by Anne O'Brien
‘So you must leave immediately. Still I am thankful. And I have taken your advice to heart. I promise to be cheerful.’
‘No,’ he replied.
‘No what?’
‘Not a brief visit. In fact it is to be a very long one. I have come to stay.’
For a second time in that day, I could not speak. Shock, surprise, disbelief warred with each other. And a sly sneaking delight that I must not show.
‘I thought you might be pleased.’ He drew my hand through his arm as he led me towards the evidence of his intentions. ‘Your gardener is keeping the grounds in good heart. So are the stables. At least Sir John has left you a decent animal or two for your use.’ Thus allowing me the opportunity to recover with his inconsequential comment. How understanding he was. How thoughtful and compassionate, studying his escort unloading his belongings with a keen eye while I regained my composure. ‘I’ll need to know which chambers are fit for my use,’he said, summoning his Captain as if this was the easiest thing in the world to arrange.
But I knew the dangers, and my heart was thudding.
‘You must not.’
‘Why not?’ Now the Captain was saluting, silencing me since I would not argue in public, and Thomas was taking matters into his own hands. ‘Take my luggage inside, Hugh. Find the steward. Tell him that I want two rooms at least for my own use. With a view across the river or along the road to the north. Then make your own arrangements for yourself and my people.’
Hugh departing with a brisk salute, my response was equally brisk.
‘You can’t do this!’
The little interlude had been beneficial. Still extraordinarily disturbed from the prospect of his staying, of his ordering his accommodations with confident cheerfulness, ignoring my refusal, still I knew it to be impossible.
‘Why not?’he repeated. He waved an arm in an expansive gesture. ‘There was no one to stop me arriving.’
‘But my guards…?’
‘Your guards were open to persuasion.’ He grinned. ‘Or perhaps I should say that I gave them no opportunity to express an opinion. Here I am and here I stay.’
‘But don’t you see? Anyone who remains here might acquire the taint of witchcraft. Of treason. I can’t allow you to do that.’
‘And how will you prevent me?’
This man had an answer to every objection I presented. And I recalled a younger Thomas being just as adamant in the days of my wooing. But this was different. And in my mind I acknowledged that I could not bear for my hopes to be raised, only to be dashed when all Thomas’s plans were foiled and he was ordered by the Council to go.
I pulled Thomas to a standstill before we reached the steps. ‘What does Sir John say? Surely he would not agree?’
‘Sir John does not know.’ Thomas turned to face me. ‘I doubt he’ll complain. It’s not my intent to help you escape. Simply to live here in confinement with you. Would anyone dare question my loyalty to the King? I think not.’
‘But the King…’
I dredged up every possible reason for this being an impossible venture.
‘The King knows the strength of my allegiance. If he could rely on me at Agincourt, he will not doubt my loyalty now. And he is in France. If he finds it in him to object when he returns to England, then he will tell me, and we will make other arrangements.’ His fingers took and tightened around mine and his voice was no longer light, but full of command. ‘Joanna…’
I was forced to return his gaze, and saw there such a melding of purpose and amusement. And there was something else. A care for me. There was no indecision.
‘Are you not pleased to have me come to keep you good company?’
The question, so direct, compromised my breathing all over again.
‘It is not fitting that you should be here.’
Oh, I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to overcome every problem I placed in his path. Which he did.
‘Nonsense. I’ll simply join your household. A Queen Dowager needs a steward, a chamberlain, even a temporary one. Who more fitting than I? I can organise all you require, my dear lady. I am adept at organisation. And I need to keep an eye on you, to stop you sending Sir John to ask the Council to put you on trial.’
I found that I was smiling, at the same time as tears rolled down my cheeks for I could no longer check them. In all that time since my arrest, I had not wept. But now I could not stop them, or the warmth in my belly.
‘Don’t you want me here?’ Thomas was asking. ‘There is only one argument that you could use to send me away. That you don’t consider me of high enough birth to keep company with a Queen Dowager.’
