Joan sat in the centre of all this excitement, responding to it, and asking in her turn where the French were and how soon Calais might fall.
'My brother monarch came to Amiens,' the King said contemptuously, 'and then no further. I think after Crecy he dare not face either our chivalry or our bowmen, and in truth he has lost too many of his knights to fight again as yet, isn't that so, Sir Thomas?' appealing to him now as a companion in arms. Apparently the King had, in more pressing matters, relegated the involvement of his young cousin with Tom Holland to the past.
‘Aye sire,' Tom said and smiled at Joan, but cautiously. 'It was God's miracle, lady.'
'And King Philip cannot cross the marshes that lie between us,' the Prince put in. 'He sits there, or so our spies tell us, and bewails his fate, blaming everyone but himself. And he has no honour. He gave Manny a safe conduct to join us and then let his people seize him.'
'Oh base!' Joan exclaimed. 'Where is Sir Walter now?'
'Here,' Manny said, pushing forward, his broad face as good-natured as ever. 'The Dauphin himself swore he would not strike another blow for his father if the King did not honour his pledge. So I was released and mighty glad to ride here.'
At supper she saw Sir John Chandos and Bart Burghersh, the latter boasting a newly-healed scar down one side of his face, the Earls of Arundel and Oxford, and the de Bohun brothers with their ladies, and there was a fine table set to celebrate this second victory.
'Well,' the Princess Isabel leaned across her brother, 'you are the heroine of the day, Joan. Such a change from court gossip.'
'You have a witch's tongue,' Edward told her. 'It is a pity you can never hold it.'
She opened her eyes wide at him. 'l, brother? I was thinking of my lord of Arundel.' She lowered her voice confidentially. 'You won't have heard, Joan, but he is divorcing his lady who, poor soul, has given him but one daughter – I forget the pretext just now, but he has his eye on Lancaster's sister. He's in debt as always and wants a part of that fortune. My father is so attached to him, because he's amusing –'
'And a fine soldier,' her brother interpolated.
'Yes, well, I expect so, but our lord does not care that he flouts the marriage vow.'
'You are as sour as vinegar because Louis of Flanders had run away from us to join the French,' Edward said with brotherly frankness and added to Joan, 'Louis fought for us at Crecy, but after he saw his father fighting under Philip's banner to be slain by our men he would have no more to do with us, bastard that he is. You're well rid of such a turncoat, Isabel.'
'Had you been betrothed?’ Joan asked.
'No.' Isabel had flushed. 'My father only talked of it and I'm glad Louis has gone. I did not care for such a stupid youth.' And she turned away to speak to Michael de la Pole who sat on her other side.
Edward laughed and for the rest of the meal monopolized his cousin. 'William shall have you later,' he said, 'but I want your company now. There is so much I want to tell you. At Crecy –'
'I heard a little,' she said, 'mostly of your bravery. It came about just as we always said.'
'Aye,' he could not keep the pride from his voice, 'I knew God's Hand was on me. I fell, you know, and I thought for one moment I would die by a French spear, but Fitz-Simon threw my great standard, my Welsh dragon, over me, and he stood astride me beating off the French till I could rise again. My father knighted him for that.' ·
'It was bravely done. And he would have died for you, I think.'
'Yes,' he answered simply. 'Chandos and Bart were close to me too and we held the French without further help. My father said I should win my own spurs – and I did. Last week. I led a raid against some French stragglers and sent them back into the marshes. I've learned a lot, Jeanette.'
He paused while an usher filled their goblets. 'War is not just hard fighting, it is knowing when and where and how to strike. That's why we beat Philip, because my father knows and he does not. Is your brother coming to join us? We need men. Sickness has taken more from us than the French.'
She shook her head. 'Not yet, I think. He has much to do on the border. He awaits your father's orders concerning the King of Scots.'
'Well, I know what they'll be. Lancaster's come from Guienne to swell our numbers and I've written again to my chancellor for money to pay my men and buy more horses. I must have it if it has to be wrung out of my lazy vassals,' he added with the arrogant look down his nose and Joan laughed. There was already a gold down on his upper lip making him look older, to add to the experience written on his face.
