So this was the young Lord Edward. I lowered my eyes, bowed my head and bent my knees. The boy bowed, pulling off his crimson bonnet and uncovering a head of magnificent golden hair.
‘Welcome to the port of Dover, Lady Marguerite,’ he said. ‘Should I call you mother?’
I bit my lip in panic. It would not be at all proper for him to call me mother. Philip never permitted such familiarity. He always called my own mother, madame. But I didn’t know how things were done here at the English court.
‘I think my L-Lord Edward,’ I stammered. ‘I think you must ask his grace, the king, if it is suitable.’
‘Oh,’ he said, looking downcast. ‘If there is any likelihood of unsuitability on my part, Lady Marguerite, you can be certain his grace, my father, will find it.’ His face brightened. ‘But you can call me Ned.’
This was worse. Surely he should be my lord Edward, or, when his father and I were married, perhaps stepson? But Ned? Such a vulgar and unsuitable name for the heir to the throne.
The young man at his shoulder gave a cough.
‘I forgot,’ said Lord Edward. ‘This is Lord Henry of Lancaster.’
The young man inclined his head and made a small bow. This must be one of Madame Jeanne’s two half-brothers, the sons of the English earl, Edmund, and his French countess, Madame Jeanne’s mother.
‘He is my cousin. But is he your cousin or your nephew?’ Lord Edward cocked his head to one side and considered the problem.
‘Both,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Greetings, Lady Marguerite. Welcome to your new home. My lady mother arrived at Canterbury a few days ago and is eager to reacquaint herself with you.’
He was about the same age as me, of middling build, brown hair, not particularly handsome, but looked good-natured enough.
‘We must introduce you to the others before they feel we’re doing them down.’ Lord Edward leaned towards me and spoke in a low conspiratorial tone. ‘Are they like this in Paris at your brother’s court, always seeing slights and ill-feeling where none are intended?’
I didn’t know what to say to this unasked for confidence and felt increasingly discomforted. To my relief Lord Edward turned towards the elderly grizzled man behind him and said, ‘This is Roger Bigod, earl of Norfolk, Lady Marguerite. You must have him tell you about his battles. Ask him about the row he had with his grace, my father. It was a tremendous falling-out in the parliament at Salisbury two years ago and they almost came to blows.’
This boy, who would be my stepson, was like an undisciplined puppy, all large paws stepping where they shouldn’t go, knocking things over, enthusiastic but untrained, loveable but dangerous and not someone to be encouraged in his careless talk. He spoke like a child in the nursery rather than a young man of rank. Did my betrothed know he behaved like this? Did he encourage it? The odd thing was that the others seemed unperturbed as if it was no matter that the heir to the English throne behaved in this way.
‘My lady,’ said the earl of Norfolk, bowing over my hand in a surprisingly agile manner for one so old. ‘You are welcome.’
His voice was gravelly, as if he had demons plaguing his chest. I thought he’d be a fearsome opponent in battle and was surprised to learn he’d been at odds with his king. And in front of the parliament!
‘And this fine fellow,’ said Lord Edward with a careless sweep of his arm, ‘is our gallant Sir Humphrey de Bohun.’
Lord Henry dug Lord Edward in the ribs. ‘You’ve forgotten his title, Ned.’
I was horrified at the lack of respect shown to my betrothed’s son in public. It was one thing for young men to push and shove in the privacy of the yards, but to do so on an occasion like this was unbelievable. Lord Edward was the second most important man in the land and the others were treating him like a kitchen knave.
‘He’s only just acquired it,’ protested Lord Edward. ‘How am I meant to remember everything? Sorry, Lady Marguerite, this is the earl of Hereford, and as you can see, by far the most elegant lord in the land.’
Lord de Bohun was attired in a tunic of azure and gold with an undershirt of fine white linen and was wrapped in a cloak of rich green velvet edged with fur. His bonnet was a darker green with plumes of some exotic bird attached to the bands, and his fingers were covered in an array of jewelled rings. With all this finery he easily outshone the others and was what my mother would have called a peacock, a man who cared for nothing but the impression he made upon others.
