by Anne O'Brien
‘You knew that when you married a soldier.’
‘So what is it that will keep you away for some unspecified length of time? Of which you have not yet told me because you presumed that I would douse your delight with my disapproval.’
Thomas’s scarred face broke into a youthful grin. ‘The King is sending me to Brittany to run the administration as King’s Captain and Lieutenant. He has made me custodian of the young heir to the Duchy until he reaches his majority. I will take up residence at the chateau at Vannes.’
‘How old is the boy?’
‘Fourteen or thereabouts.’
‘So it will not be long before he reaches his majority.’
Thomas’s eye could not quite meet mine. ‘It’s a delicate matter. Brittany is torn apart by civil war. The boy’s claim is severely challenged since the King of France supports Charles de Blois, who is claiming the duchy in the right of his wife, the lad’s cousin. It’s complicated since the young Duke John is King Edward’s ward. I’m being sent to hold the balance of power.’
‘It sounds to me to be an appointment destined for failure.’
‘But I will not fail, my dear wife.’
There was pride here. There was pleasure in the King’s recognition of his talents. There was also the knowledge that this would be a lengthy posting, away from England, resulting in a lengthy separation. Thomas’s visits to Calais had been intermittent as necessity demanded, but this was of a different nature, heavy with expectation from the King.
I made up my mind. I smiled at Thomas.
‘You should have told me earlier.’
‘Would it have made any difference?’
‘It might.’
‘You don’t object?’
I took one of the scrolls from him to read its content, before rerolling it and storing it neatly for the journey. I could see Thomas relax, as if he had won the battle.
‘No. But I would have liked a little more time in which to organise my own household.’
Which stopped him mid scroll. He looked up, the unscarred brow crooked.
‘I have a fancy to travel,’ I continued with airy unconcern, ‘and live for a while in Vannes. I have never been to Vannes.’
He relieved me of two more documents that I had picked up. ‘You’ll come with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will be busy, you understand. You will be alone there when I must travel.’
‘Yes. But busy under my eye for much longer than if I were in Castle Donington or Windsor.’
Thomas stopped me at the door as if the small problem had just crossed his mind.
‘What about the children?’
‘Tom and John will come with us, of course. I believe Vannes to be a healthy place to raise children.’
‘Then I’ll leave it all to you.’
‘As you usually do. And I should tell you. I am pregnant again.’
After which plain and brisk exchange of statements Thomas made no attempt to discourage me. He was pleased, but about my company or about the King’s regard I could not say. It was a task that he would do well, while I set myself to travel as required between Vannes and the royal palaces in London and our own manors, much as Philippa had done throughout her younger days. Pregnancy was no obstacle to her, nor would it be to me. I would oversee our estates while Thomas made a name for himself in Europe.
And I would be at his side.
First, I had a visit to make. I had promised that I would not, but such a promise was made to be broken, and Thomas was none the wiser.
‘My lord.’
I curtsied before the King who was covered in dust, giving directions for the construction of a new audience chamber at the same time as he discussed the dishes for a great Easter feast with his cook. This was the Palace of Eltham where Edward was in the throes of rebuilding to create a palace fit for himself and his Plantagenet offspring.
‘Joan.’ He raised me, kissed my cheek. ‘I am busy as you see. Not another scandal, I hope.’
‘Certainly not, my lord.’ I accepted a cup of wine that he beckoned from a passing page and smiled at Philippa who was sitting out of harm’s way in a window embrasure. I was sorry to spoil this intimate moment between them. They had so few. But to me this was a necessity. ‘I am here to put right a wrong.’
‘It sounds like a scandal.’ Dismissing page, builder and cook, Edward gulped a mouthful of fine Rhenish. ‘I see that you are making the most of your improved financial situation. How much did that embroidery cost you? Were you trying to impress me, perhaps?’
‘You see scandal under every stone where I am concerned, Edward. It is unworthy of you since I am now a wife of excellent reputation.’ I raised my cup in a little toast, as if already anticipating success. ‘This is what I would ask of your kindness and generosity. And your sense of justice.’ I smiled winningly over the rim of my cup. ‘When are you going to grant the title of Earl of Kent to Thomas?’
It was not an unexpected request. Edward’s brows twitched.
‘When I decide that he has earned it.’
‘You have made him Captain of Calais. Now you have made him custodian of the heir to Brittany and King’s Captain. Why not give the title too? It would increase the strength of his arm in your name to be Earl of Kent.’
‘You have the title, Joan. That is enough.’
‘But it is not enough. It would be most fitting for Thomas to take the title that no other man can lay claim to. My eldest son will inherit it after my death. Why should my husband not enjoy its benefits now? You really are unjust, Edward.’
‘I am circumspect.’
Edward was already departing after his cook. Escaping. I raised my voice a little so that it followed him to the door.
‘I will not let the matter drop, Edward.’
‘I never thought that you would.’
The door closed on his back.
‘Sometimes men are impossibly obstinate,’ I declared to Philippa.
‘Sometimes,’ Philippa replied, ‘you could try to persuade him rather than beat him about the head.’
