Alice, I thought. With her husband returned to Ypres, I would ask Alice. I couldn’t possibly bring the maid I shared with Elizabeth as she was a Montagu servant and probably spied for Lady Catherine. It would have to be Alice.
We walked slowly back to the gate, saying nothing for there was nothing left to say. We had made our promises and I would think of him as my betrothed. How thrilling that sounded! He unlatched the gate and swung it open.
‘My lady?’ For the first time since we’d entered the orchard, he sounded uncertain of himself. ‘You’re quite sure this is what you want?’
‘Oh yes,’ I breathed, ‘I’m quite sure. I won’t change my mind.’
‘A word of advice. Say nothing of our conversation, especially not to your friend.’
‘Which friend, Sir Thomas?’
‘The earl’s daughter, the Lady Elizabeth.’
‘We’ve been put together by Lady Catherine but we’re not friends. I tell her nothing of any importance.’
‘Good.’
He helped me onto his horse and we rode back together in what I took to be companionable silence. I rested my cheek against his back and wondered at his strength and the way his muscles moved beneath his clothes.
In the courtyard, just as we were about to enter the abbey, I remembered something. I touched his sleeve. ‘Will there be minstrels?’ I was embarrassed to ask as he hadn’t made any mention of entertainment, but I didn’t want a wedding day which was dull and dreary.
He looked surprised.
‘Minstrels?’
‘For the marriage feast. There will be a feast, won’t there? There’s got to be a feast. And minstrels.’
His lips twitched. ‘Whatever you wish, my lady. I’ll make a note of it: minstrels and a feast.’
‘And silver coins,’ I said, remembering the pennies showered over Margaret and John Segrave: a glittering waterfall of shining silver.
‘Silver coins.’ His voice was steady. ‘Anything else?’
I shook my head and smiled up at him, trying to hold a picture of the silver coins in my head until tomorrow.
Alice was in the little room at the top of the stairs, far from anyone’s attention. I was hardly through the doorway when I blurted out my story. I thought she’d be pleased but she gave me a look of utter horror and dropped the book she’d been reading onto the floor.
‘My brother-in-law’s steward? Are you out of your mind?’
‘No,’ I said sulkily. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘This is a joke, I presume. A jest or some such.’
‘It’s not a joke, Alice. I’m going to marry him.’
She rolled her eyes upwards and sighed deeply. ‘Jeanette. You cannot marry the Earl of Salisbury’s steward. It’s ridiculous. What are you thinking of? The king and Sir William decide who you marry. It’s nothing to do with you.’
I shrugged off my cloak and dropped it onto the chest.
‘I don’t want it to be like that.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you want, it’s what the king and Sir William want. I’ve told you this before. Men decide these things. You can’t please yourself. Don’t be foolish.’
‘Please, Alice.’
But Alice, it was becoming clear to me, was not going to be swayed by my pleading.
‘Jeanette, you tell me the king has already decided on your future husband; the other women say Lady Catherine is preparing for a spring wedding so there’s nothing you can do; you will be married as the king wishes.’
‘Yes, I will be married but it won’t be to that monstrous old man. I’m going to marry the man I choose to marry.’
‘And where did you meet this man you think you wish to marry? In the stables?’
I wasn’t going to tell her about Sir Two Face’s house and the night Thomas Holand had kissed me because I knew she’d be shocked. I needed Alice to think well of Thomas Holand and I didn’t want her thinking him a common adventurer who molested any girl who crossed his path.
‘And what do you know about him?’
‘He is a knight.’
‘And his family?’
I tried to remember what he’d told me that evening in the cloisters.
‘They are a worthy family. His father is dead but he has a mother and several brothers and sisters living.’
I wouldn’t tell Alice one of his sisters desired to be a rich man’s concubine.
‘I presume he has a house and is not expecting you to grub by the roadside with him.’
‘He’s a second son,’ I said defiantly, knowing what this would mean in Alice’s eyes. ‘But he’s not a nobody; the king thinks very highly of him.’
‘The king thinks very highly of his cook but he’s not going to let you marry him, and a second son will have nothing to offer.’
‘Alice, it doesn’t matter what you say, I intend to do this.’
‘You can’t. They won’t let you.
It was very hard to keep my mind on the orchard and the sweetness and not be bruised by Alice’s objections
‘Nobody will know,’ I said stoutly. You are the only person I shall tell.’
‘You can’t marry without permission.’
‘Sir Thomas says we can.’
‘How do you propose to marry a man without the king’s permission? You’re his cousin; you can’t just marry whomsoever you please. Girls have been put away for less. Is that what you want? To live out your days in a nunnery?’
‘We shall marry in secret.’
‘Now I know you’re mad.’
She was getting angry; I could hear the irritation in her voice and Alice was the sweetest-natured of people.
‘I am going to marry him no matter what you say.’
