by Helen Burton
Richard was surprised when Harry sent for him early next morning, bade him close the door of his office and spent a disquieting time looking him over.
At last, Richard said, ‘If I have displeased you, My Lord, then I am sorry for it.’
Harry said, ‘This liaison with the Lady Jeannette, what do you mean by it?’
‘I don't understand.’
‘Can I speak plainer? Have you slept with the girl?’
‘You don't have the right to ask. That is my affair!’
‘Nevertheless, I demand an answer and you will stand there, Master Latimer, until you deliver it!’
‘No, My Lord, I have not, but it is none of your business! The lady will dispose of her body as her heart dictates and I am a free agent.’
‘Oh, much freer than you think! Out of my service and on your way back home!’
‘But you can't! My Lady your wife gave us both encouragement; she saw no harm.’
‘Isabel does not know your true identity, Richard de Montfort.’
‘Does it matter? I am not worthy of her, is that your reasoning?’
Henry sighed, ‘You have, I suppose, disclosed your parentage to Jeannette?’
‘No, My Lord, not to any. My Lord, her husband neglects her, she talks of divorce.’
‘Ah yes, the husband. Is that perhaps the nub of the matter? You took his place in the family, wasn't that enough but you should seek to supplant him in his bed?’
‘You talk in riddles!’ the boy flashed at him. ‘I don't know the man, I thought it better that he didn't have a name. I would rather not be able to put face to it.’
Henry sighed again. ‘Dear God, Dickie, you really don't know who she is!’ He took him by the shoulders and shook him lightly. ‘The lady, the Countess's 'Dear Jeannette' is the Lady Johanna de Montfort, daughter of Sir John de Clinton of Coleshill, cousin to Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick and wife to your brother. I think you should take a couple of mounts, ride off into the forest and break the news to her as gently as possible. I can do without your services for as long as is necessary but I want this finished today. Have I made myself clear?’
‘I didn't know, I swear I didn't know - we'd never met -’
He rode away with the Lady Jeannette and came back several hours later with his sister-in-law, Johanna. At first angry, then dismayed, she had finally ended by laughing and giving him a less than sisterly kiss. They trailed their mounts home to La Reole, hand in hand, bound to a stronger – if platonic - friendship.
Lady Derby, ever the gracious hostess, was entertaining a messenger sent from England when they came together into the hall. She spun round in a shimmering sweep of emerald velvet which hissed across the rushes. ‘Jeannette, we have an emissary from your kinsman, from Thomas of Warwick; good news from England at last. The King is moving; troops are ordered to Portsmouth and Southampton. The waiting is over! Jeannette, he has sent your husband to us.’
John de Montfort, red and gold and handsome as ever, came smiling towards them across the floor with no sign that he was saddle sore and weary.
‘My lady.’ He gave Johanna a curt nod, and the violet eyes glittered. Richard he caught across the mouth with one swipe from a leather gauntlet.
‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Derby, ‘he always was a wilful boy!’
~o0o~
Minutes later they were standing together in the Countess’s improvised solar; Harry and Isobel Derby, the Montfort brothers and Johanna. It seemed that everyone was talking at once, regardless of rank. Then Derby’s voice thundered out for silence. He turned to his wife.
‘My Lady, what goes on here? I arrive home to find these two most unnatural of natural sons all but at each other’s throats, though I doubt they’ve set eyes upon each other for more than a twelve month!’
Isobel Derby looked sheepish and contrite. ‘My Lord, I rather feel the fault is mine. I was pleased to welcome John; it’s been so long since we’ve seen him and he was so much a part of the family – you must remember.’
‘Oh, I remember,’ said the Earl, raking his one-time squire from head to foot.
Isobel was prattling on in the pretty, ingenious way she had. ‘I happened to mention that Richard was here, was one of your body squires. Why, my Lord, it was only this morning you revealed his true identity and how could I keep his presence from his own brother. I was explaining how much I relied on my dear Jeanette and how fond of each other brother and sister had become – so good for family relations – and that even now they were out together, enjoying the winter sunshine, had been gone awhile with no account of time – so like them…’
‘Isobel,’ Henry sounded exasperated, ‘you have said enough, more than enough!’
