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  Finally the king relented, allowing the queen to see to it the burghers were spared and looked after. He then ordered Mauny and the earls of Warwick and Northampton to take possession of the town and castle of Calais.

  * * *

  Holland’s company was one of the first to occupy the newly won town, and Preston and his men took up positions on the battlements while others were put to work rounding up prisoners or herding the townsfolk out through the gates. It was the king’s intention to turn Calais into an English colony, repopulating it with true-blooded Englishmen, so he could be sure of its loyalty and rely on it as a base for future campaigns in the north of France.

  Relenting even further, the king ordered the army’s cooks to provide a dole of a sop of bread and some watered-down wine to the townsfolk before driving them out into the marsh and the countryside beyond. Some of the Calaisians gorged themselves so excessively after the months of hunger that they died from overeating.

  Kemp watched the long queues of starving people that formed at each of the king’s field kitchens. He was stationed with Conyers, Brewster and Inglewood on one of the turrets that buttressed the town wall. It was strange to be on the battlements at last, as a defender rather than an attacker, looking across towards the wooden buildings of Villeneuve-la-Hardie, a town that had outlived its purpose and was destined to be put to the torch in a few days’ time. Turning his gaze to the streets of Calais below, he saw other troops carrying everything that could be moved – furniture, kitchen utensils, clothing, bedding, tapestries, books and caskets of jewellery – to the market-place for distribution by the marshals.

  Calais was about the same size as Leicester, but before the siege it had clearly had a greater population. While the houses in Leicester were well spread out, with many gardens and open spaces, the houses in Calais were tightly packed and taller, with overhanging upper storeys built to gain space without incurring additional ground rent. When the Romans built the town they had tried to impose an orderly grid pattern on the streets, and traces of it remained, but they were hard to find as successive generations had crammed more and more houses into the confined space between the walls, creating a maze of higgledy-piggledy streets and alleyways. Calais had been a richer town, too, for there were more stone houses, but the high, overhanging buildings made it harder for the sunlight to reach ground level, and the streets below were dark and shadowy even at noon.

  ‘Look yonder,’ Conyers said suddenly, pointing towards the castle. Kemp turned his gaze in time to see the king’s standard – the arms of England quartered with the arms of France – being raised on the tower of the castle where, until the previous morning, Valois’ standard had fluttered in the breeze. It was not until that moment that the full significance of the past two days struck him.

  After eleven months, the siege of Calais was ended. King Edward was the victor, the English in possession of the town. It was the climax of the whole campaign in which he had fought, from the beach near Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue in Normandy, where they had first landed, to the town of Calais itself, by way of the assault of Caen and the field of Crécy. It was over, and now Kemp could return home.

  Or so he thought.

  * * *

  That night, the king held a victory ball in the great hall of Calais castle. It was a sumptuous gathering. All of the senior noblemen of the king’s army were present, and many of his most senior knights, all dressed in their finest robes.

  The Dowager Countess of Kent sat at the high table on a dais at the end of the hall with the king, the queen and the Prince of Wales. She watched the younger couples dancing to the stately almain played by the minstrels on psaltery, lute, rebec, pipe and finger cymbals, and admired the fine gowns on display. There was no denying that Joan was the fairest of all the women present, and watching Montague lead her daughter in the dance filled the countess with pride. Joan wore a close-fitting gown of crimson velvet and white crepe shot through with silver thread, low-cut with an oval neckline. The countess remembered other balls, when she was younger and she had been fairest. Her husband had not enjoyed dancing, but it had not troubled her; she had never lacked for partners.

  She found herself looking for Sir Hugh Despenser and saw him talking to one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting; a pretty woman, the countess thought, but perhaps not as pretty as she herself had been at that age. Casting her eyes across the room, she saw Holland seated in one corner between Sir Walter Mauny and Sir John Chandos. Mauny was dressed in the most fashionable clothes, the hem of his cloak dagged in a leaf-pattern, but neither Chandos nor Holland ever seemed to make much of an effort when it came to fashion. Holland was dressed in the same particoloured tunic of blue and white he always wore to court functions, and by now it was starting to look faded and threadbare. And he thought himself a suitable match for the countess’s daughter? The very thought was ludicrous!

