by Anne O'Brien
‘Only a few cracked skulls, I imagine.’
Isabella’s unemotional assessment had had its desired effect. I had been very young. Now all was past and the future was here to unfold before us. We set ourselves with some pleasurable anticipation to watch.
The melee began, the sides evenly matched. For most in the crowd, well fortified with ale, it was of no account which side would win since were they not all King Edward’s brave knights? The townsfolk were jubilant, cheering indiscriminately for King and Prince as knights retired with waning energy and painful blows. The individual battles became more desultory. It was clear that the King’s side would be victorious and receptive of the prize from my hand. My attention hopped from red and white to blue and silver as they ranged over the field, both men of skill, both still in the affray, both fighting well. I felt no fear for their ultimate safety other than a bruise or scrape, rather a mild enjoyment, an excitement in the charged atmosphere.
Then they ranged over the field no longer.
By the Virgin! My eye became centred when those colours came together to become engaged in personal combat, sword against sword, that showed no signs of waning, but was increasing in pace and ferocity. My enjoyment was transmuted in an instant into a cold dousing of horror. When Isabella’s hand fastened on my arm like a merlin’s claw, I realised that I had been struggling to my feet. That she had seen what I had seen.
The clash of metal echoed over the field. Both knights were driving at each other with grim determination. Sword clashed against sword.
‘By the Virgin!’ I breathed it aloud now.
‘Has no one told them that this is à plaisance rather than à outrance?’ murmured Isabella.
No one had. Or the two knights had chosen to forget it in the heat of battle. Who had begun this fierce onslaught I had no idea, but there was no reluctance on either side. Will and Thomas were fighting with verve and audacity as if they truly faced an enemy.
‘You will have to award the garland to one of them.’
‘I hope they both live for us to make a choice,’ I managed, with more calm than I felt.
For a deep fear had begun to bloom that there would be real harm done here. How could I not understand the reason behind this fury of blows? They were fighting for me, for the right to claim my hand and my love. They were fighting out of hurt pride, out of lordly possessiveness. Out of a thoroughly male pique that one had thwarted the other. A silent challenge had been issued and neither looked to be prepared to give way. I discovered that I had indeed risen to my feet, hands clenched on the gilded carving of the pavilion before me, all dignity discarded for this had become a true battle. Nor was I alone in my concern, for Isabella, now standing beside me, unpinned her much used reliquary from her bosom and pressed it into my palm.
‘You might need to pray, Joan. Be sure it is for the right one.’
‘How can I? I don’t want either of them dead and on my conscience. What fools men are!’
‘It may be foolish, but who cannot admire a brave man who can wield a sword with so much mastery?’
‘I am having difficulty.’
This was ridiculous, my fright lively. I did not desire the death of either. Moreover, if either was harmed on this day, the blame would fall on my head. How would I live, knowing that I had inadvertently caused the death of either man? Beneath my robes the perspiration was cold on my skin. Fighting against terror, I damned them for their overweening male conceit.
But I prayed for both as Isabella pulled me back to my seat. On my right the Queen’s lips too were moving in silent prayer, while all around me was an aura of fierce apprehension. Even the cheers had died to a muttering of concern. The King’s celebration was no place to witness the death of one of the new Garter Knights. This was an occasion of skill, not of blood seeping into the earth.
‘Blessed Virgin, come to my aid,’ I prayed. ‘And theirs.’
By now a frisson of sheer panic rippled across my skin when a blow from Thomas drove Will to his knees.
But it was not the Holy Mother, rather the King, on seeing what was developing to mar his festivities, who strode across to the combatants. Once within distance, he knocked aside the swords with his own, joined by the Prince who added his weight when Thomas and Will were still reluctant to give way. We could not hear the words exchanged, initially sharp, but at last it went down well enough. It was all ended at the King’s pleasure when he marched towards us, our brave knights following. If Edward was surprised to see me as Lady of the Lists he made nothing of it.