'Of course they must pay,' she agreed. 'They cannot have great victories if they are mean in the pocket. Edward, I am so proud of you.'
'And I of you,' he said, catching her hand. 'I would not have been surprised if you had ridden out with your army to face the Scots.'
She shook her head. 'I hate blood and the stink of it.'
'It is war. Do you like my ostrich feather, Jeanette? He was brave, that blind old King riding to his death, and I think it no shame to wear his emblem.'
'No indeed,' she agreed, rinsing her fingers in a bowl of sweet smelling water. All the refinements seemed to be here in this makeshift court. Later she went to the Queen's chamber in the stone manor house, the only one in the area found suitable for housing the royal family. It had been hung with tapestries, the floor covered regularly with fresh rushes, the Queen's bed brought from England.
'It is good to have you back with us, my dear,' the Queen said comfortably. 'Come and see my new daughter, Mary. She is very sickly, poor little thing, but please God she will live to womanhood. I fill my lord's nursery, do I not? Eight of them now and only one lost in childbed.'
'And the boys so strong and handsome,' Joan said. 'Lionel grows so tall and John and Edmund are like a pair of golden-haired angels.'
'Angels!' Philippa laughed. 'I fear not. Dr Burley tells me they are always in trouble and a beating does little to tame them. But I like boys to have spirit and I would like to see you with a son of your own. Go to William, my love. I'll not keep you from him any longer.'
Joan rose and would have kissed the Queen's hand but instead Philippa embraced her again. 'I will pray to our Lady that you conceive, and this will aid you.' She pressed a small object into Joan's hand. It was a tiny reliquary. 'It contains a drop of our Lady's milk,' she added, 'wear it always.’
And Joan, taking it, carried it away with her, a prey to a sense of tearing guilt. Never again, she thought, would she permit the King to enter her bed. She had been wildly foolish to allow it last year, though indeed he had given her little choice, but she might even now have whelped a King's bastard and how great then her shame would have been.
She lay with William that night and half her mind was vividly aware of fear that the King might try to take her even here. William was delighted to have her with him and in the draughty wooden quarters allotted them made love to her with more urgency than he had shown before. War, she reflected with dry amusement, must have quickened more than the skill of his right arm.
To her relief, though the King paid extravagant attention to her, he seemed to have no thought of carrying on the secret liaison. He was far too busy, lodgings were cramped and his Queen always with him.
At Christmas the usual festivities took place despite the circumstances. The wretched inhabitants of the city looked in vain for help from King Philip, and while they were reduced to eating dogs, cats, horseflesh and even rats, while Jean de Vienne, in agony with gout, held on, pale and hungry but keeping hope alive, the English feasted on sup plies raided from the countryside or brought from England. A party of young men, happily drunk, sang a wassailing song under the enemy's walls, toasted them and threw great haunches of meat in the air, catching them again and eating until they were full, slapping their stomachs and laughing at the hungry faces above. The French retorted by hurling filth and excrement at them.
Boughs of evergreen were brought in to decorate the King's lodging, the Prince of Wales dressed
up as the Lord of Misrule, and the company were entertained by tumblers from Morocco and by a performing bear which lumbered about the hall while dogs yapped viciously at its feet.
Dancing began and the King led Joan into the first measure, the Queen declining so soon after childbed. Holding his cousin's hand firmly he said, 'Your beauty grows, I swear it,' and Joan's stomach jumped in anticipation of what he might say next, but he went on, 'However I must not tempt the gossips. It seems our play in the woods last May did not escape notice, though I swear no one knew more.'
'Your grace is right as always,' Joan answered in a low voice as they turned to the music, 'and I could not – now that her grace is here and with your newborn babe.'
He laughed. 'What difference does that make? Dear Joan, loving is life to you and you have need of it, yet you have a conscience. A difficult combination.'
