‘Once only, sire, for the weather continues foul. While I was there a great storm blew up and caused much damage. I have never known such a tempest – it raged as if the devil himself were riding on the wind.’
‘I heard from my mother that it struck terror into people, and had some other results, like frightening women with child to bring forth babes before their time.’ There was a meaningful look in his eyes, and Wulfstan endeavoured to give a reasonable reply.
‘Indeed, sire, Mistress Van Brunt was delivered of a small but healthy son at the height of the storm. I asked the Queen if he and his parents could be taken to the royal palace at Kennington where he would have better care from women and more comfortable lodging than here. And now, sire, do you wish to inspect the castle income and expenses?’
‘So you never saw your son, Wulfstan? You took no pride in fatherhood?’
‘He was Van Brunt’s child, sire, and I . . . I could not live under the same roof and not see him.’ Wulfstan turned away to hide his agitation.
‘Ah, my young friend, you have many years before you,’ said the Prince with a sigh. ‘The lady Beulah will give you more sons in the course of time, whereas I, Prince of the realm and heir to my father’s throne, may not see or speak to the woman I have loved all my life, since we played together as children at court.’ He smiled grimly. ‘The good Sir Thomas, Earl of Kent, no doubt hopes to be home with his wife for the Feast of the Nativity.’
Wulfstan heard the unspoken words, and was silent. There seemed nothing more to be said.
Wulfstan could not remember a more miserable Christmas than that of 1360 at Berkhamsted. Bitter winds with flurries of snowflakes whirled around the castle, making outdoor activities impossible, and a great deal of drinking went on. Masses were held in the castle chapel on Christmas Eve and the morning of Christmas Day, the latter sparsely attended because of the after-effects of drinking into the early hours of the morning. The likes of Guy Hamald and his handful of cronies among the guards were not satisfied with dicing and indoor games, and the maidservants were summoned. Mistress Dibbert could protect the shy and innocent girls, but could not stop the bolder ones from escaping up into the great hall where music and dancing went on into the small hours. The Prince himself was seldom completely sober during the festive season, and Wulfstan found himself dreaming of Beulah in a lascivious way, for which he was ashamed.
The worst incident was in midweek between Christmas and the New Year celebration, when Guy Hamald and a few others, bored by the weather which prevented them from hunting, turned the lower greensward used for jousting into a pit for dog-fighting. They used the Prince’s valuable pack of hounds, kicking the creatures and tormenting them with sharp pointed sticks, urging them on to tear at each other’s eyes, throats and bellies. Wulfstan was alerted to the hideous spectacle by the agonized howls and snarls of usually well-tempered dogs. The Prince was drunk, but Sir Ranulf quickly came to his aid, and together they mounted their steeds and galloped into the pit with swords unsheathed, ordering the men to stop the fighting forthwith. Hamald and the ringleaders were seized and led down into the windowless cells beneath the castle. Others slunk away, denying all involvement in the mêlée.
‘Let it be that in 1361 God sends us better times,’ the Prince was heard to say at Mass on the eve of that New Year.
But the only news that arrived on January 1st was that Sir Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent and the King’s lieutenant-general in France, had died of a fever at Christmas, aged forty. He left a widow, three sons and two daughters, and the King had ordered a month’s court mourning.
Thirteen
1361
Wulfstan felt almost personally affected by the news. He knew the Prince’s heart, having heard the name of the Countess of Kent on his lips on many occasions, and of his hopeless love for ‘my lady Jeanette’, ‘the Fair Maid of Kent’, on whose account the Prince had rejected a series of brides chosen for him by his parents to be a Princess of Wales and future Queen of England. How would the Prince react to the news that the woman he loved was now a widow? And how should Wulfstan approach him now? He would have to maintain a blank expression and make no comment, to behave as if the death of the Earl had never happened.
His questions were soon answered. On the day the news was brought the Prince shut himself in his bedchamber and spoke to no one. On the following day he rose early and dressed himself for a journey. His face was unsmiling, his manner brisk in front of his household.
