Emma Campion - A Triple Knot (4 page)

“My father was falsely accused of treason and beheaded as
well,” she said, crossing herself. “I am sorry I mentioned my aunt.”

“You need not be. I have fought in the field alongside her brother the Earl of Derby and consider him an honorable comrade-in-arms. My father was under the protection of your uncle Norfolk, and it was Queen Isabella who saw to the welfare of my family after Father’s death. So our stories are entwined, for better and for worse.” He offered her the wineskin. She shook her head, already fighting sleep to spend more time with him. “You must have been but a baby when your father was executed,” he said. “Yet I sense that you mourn him.”

“I’m not so young as that.” She hoped he did not see her so. “I remember being in his arms as he sang and paced. He had a beautiful voice, and his drawings are full of life.” She described her father’s sketch of the white hart he had taken as his personal emblem.

“And so now it is your personal emblem?”

She had not thought of that. “Yes, I think it is.”

“Do you have more of his drawings?”

“Yes. Sketches of my mother when she was younger, trees, two knights jousting, people’s faces.”

“A treasure hoard.”

“It is.” She smiled to herself. “What was your father like?”

“Loud, funny, quick to anger but equally quick to forgive.”

“You smile when you speak of him. He must have been a good father.”

“He was seldom home. But, when he was, all the household went about their tasks in good cheer. What do you like about your aunt?”

“She encourages me to think for myself.”

“Ah. I see why your mother might be wary of your spending too much time with her.”

“Mother says that thinking for myself is what earned me this exile. I angered the dowager queen.”

Without having planned it, she found herself telling him all about the banner into which she’d sewn charms of protection and power to taunt Lady Isabella. He laughed in all the right places.

“It speaks well of Prince Edward that he assisted you. He must be a good friend.”

“Most of the time.”

“I should think that act of rebellion was quite satisfying.”

“For an afternoon. But it was not worth losing my puppy and being sent away.” She chose not to mention that she’d lost a suitor as well.

“The dowager queen took away your dog?”

“Someone drowned Bruno a few days later. I don’t know that it was done by her order, but who else would do such a thing?”

“That was a vile deed.” He was quiet a moment. “Who taught you charms?”

“My nurse, Efa.”

“She sounds a worthy traveling companion.”

“Mother sent her away long ago. She said depending on charms weakened me.”

“What do you think?”

“I think one can never have too much support.”

They were quiet awhile, looking up at the stars.

“You called this an exile, but it might still prove an adventure,” Thomas said.

“Mayhap.” She tried to stifle a yawn, wanting more time with him, enjoying how he listened to her and took her seriously. But the wine had relaxed her too much.

“Will you rest out here on deck? It’s rough, but better than the cabin. I’ll watch over you.”

“When will you sleep?”

“In the field, we learn to sleep lightly.”

He offered his pack for a pillow, and, warmed by the wine
and his presence, she tumbled down into dreams. Sometime in the night a ship’s cat curled up in her lap, its chin resting on the back of her hand, just like Bruno. She woke whispering his name, then ached to remember that it couldn’t be him.

“Is the cat bothering you?” Sir Thomas sat just beyond reach, in the lantern light.

“No. He’s nice. He just reminded me of my Bruno.”

She stroked the cat’s soft ears.

“A sip of brandywine to help you get back to sleep?”

She shook her head, finding all the comfort she could want in Sir Thomas’s presence. She closed her eyes, conjuring his dimples and the cleft in his chin. The ship’s motion rocked her back to sleep. She dreamed that she offered Sir Thomas her colors for a great tournament. He kissed her hand. And Ned …

Lady Angmar’s shrill voice startled her awake. The deck was bathed with dawn light.

“Mother in heaven, Lady Joan is not in the cabin. No one has seen her.…”

“She is here, my lady. Her sickness eased quickly out here in the air, so I offered to watch over her as she slept on deck.” Sir Thomas spoke softly from someplace very near.

“May God bless you.” Lady Angmar crouched down beside Joan, giving her a gentle shake. “Land has been sighted, and the men-at-arms are stirring, Lady Joan. Come refresh yourself. I trust that, now we are close to land, you will not sicken in the cabin.”

