The Shadow Queen

Thomas Holland stood in our midst. Six feet tall in his soft boots and thigh-length cote-hardie. Smiling and urbane.

How could my blood run so cold when the sun’s heat was so intense? So too was my face cold, where the welcoming expression seemed to have set into place, while my throat was constricted by a turbulence that refused to be brought into order. I could feel Will’s eyes snap to mine, but I would not look at him. This was the moment that had been an underlying murmur of trepidation through all the months of our marriage. I had anticipated it, planned for it, but now that it was here, I did not know what to do. For the first time that I could recall I was bereft of thought or decision of what I should do or say. Any memories of the emotion that had driven me into marriage with this knight were effectively obliterated. It was not love that washed over me. It was not physical desire, kept in abeyance for all the months of his absence, but fear. I felt nothing but consternation. I should have been word perfect in this initial meeting with him, particularly in company. I was not prepared, and kept my lips close-pressed as Sir Thomas bowed and made his greeting to the Queen, as one thought returned to me, the obvious one.

Did Thomas know? Had he any knowledge of the passage of events since he had been gone from England? Of course he did not. No one would have seen the need to tell him. The private and essentially intimate development of the life of Princess Joan was of no concern to a knight who did not yet have a reputation or a source of wealth to make him a notable at court. Edward was pleased to see him because here was a source of new tales of war and glory, and because he saw the military potential in him, but Thomas was not yet one of the inner group of knights in Edward’s confidence. No one would have seen a need to tell him of my change in circumstances.

No, of course he did not know.

All seemed to be held in suspension, like close-ground herbs in red wine, but that was simply my imagination. All was in fact returned to normality as if every one of my senses had been restored to life so that the scene was in brilliant focus, the scents from the roses heady with musk, the noise of dogs and children clamorous on my ear. Will shuffled at my side, suddenly discomfited since the man he had assured himself was dead quite clearly was not. Edward ordered his huntsmen to collect the hounds and dispatch them to the kennels. Philippa likewise dispatched her babies to the nursery. The older children except for Isabella, whose nose twitched with interest born purely of her own lurid imagination, returned to their own private occupations. I held the lute to my breast like a babe in arms.

And Thomas?

Thomas had all the courtly dignity not to single me out with either look or movement, except for a sleek passage of a glance as he took in those who waited to greet him. We were all acknowledged with the same courtly bow which did not surprise me for he had not spent all his life on a battlefield. No, his inherent grace did not surprise me. Nor did this state of not being dead. I had never thought that he was. But his physical appearance shocked me, so much that my breathing remained compromised.

The King drew him forward into the family group, placing a compassionate hand on his arm.

‘We have heard of your exploits, Thomas. And now we see the consequences of being in the thick of battle. How did this come about?’

‘It was nothing, sire.’

‘Modesty becomes you, but tell us. Here’s my son who would dearly have loved to have been fighting beside you.’

Thus summoned, and it had to be said with a bad case of hero-worship for any knight who had enhanced his reputation on the battlefield, Ned took the jewelled cup from Philippa to hand to Thomas. And Thomas, accepting and raising it in a little toast, launched into the tale of his adventures on the field of battle. The battle where evidence told, horrifically, of his wounding.

The battle, the blows, the courage of his fellow knights, the victorious outcome; the King and Prince and Will, as well as my brother, John, hung on every word. And then Thomas was coming to an end with a wry smile.

‘I have taken an oath to wear this mark of God’s grace in sparing me, until I have fulfilled my duty to His cause. And my duty to yours too, my lord King, on the battlefields of Europe. God spared my life. I will dedicate my sword to Him. And to you. And this badge of my wounding will be seen and noted from one end of Christendom to the next.’

It was a brave speech with all the energy and dedication I recalled which would make him a prime candidate for the King’s new order of knights. And I could not take my gaze from him, from his face where he wore a flamboyant strip of white silk to hide the damage to one eye. Here was my knight who had caused me so much trouble, tall and lean and bloodied in battle, his darkly russet hair still curled against his neck, his face fair as ever, his uncovered eye bright with the emotion of his welcome amongst us. He had lost the other in some distant conflict.

