“Let’s go to the hall,” Brianna urged.
“Oh, you go without me. I don’t much feel like company.”
This was so unlike Joan that Brianna knew there was something wrong. Her friend wasn’t given to introspection, preferring to indulge in mischief. “I’m not leaving you here alone to sit and brood. You are missing Prince Edward and you need company at the moment.”
All through the meal Brianna could see that Joan’s spirits slumped. She did not press her, knowing when she was ready to share her troubles, she would confide in Brianna. Sooner or later she always did. The meal dragged to a close, they walked back to their chambers in silence, but when Brianna bade Joan good night, Joan took her hand in supplication. “May I stay with you tonight?” she asked breathlessly.
“Joan, of course you may! I don’t fancy being alone either.”
Brianna pulled the heavy drapes across the window and barred the door. She tossed some big pillows onto the rug, poured them each a cup of mead and set out a plate of marchpane, knowing her friend’s weakness for sweet comfits.
Joan gave her a misty half-smile as she nibbled the almond-flavored sweet. In a small, whispery voice she said, “Do you think Elizabeth Grey did the right thing?”
“Well, poor Elizabeth’s situation was dreadful. She knew marriage to Prince Lionel was out of the question and she knew if she bore the child, her chance for any marriage was ruined, so I think she did make the right choice.” Silence stretched between them. Then Brianna added softly, “I couldn’t have done it though.”
Joan began to cry.
“Oh, love, what’s wrong?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, it dawned upon her that Joan was with child. “Oh Lord, you’ve been caught.” Brianna sank down on the cushions and took Joan’s hands. “Promise me that you won’t do anything foolish!”
“Such as?” Joan asked, her eyes full of misery, her cheeks wet with tears.
Such as kill yourself, Brianna thought silently. “You mustn’t abort yourself … it’s so very dangerous.”
“I know,” Joan whispered.
“When I said Elizabeth did the right thing, I meant it was the right thing for her. It would be absolutely the wrong choice for you. Prince Edward and you love each other. He would never forgive you if you destroyed his child.” Brianna had Joan’s full attention now. “Edward will be home from France soon. When he learns of the child, I’m sure he’ll find some way to marry you.”
Joan wiped away her tears.
“For goodness’ sake don’t confide in anyone but me. Things usually have a way of working themselves out. Remember, when in doubt, do nothing!”
Joan nodded solemnly, trustingly.
Brianna cursed herself for mouthing platitudes, but her immediate concern was Joan’s state of mind. At least she had managed to calm some of her fears and stop her crying. “What you need is a good night’s rest. Things always look brighter in the morning.” As Brianna bustled about, readying the bed, she hoped her tongue wouldn’t wither from her lies.
Before the night candle burned itself out, Brianna saw that Joan slept peacefully now she had unburdened herself. She, however, lay wide awake, not only uneasy about her own situation, but desperately worried about Joan’s plight.
The plight of the French in Crécy became more desperate by the hour. They were defeated, but their leaders refused to concede victory. Throughout the afternoon the French army continued to arrive piecemeal, and was cut down by arrows to the throat or sword thrusts to the gut. As dark began to fall the French king still shouted orders but his marshals had long since fallen.
When all the light was fully gone, Christian Hawksblood called all his Cornishmen, trained in the use of long-knives, to him. On foot they moved unhesitatingly into the French lines. Hawksblood’s first target was the French royal standard-bearer. He dispatched him quickly and tore the red oriflamme from its staff. Then they proceeded to decimate what was left of the French army, executing every moving thing they came across with their long-knives until not one French knight was left on that fateful road from Abbeville.
When Hawksblood returned, he was moved to see every Englishman on his knees, offering thanks for their miraculous victory. Prince Edward’s surcoat was no longer crimson, but black with mud. King Edward embraced his son with joy. “You have acquitted yourself well this day.” Then he raised his voice so all could hear. “You are worthy to be the future King of England.”
A great cheer went up.