  When the dance ended, Montague led an unresisting Lady Joan back to where the countess sat. The prince fiddled with his goblet as if wrestling with some inner indecision and then put it down, drumming with his fingertips on the table top. Finally, his mind made up, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘By your leave, Father?’

  The king made a magnanimous gesture, his beaming countenance in sharp contrast to the wrath he had shown earlier that day when dealing with the burghers of Calais. The prince bowed low and then made his way around the table to where Joan sat between her husband and her mother. ‘My lady?’ he asked, offering her his hand.

  Montague was caught off-guard. ‘Your Royal Highness! Your offer is most gracious, but you must forgive my wife if she declines, for we have just this moment quit the dance.’

  Joan frowned at her husband, before turning her fair face on the handsome young man. ‘I would be most honoured, your Royal Highness,’ she said, taking his hand and rising to her feet.

  Countess Margaret smiled approvingly, glad to see her daughter moving in the exalted circles that befitted one of her royal blood. Perhaps if Joan had not been married to Montague, she thought, she would have made a good bride for the prince. She looked briefly at her oblivious son-in-law, despising him as a softhearted weakling who might have abandoned Joan to Holland had it not been for her determination. Then she glanced across to Holland at the far side of the hall, apparently lost in his own thoughts, and consoled herself with the thought that at least Montague was the son of the dead Earl of Salisbury, and likely to become the earl himself one day.

  Turning to her left, she saw the king smiling benevolently as he watched his eldest son lead Montague’s wife in the next dance. It was a long-established chivalric tradition that every man of gentle birth should have a lady-love, preferably one who was someone else’s wife.

  ‘It seems Edward has an eye for the ladies,’ the countess heard the king remark to the queen.

  ‘He takes after his father, then,’ Queen Philippa responded tartly. ‘He will be in his nineteenth year come next summer. Do you not think it time he was married off?’

  The king smiled. ‘There will be time enough for that later. I am waiting for a suitable alliance to present itself.’

  ‘Marriage alliance, or political alliance?’

  The king chuckled. ‘I was unaware there was any difference between the two. But we can worry about that at a later date. Tonight let there be naught but celebration!’ He pushed himself to his feet, swaying only slightly. ‘More wine! More women! Enough of this damned almain!’ he boomed, snapping his fingers in the direction of the minstrels’ gallery. ‘Play me an estampie!’

  The minstrels were swift to oblige, quickly winding up the stately German dance and pausing only long enough for the king to leave his table and cross to where Lady Alice Montague sat next to her husband, Sir Edward Montague, a cousin of Sir William’s, before launching into a lively estampie. He offered her his arm, and she accepted it with a graceful smile.

  It was well-known in court circles that Lady Alice was only the latest in the king’s long line of mistresses. The queen
bore it well, as always, but Sir Edward Montague’s discomfiture was plain to see, his face the very picture of frustration, humiliation, and utter powerlessness as the king led the Lady Alice across the floor in the dance. The king was, after all, the king, and as such beyond reproach.

  The estampie proved too lively for the prince, however, who was more noted for his skill with the lance than his gracefulness in dancing, and he took his leave of Joan with a bow. The countess saw her daughter turn back towards the high tables, only to be confronted by Holland, who had risen to address her and now seemed inadvertently to block her path. The tall knight towered over her and she started with fright, her normal composure momentarily lost. The countess hoped her daughter would have sense enough to come away quickly.

  Holland bowed low, and exchanged a few words with Joan, making her smile. Then he offered her his arm and, to the countess’s horror, Joan accepted it and allowed the knight to lead her back on to the dance floor. The countess rose to call her daughter away, and then realised that this would draw attention to the encounter.