Watching him in the centre of the little group of those with whom I had grown up, here was Thomas Holland, a man amongst boys. A knight amongst squires. Thus I studied him, assessing my own reactions to the man I had married against all good sense. A strange mysticism hung about his figure as he came to sit at Philippa’s feet, the silken band not a blight, not a disfiguring in my eyes. It was a glamour that he had been hurt so desperately but yet continued to burn with knightly fervour. And how intriguing that he had chosen to enhance the glamour with white silk rather than a common strip of leather. There was much to Thomas Holland that I did not yet know.

And perhaps never would.

‘Can you not see?’ Ned was asking, kneeling beside him, appalled at the prospect of suffering such a fatal disability for a soldier.

‘I see well enough with the eye that God has seen fit to spare, my lord. The infidel who dealt me the blow no longer breathes God’s air.’

‘But perhaps you can no longer fight.’ Ned was frowning. ‘With the sight of only one eye.’

Thomas smiled, which stirred my heart a little. ‘The King of Bohemia, famed throughout Europe for his courage, has lost his sight completely. He is determined to fight again on the battlefield with his knights leading him into the fray. Why should he not since he can still ride a horse and wield a sword? My state is not so desperate. I will assuredly fight again.’

Filled with awe, Ned reached across to touch the white silk. ‘I would be as brave as you.’

‘As you will, my lord.’

At my side, Will was as silent as I.

Until Edward led Thomas away, leaving a little hiatus of disappointment now that the excitement was gone. I simply sank to the ground with a mouth as arid as a summer stream, still clutching the lute. Thomas had managed one more fleeting glance in my direction, which might have been a question, or perhaps even a warning that he would in the fullness of time seek me out.

But not before I sought him.

‘Are you going to play that?’ demanded Isabella who had not been centre of attention for a good half hour. ‘If not, give it to me.’

‘Take it!’ As I handed it over, since playing dulcet melodies on a lute was no longer a priority for me, a hand fastened round my wrist. I looked up at Will who was on his feet, standing over me.

‘What are you planning to do?’ he asked, sotto voce.

‘Find some means of speaking with Thomas Holland in private, of course.’

How could he even ask? The three of us could not remain incommunicado, hoping that this problem would simply evaporate in the warm air. What did Will think that I would do?

‘I forbid it.’

Exasperation took its toll of my tone. ‘You have no authority to forbid it.’

‘I have every authority. You are my wife.’

I stared at him until he blushed and released me.

While I was moved by a little compassion; this was not Will’s fault. ‘I have to see him, Will. He needs to know. I have to discover some means for us to meet alone.’

‘So he does need to know, but it is a matter of much interest to me, what exactly you will say to him. And how he will reply.’

It was a matter of much interest to me too.

‘I will be sure to tell you,’ I said. ‘Every word.’

‘You will not allow him to kiss you.’

‘I doubt that in the circumstances he will discover any desire to kiss me. I expect he will find my behaviour sufficiently incomprehensible to douse any passion!’

Allowing Will to pull me to my feet, I curtsied neatly towards the Queen, and began to walk away in the direction of the departed King and his brave knight.

‘In fact,’ Will added, keeping pace with me. ‘I am coming with you.’

I hurried my steps.

Thomas, my courageous, lamentably absent but heroically wounded husband, met with me in the private chapel, an intimate space much used by the Queen. Set aside to the honour of the Blessed Virgin, Thomas was directed there by a servant I had dispatched, for I could think of no other means of ensuring the lack of an audience at this time of day when the public rooms were full of servants and those who would come to petition the Queen in her abundant mercy. I was waiting for him, offering up a final silent prayer at the little jewelled altar with its benignly smiling Virgin when Thomas, offering a coin to the page, walked in.

I had heard his firm footsteps approaching. This time I was prepared.

‘Joan.’ For a long moment, as I turned to face him, he stood and looked at me, then held out his hand. ‘How could I have forgotten that my wife was beautiful?’

His face, bronzed and a little hardened through campaigning, undoubtedly lit with pleasure, which should have pleased me. And it did, flattering as it was. But once the pleasure had been buried, I knew that this was going to be just as difficult as I had envisioned.

