The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  After that first day he didn’t lay a finger on me, leaving it to the grooms to help me into the saddle and hand me the reins. As the days passed I found myself unreasonably annoyed by his obvious neglect and perversely longed for the feel of his hands around my waist. I recalled the way his hair had brushed against my fingers as he bent to adjust my stirrups and how his shoulder had pressed firmly against my leg.

  I told myself he was more competent than my grooms, more able, and that Blanchefleur, who was notoriously fussy with her favours, preferred him. When he continued to keep his distance, I became irritated at this reluctance to do what was only what any knight should do for a lady. If he was my husband’s steward he should serve me too. Whatever was my pleasure should be his duty.

  ‘Sir Thomas can do it,’ I said to my groom next day in the yard when he prepared to help me into the saddle.

  The man backed away and looked anxiously over to where Thomas was readying his own horse. I saw two of the stable lads exchange a grin, noting the challenge in my voice. There was a moment of indecision where no-one moved and nobody spoke and I thought for one dreadful moment he was going to leave me standing on the ground looking foolish.

  ‘As you wish,’ Thomas said, throwing his reins to his own groom and strolling over to where I was waiting.

  He moved my cloak to one side and put his fingers round the cloth of my thick outer gown. I swayed slightly, aware of his face inches from mine. He kept his hands where they were for what seemed an eternity. I could feel the blush rise in my cheeks.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he enquired politely, looking straight into my eyes.

  ‘Yes.’ My mouth was dry and the word came out like a croak.

  ‘Sure?’

  I nodded, refusing to look away but staring back, unblinking as if none of this was of any consequence.

  He tightened his grip still further until I could feel the pressure of his fingers on the flesh beneath my skin and wanted nothing so much as to lean forward against his chest.

  Just as I thought I would gasp with something which I told myself was most definitely not desire but more likely discomfort, he swung me up and placed me firmly in the saddle.

  ‘There, my lady. Is that what you wanted?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled. ‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’

  If the hours I spent alone with Thomas on our outings were difficult, they were nothing compared to the horrors which lay within the house. I grew to dread the times I sat at our table in the hall. I schooled myself never to look at Thomas and to my relief he rarely looked at me, directing all his conversation to William. Amidst the noise and bustle of the household eating and talking, William paid no attention to my silence or my unwillingness to be drawn into his discussions with Thomas.

  I ate little. There seemed to be an obstacle stuck in my throat which prevented me from swallowing and I began to wonder was I stricken with some terrible malady. I sipped my wine and looked at my shaking hands. Perhaps I had a palsy.

  Although I gave him no encouragement, Thomas Holand insisted on conversing with me as we rode together through the streets of Villeneuve. I wasn’t interested in what he had to say but it was impossible not to listen and it would have been impolite to turn my head away.

  He talked of his family and the life he had led as a child. It was a sad story of fortune’s wheel and I realised how much I had misjudged him. He was not some common adventurer dragged up to the ranks of a knight. On the contrary, his father had been a great magnate, a baron, riding at the side of the mighty Earl of Lancaster. His childhood had been one of wealth and privilege which had made his father’s sudden downfall all the more shocking. The family had been thrust into obscurity, his father branded a traitor and hunted to his death. With the family practically penniless it had taken his mother and elder brother years to claw back their manors and restore the family’s fortunes.

  ‘What of your sister?’

  ‘Which one? I have a clutch of them.’

  ‘The one who wanted to run off with a rich admirer.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I didn’t think you remembered our conversations.’

  ‘It means nothing,’ I said flustered by my stupidity in asking the question.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ he replied evenly. ‘Why would it?’

  After a few moments of silence, he said casually, ‘As you are now a woman of some experience and know about these matters, which would you have chosen? The dull boy from a neighbouring family offering marriage or the doting greybeard who would keep you in a life of sinful luxury, despised by your friends and reviled by the bishops?’

  I thought about it as we walked our horses into the open square on our way home.

  ‘It would be wrong of course but if the old man offered her a manor of her own with a houseful of servants including a seamstress, and an income to spend as she wished, then it could be a good life,’ I said. ‘But if all she got was a room in the gatehouse with an idiot girl, forbidden to go anywhere, then marriage with the young man would be better. Which did she choose?’

  ‘The rich admirer and she is very content. He keeps her in some comfort and despite his age and infirmity she has given him children; both girls unfortunately.’

  ‘You haven’t told me who he is, this rich man who seduced your sister.’

  Thomas Holand slid from the saddle and lifted me down carefully placing me on the ground and allowing me a moment to find my feet before removing his hands.

  ‘John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey.’

  ‘Holy Mother of God!’ I gasped. ‘I know his wife.’

  ‘Ah yes, the intransigent Countess Jeanne. The earl would marry my sister tomorrow if he could so you can imagine what my sister thinks of the countess.’