We argued like this until the sky darkened and a groom came in to light the candles. When eventually we lay down to sleep she turned her back. I lay there in the shadow and warmth of her body and thought about tomorrow. It was much closer now than I thought it would be. If I screwed my eyes up tightly I could believe what lay ahead was a garden of delights, full of delicate sweet-smelling lavender and scented roses, but a peep at Alice’s hunched shoulders and rigid back made me afraid I was wrong and what lurked beyond the walls of St Bavo’s Abbey was nothing but a ditch full of nettles and a thicket pricked with thorns.
A muffled voice said, ‘I shall tell Lady Catherine.’
I grabbed at her night cap. ‘Alice, please, you mustn’t.’
Thomas Holand’s life would be in danger if she told anyone else. My cousin would not take kindly to having his plans for me thwarted and I already knew how terrible the vengeance of a king could be. Good men died when my cousin wished it so.
The onset of evening brought with it an unexpected chill in the air and, as we hurried down the narrow pebbled path at the back of the abbey, I was glad of my warm winter cloak. Alice had agreed most reluctantly to escort me as far as the postern gate. She had spent much of the day praying and I knew she regretted not telling Lady Catherine.
The postern gate of St Bavo’s was sunk deep into a wall, hidden from sight by a line of stunted trees and guarded by an elderly porter. I worried that we were too early, that we would have to loiter when we had no reason and could be discovered at any moment. Then I was convinced we were too late and Sir Thomas’s brother would have given me up for lost and left. But when we arrived, Otho Holand was there, waiting for us.
He looked up from the lonely contemplation of his boots. He bowed politely but when he saw Alice he hesitated and regarded me with worried eyes. From the quality of her cloak and the expensive leather of her gloves he must have known she was no maidservant.
‘This is Lady Alice Montagu, my cousin,’ I explained.
Alice regarded Otho Holand, taking in his appearance and his ob
vious lack of wealth or position.
‘Master Holand,’ she said. ‘I am here solely because my cousin has asked me to come. I don’t agree with what she is intending to do and I cannot think your brother knows what he is about and the danger he is putting her in.’
But Otho Holand was well-prepared to defend his brother.
‘I understand your difficulty, Lady Montagu. I am sure you care deeply for your cousin, but you must believe me when I say my brother has her best interests at heart.’
‘Hers?’ said Alice sharply. ‘Or his?’
‘Oh hers; he will be a very good husband.’
‘I know nothing about your brother,’ retorted Alice. ‘For all I know he has a wife already.’
‘No, Lady Montagu, my brother has never married and believe me, he will look after your cousin very well.’
I felt Alice stiffen and I reached for her hand.
‘Please, Alice. Come with me?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘If you wish to ruin yourself you may do so on your own. I have done all I can. I shall pray for you, Jeanette.’
But at the last, she seized Otho Holand’s hand. ‘Master Holand, I beg you, take care of her. She’s very young. Please don’t let your brother hurt her.’
The old man was undoing the bar to open the gate.
Otho Holand took my hand. ‘If you would put up your hood, my lady, and hide your face. There are rough people out there and I wouldn’t want you recognised. I’ve brought my brother’s boy. He’s good with his fists and handy with his feet but I’d rather we avoided trouble altogether.’
‘Is it far?’ I whispered as we slipped through and out into the street.
‘Past the bridge, towards the square.’
It was an unfamiliar route, past buildings I didn’t know, with an urchin of uncertain age and smelling greatly of the stables scampering in front of us, leading the way. Hidden in the deep folds of my hood, I could barely see anything but I could hear plenty. Every army commanded by the princes must be roaming the streets of Ghent for there to be this much noise and I wondered how safe I really was with my meagre escort. I kept very close to Otho Holand and held on tight to his arm.
We crossed the bridge and after several twists and turns our guide disappeared like a little shadow into a narrow alleyway on our left. The houses on either side towered over us shutting out what daylight was left, making the lane dark and sinister. About half way along the boy stopped at a door next to a house where the sign of an apothecary hung on the wall. Otho Holand knocked and the door opened.
Inside was a dull-faced woman wearing a grubby linen cap who was surreptitiously drying her hands on her skirts. Behind her I could see a couple of tow-headed children peeping round a doorway and a set of worn stairs. I followed Master Holand up the stairway into the gloom. As we approached the top I could make out a glimmer of light, a single flame, and Thomas Holand with a candle in his hand.
I saw his eyes widen in alarm when he realised I was alone.
The room was something of a shock. Even in the half-light I could see it was very small, built into the roof, barely big enough for two people, with nothing but a trestle table a bench and a bed. There was no decoration: no hangings or carpets or painted walls, and nothing on the floor but plain unswept boards. Sir Thomas’s sword in its scabbard lay propped in the corner together with his belt. The pallet bed tucked hard against the wall was narrow but the pillow and covers looked reasonably clean.
On the table was a wooden platter with some bread and a covered dish. There was a jug and some cups. I looked for the priest but there was no sign of him. We must be going elsewhere for the wedding, I thought, because we couldn’t possibly marry here in this tiny room amongst the dust and the cobwebs.