‘Why?’
‘I have found that it works better. Your cousin objects to your trampling on his authority.’
‘I do not trample!’
‘No?’
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks.
‘Persuasion is sweeter than compulsion,’ the Queen advised. ‘A butterfly rather than a bee.’
I was in no mood to listen. I was no butterfly. I would not admit to Thomas that I had petitioned and failed.
The months, the years, all became a pattern of moves and countermoves, some smooth, some less so, and all underpinned by Thomas’s burgeoning reputation as Edward saw fit to bestow office and preferment. We enjoyed the hospitality of the chateau at Vannes when Thomas took up the position of King’s Captain with custody of the young fatherless heir to the duchy. Two years later we paid a fast visit to the Channel Isles. Thomas was Keeper, with a mission, helped by his brother Otto to drive the French out of Castle Cornet. Then back to Normandy where we moved into Crocy Castle.
Soon we were on the move again. Thomas grasped the honour of being English Governor of the Harcourt lands in the Cotentin, where we were based in St. Sauveur-le-Vicomte, with custody of the town of Barfleur added in the autumn of the next year. When Thomas was made Edward’s Captain and Lieutenant in Normandy and France, it was the greatest of honours, even though I must accept that he would travel further and longer.
We had a young family now, a daughter, Joan, born in the year of 1356 while we were at Vannes, followed by Maud three years later. We lived in some state, which pleased me more than it did Thomas, who was oblivious to the quality of the bed linen or the tapestries that furnished the chambers in which we lived. The exotic spices combined with the culinary exploits of our kitchens that brought distinction to the dishes served to us held little interest to Thomas as long as there was sufficient roast meat to impress our visitors. Life in Yoxall seemed so far away.
The future of our children became important to us, so that we discussed, for some distant time in the future when she was grown, the espousal of Joan to John de Montfort, the young Duke of Brittany, who had proved to be an admirable young man under Thomas’s tutelage.
And I? My life was with Thomas, where Thomas was needed, although there was no role for me in the span of his authority.
‘Is there nothing I can do?’ I asked when I longed to dabble my fingers in the endless negotiations with the lords of Brittany and Normandy.
‘I doubt they’ll consider a woman’s view of any merit or weight. The office is mine, the royal appointment does not include you, however much you might wish it did.’
It was not a reply I relished. That did not mean that I did not attend the council meetings when I was of a mood to impress these local lords. They must know with whom they dealt. Striking in silks and damasks and family jewels that I had never sold, I played my part, ensuring that it was known that I was Countess of Kent and a Plantagenet princess. Thomas as my lord was a man to be reckoned with.
I was content for the most part. Except when I travelled back to London through a terrible and bleak family necessity, where I discovered that I was not willing to abandon the opportunity to take Edward to task once more.
‘When will you allow Thomas to be Earl of Kent?’ I asked in passing, without undue deference. My heart wrenched, I was in no mood to be deferential.
‘When I see the need.’
My original anger had dissipated over time, but given the present raw place in my heart, I allowed it to fly free. ‘I can see no reason why you should not, Edward. His loyalty is superb, and you should reward it. Why will you not be magnanimous?’
But there was no moving him. ‘Don’t ask again, Joan. You have my compassion at this sad time, but it will not make me change my mind.’
With Edward gone about some important task in which I had no interest because he had inadvertently touched on so personal a hurt, Philippa embraced me, and I allowed it, even though I stood as unyielding as a sack of grain and my cheeks were dry. I had arrived in England escorting a sad little coffin. Our third son, named Edmund for my father, had died after so short a time in this life. I had returned to England to arrange his burial.
‘You will always feel the loss, but as time passes it becomes easier.’
Philippa was all compassion, experiencing so many losses in her life, so many of her own young children being taken from her. I could not dwell on it, or respond to her sympathies, which troubled me. I had wept for my brother: why could I not weep for my little son? It was as if the grief had frozen into a knot of ice within my chest, refusing all solace. I paid my last respects with stern observance, paying for Masses for that tiny unfledged soul that I had lost even before I knew it.
After the burial I was relieved to return to Thomas who welcomed me with brisk compassion so different from Philippa’s maternal softness.
‘You look weary to the bone. Did all go well?’
For a long moment I merely regarded him as he rose from his chair, taking note that he had recently come from some audience, his garments formal, a page clad in blue and silver carrying a banner, now furled. Thomas had learned well how to be visible, how to make an impression on these foreign lords. How assured he was, how poised, every movement governed by an imperturbable view of his work in King Edward’s schemes.
‘Yes. I am exhausted,’ I said. Suddenly, when he smiled at me so that I knew that his sorrow matched mine, was as deep as mine, even without words being spoken between us, there was only one desire within me. ‘Take me to bed.’
‘I doubt that you have sleep on your mind.’
It was a fierce possession, a worthy homecoming that smoothed away some of the edges.
‘And I suppose you asked the King about the title, when you happened by chance to see him?’
‘Yes, I did see him. I might have mentioned it.’