  ‘I know what the countess thinks of your sister,’ I replied sharply. ‘The description was of “an avaricious little weasel with the morals of a whore” but she was very fired up when she said it.’

  Thomas smiled grimly. ‘I think the countess’s quarrel is with her husband and not with my sister. But I hear the earl is sick unto death. He is not expected to last the year and my sister is ill with worry. She doesn’t know what will happen to her when he dies or how she will live. All she hears is how, despite the earl’s best efforts, his nephew is snapping at her heels and she can expect to inherit little beyond some chattels.’

  ‘There are many people who will say she has got what she deserves.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘They have both been shabbily treated by the earl. He should have been true to his marriage vows and never taken up with your sister.’

  As we walked to the bottom of the steps where he would leave me, he said, ‘I quite agree, my lady. If you promise yourself to someone in marriage you should always remain true no matter how great the temptation.’

  I could think of no quick retort and realised he had tricked me yet again. He had turned my words around so they had a different meaning.

  Alice was horrified when she visited with William’s uncle and discovered Thomas sitting in our hall and eating at our table.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ she whispered, clutching my arm, her eyes wide with fright.

  ‘He is William’s steward.’

  ‘But you can’t have him living in your house?’

  I pulled a face. ‘It seems I have no choice.’

  Alice looked totally disbelieving.

  ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  I could see her weighing up exactly what I meant by “not really” and wondering if I was already compromised.

  ‘Will he tell William?’

  ‘No.’

  I felt sick with fear at the very thoug
ht of such a possibility and told myself it couldn’t happen.

  ‘Are you certain? He may want to make trouble for you. He looks like a man who might bear grudges. You said he was always sure of himself and men like that don’t enjoy having their plans thwarted.’

  ‘I don’t think he bears a grudge,’ I said carefully. ‘It’s not like that at all.’

  ‘What is it like?’ Alice said, peering once more through the crack in the door.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think he wants me back.’

  Alice snorted in disbelief.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not you who wants him back?’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I have no wish to starve in some hovel with Thomas Holand. In two more years I shall be Countess of Salisbury and sit alongside the queen. I shall have as many gowns as I please and a stable full of the finest horses. What possible use would I have for a man like him.’

  ‘None, unless you have tender feelings.’

  With unerring accuracy, Alice had wormed her way into the heart of my private thoughts which I kept well-hidden, even from myself. But she was wrong; I was quite safe where Thomas Holand was concerned. He might desire me but I most certainly did not desire him. I wasn’t sure I even liked him any more. He was my husband’s steward and I felt nothing for him however much I was beginning to enjoy his company.

  ‘He’d be a dead man if he said anything,’ said Alice. ‘You know that, don’t you? There’d be no trial. My husband would string him up without a second thought. And you don’t need me to tell you what they’d do to him first: a man who had defiled the wife of one of the Montagu men. It wouldn’t be pretty and I can barely bring myself to think of it.’

  I closed my eyes against the horror of Thomas Holand’s mutilated body.

  ‘And they’d come for you after they’d dealt with him. I wouldn’t be able to shelter you, nobody would, not even your mother.’

  ‘He knows that. He won’t say anything.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. I can’t help feeling that nothing good will come of this. Perhaps you should return home to England. It might be safer.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said quickly. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  Worst of all were the nights when the candles were doused and the sleepy household settled down in whatever corner they had decided was their own. It was then that William took me to bed. He ordered the curtains drawn and with no preamble turned his attentions to me. Like any husband he expected his wife to welcome his presence in her bed and my newfound reluctance beneath the sheets enraged him.

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I will remind you again that I am your husband and this is your duty,’ he hissed into my ear. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Nothing, William,’ I whispered, wishing he wouldn’t speak so loudly. ‘It’s just that I’m tired.’

  If we had been at Bisham where the walls were built of stone or well-plastered laths hung with thick woollen tapestries, this humiliation would have been bad enough. But here in our makeshift house, where nothing separated us from the hall bar a few strips of wood covered with cheap English cloth, Thomas would hear every word we spoke, every shift of the mattress and creak of the bed and I didn’t think I could bear it.

  Once the Christmas festivities were over, winter returned across the marsh, baring its teeth and showing its claws. A cold wind blew up from the east, squeezing its way through the gaps in the walls into every corner of our house. No matter how many hangings I ordered placed over the openings, draughts were everywhere. In the evenings the household sat huddled around the hearth but it was impossible to get warm. I thought longingly of the cheerful fires in the rooms at Bisham. Here the logs were damp and our fire smouldered and spat and gave out very little heat.

  Despite the cold and my disinclination to spend time with Thomas Holand, I was determined to continue with our outings. I persuaded myself that, as William had ordered it, what I was doing was not for my benefit but for his.