‘Do either of these knights deserve victory?’ Edward demanded. ‘They’ve taken everyone’s mind off the plague, so I suppose they fulfilled my wishes even though I had not planned for death on my battlefield.’
I had had time to recover, to run my tongue over dry lips, although resentment at the fright still simmered.
‘Perhaps they both do, my lord.’ I managed a gracious smile that was edged with ice.
He grunted a laugh. ‘Perhaps they do. I don’t recall quite so tense a combat in a friendly tournament. The sooner you three settle your differences the better.’
Thomas, glancing briefly at Will, wiped blood from his chin as he removed his helm. His breath was short. ‘If I have any claim to victory, my lord, I claim a boon.’
Edward, dispensing regality on all sides, was in a mood to be amused. ‘What do you claim?’
‘The right to hold a conversation with my wife.’
‘No, sire!’ Will’s face registered horror. ‘I do not give my consent. It is not appropriate.’
‘And without eavesdroppers,’ continued Thomas, unperturbed.
It was in my mind to refuse as I felt my face flush at the ignominy of being squabbled over and so publically, and yet both had a claim on my emotions. One demanded my love and my loyalty, the other my public duty.
‘I will not have it, sire.’ Will would not let go.
‘But I am victor and would have my recompense,’ Thomas addressed the King. ‘Were we not fighting for the favours of the lady? The favour I demand is her attention. For a mere half hour.’
I leapt into the fray.
‘And it is a favour I would gladly grant, sire, before I am forced against my will to return to Bisham, to live once again in isolation.’ I had no hesitation in announcing my incarceration, my duty to Will compromised by his autocratic treatment of me, ensuring that my voice was cool and clear, without any of the high emotion that had charged my blood when Thomas was under attack. ‘Evidence is being given in my name in Avignon. It is my legal right to speak of this with Sir Thomas.’
‘Edward.’ Philippa leaned over the flagged parapet. ‘You can be magnanimous. He is one of your most favoured knights.’
I became aware of my mother pushing between the ranks of the women. Will fisted his hands on his hips. Thomas remained silent, face set in uncompromising lines, as the King looked from one to the other, now torn between amusement and exasperation. Once more I intervened before my mother could arrive with her own deflection in this argument.
‘If it pleases you, my dear cousin,’ I said, my expression suffused with anxiety as if I feared being snatched away within the minute. ‘You would have my undying gratitude if you would grant Sir Thomas a conversation with me.’
‘It is an unusual situation.’ Edward looked at Philippa.
‘He deserves recognition for his bravery,’ Philippa replied.
‘More than a garland?’ The King gestured at the victor’s wreath still clutched hard in my hand to the detriment of the foliage.
There was a mass holding of breath while the King deliberated. Then:
‘You fought well today, Sir Thomas, and I can never resist courage on the field. Here is your lady, for a half turn of the hour glass. Not enough time for you to compromise her over-much. Make use of my pavilion. But make sure that you use discretion now that you are a Knight of my Order. You wear the garter. May its message be meaningful.’
‘I always was a c
hivalrous knight, sire.’
While Will, flushed and angry, strode off, sword in hand and his squire in tow, I allowed Thomas to take my hand and lead me to King Edward’s extravagant pavilion, a royal page delegated by the King to accompany us.
‘You are there as witness.’
But witness to what? What would we say to each other now?
We had hardly entered the heated shadows of the pavilion, its silken door looped back to allow some vestige of air to enter, than Thomas addressed the page: ‘Turn your back! Stuff your ears. Not a sound out of you.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
I barely waited on the lad’s obedience, stripping off the blue and silver cloak against the sudden heavy warmth.
‘I thought you were going to kill him.’
I was still finding it hard to forgive those moments of sheer terror.
‘I thought he was going to kill me!’ Thomas cast his helm and his gauntlets to the floor and drew his hands down over his face before eyeing me with what could not be described as affection. ‘I can’t believe how much trouble you are causing me, Joan.’
