by Anne O'Brien
‘At least they will know each other’s faults and failings before they are committed to living together,’ Lady Elizabeth observed. ‘They are to be envied. The same could not be said for my own marriage.’
‘I deny any faults and failings in my son.’ Countess Catherine was not quite in accord with her mother-in-law. ‘William, of course, will soon soften Joan’s sharpness of tongue and unpredictable spirit.’
Now, to my right, I could feel Will’s regard, fierce as an eagle, for so mild tempered a youth. I returned it.
‘We will make it a superb occasion. It may be that the Earl is released, making it a double celebration. Edward and Philippa will of course attend.’ My mother, her habitual caustic utterance overlaid with bright anticipation, incongruous in her sombre figure.
I saw Will’s lips part, his brow furrow.
I frowned at him, even as I knew I must bow to his command. I could remain silent no longer.
‘There is no impediment to this marriage that will require a dispensation,’ our priest, Father Oswald, writing down the salient points of our betrothal, spoke quietly and with satisfaction into the august exchange. Within aristocratic circles there were few betrothed couples who were not related within the forbidden degree through family intermarriage over the years. Papal dispensations were a common commodity.
‘Which is fortunate,’ my uncle Wake said with a grimace. ‘The present Avignon holder of the office is notorious for being long-winded and expensive.’
I took a breath.
William scowled.
I swallowed and spoke out.
‘There is an impediment to this marriage.’
How strong and clear my voice sounded as I launched the statement into the confines of the room, like a fire arrow winging its destructive path over a besieged castle wall to bury itself in a thatched roof of the stabling, with instant conflagration. A statement that would change everything. That would bring ire and retribution down on my head.
I saw Will flush to the roots of his tawny hair. Well, he could not complain. I had done what I said I would do.
‘An impediment?’ For the first time throughout all that discussion, my uncle Wake’s regard fell fully on me, and without approbation. His voice acquired a rough edge. ‘What ill-judged nonsense is this? Of course there is no impediment. Have we not studied the lines of descent of our two families with care? There is no connection between us. There is no complication of consanguinity.’ He glanced across at Countess Catherine, an assured smile replacing the severe lines. ‘As the Countess knows, there is no obstacle to this marriage.’
‘What are you thinking, Joan? This is no time for misplaced levity.’ My mother tried to sound amused, and failed.
‘It is a highly desirable,’ Sir Thomas continued, riding roughshod over any objections that anyone might raise. He thought that I had raised my voice because I did not like Will. Did not like him well enough to wed him. How little he knew of me, to think that I would be guided by so trivial a matter of who I liked or did not like. He did not know me at all.
Taking a cup of wine and emptying it in one gulp, my uncle was saying: ‘What could be more comfortable for you than our disposition of your future?’ He repeated the decisions, as if I had not heard them for myself. ‘You have known each other since childhood. You will both continue to live in the royal household until you are of an age to set up your own establishment. You will receive money necessary to do so. What is there not to like? I’m sure the King will settle a castle on you for your household. There can be no impediment.’
Countess Catherine looked across at her son. ‘Have you argued? Is that the problem? Arguments are soon mended.’ And then regarding me as she was want to do in the past when I was an errant child who had defied her. ‘I am sure that you have a kind nature, Joan. There will be no rift with my son.’
Yes, indeed, as if I were a child who affections could be commanded.
I was no child.
‘No, Sir Thomas, my lady, madam my mother.’ I curtsied once more. ‘I like William well enough. And I think he likes me. There has been no disagreement.’
I had to do it. If I didn’t, Will most assuredly would. He was already moving his feet as if finding secure ground to launch his accusation.
I spoke calmly, with faux assurance.
‘I cannot marry William. I am already married. I already have a husband.’
If I had ever dreamed of making an impact on a busy room, this was it. Silence fell. The only sound the priest, who, still writing, promptly dropped his pen with a soft flutter to land on the birds and flowers that adorned the painted tiles. I watched the expressions form and change. My mother astounded, then full of recrimination. My uncle expressing disbelief quickly subsumed into fury. Lady Elizabeth and her daughter-in-law both simply perplexed. The priest also full of anxious puzzlement. The servants with their silver flagons and ears pricked for any tasty morsel had been struck into immobility. And Will – William! – full of unholy joy at the debacle I had just created.
‘You should know,’ I added, ‘that I have been married for more than six months. Since April of this year.’
‘You do not know what you say.’
My mother took one long step to seize my wrist in her hand. It was not a gentle grasp.
‘But I do know, madam. And I have witnesses to my marriage.’
‘And who is this husband, of whom we know nothing?’ My uncle Wake, his brow thunderous.
I must of course tell them.
‘My husband is Thomas Holland. Sir Thomas Holland. A knight in the royal household. You all know him well.’
And in that moment a species of black anger shook me. For my husband of six months had wilfully abandoned me to face this situation alone.
Chapter Two
A hot barrage of question, denial and opinion was levelled at me from mother and uncle, all of which I attempted to answer as Countess Catherine had the good sense to shut the servants out of the chamber, relieving them first of the wine.