He swept me a magnificent bow, lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my gloved fingers. I felt the colour rise in my cheeks and a shiver run up my arm at the sudden touch of a man’s mouth. It was all I could do not to snatch my hand away. The crowd had no such inhibitions and cheered loudly. It seemed all the English were as casual and lacking in proper formality as the men surrounding the Lord Edward. Realising they must think me very dull and solemn, I gave a little smile.
The elderly earl of Norfolk said something to me but spoke so rapidly I failed to grasp his words. I stood looking bewildered wondering what I was meant to do.
‘My Lord Norfolk says you must be tired and we should repair to the castle for you to rest,’ said Humphrey de Bohun slowly in his perfect French. ‘If we leave our young friends to arrange matters you’ll still be standing here with those pretty women of yours when the moon comes up and the stars prick the heavens.’
Lord Henry said something to the group of young men crowding behind him causing several muffled snorts and guffaws.
‘Ignore them,’ murmured Humphrey de Bohun. ‘The young have no manners these days.’
Out of nowhere a black and white garbed cleric hurried forward and gabbled prayers of thanks for our safe arrival. From the disapproving looks given by the earl of Norfolk, I gathered the man should have been here earlier. It did seem as if the English party was ill-organised but I reminded myself this was a foreign country where the formalities were doubtless done differently. I must learn to accept things as they were and not be critical.
‘We have a litter for you, my lady,’ said the earl of Norfolk, assessing the size of my retinue and assuring himself that everything was being properly done.
‘Thank you, my Lord Norfolk, for your care. I am grateful for your kindness.’
Blanche would not have bothered to thank the man, taking his concern as her due. I felt a sudden pang of home-sickness for my sister but I knew she’d be in a state of ecstasy planning gowns for her wedding to her Hapsburg prince and not missing me at all.
I was escorted to a curtained litter filled with cushions and furs for my comfort and with no further delays we journeyed slowly up the hill to the castle. As the litter bumped and jolted along the narrow track, the mules slipping on loose stones, I reflected that perhaps travelling by ship wasn’t so dreadfully uncomfortable after all.
After brief prayers in the chapel where more thanks were given for our safe arrival, the castellan’s wife led me and my women to our chamber. It was a remarkably comfortable little castle, every bit as fine as some of Philip’s smaller hunting lodges. But I was certain it must have been built to defend the English coast from pirates rather then for the enjoyment of her princes. From the upper walls I could see all the way to Picardie and the road which led to Paris. Home was just a faint shadow on the horizon beyond the blue-grey waters of the Narrow Sea but I knew it was there and that gave me great comfort when later I lay trying to find sleep, disturbed by the alien sounds of an English night.
Next day as soon as we had broken our fast, we set off again.
‘It’s only a day to Canterbury, my lady,’ said the earl of Norfolk who rode on one side of me. ‘I think you will be glad to arrive. My wife tells me journeying can be exhausting for women. It’s different for us men, we are born to the saddle. Some say we are wedded to it.’
I was accustomed to his manner of speech by now and could understand him provided I listened with all
my attention. He was a big man who appeared ungainly on the ground with his huge girth and bowed legs, but once in the saddle looked as light as a feather, completely at one with his horse. I could easily imagine him riding off into battle.
‘Does your wife rest at your château?’ I enquired. ‘Or will she be at Canterbury?’
‘She will be there to greet you,’ he said, smiling through his moustaches. ‘She is a young filly like yourself, my lady. Nothing would keep her away from a wedding. To tell you the truth, marrying Lady Alix was a blessing. If we were on better terms I would have told his grace the same but he’ll mellow now he’s got you to keep him warm.’
A blush rose into my cheeks at his familiar talk of fillies and marital warmth. How strange the English were!
As we journeyed through this part of the king’s realm, which I learned was called Kent, England began to work her charms on me. The air was soft and gentle, and the land undulated in little hills and valleys with small streams and deep woods of oak and beech. It looked a fair and prosperous country and I had yet to see a single bog.
