Authors: Mari Griffith
‘I had no right. I cannot make demands of you, Jenna, I don’t own you. You are not my wife. If you choose to go to the palace, it has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all. You must do what you want to do.’
Among the leaves of the oak tree, a blackbird started singing joyously above their heads. It was some time before William spoke again.
‘Go then, my dearest girl, if you must. I cannot hold you here. I have no right to. Go to the palace, Jenna, but don’t be dazzled by the people you meet. They’re not worth it. Go now, please, just go. And may God go with you.’
There was nothing to be said after that. William stood to one side for Jenna to pass, then stood watching her as she began to walk away from him, back to the path and on towards the farmhouse. Jenna stared resolutely in front of her, desperately trying to keep her quivering mouth closed and her lips in a straight, determined line. She was almost overwhelmed by the instinct to turn around and scream her love for him, her need of him. There could be no denying that she was deeply in love, but with another woman’s husband. No good would ever come of it and she dared not lose control.
They both knew where Jenna’s destiny lay. It was not in the dairy at the Manor of Eye-next-Westminster. It was not with Robin. It was not with William: it was with William’s wife. And there could be no going back. Not now.
They’d been so engrossed in each other that neither of them noticed a small, dumbfounded face watching them from behind a hawthorn bush, a little way down on the other side of the path.
Kitty had just learned her first lesson in growing up.
April 1439
––––––––
I
n the Duchess of Gloucester’s dressing room, Jenna was putting away the last of the clothes her mistress had been wearing during the visit to Woodstock and Stonesfield with her husband. Now all the members of the ducal household were back at court in the Palace of Westminster and things were returning to normal.
Jenna knew that many women would envy her the job she now did, working within the opulent surroundings of the Palace of Westminster, rarely having to venture out into the winter rain or summer sun, keeping her skin pale and her hands soft. But she found the work unrewarding. Apart from the travelling, which she did enjoy, the daily routine was tedious and thankless. In her heart, she even envied Sarah, despite the fact that she would never walk normally again. At least Sarah had been given the chance to stay on at Eybury Farm where she managed to be surprisingly useful, given that most of the work she did could be done while sitting rather than standing.
At the palace, after a few initial mistakes, Jenna had settled down very quickly to perform the tasks expected of her in her new role. Her everyday duties included looking after Her Grace’s personal needs, washing her clothes and underwear, dressing her hair, cleaning her shoes, helping her into her gowns and doing anything else she might require. The Duchess began to rely more and more on Jenna’s abilities and her common sense. In expressing her satisfaction, she would show occasional flashes of generosity and Jenna benefited from gifts of cast-off clothes. Among her favourites was a dark red houppelande of the finest worsted cloth, the sleeves trimmed with miniver.
At first, she had protested that she couldn’t possibly accept such a gift because, in any case, she wouldn’t be allowed to wear it in public. She risked being arrested by the Sheriff’s men for contravening the Sumptuary Laws.
‘Oh, nonsense!’ said the Duchess, waving her hand dismissively. ‘The Sumptuary Laws merely protect the interests of persons of quality. And absolutely no one at court is wearing miniver these days, it is completely
passé
. The vogue is for marten. And I think I shall soon set a trend for sable. I do
so
enjoy doing that and seeing other women doing their best to imitate me. So stupid! No doubt you will soon see the humblest of housewives lining their hoods with miniver for warmth, just because I no longer wear it. You should accept the houppelande and be grateful.’
Nevertheless, Jenna never wore the sumptuous garment in public. Whenever she visited Eybury Farm to collect supplies of Margery’s cosmetics for the Duchess, she always dressed in an entirely circumspect way. She had no desire to flaunt her new position in life, not in front of any of her old friends and colleagues and she certainly would not have taken the risk of running into William dressed like that. Not after the bitter warnings he had given her about how her work at the palace could turn her head and change her attitudes.
