I Serve (29 page)

“
Watch him well,” said the prince sharply, for his father had entrusted to him the care of his younger brother.

“
As I would my own son,” said Lancaster.

The prince set his coxswain at the wheel of the newly captured Castilian and turned her head toward battle. We grappled another ship, this time without injury to our own, and took her with little loss. As we slipped loose from our second prize, the sun slipped below the horizon. The sky began to grow dark. The Spaniards had lost fourteen of their fleet and with them their stomach for battle. Don Carlos ordered his ships to crowd sail; they sped to the southwest. The gathering darkness prevented pursuit, and we cast anchor until dawn.

On the next day, the king sent his sharpest eyed scouts into the crow’s nests. They scanned the sea and saw nothing but sparkling water in every direction. The Spaniards had disappeared. “They have had enough of our English hospitality,” said I with a grin.

“
Aye, they are back to Castile with their tail between their legs,” said the prince.

There was little hope that we could catch them and so the king ordered the fleet to put in again at Winchelsea. The queen, who had watched the battle from the soft downs of the shore, was much comforted to see her lord return safely. “I have ordered a banquet,” said she, “with wine and dancing to welcome my victorious husband and his lords.” The king gave her gramercy and the men-at-arms cheered; I was as pleased as any, for a banquet would give me the chance I needed to see Margery and perhaps have speech with her.

*****

The prince, as was his wont, bedecked himself for the banquet with as much splendor as the lilies of the field. He wore a yellow tunic, cut square at the neck and richly embroidered with birds and beasts in thread of gold. The tunic sheared off sharply at the middle of his thigh and beneath it he wore hose of brightest blue. Your husband, in contrast, had attired himself again in his plain green tunic. Its full fabric cascaded below his knees and it was gathered about him with a simple leather belt.

“
Come, Sir Geoffroi,” said the prince observing our guest’s attire. “I will lend you this chain and enameled belt for the feast.”

“
Gramercy for your kindness,” said Charny composedly, “but I will dress as I am. My dress sorts well with my station and I will not alter it through vanity.”

“
Nay, you are too modest,” replied the prince, “or your station is higher than you know. You are the premier knight in France and guest to the king of England. You cannot dress too grandly.”

Charny shook his head and I saw that his mind was made up. “A knight’s dress is in his courtesy, his courage, and his skill at arms. These are his show to the world, and it is in these that he displays his true quality.”

“
You should have been a monk,” said the prince disdainfully.

“
Mayhap I should have been,” said Charny simply, but he would not be goaded into wearing the golden chain or the enamel belt.

In the banquet hall, the prince sat at table beside his father and mother while Charny and I had seats at a lower table. Holland was on the other side of the hall with the lady Joan at his side. Margery came in later to take a seat at her lady’s right hand.

I do not know how he came to notice—perhaps my eye followed her too closely as she moved across the room—but the meal had scarcely begun before your husband asked me Margery’s name. “She is called Margery Bradeshaw,” said I with a sigh. “She is waiting woman to Joan, the Lady of Kent.”

“
She is passing fair,” said Sir Geoffroi with a smile, and I smiled back to have his approbation.

“
She is indeed,” said I and colored a little. “Though perhaps you think her dress too rich to be seemly in a maiden.” For Margery had bound up her red hair with a gold fillet and her dress had a jeweled brooch below her throat.

“
Nay,” said Charny with a laugh. “I think you misunderstand me as completely as your master. I am no anchorite in a hair shirt and bare feet. I am merely for modest dress in men and not this overweening ostentation that speaks nothing of a knight’s true quality. Leave adornment to the ladies for it is their proper pleasure. Men take up arms for war; women cannot do this. Men treat widely in society; women stay mainly in the home. And therefore, a woman should pay special heed to her apparel, her jewels, and her adornment, for it is through these things that she receives recognition. But a man receives recognition through his achievements. Those are his ornaments, his jewels, and his folderols. Fear not,” said Charny, “I think your lady-love dresses most becomingly.”

“
She gave me a favor once,” I said excitedly, and with barely an invitation to continue, I told him the whole story of the tournament and my disguise.

“
And have you spoken to her since?” Charny inquired.

I hung my head. “Nay. At first, I had thought to enter the cloister and so thought a woman’s company no place for me. And then, after you persuaded me that my soul would be best served as a knight, I thought to address her again. But she has turned as cold as a Virgin of lead, and whenever we meet by chance, she will not smile upon me or engage my eye.”

“
And are you so weak in the sinews that you fear aught of that?” asked Charny. “Come, come, Sir Potenhale. On the causeway at Calais you leaped in front of a fleeing horse and brought horse and rider to the ground with one swift blow. I have the scar upon my head to prove it. You are the favorite retainer of his highness, the Prince of Wales, and a valiant combatant in this latest sea battle with Castile. Does such a man tremble to hold converse with a maid?”

