In the solar the Queen wiped her eyes and Joan came to her and embraced her. 'Lady, I am sorry we have brought so much trouble on you.'
'My love –' Philippa took her hand and held out the other to her son – 'it is all wrong of course and I should not say this nor give you my blessing, only let the King but calm down a little and I will persuade him. He is not unkind, nor ungenerous.'
'But he will never like this marriage,' Joan said unhappily. 'All he said is true. My past –'
'Is done,' Edward finished. 'No one will risk my anger by speaking of it.'
'I see a stormy road ahead,' the Queen said. She pulled Edward down to her so that she might kiss him. 'I want only your happiness, my son.'
'I have it,' he said. 'You will take Jeanette for your daughter?'
The Queen gave Joan a warm affectionate look. 'She has always been my daughter.'
They were rowed back to Kennington, Joan in aching anxiety, though Edward was confident. 'Trust my mother, he said. 'She will not wish a breach between us and she knows my mind is made up. We cannot make the Archbishop contract us without my father's consent but it can be done in my own house in front of my own chaplain. Will you do it, Jeanette, my love, my darling? And come to me afterwards?'
At his words, his utterly new expression, her fears fled. 'Nothing could keep me from you now,' she said. A few hours later they plighted themselves before the entire household, and the delighted Audley, Bart and Nele Loring. To Joan's great pleasure Edward promised to knight Robin Savage to mark the occasion.
A fleeting memory came to her as she repeated the words of their troth, a memory of a candlelit room at Woodstock, of Master Rice and his grubby sandalled feet, of the nervousness of Sir James Cross, his wife's arch behaviour, and herself a frightened yet ardent girl on the threshold of womanhood. Perhaps this present love would not be quite like that first ardent giving to Tom, but it was mature and born of long years of understanding. And those proofs of the life she had shared with Tom, Thomas and John and the pretty Eleanor, were here tonight, all three proud and pleased, Thomas particularly seeing great material advantage in having the Prince of Wales for a stepfather as well as a godfather.
The evening was one the household was not likely to forget. Quite apart from the superb supper produced by Edward's chief cook, the rich swan's flesh redressed in all its feathers, his favourite dish, there was music and dancing. Chandos was absent in Gascony but the Prince's minstrel sang them a haunting Provencal love song and many toasts were drunk. And when at last Joan was escorted to the Prince's chamber, Emma undressed her in such a state of excitement that her fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her gown. Edward came and when the door was shut and they were alone, Joan gave a little sigh and leaned her head against him. She had never been in this room before and it seemed to her an austere room, a man's room, with its plain furnishings, carved oak chair and table, a prie-dieu unadorned except for the silver crucifix he had brought back from France. There were pegs for his armour and trappings, a Spanish oak chest for clothes, but the room was dominated by the huge bed, his emblem of the silver ostrich feathers embroidered over the head, the only lightening of the black hangings he liked. Tomorrow, she thought, she would find ways to brighten this chamber that was now shared, but not tonight.
'It has been so strange a day, first seeing the Archbishop, and then that terrible scene with your father, and now we have feasted as if we had all the good will in the world.'
'We will have it,' he said, 'in time. You will see, Jeanette. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. You don't regret it? I've not been too hasty?' For a moment there was anxiety in his eyes.
'Regret it? Oh Edward, never.'
His arms tightened, crushing her to him, and it seemed to him as if all the solitary years, even the few excursions into physical love had been utterly barren, not preparing him for the torrent of love and desire that seized him now. He lifted her, carrying to the bed, and all the long night their ardent passion was beyond anything he had ever dreamed of.
In the morning they lay late and as he came slowly to consciousness and saw her still sleeping beside him, her bronze hair spread, her beauty enhanced by the years and the knowledge he now had of her, a sensation of awe overcame him. What had happened to them was good, must be good, whatever his father or the Archbishop or even the Pope might say. Sliding from the bed he went to the window, looking out into the garden. The sun, already high, struck a sharp shadow across the sundial where he had first discovered his love. He knelt and crossed himself and then set his hands palms together in his customary attitude for prayer. And as he prayed he felt no shadow of God's displeasure.
