The Fair Maid of Kent

by Caroline Newark

  For a moment there was no noise at all and then I heard a sound so slight it was almost silent.

  It came from the old man.

  I raised my eyes. He was staring at me with the expression some men have when the priest raises the Host.

  ‘As you say, mon cher, a veritable prize.’

  He was the second man to describe me in that insulting way. I waited where I was to see what my cousin wanted from me.

  He leaned forward and touched the top of my head. ‘Up, little one.’

  I rose with great care making sure I kept my chin raised and my back straight but to my dismay this time the silk didn’t rustle.

  He looked at me carefully, taking in the blue of my gown, the rich red surcote with its silver embroidery and the pretty golden chaplet. Then he leaned back in his chair and ran his eyes over me once more. I hoped my hair hadn’t blown too much in the cold breeze on the river. He waited a moment and then smiled.

  ‘You’ve grown, little one.’ He paused. ‘Come closer and let me see you properly.’

  His voice was kind. It was soft and caressing not hard and stony as I feared it might be. He cared. The queen might still be angry and exclude me from her presence, but he had forgiven me. He was my cousin, the man who had loved me when I was a child. He had protected and cared for me and yet had allowed my father to be killed. But when I was with him I would have forgiven him anything, even that, because I loved him and wanted him to love me.

  I stepped right up to his knee, remembering the times he would circle me with his arm and pull me onto his lap. I was so close I could smell the creamy smoothness of the sandalwood oil on his skin and the scent of something spicy deep within the folds of his robes. When his gaze caught mine I saw candlelight shining in his eyes.

  ‘I have someone here who wants to see you, little cousin.’

  I moved my gaze to the other man.

  Holy Virgin, but he was really horrible! Long grey hair and flowing beard and no colour at all in his ancient washed-out face. He had sunken rheumy eyes hidden amidst a web of wrinkles, and gouges like plough strips furrowing his cheeks. When he spoke, his inner lips were moist with snail slime and his teeth were yellowed. There was a whiff of foul breath about him and a pungent smell of garlic.

  He leaned forward, screwing up his pale blue eyes as if to see me better. He looked tall but his gown hung loosely on his bent shoulders. I thought him probably a scrawny man beneath the dark red velvet but wrapped in those robes it was hard to tell. It wasn’t an English fashion. The sleeves were too wide and too short and the cut was wrong, but the cloth was of good quality. I wondered where he came from.

  ‘What do you think?’ My cousin’s voice was soft.

  The man shook his head, peering closely at every part of me. I felt like a mare under the appraising eye of a horse dealer.

  ‘Perfection,’ he breathed. ‘Oh perfection. Look at the hair, the way it catches the light. What a depth of colour. And so heavy. Can you see how it falls against the cheeks? It shines like the most precious of silks. And the skin. Quite luminous. His Holiness has such a one in Avignon, a painting of the Virgin with the Christ Child in her arms.’

  He stretched out a hand as if to touch me. I wanted to shrink away. The back of his hand was covered in hideous blotches and his fingers were like claws, curled up and bent, with shiny yellow knuckles. He was ugly, like all old men.

  ‘Come here, child.’

  I glanced at my cousin who nodded his head. I took two steps until I was almost standing between the man’s knees. Now I could smell a strange exotic perfume beneath the garlic and the rotting teeth. He put out his right hand and smoothed my hair, following the cascade of gold down almost to my waist. I shivered at the feel of his fingers. What did he want? Why was he touching me?

  ‘Does she please you?’ My cousin spoke quietly but intensely as if the answer the man would give was of great importance.

  The man moved his hand to my face. He traced the curve of my cheek beneath my eye and let his fingers run down the soft skin in front of my ear. He stroked the tiny wisps of hair which had escaped from the chaplet and then touched my lips. Little soft movements almost like kisses.

  His gaze followed the fall of my hair, across the swell of my budding breasts to the dip of my waist to where my gown slid over my narrow hips, all the way down to the tips of my feet.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, his breath warming my skin. ‘I could not have wanted for anything more beautiful or more desirable.’

  With a rush of understanding, I knew what this was. I was to be given to this old goat. He wanted me for his wife. I was to be sent away to some distant land, like Joanna, somewhere where I would be quite alone. He would imprison me in a castle high on a rock and make me dance for him every night before he would take me into his bed and slither his loathsome tongue between my teeth.

  ‘She is her father’s daughter,’ said my cousin. ‘In every way.’

  ‘So I see,’ laughed the man. ‘Look at the length of the under-lip, you can always tell. I have an astrologer who tells me these things are written at the moment of birth, and by the bones of the blessed St Thomas, this one is a feast for the senses.’

  I knew what would be expected of me in marriage. “They do it whenever they like,” Margaret had said. “There’s no escape. You have to submit.”

  ‘I thought you would want to see her,’ said my cousin. ‘The sight of her comforts me in some of my blacker moments, when I am chased by the demons of the past.’

  ‘We are all chased by those demons, mon cher,’ said the man quietly. ‘I more than most.’

  They continued to talk, ignoring me. The conversation was about Philip of Valois and his many failings.