‘Thomas.’

I placed my hand in his and angled my cheek for a kiss.

‘Can I not claim your lips? You were my wife when I left. Even though the Blessed Virgin had not sanctified our union.’

‘You have been gone a long time,’ I said, uncertain whether I wished to throw myself into his arms or retreat beyond Philippa’s little prie-dieu. My emotions were all awry. He was all I recalled, dominating the little space with his height and his military air of polished competence, but there had been far too much water under this particular bridge to simply take up where we had left off.

‘A year,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a little more.’

The expression on his face had stilled, becoming wary as if he saw a distant troop of horsemen approaching, and he was unsure whether it be friend or foe.

‘Which is a long time for a wife not to hear from her husband.’

Startled at my sharpness, Thomas now regarded me with some indecision. ‘But you knew where I was. You knew my plans. Have you fallen out of love with me already?’

‘No!’ I pressed my fingers to my lips. Here was no time for emotion. ‘It’s not that.’

‘Then what? Do you feel to be a neglected wife? There’s no one to gossip here. The holy saints won’t judge us if I kiss you.’ He pulled me nearer as he bent his head to do just that. Then paused as a pair of feet scuffed the stone paving behind the pillar to my left. Thomas looked up, over my shoulder, the kiss postponed. ‘Will!’ Then back to me. ‘I did not know that we were not alone. Why are we not alone?’ I could all but see his mind working. ‘You arranged this tryst. Why did you bring Will with you?’

Because Will, with a surge of Salisbury authority, had insisted.

‘Yes, I did arrange it. There is a complication,’ I said, scowling at Will who promptly scowled back.

Catching the tone of this exchange: ‘What is it?’ Thomas asked. Then turned to Will. ‘Do you need to be here? Have you become chaperone in my absence? The lady is quite safe in my company.’

Will redirected his scowl from me to Thomas. ‘You should not be kissing her.’

‘Why not? It is perfectly acceptable for a knight to kiss a lady’s cheek.’

‘But not her lips!’

‘I have not yet done so. She has not allowed it.’ Exasperation was setting in. ‘Princess Joan is capable of being her own chaperone. She certainly was when I left. Now, go away, Will.’

At first he had been prepared to smile. But by now, sensing something truly amiss, Thomas’s hands had tightened around mine.

‘You have no right,’ Will said.

‘I have every right. What is it to you?’

My hands were released when I was placed firmly to one side. Thomas was fast abandoning discretion, while Will, grabbing at his courage, stepped out of the shadows until he stood beside us, an unholy triumvirate.

‘I know that you will say that Joan is your wife,’ he challenged.

Thomas’s eyes slid to mine, full of questions. ‘What if I do?’

‘It’s a lie. A filthy lie!’

If Thomas was surprised by Will’s aggression he chose not to respond in kind. ‘You know nothing of what is between this lady and myself.’ He punched Will’s arm, gently enough. ‘If I were you, I’d say nothing that would reflect on her reputation. It would ill-become a knight in the making to sully the good name of a royal lady.’

‘I’ll say what I like. I’ll shout out the truth, even if no one else will.’

‘Enough! You have said enough!’ Thomas took a step forward.

Immediately I was there between them, a bone between two dogs whose hackles were raised, whose teeth were all but displayed in vicious snarls. I prayed the teeth would not be buried in my flesh.

‘Joan?’ Thomas’s eye had narrowed. ‘How much does he know? Have you been indiscreet?’

Whereupon pride stiffened my spine. ‘It does you no credit to accuse me of indiscretion until you know what has occurred in your absence.’

‘Then tell me. I am lost in a fog of accusation and ignorance.’

Will retaliated with a deal of resentment and a torrent of invective. ‘We were all impressed with your fortitude. We lapped up your tales of warfare and courageous deeds, Sir Thomas. But I don’t care how brave you were. I don’t care how notable a figure you would wish to be with the white silk you wear as a banner. I don’t care how many important friends you made on the battlefield. She is not yours to kiss. Joan is my wife.’

‘Your wife?’ Thomas laughed, disbelieving. ‘What nonsense is this?’

