The Shadow Queen

by Anne O'Brien

  We stood face to face while arrogance and self-will waged their own war between us. Ned regarded me, plucking at the feathers until the flight of his next arrow was useless.

  ‘Does your heart belong to any man, Joan?’

  ‘My heart, if I ever had one, is encased in a tomb in Stamford.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  He tossed the ill-used arrow to the ground while I swung away from him, disturbed at this deliberate stirring of my past grief, so that I aimed badly and missed the butt completely.

  ‘You are not concentrating,’ Isabella called over from where she and Enguerrand were engaged in more arch conversation than archery.

  ‘I am being undermined by your brother,’ I replied with a bright smile that was entirely false.

  Ned leaned on his bow in exasperation. ‘Our cousin is being as infuriating as ever!’ Then stood, contemplating my far-flung arrow, now disappeared into the grass. I stood beside him, doing likewise as if the fate of that arrow was all important when it was not important at all. Now was the time to make my move.

  ‘So will you inform Sir Bernard that I am not averse?’ I asked.

  He spun round, casting the ill-used bow to the ground, waving away a page who leapt to retrieve it.

  ‘By God I will not!’

  ‘Must I remain unwed?’

  ‘No, you will not.’ In a movement as slick as the dive of a kingfisher into a carp pond, his hand snapped round my wrist. ‘You will wed me.’

  Ah. At last.

  ‘Why?’ All dulcet enquiry, I withstood his fierce stare.

  ‘Because I want to wed you, and unless I am very much mistaken you want me, or why all this magnificent posturing? I don’t know why you refused me the first time. Nor why you spent any time in luring poor Sir Bernard into your toils, although I have my suspicions.’ A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘You will wed me. Do you agree now?’

  A long moment. I kept him waiting.

  ‘Before God, Jeanette!’

  Why wait?

  ‘I agree,’ I said.

  ‘That’s it then. You will be my wife.’

  As brief a wooing as any woman could have as the contest was winding down, leaving us as the only pair still at the butts. Looking back over my shoulder at him as I readied my final arrow I asked, because it was not a matter that could be avoided, by either of us: ‘What will you do about your father? He has such plans for you.’

  ‘None of which have come to fruition in the thirty years of my lifespan. I am old enough to make up my own mind.’

  ‘How true. But he won’t want me, Ned.’

  ‘Yes he will. You can win him round.’

  ‘I will not even try. He regards me with deep suspicion. And who can blame him?’ I lowered the arrow, casting it and the bow to lie with Ned’s on the grass, for after all the contest was over. Had I not won? Except for the final, crucial, most important step, and I could see no firm ground in this morass. ‘My lamentable past attests to my failure to win the King round to anything. I know what will happen. You will be sent hot-foot to Gascony to put you out of harm’s way, a foreign bride hastily conjured from somewhere, while I am married off to Sir Bernard or to some northern lord who never comes to court and keeps me shut away in the fastnesses of the border country, leaving the King to rub his hands together in ultimate triumph.’

  ‘Well, he might.’ Ned contemplated this, picking at a loose thread of gold that marred the perfection of the cuff of his archery glove, before fixing me with a regard that suddenly awakened within me a feather-edge of worry, although his question was innocent enough. ‘So what do you suggest, Madam Joan?’

  I took a breath as the past fell over my head, shrouding me like a beekeeper’s net. Had I not already considered this? I would not travel that route again, too full of legal complications as it had proved to be. Surely Ned would choose to approach his father in time-honoured fashion and ask a royal blessing on our head. Did not Edward love his son enough to ultimately give way? Since there would be no need to repeat past mistakes, and since I had learned enough to reject such an outrageous route out of hand, I stood in silence, until I became aware that Ned had turned to face me foursquare.

  I tilted my head, expecting, perhaps, some declaration of admiration.

  ‘I know a way,’ he said. ‘So do you. If you have the courage to embark on this particular well-travelled ship.’

  I simply stared at him, aghast. He stared back.

  ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But no. I cannot.’

