He made a grab for the sleeve of my shift but when I pulled away he shrugged and went staggering down the stairway. Next morning, I found him dead drunk in his bed where his grooms had left him.
I called for a bowl of water and sat sponging his forehead and wiping traces of vomit from his mouth until eventually he stirred. He was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep with a sour smell on his breath, but he was still afraid.
‘Hold me, Joan,’ he whispered. ‘Hod me as my mother used to do.’
We called it the season of death and it was in those early days, when green shoots began appearing in the hedgerows, that people started dying. First were the children, then the old people and by the time we journeyed to Windsor at the king’s command, the devastation was everywhere. Eastertide was well past yet the land at Westhorpe lay uncultivated and William said the men who worked the strips were either dead or run away and our neighbour sick with grief at the loss of his wife and child.
At the turn of the river by Cock Marsh, beasts with no-one to guard them wandered seemingly at will through the hay meadows and near Cookham we saw a score of bloated sheep lying dead from a murrain. The wharf at Maindenhythe was deserted and beneath the hill on the far bank were empty hovels, plague pits and a clumsily erected cross. The villagers must have thought the sign of Christ’s suffering would protect them, but it hadn’t; they were all dead.
It was a different world in the king’s palace at Windsor in the fresh air high on the hill where we’d come for the St George’s Day tournament. Here there was music and graceful living and not the slightest sign of fear. We were gathered to celebrate the creation of my cousin’s new order of knights and nobody wanted to think about death or what had been lost forever.
Like Arthur, the ancient warrior King of Britain, friend to Merlin the magician, my cousin was drawing around him a band of men sworn to his service, a brotherhood of knights who would conduct themselves like the brave and chivalrous Arthurian knights of old.
‘Twenty-six,’ said Margaret in answer to my question, linking her arm with mine as we made our way through the crowded public rooms towards the queen’s presence chamber. ‘And it’s not a matter of rank or money. Nobody can buy a place. Walter Manny says competition for the stalls is tremendous.’
‘William was overjoyed to be chosen,’ I said as we pushed our way through the throng. ‘He considers it the greatest of honours. Apparently the ceremony in the chapel will be very intimate, very spiritual, and most definitely not an entertainment.’
‘No,’ laughed Margaret. ‘That will come afterwards.’
At that moment, a blast of the herald’s trumpet silenced the crowd as the doors at the far end of the room opened to reveal the queen. She took her seat amidst a hush of shuffling feet. There must have seventy or more of us tucked into the presence chamber and it was hard to move without treading on somebody’s toes.
‘I have the list,’ said the queen, smiling like an indulgent mother. ‘It is only natural that you ladies should wish to take part in today’s magnificent entertainment because this event will be as great an honour for each one of you as it is for the men.’
‘Hardly,’ whispered Margaret. ‘All we have to do is learn a few steps and make ourselves pleasant to our partners. How difficult can that be?’
The queen paused for a moment while we held our breath. One or two women were trembling and the girl next to me couldn’t stop fiddling with the cloth of her gown she was so nervous.
‘I can see you are impatient to know who has been chosen,’ continued the queen. ‘There are twenty-six noble knights in the king’s order of chivalry therefore twenty-six ladies will be selected.’
A groan rippled across the room and the sense of excitement grew. Each woman clearly wanted it to be her rather than her friend, nobody wanted to be passed over. None of us knew exactly what was to happen but if it involved the bravest and handsomest knights in the land, what woman would not want to play a part?
The queen passed the list to the Master of the Revels at her side. As the names were read out, various ladies smiled smugly. Some I knew well, being wives or sisters of my cousin’s men and one to my surprise, was the dark-haired young wife of a French hostage.
‘And lastly,’ said the Master of the Revels, looking round at the sea of expectant upturned faces, ‘Joan, Lady Montagu, the king’s kinswoman, wife of Sir William Montagu.’
‘Lucky you,’ said the woman next to me, practically spitting in disappointment.
‘Off you go,’ said Margaret, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Go and learn your lines and your dance steps and don’t forget to tie your mask properly. You don’t want it falling off half-way through. Nobody will dance with you if they know who you are because by now your reputation is all but destroyed.’
Turning my back on Margaret’s rudeness I joined the other women as we trooped into an adjoining chamber to receive our costumes. And what costumes they were! We had ivory gowns embroidered all over with gold and silver thread; chaplets of silver set with pearls and decorated with tiny silken rosebuds, and girdles of twisted gold; we had delicate hose of the finest wool and slippers of shiny white satin. And to ensure we were properly disguised and nobody would know who we were, each of us was given a golden mask with ties of narrow gold ribbon. It was utterly thrilling.
The gowns were exquisitely fashioned from heavy silk with necks cut so daringly low that we showed not only the tops of our breasts but also our shoulders.
‘I feel half-naked,’ whispered my neighbour. ‘I daren’t think what my husband will say.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ said her friend swirling her skirts and nodding to the two pretty London girls. ‘With your mask on, no-one will know who you are. You could be anybody. You can do whatever you like and your husband will never know.’