The cat arched its back, stretched, and slipped away. Rising with reluctance, Joan thanked Sir Thomas. “You are my champion,” she whispered.

“It is my pleasure, my lady,” he replied, with the soft laugh of a confidant.

Joan rushed through her grooming and instructed Mary to see to her things, then hurried back on deck, hoping she might exchange a few more words with Sir Thomas. She found him
at the rail among those watching as the cog navigated the River Scheldt. She squeezed in beside him.

“Antwerp Castle,” he said as they passed a high stone wall encompassing many grand buildings. “And the soaring tower belongs to the church of St. Michael’s Abbey, which will be your home for a while.” He pointed out a boat with King Edward’s banner rowing out to an elegant ship at anchor.

“I don’t recognize the ship’s banner,” said Joan.

“They are the arms of the Flemish city of Ghent. It is said that the Duke of Brabant has banned the city captain, Jacob Van Artevelde, from Antwerp. So when Van Artevelde has commerce here he conducts it on board his ship.”

“What threat is a merchant to the duke?” Brabant held great power in the Low Countries. His eldest daughter was wed to Queen Philippa’s brother, William, Count of Hainault.

“As the head of the captains of Ghent, he led an armed rebellion of the militias of his city, Bruges, and Ypres that wrested power from the Count of Flanders. Brabant takes no chances.”

“And King Edward? What is his business with this dangerous rebel?”

“Van Artevelde holds the key to the men-at-arms and wealth of Flanders. A valuable ally against France.”

“Is it right that King Edward should bow to the edict of the Duke of Brabant and row out to pay court to a commoner? How can a king so humbled think to win the crown of France?”

“It is unwise to speak so when you might be overheard, my lady,” Thomas said quietly.

He was right, and, considering her father’s end, she should have more care when voicing opinions that might be construed as treason. Nor should she put Sir Thomas at risk. They had much in common.

“Forgive me for presuming to advise you, my lady,” Sir Thomas said, startling Joan from her uneasy thoughts.

“No, I thank you. These are treacherous times for us all. I must keep my own counsel.”

“Or speak quietly and in private with friends.”

“Such as you, Sir Thomas?” she asked boldly as the crew rushed about them, ready to drop anchor.

“I am honored that you count me your friend, my lady. I regret that for the nonce I must bid you adieu, but Her Grace’s household is part of the king’s while here, so I hope to have the pleasure of your company often before the campaign.”

“May God guide you and watch over you, my champion.”

Joan watched him join his squire, Hugh, a freckle-faced young man who glanced back at her with interest as he shouldered his pack and Thomas’s, bowing to her with an embarrassed grin when he found her eyes on him. She smiled back, and prayed that he took good care of his lord in the battles ahead. She was already inordinately fond of Thomas.

T
he king’s men were lodging in Antwerp Castle, their numbers too great to inflict on abbey or town. As captain of the company escorting the queen’s ladies, Thomas spent the better part of the day overseeing the movement of men and arms from dock to barracks. He found the townsfolk wary of the muster of English men-at-arms, requiring careful bartering for wagons and extra hands, and by the time he relaxed in the tavern outside the castle gate with some of his fellow captains who’d been longer in the town, he expected to hear much growling about skirmishes between the townsfolk and the soldiers. And so he did. And more. His fellow knights did not seem to like Jan, Duke of Brabant.

“We’ve been too long on our arses,” said Guy, downing a tankard and shouting for more. “And we’ve not been paid, not in coin or booty, while the king barters with the duke, that treacherous knave.”

“Brabant had the gall to hold the earls of Derby and Salisbury hostage until fully paid his bribe,” said Piet.

England’s potential allies demanded huge bribes for fighting against France, their neighbor and, in some cases, their liege lord.

“The royal family as well,” said Roland. “Brabant’s ships
were manned and ready to prevent the queen’s departure while the king was in England insisting that Parliament bleed their countrymen to satisfy the duke’s greed. Holding hostage our queen, sister to Brabant’s own son-in-law! There is no honor here.”

“And the planned campaign?” Thomas asked. “Will the duke at least have his army march with us then?”