‘I shall ride to Canterbury, and pray before the shrine of St Thomas à Becket,’ he announced, adding in a lower tone, ‘I need the prayers of such a saint to give me guidance.’
‘Very good, my liege,’ replied Wulfstan as the Prince strode forth to where a groom stood waiting with his stallion, saddled and bridled, and a mounted guard stood ready to accompany the Prince on his long winter ride. At the arched stone doorway, he stopped and turned back to embrace Wulfstan briefly.
‘Pray for me,’ he muttered.
‘I will, my liege,’ Wulfstan replied, and then his royal master was gone; but in that momentary grip, there had been tension, indecision – and joy, amazing joy!
‘Our Prince has got something on his mind, for sure,’ said Ranulf Ormiston. ‘There are sparks coming out of his spurs. Was he deeply attached to the good Earl of Kent?’
‘Sir Thomas was a man admired and respected by all.’
‘So he was, but that doesn’t answer the question. It seems that the man’s death is going to have consequences that could affect us all.’
Left alone, Wulfstan was in no mood to celebrate the New Year, and took himself up to the counting-house where he checked over the well-kept records. At midday, when he usually expected a maidservant to bring him refreshment, it was Mistress Dibbert who climbed the stairs with the jug and trencher.
‘Sit down, Mistress, and tell me what they’re saying in the kitchen,’ he said with a casualness which belied his true curiosity. This woman had known the Prince from childhood.
She obediently sat. ‘You mean about the Prince riding off to Canterbury, sire?’
‘You knew him as a child, I believe, and ruled him with a rod of iron, he told me!’
‘He was a self-willed boy, to be sure,’ she said smiling, ‘and needed a firm hand!’
‘Mistress Dibbert, let me ask you – the lady who is Countess of Kent was a playmate of his. Were they close to each other as children?’
‘Ah – he told you this, sire?’ She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, they were devoted.’
‘What was she like?’
‘She was a dear, sweet little girl, and everybody loved her. She was his father’s cousin, you see, daughter of the Earl of Kent. He died in mysterious circumstances, and our good Queen Philippa adopted her. She used to play happily with Edward and his two sisters, being a little older than he, and he would do anything to please his Jeanette, as he called her, but before he left the women’s hall, she was married to William Montague, the Earl of Salisbury, so they were parted. She was a famous beauty, even then, and it was said –’ Mistress Dibbert lowered her voice, though there was nobody in the room to overhear – ‘it was said that the King himself was in love with her.’
‘Was that true?’ asked Wulfstan in surprise.
‘I don’t know, sire. She was beautiful, full of life, always smiling. The King met her at a great ball to celebrate his victory at Calais. She was about nineteen, and as she was dancing, her garter slipped off and fell on the floor.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard that story,’ Wulfstan broke in. ‘Didn’t the King pick it up and tie it around his own leg?’
‘Yes, and when the people laughed, he said, “Shame on him who thinks ill of it!” – which was taken up to be the motto of the Order of the Garter which the King set up at that time, Honi soit qui mal y pense! But the Countess had caught the eye of another man there, Sir Thomas Holland, and there was talk about them – how true it was I don’t know, but Sir Thomas actually went to Rome, to as
k the Pope for an annulment of her marriage to Salisbury, because he said that she and he had been married in front of witnesses before she was married to Salisbury, though she could only have been a child. The Pope took his time making a decision, and by the time it was granted, the Earl had divorced her for . . . well, on account of Sir Thomas. So she and Sir Thomas were officially married, and on the death of her brother, he took the title of Earl of Kent, so once again she was the “Fair Maid of Kent”. Now that he has sadly died, I don’t know what will happen.’
Wulfstan listened eagerly, though made no comment, feeling fairly certain that the good Mistress Dibbert did know, or strongly suspected what the future held for the Black Prince, though to speculate openly would be deeply disrespectful to the memory of Sir Thomas. Even so, having sensed the Prince’s incredulous happiness, he could have no doubt of his eventual intentions.