‘I think no such thing.’
‘Good. So you want me to stay.’
‘Oh, I do. You know I do.’ I mopped my cheeks quickly with my sleeve when Thomas lifted his hand to do so. ‘Drying my foolish tears is not within the role of my steward.’
‘No, but it is within the role of Thomas de Camoys.’ And when I shook my head. ‘You know it is.’
‘Why have you done this?’
‘Because…’ He lifted his head, as if suddenly aware of his surroundings, the coming and going as his luggage was carried past us. ‘I’ll tell you why I have done this when there are fewer ears to hear and tongues to flap. Enough to say, for now, that is because I cannot think of you being so lonely.’
‘You have brought Marie. And Mistress Alicia.’
‘So I have.’
‘But, Thomas—how can you fulfil your duties and the demands of the Council?’
‘Don’t let that worry you. I can undertake all I need to do to deal with the rash of criminal behaviour hereabouts from Leeds Castle as well as I can from any of my manors in Sussex.’
‘Have you taken pity on an ageing widow?’
‘You know that is not how I think of you.’
All my doubts, my objections had been rolled away, as if Thomas was preparing a military campaign, eradicating all difficulties before the final attack. And in truth he had all the experience of doing just that.
‘Any more objections?’
‘None.’
‘Don’t cry again. Or not just here. My men are staring at us. Queens don’t cry, not even Dowager Queens. We will go inside. I think I am in excellent time for dinner and you have a very fine Rhenish wine for me to sample.’
We walked slowly up the steps. If Thomas noted my halting progress, he made no comment. He would not, of course, merely altering his own gait to suit mine.
A softness, a sweetness enfolded me. I was almost happy.
*
What of our existence, this strange amalgam of two households in the days of my imprisonment? For me it was a true blessing as I was lured from that constant grinding fear, exacerbated by isolation, like a butterfly emerging from an ugly chrysalis. With no word further spoken of it, my despair slid into the background and with Thomas my loss of freedom became a thing I could tolerate rather than strive against. A blessing indeed. It was, I decided, strangely like living on an island separate from the rest of the world—which of course we were. Thomas came and went to fulfil his duties but always returned to me. Occasionally he visited his own estates, his children. But always he returned to me.
A steward? Not so, although Thomas took the burdens from me, like a caring husband might in a marriage of long standing. But we were simply friends. Good friends who had come to know each other so well over the years. That is all we could ever be. In those early days he never did tell me why he had decided to throw in his lot with an imprisoned Queen Dowager, and I did not ask.
Perhaps I was afraid to discover.
We read together. Enjoyed music. But we did not pray together, for Thomas did not own the all-powerful beliefs that Henry had. This was a different life, in which I made neither judgements nor comparisons. His hand at chess was superb, with more patience than Henry in capturing my King. We rode out together along the river with a discreet guard at our back. More than that I looked for him at t
he end of the day. He gave me my candle as I went to my bed. He gave me the space I needed.
We kept separate rooms.
Was it in our mind not to? No, it was not in mine. It was not in my heart to love again. Henry had been my utter delight, the measure of all my days. My love for him would never be snuffed out. It left me capable of strong liking, of deep affection, but nothing more.
‘I am afraid,’ I admitted to Thomas one day. ‘I am afraid that I will forget Henry, however determined I am to hold him in my mind. Sometimes he is so distant from me, as if I met him in another life. I have to struggle to recall his exact features. I know the colour of his eyes, the contours of his face, I know his height and his stature. I know that I love him and will always love him, but some days I think I might forget. It terrifies me that I will lose the man who meant more to me than life itself.’
‘You will not forget. I will talk to you about him,’Thomas said.
‘I imagine you have better things to do with your time.’
‘My lord Henry was a substantial part of my life. I will tell you what you don’t know. It will take me back to my youth too. What more could an ageing knight enjoy?’