We passed merchants and pilgrims making their way to Dover but when they saw our banners they moved quickly onto the crop fields to let us pass. We journeyed through small villages where huddles of dwellings had firewood piled high against the walls, and fenced gardens with hen coops and goose pens. The houses were very different from ours at home with huge thatched roofs covering the walls, coming right down almost to the ground.
‘It keeps the rain out, so they tell me,’ said Louis.
‘Does it rain often?’ I asked, looking up at the clear blue sky.
‘Only when you command it, my lady,’ said Humphrey de Bohun, bringing his horse up on my other side.
I thought the elegant earl of Hereford should learn to be less extravagant with his compliments but I was beginning to accept this new carefree way of talking. However, I was glad my future husband was not with us. Wives must be discreet, that much I knew from my mother’s teachings, and while jealousy is a sentiment known well to all men, I thought an older husband might find it more easily than most.
At the first settlement, the villagers cheered as we passed by. There was a lot of shouting and laughing and words I couldn’t understand. I longed to know what was being said but felt it would be impolite to ask so I kept silent.
‘The English seem a happy people,’ I remarked to Louis.
‘It’s no surprise,’ he replied. ‘Every village has an ale house and I’ve been told that when they’re not toiling, the men spend their time drinking. They sit on benches with pots of ale even when they’re supposed to be at prayer. It’s no wonder our mother says they’re an ungodly race.’
At the next village I searched for the ale house but could see nothing but ordinary dwellings and however much I stared at the people they seemed no more the worse for drink than our people in the alleyways of Paris.
‘Do they not drink wine?’ I asked Louis.
‘Only the wealthy drink wine in England. The peasants consume ale. It is the drink of the Englishman.’
‘His grace has a store of exceptionally fine wine from his lands in Gascony,’ said the earl of Hereford. ‘It’s as smooth as anything your brother will have served in his palaces.’
Humphrey de Bohun seemed determined to make me realise how superior all things English were, from the weather to the wine to his elegant attire. He was just like my sister with her new-found love of Austria.
‘At the top of this rise there is a view of our famous cathedral,’ said the earl of Norfolk riding up to join us.
‘Perhaps you have heard of it, my lady?’ said the earl of Hereford, edging the earl of Norfolk’s horse away from mine quite deliberately. ‘The archbishop tells me the number of pilgrims who come to the shrine of Saint Thomas increases each year. It is a veritable industry and brings huge profits to the city as well as to the Church. I’m sure your brother wishes he had a few bones of Saint Thomas to swell his coffers.’
‘My brother has the most holy crown of thorns at Sainte-Chapelle,’ I replied. ‘He has no need of your saint’s bones.’
That, I thought, would show the earl our family could not be outdone.
As we crested the hill we pulled up the horses to look out across the plain towards Canterbury. It was true the cathedral dominated the countryside around because everything else was very low and mean. I thought the great cathedral of Our Lady at Amiens was more magnificent.
‘It’s small,’ I whispered to Louis.
The earl of Norfolk looked questioningly at my brother.
‘My sister is not impressed,’ said Louis with a laugh. ‘She claims we have bigger in France.’
‘The city of Lincoln has a cathedral with a spire taller than any in the whole of Christendom,’ said the earl stiffly. ‘Perhaps his grace will bring my lady to see it once you are wed.’
Sainte Vierge! I thought, how difficult it is to say anything. I laid a gloved hand on Lord Norfolk’s arm.
‘Forgive me, my Lord Norfolk. I sometimes speak without thinking. It is a habit of the very young and I should have outgrown such foolishness by now.’
I smiled at him as we rode down the hill and he seemed somewhat mollified.
As we passed under the gatehouse into the city it was like entering a prison. There was no way back to the girl I had once been and all I could hope for was a gaoler who would treat me kindly and help me do my duty well.
‘Smile,’ hissed Louis into my ear. ‘You are about to meet your husband. Do you wish him to send you home?’
My eyes were misted by tears as I looked around me at the grey stone houses beyond the high city walls and the throngs of cheering people. Everywhere there was noise and commotion. Women waved ribbons and threw flowers, men tossed their bonnets in the air and dogs and little children ran alongside us in the mud. Then, out of the chaos ahead, winding their way through the narrow city streets, came a party of horsemen.