I could see this was going to be a far more elaborate and surprising entertainment than I’d first thought. We ladies were to be white hinds chased by knightly hunters through the greenwood. I wasn’t sure how it was to work but there would be dancing and singing and a lot of running around and by the time it was over each hind was to be paired with the knight who had captured her for a final parade.
There were several dozen small boys playing the hounds. They would be dressed in black and gold and were strictly forbidden from snapping at the hems of our gowns. They had a whipper-in to control them but knowing small boys, I doubted he would be sufficient to ensure good behaviour and made a note to keep my eyes on the back of my skirts.
We spent the rest of the day practising our dances until we were step-perfect while the royal seamstresses pinned and tucked and stitched, making last-minute alterations to our gowns. We even found time amidst the confusion to rehearse our songs and learn the order of events.
‘You look lovely, Joan,’ sighed Philly, William’s younger sister, married to Edward’s friend Roger Mortimer, grandson of old Lady Mortimer of Ludlow Castle. ‘Are you scared? I hope my husband catches me. I wouldn’t want to be captured by Lord Stafford. He looks terribly fierce.’ She giggled at the thought of having an older man as her captor and offered to tie my mask.
‘Don’t worry, Philly,’ I said. ‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’
The silly girl gave a mock shiver and dissolved once more into giggles.
At last it was time. We held hands in pairs and walked slowly in procession down the wide steps, under a soaring archway and out into a vast open space. As I reached the last step I felt a note thrust into my hand. I turned to see who it was but in the flickering light of the torches there was no-one there. Through the eye-slits I could just make out the words,
“Master Nicholas Heath has been arrested on the king’s orders and is lodged in the Tower”
My heart lurched and my fingers felt cold as ice. There was no signature and no seal but it could only have come from one person: Thomas. I hadn’t seen him but I knew he
must be somewhere in the castle.
‘Oh look!’ Behind her golden mask Philly’s eyes glowed with excitement at the scene before us. Lit by the flames of a thousand torches was a glittering display of green and silver and gold. In the centre of the arena was a profusion of trees which had sprung up overnight as if by magic. The trunks were wrapped in silver ribbons and the trees shimmered with gleaming foliage of green and gold. Each branch dipped with the weight of silver coins and delicate jewel-like fruits; and wound over and under the branches were rivers of undulating silk of every conceivable colour.
Around the outside were little pavilions, striped azure and white, flying flags of different colours, each bearing the arms of one of the twenty-six members of the king’s new order, and at one side was a small white canvas castle painted with roses.
It was late and the sun had disappeared but the torches had been lit making our world almost as bright as midday. At one end of the arena the royal musicians with their gleaming instruments were grouped high on a dais and all the way round were benches and stands for the onlookers. I could just make out the queen and the royal ladies sitting in canopied splendour beneath a roof of silver and red, but of the knightly hunters there was no sign.
As we ladies entered, the music changed. We danced lightly and elegantly and nobody forgot their steps. When we were finished we collapsed amidst much cheering onto a mound of little white stools looking for all the world like a herd of deer at rest.
The drums began and one after the other the twenty-six knights emerged from the darkness of a hidden tunnel and to an increasing crescendo rode slowly around the arena, pausing only to make their salutes to the queen. We couldn’t tell who was who because they were dressed in identical black robes with glittering golden masks hiding their faces. I felt a stir of excitement wondering who would be my partner for the evening: Edward? William? Perhaps John Chandos. None of the women knew the names of all the knights.
The knights halted and dismounted. The music stopped. The drums stopped. There was absolute silence.
Then at a sign from the Master of Revels, trumpets sounded and at once the first of the hinds broke free and fled into the wood pursued by a dozen giggling small boys who had appeared out of nowhere.
It was all a game and the most tremendous fun. We had received our instructions and knew exactly what to do. We were to enter the wood where there was a maze of winding pathways and if we chose the correct path we would arrive in safety at the pretty little castle. Trying to stop us would be two knights. If either of them succeeded in capturing a hind she would be tied with a silver chain and led out of the wood, around the arena and into the pavilion of the successful knight where she would be given refreshments. Those who reached safety had to repeat their race through the wood for a second time and if they had any sense at all would ensure they dallied long enough to be caught.
Lord Henry was cheered to the skies when he emerged out of the trees with one of the city wives who was giggling uncontrollably and moments later Edward’s friend, John Chandos, captured the little French girl. One of the women, much to her surprise and dismay, reached the castle in safety and the Earl of Warwick and Sir Hugh de Courtenay returned empty-handed to try again later.
I was next.
In the depths of the wood I could see nothing but flashes of gold and deep pools of darkness. I hesitated at a fork in the path and that cost me dear. I felt a gloved hand placed across my mouth and another on my arm. I had no idea who it was but knew better than to struggle. My captor kept hold of my arm and with his other hand carefully lifted up my mask.
‘Lady Montagu! What a surprise.’
The voice was muffled within the confines of his golden eagle’s head but I hadn’t spent a night in his arms with him whispering love words in my ear not to recognise my cousin’s voice.
‘Your Grace.’
I dropped a low curtsey.
‘I have you caught.’ He spoke with some satisfaction.
‘So it would appear.’