Then Richard strode forward, fair hair silvered in the wintry sunlight which streamed in from the window, face ruddy. ‘My Lord, I have been issued with a challenge and must answer it; it touches a lady’s virtue. I swear to it that there is nothing between the lady and myself that would dishonour our ties of kinship but I cannot let it stand there. I will meet with my accuser where and when he dictates with the weapon of his choice, so it please you, My Lord.’ He sketched Derby a graceful bow.
‘It does not please me. None of this pleases me. It would give me greater pleasure to knock both of your heads together but that, I fear, would not mend what is between you. Richard, if John withdraws this unworthy challenge will that suffice?’
‘No, My Lord, he has not only impugned my honour but that of his lady. I cannot set his challenge aside.’
‘John?’
John inclined his head. ‘My challenge and my accusations stand.’
‘Johanna, my dear, have you anything you would like to say? This quarrel touches you most nearly.’
Johanna spread her hands impatiently. ‘Oh, let them have it out, My Lord. Look at them, spoiling for a fight! I am guardian of my own honour and it has not been compromised. But Richard has an old score to settle with my husband, for a life all but lost. Oh, I know he has never sought revenge, it has not been his way, but beneath the surface it must rankle. As to my husband – he owes his continued existence to his brother. Without Richard, I hear, he would have had his neck stretched for him on the gallows. It is hard to owe your life to a man you despise. So, My Lord, let them be at each other. I care not!’ She turned from them all and moved to the window, gazing down at the sun-dappled countryside, the debateable lands of France.
‘So be it,’ said Derby. ‘This afternoon you shall meet each other in fair contest; until then I’ll have your swords.’ He waited until they had both unbuckled their belts and laid them upon the table before him. ‘I will return these after this dispute is settled.’
‘After?’ queried Richard. ‘I don’t understand.’
Derby said, ‘Richard’s weapon is not the sword. Oh, he is coming along very well but cannot expect to match John’s proficiency. The bow is Richard’s weapon but would John care to match him at the butts?’
‘My Lord, you mock me!’ John flashed angrily. ‘The bow is not a gentleman’s weapon!’
‘Therefore,’ said Harry, ‘we must seek common ground. You will wrestle and we shall go for three falls. That seems a fair enough compromise.’
‘Wrestle,’ said John, ‘like a common man at a fair ground?’
‘Oh, you are too nice, John. I have no time to go through the whole gamut of prospective weapons. I have made my decision. This afternoon, in the main courtyard; I expect to see you both there otherwise the absentee will lose by default. Now, Richard, attend the ladies. I believe John has papers from My Lord of Warwick. Bring them through to my closet.’ He swept out and flung himself into his chair. Wordlessly, John handed him the missives he had ridden south to deliver.
‘Is there anything of urgency I need to deal with this instant?’ Derby ran his eyes over the rolled document.
‘No, My Lord, I wouldn’t say so.’
‘Then I’ll deal with them later. Now, let me look at you. Has it really been so long?�
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‘Near seven years, My Lord.’
Derby said, ‘If you had been in my service still you would not have come to this rift with your father. Perhaps I was too cavalier in casting you off. I might perhaps have saved you from yourself.’
‘Did I need saving? I wanted teaching a lesson.’ John smiled then for the first time since his dramatic arrival. The pretty boy of his childhood had gone, banished forever by the shadow of the noose, but he still had effortless charm when he chose to use it.
‘You were missed. You would have been re-instated had anyone asked…’
‘But now you have Richard, my nemesis. Richard was born a street Arab; I’ve never fought without a weapon in my hand but then, you know that. Now, if you will excuse me, My Lord?’
‘Until this afternoon, John. And let it be an end to whatever is between you. We have a common enemy in France that should unite us all.’
~o0o~
Johanna found Richard de Montfort in the closet attached to Derby’s bedchamber. He was industriously polishing the buckle of an elaborately enamelled belt.
