Lady of the Garter (The Plantagenets Book 4)

by Juliet Dymoke

  'Ah yes, when you sent the Scots into the sea head over arse. That was well done, Will.'

  'I returned to a less pleasant affair at home. I should have come to you before but – but it touches upon my honour.'

  'For God's sake, out with it,' Edward expostulated and took a long pull at his wine, leaning back in his chair and waiting.

  When he had heard it all he threw back his head and burst into laughter.

  'Sire!' Salisbury was shocked. 'It does not seem to me any matter for levity. Master Holland has abused the trust placed in him as my steward, members of my household must have connived at it though Dame Phoebe swears she knew nothing. She should be sent about her business for her carelessness if for nothing else. As for the Lady Joan, to behave like a – like a – ' words failed him.

  'Come, Will,' the King's laughter subsided a little, 'you take all this too gravely, upon my word. Tom Holland has been a rascal but can you not understand? They thought to be like Hero and Leander perhaps, and no doubt my little cousin thought Master Tom a fine handsome fellow. His wooing must have been persuasive!’ He saw the Earl's face and went on, 'of course Tom should not have urged her to it, but there's no harm done or so it seems.'

  'Maybe not,’ Salisbury admitted. 'But he's back from Normandy with Sir Waiter, and if he is about the court again –' he broke off significantly.

  The King raised an eyebrow. 'What in God's name do you fear? Joan and William are wed. The matter's over and done with and Tom too sensible to raise it again. But to please you I'll send him off to Brittany with Count Robert. Artois will plunge him into enough fighting to satisfy his hot blood. Regarding Joan –' there was amusement and no censure in his voice for to Edward Plantagenet love was for taking not for suppressing and he saw the affair in a different perspective from the outraged Earl, 'have you not seen how lovely she is become, enough to turn any man's head?'

  'Beauty is not for defiling,’ Salisbury said.

  'They seem to have thought they were honestly pledged and if we had not pushed forward the marriage to William the affair might have turned out differently. Don't mistake me,' the King hastily added, 'I wanted to see her wed to William. We had always planned that.'

  'She should be shut in her chamber long enough to see how wrongly she acted. A spell on meagre fare would bring her to a realization of what she has done.'

  'No,' the King retorted sharply. I’ll not have that. Will, she does not deserve it. I am sure she has repented enough of what was after all the folly of a child. William is a fine lad and she will be happy with him if we do not interfere. And,' he added wisely, ‘if you make less rather than more of this you will be better rewarded.'

  Salisbury bowed. The King, he thought, did not seem to understand that his honour was concerned, but he had no choice but to submit to royal authority.

  That evening when Joan sat at the King's table Edward bent a searching stare on her. By God, she was beautiful indeed. No wonder she had snared Tom Holland. He did not believe in the binding nature of that betrothal; it must have been as Salisbury said, a piece of romantic nonsense in May when the blood rose like sap in the trees. He would bear no grudge against Tom Holland. More than that, he would give this beautiful child and her young husband honours and lands that would make her forget a few stolen kisses. With the eye of a connoisseur he let his gaze run over her and in a burst of generosity ordered his clerks the next morning to draw up documents giving the young couple deeds to more lands, some that had been held by the Earl himself.

  'My lord!' Salisbury burst out when he heard of these arrangements. 'Will you ruin me? If you take so much from me my son will be feeding me from his table.'

  'Fiddlesticks,' the King retorted briskly. 'I've never heard that you were poor, Will, and my cousin shall have enough to make her forget penniless Tom Holland.'

  'He's not the only one who will be penniless,' Salisbury retorted gloomily. 'And would you raise that old scandal?'

  The King stiffened. 'Do you remind me of that? By Our Lady, Will, it was never true and you know it. William is your son, not mine, and only vile gossip dared once suggest I seduced your Kate.'

  'If you load William with gifts at my expense they will begin to talk again.'

  'Ha! Do you challenge my wisdom? Or my right to dispose of land as I will, especially to my godson?'

  'Not within reason nor what is crown land. But until I give offence I hold my own. If you do this, I shall be forced to go and live abroad.'