It was autumn and the leaves were falling before consent finally came. The King's rage had simmered as the summer faded. He glowered at his court, rode his horses until they were lathered with foam, snapped at his Archbishop and treated his Council to blistering comments on any suggestions they made. Edward took Joan to Berkhamstead and there invited Thomas de la Mare, now Abbot of St Albans, to visit them. He came, riding on a little hack with only one monk to attend him, and ate sparingly of the Prince's well-spread table. Afterwards the three of them talked privately for a long time, and at one point when Edward was called away for a moment, the Abbot looked at Joan and said, 'You have chosen a hard path, my daughter.'
'But not a wrong one?' she asked, and kneeling kissed his ring. 'My lord Abbot, once I came to you and you gave me words of comfort and hope. Have you none for me now?'
'A great many,' he said and his exceptionally sweet smile crossed his face. 'I have only to look at the Prince to know what you have given him.'
'We are both so happy,' she answered. 'He is going to ask you to speak to the King for us. Will you?'
'I do not know why his grace should heed me.'
'Because you have nothing to gain, because you do it, I hope, for the love you bear us.'
He looked down into her face. 'Lady, if it is the Prince's wish I will journey to London and seek an audience with his grace.'
No one knew what he said to the King, nor how he persuaded that irate monarch to change his mind, but he made him sure his son would not alter his. Grudgingly and with considerable swearing and altering of words, the King dictated a letter to the Pope and then, entering the Queen's bedchamber he said, 'Well, I've sent it and much good may it do any of us.'
Philippa came to him and kissed him. 'My dear lord, I knew well enough that you could not allow such a quarrel to last for long.'
He gave a harsh laugh. 'Edward is as obstinate as I am and if I have yielded it has been for your sake, not his.'
Within six weeks the dispensation came, the only condition attached that, as a price, the couple should build and endow a chapel.
'It shall be at Canterbury,' Edward said reverently, 'and dedicated to our Blessed Lady for I'm sure her prayers have wrought this for us. I know the very place for it, in the crypt, if the Archbishop will make amends for his intransigence by agreeing. It shall be my thanksgiving to God for you, Jeanette, my wife.'
The ceremony of betrothal took place at Lambeth Palace on the 6th October. It was marked by the King's absence, but when four days later they were married with great pomp at Westminster by the Archbishop, he was there, resplendent in white and gold. Acknowledging defeat for once, he gave his heir as lavish and extravagant a bridal as if he had approved from the first. At the door he kissed the bride and for a moment his eyes held hers.
'I think I envy my son,' he said abruptly and she sensed how much those words cost him.
Knowing herself to be the envy of every woman, she had spent recklessly on her gown and jewels, encouraged by Edward. His ardour astonished and delighted her for she had once thought him less interested in women than in so many other things. She remembered how years ago he had asked her if what he felt for the girl in Fish Street was love and how she had answered that it was not. Now he knew what it was and it was as though he could never be sated with it. Even her nights w
ith Tom had not held more ecstasy, she thought, and his eagerness to make up for lost time spilled over into so many new ways, not the least being his interest in her adornment.
Even the Countess of Northampton allowed that while the bride was not as slender as she had once been, her beauty on this day had to be admired, while the Princess Isabel, in a tone reminiscent of her grandmother, said that such full bloom was not likely to last once one had had so many children, a remark that earned her a sharp glance from her mother. Yet as she smoothed her gown over her own virginal figure she did not grudge her brother his happiness, for happy he clearly was.
