by Anne O'Brien
And yet…
I surveyed him as he traversed the room with a distinct swagger. Perhaps I could not read him as well as I had thought beneath the newly-won maturity that sat quaintly on his young shoulders. Of course he would be changed after the months spent with the English army. He had fought, been knighted, enjoyed the camaraderie, celebrated the victory. He had returned home to his wife. Only to be challenged on the first occasion that he had taken her hand and whispered his immediate intentions in her ear. Today there was a confidence in his stride that had nothing to do with the commands of his mother, nor, I noted, before I sat, were my eyes any longer on a level with his. William Montagu had grown in height and breadth. Perhaps I had been unwise to dismiss my women so swiftly; perhaps the high colour had nothing to do with embarrassment and all to do with anticipation of a bout of physical lust. Thomas’s warning suddenly clanged in my mind like a mourning bell. But if I could not manage William Montagu after all these years, I had misjudged my skills.
The door closing on the last of my women, Will did not pause until he was standing an arm’s length from me, his desirable wife. I remained at ease, but every sense was alive.
‘I desire to consummate this marriage.’ Will eyed me. ‘If consummation makes it a valid union, I’ve a mind to do it now.’
‘Now?’ I essayed an expression of maidenly astonishment. ‘If you wish, my lord. Will you give me time to clear these extremely expensive lengths of silk out of the way?’ I had an eye to extravagance which our allowance as Earl and Countess allowed me to foster.
‘I didn’t mean this exact minute…’
‘No, of course not. It would take more than a minute for me to remove my stockings. But I can start now, if you wish.’ I sat more comfortably on the bed, leaning back a little, resting my weight on my hands, and waited.
He was not to be abashed.
‘You are my wife. I would make you so, in more than name.’
‘And why have you not been of a mind to do so before this?’ I asked with true solicitousness. ‘I swear you are a man full-formed.’
I knew he was. Since he was not beyond a tumble in the straw with one of the serving girls at Bisham, I was surprised that there was no child from his frequent tumbling.
Will cleared his throat again, far from discomfited, making me aware that there was a pride in him, awakening in me the fact that I must step carefully. This was no longer the young boy with whom I had grown up, but a man who might yet surprise me. Sitting upright, I folded my hands neatly together, carefully at rest.
‘I am of a mind now,’ he said between his teeth. ‘It would be good policy.’
‘You mean it would be good to get it over and done with?’ I laughed softly, to offset the sudden sprightly tension in the room.
‘It is no laughing matter!’
But now, as Thomas had warned in his final advice, it would not be good policy at all for me. If Will took me to his bed – or mine, regardless of the costly silks – in a display of masculine power, it would undoubtedly strengthen his hand in keeping me. This would no longer simply be a de facto marriage, a matter of signatures on a manuscript. I would have given my permission for it to be far more than that, and if I had not given permission, who would believe it or give it any thought? Many women did not exactly enjoy their marriage bed or give permission for its intimacies.
‘You are my wife,’ he repeated.
There was a heady resolve in his eye. More unsettlingly, there was desire. I kept my breathing even despite a momentary fear.
‘I have been your wife in the eyes of the church for seven years. Our lack of consummation has not troubled you before.’
‘Well, it does now. It is long past time. Then we were too young. Now we are not.’
I studied my fingernails.
‘Take off your stockings.’
I looked up. I really had not thought that he would. I could have been wrong.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I have changed my mind.’
‘You cannot refuse.’
‘I do. I do not comply.’
‘You cannot not comply. You are my wife.’
My observation on this was placatory, well considered. ‘But my position as your wife being now under the jurisdiction of His Holiness the Pope, I will not pre-empt his decision.’ I watched Will, ready to forestall any attempt to pounce, for then he would be too strong to stop. ‘It may be that the Holy Father will decide that I am not your wife at all. And where would that leave us, if I were carrying your child? So, no, Will. I do not give my consent.’
‘You do not have to give your consent. All you have to do is submit.’ Irritation shimmered around him as Will took a step towards me so that the edge of his short tunic brushed against my skirts. ‘This can’t go on, Joan. I want my wife. I want a son and heir. The earldom needs an heir. If you are carrying the Salisbury heir, His Interfering Holiness will not judge against me.’
In a faster action than I could predict, he moved and his hand encircled my wrist, pulling me to my feet. His grip was strong, his breath hot on my face. I pushed against his chest, unwilling to admit to a brush of panic.
‘And you will force me? Cry shame, Will! What a marvellous layer that will add to the court chatter, if I cry rape.’
‘I would look no bigger fool than I do now, squabbling with Holland over you, like two cats over a dead mouse.’
I wrenched my arm away, but he held on, stooping to plant a fairly accurate kiss on my lips, which spurred me into action.
‘You would, if you ended up with a knife in your shoulder, courtesy of the mouse who is decidedly not dead.’
I could move as fast as he, and to more effect. Snatching it up from my bed, I held it in my hand. A paring knife that I had been using against my nails, so not sharp, but the only implement I had to hand. It was sharp enough to make the point. Will lunged for it. I held it out of reach. All hung in the balance.