She couldn’t think back to that encounter under the oak tree without remembering how, when she had walked away from him, she could barely see where she was going for the tears that half-blinded her, hoping she was keeping to the path and willing herself not to turn around, in case she were unable to resist running back into his arms. Shocked to the core by William’s passionate confession, she had been at great pains to avoid seeing him ever since, knowing that it would be all she could do not to say something in an unguarded moment. Despite telling herself repeatedly that he was a married man and she had no right to feel the way she did, her feelings for him had never changed in the two years since she had left the farm. She doubted they ever would, but it would be madness to pursue them. Best to concentrate on her job with the Duchess Eleanor and perform her duties to the best of her ability. It was certainly what Alice would have done.
***
T
here were still a few people left in the throne room when the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester arrived for an audience with the King. A scattering of foreign dignitaries had contrived to get themselves invited to attend him and this was their opportunity to make a case for grants, offices and cash from the royal purse. The King was rarely known to refuse such requests, indeed granting them seemed to give him great pleasure and he was fast gaining a reputation for generosity in some quarters though his munificence was viewed by others as rash and ill-considered.
He was looking almost animated as he rose and descended the steps from the throne to greet his aunt and uncle.
‘You are both most welcome,’ he said, as the Duchess curtseyed deeply. ‘I’m so glad you were able to attend me today. Come, let us sit for a moment because I am anxious, Uncle, to hear all about Oxford. I understand you paid a visit to the University as well as to your manor houses in the area.’
‘I did both, Your Highness,’ said Gloucester, taking a seat next to his wife, ‘and I was delighted to have the opportunity of doing so. I managed to visit both Stonesfield and Woodstock on this occasion and both appear to be running smoothly. The farms are being excellently managed and are most productive.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m pleased to hear it,’ the King said dismissively. ‘But what about the university?’
‘The university does well, too. There are plans to build a new library, though that will be expensive.’
‘Is it not possible to extend the existing library?’
‘It’s really too small. It was built more than a century ago...’
‘By one of my ancestors,’ Eleanor interrupted, never one to miss an opportunity to boast. ‘He was Thomas de Cobham, the Bishop of Worcester.’
Her husband smiled at her indulgently. ‘He was the only bishop the family ever had and they’ve never stopped bragging about him.’
‘But that is only right and proper,’ said the King. ‘Any family should be proud to boast of a bishop in their midst.’ The Duchess gave him a grateful smile.
‘Yes, of course,’ Humphrey agreed, ‘but Thomas de Cobham’s library is woefully inadequate. It must be replaced.’
‘And will you be helping in that, Uncle?’
‘Indeed, yes, with the gift of some of my books. And that pleases Eleanor greatly, doesn’t it, my dear?’
‘Naturally,’ said the Duchess. ‘I am most anxious to pay tribute to the memory of my ... er, my great-uncle.’ She paused, uncertainly. ‘At least, I believe that’s who he was.’
‘An honoured ancestor, anyway,’ said her husband. ‘Which is why it seems only right and proper for the library to benefit from the gift of some of my books.’
The King nodded in agreement. ‘So important ...’ he said, half to himself, then raised his voice and went on: ‘It is so important that students have the opportunity to read the Bible, to better acquaint themselves with the scriptures, with the word of God. It is all that will save the world from perdition. If only books were not so very expensive.’
‘Ah, but from what I’ve heard, that is something which may well change in future, Your Highness,’ Humphrey said and his nephew raised questioning eyebrows. ‘Yes, there is some very exciting news from the Rhineland in Germany. It seems that some enterprising inventor is working on a system for a mechanical process of transferring words to paper. I have only recently heard of it but, if the system can be made to work, it could be a very exciting development.’
‘But surely, Uncle, there can be no substitute for quill pen and parchment?’
‘Apparently there could be. The development is in its early stages, of course, but from my understanding, the device is some sort of press, not unlike the type used in pressing grapes for the wine harvest.’
The King bestowed one of his rare smiles on his uncle. ‘That would hold an appeal for you, then, my Lord Uncle!’
Humphrey had the good grace to smile in return. ‘Wine is one of God’s greatest gifts to mankind,’ he said.
‘God makes us all gifts in abundance, Uncle: wine is merely one of them. And there are some who will abuse that gift.’ He seemed on the point of saying something else before changing his mind. ‘But tell me more about this new idea for making books.’
