Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (36 page)

“But you deserve the whole!”

“Who knows how much Raoul will be able to raise, and when? This will be sufficient for Avignon. Until that money is fully paid, we must not antagonize him.”

“I promise you, my love, I will do nothing to call attention to myself.”

Thomas laughed and kissed her hand. “Now, that is impossible. All the men in this encampment worship you. I thank God for that. There will always be someone looking out for your welfare even though I’m not here.” He swore that the moment the siege was lifted at Calais he would make haste to Avignon. His mother had prepared the way.

How she loved him. They stood there for a long while, drinking each other in.

V
ILLENEUVE
-
LE
-H
ARDI CONTINUED TO GROW
,
ADDING LARGE
houses for the great barons returning from missions in Gascony and Brittany, a hospital for the ill and injured as the casualties and the sicknesses that accompanied long sieges continued to mount. King Edward amused himself by designing a viewing gallery in his mansion, where he, his commanders, and their wives might observe the siege. Bella dragged Joan up there one night, a quiet night with a strong breeze coming off the Channel. Down below, campfires dotted the plain and lit up the base of the city walls, crossed occasionally by the dark outlines of the men on the night watch. An oddly peaceful scene but for the dark smoke rising up into the night sky from behind the walls of Calais and the sickening smell of burning flesh carried on the wind to their aerie.

“They are burning their dead, Bella, I cannot stay out here.” Nauseated by the smell, Joan turned toward the door just as Ned appeared, striding over to the edge, taking a deep breath. “How can you bear to breathe that?”

“That, cousin, is the smell of victory. They cannot hold out much longer.”

“They are people, Ned. Families.”

“Enemies who refuse to give up their conquered city.”

She rushed away, making it down to the privy just in time to empty her stomach.

N
ED WAS WRONG
. T
HE PEOPLE OF
C
ALAIS HELD OUT UNTIL EARLY
August.

The town, which had long been the center of piracy on the north coast, rewarded the besiegers with unexpected wealth.
As they searched the homes, King Edward’s men discovered that even the most modest were stuffed with treasures. Such wealth, yet so many had died. The previous month, the garrison had rounded up the women, children, elderly—all whom they deemed of no military use—and led them out of the gates, which were then shut behind them. The English refused to let them pass through to the countryside and the possibility of food and shelter, and the garrison of Calais refused to let them back in. They starved in the ditch between the two sides. It was a common fate in a long siege. Yet when King Edward planned to execute six burghers of Calais as a condition of the town’s surrender, Queen Philippa pleaded for their lives, and was granted them.

Thomas had been one of the king’s men charged with negotiating the surrender. Joan had seen the suffering in his eyes, his posture, each time he returned to confer with the king.

One evening after the surrender, Don Jerome arranged a modest meal in his lodgings for Joan, Thomas, and his mother. Lady Maud Holland had arrived in the encampment the previous day. On the morrow, mother and son would depart for the papal court in Avignon.

“The queen’s intercession is what all will remember, the sparing of the burghers,” Thomas predicted. “And it was mere playacting, agreed between our king and queen beforehand. It is such grand gestures that find their way into songs, and the great battles, not the deaths of those who have become burdensome to the army.”

“Would you curse the source of your new wealth, son?” asked Lady Maud. “But for this war, you would not have the means to petition Rome.”

Joan saw how the remark bothered Thomas, and gave him an encouraging smile. Lady Maud had not witnessed the suffering in the camp, watched the women, children, and elders starve outside the walls of Calais. She had no idea how sick they
all were of this war. “It is a time of celebration, Thomas. The siege is over, you are free to ride to Avignon!” Joan reminded him.

“You are right, my love. Tonight we celebrate.” He took her hand.

Maud nodded, smiling. “You are good for my son.”

Joan began to relax. She’d found Thomas’s mother an enigma at first. Tall and with a large frame, she was a contradiction, at once imposing and adept at blending into the background. Her visage, though outwardly pleasant, revealed nothing of her thoughts. She’d arrived in a company of barons’ wives and stayed at the edges of the crowd in the hall the previous day, always one of many. Thomas’s brother Otho had pointed his mother out to Joan, but she’d waited for this meeting to be introduced. Better not to draw the queen’s attention to this new arrival.

“I confess I have resented you, Lady Joan,” Maud had said when they were introduced at the beginning of the evening. “With your rash action you risked my son’s future, his very survival. I blamed your Plantagenet blood and the privilege it affords you. I worried that you would discard him as soon as you found a redeemer in someone of higher status. But Thomas swore he would have no woman to wife but you, and Dame Katarina Van Artevelde convinced me that you and my son are bound in the eyes of God. So I came.”

“It is good to know your heart, my lady,” said Joan. “I pray that in time you will grow to trust me. How did you come to meet Dame Katarina?”

“Lady Townley arranged it as I passed through London in spring.” Lucienne had again come to their aid. “She spoke highly of you. As did my sons Otho and Alan, but they are easily swayed by beauty. And now that I meet you”—she took Joan’s hand and at last her face relaxed into a smile—“I am inclined
to pray that the pope sides with you and Thomas. My sons are made of strong stuff, and His Grace knows it. I no longer fear for Thomas’s life or his standing in the king’s service if his petition succeeds.” She kissed Joan on the cheek.

“My lady, only the pope’s blessing on our marriage could sound sweeter,” Joan had said.

After the meal, Lady Maud left with her page so that Joan and Thomas might have a few moments alone.

“You’ve said nothing of your plans for me while you are so far away,” said Joan.

Thomas sat down and drew her onto his lap, kissing her forehead above the jeweled circlet. “You will go on as you have, keeping the peace with Will—”

“What if he’s not so easily controlled now?”

“Who has protected you while I’ve been away before? Nothing has changed.”

