folded into his arms.

  ‘I wasn’t rolling on the floor,’ I said wearily. ‘We were dicing.’

  ‘I shan’t tell you what the kitchen boys said you were doing, but dicing didn’t come into it.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ I cried. ‘Nothing. I was only doing what I was told to do.’

  Montagu?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  He let go of my hand and placed his arm round me.

  ‘Does he hurt you?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, not any more.’

  ‘But he frightens you?’

  I nodded. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  I pulled myself out of his arms and stood facing him.

  ‘There’s no point in being sorry, Sir Thomas. Not now. You said there was nothing you could do and there isn’t. I behaved foolishly and I have to live with the consequences.’

  He turned his face to the river and for a few moments we stood there side by side watching the mist thin and shift and the opposite shore come into view.

  ‘Come on, ‘ he said. ‘It’s cold, we’ll walk a bit.’

  I looked around, expecting to see a crowd of people.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled. ‘There’s no-one, we’re quite alone, they’ve all gone.’

  He tucked my hand between his arm and the warmth of his body and together we walked slowly along the bank.

  ‘You know we’re leaving,’ he said after a while.

  I nodded.

  ‘The king is taking his army overseas and when we get there we intend to hunt down the French king and bring him to battle. Like all battles it wil
l be bloody and it will be dangerous and men will die.’

  My heart lurched. I couldn’t bear to think of him dying.

  ‘Perhaps the French king won’t fight,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he’ll run back to Paris like he did before. He won’t want to risk meeting our army in case he should lose.’

  ‘No, that won’t happen. This time the great men of France will make him fight. It has become a matter of honour.’

  I was silent. What if he didn’t come back? What would I do?

  We stopped beside the shelter of a little wall where we were hidden from both the river and the palace.

  ‘Do you still have the coin I gave you?’

  The silver coin was hidden amongst the pearls and jewelled brooches, locked in the tiny coffer I kept in my chest. I had only taken it out twice since I had married William and each time the feel of it, cold and hard beneath my fingers had reduced me to tears. So now I left it alone.

  When I didn’t reply, he said, ‘I want you to do something for me. I want you to promise that if I don’t come back you will throw it in the river and forget me. Let it lie forever in amongst the stones and mud with the water flowing over it. Forget Ghent and the hours we spent together and tell yourself it never happened.’

  He touched my wet face with his fingers and traced the curve of my mouth.

  ‘But you will come back?’

  This was no orchard and no springtime in Ghent but he was gazing at me the way he had then and I felt the ground shift.

  ‘Light a candle for me,’ he said softly. ‘If I don’t come back, light a candle, nothing more.’

  ‘When are you going?’ I whispered.

  ‘The beginning of March.’

  ‘But that’s only two months away.’

  ‘It has to be soon. The campaign has been a long time in the planning and we can’t wait any longer.’

  I nodded miserably. ‘Of course, I understand how important this is.’

  ‘Will you do as I ask?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. But…’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘But what?’

  ‘I shall pray you come back.’

  He laughed. ‘If I can, I will. Now I must go. I am meant to be joining the hunt.’

  He lifted my hand to his lips and slowly kissed the tips of my fingers one by one. Then he turned my hand over and kissed the palm.

  ‘Thomas.’ It was half a breath, half a whisper, said almost to myself.

  Without another word he placed my hand over my heart and hurried back up the path with his cloak flapping wetly against his boots.

  He’d gone barely a few yards when I called out.

  ‘Thomas!’

  He looked round.

  ‘What?’

  I hesitated.

  ‘It was plums,’ I said. ‘It was just a surfeit of plums.’

  He stared at me, not understanding. Then he smiled and his smile widened into a grin and he turned away. I heard him whistling as he walked back up the path and I watched as he went through the gate and disappeared under an archway of leafless branches.

  I stood where I was for a very long time listening to the distant sound of hunting horns and the pitiful cry of a lonely seabird wheeling and diving in endless circles high above the water. I gazed at the relentless ebb and flow of the river and wished with all my heart that I was back in that tiny attic room in Ghent.

  One day in late January William came to find me. I was in the solar engaged in the soothing occupation of sorting my silks. I would lay them on the table one by one and gaze at the bright colours trying to decide if they were pleasing together and whether the blue was exactly the right shade for the sky. My plan was to embroider a large new cloth while William was away. It was a daunting proposition and I hadn’t yet decided what design I would have but it was a suitable occupation for a wife left at home and I hoped it would please him, because little else did these days. Since we had returned from Westminster he had been surly and bad-tempered, finding fault with everything I did.

  He walked over to the window and looked out across the frosted fields.

  ‘There is a man in the stable yard asking for you,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘For me?’

  For a heart-stopping moment I feared it was Thomas but that was too ridiculous for words and even if it was, I wouldn’t agree to see him. I wasn’t stupid.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  ‘Just some servant. He’s asking for Mistress Montagu so I can only conclude he means you.’ William’s voice was cold and decidedly unfriendly.