Humphrey was only too pleased to oblige. His pious nephew was known to disapprove of the immoderate consumption of wine.
‘As I understand it,’ Humphrey explained, ‘the press is loaded with letters of the alphabet, made of metal, which are coated with ink, formed into words and pressed into paper. Then, when the ink dries, the page bears a permanent record of what was imprinted upon it. The possibilities are endless.’
The King was quiet for a long moment, trying to imagine what his uncle had described. ‘Could more than one book be made in this way?’ he asked.
‘Possibly several could be made,’ said Humphrey. ‘Perhaps even several hundred, which would make the process very cost effective. If it fulfils its promise, this invention is a work of great genius. It could change the world as we know it.’
‘Then every student would be able to study the Bible, even the very poorest boys!’ Beginning to see the great possibilities of the new book-making device, the King was becoming excited. ‘By Heaven, Uncle, if what you say is true, then this new invention will be of the greatest benefit to me in my plans for my new school!’
‘Your new school?’
‘Yes, I have a plan to establish a new school for poor scholars. I wanted to ask your opinion about the idea. I think it so important that I should nurture and care about the education of my subjects. All my subjects,’ he emphasised, ‘even the poorest boys. Now I’m of age, I would like my reign to reflect the comfort and strength I myself derive from my readings of the chronicles, the scriptures and all manner of other writings.’
‘Most laudable,’ Humphrey muttered.
‘I truly believe education and literacy are of vital importance. I have talked to Archbishop Chichele at length about this and he is in total agreement with me.’
‘And I am in agreement with you both,’ said Humphrey.
‘Where would you establish this school of yours,’ asked the Duchess Eleanor, ‘here in Westminster?’
‘No, my Lady,’ said the King. ‘The only suitable place in the Palace of Westminster would be the chapel of St Stephen’s and I would prefer to keep that as it is.’
‘That will certainly please Canon Southwell,’ said Eleanor. ‘He is very proud to be of service to you at St Stephen’s.’
‘So he takes every opportunity to tell me,’ said the King, his expression impassive.
‘I’m sure it’s no more than the respect he should accord you, Your Highness,’ said the Duchess.
‘Be that as it may. But no, St Stephen’s is not suitable. However there is a chapel within a stone’s throw of Windsor which would suit my purpose very well. It’s the chapel of Our Lady of Eton, just across the river from the castle and, of course, I am quite often there so I could keep an eye on it. It could be easily converted into a collegiate foundation for, say, seventy poor scholars. It would give them the opportunity of a lifetime. I would derive great satisfaction from thinking I had helped them in this way.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Humphrey agreed, ‘and most generous of you.’
He was pleased that his nephew shared his own enthusiasm for books and for learning, but he did wish the King would show more interest in other aspects of kingship: in politics, for example, or in bringing France more effectively to heel. Things had been going rapidly downhill in France, ever since that damned woman they called Joan of Arc had been burned at the stake for her nonsensical beliefs. She was clearly a witch, but, from what he’d heard, the French were still talking about her as though she had been martyred in the service of her country. But they should be made to see that their country was ruled by an English king ... ruled, in fact, by this pallid young man who always had his nose in a book.
Humphrey was worried.
***
I
t didn’t seem like a whole year since the last time Kitty had sorted the stones for the catapults. She didn’t really mind being the one who’d been given the task of finding stones: after all, the others had to be armed with missiles in the eternal fight between men and birds when it came to planting seed corn. Kitty’s special friend Jack, who was learning to be a shepherd, had made her feel better about it because he said she was just like a proper armourer at the battle of Agincourt where the old king had won a famous victory. The armourer always had a really important job to do, Jack said, because he had to make sure the knights and the men-at-arms had the proper bows and arrows and hatchets and spears they needed to fight the enemy and win the battle. What Kitty was doing was the same thing except that for Jack and the other boys, the battle was to keep the birds off the newly ploughed furrows in the five-acre field, so that Master Jourdemayne and the other men could get on with the job of planting the seed corn before the birds could eat it.