The Black Prince replied, “I owe my life to many, especially this man.” He indicated Christian Hawksblood.
Another cheer arose.
“All men contributed to the victory of Crécy!”
The English were exultant because they had won against all odds.
The king spoke again. “As long as men shall live, they will speak of Crécy!”
After that, it was impossible to be heard over the jubilant cheering.
The prince and Hawksblood immediately set about counting their losses and aiding their wounded before they ever thought of themselves. Hundreds of wounds needed to be stanched, broken bones set and torn flesh stitched back together, but miraculously most of their men were accounted for.
Hawksblood sought out his half brother. His blood was still high from battle. “I suspect it was your sword that felled Edward’s horse!”
Robert opened his mouth to protest.
“Don’t bother with denials, we’ll call it an accident this time. But let me warn you, Robert, if aught untoward befalls Edward, I shall seek you out and destroy you!”
Robert was almost consumed with the hatred he felt for the foreign bastard. At the first opportunity that presented itself he would rid himself of the usurper.
Christian Hawksblood and Edward Plantagenet shared a campaign tent. They had washed the blood and grime from their bodies in the river, then Ali had given them each a massage with oil of almond and frankincense. The Black Prince’s courage impressed Hawksblood’s squire when he discovered Edward had been fighting with a dislocated left shoulder. The pain had been excruciating, but thanks to his friend’s teaching, he was learning to separate himself from pain.
Both had received cuts to their faces and torsos and Edward watched with curiosity as Ali applied plain sugar to Hawksblood’s superficial wounds.
“It prevents scarring, but perhaps you wish to display your scars, Your Highness.”
“Hell no, Ali. My lady is a most delicate female. I don’t wish to frighten her. By all means, pass the sugar.”
They wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down on the hard earth to rest. It had been an unbelievable day. Prince Edward knew it would be the most unforgettable day of his life. Before the battle, anticipation and fear had made his blood rush through his veins, filling him with a bursting energy that needed an outlet. When he joined the battle, he had enough zeal to carry him through for hours. When his horse went down, almost on top of him, stunning him, he realized how tenuous the breath of life was within him. It could be snuffed in an instant. To rise and fight with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder had called up the years of discipline and training he had endured. Again he was filled with a divine power that transcended the fear and fatigue.
He fought on long after his sword arm was numb, long after his mind was blank from the horror of blood, maiming, and killing. His nose became immune to the stench of death and his ears deaf to the screams of agony from both men and warhorses. He fought on until he had expended every last ounce of strength, every last gasp of breath. But the miracle of victory had sent the blood rushing back to the brain, banishing the total exhaustion that had made his limbs so heavy that he was almost inert. He felt like a vessel that had been emptied, but was now refilled. He felt energy surge back into him, replenishing him a hundredfold.
Both Christian and Edward lay upon the ground physically tired, muscles relaxed from the oiled massage, but their minds darted about with mercurial speed. Both knew sleep was a million
miles away. Their throats became hoarse as they talked themselves out.
Hawksblood questioned Edward about his fall. “Do you think it possible there was deliberate treachery?”
“I saw no treachery; sensed none. John Holland rode beside me. I’ve just made him Steward of the Royal Household. He’s too ambitious to do me harm,” Edward said, laughing.
“And your other side?” prompted Christian.
“Why, I was flanked by your brother, Robert. Warrick would have his balls if he did aught that smacked of treason.”
“Aye,” Christian agreed. “I’m beginning to believe my sire an honorable man. I’ll reserve judgment on my brother, however.”
“None of us can choose our brothers,” Edward said regretfully. He knew exactly whom he would have picked for brother if the choice had been his, and hoped Christian was of like mind.
They fell to silence, each man filled with thoughts of his beloved. Edward vowed that if his sojourn in France was to be a long one, he would find some way to get his little Jeanette across the Channel. He needed her sweetness, her soft femininity, to balance the stark realities of being a military leader. He had been trained to be an iron man for his men-at-arms to look up to. He was expected to perform like a well-oiled military machine. But when the battle was over and darkness fell, he needed surcease, and wanted it from none but Joan of Kent.