The palms of my hands felt moist, I swallowed hard and felt my heart begin to thump. I looked down. I looked up. I didn’t know where to look for fear I might see this man I was to wed. I desperately wanted to discover what he was like yet was afraid in case I was disappointed. Once I’d seen him I could no longer spend my half-sleeping hours building imaginary pictures of my future husband. If a thing is known, it cannot be unknown.
There was no mistaking him. Even without the rich clothing and the gold circlet on his head, I would have known him for a king. This was not the withered old man of my nightmares, a dotard in the twilight of his life. This was a warrior. A straight-backed, powerful man who stared across the crowds with dark penetrating eyes. One eyelid drooped slightly, which gave him a dangerous look.
There was a milling about of horses as the two parties met. The king dismounted, not as I’d thought he might, heavy-bodied like a sack of corn thrown from a wagon, but lightly with the grace and ease of a youthful chevalier. He strode over to my mount and held out his hand. At close quarters I saw his hair and beard were threaded with silver.
‘I bid you welcome, Cousin.’
His voice was strong, the accent strange and with a slight lisp which made him seem less frightening. My heart slowed down, for the unknown is always more frightening than what is real, and my betrothed was very, very real indeed.
He helped me dismount and I saw at once how much taller he was than me. He offered me his arm and together we walked to the welcoming party of worthy townsmen standing by the steps of what I was told was the hall for the guilds where the merchants met to talk business.
For what seemed like hours we listened patiently to an endless stream of addresses and letters of welcome, followed by choristers singing arias lauding my supposed virtues while small girls in white dresses danced for our delight. When at last I thought I couldn’t stand upright a moment longer the king called a halt to the entertainments a
nd I was allowed to retire to the lodgings which were mine for the night.
‘Tomorrow we shall become acquainted,’ said my betrothed looking across the top of my head and speaking to no-one in particular. ‘I shall see you at the cathedral.’
And with that, he and his accompanying retinue were gone.
Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow everything would change. Tomorrow I would become a married woman. Tomorrow I would become a queen. I felt a shiver of what I believed was excitement but of course it might just as well have been fear.
Once we were safely in our chamber my chests were unpacked and my clothing brushed and aired and hung on perches. My women, spurred on no doubt by thoughts of the attractive and, so I had discovered, as yet unwed earl of Hereford, were contriving last-minute improvements to their gowns. I thought it would be a poor man who would be seduced by a piece of crimson ribbon but, as Blanche had told me, I knew nothing of men. Perhaps Humphrey de Bohun was as susceptible to finery as any man.
As the long sleepless hours passed, I lay thinking of the next day. Tonight I shared a bed with one of my women. Tomorrow I would sleep with my husband. I wondered if he would be disappointed in me for I was no beauty. My breasts were too small and my elbows too sharp, and on the rare occasions I caught sight of my face in the curved surface of a bowl, I was disappointed by my plainness.
I squashed all thoughts of the conversation with my mother’s friend as I didn’t want to think of such things tonight. If I dwelt too much on the intimate part of this marriage I feared I might want to run home to my mother and sister and not get married at all. Yet I firmly believed this was the path God had chosen for me and it was my duty to tread it with a full and loving heart.
As I slipped over the borders of sleep, my last waking thought was - I wonder if he will like my hair?
Next morning I looked in the polished silver of my mirror and saw a different young woman, not myself but a radiant, beautiful bride. My women had bathed me in warm water scented with rose petals, dried me with fresh sheets and then rubbed sweet-smelling oils over my body till I tingled and shone. One garment at a time, they had dressed me in my finery: the delicate silk kirtle, the blue brocade gown - blue being the colour of the Virgin’s robe - the green and gold surcote embroidered all over with seed pearls, the crimson mantle lined with yellow sindon, and the wide gold belt which was a wedding morning gift from my betrothed. On my feet they placed a pair of delicate silk slippers and on my unbound hair a golden coronet. I could not help but be pleased.
The Pearl of France Page 4