‘Jeanette! Girl, you shouldn’t be here. John will eviscerate me.’ But he gave her a rueful grin.
Checking over her shoulders she pulled the arras across behind her and sat down on a carved bed chest. ‘About this afternoon, Richard; I’ve just come to wish you luck. You’ll beat him, of course.’
‘Then its John who needs your prayers – sister.’
‘I came because I also have a favour to ask.’
‘Oh?’
‘About this afternoon.’
‘Yes?’
‘John – my husband – I’d rather you didn’t mark his face. He has rather a nice face, don’t you think?’
Richard laughed. ‘I’ll do my best – but if he’s a dirty fighter, he’ll get short shrift.’
‘And if,’ Johanna was not looking at him, she was pleating the velvet of her skirt, ‘if you could see your way to ensuring you don’t do any damage – well, you know where I’m thinking about… Oh, don’t laugh at me, Richard. You know what I’m trying to say!’
‘No low punches where it will do harm to future generations of Montforts?’ he hazarded.
‘Yes. No! I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.’
‘Ah,’ said Richard, ‘just as far as tonight perhaps? You are a little schemer. He doesn’t deserve you. But go now, please!’
She wriggled down from the bed chest, kissed him chastely and slipped out again the way she had come.
~o0o~
The sun was long past his noon zenith but in the courtyard they were sheltered from the winter winds. A sizeable area had been marked out with flags and Henry of Derby set himself to preside from the top of a wooden mounting block. There were various household officials and a number of squires and pages clustered about the improvised ring but the ladies, Isobel and Johanna, out of feminine modesty, were forced to watch from an upper window. Such sports were not deemed acceptable viewing for the fair sex.
Johanna looked mutinous. ‘He is my husband, madam, should I not lend him my support?’
Isobel patted her hand. ‘We shall do well enough here. Your task is to offer succour later, should he need it. If Dickie is as good as Harry thinks he may be then you might find yourself indispensable. I hope you’re not too squeamish; the techniques are quite ruthless.’
Johanna shot her a dismayed glance. Then the two protagonists appeared, stripped to their hose. They matched each other now, height for height, Richard fair and gilded after a summer in France, John, auburn hair ablaze in the sunlight, skin translucent as fine ivory; of the two he was the slighter in build, belying his swordsman’s muscular strength.
Harry said, ‘You’ll give each other your hands before we begin and you will not engage until I drop my handkerchief. Three falls will signify victory and that will finish it and therefore end your enmity. Is that clear?’
They both nodded. Richard held out his hand and they shook briefly. He gave his brother a quizzical smile. John’s only answer was a slight raising of his eyebrows. Harry loosed his scarlet kerchief and they circled each other.
John had the impetus, the desire to win, to prove mastery over this tiresome young brother who had succeeded, if unwittingly, in tearing his own life apart. Richard, one time leader of the Bishopsgate apprentices, was well-used to sticking up for himself and had the technique John lacked.
John brought up his right hand to grab Richard by the throat but was countered by a powerful chop inside his elbow from Richard’s right hand, followed by a swift kneeing in the groin and an arm bar which almost had him down.
There was no room here for the sleight of hand, the quick responses of the swordsman. John was outclassed and had the sense to know it. He managed to break a rib-crushing bear hug using the heel of his palm against Richard’s face but his brother claimed the first fall, flinging him over onto his back after a powerful arm-lock and all but knocking the breath out of him.
‘Your husband,’ said Isobel, ‘doesn’t stand a chance. I don’t know why Harry suggested anything so barbaric!’
The second fall followed after a back-breaking knee drop and Richard had to stand back to allow his brother to gather his wits. Harry was on his feet.
‘Two falls. John, will you end it there?’
The world was spinning but John managed to shake his head. ‘Three, you said. Let him try for another if he can.’ They were foolhardy words for he was no longer in a state to inflict much damage on his sibling and Richard, glancing upwards and mindful that the object of the whole exercise had been protecting Johanna’s honour, finished with his most spectacular move yet. Getting his brother’s right arm over his shoulder he used the ‘flying mare’ to throw him to the ground from shoulder height.