The dance ended and he left her, casually wandering away to talk to Elizabeth de Bohun. She herself crossed to William's side and laid her hand affectionately on his arm, but at the same time the King's words pounded in her head. For they were true. Love to her was life and without it she was starved. For all his new-found manhood William's physical need was quickly over and without suspicion that she too had needs that he could not satisfy.
She must not think of this, nor dwell on what she might not have, and when Tom asked her to dance she looked boldly at the Princess Isabel and the Countess of Northampton and swept into the steps.
Tom had seen that glance. 'Do they still wonder?'
'I don't know. They are spiteful like cats in an alley, though I don't think Isabel is really unkind. She just loves gossip.'
'She is a woman,' he said teasingly.
'Why do you still wear that patch?' Joan asked, anxious to leave the subject of gossip. 'I thought you would take it off after Crecy.'
'Needs must now,' he said smiling. 'Some scurvy Frenchman thought to gratify himself by aiming at it and he threw a spear too well. Now I cannot see out of the eye which is a sorry mess and I would not offend the ladies by displaying it to the world.'
'Oh, I am so sorry.' She held his hand a little more tightly than was correct.
'Do not be. The King has seen fit to reward me with eighty thousand florins as a ransom for the Count of Eu, and I have more to come for my other prisoners. I shall be rich, Joan.'
'I am glad for you,' she said bleakly and he gave a low laugh.
'I know how to use it,' he answered, and then the dance ended, leaving her wondering what he meant.
Spring came, and summer, and still Calais held out. Heat brought disease to add to the sufferings of the inhabitants and at last on a sweltering day in July the Sieur de Vienne asked for a meeting with the King's envoys, for terms that he might accept with honour.
'Ha!' The King's temper had been somewhat frayed by what he considered his enemy's obduracy. 'He has kept us all here kicking our heels for too many months. Does he dare tell me what he wants? Herald, return to your lord and say that the surrender must be unconditional.'
Sir Waiter Manny, who had been sent on the King's behalf to talk from below the gate with the governor above, pushed the herald aside. 'Messire de Vienne will not yield in that manner, sire. He wishes –'
'God curse him!' Plantagenet rage rose. 'He will do as I bid now or every man, woman and child in that city shall die.'
The herald steppe back, swallowing hard, for he had never before seen the King of England, and the King angry was a sight he did not wish to see again.
'Your grace,' Arundel spoke in a low voice from his place at the King's side. 'Would mercy not be the better order of the day? We have done what we came to do. Calais will be ours.'
'Aye,' de la Pole agreed, 'and think, my lord, how that will benefit us. Their pirate ships have been a thorn in our flesh too long.'
Sir Waiter Manny added, 'And no one can deny the place has been garrisoned by brave men betrayed by their King. If we treat them unchivalrously what may the French not do if any of us are in like case?' Having had one taste of French usage of prisoners he did not want another.
The King simmered, his anger barely leashed. The hot sun beat down. The French herald who had returned with Sir Waiter began to fear this tall angry man would begin his vengeance by striking him down without regard to a herald's customary safe-conduct. The English barons stood flanking their King, most agreeing with the Earl of Arundel, though a few hotheads clamoured loudly for the severest punishment. These the Earl of Lancaster silenced by saying quietly that mercy at this point would only enhance their lord's stature.
At length the King said, 'So be it.' His eyes fixed themselves on the quaking herald, weak from both fear and months of near starvation. 'Send out six of your leading men and I will deal with them as I think fit. The rest may go free but your city must learn what it is to defy Edward Plantagenet.'
For the surrender the whole army assembled and all the court ladies stood under an awning raised for the occasion. From the grey walls a crowd of emaciated men watched, looking down on this moment of their humiliation. Joan, beside the Queen, glanced at her grim-faced cousin, wondering what he would do. She hoped she would not have to watch bloodshed, though Isabel said loudly and with relish, 'Now we shall see the villains pay for their defiance. I hope my father is not too lenient with them.'
'Hush,' the Queen said. 'You are too forward, daughter,' and Joanna, thirteen now and betrothed to the King of Castile, said quietly, 'Our Blessed Saviour told us to be merciful, did He not?'