When the Prince returned he offered no account of his visit to Canterbury, but to all outward appearances he was a changed man. Bright of eye and quick of step, he interested himself in all aspects of life at the castle, supervising the household with firmness of purpose but with much good humour. Gone was his former sluggishness over the Christmas period, and his drinking was limited to two small beakers of wine after the evening meal. He spent some time in the guards’ quarters and in the stables, keeping horses and dogs exercised and organizing boar-hunting parties when the weather permitted, and small-scale tournaments in the tiltyard to keep the men occupied. Comments were whispered among the staff, and speculations as to the change in the Prince’s behaviour, but none spoke aloud: the court was still in mourning.
In February he was off to London again.
‘My father is determined that peace with France must continue,’ he said. ‘He and I and my brothers have to appear before Parliament and hear every single member swear an oath to preserve the Treaty made with King John of France. No more invasions, no more spoiling and plundering – England is about to embark on an era of peace and prosperity!’ His eyes sparkled as if anticipating a golden age that would change all their lives.
‘Depend on it, Wulfstan, our royal master has got some lady in his sights,’ murmured Ranulf Ormiston. ‘He wouldn’t be this excited over an oath-swearing in Parliament. Some youthful beauty has caught his eye, and an announcement will soon follow, mark my words!’
Wulfstan smiled and said nothing. He enjoyed Ormiston’s company and the support he gave in controlling the likes of Guy Hamald, now in the Prince’s bad books, whose open insolence had been replaced by malevolent sulking. It was also reassuring to leave the castle in the unofficial charge of Ormiston while the Prince was away, such as when Wulfstan went on a two-night visit to Greneholt. Beulah’s slim body was curving into womanhood, making her even more desirable, especially when she took his hand and smiled up at him adoringly. There were still two more years of betrothal before he could take Beulah as his bride in marriage, a fact which sorely tried his patience, though he knew that Sir William Horst would never agree to shortening the time.
When the Prince returned from Westminster, Wulfstan half expected him to make an announcement, but in April there was another occurrence which plunged the court into mourning again. The Duke of Lancaster, ‘our beloved cousin’ who had served the King in Normandy at the time of Poitiers five years earlier, died suddenly in a recurrence of the plague. The Prince joined the King and his brothers on a journey to Leicester where they knelt to pay homage at the bier where the great Duke lay in state, and on his return he told the household at the supper table that yet another journey was in the offing.
‘For now, my friends, having done my duties, I shall be off to London to speak with the King and Queen and to start making preparations for a wedding!’
This was greeted with smiles and nods, with some relief that the news so long suppressed and speculated upon was now to be out in the open.
‘What did I tell you?’ murmured Ranulf in Wulfstan’s ear.
‘Yes, my noble knights, your Prince of Wales has at last found a Princess – the sweetest, loveliest, kindest lady in all the realm – the Fair Maid of Kent, for I would have no other!’
There was a brief gasp of surprise from some of the company, but being loyal members of the Prince’s circle of male subordinates, they stood to cheer and congratulate him.
‘God’s bones, she must be as old as the hills, and her husband’s hardly cold in his grave,’ muttered Ormiston in surprise; but Wulfstan was not surprised at all.
The Prince’s announcement was less happily received at court. The King was thunderstruck, remembering his own amorous inclinations towards the young Countess of Salisbury whose garter he had gallantly retrieved all those years ago. The Queen was disappointed at her son’s choice, for although she had happy memories of Joan as her adopted daughter, the girl was now a twice-married woman with more than a breath of scandal attached to her name; her divorced first husband was still living, she was two years senior to the Prince and had three sons and two daughters clinging round her skirts. Of course the King’s earlier infatuation with Joan was a hurtful memory to Queen Philippa, but she could see that the Prince would take no other bride, and was good-natured enough to forgive her husband’s past foolishness. So preparations for a royal wedding went ahead.
Summer at Berkhamsted Castle was a time of special rejoicing. It was as if the Prince’s happiness suffused the air they breathed, putting smiles on all faces, thankfulness in all hearts for the sunshine, the green leaves, the scent of flowers, and the calling of birds one to another as nests were built and eggs laid, the wonderful fecundity of the animal world.