“Will has changed.”

“He has been humbled by his experience of war, my love. He’ll want everything as it was on his homecoming. You’ll see.”

Joan wanted to believe him, but a humbled man sometimes took out his shame on those who were no threat to him. “I pray you are right.”

Thomas’s parting gifts were an intricately carved statue of the Blessed Mother, a small beautifully illuminated book of hours, and a ring set with a rose-tinted diamond.

“Think of me, my beloved.”

“Every moment, Thomas. God keep you safe!” She was suddenly frightened for him, for the danger he and his mother faced, riding through enemy territory. “You have the silk?”

“Always.” He touched his heart.

“I’ll pray for your safe return.”

Reluctantly, they parted, Thomas slipping out first.

But for all their caution, as Joan departed with the priest,
one of the queen’s pages walked by, making a point of greeting her, then walked on. Had he seen Maud and Thomas precede her?

“I am as afraid for you as I am for Thomas and me, Father.”

“The deed is done, my child,” said Don Jerome. “We must put our trust in God.”

H
OW PROUD
E
DWARD WAS
,
AND DESERVEDLY SO
. T
HE QUEEN STOOD
before a tapestry of Diana, moon goddess, huntress, smiling as she watched her husband wend his way through her adoring ladies. She wished she could spare him this unpleasantness, but he would be consoled in having her support in enforcing Joan’s marriage.

“My lady wife.” He kissed her hand, pressed it to his cheek. “I come at your command.”

“I pray I never need command your presence in my chamber, my lord.” She turned toward the tapestry. “Diana, the huntress. Your son wishes to give it to your cousin Joan.” She waited for his reaction.

“A good choice,” he said absently.

“Really?”

Edward raised his brows and cocked his head, suddenly attentive. “To Joan?”

Good. He saw the problem. Philippa led him to a corner where she’d arranged two cushioned, high-backed chairs. They settled. A servant poured wine, then withdrew a discreet distance.

“We must resolve Joan’s marriage situation, husband, and while we do so she must be kept from our Ned. She has bewitched him. He rises to her defense at the slightest hint of criticism. He showers her with gifts, including that annoying puppy. He has made her marriage to young Montagu impossible.”

“You’d blame Ned? It’s Joan and her stubborn refusal to see
to her duty.” Edward took a long drink. “What do you mean, ‘resolve her marriage situation’?”

“With the money from ransoms, Thomas Holland is on his way to Avignon. With his mother.”

Edward looked pained. “Of course. That is why Ned wanted the constable for himself. I was not thinking. But do not ask me to punish Holland. He is a worthy knight. I need men like him. Montagu, on the other hand,” he grunted. “If he were not the son of my old friend, I would release him. He has no stomach for war—nor for a strong woman, it seems. Still, she is his wife and she
will
honor her vows.”

“If the pope rules in Holland’s favor, you, I, Countess Margaret, the late earl, Countess Catherine, and our bishops will be complicit in ignoring his legitimate betrothal. The pope might use this to force his influence on the English Church.”

Time and again, the popes had tried to infiltrate the English Church with their own candidates for vacant seats. Spies. “He might indeed.” Edward frowned. “It would be a bitter circumstance. You have a plan?”

“Holland is going to Avignon because he doubts he would prevail in the English courts. For that very reason, Montagu should pursue a countersuit in England. We must provide young Montagu with sufficient funds to counter Holland’s appeal in the ecclesiastical courts. From his inheritance, of course. Or, rather, provide his grandmother Elizabeth with the funds to bring a countersuit. Have the primate of England rule on this—he’ll accommodate us.”

“Pope Clement will rule against me if he has even a whiff of my part in this. He is Philip of Valois’s man.”

“Perhaps, but it’s more likely that he’d rather not be bothered, and if the archbishop of Canterbury sends him a ruling, Clement will pocket Holland’s money, stall him awhile, then rule against him.”

Edward chuckled. “Lady Elizabeth loves nothing better
than a good fight in the courts.” As he turned the mazer in his hands, his eyes on the tapestry to his left, he grew serious. “But will this not prolong the uncertainty? And all the while, if you are right about Ned—”

“As I said, Joan must be kept from him.”

“By that look, you’ve already set this in motion.”

Philippa smiled, knowing better than to dissemble.

Edward drained his mazer, and leaned over to kiss her cheek as he rose. “I should have married off her mother. Widows are so troublesome. They need a man’s firm hand.”

“You are wrong there, my love. Countess Margaret has always been on our side.”

“While my old friend controlled her. But with Earl William dead …”

“You forget. I’ve promised her son’s betrothal to one of my nieces, Elizabeth of Juliers.”

“Ah!” Edward’s eyes sparkled. “The margrave’s lovely daughter. Yes. We can control her with that.” He shook his head. “But we need more. Joan must also have legal counsel, through her mother. Provide Countess Margaret with a lawyer who prefers money and being in my graces to winning a case.”

Philippa smiled. “I know just the man.”

Edward laughed. “I thank God you’re on my side.”

“I shall miss you, husband. I pray that you return home before winter.”

The women of the court were departing for England in a few days, which was why Philippa had needed Edward’s blessing on her plan.

“You’ll have little time to miss me, my love. I will be praying for you in your confinement.” He laid a hand on her swelling stomach.

C
ROWDS GATHERED ALONG THE ROUTE FROM
V
ILLENEUVE
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LE
-H
ARDI
to the harbor to bid farewell to Queen Philippa and her ladies. The queen’s litter was in the middle of the procession, several of her ladies on horseback fore and aft. As cheers rose up, Philippa waved to the crowds. But many of them seemed to be looking at something coming up behind her. And then she heard the shouts: “Prince Edward!” “Hero of Crécy!” How proud she was.