by Anne O'Brien
‘When he is in the mood to listen. I had hoped immediately.’ Thomas, thoughtful if somewhat inept, was helping me to secure my veil, brow creased in concentration. My firmly plaited hair had barely been disturbed. ‘Unfortunately, as it is he’ll give me short shrift so I’ll not risk a blast of temper.’
I did not argue. Edward was not in the best frame of mind to listen to anything other than finance and war against the bloody French.
Leaving me to make a better fist with my veil, Thomas fastened the buckle of his belt, stooping to collect the sword that had been placed against the wall. ‘Edward admires courage and initiative.’ He shrugged a little. ‘If I earn a reputation for bold resourcefulness, I don’t think he will be slow in giving this marriage his support. And now I must go.’
He kissed me on his way to the door, for that was the truth of it. He was a soldier, with no other means of earning his bread or a reputation. I had known how it would be, but perhaps I had not expected to be abandoned so precipitately almost before I had donned my cloak, with one final word of advice.
‘You are not to speak of this, Joan. It is my place to tell the King, not yours. He may be your cousin, but I’ll not have his wrath turned against you.’ And then, unexpectedly stern: ‘I worship the ground that you tread, little princess.’
As if to prove it, he dropped to one knee, lifting my hem and pressing it to his lips.
‘You do know what they will say, don’t you? That I wed you only because you are the King’s cousin. That I shame my knightly calling.’ His face uplifted to mine was unexpectedly grave, the lines between his brows savagely wrought.
‘I know it. But I know the truth,’ I assured him.
‘I want you for yourself. Never forget that.’
Then while I was recovering from so unexpected a piece of courtliness, Thomas had risen, bowed with his fist against his heart and made his departure.
What was left for me? I climbed to the tower to watch him ride away to join the King’s military force, complete with his armour and weapons and travelling coffer, his page and squire in attendance and a small retinue at his back. I had a husband. I was married to Sir Thomas Holland. I was now Lady Holland. He would go to war and I would return to England with the Queen’s household.
I thought that I might weep at this precipitous loss; it had, after all, been an emotional day. But I did not, for there was no grief in me. An exasperation perhaps, a longing, a momentary flash of panic, like the sun against the metal of Thomas’s helm, but that was short lived. The household within which I lived would remain in ignorance until a better time. I hoped, all things considered, that I was not carrying his child. If so, the consequences would crash over my head sooner than I expected.
I had no desire to be subject to Edward’s wrath.
***
In Philippa’s chapel at Havering-atte-Bower, the beam of sunlight moved, blinding me for a moment with rainbow brilliance, bringing me back to the present. Deciding that it would be better if I were not discovered here – although it would be easy enough to concoct a reason that would not be questioned – I stood, smoothed my skirts – no feathers here – and walked to the door. Where I paused, looking back at the serenity of the Virgin, all the old questions forcing their way into my thoughts to disturb and destroy my certainties.
Why had I defied my mother and the King to marry a lowly household knight, rejecting some puissant marriage that was planned for me? Never had I been asked that one question, except by Will in a fit of pique, not expecting me to explain. Why had I done something so reprehensible, so contrary to my upbringing, treading a path so shocking that it would set the court into a blaze of malicious chattering? I had wed a man with nothing to recommend him other than a handy sword in battle and a handsome face, a man with neither money nor family nor influence. Why would I be persuaded to throw away a future of pre-eminence as wife of some great magnate or European prince, a foolish step that would seem beyond comprehension?
I walked slowly back to kneel once more before the Blessed Virgin, choosing possibilities as I had so many times before, rejecting most of them as of no account.
Thomas had barely wooed me, possessing no troubadour skills to awaken the yearning of a woman for a lover. The arts of courtly love had passed him by. It had been a soldier’s wooing, plain and unembellished. ‘Tell me the name of a knight who would not willingly kneel at your feet.’ The most dramatic declaration to fall from Thomas’s lips. He was not given to flights of fancy or romantic gestures, but it had not mattered. I had not needed them.