All these thoughts passed through Wulfstan’s mind as he rode to Greneholt Manor, for the signs of the awakening earth struck a chord deep in his heart; his eyes softened as he thought of his lovely Beulah, of holding her hand and, if opportunity offered, of kissing her eager lips; but oh, how he longed to take her in his arms, to worship her nakedness with his hands, to enter her body and become one flesh, man and wife . . .
Sitting with the family at table that evening, the talk turned inevitably to the Prince of Wales and his approaching wedding.
‘It’s as if the whole castle – the people, the servants, even the horses and dogs are sharing their master’s happiness,’ said Wulfstan, smiling. ‘I have never seen him so . . . so on fire with love for his lady, called the Fair Maid of Kent.’
He paused, suddenly aware of a chilly silence around the table. He glanced at Beulah who smiled back at him, then at her parents and Mistress Craik who did not.
‘The King and Queen take a very different view of his choice, so we hear,’ said Sir William. ‘It is regretful that this woman is far from being a virgin, a first requirement in a woman chosen to be bride to a royal Prince, and in due time to be Queen of England.’
Wulfstan felt his colour rising, not only for having incurred the displeasure of his future father-in-law, but in anger at the man’s dismissal of a woman loved by the Prince since childhood. He wondered how the Horsts had obtained their information, and discovered that their source was a mendicant friar who had accepted their hospitality.
‘We can only pray that the King and Queen will dissuade the Prince from taking such a lamentable step,’ said Sir William. ‘How can she have so blinded him?’
‘Forgive me, sire, but I cannot agree that because the Prince’s choice is a widow—’ began Wulfstan, but Sir William broke in on his attempted defence of the Countess of Kent.
‘Widow? She’s no widow!’ he said contemptuously. ‘Her husband the Earl of Salisbury is still living, so her five unfortunate children are bastards. A fine example to give to the rest of the royal family – and the nation!’
Wulfstan simply could not sit and listen to this condemnation of the Countess, as if he agreed with it, for to do so would be unforgivably disloyal to the Prince. But this man was Beulah’s father.
‘Let God be their Judge, as he is ours, Sir William. I can assure you that nothing will d
issuade the Prince from marrying the Countess of Kent.’
‘In that case the King should send the pair of them into exile,’ returned Sir William. ‘And now we shall end this indecent conversation in front of the ladies. Beulah is pure and innocent, and I will not have her subjected to talk about an impious woman.’
A very awkward silence followed, in which neither Lady Judith nor Mistress Craik could suggest a more acceptable topic of conversation. Wulfstan burned inwardly with indignation at the old knight’s judgemental attitude, and hoped that it would not prove typical of the country’s response to the Prince’s intentions.
As it turned out, Sir William’s condemnation of the Black Prince’s choice of a wife reflected opinion among the aristocracy, less so among the traders and militia. Queen Philippa was willing to accept the inevitable, but King Edward’s sense of outrage made for a strained atmosphere at court that was not lost on the Prince; he was angry and offended at the cool reception given to the Countess of Kent, and made every effort to bring forward the wedding date as soon as was possible, though all kinds of legalistic objections were thrown in his way. First, the Archbishop of Canterbury who favoured the King, plainly told the Prince that because of Joan’s divorce from Salisbury who was still living, the legitimacy of any children of her marriage to the Prince might be challenged; and then the Pope, when consulted, raised the question of consanguinity, she being first cousin to the Prince’s father. As time passed, however, the Prince’s resolve was seen to be unshakeable, and King, Archbishop and Pope found their objections swept aside. Seeing this, the Pope, who had no wish to quarrel with the heir to the throne, agreed to grant an annulment to Joan’s marriage to Salisbury, if she and the Prince underwent a form of penance. A period of separation ensued, in which the Prince spent a week in a Benedictine monastery and the Countess in a Carmelite convent, where they submitted to long hours of prayer and fasting, and when it ended, emerged joyfully into each other’s arms.
Every Noble Knight Page 20