Which I thought might be a typical response from a man under pressure.
‘I am not trying to cause anyone any trouble. It was not my fault that we were wed in secret. That everyone questions it.’
‘No, it was probably mine.’ He studied me. ‘That chaplet looks ridiculous.’
‘It’s Isabella’s. Becoming Lady of the Lists was the only way I could see to speaking with you. I am not free to do as I wish. I presume that you know.’
I cast it to the floor where it lay, its flowers damaged, on top of Thomas’s blood-smeared gauntlets. A sad combination, I thought, for two lovers.
‘Yes, I knew. Do they treat you well?’
‘Except for the closed door and the key in the lock from the outside, I am my own mistress.’
At last he smiled, if bleakly. ‘It’s good to see you. And to hear you.’
‘It is not the welcome I’d planned.’
I was caustic. It was fear that had made me so, but it was now beginning to leach away. For a long moment we just stood together. We did not touch. It was only our gaze that held, and said all that needed to be said. Was ever a marriage so benighted? I cast a quick glance over my shoulder but the page was surveying the colourful scene beyond the doorflap.
‘Is there any hope?’ I asked.
‘Salisbury’s refusal to co-operate puts a dent in any man’s armour,’ Thomas growled. ‘Our main hope is that His Holiness runs out of patience with the lot of us and makes a decision without reference to anyone. I have met your new advocate, Magister Vyse. He seems satisfactory. Are they allowed to lock up a woman of royal blood?’
‘Yes. And yes he is more than satisfactory. He is erudite and opinionated and perfect for the task. Our steward did not dare to turn him away when he insisted on hearing my confession. I think he had borrowed the Bishop’s robes to impress.’ And then, because it was a thought that had much troubled me: ‘Have you decided what we will do if our marriage is rejected?’
‘No. Are you giving up, Joan, before the final clash of steel?’
‘No. But living alone is wearing on the spirits.’
‘Then I carry you off across my saddle bow in a well-documented action. Would you come? I can offer you very little in the way of comfort, but I would love you and let you have your own way.’
Which made me smile a little. I doubted it. What man would? We had no experience of married life together. I thought about this, about whether he was serious about snatching me from the hands of family, whether I would give up the comfort and assurance of the Salisbury inheritance for the chancy pay of a tournament knight. But not for long.
‘Yes. I would go with you.’ And then, ‘I am relieved that you did not kill him.’
‘It would have cured a major headache.’
‘But created an even more major one. You would have been in chains in the dungeons here, forced to answer for Will’s death, while Edward considered whether to have you executed or banished.’
Silence settled over us again, strangely when we had so much to say. The distance too remained between us, when it was in my mind to stretch out a hand to touch him.
‘Our time is running out,’ I said, only too aware of the minutes passing.
‘Then let us be practical. Edward is not as hostile as he was. His pride has recovered. He might give me a castle in Europe where you can reign supreme and I can fight. It’s the best I can hope for.’
‘As long as I have the key to the door.’ Then on a thought, ‘Have you any money left?’
‘Not that you’d notice. I’ve sold everything but the boots on my feet.’
‘But not your armour, I see.’
‘You can’t expect a man to do that. I will need that to earn us a living. There will always be wars to be fought.’
I tried not to sigh. Whatever happened in the future, I would be in one place and Thomas in another.
‘I suppose you are leaving now the tournament is over.’
‘I’ll return to Avignon. Forgive me. I have no keepsake to give you.’
No, I had nothing to remember him by, to hold fast in my hand in the dark hours of early morning when sleep escaped me. When I heard the King approaching, making an inordinate amount of noise, I was driven to ask what I had promised myself that I would never ask.
‘Only give me your word, Thomas. That you will not forget me.’