  ‘Why not?’ His hands were a vice around mine when I might have withdrawn them, as if he would force the decision from me. The certainty behind his invitation hammered in my head, but it was as if a ball of ice had lodged in my stomach.

  ‘Look what happened last time.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘Last time was nothing like this time. You are hardly going to wed Sir Bernard next week and complicate the whole issue. If we do it in this manner, we face the King with a fait accompli. Nothing simpler.’

  ‘There’s nothing simple about it! I can’t do it!’

  ‘God’s Blood, Joan! What can my father do, but accept what is already done? Think about it.’

  So I thought. No, it would not be my choice, but it would achieve the desired end. And how typical of Ned to take this decision with little thought for its repercussions.

  ‘Are you going to honour me with a reply?’ he asked, fast running out of patience. ‘You have had more than enough time to decide about our marriage, as well as the imminence of the Second Coming. Do you agree?’

  I looked up, to find him smiling at me, if the fierce command in it could be called a smile.

  ‘Will you wed me, Joan?’

  Could I do it? Could I take ship with Ned in this fashion and weather the resulting storm of disapprobation once more? It would outmanoeuvre the King’s opposition, but in truth I could not accept that this was the best path to take.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, in a hurry before I could change my mind. ‘I’ll do it. But not in a mews.’

  ‘Why would we wed in a mews? And what’s wrong with a mews anyway? I didn’t know you disliked falcons.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I remembered vividly. ‘The dust makes me sneeze.’

  As if under some compulsion, as if the outcome would clarify the fateful decision we had just made, Ned took up my bow and the rejected arrow, loosing it at the butt with casual accuracy, once more hitting the centre.

  ‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘I would like a wooing.’ I was surprised at the wistfulness of my tone, embarrassed by it. I had never needed a wooing when my mind was firm-set.

  ‘No time for that.’ He took my arm. ‘Do what I tell you and all will be well.’

  It was unusual being ordered what to do. And agreeing to do it, without argument.

  For a little time we sat together on a bench in the plaisance, dust motes dancing, the daily life of the castle echoing from the open windows of the rooms behind us. Gloves discarded, my hands, softened and whitened with deer tallow boiled in water, were enfolded once more within Ned’s large ones. He took them without my permission.

  ‘I knew you would accept in the end.’

  ‘You knew no such thing. You were entirely put out.’

  I had forgotten the height and breadth of his confidence. Or how his regard could become astonishingly sly.

  ‘Would you turn down the chance to be Queen of England? That would not be the Jeanette that I know and admire.’ He lifted one hand to his lips, then the other, disregarding the grime from an afternoon of archery, before enfolding them again. ‘I have always had a liking for you. You must know that.’

  ‘I know no such thing. I have no recollection of our exchanging compliments.’

  ‘We can now remedy such an omission.’ He kissed my cheek, which made my heart flutter, just a little. ‘Do you like me?’

  This was acceptable. This was within m
y encompassing.

  ‘Yes, I like you. I always have, when you were not boasting of your prowess.’

  ‘I never boasted.’

  ‘Yes, you did. You had your own pavilion and a complete suit of armour with spare helmet and sword when you were eight years old. You wanted nothing more than your sisters to admire your skills. I remember sitting in a windswept practice yard while you belaboured my brother who had much less skill than you. You spent much less time in the mud.’

  ‘So you do like me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And might love me.’

  My answering smile, all I would give, was enigmatic as I considered the extent of my lessons for that day. I had learned the value of female guile that a woman might use to bring a man to her heel. I had learned the value of careful planning. I had learned the extent of my ambition. Had I learned more about love? I thought not. It shamed me that such a wayward emotion had had no bearing on my decision to become wife of the Prince of Wales, but then I doubted that it had played any role in Ned’s planning either.

  ‘You seemed to be in close communion with my brother.’ Isabella of course, come to discover our absence.

  ‘Not particularly.’ I had no intention of telling her, so would say as little as I could, but then there was no need to deflect her questioning.

  ‘Tell me how you enhance the colour of your hair.’