The nuptial Mass proceeded, Edward and Joan knelt together before the altar, and as they turned to walk back down the church, Joan was aware that before all this great crowd packed into the abbey, she had her vindication of her union with Edward, and she emerged to the cheers of ordinary folk outside as the first Princess of Wales and the future Queen of England.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
'Who is this Don Pedro, lady?' Emma, who never got used to her mistress's new title, asked the question as she was dressing her for a banquet to be held in that gentleman's honour. They were in the Prince's lodgings by the Abbey of St Andre in Bordeaux, for her new master and her lady had not stayed long in England after their wedding. It seemed that though the King made the best of what he called a bad business, relations between him and his son were not what they might have been, or so Robin Savage told her, and he made the Prince Duke of Aquitaine and ruler over that province, much enlarged by the Treaty of Brétigny. During the last few peaceful years, while the Prince had brought order to his duchy, Emma had grown used to Gascony and the sunshine and rich food, and had put on a comfortable amount of weight. Now it seemed peace was at an end and she pursued her questioning. 'Wherefore is our lord going to war for Don Pedro, my lady?'
'He is King of Castile,' Joan said, 'and his bastard brother has taken his throne. It is not right that a bastard should sit there.'
'Oh.' Emma surveyed her mistress. Joan had set a new fashion in tighter fitting gowns with low cut bodices that showed her milky white skin and bared more of her breasts than some ladies thought respectable, and often she dispensed with a head-covering and merely wore a rope of pearls twisted in her hair. Emma thought she outshone every other woman at court in such a style, but now that she was pregnant again, her gowns would have to be eased at the waist. She held up a steel mirror for her lady to see her reflection.
'I am a little pale today,' Joan said. 'Some rouge, I think.'
'It's mighty hot,' Emma agreed and brought the pot of red paste. 'Sweating ain’t no good for the skin. There, is that better?'
'Much better. I must look well for our visitor.'
'What is he like, lady? A great man, handsome like our lord?'
'I don't know for I've not seen him. I cannot but hope that the Prince will treat with Don Henry and persuade him to yield up the throne again to Don Pedro. Then he would not have to ride away from us.'
A girl had been sitting quietly in the window seat, a pretty child of fifteen with large dark eyes. She looked up now from her embroidery. 'Madame, do you think it possible? Thomas says he means to fight, that they all want to fight for ransoms and plunder. And – and Thomas says a man is no true knight until he has slain an enemy.'
'Thomas talks a great deal of nonsense sometimes.' Satisfied with her toilette, Joan came to sit beside her daughter-in-law Alice, the Earl of Arundel's daughter whom her eldest son had married some months ago. 'We women do not see war as men do,' she went on, 'but King Pedro has need of the Prince's help as the French are sending so much support to Don Henry. We shall see what is decided tonight.'
'Yes, madame,' Alice sighed and wondered if she would ever achieve the poise and elegance of the Princess of Wales. She had admired her mother-in-law at first and had now grown to love her dearly, finding Joan a more pleasant companion than her own sixteen-year-old husband. Thomas was overbearing and selfish and could be harsh to her, and once had most viciously beaten the young page her father had sent out with her.
'Come,' Joan said, smiling at the girl's thoughtful face, 'are you ready, child? Shall we go and bid little Edward goodnight before we go down?'
'Oh, please,' Alice said, for she adored the strong and beautiful boy, two years old now, who so favoured the Prince his father. Together they went to the chamber where he sat on his nurse's knee being fed bread and milk pap for his supper. He laughed and held out his arms to his mother, and Joan swept him up regardless of her gown or the swelling below the high-fitted waist. He was so happy a child, bringing such joy to her and to Edward after nearly four years of waiting that sometimes she thought she loved him best of all her children. Eleanor was there too, and Joan scolded her, bidding her hurry and tidy herself for the banquet. She had already betrothed Eleanor to the son of Roger Mortimer and Philippa Montague, a match which pleased William and healed the old wound once and for all.
She kissed her little son and handed him back to his nurse and then with the two girls, went down to the feast. During these years as Princess of Wales and Duchess of Aquitaine she had, she knew, brought a stability to Edward's life and to his rule here that he might not have had otherwise. It was true that she was extravagant but so was he, and it had been necessary to win the Gascons, so noted for their love of display. Lavish presents, lavish feasting, spectacular jousts and high state had won to him such people as the Counts of Foix and Armagnac, the Sieur d'Albret and many others. To Joan they had been happy years, crowned by little Edward's birth at Angouleme. Now she was pregnant again and longing for another son, and she hardly dared to admit to herself how deeply she wished that Edward had not embroiled himself in Castilian affairs.