The gates were opened and the Sieur de Vienne rode out, for he could not stand, five others walking beside him wearing only plain white shirts and each with a halter about his neck. From the English ranks gathered on the grassy space before the grey walls there arose shouts and jeers, the soldiers yelling their delight in this surrender which would mean more plunder for all. The barons watched grimly and, on one or two faces, there was some compassion, while at the sight of the poor wretches coming out to pay the price for their companions the Queen gave a little gasp. Gaunt, pale, staggering on legs that could scarcely bear them, they approached the King, endeavouring to keep some dignity, and Joan felt tears prick her eyes. Enemies they might be, they were still brave men.
De Vienne spoke for the rest. 'We are here, sire, because we can no longer see our people suffer and die. I yield you the keys of Calais.' He held them out and Sir Waiter Manny came forward to take them, bringing them to the King. Edward laid his hand briefly on them in token of acceptance and then nodded to several waiting soldiers. 'That tree should serve,' he said. 'Get on with your work.'
'Sire – ' Manny was still holding the keys. 'I beg you a little mercy. They do not deserve this.'
'Manny!' The King did not turn his head but continued to stare at the six wretched men. One fell on his knees weeping, his skeletal hands held out in supplication, but Jean de Vienne kept his head up and the others stared out of bleakly hopeless eyes at the King. ‘Manny,' Edward repeated, 'you would be wise not to interfere.'
'Madame,' Joan whispered, 'will he really do it? Hang those poor wretches? They have suffered enough.'
Philippa, already resolved, left her place among the ladies and went forward, de la Pole falling back for her to pass him to the King's side. Determinedly she said, 'My dear lord, will you hear me for one moment?’
He still did not turn his head. 'Lady, this is not your affair. Tend to your babe and leave me to deal with our enemies.'
Philippa, however, for all her gentleness, was not to be put off. Deliberately she knelt, both hands on her husband's arm. 'Sire, have I asked one single boon of you since I came here? I did not fear the sea though I was heavy with child, and I have borne you a daughter, content to live as any soldier's wife. Now I do not fear to ask. For sweet Jesu's sake, for your love for me, I beg you – be merciful to these poor wretches.'
'Merciful!'
For one moment Joan held her breath, awaiting an explosion of royal wrath. The silence went on for so long that one of
the six fell fainting to the ground. Then the King turned at last. He looked down at his Queen, at the tears of pity on her cheeks, and bending lifted her to her feet.
'Lady, I could wish you had not been here. As it is I cannot refuse you.' The prisoners are yours to do with as you will.' He turned on his heel and walked away.
Later the Prince said to Joan, 'My mother was right, I think. It was a moment for mercy. Men will remember my father's chivalry this day.'
'They will remember the Queen's pity,' Joan said and was aware of relief that she had not to witness the executioner's work.
The city was cleared, all the French sent away. It was plundered and stripped and finally cleansed. Englishmen settled in their fine houses, merchants came from England to set up their business, Queen Philippa comfortably took over the home and property of one of the men whose pardon she had secured, and in August the King held a victory banquet.
Joan had a new gown made for the occasion, an underskirt embroidered like a jupon with the arms of England quartered with her own, a blue overdress and a long belt sparkling with sapphires. It drew a gasp as she entered the castle hall, and when dancing began the Prince said admiringly, 'There is not a woman here as lovely as you, Jeanette.'
She glowed in response but the effect her gown and her beauty had on the King this night was more difficult to handle. He held her hard in the dance, his fingers gripping hers, and in a low voice he said, 'Jesu, but l will have you again, fair cousin! It must be.'
'It shall not, ' she answered equally low. 'Sire, I beg you – others are watching us.'
'Do not defy me? You have seen what happens to people who do that,' he retorted, a certain grimness in his humour.
'And you showed them kindness. I bear you and the Queen too much love to expect less.'
'Do you not want me too? Deny it if you can.'
'What I want, my lord, and what I may have are two most different things.'
Lady of the Garter (The Plantagenets Book 4) Page 10