  ‘With your dark hair, you need a green lizard, topped and tailed and cooked in oil.’ I ignored her grimace. Better that than a further demand as to what Ned and I might be discussing. ‘Anoint your hair with the concoction. My women swear on its efficacy to improve its thickness and lustre if your hair is darker than mine.’

  Her glance was not one of conviction but she nodded. ‘If it will persuade Enguerrand to approach my father over marriage, I’ll try even that. What do you think?’

  ‘I think that marriage has no importance for me.’

  I thought that she believed me.

  I did not like to contemplate the Queen’s reaction when she learned what Ned and I were planning to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Spring 1361: Kennington Palace

  The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming, but then I had expected no less. Where did we plight our troth? Not in the mews but in the chapel at Kennington, a favourite manor of Ned’s, built by him on the triangle of land given to him by the King as a gift to the son of his heart. Edward would not have approved of the use of this gift. We both travelled, separately, on some pretence that I cannot now recall, not that it was necessary, for who would take account of our actions? No priest, no incense, no drama, no banns – so much a mirror image of my first union – but the witnesses, two of Ned’s squires, were not sworn to secrecy. It was Ned’s intention to tell his father immediately.

  I made no attempt to persuade him otherwise, knowing that I would fail. Ned was not a man to be turned when in pursuit of the hare. The sooner the King knew, the sooner we could face and withstand the royal blast. Besides, what could Edward do, once we were wed? The King had learned from bitter experience that it was not a status that could readily be overturned. His Holiness could not be relied upon when vows had been exchanged and the union consummated, however irregular the proceedings. Ned and I would marry with the legalities in place; the fripperies of priest and festivity could come later. Along with the King’s displeasure.

  I stood at Ned’s side in the silent and all-but-empty chapel at Kennington. It felt right as Ned spoke a simple soldier’s vow, per verba de praesenti as I had experienced once before although the atmosphere was very different. Rich, sumptuous in its gilded carving, it breathed its blessing on us. I did not sneeze. No shiver passed over my skin. No presentiment of future difficulties. The last time had caused such trouble but what could trouble us now? What indeed. We would weather the storm to set sail on fair seas.

  Ned’s confidence was such that he was aware of no storm, merely a slight breeze to ruffle the waves that would be fast calmed. His vows were forthright, more suitable to a commander of men than a man engaged in taking a wife.

  ‘On this day I wed you, Joan.’

  ‘On this day I wed you, Edward,’ I repeated.

  ‘You are my wife.’

  ‘You are my husband.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Do we need to say more?’ Ned asked. ‘I think that’s all we need for the legalities.’

  I felt strangely empty, as if there should have been some thunderclap or lightning bolt to mark this occasion which would change my life so completely.

  ‘You could attempt a little emotion,’ I suggested.

  He grinned, the familiar brightening of his features. ‘Then I would say this, if you want emotion. I have always admired you. I would honour my admiration with marriage. So on this day I marry you, my dear Jeanette. I expect that we will come to love each other.’

  No bride, I accepted, could ask for more.

  ‘You have been my friend and, in childhood, my companion. I honour your decision and accept that from this day I am your wife.’ He was looking at me. Perhaps he hoped for more too, but Ned as always was difficult to read.

  He kissed me on my lips. ‘So I make my vow.’

  ‘As I make mine.’

  It was done. I was no longer Countess of Kent. I was per verba de praesenti Princess of Wales.

  I felt that I was standing on the edge of a chasm so deep that I could not detect the bottom of it, yet all was not without its gratification. We had avoided the discussion of emotions. A sensible decision in the circumstances.

  We consummated our marriage, per verba de praesenti, as a legal necessity since there was to be no legal loophole through which the King might climb. Here was a circumstance I had never foreseen, sharing a bed with the boy with whom I had been raised from childhood, with whom I had competed, argued, shared lessons, danced. We were children no longer yet our disrobing was a matter of practicality, not in the heat of physical passion. Here was no flirtation, no overwhelming desire to submerge the necessity of the deed in poetic nonsense. And yet it was not unpleasant. We were both experienced, both practical in giving and receiving pleasure. Ned, if nothing else, was thorough in awakening all my senses, as I seemed to awaken his.