In the hall Edward was already talking with their guest and she went forward to be presented, making the deep curtsey due to a King. Then she looked up at him and was instantly revolted by the man, for he was squat and ugly with a bulbous nose, pitted cheeks and small mean eyes. He greeted her with extravagant words, talking of his gratitude to her and to her husband, and presenting his daughters, Constanza and Isabella, the elder dark-eyed and reserved, the younger prettier and by far the more vivacious. He talked throughout the meal, complimenting his host, calling out to Chandos saying he wished to see his famous pack of hunting dogs, asking Nele Loring to tell him of Rome, a city he had never visited, praising Joan for the feast and drinking many healths.
But later when they were alone in their chamber Joan looked up at her husband as he came from the garderobe, his skin glowing from the rubbing his servant had given it. 'Edward, do not trust Don Pedro. He will use you!'
Her husband smiled. 'A woman's intuition, eh? But Don Henry is a bastard and must be stopped.'
She gave a little shiver. 'Do men feel so strongly about bastardy?'
'Of course.'
'Edward – I remember what the Archbishop once said, that our children, yours and mine, might be so called. Oh God, if I should have brought that on you!'
'That is nonsense and you know it,' he said. 'We have the Pope's sanction and no one will deny our son his rights. Don Henry is a very different matter. He threatens a crowned king and Don Pedro needs me. A man must give his word to his allies if he wants their help and so I can trust him.'
'Can you? Sir John Chandos does not like it, I saw that at supper.'
'I know he does not. He is always outspoken with his advice, but this is the first time he has opposed me so strongly.' Edward rubbed his chin. 'But he will not turn me from my purpose. Don Pedro is willing to pay a great deal for my help and we are much in need of funds.'
'I know,' she agreed. 'It costs so much to live as we do and the Gascons, however much they smile and cheer us in the streets, are tight-fisted.'
'I'll have to find ways of raising money,' he said and came to bed. 'There's no other way but a tax of some sort though they won't like it.'
'If you want to keep them from the French as you have done then they must pay for it. B
ut Don Pedro is different. What is Castile to us?'
'It is a matter of right and a matter of money. He has both.'
'That was a magnificent gold table he brought us.'
'A symbol of Castile's wealth!'
'I don't like it, or him,' she said again. 'Edward, I have been so happy since we came here. I don't want you to go to Spain, not now. We have never yet been parted.'
He smiled and put up a hand to caress her cheek. 'We're not exactly ready to go yet, sweeting, and my brother Lancaster won't arrive from England until after Christmas. I won't start without him and the troops he will bring.'
'I am afraid for you.' She turned towards him, her arm about his chest.
'I've been in many a campaign,' he said lightly. 'Do you think the Prince Noir, as the French call me, cannot survive another battle?'
'I don't know.' She shivered suddenly. 'I had an evil dream last night, of a dark tree in a hot place overhanging all the men marching under it, and one by one they fell down sick and dying. It is an omen.'
'Nonsense.' He gathered her into his arms. 'Jeanette, my darling, naught can part us but God Himself and when it is His will it must be ours too. And see how he has blessed our union.' He laid one hand on her stomach and his eyes wandered over her body, appreciating the soft curves, the smoothness of velvet skin, pregnancy in his eyes only adding to her beauty. 'Has our babe quickened yet?'
'This morning,' she said, 'when I woke from my dream and you had already risen. Edward, send that man back to his own country and let him fight it out with his bastard brother. Let dog eat dog.'
'I can't,' he said, with a touch of impatience. 'Won't you understand – that it is a matter of honour between princes?' And he ended the conversation by bringing his mouth down on hers.
She had the dream again, a few nights after Christmas, only this time in the dream, Edward himself was covered by the tree's great shadow and she woke crying out.
Lady of the Garter (The Plantagenets Book 4) Page 17