  ‘Where today?’ asked Thomas casually as we made ready to leave.

  ‘Would it be possible to visit the walls of Calais?’

  He looked amused at my request.

  ‘You wish to make an attempt on the town?’

  ‘No, but I’d like to go closer and see what the king’s army is doing.’

  ‘The king’s army is sitting around in the mud on its collective backside, waiting.’

  ‘Waiting for what?’

  ‘For the spring, for our ships to return, for the French to come back.’

  ‘Why don’t they try breaching the walls?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh my lady, if only it were that easy. The stone throwers are useless because the ground is too soft; the cannon make a lot of noise but no impression at all, and when we tried scaling the walls with ladders and ropes we were unsuccessful. So now we will starve them out. The king says he’ll stay twenty years outside the walls of Calais if that’s what it takes, but we reckon another six months should do it.’

  We rode past the meat market and the church of St Peter and north out of Villeneuve across the marshes towards the fortress of Calais. Beyond the deep trenches and brushwood hovels I could see endless stretches of muddy, bog-ridden ground, dozens of little streams and banks of sand, and towering over everything, the formidable grey walls of the town.

  ‘Make sure you keep your horse on the path,’ said Thomas, watching me carefully. ‘Don’t let her stray off to the side. The ground is treacherous in places.’

  The closer we got to the walls the higher and more sinister they became. There were no signs of life: no women working down at the water’s edge, no children playing, no wagons piled high with provisions lumbering through the great gate and no sight anywhere of the defenders. The castle at the top of the town appeared deserted with no evidence of habitation except for the remnants of a tattered flag on the topmost tower.

  ‘Where are the people?’

  ‘Conserving their strength,’ said Thomas.

  ‘Are they starving?’

  ‘Not yet. A few supply vessels got into the harbour last month so doubtless their storerooms are not completely empty of grain but the king has plans to stop any further ships.’

  ‘What happens when they have no more food?’

  ‘They eat the horses, the dogs, the cats; rats fetch a shilling and sixpence will get you a fat mouse. Men eye up their companions and wonder what they would taste like.’

  ‘But that’s…’

  ‘… what happens when you see death sharpening his knife.’

  I thought he must be exaggerating. I couldn’t imagine any man ever descending to such depths of barbarity.

  ‘What about the women and the children? Surely they’ll be fed?’

  ‘When the garrison commander sees no hope of relief he will open the gate and send the women and children out into the town ditch.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘They are useless mouths. They can’t fight.’

  ‘What will happen to them?’

  ‘If our king is feeling vengeful he will leave them to starve in full sight of their husbands and fathers; if he is merciful he will let them through our lines to wander off to wherever they can find shelter.’

  This all seemed far more horrible than I had imagined. I remembered William saying how my cousin had stood by and seen the women of Caen raped and killed in the streets and I knew that here at Calais he would not be merciful.

  ‘I doubt there’ll be any mercy for the men left inside,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s been a foul winter and the king doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting in the cold and the rain by a rabble who must realise by now that help is not going to come.’

  ‘Surely the French king will do something?’

  ‘It’s said he has no money and some of his great men are already o
ffering assistance to us but I expect those left will force him into action. They’ll bless another of their holy flags and come marching across the Somme.’

  ‘At the thought of more fighting I felt scared and pulled on my reins.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Are we safe?’ I asked, looking nervously at the empty walls and thinking of the Valois and his men creeping through the marshes with their swords and daggers at the ready.

  Thomas leaned over and touched my sleeve. ‘Don’t be frightened. I wouldn’t have let you come this far if there was the slightest danger. Come on, I’ll show you the harbour if you like.’

  He turned his horse’s head and we set off to our left picking our way carefully past groups of men engaged in digging yet more ditches. I could see the outer moat, a wide grey expanse protecting the walls beyond, and coming up fast towards us, a group of horsemen.

  ‘We have company.’ Thomas raised his hand in greeting.

  It was Edward and some of his companions. They were dressed in light armour and carrying swords and reminded me of the boys they had once been, playing at fighting across the gardens at Woodstock.

  ‘What are you doing out here, Holand?’ said Edward pulling his horse up. ‘And why have you Lady Montagu with you? Have you abducted her?’

  There was a ripple of laughter from Edward’s friends who were busy gauging the significance of my presence out here by the walls of Calais and looking me up and down in the way that men did.

  Thomas was not in the least ruffled. He was quite at ease with Edward which was odd because it should have been my husband who could parry a joke and talk in a friendly way with his prince. Yet here was Thomas behaving as if it was he who had spent his boyhood with Edward learning his letters and the art of war, not William. Despite my indifference to his attempts at a renewed friendship, I was surprised and rather pleased.