by Anne O'Brien
‘I accept that. It is in my heart that it will not be for ever.’
Allowing me my freedom, he walked from the chamber and I watched him go. For a moment it was as if my world was coming to an end, that I might never see him again. Pushing aside the thought I crossed the space I had created to stand at Will’s side. There before him I announced:
‘I am your wife until it is proved otherwise.’
I hoped he would be understanding, which was foolish in the circumstances. He was not.
‘Were you unfaithful with him? In our own household?’ he demanded.
The King’s accusations had bit deep, so deep that I took hold of Will’s sleeve and pulled him onto the dais where Edward had been so full of joy, and where we had at least some privacy.
‘You are a fool!’ I responded smartly.
‘How can I trust you?’
‘You have known from the start, Will, that our marriage was invalid. I told you it was. What use in pretending otherwise now?’
‘I did not expect you to be in league with him, bringing him into our household.’
‘Did I bring him to Bisham as our steward? You brought him into our household. I warned you against it.’
‘You might also have warned me that he still had his eye on you.’
‘I might, if I had known. What would you have done?’
‘Dismissed him,’ he roared.
‘Shh!’ I could see our respective families straining to pick up every word. ‘I recall warning you of the possible scandal, but would you listen? You dismissed it out of hand. This is more your fault than mine, and don’t shout at me. It is unbecoming, for both of us. I have no wish to have our tainted linen hung out for public consumption. Besides which it is a disgrace that you accuse me of immoral congress with Sir Thomas within our own household, when you know full well I would never treat you with such disloyalty.’
Bright colour might creep over his face but Will was immovable, his pride severely dented.
‘I command you, Joan. You will not speak with Holland. You will not be in his company…’
‘Well of course I won’t. He is unlikely to hear me in Avignon!’
My patience was fast sliding away.
‘Don’t mock me Joan.’
The final words I heard from him that day.
Meanwhile, meeting as we must for dinner and supper or even stitching in that lady’s chamber as I was summoned to attend on her, Will’s mother, a lady of high principle and dislike of failure, blistered me with her tongue. I had encouraged Thomas Holland. I had sent him off to Avignon on a fool’s errand which would only drag us further into the mud of common gossip. It was bad enough that I had encouraged Holland to seek authority in our household; it was obviously my doing. I sighed as Will glared at me but forbore to pick up the cudgels again when the Dowager Countess continued: if her family became even more the laughing stock of the court, the fault was mine. My morals and my loyalties were roundly denounced. I might have royal blood in my veins but I was entirely lacking in princely decorum. But why would that be a surprise to anyone? My father was a traitor, a pardoned traitor perhaps, but the stain of betrayal was still there in my blood.
Throughout, I remained impeccably good mannered. To retaliate would achieve no victory. Not even her denouncement of my family and my own morals raised a reaction. Having learned that severe control could win its own battles, my command over my temper occasionally astonished me.
‘You are a disgrace to your illustrious name.’
I set another range of stitches in the girdle, with perfect precision.
‘Have you nothing to say?’
‘I will consider it, my lady.’ My smile was also perfect.
The Dowager Countess abandoned her heaping of ignominy on my head since I would not give her the satisfaction of a puerile response upon which she could promptly leap.
Will simply, wisely, made himself scarce.
And the King? For the first time in my life I felt the heavy hand of royal displeasure. The King was mightily displeased. He had promoted this marriage and now two of his most promising young knights had made him an object of interesting ridicule, and the court was laughing at the whole sorry situation. Edward’s purchase of the French Constable and Grand Chamberlain had been the deus ex machina that enabled Thomas to go hotfoot to Avignon to destroy the marriage that the King himself had promoted. Oh, he could have refused to pay, to have withdrawn the offer, but we all knew the King well. That would have made him appear churlish and sullen and without honour. Which made him even more irritated with the rat’s nest of complications. Had he not honoured Will and I at our marriage ceremony? Had he not arranged for an income to allow the happy pair to live in some style? The royal frown was heavy and more than once turned in my direction.