But I could see the watchfulness in every muscle braced against what was to come. It had to be said.

‘It is true,’ I stated. ‘I am Will’s wife.’

‘What?’ A harsh growl of a whisper.

And so I explained, all in a voice as sleek as the Virgin’s celestial blue robe, which reminded me so sharply of the King’s sworn intent to honour his knights in cloaks of similar hue.

‘It is true, Thomas. I am Will’s wife. We were married by the Bishop of London before the whole court in the chapel at Windsor. Everyone is very pleased. My mother and uncle are delighted at their good fortune in securing this match. The King and Queen promoted it, my royal blood a gift for the loyal Earl of Salisbury, and they smile on us. There is nothing we can do about it. I took my oath. I am Will’s wife.’

Thomas absorbed this severely pruned version of what had occurred in his absence without speech, his hands fallen to his sides, his eye on the altar as if calling for heavenly confirmation. Until I heard him inhale, saw the glint of the low light on the buckle of his belt as he moved, as he erupted into a flare of sheer temper.

‘By the Rood! Is my hearing compromised, as well as my sight? This cannot be.’

‘Most certainly it can be, Sir Thomas.’ Will was not slow in driving the knife once again into the wound. ‘My marriage to Joan is all signed and sealed with royal witnesses. Who witnessed your travesty of a match? I doubt they even exist. I think there was no legality whatsoever in your supposed union. Your return makes no difference to my legal binding with this woman.’ Will almost crowed with the achievement. Perhaps not the most tactful of responses.

Thomas looked at him, the fingers of his right hand now clenching hard on his sword hilt. Then he rounded on me.

‘Why did I not know of this?’

‘How was I to tell you? I did not know where you were.’

I would not admit that I had thought of sending a courier. And abandoned it as a lost cause.

‘How could you allow it to happen?’

Which question I expected. I had no intention of begging for a trite understanding if he chose to heap the blame on my shoulders. But then there was no need for me to find a reason.

‘She had no choice,’ Will leapt in. ‘It was the wish of my family and hers and of the King himself.’

‘Ha! The power of the Salisbury faction, of course. How could I withstand that, even if I had been aware of the skulduggery behind my back!’ Thomas loomed over me again, so that perforce I must look up. Which I did. ‘Does the King know? About our marriage? I presume not, since nothing has been said and he welcomed me back with open arms and promises of friendship. I presume he is as ignorant as I was until two minutes ago.’

No he does not know. What would be the value in bringing royal wrath down on my head. Or on yours. But I would not say it. There was no room for pity here. Instead, once again, I delivered the bare facts.

‘My mother, my uncle Wake, and the Countess of Salisbury simply swore everyone in our households to secrecy. In fact no one but our priest knew, so it was easily done.’ I hesitated, then carried on, face expressionless: ‘They all hoped you would simply not come back.’

‘Your mother hoped I was dead.’

My lack of a response was answer enough. Thomas released his sword hilt, taking a moment to marshal his thoughts and his temper while Will and I exchanged a glance that was more fury than despair.

‘But this marriage to Montagu here is invalid, Joan.’ Thomas had won his battle with pique. ‘It cannot stand before the law.’

‘No, it is not,’ Will continued the flinging down of his gauntlets. ‘It is your marriage that is not legal.’

Thomas’s hand was clenched into a fist, which I feared he might use, when once again I stepped in, gripping Will’s sleeve in a desperation of powerlessness. ‘Yes it is legal, Will. You know it is. Even our priest said it was a marriage per verba de praesenti and quite binding, even if it is a matter for disapproval. You cannot pretend that it is not. It is we that are pretending, Will.’

‘I suppose I should be grateful to hear you admit it,’ Thomas said. ‘So what do we do now, Mistress Joan? Are you Holland or Montagu? Do we live as a threesome, like hawks in a mews? In secrecy? Or do you and I announce our marriage to the world and defy anyone to question it?’

‘Only if you are prepared to include in this little plan a flight across the sea,’ I remarked, waspishness rearing its head. I had not meant to say it, but emotion overcame my best endeavours to remain calm. Thomas Holland was past being calm.