Christian Hawksblood became introspective. It happened more and more of late. He knew he could escape into an erotic fantasy that would blot out the horrors of carnage, but his fantasies had undergone a drastic change. His dreams were of a home of his own, a family of his making. He had wandered rudderless about the world long enough. He wanted to put down roots, needed the anchor of a mate, longed to surround himself with sons and daughters. The warmth and intimacy of a family of his own was the thing he now lusted for.
He thought of Warrick. For the first time he was glad Guy de Beauchamp was his father. It was good to share command, good to have a bond of blood with someone who cared whether you lived or died.
Finally, he allowed himself to contemplate Brianna. Robert had extracted a promise of marriage from her by manipulating her compassionate nature. How contemptible to have to be pitied to gain one’s ends. Hawksblood intended to have her, no matter the cost. He and Robert knew they were rivals, and though the battle lines had not yet been drawn, Christian knew the confrontation was coming. He had not pressed matters because every instinct told him that when the clash came, the result might be total annihilation. The fatal outcome could blow the tenuous truce and fledgling relationship between him and Warrick to smithereens.
He pushed the sibling antagonism away, cleansing his mind of Robert before he concentrated upon his lady. He saw her in all her beauty, missed no detail of her loveliness. Then he focused, and whispered, “Come to me.”
Brianna curled over in the bed with her back to Joan, finally luring Morpheus to carry her off. The place was Bedford; the mood, utter contentment. She was in the castle garden with three children.
Her children. Two sturdy sons and a droll little daughter. Their excitement level was high because they anticipated the return of their father today. Her own excitement matched theirs. Nay, it surpassed theirs if she was being truthful. Her husband was the center of her life. The sun, the life-force about whom they all gravitated.
Though she would allow the children to run to him first, to claim his attention, she knew when he arrived she would have to stop herself from dashing to him and flinging herself upon him. She savored the anticipation of the moment his eyes would seek hers over the heads of their children. Aquamarine eyes! He would make love to her with those eyes and it would suffice until they were locked in their own chamber.
Sweet Mary, he was home! She flung back her hair and picked up her skirts, unable to keep from running to his arms.
“Brianna! Brianna, wherever are you going?” Joan inquired urgently.
Brianna turned, slightly confused. She looked at Joan sitting up in the bed, a look of deep concern upon her face. “I … I don’t know where I was going,” Brianna confessed. “Mayhap I was sleepwalking.”
She came back to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. Slowly, her dream came back to her. How happy she had been, surrounded by her beautiful family. She hoped with all her heart that she would have the children she had dreamed about. In a way she envied Joan her baby. With a child of her own, Brianna knew she would never be lonely again. Then the rest of her dream came flooding back.
She squeezed her eyes together tightly. Ah, God, her sons had had jet-black hair and she knew to whom her feet had wanted to run so willingly. Brianna knew she could not control her dreams, but nevertheless she suddenly felt terrible guilt. She must stop herself from thinking of him, dreaming of him! She honestly wanted to be a dutiful wife to Robert de Beauchamp. She must purge herself of the Arabian Knight!
When the day after the Battle of Crécy dawned, the king and his nobles took a staff of heralds to examine the bloodstained field. Though it seemed hard to believe, the King of Bohemia, ten princes, and the Count of Alenčon lay dead. Philip’s nephew, the Earl of Blois, and his brother-in-law, the Duke of Lorraine, were also among those slain. The Count of Flanders, who was supposed to be England’s ally, had paid the price for changing his coat. In all, the English had killed more than a thousand knights and thirty thousand soldiers, while suffering the loss of only a few hundred.