Sir Thomas came in with the candle. He bowed to me.
‘God keep you well, my lady. My apologies. I know this is not what you’re used to in any way but it was all I could manage at such short notice. The princes’ men have snapped up the best lodgings; some are even reduced to sleeping in the stables.’
He was being very charming. He set the candle down and wiped the bench seat with his sleeve.
‘Please, sit. I’ve sent my brother to fetch the woman of the house. I cannot allow you to marry me with no woman present. It wouldn’t be right.’
We waited in silence until we heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The woman of the house sidled in, staring at me with undisguised curiosity. She didn’t look at the two men.
‘I have explained,’ said Otho. ‘She understands.’
Sir Thomas held out his hand and pulled me up.
‘Come, my lady, we’d best to business.’
‘Here?’
Now the moment had arrived I wasn’t sure and was filled with a sudden desire to run back to everything familiar. If there had been ritual and formality I would have been more certain but everything seemed too simple, too easily won and I was nervous.
He nodded his head. ‘Are you ready? You don’t want to change your mind? You’re perfectly free to do so if you’d rather return to the abbey. I won’t have anyone saying I bullied you into this.’
‘What about the priest?’ I whispered.
‘We don’t need a priest. It’s not necessary. We’re not marrying the priest, we’re marrying each other. All we need are our two witnesses.’
‘But surely…’ I bit my lip, too frightened to continue.
‘My lady, people will say you must have a priest’s blessing at a marriage but truly it is not necessary. A marriage like this is perfectly sound. Hundreds of people marry in this way and are none the worse for it. And although the Church would rather take your money for a blessing, to marry without is recognised as a true marriage and prevents a couple from marrying anyone else.’
He was reassuringly certain of everything and of course that was the reason for this marriage; having once married Thomas Holand, I would be unable to marry anyone else. I gazed admiringly at the openness of his face and the set of his shoulders. He was strong and he was brave and I knew he would protect me. And he was something else as well but I hadn’t allowed myself to think too much about that.
‘What about the ring?’
There was a moment of silence in which Thomas Holand for once appeared less than sure of himself.
‘I have a ring,’ he said. ‘It is nothing but a tawdry little thing I bought for a pittance. I hesitate to offer it to you.’
In the orchard he had promised to scatter jewels across our marriage bed to give me pleasure and I knew that one day in the future, when he was rich, he would do just that, so a trumpery little ring on our wedding day was of no consequence.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Whatever you have will do.’
I stood facing him and he took my right hand in his. The first touch of his fingers on mine made me tremble and, in that brief moment when there was still time to change my mind, I knew exactly why I was marrying this man I barely knew.
I didn’t know what to say as I’d never married someone before but he led me through the words with care. He promised to take me as his wife and I said I would take him as my husband. He slid the little ring onto my finger and gave me a brief kiss on my cheek. And that was all. It was very quick, barely more than a few moments and it was done. We were married.
I examined myself but I didn’t feel any different.
Before the woman disappeared downstairs, Sir Thomas slipped her a coin and thanked her for her help in the matter of our marriage.
‘My lady?’ My husband offered me a cup. ‘The best I could find.’
There was wine at our wedding feast and there was bread, not white and soft but rather coarse and earthy, and difficult to chew. And there was some sort of dried fish which tasted disgusting. Even the men rolled up their eyes.
It wasn’t much of a feast and I wondered if things would get better or if we would always dine on brown bread and dried fish. I told myself it was unimportant.
I glanced up at Sir Thomas. Surely he hadn’t forgotten the other things?
He smiled at my face as if he knew what I was thinking and turned to his brother.
‘Otho, my wife wishes for some minstrelsy.’
‘Oh! I thought…’
‘… that I’d forgotten? I’d be a poor husband if I had. Otho is the songbird in our family and he’ll sing for you.’
‘For me?’ I was enchanted. Nobody had ever sung just for me. People sang songs for my cousin and for the queen, but not for me.
He had a beautiful voice. It was clear and sweet and filled the room. The first song was a ballad about a girl and her boy. It was very tender and very sad.
I clapped my hands in appreciation. Sir Thomas leant back against the wall and said, ‘Something less mournful, Otho. This is a wedding feast not a funeral.’
The next song was bawdy and I giggled. It was about a man doing business with a woman but there were too many words I didn’t understand.
‘Otho! Enough!’
I tuned to Sir Thomas. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’
He smiled and thumped Otho on the shoulder.
‘Off with you, brother, before my wife decides she prefers you to me.’
Otho Holand flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, wished me a safe night and went quickly out of the door.
I lifted a cup from the table because I didn’t know what else to do and thought a sip of wine might give me courage, but the cup was empty.
My husband checked the door was closed and barred and we couldn’t be disturbed, then, with slow deliberation, took the cup from my hand. He put it on the table. His expression gave nothing away.
The moment had come, as I knew it must, and now it was here I didn’t know what was expected of me.
The Fair Maid of Kent Page 8