  He lay on his side when the deed was done, looking at me, one hand planted firmly on my hip as I looked at him.

  ‘Do you suppose that you are carrying my heir?’ he asked.

  ‘Already?’ I discovered that laughter was not far from us, a blessing that warded off any embarrassment.

  ‘My son Roger was got with great rapidity.’

  ‘I admire Mistress Willesford,’ I remarked. ‘Where is she, by the way?’

  He caught the dryness of my tone. ‘Edith is settled happily in the household at Clarendon with an annuity for her care of the child. She need not trouble you.’

  ‘She does not trouble me…’

  ‘As for my heir,’ Ned interrupted, his fingertips against my lips, ‘we, my charming wife, will try again. A marriage per verb de praesenti has, as I am aware, no restriction on the number of consummations.’

  I was engulfed in caresses and kisses that may indeed have resulted in a royal heir for England. Yet as I kissed Ned, who had made this so easy for me, I thought that I was disappointed. What right I had to be so, I could not determine. I could expect no more from a union which was one of sheer pragmatism, for both of us, I suspected. It was time that I abandoned all those immature dreams of love and romance, which indeed had never moved me overmuch. This was acceptable enough for a mature woman.

  What I did feel for Ned in our physical union was an intense gratitude. I had been left no time to even think about Thomas. Ned’s enthusiasm rolled everything before it so any reluctance in me was overcome, subsumed in speed and precision. It was all undertaken, I surmised, with the same competency as the campaign at Poitiers against our French enemy.

  I watched him as he slept, his face buried in the pillow, dark hair springing with its
usual exuberance. He was very dear to me. I could envisage what the future would hold with regard to my royal status, now so much enhanced. What it would mean for Ned and I, two individuals now shackled together, I had no very clear idea at all.

  Nuptials complete, we returned to Windsor to face the King and Queen, except that Edward and Philippa had moved their joint households to Havering-atte-Bower, and so we travelled on to what was more hunting lodge than palace. We rode side by side, Ned allowing his mind to be taken up with what would happen next.

  ‘I could take my father hunting. And break the news to him when he’s feeling sated with a good run and kill.’

  I glanced across. ‘Are you admitting to a desire to fall into a retreat?’

  He returned my glance, his brows twitching at my disparagement of such a scheme. ‘Certainly not.’ And then: ‘What would you do? I know you’ll give me your opinion anyway. Why break the habit of a lifetime?’

  ‘Just tell him. We have done the deed. No need to wrap it in ceremonial or gold trappings or even blood and guts. He won’t like it, however it’s done.’

  ‘Deliver it like a thrust of a lance.’ He gestured as if he held such an effective weapon.

  ‘If you wish. Then we stand back and wait for the blast of temper that will shake the roof.’

  Reaching across the space, he took my gloved hand in his, so that our horses must walk closer together.

  ‘I expect that you will be a managing wife.’

  He did not seem to be inordinately worried by the prospect. I had forgotten how well he knew me. ‘I will try to be.’

  He laughed, his spirits high. ‘Second thoughts?’

  ‘No. None at all.’

  Second thoughts? Regrets? I had none. I had made my decision that day at Castle Donington when all the reasons why I should not wed him had paled into insignificance beside the overriding reason why I should. Marriage to a man of my own choosing, to a man of future power, pre-eminent throughout all of Europe. To a man of reputation and acclaim who would effectively mend my reputation as soon as our marital oaths were exchanged.

  Nor would I be the only one to gain in this blessed union. Would I not make a most exceptional Princess of Wales? Would I not be the most impressive and capable Queen of England? I had all the gifts to be Ned’s consort. I would bear him children. I would enhance my beauty to impress those who needed to be impressed, using my knowledge of men and the royal court to make his rule strong and successful. I would prove a better Queen Consort than Margaret of Brabant, or any Valois daughter of the King of France. Could I withstand the opprobrium of those who would cast clods of earth at my morality? I could. I had done so all my life. Would I flinch under the King’s disparagement? I would not. I was Plantagenet, and Ned would restore me to ultimate respectability.