Philip of Valois escaped, but his fleet had been destroyed and now his army had been vanquished by the English. No French monarch had ever been so humiliated. Philip’s son, John, in charge of the army in the southern provinces, arrived too late to aid his father in battle. When he learned they had been defeated by a force smaller than a quarter the size of the French army, he was disgusted with his father’s leadership.
He had more than one grievance to air. Sir Walter Manny’s small force had been captured, but Prince John, an honorable leader, had given his word that Manny would have safe conduct so he could rejoin the English army. John was furious that his promise had been dishonored and Manny was still being held in close confinement at Orléans under terrible conditions. He refused to strike another blow in the French cause until Philip released the English knight. Sir Walter Manny was released immediately along with that other important hostage, William de Montecute, Earl of Salisbury.
King Edward and Warrick held a strategy meeting where it was decided to lay siege to Calais. They knew the advantage they would have if they established a bridgehead on French soil for future operations.
Calais held fast. It was impregnable and could be brought down only by starvation. Within weeks, King Edward’s army built a small town of comfortable wooden buildings with a marketplace at its center that sold food and clothing from England. The ships going the other way were loaded with spoils. The lowliest soldier’s wife sported jewelry and set her table with silver cups, while the nobles’ castles were filled with rare objects and their stables with blooded horses.
Behind this town that grew up were miles of marshland. The beleaguered citizens of Calais saw the fires of the reduced French army beyond the marshes, but despaired of them coming to their aid. Every road and bridge was guarded by English bowmen and the French had had enough of such bitter medicine.
The queen, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, the princesses, and her younger children’s nursemaids was reading aloud King Edward’s latest letter.
My Dearest Philippa:
We have had Calais under siege for three weeks, yet they show no sign of capitulating. Our position is unassailable. It would take a leader with more resolution than Philip of Valois to bring his army across the marshes. I believe he and his troops are about to depart for Amiens with their tails between their legs.
I am determined to take Calais, which is a scant twenty-two miles from Dover. This port has been a hotbed of piracy long enough and I am determined it will send out no more ships to prey on English commerce. Already an English town has spru
ng up outside the walls of the city and we are quartered most comfortably.
I am pleased to be able to report that your own knight, Sir Walter Manny, has been released along with my good friend, William de Montecute. I had the honor to knight his son and Warrick’s, and of course our own beloved son, Edward, for bravery on the field. I have knighted so many of my valiant warriors, I will have a difficult time choosing those who will be included in the new Order of Chivalry.
My dearest Philippa, if you are in accordance, I would like to betroth our precious daughter Princess Isabel to Louis, the new Count of Flanders. He is a handsome youth of an age with Isabel, and this union will cement our alliance with the Low Countries.
I want you to begin preparations to come to France for the betrothal ceremony. The moment Calais falls, I will send word. When my beloved family arrives, we will enjoy a magnificent celebration.
Edward Plantagenet, Your Faithful Husband and Devoted Father
Philippa looked up from the letter to see Isabel’s mouth looking most sulky.
“This Louis is only a count?” she asked. “I always thought I would marry a king!”
Queen Philippa was taken aback. “Darling, there are no kings available, save France, our mortal enemy. Since his father was killed at Crécy, Louis, as the new count, will rule Flanders like a monarch. Remember, Isabel, Flanders is a wealthy country and your father says he is a handsome ruler.”
The queen’s ladies were quite excited at the news of Princess Isabel’s betrothal and that they were to make preparations to move the Court to France. Isabel suddenly began to enjoy all the attention she was receiving. “I want rich India silk for my wedding gown.” She cast an envious look at Joan of Kent’s dress. “I want it trimmed with ermine and embroidered with real gold thread!”
Joan caught her breath. She would go with the queen and princess to France! She would be with Prince Edward very soon; the moment Calais fell. Joan and Brianna had spent the day in the royal nursery because they were well aware they lacked experience with children. Now they became caught up in preparations for the move to France. Though the queen and her ladies regularly visited Ghent, Hainault, and Bordeaux, this would be the first visit for Princess Isabel and her ladies.