‘What value your royal blood?’ he demanded. ‘You were raised to know what was expected of you. I feel your shame.’
I might be silent under Countess Catherine’s slings and arrows, but I would not be so with Edward. My chin was raised, my eyes held his, even though he was my King.
‘I feel no shame. I have been ill-used in this whole affair.’
‘I still cannot believe that no one saw fit to tell me about this,’ he growled, not for the first time.
And then there was Philippa, regretful, but with a hint of unaccustomed steel in her reprimands, which unfortunately echoed those of her husband.
‘How could you do it, Joan? How could you be so careless of what was due to your upbringing at my hands? I am ashamed that you have learnt so little.’
So much shame. I too was regretful in that moment. There were tears in the Queen’s eyes and I disliked being the cause of them since her love for me had been vast and all-encompassing, but then I cast aside the shame for I felt none of it.
‘I loved him,’ I said, repeating Thomas’s simple avowal. How many times must I make a public avowal of this? Surely Philippa would understand. ‘And I still do.’ She knew the power of that emotion. She had loved Edward since she had met him at her father’s court, and she a young girl when she had wept at his departure, believing that she would never see him again. It was a fine story. Surely she would understand.
The Queen showed no understanding.
‘Sometimes love has to be put aside by those of our rank.’
I opened my mouth to reply. She had not put aside love, but then her parents had supported the union with the young heir to the English crown whereas my choice had had nothing to recommend it. In the light of which, I demurred suitably.
‘Forgive me if I have disappointed you, madam.’
‘It’s not that so much as that I can see no happiness for you. How will this be resolved? A satisfactory marriage with either is impossible as it stands. You always were a wilful girl,’ she fretted.
There was no arguing against it.
Isabella who now owned a mature fifteen years, eyed me. ‘It must have been love, to make you behave so irrationally. You are never irrational, Joan.’ She put down the lute she had been playing in a desultory fashion, even if with unconscionable skill, and linked her fingers as she considered. ‘Personally, I can’t imagine how you could have made such a choice, although he is very attractive and a silk eye-mask can be dashingly romantic. But now that he has taken it off, all there is to see is a scar.’ She grimaced prettily. ‘I would not have thought that Sir Thomas would even acknowledge the existence of romance. Does he quote poetry to you?’
‘No.’
Poetry was not of great importance at this moment, to either Thomas or myself, but true, his tastes did not run to chivalric poems. More to the laying of a successful siege. But then, neither was Will of a dramatic turn of mind.
‘Neither does Will,’ I admitted.
‘You could teach Will to do so. He’s far more amenable and good natured.’
‘Then you should marry him!’
Out of all patience I sank to the floor beside her in a flurry of silk skirts.
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sp; ‘Oh, no,’ she replied seriously. ‘William does not stir my blood. Whoever I marry must heat me to a fever.’ Her eyes slid to the Queen who clicked her tongue in dismay. ‘I will never choose anyone to displease you, maman. Or I will try hard not to.’ Then she continued, beginning to pluck discordantly at a lute string until I stilled her with my hand on hers: ‘Far better to be Countess of Salisbury, Joan. I would not have wed Sir Thomas in a mews. Just think of the dust and vermin.’ She had managed to wring the less-than-romantic details from me in the past day. ‘I never thought you would either. Perhaps you did it because you knew your mother would not approve.’
Isabella’s judgement was disconcertingly apposite.
‘I did it because I wished to do it,’ I said without embellishment.
‘And now we all have to bear the consequences,’ the Queen added. ‘The King is not pleased. He has gone hunting.’
The King always went hunting when his mood was turbulent.
So the cat was out of its bag and nothing would entice it back again. As the Queen had said, we would all have to live with the consequences, which I was already doing: the escort of two burly servants of the Montagu household shadowed my every step on the strict instructions of my Montagu husband that they did not let me out of their sight unless I was enclosed in my own chamber or a room of necessity.
