The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ briefest celebration of our wedded bliss, Thomas had pledged his everlasting love, packed his fighting equipment and, with page and squire had taken himself to join the King, eventually engaging in the Battle of Sluys, the battle where King Edward had made his mark in a magnificent victory, as well as taking a French spear in his thigh that kept him to his bed for two whole weeks. And then, in a matter of days, both King and Thomas had been engaged in the siege at Tournai that had achieved little but an expensive truce between England and France.

      Edward was now recently returned home from his campaigning against the French, seething with anger of his lack of money and his discovery of the abominable lack of defence of the Tower of London in his absence, but Thomas was not. Thomas had found a need to go to Prussia. It would avail me nothing to know where Prussia actually was but my spirits were at a low ebb. Abandoning my search, I began to shuffle the maps back into order. I had been chasing a wild goose, and it had escaped me.

      ‘I thought I would be alone here.’

      The voice, quiet yet unexpected, made me jump so that I dropped the route between London and Jerusalem, illuminated with tiny pictures of towns on the way, that I was holding.

      The King clicked his tongue and picked it up, smoothing it back onto the table, casting an eye over it.

      ‘I was not aware that your interests were in discovery of the world, Joan. Or of going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sites.’ There was a gleam in his eye. ‘My advice is to go to Canterbury first, to see if you have a taste for the pilgrim life.’

      My cousin, twenty-eight years old now, hardened and bloodied from campaigning, a ruler of supreme confidence and some renown, was laughing at me. The life of a pilgrim with hard travel and noxious inns with their communal beds and lice would not suit me at all.

      ‘No, my lord.’ I felt a need to be formal. He might be my cousin but he was King and this was his library in which I was trespassing. ‘They are beautiful to look at. I am sorry if I should not have unwrapped them. I know their value.’

      His gaze moved from the map to me. ‘There is solace in beautiful work, as I know. If I were not King, yet still I would be a collector of books.’ Then he smiled so that the sombre lines of his face were transfigured into prints of pleasure. ‘I would not have thought you unhappy, with your marriage imminent.’ I tensed. Did he know? Had he some presentiment of the difficulties? ‘The Salisbury boy is well favoured and good natured.’

      No, he did not know. I breathed out slowly. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘William is blessed with both face and character.’

      ‘I wager he’ll make a good husband. I know of no vices.’

      ‘No, sir.’

      I thought that I might tell him, that I might appeal to his judgement for a resolution of my case. Would he not have compassion and rescue me? But Edward was speaking, accepting of my compliance.

      ‘Marriage can be a vital element, particularly if there is love or strong affection. I miss Philippa.’ He smiled, a little sadly. ‘She will be returned from Ghent before your marriage. She will be here to wish you well.’

      He sifted through the documents as I had done, selecting one that showed the stretch of water separating England from Flanders and France. And here was my chance.

      ‘Will you show me where Prussia is, my lord?’

      ‘We are very formal today, Joan. Here.’ He turned the map so that I could see where his finger pointed to the east. ‘Why do you need to know?’ Then fortunately not waiting for an answer, he added: ‘There are a number of my English knights fighting there in the crusade. The Teutonic knights are intent on taking this piece of territory from the Slavs and Christianising it. A worthy cause. I know Thomas Holland has gone there after Tournai – making quite an impression too, so I hear. I need more knights with the courage and commitment of Thomas Holland.’ He smiled a little wistfully. ‘I recall knighting him some years ago now, at the end of the Scottish campaign. He was very young but impressive even then.’

      His name, dropped into the conversation, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, wiped my mind of comment. Then again I saw my chance, running my tongue over dry lips.

      ‘Is he fighting bravely?’ I asked with all the insouciance in the world. I found that I needed to talk about him, just to hear his name mentioned without vilification.

      ‘Indeed he is. He has been wounded, but nothing short of a spear through his heart will stop Thomas.’ Edward massaged his thigh with his fingers. He still felt the spear wound. ‘I have had reports that he continues fighting, even with a bandage around his head.’

      I inhaled slowly. ‘So he is not dead?’

      ‘Very much alive. Making important friends on the battlefield too.’ Edward’s glance was suddenly keen. ‘I had no idea that you were interested in military campaigns either.’

      ‘I am not. Except when it is an English victory. And to know that our English knights are fighting bravely.’

      Fortunately for me, Edward’s thoughts were elsewhere, his attention claimed by a chart that showed the northern areas of Flanders and France, and his tone became dark with an unexpected foreboding.

      ‘My task is not finished there.’ He jabbed at it with a finger. ‘I signed a truce with the King of France because I had not the money to continue the siege at Tournai. It was not a bad truce, you understand. I came out of it before my money ran out.’ He grimaced. ‘What King enjoys defeat? For me the truce had the degradation of failure. But I will fight again. My claim on the throne of France through my mother’s blood is one that must engender respect. We will achieve a great victory there one day with the aid of my brave young knights.’ His gaze, still centred on the map, softened. ‘My son Edward will be a greater warrior than I could ever be. He will make of England a name that will last for ever where tales of greatness and valour are told.’

      And in spite of my own selfish preoccupations, I was drawn into his vision.

      ‘I have a thought, you know. Come and look at this.’ He drew me away, a hand on my sleeve to lead me to a book that he took down from a shelf. Opening it, he turned to a picture that I knew well, for these stories had stirred the romance in my youthful soul: a vivid illustration of King Arthur, seated around a vast table with the best of his knights.

      ‘It is my thought to create an order of knights,’ Edward was explaining, ‘the bravest ever seen since the days of King Arthur. Men who will fight for right and justice and wisdom, for the glory of England and of God. I will choose the finest, the most chivalric, just as Arthur chose. It will be a great honour for a knight to be invited to join such an august gathering.’ Forgetting about me at his elbow, he was fired with the dream, his eyes alight as he turned the pages to illustrations of Sir Lancelot, Sir Galahad, Sir Gawain and a host of others of repute. ‘I see them bearing an insignia which will be known the length and breadth of Europe. My eldest son will be one of the first. William of Salisbury too, my closest friends who have stood in battle with me. Then there are others, young men such as Thomas Holland. We will test their skills in tournaments where they will show their prowess before the whole world. Perhaps even some of the greatest knights from Europe too will be invited…’

      It startled me momentarily, that Edward would include Thomas within his pre-eminent body of man. And yet why not? In my eyes he was brave and bold and everything a knight should be. I could see him in my mind’s eye with that shining insignia on his breast, whatever it might be, the magnificent cloak, if Edward decided that is what they would wear. I knew well СКАЧАТЬ