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘How would I know,’ William said sulkily. ‘It’s none of my business. He has something for you, a gift.’

  My mind was a complete blank. My mother was not in the habit of sending me gifts, she was more likely to send a letter citing my failure to provide her with half a dozen grandchildren. Margaret might buy me a little fairing but she wouldn’t send it, she’d bring it herself and the idea of William’s mother sending me anything other than an apple laced with poison was just laughable.

  ‘I don’t know anyone who would send me a gift.’

  ‘Apparently you do. The man is wearing the prince’s livery.’

  ‘From Edward? For me?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’d better go and see. As I said, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m yet to be the recipient of a royal gift. You seem to be the one who is favoured.’

  I hurried down to the yard wondering with a skip of a heartbeat what Edward could have sent me and hoping for William’s sake it wasn’t something too intimate. There was very little that I, as a married woman, could accept without my husband’s approval. A jewel, I would have to return, I couldn’t possibly keep something so extravagant, but a more modest gift, a trinket or a little enamelled brooch or a decorated pin, surely not even a jealous husband could object to something so insignificant.

  I ran down the last of the steps and through the archway imagining all the glorious gifts Edward might have sent and wondering how I could persuade William to allow me to keep them. It wasn’t as if Edward was my brother or close kin, he was the son of my cousin who if you wanted to be accurate was only a half-blood cousin at that.

  The day was bright and cold and the yard half-deserted as I looked around for a man carrying a small package. But what I saw was something else entirely and not at all what I had expected.

  She stood in the middle of our yard, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my life: dappled grey with a silvery-white tail and a mane like spun silk, slender legs and an elegant neck which arched like the curve of a bow. At the sound of my footsteps she turned her head gracefully and regarded me with her huge liquid eyes.

  The man holding her rein smiled and gave a little bow.

  ‘Is she for me?’ I could barely believe that this enchanting creature could possibly be mine.

  ‘If you are Mistress Montagu, my lady, then yes, she is for you.’

  He fished in his pouch and handed me a letter. I hurriedly broke the seal and ran my eyes over the contents. It was very short.

  “My dearest and sweetest cousin,

  Greetings. Because I know you are sorely in need of a mount of your own I am sending you this gift from my stables. Her name is Blanchefleur and I would have you treat her as you would treat me.

  I remain your devoted and most loving friend

  Edward

  Given this 24th day of January at Kennington”

  Sweet Jesus! This was a love letter and I was a married woman!

  I read the words again, running my fingers across the smooth parchment and wondering if it smelled of him. I should send it back, I knew I should send them both back because it was wholly improper to accept a gift from another man
, even from Edward. And a gift of such magnitude. But I couldn’t send her back. It would be an insult and she was too precious, too beautiful, too much of what I had always dreamed: Blanchefleur; enchanting, magical, beautiful Blanchefleur.

  In one long hot summer of our childhood he had been Sir Perceval, the knight who sought the golden Grail and I had been his sweetheart, Blanchefleur. Hidden amongst the bushes at Woodstock, as we crawled across the barren wastelands towards the secret castle of the Fisher King, he had kissed me, a boy’s kiss but on my mouth and told me he was going to marry me. The leaves and twigs beneath my knees had been sharp and thorns had scratched my face but his clumsy kiss was what I remembered best, that and the way he had grasped my hand.

  The mare warmed my cheek with her breath and gently nudged my shoulder.

  ‘She’s looking for a treat,’ the man said. ‘The prince likes me to look after her kindly so she’s used to scraps of bread or an apple.’

  ‘She’s wonderful,’ I said, stroking her long velvety nose.

  She twitched her ears forward at the sound of my voice and leaned her head against mine.

  ‘She knows her mistress,’ laughed the man.

  ‘Will she let me ride her?’

  ‘Of course, my lady. She’s used to the feel of a lad on her back and your skirts won’t bother her. She’s as docile as they come but with a big heart.’

  ‘I don’t know if my husband has a suitable saddle,’ I said sadly, thinking of all the complications of Edward’s gift.

  The man smiled broadly. ‘The prince had one specially made for you, my lady. It’s in the wagon. It’s a rare piece of workmanship, I’ve never seen a finer lady’s saddle.’

  It was very wrong of Edward to send me such extravagant gifts because he must know how insulted William would be, but as he had told me he always did as he liked. He didn’t care what others thought.

  William sulked for three whole days before I managed to persuade him that the gift of Blanchefleur was as much a tribute to him as it was to me and that it showed how much Edward appreciated him.

  ‘Think, dearest,’ I cajoled. ‘If a man wishes to please another man, what better way than to send a gift to his lady. It is an oblique compliment, a clever way of showing how much he values you. And don’t forget, it was you he chose to ride beside him on the hunt, not John Chandos. It was your company he sought.’