‘We are here for your safety, my lady,’ they informed me when I decried their presence.
‘Am I in danger?’
‘Not now, my lady. We will not permit it.’
Did Will expect me to take flight with Thomas? Or indulge in illicit relations? With an elegant shrug I accepted my escort with a smile of some charm, as I accepted that I would tolerate this distasteful supervision, until the day came that I could dismiss the whole of the Montagu household from my thoughts and my presence.
I must hold to the certainty of it. For if I did not, how would I not sink into despair of living forever in this strange uncertain existence?
Helplessness was not a sensation that I enjoyed. The thought of Thomas’s failure gnawing at me from morn to night, it drove me to take any step I could, however limited as it might be, to ensure that Thomas would be both impressive and persuasive at the papal court. I admired his tenacity. What he did not have, and who did, other than a trained cleric, was a thorough understanding of the complex workings of the law. Nor did he have the legal training or facility to speak out and present his own case in a hostile environment. It would hammer the nails into the coffin of Thomas’s plans if he arrived in Avignon, lacking the necessary legal guile, faltering over his words and his arguments.
‘Do you know any lawyers?’ I managed to ask him before he set forth for Avignon, certain that he would not. When had Thomas ever communicated with a pre-eminent lawyer?
‘No.’
There was little time for conversation. And what there was, was all business.
‘This is the man you need.’
And I told him as I handed him a scrap of parchment on which I had scrawled a name. Magister Robert Siglesthorne of Beverley, an astute man with a high-born clientele, one of whom was Queen Philippa when she needed to consider her dower properties or a charitable foundation. Magister Siglesthorne had considerable learning and a reputation.
‘He will plead your case for you.’
‘How much does he cost?’ Thomas asked, single-minded despite the royal windfall.
‘Less than you might think, and he wants the experience at the papal court. You have no ability to speak before the Holy Father, but Siglesthorne has the ear of monarchs and would like to extend the scope of his work.’
‘Then he’s the man I need. So this is farewell, Joan.’ We were walking side by side, but with a large gap between us. ‘Look for me in the New Year. There’s no time to lose. I need an heir, and we can’t wait for ever.’
I frowned a little, despite my determination to send Thomas off with soft words as well as encouragement.
‘I know the days are passing, Thomas, but I have not yet reached my twentieth year. I am quite capable of bearing a child.’
‘So you may be, but I could be killed in battle next year. Or by a footpad on the road to Avignon.’
I admired his forthright thinking. I could accept his less-thanlover-like farewell in the circumstances.
‘God go with you, Thomas. I will pray for you and the success of Magister Siglesthorne.’
Stepping across the divide, gripping my shoulders, discouraging my two lurking guard dogs with a scowl: ‘One question, Joan.’ He held my gaze, his own as unyielding as granite. ‘Is this marriage to Salisbury consummated? If it is, it might sway His Holiness to let the Montagu marriage stand, notwithstanding my own claim.’
I shrugged under Thomas’s suddenly strong hold. ‘No. It is not.’
‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you?’
‘Would you not know? Does not the steward of every noble house know exactly who shares a bed with whom?’
‘Yes. I just need to know from you. It will make our case easier if the Salisbury marriage is in name only.’
‘Then you can assure His Holiness that within the present alliance I am a virgin.’
‘You must keep it that way.’
‘Do I fight Will off with a dagger?’ I asked, imagining the unlikely scene.
‘What need? Will would never harm a hair of your head, and you know it,’ Thomas said with grim humour.
Which was probably true.
‘One thing, Thomas,’ as he turned away.
‘What now?’
I grasped his arm. ‘Consider this. Relations are not at their best between His Holiness and my cousin Edward.’
Which certainly caught his attention. ‘Are they not? How do you know?’