I had known that my mother would oppose this union. Was this a true reason, to thwart her dreams in a fit of immature defiance? I thought not, although there was an attraction in such subversion. I could not quite reject the tingle of excitement when I knew that I had stood against my mother, destroying any plans she might have been carefully knitting together for my future.
Did I love Thomas Holland? Was it love, my senses overcome by a youthful infatuation, that drove me to launch myself into so foolhardy an act? Did I know enough about love to give myself into his hands when all about us would cry foul against both of us, and against him, for seducing a young and royal maid? But I had not been seduced. I had not been persuaded against my will. I had not been an unwilling bride. I could never shift the blame to other shoulders than my own wilfulness. A woman growing up in a royal court grew up fast. I knew well my own mind.
I studied the star-crowned Virgin, the grave face that looked down on me with her enigmatic smile, full of compassion, as if I would find an answer there, and indeed I did, although it was already resident in my own heart.
I loved him. Thomas Holland had claimed my heart and I had willingly given it. When he had left me it had hurt my heart, a frenzied fluttering like a moth against a night shutter.
It was undoubtedly love for the man who had taken me out of the confined household of royal children, addressing me as a woman who might have the safekeeping of his own heart, even if he would never use such poetic terms. I was moved to desire his face, his superb stature. I looked with favour on his skills, as I applauded his ambition. He would become a great knight, as famous as Sir Galahad. He would be lauded, hung about with rewards, and I would be his wife. He was a man, experienced and confident, where those around me were still mere youths, untried and without polish. He had stirred my emotions into a flame that lit every corner of my existence.
But there was a canker in the perfect fruit, born of my own experience and my mother’s warning. Was Thomas attracted by my royal blood as a path to greater ambitions? I was considered a valuable bride in the Monatgu marriage; I would be doubly valuable to Sir Thomas Holland.
It was not a worthless thought. Those with a cynical turn of mind, or even a worldly one, would say that Thomas Holland had an eye to the future, catching a willing princess as a trout would catch a mayfly. The Earl and Countess of Salisbury had been keen to snatch me up; would not Thomas Holland show equal desire to tie my future to his own self-seeking side? It could be that his plain words spoken in the mews hid the scheming of a man who sought earthly greatness through the blood of his wife, opening many doors for him, or would have if I had gone to him with royal blessing. It could be that Thomas Holland would have wed me had I been the most ill-visaged princess in Europe rather than Joan the Fair. It could be that I had been trapped, against my better judgement. If that was so, then I would be well rid of him if I rejected Thomas in favour of Will. If I allowed my love to wither and die, choking it with bitter recrimination.
But I had not been trapped. I was as much to blame as Thomas for this predicament.
‘Is Thomas Holland nothing but a knave?’ I asked the Virgin.
Despite her silence, I did not think so. All I saw in him was a grave honesty. What I did think, as I left the Virgin to her tranquillity, was that we would both be in disgrace when this debacle fell at the feet of the King and Queen.
I would be no one’s path to greatness.
&n
bsp; Chapter Four
What now? The immediate future was a matter for much speculation for those who knew the truth.
After the clash of wills in Philippa’s little chapel, it came as no surprise to me that Thomas made no effort to publically reclaim me as his wife. What would he do? Announce it with trumpet and drum, dragging his squire and page before the King to swear that it had all taken place? I imagined the scene; the dishonourable knight, the abandoned wife, the innocent husband, all faced by the infuriated King who had been made to look a fool by standing witness at a marriage that was legally void.
So Thomas kept his mouth firmly closed, and as the months limped past with no ruffling of the surface by errant winds, there was a general sighing of relief. My mother and uncle were in watchful agreement that Thomas should fade into the background and the disgraceful little episode be allowed to fade with him. The Earl of Salisbury, when he finally returned to our midst on a promise never to fight again in France, rejoiced at his release and his acquisition of a Plantagenet daughter-in-law. Will and I continued to pursue the life assigned to us by custom in the royal household while the King, still happily in the dark, saw no reason not to continue to take Thomas to his bosom, encouraging his reminiscences of battles and feats of arms.