And so Thomas talked to me of the days of Henry’s youth, before I knew him. Henry’s character shone brightly again. He lived again in my mind and heart. And so did Baron Thomas de Camoys, soldier and diplomat. A semblance of peace spread its wings over us. I repudiated happiness, but lay claim to a contentment.
But not for ever. Of course it could not be forever. It had to end, and we both knew what would shatter our idyll, at least in my mind. And here it was, in the soft weather of June when swallows flew low to feast on insects over the river, the news arrived with Sir John visiting who, accepting Thomas’s part in my household without comment, discussed political repercussions with much dry enjoyment and no thought for my own discomfiture.
The King had wed my Valois niece, Katherine.
I could barely wait until, having drunk the obligatory cup of ale, Sir John and his horse were beyond the gates.
‘Will the King come home?’ I stood before Thomas. ‘To bring his bride to be crowned?’
His regard remained steady on mine. ‘I know what you are thinking.’
‘How can I not think it? Surely he will return to England with her. But will he come here?’
His gesture was a denial. ‘For what purpose? To explain? To beg forgiveness? That’s not the King we know.’
Upon which, anger erupted in an explosion of passion, that ripped through my limbs with an anguish of pain. The cup I had been holding fell. I looked at it with horror as the pretty painted vessel spread across the tiles in shards of ruined pottery.
‘Joanna…?’
I turned away from him, hiding my hands in the folds of my skirts. ‘Sometimes my son-by-marriage’s insensitivity is like a blow of a battleaxe to the head.’ The joints of my fingers screamed with pain. ‘Perhaps you should go until I am better company. Send Mistress Alicia to me if you will.’
‘I’ll not leave you now. Where do you keep your eau de vie?’ He must have seen my glance. ‘And don’t deny you have it to hand. I know that you keep a store of it because sometimes the pain is too great for you to manage without help.’
So much for secrets. I had not kept them very well.
‘Marie will show you. She knows.’
Thomas left me, to return with a small cup.
‘Can you hold this?’And when I nodded, sniffing at the contents. ‘Drink it.’
And I did, although I found it unpleasant and the fiery heat of the aqua vitae made me cough; until the heat of it spread through my belly, through my limbs, to give me some temporary comfort. I sipped again, acknowledging its power. Ashamed of that knowledge. My physician Pedro de Alcobaca had sent me the strong liquor for just such an occasion of extremity when no other remedy would disperse the pain.
‘Do you pity me for needing this?’Thomas was watching me with sharp concern. ‘I rarely need it.’
‘Who am I to pity any woman who needs help to bear pain? Mistress Alicia is bringing you a draught of some noxious potion. Is it always as bad as this?’
‘No. But today was difficult.’
He inspected my hands, the swollen knuckles, while I closed my eyes, reluctant to see the destruction of what had been beauty. And seeing it, he held me in his arms. Gently, so that I might step away if I wished.
I did not.
‘I suppose I should resist and send you on your way,’I said. ‘Your duty is to the King.’
‘No, you should not send me anywhere.’
‘I rarely break things. Forgive me.’
‘For being angry at Hal? You are the most rational woman I know.’ Drawing me with him we sat on the settle lately occupied by Sir John. ‘This is what we will do. If the King returns to England with his bride, then we will wait. Until then there is nothing we can do. Don’t let it disturb the quiet life we have made here for each other. Who can fathom the King’s mind? You will be calm. You will eat and drink well. You will pray and shout at me occasionally and enjoy the warm weather that makes your health better. Why have you never told me the worst of it?’
I let my head rest on his shoulder because it seemed the right thing to do. ‘I don’t want pity.’ Then relented. ‘But sometimes the pain and the attack on my vanity lower my spirits into the grave. I know I should be stronger. I know I should be able to withstand this affliction, but sometimes knowledge and the reality of pain do not walk hand in hand.’
‘I understand. As should you—you’ll not get pity from me.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I asked Marie.’