‘It is no secret. When the King is disturbed his voice can be heard the length of a jousting field. Or across an audience chamber.’
‘How useful to have a wife with her ear close to the closed doors at court.’
‘Even if she is banned from your company through artifice, if of a crude sort.’ I too regarded my constant companions with disfavour. ‘But listen. Edward disapproves of the number of foreigners appointed by His Holiness to the most lucrative of benefices here in England. Edward has complained to Pope Clement that his appointees are poor in carrying out their duties and is in process of taking action to stop any further appointees without his royal permission. It may be that His Holiness will grasp any opportunity to gain victory over our King, particularly as our illustrious Clement is a Frenchman. In which case you may have a more than sympathetic ear in Avignon. Clement might just be prepared to back your argument to put our King’s nose out of joint.’
Thomas considered this advice before beaming at me. ‘I didn’t know what a clever wife I had.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. You have not lived with her long enough to discover. And this might help.’ Surreptitiously, another quick glance over my shoulder, I gave him a jewel, a cabochon ruby set in a heavy gold mount, intended by some master craftsman for a man to pin into his cap. My guard was now too intent on eating a pasty filched from the kitchen to notice and the other had disappeared. ‘Sell it if you have to.’
‘Salisbury will not approve.’
‘Salisbury will not know. Although I have to admit that it does belong to him,’ I felt suddenly bereft, floundering in unchartered waters where I purloined from Will to aid my release. ‘But we can’t be too nice about this. Don’t forget me, Thomas.’
‘How could I when you are costing me a Constable of France’s ransom?’
Which made me ask: ‘How much did Edward give you for your captives?’
‘Eighty thousand florins were promised. I have some of it; whether I get the rest is in the lap of the gods and the King’s temper.’
It was indeed a vast sum. ‘I hope that I am worth it.’
Thomas decided that he had time to kiss me again, briefly but enough to make my heart leap in concert. ‘Every silver groat of it.’ He g
rimaced over at the guard who, pasty reduced to nothing but crumbs, had moved a warning step closer to me. ‘We have survived seven years of this marriage, living like comets that never come within the same sphere. It is my intention that we will come to rest in one and the same place and breathe the same air. Farewell again, Joan.’
Which I considered to be a disconcertingly romantic image, that would have provoked me to embrace Thomas again if my guards had permitted it.
So Thomas left for Avignon with his petition and his lawyer barely a week after he had returned to celebrate the battle at Crécy. I knew not whether to be hopeful or resigned to being kept in the dark of those distant legal debates. William smiled smugly, hoping that the Pope would prove unco-operative and that Thomas, covered with ignominy at his failure, would never return.
Did I believe that Thomas would be successful?
How could he not succeed? Was not justice on our side? The days of my being Countess of Salisbury were truly numbered.
Still, a shiver of apprehension lurked in corners together with my two guards.
I could read Will as easily as I could read my childhood psalter. Even after his experience on the battlefields of France, the thoughts, mirrored in his face, were translucent and not very comfortable. I suspected that his mother had taken him to task since embarrassment had placed a hectic flush on his cheeks beneath the campaigning bronze. As I made my observation I was with my women, laying aside summer clothes and materials into coffers with layers of herbs to keep them sweet and guard them against the moth. Also with a thought to my removal from Westminster to some small manor in the north that was Thomas’s inheritance, all he could expect as a younger son.
‘Joan.’
‘William.’
Standing just within this female domain he cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I need to talk with you.’
‘Here I am.’ I held a length of embroidered silk in my hands, poised between folding and wrapping. ‘You may talk with me whenever you wish.’
Will stood, uncertain, frowning.
‘Do you wish to speak with me alone?’
‘Yes.’
I waved my women to leave us and sat on the bed amidst the silks and satins, the image of amiability. I could see the thought that the Countess had planted even more firmly in his mind, as clearly as if it were stitched with the colours of the girdle I was protecting between layers of fine linen.