‘What possesses you to make so outrageous a claim?’
‘It is no mere claim. It is the truth.’
‘And you have said nothing? All these months?’
‘We thought it would be politic to say nothing, until Sir Thomas returns from the war.’
‘This is naught but a mess of lies, Joan. Have you no sense of morality?’
To which I would not respond.
‘An exchange of foolhardy kisses and foolishly romantic promises, I expect.’
It was more than that. Far more. I thought it was not wise to say so. Countess Catherine was simply looking from one to the other. Lady Elizabeth hid her mouth with gnarled hands. Will smirked.
‘This gets us nowhere.’ Finally my mother raised her hands and her voice in exasperation. ‘Speak to her, Father Oswald. We need to know the truth.’
The priest thus beckoned, so that we moved a little away to the end of the chamber where our only audience was from the stitched birds and hunting dogs, all keen eyes, teeth and claws which seemed uncommonly prescient. He bent his head, his tone a holy reprimand although his eyes were kind. I had known him since I had known anyone in my mother’s household. I might even hope for compassion here, unless he lectured me on the penalty for sin. He held a parchment and the recovered pen as if to note down all my foolishness that made my claim invalid.
‘My daughter. You must indeed tell me the truth, as if you were in confession. Come now, no one can hear us. I am sure that you are mistaken. What has this young man said to you, that makes you think that you are wed?’
It was so easy to answer.
‘He asked me to be his wife. And I agreed.’
‘But there were no banns called, no priest to give his blessing. How can this be so, then, that you think that you are his wife?’
I knew exactly how it could be so.
‘We made our vows together. We were married because we expressed a wish to marry. We spoke them aloud and there are witnes
ses to it. Thomas said it would be legal and I know that it is.’
He looked at me, worry on his brow, and lowered his voice further. ‘Were you forced, my dear? You must say if you were. There would be no blame on your head if it was against your will, persuaded by an ambitious young man against your better judgement.’ The tips of his fingers touched my cheek in compassion. ‘Was that the case?’
I thought about the wedding. There had been no force at all. I had been a willing bride.
‘No, Father. There was no compulsion. He did not have to persuade me.’
‘What did you say to this young man?’
I thought back over the six months, and repeated as nearly as I could recall, what I had said to Thomas and what he had said to me.
‘Ah …!’ Father Oswald nodded.
‘It is legal, is it not, Father?’ I asked as he fell into an uncomfortable line of thought, his face falling into even graver lines.
Upon which he flushed. ‘It could well be. But… ‘He hesitated, then said, more brightly: ‘But, of course. There is another matter to be considered for true legality. The matter of consummation. Without this, there is no marriage at all, my dear girl, no matter what vows were spoken.’
My gaze was steady on his, admitting no embarrassment. ‘Our marriage is consummated.’
‘Are you certain? You are barely of an age to be wed.’ His cheeks were aflame. ‘It may be that you are not quite aware of what…’
‘Yes, Father. I am certain. I am well aware of what is required for consummation and it is more than a quick kiss. And I am of an age to be wed.’
Father Oswald fretted, his fingers tearing at the quill so that it was all but destroyed. He had written nothing. ‘Even so… Your lady mother will not like this. For all sorts of reasons.’ He looked back over his shoulder, to where my mother and uncle were in deep conversation with a distraught Countess of Salisbury, and Will looking merely bored. ‘Where is he now, the young man in question?’
‘Fighting somewhere in Europe. When I last heard.’
There was a faint easing of the consternation.
‘And you have not heard from him for six months?’
‘No, Father.’
‘So it may well be that…’
I did not want to guess at what he was thinking. Six months of silence from a man engaged in warfare could mean any number of things. Mentally I swept them aside, for it was a path my mind had long followed of late.
‘Sir Thomas assured me that the vows were binding,’ was all I would say. ‘He assured me that I am his wife.’
‘I am afraid that I agree with him.’ The priest sighed, took me by the hand and led me back to the lowering group who had resorted to finishing the flagon of wine.
‘Well?’ My mother faced us, demanding and expecting a retraction.
‘She speaks the truth, my lady,’ Father Oswald pronounced with all the authority of Holy Mother Church invested in him. ‘She and the young knight are married. Not in the manner that the Holy Father would smile on, but it is a lawful union and it is in my mind that it will stand up as such in any court.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It is so, my lady.’ The priest was proud to display his erudition dropping into impressive Latin. ‘A marriage per verba de praesenti.’ He was nervous but pursuing, sure of his legal grounds. ‘The young people expressed their intentions. In the present tense you understand, and before witnesses. I regret but it is a binding union.’ He turned his regard to me. ‘Who are the witnesses, Mistress Joan? You did not say.’
‘Never mind the witnesses. What about the consummation?’ My uncle Wake, beyond any sensitivity.
‘It was, by your niece’s own words, consummated.’
‘But it can be annulled.’
‘No, my lord, it cannot.’ Father Oswald was adamant, enjoying his moment of authority. ‘The marriage has been consummated. It was entered into willingly and with no duress. There is no room for annulment here, despite the lady’s young age. Unfortunately, a consummation makes the oath doubly binding. If that had not occurred, there may have been room for an annulment. As it is, my lord, on the word of the lady here present…’
If there was silence before on my first pronouncement, it was doubly so now.