He did not need Harry Derby to signify by a frantic waving of the handkerchief that it was finished. He stood back, breathing hard, dusty, oiled with perspiration but wearing his victor’s laurels in the smile of satisfaction which wreathed his face. He looked up to Johanna at her window and gave her a sweeping bow then he turned to his brother who was too groggy and sick to rise unaided, stooped down and gave him his arm.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard, ‘that wasn’t fair.’
‘No,’ said John, ‘but you must have enjoyed it enormously.’
Harry was striding over. ‘Well done, Richard. John, you can give him a return bout with the sword another time when there’s less at stake than your lady’s virtue. Now, are you reconciled? Let’s go indoors and drink to brotherhood! We’ve all earned it.’
~o0o~
Johanna had a small chamber in one of the surviving turrets, near enough to be on call should Isobel Derby require her services; there was no question but her husband should share it with her. After the bout with Richard he had retired early, leaving his wife to sup with the Earl and Countess but Johanna had excused herself as soon as politic. Isobel had caught at her sleeve as she made to leave the solar.
‘Sweet dreams, my dear.’
It was chilly in the tower room and pitch dark. The shutters were closed against the winter’s night, blotting out the stars. Johanna arrived with a little page who slotted two torches into sconces, lighting up the small space quite adequately. She sent the boy off to bed and closed the door firmly.
John lay under the fur coverlet, invisible save for the auburn hair. For a moment Johanna remembered her wedding morning and panic took hold but she fought it down and took two steps to the bed.
‘Husband, I am here as a wife should be, to minister to your needs.’ She yanked back the bed covers. ‘Merciful heaven, what has he done to you?’
‘It’s only bruises, they’ll fade,’ murmured John into his arms. ‘I need nothing, madam, you may go.’
Johanna replaced the covers. ‘You are in my bed, remember?’
‘Do you want me to move elsewhere?’
‘Why should I? There is room for two.’ She began to divest herself of the blue velvet gown and, st
ruggling with the lacing, stripped off her kirtle. The long fair plaits which had been coiled into a jewelled crespine came down and she deftly unbraided them until her hair covered her shoulders in a shimmering, golden mantle. John, she was aware, was watching her covertly from the pillow of his arms. Down to her shift she climbed into bed beside him and pulled the coverlet decorously over them both.
John said, ‘You can’t sleep in your shift.’
From beneath the golden cloud Johanna said, ‘it serves to cloak my maiden modesty.’
‘Take it off!’
‘Is that an order?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. There’s something I have to ask you.’
Johanna was sitting up, dragging her shift over her head, exposing beautifully rounded breasts, perfectly tipped with rose-brown nipples. John swallowed hard.
Johanna sat, mermaid like, amongst the fur-lined covers. ‘You had something to ask of me?’
‘Perhaps - it doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, ask away, sir, I should have no secrets from my husband.’
Wincing, John raised himself upon one elbow. ‘You and Richard, did you?’
‘No, we didn’t. I thought I was married to you.’
‘And Windsor, and Westminster? You were with the Court. Did you…?’
‘No, not with any of them.’ Johanna put out an exploratory hand and traced the emerging bruise on his nearest shoulder. ‘John, you’re about as insecure as a snowflake on a summer rose.’
He said, ‘It’s been a long time since Beaudesert and I wasn’t kind. I thought – you’re beautiful, Johanna, you must have had offers.’
‘Yes, offers I will admit to.’
‘Then why…’
‘Good God, boy, you can’t see what’s beneath your arrogant Montfort nose, can you? I fell in love with you on St. Barnaby’s; you made damned sure of that, didn’t you? I loved you then and, since my marriage night, I have hated you, and railed against you and cursed you and wept over you a hundred, thousand times but I never stopped loving you. I love you still and I will love you till the day I die and if there is a life beyond the grave I will go to it loving you!’