  They faced each other, the King's eyes glinting dangerously, the Earl obstinate as always over what he deemed right. But they were friends foremost and after a moment Edward said softly, 'You would not do that?'

  'Not unless I am obliged.'

  'Will! Will!' The King shook a finger at him. 'I'll not oblige you, but the children shall at least have some of what I would give them. Surely you can see that to fill Joan's days as well as her coffers would take her mind off past foolishness? We'll have no scandal – Tom shall go abroad as I have said but when he returns I'll not allow a coolness between you. He's the makings of a fine soldier and we need every good man if we are to win in France.' He glanced shrewdly at the Earl. 'I can see you are beginning to wish you had not told me of the affair.'

  'It was my duty,' Will de Montague said with rare stiffness, 'though it took me a long time to do it.'

  'You were quite right to tell me. And now I want the matter forgotten.'

  Salisbury bowed again. 'As your grace pleases.'

  The King rose. 'What pleases me is your friendship. I value Joan's marriage for the uniting of our families, you know that – and for no other reason.'

  The obstinate look receded from the Earl's face as Edward slid a hand through his arm. 'Come, help me to make plans for the grand tournament I mean to hold after Christmas. I hear William is growing skilled with the lance. Let him run against you and show me what he can do but,' he added laughingly, 'don't be too hard on the lad because I've given him some fat acres.'

  The new year of 1344 came in mildly and at the end of January on a day when a pale sun shone out of a blue sky, Joan took her place in the specially built stand on the flat water meadows below Windsor Castle. A light breeze fluttered the many standards, gules on azure, vert on or, martlets and lions, crosslets and lozenges, boars' heads and eagles decorating men’s banners and shields and saddle cloths. There was an atmosphere of holiday everywhere. Joan sat beside the Queen wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, a hood about her head, but she was not cold and was looking forward to the tournament. The King was to take part and his eldest son. The Prince, now fourteen, was already beginning to draw the crowds when his name was called and the Queen said, 'Watch your cousin today, my dear. His father says he will become the greatest warrior in Europe.'

  The Prince himself rode up to the stand on a fine chestnut percheron. He was growing tall, his legs long in the stirrups, and much resembling his great-grandfather, the first King Edward. He carried lance and shield, controlling his horse with his knees, and a page ran beside him bearing his helm.

  'Madame,' he bowed to his mother and then turned to Joan. 'Well, cousin, may I carry your favour or have you given it to William?'

  Already Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, last year his father had created him Prince of Wales. Joan thought he looked magnificent today in his emblazoned jupon over his armour, his shield bearing the royal arms of England with the filial label.

  'Not yet,' she said in answer to his question and Edward held out his lance so that the tip rested on the wooden balustrade in front of her. 'Then I claim precedence.'

  She laughed and taking the slip of silk from her belt she tied it about the lance. 'God prosper you, Edward.'

  He grinned at her, laughed at the fascinated gaze of his brother, the four-year-old John of Gaunt, and rode off to the lists.

  'Does he not look very fine today, madame?' Joan asked and the Queen nodded, glancing at some gentlemen a few seats away. 'Aye, I think the Duke of Brabant's embassy will wa
nt to press the match with his daughter.'

  'Oh?' Joan queried unenthusiastically. Somehow she did not want to see her cousin Edward wed. If he took a wife she would lose the confidence they had always shared. She had told him herself about the affair with Tom when the Count of Artois had been killed at Vannes and Tom had gone soldiering in Spain with the Earl of Lancaster. Her cousin had not laughed as his father had done when Salisbury spoke of it. He had said gravely, 'I am sorry, Jeanette. Did you care so much for Tom?'

  'Yes,' she had answered and they sat for a while with his arm thrown casually round her shoulders.

  'Well, I like Tom, only William will be Earl of Salisbury one day,' he said practically, 'and you will be a countess.'

  'I don't care for that.'

  'Perhaps you don't think you do,' he said with rare perception, 'but you are one of us, as if you were born my sister. It was a mistake to pledge without leave. We must marry where we are bidden. I'm glad it's resolved.'