  Sir Hugh Despenser sat down beside Sir William Montague and gave him a nudge. ‘It seems even the gruff Sir Thomas can find a troubadour’s tongue where your wife is concerned,’ he said, nodding towards Holland and the Lady Joan who were surreptitiously murmuring into one another’s ears. ‘Are you sure it is you she loves? Even now they may be arranging some assignation…’

  Red-faced with wine and anger, Montague stumbled over to where Holland danced with Joan. He seized his rival by the shoulder and roughly pulled him away. Caught off-guard, Holland was spun around so that he came face to face with Montague. ‘Unhand my wife, damn you!’

  An uneasy hush fell over the hall as everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

  Holland regarded Montague with a mixture of amusement and contempt. He could defeat the younger man with sword, lance or fists, and everyone at the ball knew it, including Montague. ‘Come now, Sir William, there is no sin in dancing.’ In the shocked silence, his soft voice carried clearly to all corners of the room. ‘You raised no such objections when his Royal Highness saw fit to choose your wife as his partner for the dance.’

  Montague reached for the hilt of his sword with a snarl. Holland instinctively felt for his own in self defence, and the two of them would have come to blows there and then had not the king swiftly interposed himself before either man could draw his blade.

  ‘Sir Thomas! Sir William! This is supposed to be a ball, not a tourney field. Keep your swords sheathed, I tell you, unless you both desire to rouse my wrath.’

  Both knights moved their hands away from their sword hilts; to draw one’s sword in anger in the presence of the king was an insult to the royal dignity.

  The king turned first to face Montague. ‘Sir William, I loved your father as a brother, and because of that I saw fit to promote your marriage to my ward, Lady Joan. Yet as surely as you may count yourself blessed in having the fairest woman in my realm for your wife, you must remember that such a blessing can also be a burden. You must learn not to be so hot-tempered when other men look at your wife, and remember that at the end of the day she is yours, and yours alone.’

  Montague nodded, and bowed humbly.

  The king turned next to Holland. ‘Sir Thomas. No one doubts your loyalty to me; nor would they dare to suggest that you have not performed great deeds in my service. Yet I must crave one more favour of you: that you accept that your clandestine marriage to Joan is invalid, and that her marriage to Sir William, blessed in the eyes of God and the Church, is sacrosanct.’

  Holland bowed low. ‘I have served your Majesty in your claim to the throne of France, by God and your right; if I should seek to establish my own rights, it is only to emulate yourself.’

  It was an uncharacteristic and adroit compliment for Holland, but the king frowned, only too well aware that the knight had not agreed outright. ‘Enough of this,’ he said, with a dismissive wave. ‘Let us return to the festivities.’ And with that he turned back to Lady Alice and winked at her, bellowing his favourite festive chant in a voice slurred with drink:

  Hey, hey! The White Swan!

  By God’s soul, I am thy man!

  The countess became aware of Despenser and the Bishop of Durham nearby, joking with one another as they pointed to Lady Alice’s blue satin garter which, having come adrift during the dancing, now lay on the floor near her feet. ‘What’s the difference between a woman’s garter and her reputation?’ riddled Despenser. The bishop shrugged. ‘A woman’s reputation, once it has slipped, may not be replaced,’ explained Despenser, and they both laughed.

  Hearing the joke, Lady Alice blushed bright crimson. As if to save her from further embarrassment, the king bent over and snatched the garter from the floor, tying it to his own leg just above the knee, as if it had been his garter rather than hers that had come adrift. No one was fooled, however, and the queen, who had moved on to the floor to join her husband, glared at him reproachfully.

  ‘My lord!’ she protested, in a low tone audible only to the king, Holland, Montague, Lady Alice and Lady Joan. ‘What will people think?’ It was true that everyone was staring at the scene. The nature of the king’s court permitted a certain amount of licence, but from the gazes being levelled at them now it was clear that perhaps this time Edward’s impropriety had stretched a little too far.