‘You would not!’ Will was as shocked as I.
‘Try me. And if you risk it, the King in the tilt yard will hear my shriek.’
‘The King would commend me, for taking what is my own!’
‘Are you certain of that?’ I grasped the knife hard.
We faced each other.
No, of course I would not use it. Will was far stronger than I and his months of combat had given him a sleek hardness of reaction and response. Nor would I be the cause of any physical harm to him. Just as he would not force me.
I did not think that he would.
‘I never thought that you would be so difficult, Joan.’
There was a sadness in his eye, his ardour deflated.
‘Nor did I. But these are difficult times, and this was a marriage I never wanted.’ I dropped the knife on the bed and turned back to place a hand on his arm as his grip on my wrist loosened. ‘You will make someone the kindest of husbands.’
‘I am your kind husband! Or I would be if you would let me.’
I kissed his cheek in apology.
All we could do was wait, hoping for different outcomes.
I hoped it would be soon. Will would not remain biddable for ever.
We did not have long to wait. Before the end of the year, before the King had donned his festive robes with feather accoutrements to celebrate the Birth of the Christ Child, there was an explosion of temperament in the Salisbury dovecote.
‘This is what Holland has done!’ Will burned with self-righteous disgust, gripping between two clenched hands the document he had just received, as if he would tear it asunder. ‘As if I am at his beck and call.’
A letter had arrived by means of a self-important courier in papal tabard that glittered portentously with the keys of St. Peter, the missive making its way into Will’s hands before I could intercept it. He had promptly vanished into close communication with the letter and his mother, leaving me to surmise and ascertain, as I plied the letter-bearer with ale, that he represented one Cardinal Adhémar Robert.
‘And who is h
e?’ I asked.
The courier wiped his mouth on his much-gilded sleeve.
‘A conceited, hasty cleric who insists that I arrive almost before I have left. He is the Cardinal who, at His Holiness’s decree, will look at the state of your marriage, lady.’
‘Have you met Sir Thomas Holland?’ I asked, since he appeared to be well versed in what was going on.
‘I have that. He’s as hasty as my master. And he has a tongue on him!’
So events were moving apace. It was with some satisfaction that I responded to the summons from Will, some hours later in the day, to attend him and Countess Catherine in his private chamber. And now here was Will, casting the document to surface of the travelling coffer before me.
‘I have just been in receipt of this damnably offensive command!’
If Will was angry then Magister Siglesthorne had indeed made progress, presumably had achieved something to my advantage. For this was a family council of war. Even my mother, returned to patch the rent garment of good relations with the King over Christmas, was present.
I felt a shiver of excitement. I curtsied.
‘Do I read it?’ I asked Will with limpid grace. ‘Or will you explain?’
‘Oh, I will explain. Holland’s money has got His Holiness sniffing at our marriage like a starving dog. He has graciously ordered our marriage to be looked into by Cardinal Adhémar Robert. The said Cardinal is empowered by His Holiness to summon us to appear before his tribunal.
‘Whom has he summoned?’ I asked.
‘Me! And you too. As well as your mother and mine.’ He waved his arm in an expansive gesture. ‘God’s Blood! This letter is to summon all four of us to Avignon forthwith. To return as soon as may be with the courier. To give our evidence before this tribunal.’
While Will’s face was livid at the presumption, my heart tripped out of its normal beat. If we were to go to Avignon, then the Holy Father wished to hear me as a witness. Silently I thanked Magister Siglesthorne for his silken tongue and erudite knowledge.
‘Do I prepare to go, my lord?’
‘Did I say that I had any intention of travelling across the sea and the length of France to make a case which is already made?’
‘I have no intention of complying,’ my mother added. ‘I have nothing to add to the debate.’
‘You will not go, my son.’ The Dowager Countess was adamant. ‘And neither will I.’
‘But I wish to…’ I said, my heart slowing now with sudden fear. Surely we would not disobey so powerful a summons. To do so would effectively silence me.
‘No.’ Will’s denial left me in no doubt at all. ‘There is no right to Holland’s claim. I will not go to Avignon. You will not go to Avignon. No one will go to Avignon. I will not give you up, Joan, and there’s an end to it. Let this Cardinal come to whatever decision he wishes, but it will be without my help. Or yours. And without our co-operation, I doubt he will be able to make any judgement.’
A pure light of defiance shone in his face.
Could he do it? I supposed that he could. And yet I could not meekly accept. There must be a way. If the state of my marriage was to be heard, the opinion of the bride was an essential part. Cardinal Robert must be told the truth.
I picked up the document and read it for myself. Nothing here that Will had not already indicated. Except that the Cardinal wished to speak with me.
I lifted my eyes to Will’s furious ones.
‘I demand the right to put my opinion on this. The Cardinal demands it. You do not have the power to stop me.’
‘Yes, I do. You will not attend.’
‘Then do I employ a lawyer to represent me?’
‘No. Would you draw attention to yourself in this manner?’
‘Yes, I would, if it is the only way in which I can influence the outcome.’
‘It will not happen. You will remain here under my eye.’