An edgy acceptance in which we all settled into playing our allotted roles. There were no rumours. Not one word was whispered about that marriage in the royal mews at Ghent. As the months passed, it seemed that it had never happened.
As for the three of us most closely connected: Thomas remained aloof and silent, I kept my counsel; Will, with creditable insouciance, swept the whole event behind the tapestry, having decided that Thomas was no threat.
And I? I watched both Thomas and Will, becoming adept at hiding my true feelings. By this time I was having difficulty in deciding what exactly they were. It all had a dream-like quality, within which I sensed the black clouds of an impending storm. Of one thing I was certain. It could not go on in this tranquil fashion. Eventually the clouds would break and we would all be doused in shame and scandal.
‘I am impressed, Joan.’ My mother was becoming as complacent as Countess Catherine. ‘You have grown into this Montagu marriage. I commend you.’
‘Yes, madam.’
We were pacing side by side behind the Queen on our way to early Mass, as was our wont.
‘It is all for the best.’
‘Indeed it is, madam.’
Her eyes narrowed, as if she could not quite trust my compliance, before adding: ‘Reluctantly, I am given cause to admire Holland too.’ She inclined her head in the general direction of where he was standing in the little group of knights beside the King, who was awaiting the Queen. ‘He has the good sense to realise that to speak out now will harm no one but himself.’
And me, of course. It would do my reputation no good at all.
We did not speak of such things.
Meanwhile Thomas returned to his position as one of the household knights, with aplomb and royal approval. But he had not forgotten. And he did speak of such things.
‘I will win you back,’ he said in an short aside as we emerged from Mass, our sins duly assuaged for another day, the households of King and Queen mingling. I was not forbidden to speak with him; that would have caught too much attention. Instead we became skilled at seizing strange opportunities.
‘How can you win me back?’ I handed him my missal to carry, under pretence of inspecting a damaged link in my girdle. ‘How can we untie this legal knot? It is pulled so tight that it can never be picked loose.’
‘I’ve never retreated from a battlefield. I’ll not retreat now, with right on my side.’
‘This is no battlefield,’ I returned. ‘This is a fully fledged rout. We are all defeated.’
‘No rout. No defeat. I see my way ahead.’
Before I could ask him what it might be, I became aware of my mother bearing down on us. Thomas might be undaunted, but I was fast becoming resigned to my fate, for I could think of no ploy to escape one marriage and leap into another. In the last moments of privacy I looked up to find him watching me so that I could not look away. Indeed nor did I wish to. In those few brief seconds the intensity of longing was a shocking thing, filling all the spaces in my heart caused by Thomas’s absence. It took every effort of my willpower not to stretch out my hand to touch him, even the lightest of pressures on his sleeve. Which would have been irresponsible, damaging to the myth that we were all intent on believing. Oh, Thomas! Unsettled by the sheer power of my reaction to him, I snatched back my missal and walked away, keeping my fears and my longings to myself. Until the next time…
It was like a sore tooth, a constant annoyance. A permanent worrying that could not be put right by a simple tincture of poppy.
***
‘I will never give up hope for us, Joan.’ Standing together by some slight of foot, we both looked across at the elegant procession of dancers in the Queen’s new dancing chamber as if it took all our attention.
‘I think that I might have.’ What good in not being honest? As I slid a glance, I saw him frown. ‘Unless you are prepared to abduct me.’ In a moment of true despair, I sank into levity.
Thomas remained afloat in practicality. ‘And what would that achieve?’
‘Everything, if you want me as you wife.’
Was I serious? Elopement was not for me. I was merely irritated with my inability to see a way through the overgrown thicket of our dilemma.