He stooped and lifted his sword from where it lay on the floor, and thinking that he was preparing to leave I went to lift his helm and gloves, trying not to show disappointment that he had not given me his word because he could not.
‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘Come here.’
I stood before him as he raised the hilt of his sword between us. ‘I swear on the Cross. I swear on the body of Christ. I swear on my own reputation that I will not let this travail come between us. And no, I will never forget you. No man who has known you could forget you.’
His hands were clasped around the cross-piece. I placed my hands there too, above his.
‘I swear on the Cross that I will remain a true wife to you. Through all adversity. I will not succumb to the demands of William of Salisbury.’
He knew what I meant and his face was stark, but his words and deeds brought joy to my heart.
‘We have made a vow. We will exchange a holy kiss that not even the King can question for its integrity.’
And so we did. Cheeks and lips, light and insubstantial.
‘We will remain true to each other,’ I added.
Not a kiss of lovers but of two people dedicating their lives to being together. We were no holy pair, but the solemnity of the occasion in the deep shadow of the pavilion was unquestionable.
‘Adieu, my chivalrous knight.’
‘God keep you in his care.’
And there was the King, as Thomas thrust his sword into its scabbard and bent to collect helm and gauntlets, handing me my unfortunate chaplet.
Edward clamped a hand on the page’s shoulder. ‘Have they been discreet?’
‘They only talked, sire.’
‘Is that all?’
‘They took an oath, my lord.’
‘Good. That’s good.’ He smiled sceptically. ‘I should wish you good fortune, Thomas, but it sits ill with me. I just wish the whole thing undone and re-knitted sweetly.’
‘I will do my best, as a Knight of the Garter. I have one final word, if you will allow.’
And when Edward retired to the door, Thomas bowed low to me.
‘Magister Vyse gave me your message, my dear wife. I would give those words back to you: I took my vows to you in good faith. I would do the same again tomorrow. Keep me in your heart and mind, as you are in mine.’
He bowed again, to me and to the King, and there we parted. Thomas to Avignon. And I, in a flurry of invective, back to Bisham.
Who would have foreseen the future? That the year would pass
in sorrow and grief. My parting from Thomas was not the only burden that I was to bear, since death took precedence over all other events. The Garter tournament, a glorious panacea in itself, provided the briefest respite, for nothing could stop the spread of the plague that took young and old. Rich and poor. My mother died from plague in that year, followed rapidly by my uncle Wake. The two people closest to me in blood, and for whom I felt least affection.
Their passing made little impact on my life, even as I acknowledged that I had grown into some measure of compassion for my mother’s view of life, bitter as aloes. A woman under threat could be led to do all manner of things. With maturity I became more accepting of her driven nature. Her determination to see me wed to Will was, in the circumstances, understandable. She had died believing that Thomas Holland’s attempt to reclaim me had come to naught. There had been no deathbed reconciliation between us.
But that was not to be my only consideration of the frailty of life. My sister Margaret too was stricken. We had spent little time together since our childhood but her absence was like a bruise to the skin, painful when touched. Of the four Kent children, born to carry on the royal blood of our father, only John and I remained. It was a lowering thought.
And then there was Dowager Countess Catherine who faded into a painless death, probably from disappointment when there was no heir to the Salisbury inheritance. Another absence that barely touched my emotions, unless I recalled her kindnesses to me as a child. As an adult I had disappointed her and she had treated me with less than the respect due.
As the year limped through the months of summer, as autumn leapt into winter with frost and high winds, there was no news from Avignon, not even from my most capable Magister Vyse. It would have to be a rescue, with weapons and fast horses and refuge across the sea, yet I could not envisage it. I had no wish to live in disrepute, pointed at, sneered at. The days dragged me down into a melancholy as we observed strict mourning. Will found every excuse not to come near me and my accusatory tongue. My only company was Lady Elizabeth who kept to her rooms, meeting with me only for Mass. When she no longer wished to play chess with me, I felt that I was tainted company.