  She thought of that conversation now. It was resolved, Tom's ring long since hidden in the recesses of her jewel box, and in the two years that had passed since then, she had learned to accept things as they were. Yet she did not forget Tom for one single day for deep in her own mind he was her true husband and her love. It was fortunate that life was full enough to keep her from dwelling too much on her loss, and today she was absorbed in the tournament.

  The heralds had entered the enclosure and were blowing the call to arms. Joan watched as the Earl of Suffolk struck Northampton's shield in challenge; they ran against each other and though neither were unseated Suffolk broke all three hollow lances and was declared the winner. Joan clapped and chattered to the Queen and to Lady Suffolk, glad she was not next to the Countess of Northampton whom she did not like. The stands were filled now with richly dressed courtiers and their ladies, and here and there the scarlet robe of a bishop or the blue and green stripes of a lawyer. Archbishop Stratford sat on the Queen's other side and the old Earl of Surrey, dying of the French pox, wheezed away next to de Bohun's lady.

  The King ran against his friend Richard Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, and had no trouble unseating him, clever though Arundel was. Sir John Chandos met a Neville, his gold and red shield clashing with the silver saltire of the Nevilles, and presently the Prince came out to meet Roger Mortimer. Roger was determined to prove himself, always on the defensive, eager to retrieve family honour, but he was too slight and as yet without the cunning that would make up for lack of brawn, and the Prince had no difficulty in beating him, so that Roger's pimply young face turned red with mortification. Joan's brother Kent tried a lance with Simon Burley with equal misfortune and stumped off to his tent.

  Presently the King came to stand below the Queen's seat and said to Joan, 'You disposed your colours well, little cousin. Edward shows skill beyond his years.'

  Joan blushed a little and smiled. William had yielded those colours so amiably that she felt a swift pang of guilt, and she gave him a warm look as he came up to her, ready for his bout.

  'Wish me well,' he said ruefully, 'even if the Prince has filched my talisman. I run against my father, for my edification he says, and expect to hit the ground very hard. But as long as it's not in the first essay I'll not mind.'

  'We must watch this carefully.' Philippa was amused. 'I expect my lord of Salisbury will not be too fierce with you.'

  William rode away and a few moments later, Joan saw him thunder across the grass to meet the Earl. Salisbury swerved at the right moment to let his son's lance go harmlessly past him and struck his own lightly on William's shield. William kept his seat and the crowd roared with approval, always ready to encourage youth. In the stand Joan clapped delightedly. On the second run the Earl broke his lance and William rocked in the saddle but still he did not fall. Salisbury took a fresh lance and turned for the last run, aiming this time to hook his son from the saddle, but William had already learned something from him. A slight prick of the spur, a slight veer to the right, but then, instead of striking the shield he lost control of his lance and struck his father an unexpectedly hard blow on the head. Salisbury, surprised, tipped backwards, his horse reared and he was flung to the ground. He rolled over and lay still as his horse plunged over him.

  There was a yell from the crowd and Joan sprang to her feet, both hands to her mouth. The Queen caught at her mantle. 'Sit down, child. My lord of Salisbury has taken many a tumble. He will only be stunned, you will see.'

  But the Earl did not move. William wrenched his excited horse round and saw his father lying there, two attendants running forward. He threw himself from the saddle, tugged off his helm and then pelted forward to where his father lay.

  Already the herald had come up and removed the Earl's own helm. His greying hair was plastered to his head, a lump swelling up on his forehead, some blood on his mouth where his teeth had bitten into his lip. Slowly consciousness returned and he tried to struggle up, but with a sudden groan he drew up his knees and sank back.

  'My lord!' William cried out. 'Are you hurt? Oh God, I did not mean to harm you.'

  Salisbury tried to smile out of a grey face and laid a hand on his son's arm. ‘'Tis naught. My horse kicked me, that's all. By God's Wounds, you did well, William. I was proud of you.'

  William hardly heard the compliment: 'Sir, can you not rise? Here, take my hand. I'm sure you are hurt.'

  'Nonsense,' his father retorted, but a second attempt only drew a further groan of pain from him and he fell back fainting.