‘I have a better future in mind, and I refuse to abandon my ambitions. But hear this, Joan. I’ll not let you go. I’ll not give you up. Not to either the King or the Earl of Salisbury. You are mine by a well-witnessed exchange of vows. Nothing will change that.’

‘I will deny it,’ Will said.

‘You can deny nothing. This is a declaration of war.’ And then on a thought that pulled his brows together. ‘Has your marriage been consummated?’ Thomas demanded.

Will flushed. I said nothing, causing a bark of unkindly laughter from Thomas.

‘No,’ Will admitted. ‘Yet she is still mine.’

‘God’s Blood! We’ll see about that!’

Thomas strode out of the chapel. Will and I were left looking at each other.

‘He did not take it well,’ Will observed.

‘No, he did not. Did you expect him to? You threw down the gauntlet and Thomas picked it up.’

‘I wish you hadn’t promised him, Joan. I wish you had not got yourself into this mess. Why in heaven’s name did you do it, when it is obvious to me that you don’t have any deep feelings for the man? If you had, you would not have given your assent to wed me at the eleventh hour. Either that or you are frivolous beyond belief.’

The accusation stung. Did I too wish I had not done it? In that aftermath, in the stillness of the little chapel, I did not know. When I refused to answer his savaging of my motives and my character, Will left me there, striding after Thomas, so that I was once more alone with the Virgin and a terrible sense of disappointment. It would not be shaken away. In despair I knelt before the statue, perhaps hoping for some solace. A little beam of sunshine touched the window, then my coifed hair, the warm dust motes dancing in the still air making me sneeze.

And that was it. There I was, back to that day when I had made my promise to Thomas. Experiencing it again, I was no longer sad. I sparkled with doubt and delight and a magnificent defiance, as I had on that day. It was a glorious moment, vivid with colour, even the scents and sounds intruding as they did on that day to awaken my senses. I sat back on my heels, my hands clasped hard in my lap, my fingers intertwined, and allowed it to sweep over me, all over again.

Spring 1340: Ghent

There was Thomas Holland, waiting for me in the angle of the outer wall where a door opened discreetly into the royal mews.

‘Are we alone?’ I asked.

It seemed that we were, to all intents and purposes. His page and squire did not count. The royal falconer had been lured away for an hour by the promise of ale and a handful of small coin.

Thomas nodded, offering his hand. ‘We have time,’ he said.

At his feet, a bundle of armour wrapped in stained cloth, an assortment of swords, and a rough travelling coffer that had seen many campaigns. I noted it, acknowledging that somewhere his horse would be waiting. It all told its own story of how the day would unfurl, but I would not allow the quick slap of loss to mar what we would do together. What we would be together.

The wind whipped around the buttress to ruffle his hair into disarray and shower my veil and cloak with the dead leaves that still caught in corners such as this. Later I thought it might have been an omen but my imagination was too much engaged to look for portents of doom. Every sense was strained. I looked over my shoulder, for I would be missed soon, a servant sent to discover my whereabouts. There was a limit to the lax supervision; I might have been able to snatch more freedom here in Ghent than in Windsor, but princesses of the royal household were not free to wander unescorted.

Or to give their hands and lips where they chose.

Thomas Holland took my hand, his firm as he raised my fingers to his lips and then, drawing me closer, kissed my cheek.

‘You are late. I was in two minds to leave,’ he admitted.

It was not encouraging, but he opened the door and led me into the dusty warmth, the air redolent of straw and fur and bird droppings, but not unpleasantly so. The royal raptors shifted on their perches. A goshawk hunched its displeasure, mewing sharply at the intrusion.

I sneezed.

‘Did you think I would not come?’ I asked, recovering.

‘I wasn’t sure. Perhaps you are still too young to know your own desires.’

‘Is procrastination the preserve of youth?’ It was a phrase I had often heard Queen Philippa use when her children thwarted her wishes. ‘I am old enough to know my own mind.’

He faced me, foursquare, releasing my hand as if he could give me leave to make a bolt for freedom if I so wished.

‘Then say it, Joan. Do you wish it?’

I barely paused.