‘I will ensure that Joan has no contact with the Holy See,’ the Dowager Countess said with appalling certainty.
But now Will was standing on his dignity. ‘I do not need your help to manage my own marriage and my own wife, madam. From either of you.’ His enraged stare took in my mother. ‘I will dismiss the courier back to Avignon. He can tell the Cardinal and Holland we will not be meeting with them.’
Never had I seen Will so imperious as he strode from the room to deliver his news to the courier, while I curtsied to the remaining council of war and followed in his footsteps but more slowly, the future a dark shadow before me.
There were, of course, repercussions to this show of Salisbury defiance to papal demands. After a second visit from the courier, with an even more heavily weighted document, the multitude of red seals finally making their mark, the Dowager Countess, under protest but as a martyr for her son’s cause, took ship en route to Avignon in the final damp days of November, with the support of King Edward (in an equally well-sealed document) to persuade the Cardinal’s tribunal to reject the Holland petition. Or if that proved to be impossible, to ask that the case of my marriage be transferred to an amenable English court.
Where Edward could cast his choleric eye over the judges and sway the final judgement.
I was not sorry to find the Dowager Countess, by turns melancholy or bitterly fulminating on my sins, absent from our midst.
At the same time, because it would be an expensive business for Will to defend his rights at a distance, in December, in a fit of teeth-grinding grace, the King granted him monies from his inheritance. A sign of guilt, I thought. The King had unwittingly financed Thomas’s petition; the least he could do now was finance Will’s response. Litigation was a costly business. Will would need to pay exorbitant sums to present the most persuasive argument his legal men could construct, and so, with money under his hand, Will appointed the inestimable Magister John Holland, taking pride in boasting that this new man of law had a proud name for success in such delicate matters.
And the repercussions for me? I tried every nuance of defiance and persuasion.
‘Are you quite sure that you can afford this transaction, Will?’
‘I can now that the King sees my need.’
‘You will not win.’
‘I will!’
I poured him a cup of ale when we had retired to a private chamber after supper. ‘Think, Will. If you rid yourself of me, you can have a wife who will be amenable and subservient. There are many aristocratic daughters who would be honoured to be Countess of Salisbury.’ I kissed his head where his hair fell in soft waves, as I pushed the cup into his hand. ‘The King will agree to our separation if you are dogmatic enough. You could have your new wife, fast followed by your son and heir by the end of next year. Life would be much happier for you.’
He shrugged me off.
‘To do so would be to admit my failure. I’ll not be persuaded.’ He tossed off the cup of ale. ‘Set your mind to it. You will remain my wife until the day you – or I – die.’
At that moment I thought disconcertingly of the paring knife I had once threatened him with.
Meanwhile, the Dowager Countess returned, weary from travel, but with fire in her eye and a set jaw. I was not privy to the discussion that ensued. All I could presume was that she had no success in persuading either the Holy Father or pre-eminent Cardinal to drop the case and allow my marriage to stand. Nor, as it would seem since there was no movement in that direction, would Cardinal Robert allow the English courts to get their hands on his legal conflict. Dowager Countess Catherine had left matters in the hands of Magister Holland since there was really no alternative.
But what of me? Will’s advocate could not be trusted to extol my views. Magister Holland would be the enemy, as far as I was concerned. I could not let that rest.
‘I demand my own advocate,’ I said to Will as we broke our fast on the day after Countess Catherine’s return.
‘Perhaps we might start one day without an argument,’ he observed in gloom, continuing to stuff bread and meat
into his mouth, speaking round it. ‘Appointing advocates is no easy matter, nor is it cheap.’ After much chewing, he eyed me over a platter of some unidentifiable chunks of what might have been venison. ‘Why would we need two?’
I replied slowly, carefully, any appetite I might have had destroyed by Will’s obvious intransigence.
‘Because I have to ensure that my own views are placed before His Holiness. If you will not allow me to attend, then you must allow me to appoint a man who will do my bidding. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Will. It’s that I don’t trust your advocate to support me as well as you.’ I was holding on to my temper. ‘I simply need an advocate of my own employ.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Then think quickly, Will. If you do not, I will go to the Queen and ask permission to appoint one of her legal men. I will have an advocate, one way or the other. You will not dictate to me in this.’
Which Will took to heart. Within the day, glowering suitably, with the threat of my going to the Queen hanging over him:
‘I have appointed one who will represent you. Magister Nicholas Heath.’
I was suspicious. So soon?
‘Never heard of him. Is he an able man?’
‘As able as any.’
‘How will he know what to say, in my name?’
‘I will send him to speak with you.’
Which gave me some satisfaction. Perhaps he would carry a letter for me to Thomas, from whom I had heard not a word since he had left England. All was unnervingly silent, but an advocate to speak for me would be nothing but good. I waited with a lifting of my heart to interview Magister Nicholas Heath.
Instead I discovered Countess Catherine, come to find me when I was in the Queen’s solar. The fact that Countess Catherine was smiling ignited a spark of anxiety in my breast.
‘Your pardon, my lady.’ To Isabella who was gossiping with me. And then to me: ‘I have need of you, my dear.’