‘I thought merely to win some small creature of the wild wood but it seems I have captured the queen of the herd.’
‘You flatter me, Your Grace.’
‘I don’t think so. I think you are well aware of your worth, my dear Lady Montagu. You don’t have two of my best knights fighting over the right to take you to their bed without calculating down to the last penny what you would fetch in the market place.’
He produced a length of silver chain which he proceeded to fix round my wrist, holding the other end firmly in his hand.
‘Just a little tether to ensure you don’t run away,’ he said, giving the chain a sharp tug. ‘The whole purpose of this game is to see the knights of my order triumph. If we defeat the French and capture the hinds, this great mortality cannot harm us. People need to understand that their king and his chosen friends will always prevail.’
‘But we hinds must surrender to our fate?’ I said with some bitterness. ‘We are not permitted to fight for our own destiny?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Lady Montagu, the world may be half destroyed but men will always be masters of women. Not even the great mortality can change that.’
I didn’t smile. I wasn’t going to be amused when I knew what he had done. No woman of any sense laughs at her enemy’s jokes.
He put his hand underneath my chin and tipped it up. ‘You look delightful when you are angry, my dear, and you really do make an exciting opponent for a king denied a battlefield. If I had all night we could stay here, skirmishing with words, but it’s time to give the people what they expect. Come.’
He tugged on the chain and I dutifully followed him along the pathway with ribbons of silk brushing against my face. As we emerged into the torch-lit arena I saw Philly and her husband disappear into a striped pavilion. My cousin raised his hand in acknowledgement while I smiled obligingly and the crowd roared its approval at my capture. One of the grooms carefully removed my cousin’s golden eagle’s head and the roars increased as the crowd saw it was the king.
He mounted his great black warhorse while a groom knelt, giving me a cupped hand to help me onto a small white palfrey. I reached for the bridle but the groom handed it to the king.
‘You are mine,’ said my cousin, looking down with some satisfaction from his great height. ‘Where I lead, you will follow. You are my captive and I may do with you whatever I wish. You have seen my triumphs against the French and you must know by now that a victorious king is allowed to enjoy the spoils of war in whatever way he chooses.’
With the trumpets sounding a royal fanfare I was forced to ride step by step with him round the arena, paraded like a prisoner in chains. We paused in front of the pavilion where the royal ladies were seated and my cousin acknowledged his wife and gestured to me. I bowed my head politely to the queen and when I looked up she was smiling.
This pretence was all part of the game of courtly love. A knight should woo his lady with words and deeds to show his undying admiration and she would accept his addresses but not relent. He would be ardent but she would be cool; he would cast himself at her feet but she would turn her heel giving only the tiniest hint of a smile. This charade was played by everyone at the king’s entertainments and we all knew the rules. It was a foolish woman who allowed herself to be blinded by pretty words, and it would be a brave young man who overstepped the mark and followed a woman to her chamber. My cousin would do nothing to dishonour either his wife or me in front of his people but I could tell from the way the queen inclined her head that she had given him licence to pursue his desires tonight in any way he wanted.
His enjoyment of other women didn’t touch her because, as she had said, she was his beloved wife, the mother of his children and everyone knew it. I had been won like a purse at the tourney and could be frittered away in a night’s enjoyment and as Margaret had said, my reputation as a vir
tuous wife was already all but ruined.
The rest of the entertainment passed in a blur of sound: the cheering crowds, the beating drums, the singing, the music, the dancing, the triumphant hunters and their laughing captives. We feasted and made merry long into the night and by the time I retired to our room I was too weary for words. William was nowhere to be seen and I had no doubt he was amusing himself with whichever girl he had caught in the greenwood. He would crawl into her bed seeking comfort and try to forget the horrors of a coming tomorrow.
As my maid combed out my hair ready for the night I heard the sound of a knock and the voice of the king’s page asking for Lady Montagu. This was not what I wanted in any way but I could not refuse. I shrugged on my cloak, covered my loose hair with my hood and followed the man through the darkened palace to the king’s apartments.
‘Lady Montagu,’ he said with a smile of satisfaction as the door closed softly behind me.
He wasn’t at the king’s business; tonight he sat sprawled in his chair wearing a loose chamber robe and drinking wine.
I curtsied low, feeling the coldness of his gaze raise hairs on the back of my neck.
‘Your Grace,’ I murmured.
He beckoned, watching through half-closed lids as I walked unsteadily across the floor towards him. The sight of his flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes caused my belly to constrict with fear because my experiences with William had taught me exactly how dangerous a man could be when he was half-drunk, especially a man with a score to settle.
‘Take it off,’ he said nodding at my cloak. ‘Or shall I take a knife to the laces?’
I shivered at the thought of him slicing my clothes with his dagger so I undid the ties and slowly slid the cloak from my shoulders. It dropped heavily to the floor where it lay in folds at my feet.
His eyes glittered at the sight of the silk nightgown with my golden hair spread loosely over my shoulders. I felt the intensity of his desire as palpably as if he had it on display. He was holding the silver chain he had tied round my wrist earlier that day, twisting the narrow links in his fingers and pulling them tight.
The Fair Maid of Kent Page 32