  ‘Your lady mother said he was a man afraid of his own shadow.’

  My cousin nodded his head in agreement at this considered assessment of the French king.

  I felt ice slide inside my veins and chill my belly. This man was known to the king’s mother. It must have been she who had persuaded my cousin to give me to him in marriage. Everyone knew how much power she wielded and on the question of a foreign marriage he would be bound to defer to her wishes. She wanted me sent away and had chosen the vilest and most hideous old man of her acquaintance to be my husband.

  At last my cousin remembered me.

  ‘Come here, little one.’

  Obediently I went to his side, too frightened to do anything else. He put his arm round my waist like he used to and pulled me close.

  ‘Too old to sit on my knee now, I think, Jeanette, but not too old to give your cousin a kiss.’

  With his free hand he turned my face to his and gently placed his mouth on mine. He tasted of salt. I enjoyed the touch of his lips and happily kissed him back. Too soon he drew away and smiled into my eyes.

  ‘Oh yes!’ he said. ‘A lucky man who has you in his bed, my little cousin, a very lucky man indeed.’

  ‘Your Grace?’ I whispered.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sending me away?’

  He laughed. ‘I can hardly keep you by my side, little one. What would the queen say?’

  ‘But I do not wish to go.’

  ‘Everyone must do their duty,’ he said, his tone serious. He removed his hand from round my waist and leaned back in his chair. ‘A girl’s duty is to marry where she is bid and you are nearly old enough for marriage.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ I said miserably, wondering how long it would be before I would have to go. Lady la Mote had said Joanna’s marriage was so many months in the arranging she had despaired of the contracts ever being signed.

  My cousin patted my arm. ‘Off you go, sweet cousin. You can return to the care of the lovely Lady Catherine. I shall tell her it is settled. After the summer campaign when we are fl
ushed with victory will be the perfect time for a wedding.’

  I lowered myself to the ground again and whispered a farewell.

  He nodded his head towards his guest. I turned to the man and said in a low voice. ‘Fare you well, monsieur.’

  Before I could move away, his hand shot out and he drew me towards him. I trembled at being so close. He held his grey wrinkled face up to mine.

  ‘You may kiss me,’ he murmured, little drops of spittle spilling out of his mouth.

  What horror! I closed my eyes and quickly placed my dry lips on his furrowed cheek.

  He laughed. ‘I’m not as desirable as your king, it seems.’

  I felt the heat rise in my face and stepped back quickly before he demanded I place my mouth on his.

  ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘How the wheel of fortune turns. In my youth I had women dance naked on tables and throw themselves at my feet, but now all I get is a dry peck from an unwilling young maid. C’est dommage!’

  He chuckled into his beard as he waved me away.

  I picked up my skirts and practically ran from the room.

  Outside the king’s servant was waiting, ready to escort me back to the courtyard. I wasn’t to see the queen or Edward or Isabella and I wasn’t to join in the last night of the Nativity celebrations. I had been brought here to be paraded like a slave girl in front of the horrible old man so that he could decide if he wanted to purchase me. He needed to see if the bargain he had struck with my cousin was worth the price he was paying.

  I favoured the royal servant with an encouraging smile and, after a little gentle flattery, he told me everything I wanted to know about the old man, except for his name.

  ‘A stranger of the utmost importance, little lady. His presence is a closely guarded secret.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Some call him “the Welshman” but he’s not one of those scurvy weasels, not talking like he does. Speaks French perfectly and can read a Latin text. He dines alone with the king and queen and is given the choicest of dishes and the best cuts of meat.’

  ‘Does he have servants?’

  ‘There’s a boy,’ said the man, standing rather too close and nudging me into an alcove. ‘Says his master’s a friend of His Holiness. Prattles away about papal palaces, but he’s witless so pay no attention.’

  My heart sank. His Holiness, the Almighty’s representative here on earth. If the Holy Father had sanctioned my marriage there was nothing to be done.

  ‘Where does he come from?’ I asked.

  ‘I reckon he’s a Gascon, come from the duchy. Doesn’t look like one, they’re mostly short-arsed, but they’re saying in the kitchens the lord of Albret is here to see the king. A matter of a marriage contract.’

  Like all men he wanted payment for his information so I allowed him to squeeze my waist. It wasn’t very pleasant and I was glad when we were disturbed by a group of rowdy grooms dressed in their Twelfth Night finery.

  Outside in the cold, it was dusk and the sleet from earlier had turned to snow. My escort was waiting for me, leaning against the arched entrance to one of the buildings, his hat pulled low over his face. What with the dreadful happenings inside the abbey I had almost forgotten him.

  He moved to the foot of the water steps and without so much as a single word offered me his outstretched hand. I climbed in but refused his further help, stumbling past the oarsmen to my seat at the back of the boat. I watched from under my lashes as he talked to one of the men, sharing a joke and doubtless giving orders. He had an easy manner which didn’t surprise me in the least. He’d had an easy manner with me last summer. He was the sort of man who would always have an easy manner with anyone, particularly with a girl.