‘So you are in collusion against me.’
‘So it seems. We both care very deeply for you.’
He kissed my lips. Then when I allowed him, he kissed me again, just as gently, making me forget a little. We sat in silence his arm around me, my suffering hands in his, the sun warm on our faces as it moved through the hour. I thought I might feel an embarrassment, but I did not.
‘You never did tell me why you came to live here,’ I said.
For I could not pretend that the love in Lord Thomas de Camoys’s eyes did not exist. Had it not always been there? I thought it had, but it had been better for him if I drew no attention to it. He had honoured me, respected me, treated me with every dignity, and throughout every twist and turn of my life, and his, he had loved me.
‘I did not think that I had to.’
‘Oh, Thomas.’ I turned my head to look at him with a level regard. ‘I can promise you nothing.’
He lifted a shoulder in acceptance of something that could not be changed. ‘I ask for nothing. You know me better than that. Simply that we might share the same space. Can we not be friends?’ Humour glimmered through. ‘I expect Henry would approve of that.’ He took my hand and enclosed it within his own and spoke with his cheek against my veil. ‘I came because I love you. I always have, although I knew it could never have been more than service and loyalty. You loved Henry and you were Queen of England. I was friend and servant to you both. And I think you are woman enough to have understood the strength of my feelings years ago, but were sensitive enough not to show compassion.’ He moved a little so that he could look into my face. ‘But now we are both alone, and why should you be living your life in so solitary a state here? So here I am. I ask nothing from you. Only that I can give you comradeship and friendship and company. Someone to argue with and berate and defeat at chess. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can give you more if you wish it. There is no need to tell me now. I am not going away. Tomorrow or next week or next year, if you are still kept here, I will live with you. Whenever you decide whether I be friend or lover, I will listen and be happy for you and for us. I love you, Joanna, but I will not persuade you into doing something in which your heart can not be complicit. Not that I think I could. And before you tell me, I know that your heart will always be
Henry’s. All I ask is to serve you and bring you some renewal of happiness.’ I felt a light kiss against my hair. ‘And now I will arrange for this to be swept up and send Marie to you.’
Leaving me sitting in the sun, blinking a little, he paused by the door, looking back.
‘Don’t hide your pain from me. I will be with you and nurture you.’
I know your sentiments towards me, Thomas, I could have said. But what are mine towards you? You deserve to know.
Instead I said nothing, unable to find words to explain my feelings or to be honest to so splendid a friend. I needed to make some admissions to myself.
*
A letter was delivered to me, one that had been opened by some busy-body on the Royal Council I presumed, and only when it was deemed to be of no real importance or danger, sent on to me. It was from my son, John, Duke of Brittany and a man full-grown now at thirty years. If I had ever been foolish enough to cling to hopes for succour from my distant family, this would have razed them to the ground.
I hear news of your difficult situation, maman. I have opened diplomatic channels with the Royal Council but they are peculiarly silent and uncooperative. I fear that I can do nothing for your rescue. You are in my prayers and thoughts. I know that you will remain strong against accusations that can have no grounds for truth.
Your loving son.
A kind letter in John’s beautiful writing. A thoughtful letter. But one that, in its brief lines, displayed the helplessness that I experienced each day. All it did, had my son but known it, was increase the sense of my isolation. I refolded it with clumsy fingers and slid it between the pages of my missal. It changed nothing. I must not waste emotion on it, nor would I reply. I did not think that I could find the words, for I could not reassure my son that all was well.
*
The King had returned from France with his bride. Thomas was in London to petition for me. I was living in a state of high expectancy that Thomas would return any day, perhaps even bringing the King with him. Would he bring my niece Katherine? Would marriage make him a softer character, more open to reason? The weeks passed from a wet February into an equally wet March but still no sign of either. Of course the King would need time to take up the reins of government after his long absence, to show his new French wife to the people of England, perhaps even in a royal progress that might take in Leeds Castle.