‘I could abduct you, of course.’ Thomas was brutally blunt. ‘But I’ll not condemn myself to skulking around Europe, looking for a handout, with you living in a tent on the tournament field, complaining about the food, the cold and the stains on your best silk – your only silk – gown.’
He knew me remarkably, if unflatteringly, well.
‘That’s not complimentary.’
‘It’s not intended to be. I know what will make you happy. Tournament life is not one of them.’
‘And you are not motivated by your own ambitions?’
‘Of course I am. You know I am. I will fight for King Edward, for England. To run off with you would sabotage that plan.’
‘And your ambition is more important to you than I am.’
‘At this moment, it is a matter of debate in my mind, Joan. I have not known you so argumentative before.’
‘I have never before been faced with the quandary of two husbands at one and the same time!’
As fast as a sparrowhawk’s descent on an unsuspecting sparrow, anger flared between us, fortunately masked by a lively carol being played on pipes, crumhorns and drums, accompanied by an energetic group of heavy-footed dancers.
‘I did not expect to return to England to find my wife cosily in bed with the Montagu family.’
‘Only with one of them. I did not expect you to return at all! And as far as I know you have a wench in every camp between here and the Holy Land.’
‘And why not? When I cannot trust my wife in England to remain loyal. Does he pleasure you well in bed? Better than I?’
‘As well as the camp followers give you ease at the end of a long day.’
‘I have always suspected you of a strong streak of frivolity.’
‘I have never been frivolous in my life! And you know full well I do not share Will’s bed.’
A heated argument that we abandoned when, the drums and pipes falling silent, heads were turned in our direction.
Did we kiss? We did not.
Was I dragged into a fervent embrace? Never.
Where was the passion, the emotion that had driven me into Thomas’s arms?
In winter hibernation.
Until I had had enough. And so had Thomas.
***
‘If we don’t abscond,’ he said, as we waited on a cold December morn for the hunt to assemble, ‘then we must do it legally.’
I thought about this as one of my women tucked my skirts securely between leg and saddle. And when she had complete
d the task and moved aside: ‘A court case. Is that what you think?’
‘Why not?’
I knew why not. ‘There’s no point in appealing to the English courts. They’ll do what Edward tells them. You’ll get no justice there.’
‘True.’ Still standing, fidgeting with his gloves, Thomas signalled for his page to tighten the girth since Edward had arrived, then mounted, pulling his horse level with mine. ‘There is another method of besieging this castle, of course.’
I looked across.
‘You are not allowed to harm Will!’
‘I did not mean a dagger in the heart! God’s Blood, Joan! Would I do that? I’ve nothing against him personally. I’m still thinking legally.’
There was only one route I could think of. ‘And what would that be? Do you foresee yourself kneeling at the feet of His Holiness the Pope in Avignon and appealing for justice?’
‘Exactly that.’
I looked at him aghast. My comment had been born out of pure cynicism. ‘Have you come into a family fortune?’
‘There is no family fortune. I make my own way in the world.’
‘Then who will speak for you? Who will loan you the money? I have none.’
‘Nor would I take it from you.’ His tone softened and almost he reached to touch my wrist, before thinking better of it, shortening his reins instead.
‘It would cost a small fortune.’
‘Which I do not have. Not until I have made a name for myself.’
‘And how will you do that?’
But I knew without asking the question. There was only one way for men like Thomas. To fight overseas. To shine on the battlefield where he might take prisoner men of consequence and ransom them for the desired fortune. My heart plummeted.
‘And how long do you presume that this planning will take? How old will we be before you ransom enough prisoners and your coffers contain enough gold? I would like to see it before my death bed claims me.’ A thought flittered across my mind, and not a pleasant one. ‘I would like to be extricated from this morass of our making before Will is considered of an age to take me in physical matrimony and gives me a handful of Montagu children who will tie me to this marriage for ever.’