“Hah! A token number, mayhap, but it’s for us to prove to them our commitment and our strength.”

“Sounds like we need to win a battle,” said Thomas. He drained his tankard and held it out to the serving wench for more. He did not like the smell of this. Nor the bearing of the two knights in the livery of Brabant approaching their table, swearing loudly about the English who were drinking without paying. In the brawl that ensued, Thomas learned that his fellow captains were in good fighting form, besting the Brabanters. Throwing some coins on the table that he could ill afford, Thomas and his friends limped out into the night, seeking solace in a far inferior brew at the barracks.

Afterward, lying on a cot in a cold barracks room, he found himself thinking of the previous night, watching over Lady Joan. He loved her contradictions, the courtly courtesy and sense of privilege mixed with the passion and vulnerability of a child.
May she remain so uniquely herself as she matures
, he prayed.
May nothing daunt her
.

J
OAN
’
S COMPANY OVERWHELMED THE HALL OF THE ABBEY
’
S GUESTHOUSE
,
the servants and ladies jostling for space. But seven-year-old Princess Isabella was a blur of rose silk and purple ribbons as she dodged beneath elbows to push through the crowd, emerging
with arms outstretched to embrace Joan. “I’ve waited weeks for you! What kept you? You were to be here before my sister departed.” Her younger sister, also a Joan, had gone to Munich for her betrothal to the son of Frederick, Duke of Austria. The women with whom Joan had traveled from England were filling the gap in the queen’s household left by the five-year-old princess’s entourage. “Were you attacked by pirates?”

Joan shook her head. “No pirates. Merely muddy roads and our ship becalmed for days in the Ipswich harbor. I’ve missed you, Bella.”

The princess kissed Joan on each cheek, then hugged her tight. “It is so
boring
here when there’s no one to share it with.”

Before Joan could catch her breath, Bella led her away to the nursery to meet her infant brother, Prince Lionel.

“M
ARY
,
YOU
’
RE HURTING ME
.” J
OAN GRABBED THE COMB FROM HER
maidservant’s hands. With so little sleep, her patience was thin. The infant Lionel had kept her awake with his shrieks, the wet nurses and servants helpless in the face of regal colic. Mary had dark shadows beneath her eyes as well, but that did not excuse the pain she inflicted with a comb.

“Fetch my shoes,” Joan commanded as she reached up to comb her own hair.

Bella plucked the comb from Joan’s hand and gave it to her lady’s maid. “Sandrine is gentle.”

Joan sighed with relief after a few strokes. “What is the occasion of this dinner?”

“Nothing special. I suppose Father will announce that his war council has agreed to his plan to march south into Cambrai, crossing the border into France. You will meet Marguerite of Brabant, the second daughter of the duke. If the pope agrees to the betrothal, she’ll be our next queen. But that’s old news.”

“Not to me. Ned is to be betrothed to Marguerite of Brabant?” Joan’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“I
know
. It should be you. But Father
needs
the duke. You hadn’t heard?”

“Does Ned know?”

“Mother has given Grandam the task of telling him.”

Would he tell his grandmother of their vows? It would be like him to taunt the hateful old queen. If so, Joan prayed the dowager queen merely ruffled his hair and reminded him of his duty to the realm rather than taking the betrothal seriously, else Joan and her mother, perhaps even her brother, would pay a heavy price. Ned gave little thought to how his speech affected others.

“At first it was to be a double match,” Bella was prattling, too caught up in revealing the news to be bothered by Joan’s silence. “Ned and Marguerite, you and Marguerite’s brother Henri. But the duke thought one Plantagenet was enough. So you are still available.”

“Available. Like merchandise.” Joan felt dizzy. “Is Marguerite pretty?”

“No. She has pretty hair. But her eyes and mouth are too tiny for her round face, and she has too many chins.” Bella demonstrated by pulling in her chin until she coughed. Joan forced a laugh. “My brother will not be pleased. Even so, if the pope agrees to the union, Father will see that it is done.” Bella sighed. “Nothing will ever be the same with Ned and my sister married, and, if Mother has her way, you too.”

“And you? To whom are you promised?”

“No one. I am to be held in reserve.”