My wrist was instantly transferred from the priest’s gentle hand once more to my mother’s fierce grip, hot with a barely controlled fury.
‘I will remedy this.’ She swept the room with a regard designed to intimidate. ‘The arrangements for this Salisbury marriage are by no means in abeyance. I suggest that you discuss this with no one until the matter is settled, one way or another.’ The glint in her eye settled on Will who looked to be about to burst with a need to tell all. ‘It would be wise to keep this from any ears but our own. And now Mistress Joan…’
I was led from the room with far less grace than I was brought into it.
Looking over my shoulder before the door was closed at my back, I saw that the faint air of malice or boredom in equal measure had been wiped from Will’s face. Almost I could read sympathy there. It made me feel no better. Now I had to withstand my mother’s displeasure, as I had always known I must. In that moment I wished that I had confessed my marriage to my mother when it was first done. I had chosen otherwise because I had envisioned it being when I decided would be the best time, of my own free will, most crucially with my new husband at my side to plead my case and smooth over any unpleasantness. I had expected Thomas to be somewhere at least close, with his feet in the same realm. Now I was alone, Thomas Holland wielding sword and lance against the infidel in Lithuania in the name of the Teutonic Knights, where he would have no idea of the repercussions of our wilful actions for me in England. Thomas was not one for either reading or writing letters.
Now, alone, I must face the drums and trumpets of my mother’s wrath.
I had misjudged the situation. I should not have allowed myself to be left in so vulnerable a position; rather I should have insisted that we announce the deed when it was done rather than let time pass by. It was enough to make me vow, silently, as I matched my footsteps with the staccato beats of my mother’s flat soles, that I would never again act against my better judgement. I would never allow myself to be persuaded to renounce what I knew to be in my best interests.
Was this the decision of a selfish young woman? It was. I knew it and had no compunction in making my private vow. I had learnt from my mother that a woman had to keep her wits and her desires sharp if she were to follow the path of her own choosing. My mother, led into treachery by the man she loved, had been left to make what she could of her life without him. I would do better. It was always better to rely on oneself rather than on the promises of a man, however attractive he might be.
But now all I felt was fear. I might appear undaunted, indomitable even, but what would be the outcome? It was beyond my ability to foresee. Would my mother be able to force me into compliance with her wishes? I feared that she would.
It was in my mind to resist, to deny, to refuse.
Blessed Virgin! Give me wisdom and strength to follow my own path.
‘Where is he? Where is the despicable cur who lured you into this abominable contract? This rogue who inveigled you into rank scandal that will shake the foundations of our family?’
My uncle, who had accompanied us, invited or not, his anger crackling across the room like a summer storm as soon as the door was closed, turned on me as if he and I together could conjure Thomas Holland into being. His face was suffused with a venom that reverberated outward to the walls and back again. I could taste it on my lips.
My uncle’s fingers stretched and fisted, his hair hung dull and lax in disarray on his brow.
‘Where is he? I swear he will face the wrath of the King who will strip him of his knighthood before he can step out of his boots on English soil. This is no act of chivalry worthy of a knight, to take a young woman to his marriage bed without the consent of parent, of guardian or priest.
He will answer for this.’ He turned on me, looming over me, all attempts at controlling his speech failing. ‘I presume he did discover a marriage bed for you to honour this travesty.’ His lips twisted. ‘Or was consummation nothing but a quick fumble behind a pillar or a squalid hanging, as if you were a servant and knew no better. Or even an act of rape…’
‘Tom…’ my mother warned.
But he was past warning. ‘Holland will answer for this,’ he repeated. ‘I will hunt him down…’
I stood between mother and uncle, bearing the weight of their joint disgust. There would be no compassion here. But then, I could expect none. My choice that day, my own choice, for Thomas had not inveigled me into anything I had not wished with my whole heart, had tottered on the edge of propriety. On the edge of scandalous impropriety. I had always known what was the expectation for me, and I had thrown it away. Willingly. With heartfelt joy.
There was no joy between these four walls. I could see no joy at any point in the future, near or far. Well, I had done it. No point in retreating now.
I spoke a flat, easy denial, of the one fact in all this complicated weave of which I was quite certain. ‘Thomas Holland did not inveigle me, sir.’
It was not so difficult, I decided, being aware of a surge of courage. My spine was as straight as a Welsh arrow, my chin raised, my hands loose at my sides. I was Plantagenet, the blood of kings in my veins, and I would not be cowed by my uncle. I would not be reduced under his displeasure to a trembling puddle of regret and repentance. Queen Philippa had tried her best to instil in me some of her gentleness but to no avail. It was not in my nature. I called on that spirit of rebellion now, even as I vowed to keep my temper under close rein.
‘He must have.’ My uncle dismissed my calm assertion with a slice of his hand through the air. ‘It must have been against your will, for, before God, such an act was against every moral tenet of your upbringing.’
‘It was not against my will. I wished it. We both did.’