  The king shook his head, smiling. ‘Evil to him who evil thinks,’ he said defiantly, loudly enough for all to hear. He indicated the garter he had tied above his knee. ‘I see you all hold this garter a thing of no account,’ he continued, still smiling. ‘Yet I tell you that within the year you will see it revered before all else.’ A blasphemy, to suggest that a garter might be more worthy of reverence than sacred relics, but no one paid heed to such niceties, not even the Bishop of Durham, who would only ever think evil of any man who tried to stand in the way of his liege.

  Holland left early, apparently in poor humour after the confrontation, and the countess frowned as she watched him leave. ‘Thank heavens he’s gone,’ she remarked to her daughter. ‘Will that rogue never let the scandal die down? I thought I would die of shame.’

  ‘Oh, be silent, Mother, I pray you!’ Joan snapped. ‘I’ve had enough. I’m going back to the house.’ The king had already allocated the greater houses in Calais to his knights and noblemen, and one of these was now occupied by Montague and his household.

  ‘Alone? At least wait for William to escort you…’

  ‘I doubt anyone in this town would be foolish enough to harm a cousin of the king.’ Joan slipped out of the great hall. A page retrieved her cloak from the garderobe and she left the castle, heading back to Montague’s mansion.

  The countess crossed to where Despenser was trying to cheer up Montague by telling him a lewd story. The young man sat with a face full of bitterness, not listening. He looked up at his mother-in-law’s approach, and then remembered his wife, glancing around in search of her. ‘Where’s Joan?’ he demanded sharply.

  ‘Aye, now you wonder, after you have neglected her!’ sneered the countess. ‘She went back to the mansion.’

  Despenser arched an eyebrow. ‘So soon after Sir Thomas?’ he asked provocatively.

  ‘You had better go after her,’ the countess said curtly, glaring at Despenser. Montague rose to his feet once more and hurried from the hall. ‘Go with him, Sir Hugh,’ she added. ‘If she has not gone to our house, as she said she would…’

  Despenser nodded, understanding, and rose with a grin. ‘It is always a pleasure to serve you, my lady.’

  * * *

  The Lady Joan and Maud Lacy hurried through the dark streets, dressed in voluminous cloaks, their faces muffled and hidden by the loose-fitting cowls they wore. It would not do for a married lady to be seen alone and abroad at night, even with one of her ladies-in-waiting to chaperone her.

  They reached their destination, a moderately sized house in the merchants’ quarter. ‘Here our ways must part,�
� Joan said, with a smile. She had chosen Maud as a chaperone because she knew she could rely on her discretion; besides which, the maid had already expressed an interest in one of Joan’s paramour’s archers, and could be relied upon to keep herself busy for the next hour or two.

  Joan made her way around to the wooden stables at the back of the house. The door opened at her touch and she slipped inside. It was dark within and she felt her way hesitantly. She could hear nothing but the snores of a few horses, sleeping on their feet in their stalls. ‘Thomas?’ she whispered uncertainly. There was no reply. Her eyes growing more accustomed to the gloom of the stables, she moved further in.

  Suddenly she was seized from behind, one arm catching her about the waist. She tried to cry out, but a hand was clamped over her mouth, stifling her. She felt herself spun around, pushed back against the stable wall. She was aware of the bulk of the man as he pressed himself against her trembling body. Then the hand was taken away from her mouth and almost immediately she felt his lips against her own. She struggled for a moment, and then she opened her mouth, her tongue flickering against his. They kissed hungrily, holding one another tightly, and then without a word they parted long enough to remove their undergarments before sinking into the straw that had been piled in one of the empty stalls.

  * * *

  After their stint on the walls of Calais, Preston’s platoon had barely had time to grab a bite of supper before Holland, dressing for the ball, ordered them to move his possessions into the house allocated to him in the town. Kemp had been busiest of them all, now that he was fulfilling the functions of a squire as well as those of a humble archer. Holland’s arms and armour had to be shifted, as well as his dappled-grey courser, Peledargent; his blue-roan palfry, Ferraunt; his pack-horse; and the piebald rouncy.