‘And he said no.’
‘In so many words.’
‘Leave it alone, Joan. Your stepping in will do no good.’
‘My stepping in will remind him that there is no Earl of Kent, and you are the obvious choice. It would be excellent for Tom to see his father as Earl, and to know that one day it will be his.’
We agreed to speak no more about it. His fingers, still rough and calloused although these days he spent as much time in discussion as in fighting, twined in my hair.
‘Do you know why I fell in love with you?’ Thomas said, catching my interest since he was not one for declarations. ‘Apart from being lovely and opinionated and irresistible, you have hair to entice a man into sin.’ His fingers tightened a little, to draw me closer. ‘Do you ever regret it?’ he asked.
‘I regret many things,’ I replied, hiding my gratification. ‘What particularly?’
‘You could have been Countess of Salisbury, ensconced in luxury. Instead you have moved from one draughty castle to another. You could have made that choice.’
‘To live with Will? I think not.’
‘He still admires you. Enough to send you a silver cup last Twelfth Night.’
‘He admires me now that I am no longer his wife. And everyone gives me silver cups. How many do we number from Ned over the years? His brother John is following in his footsteps.’
‘Enough to furnish all the lords of Normandy when they come to drink my wine and talk about their displeasure over taxation. They particularly like the enamelled ones.’
I laughed a little, my melancholy retreating to no more than a faint ache as I regarded him. ‘If I had told you that I wished to remain in the marriage with Will, would you have sanctioned that? Would you have abandoned your case in Avignon?’
Thomas’s mouth firmed, twisted in thought.
‘Looking back, I don’t know. You cost me an unconscionable amount of money and effort.’
‘So you did not truly love me enough to fight for me if I proved unwilling?’
‘Ah ha! You will never know, my cunning one. Are you satisfied with what we have?’
I thought that I was. What else would I have? I had the title that was mine by right. I had a husband who was noticed when he entered an audience chamber. I had four healthy children, one of them a robust heir for Thomas. We were still young and blessed with good health. It pleased me to hear the distinction of Fair Maid of Kent when I joined Thomas in his discussions even if my role in influencing them was curtailed to wifely exchanges – albeit opinionated ones – over a cup of wine or confidences in the marital bed. Age had not dimmed my considerable beauty. What more was there for me?
I allowed my thoughts to drift as we lay in companionable silence, as I gave a passing thought, with some sadness, to Lady Elizabeth Montagu who had finally lost her hold on life. What was it that she had once said to me? I suspect you have your own games to play. Lady Elizabeth had had a prescient eye, although I would have not called them games. What would I most want, if I could have it? What would enhance the pattern of my life further?
One word slid into my mind. A seductive word. A dangerous word, perhaps, for a woman.
Power.
I let it lie, savouring it. All very well, but of what manner of power? I had the authority over my own household. I had control over the Kent estates. Was that not more power than most had in a lifetime?
You would desire a hand in affairs at court. You would enjoy the making of policy.
I thought that I would. Philippa was Queen of England but sought no power in her role as consort. If I were in her shoes I would do more. I would stand at Edward’s side, whether he liked it or not.
I smiled, turning my face against Thomas’s throat.
‘What is it?’
‘I was wondering what Edward would say if Philippa demanded to be part of his policy-making.’
‘I expect he would get another child on her to keep her busily away from matters that are no concern of hers.’
‘I expect that he would.’
>
‘I can’t see Philippa in that role.’
‘Nor can I.’
Nor would it ever be for me. Thomas would never seek further political enhancement, so I must let him be. I had my own royal status, recognition, my family, a husband who had earned a reputation second to none, that Edward would eventually recognise.
‘Yes. I am satisfied.’
But I would not let it rest. Thomas would be Earl of Kent. The question was: how would I achieve it?
Chapter Nine
Early January 1361: Palace of Woodstock
The dread day had come. I had anticipated it for so long, through all the years of our marriage. What wife did not, with a husband who lived for long days of dangerous travel and forays into numerous battlefields? But it was not what I expected when I had clung so tenaciously to the new pattern of my life. I had perhaps grown confident, too confident, assured of the stability of my future, assured that I would live out my days with the man I had wed twenty years before and the children he had given me. And because of my tranquillity, which still had the power to surprise me, when the day came it was stark and brutal and without pity, delivered when I was at Woodstock, where the royal court had repaired for Christmas. The war with France was over and we were clad in festive robes, lengths of green velvet that swept the floor to give the court an ambiance of a summer woodland, our thoughts tuned to minstrels and mummers and to celebration.
But here was despair. Here was the unacceptable.
I read it in his face, a man who stood in the shadows at the edge of the bright, greenery-festooned chamber. I did not know how or why his unspoken word touched me so keenly. I did not need him to speak. Not waiting for him to come to me, I walked towards him, conscious of the soft hush of my trailing skirts, the music of pipe and tabour that seemed to fade into a distance that no longer had any importance for me.
‘Where?’ I asked him.
He did not question my knowledge.
‘In Normandy, my lady. In Rouen.’