  'Fetch a litter,' the herald called and under the concerned gaze of the watchers in the stand, the curious stares of the vast crowd who relished such dramas, the Earl was carried from the field, his Countess and Joan hurrying from the lists.

  The King ordered the injured man to be brought to his own pavilion and called his surgeon who gave it as his opinion that it was no more than severe bruising causing the pain and that the Earl might safely be carried up the slope to the castle.

  He lay there for three days in great agony, his Countess and his sons William and John beside him, Joan taking the Lady Katherine's place when she could be persuaded to rest. The Earl could swallow little but a few sips of water and vomited the surgeon's potions. His face was ashen and damp with a chilling sweat.

  On the second night in the tiny box of a room provided for him and his wife, William sat on the edge of their bed and wept. 'He is dying, Joan, can't you see? Dying, and it is all my fault.'

  'It is not,' she answered and sat down beside him, her arms tightly about him. 'Dear William, of course it is not. There are so many jousts and men don't often die. It was an accident. You couldn't help his horse rearing like that. If it had not thrown him –'

  'If I had not struck so hard –'

  'No harder than any other man might have done, and you thought he would win so easily that of course you tried your best. Don't – don't blame yourself. And I'm sure he will get better.'

  He leaned his head against her shoulder, shaking with dry sobs. 'He won't, I know it, and the surgeon does not believe it either, whatever he may say.'

  'Surgeons! There's a lot they don't know, and he is very strong.'

  But Salisbury's constitution was not strong enough to combat the considerable internal injuries. On the third morning the King came again to see him as he had done, twice each day. He sat by the bed and took the sick man's flaccid hand in his own.

  'Are you a little better today, Will? My doctors say there is hope that this pain will pass and the healing begin soon.'

  'They tell you what they want you to believe,' the Earl said wearily. 'I think, sire, I have not long on this earth. I would be shriven and receive the Blessed Sacrament.'

  'So you shall,' the King agreed, 'for the sake of your soul and your peace of mind, but I can't part with you yet, Will. We've done too much together and there's more to do still. Would you not see the crown of France set on my head?'

  'Indeed I would.' A faint smile lifted the colourless lips. 'But I saw
England's set there and I'll not see another.'

  'Never say it,' Edward retorted stoutly. 'I owe you so much and I'll not have you miss that. But for you I might have lost my throne and my life to that villain Mortimer. If you had not come to my aid –'

  Will de Montague gave a little laugh and coughed. 'A crawl through a dirty tunnel into Tottingham Castle? You've repaid that and more since, my dear lord.' The smile faded as a spasm of pain crossed his face. 'But I must speak of grave matters for we must not deceive ourselves, sire. You have been good to William, and to Joan, but when I am gone do not forget my wife, nor John – he has need of substance.'

  'Do you think I could ever forget Kate?' The King's eyes rested briefly on the Countess’

  anguished face. 'As for John,' his glance turned to the rather sulky face of the Earl's younger son, 'doubtless he will be provided for.'

  The Earl gave a heavy sigh. 'I shall soon be past disposing and must trust all to you, my lord. A priest is all my need now.'

  Bishop Wyvil of his own city of Salisbury came, and the chamber was emptied as the Earl made his last confession. He lingered through the night, but as the dawn light came it showed a change in the dying man's face. The King was summoned. Lady Furnival hurried from her chamber, and watched her son, dry-eyed but anguished at this untimely death, while his wife Kate sat with his hand to her cheek. Joan wept, kneeling beside William, their own hands clasped, while Philippa sobbed for the father she had adored. John did not weep, but thought only that his father was dying with everything given to William and little for himself.

  At six o'clock the shallow breathing ceased and a look of peace settled on the Earl's face. 'I never had a friend like him,' the King cried out in grief. 'He shall have masses said for all time for his soul.'

  The Earl was buried in the church of the White Friars in London, the whole court attending. Turning to leave at the end Joan saw beside a pillar on the far side of the church a dark head above a mourning mantle. A moment later Tom came up to her and to William. 'My lord,' he bowed, 'I have but just returned to England to hear this sad news. I grieve for you all. Your father was a most noble man, and I pray he may rest in peace.'