  As we slid away from the steps, he began walking up the boat towards where I sat perched beneath the canopy. For a moment I thought he might speak but he merely settled himself down on the servant’s bench whistling softly under his breath. I felt disconcerted to have him so close but contented myself with gazing upwards at the yawning entrance to the watergate and the shimmering vaulted roof slipping slowly past.

  As soon as we left the shelter of the abbey walls, a sharp wind, which blew in each night with the tide, began to bite and I pulled my cloak more securely around me.

  ‘It’s bad out on the river tonight, my lady.’ He was looking at me through the gloom. ‘You’ll get frozen in that elegant finery of yours.’

  He stood up and pulled off his heavy cloak. Hesitating for a brief moment, he laid it over my knees, pulling the thick cloth round my skirts and making sure my feet were well hidden. He didn’t smile.

  ‘I thank you,’ I said politely.

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  It was as if what he had done was of no importance. I watched the snow settle on the sleeves of his jacket and thought he was being very rude. I had thanked him and the least he could do was be grateful for my thanks. I could have ignored him. I decided I would ignore him.

  In the gathering dark, the water had deepened to a rich damson colour, almost black, but streaked with occasional shafts of gold and silver from the riverside torches. I stared out across the Scheldt but could see very little amidst the flurries of snow other than the bobbing lanterns of other boats.

  I stole a glance at him.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ Even to me my voice sounded small.

  He made a dismissive movement with his head and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did his voice was tight with resentment.

  ‘They tell me you are the king’s cousin. Is it true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked away at the snow, great grey flakes lost in the night sky and the swirling waters of the river. After a few moments he gave a deep sigh and turned back to face me.

  ‘‘The girl I rescued that night last summer was just a nursemaid, a pretty girl like dozens of other pretty girls who cross my path. She was nobody in particular, just an ordinary person, like me. She was far below the notice of princes and kings; they would not even have known of her existence. She was not some grand young lady dressed up in velvets and furs with a fortune in jewels stitched onto her clothing. All she had was a torn nightgown and a corner in which to lay down her head. She didn’t even have any slippers.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you.’

  His eyes were unfriendly, as if he didn’t believe me.

  ‘I went to find her but when I returned to the abbey and asked in the laundry and the kitchens, nobody knew anything and I had no name. When I returned a second time, a few weeks later they said the Lady Joanna’s household was leaving for Herenthals and wouldn’t be coming back. I was told the king’s daughter was travelling to the Emperor ’s court to meet with the Hapsburg family of her betrothed and was taking her maids with her.’ He shrugged. ‘So I stopped looking.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘If I’d known…’

  I stopped. What could I possibly have done if I’d known? This man was not someone I could have brought into Lady Catherine’s hall to enjoy the entertainments or dine in private with the family. I might as well have invited the boy who carried the meat into the kitchens to share our table.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said but my voice was so low he probably didn’t hear.

  In the distance, Antwerp’s Twelfth Night celebrations were in full swing. I could just make out the flickering torches as the townspeople made their way through the streets towards the great bonfire in the market square. Above the singing and banging and rattling of rommelpots came the deep boom of the midwinterhorn reminding us that the year had turned.

  I raised my face from the folds of my cloak and said as meekly as I could, ‘Might we go closer? Would that be possible?’

  I didn’t want to sound too grand as if I was ordering him a
bout.

  ‘Of course, if that is what you wish, my lady.’ His voice was flat again. It was obviously of no interest to him if he walked me through the streets of Antwerp or if we carried on down the river to the Montagu lodgings.

  He gave orders to the men and we turned in towards the bank. As we came alongside the town steps he leapt out and in that moment I saw him clearly, outlined against the torchlight. He was not quite as tall as I remembered but he had wonderfully well-shaped legs.

  He offered me his arm as I clambered up the slippery steps.

  ‘In the streets, my lady, you will have to stay close because I wouldn’t want to lose you.’ He paused. ‘Not for a second time.’

  Now that we were ashore he seemed in no hurry and we ambled slowly along the busy streets with flakes of snow settling and then melting on our cloaks and gloves. After a few minutes of silence I ventured the words I had been wanting to say for some time. ‘I don’t know your name.’

  He gave me a long cool look. ‘My name is Thomas Holand, my lady.’

  Thomas Holand. The king’s man. Not a count, not a lord, not even a knight, just an ordinary man as he had said, an ordinary man who had given his sword to his king. He probably had a wife and a string of children back home in England but of course that was of no interest to me.

  ‘Are you married, Master Holand?’

  His face showed he found the question amusing.

  ‘No, my lady.’

  ‘Why not? I thought all men of your age were married.’

  ‘I haven’t had the time to look for a wife. I’ve been too busy fighting.’

  ‘Did your father not arrange a marriage for you?

  ‘No.’ He sounded as if he didn’t wish to discuss the matter further which was very annoying. Perhaps he had no money and couldn’t attract a wife. I didn’t know how rich fighting men were. He didn’t look wealthy, he simply looked very ordinary. His clothing was not of good quality, but sturdy and rather drab. He had a warm woollen cloak, the one he had lent me, but his boots were badly worn.