I nodded miserably.

“
Then I shall play Pandarus to your Criseyde,” said Charny. “I shall away to the lady and convince her so well of your good parts that she will never wish to part with you again.”

Before I could protest, he had risen to his feet and sought the other side of the hall. I saw him exchange some good natured pleasantries with Sir Thomas and seat himself opposite the earl and the ladies.

The evening wore on. Ever and anon I would glance at Sir Geoffroi and see him in spirited converse. Margery’s golden eyes shone with interest. She smiled at him, and laughed happily, and leaned her shoulders toward him with intimate closeness. I almost thought to be jealous of your husband and wondered if I had misplaced my trust in him to speak so freely of my lady. Charny was a man as I was, and even the wisest or most monkish of men are susceptible to female charms.

The banquet tables were emptied—still he paid his court. Holland and Lady Joan retired—still he lingered there. The prince, by now, had sought my company and bade me away with him to continue the evening’s merriment. The victory of the previous day worked on him the same way that it did with his father. His spirits were high and he longed to revel in the martial triumph. “Brocas has arrived,” said he, “and waits for us at my quarters. And if Mortimer comes as well, we shall have some sport indeed.”

“
And Charny?” I asked anxiously, unwilling to leave him at the banquet hall alone with Mistress Margery.

“
Leave him be,” said the prince. “He is no great addition to our revels. He will find his own way back.”

I followed the prince out the doors and willed myself not to turn around as we passed the table of Margery Bradeshaw.

*****

Charny did not come when it grew dark and he did not come when the moon rose. At last, when the boisterous merrymaking had begun to die down and the prince ceased calling for another cask to be opened, I retired to my bed. I was awakened in the small hours of the night by a quiet knock on the panel outside. It was Charny, clad still in his green tunic.

“
I did not think to find you asleep,” said he.

“
I did not think to find you returned so late,” said I.

“
Methinks your case is difficult,” said Charny succinctly. I saw that he had completed his mission and was anxious to reveal the outcome to me. I invited him to sit and he began to tell me what he had learned.

“
It took me some time,” said Charny, “to gain the lady’s confidence.”

“
Was she shrewish with you?” I demanded.

“
She was
spirited
,” said Charny with a wry smile, and I gathered that Margery had broken her wit upon him more than once or twice. “I began by praising your valor. I told her you were my captor and described your doughtiness at Calais.”

“
And what said she?”

“
She made your courage of no account, and vituperated you strongly as a dissembler and a spy.”

“
Ah,” I said with a groan.

“
Following this, I praised your wisdom.”

“
Then what said she?”

“
She said you had but shallow wit and your words were shallower still.”

“
Prithee, good sir,” said I, my face flaming, “you may spare me her exact words.”

“
Why then, so it continued,” said Charny, “and no sooner would I paint you kindly than she would call you cruel, and no sooner would I draw you gallant than she would name you false.”

“
It is as you say—my case is difficult.”

“
Nay,” said Charny sagely, “I have not yet come to the difficulty of the matter. Her scorn is but a screen for a lovesick heart. My first wife was even thus, and she would sooner launch volleys of wit upon me than say she loved me; I daresay that when she delivered the first, it was her way of expressing the last.”

“
You think she loves me?” I demanded.

“
I would swear to it,” said Charny.

“
Then wherein lies the difficulty?” asked I. “Did you tell her I have fortune? Did you assure her I have the prince’s favor?”

“
When the Earl of Kent and his lady retired, I had opportunity to speak more seriously with the young woman. She has served the lady Joan since childhood. Her mother was a distant cousin to the lady’s family. It is in her close relationship with the Countess of Kent that the difficulty lies.”

“
Does the lady Joan mislike me?” I asked anxiously.

“
Nay, nay,” said Charny good-humoredly, doubtless becoming wearied of my constant interruptions. “She likes you well enough. It is her own husband that the lady Joan mislikes.”

“
Aye, she would have taken the veil rather than marry him,” said I, remembering the prince and Montague’s frantic appeal to the pope to dissolve the marriage between Joan and Sir Thomas.

“
Time has done little to weather her dislike,” said Charny. “She has born a child to him, but that has not made her love the father. She has become accustomed to, but not accepting of his crassness, and the maid feels her lady’s distress even more keenly than the mistress.”

“
Then let her leave that house,” cried I, “and become mistress of her own. I am of age. I am of means. I will wed her and take her out from under that roof.”

Charny shook his head. “She does not wish it. She is—so she thinks—the sole prop of her mistress in her time of sorrow. She will not leave the lady Joan for any man. And that, Sir Potenhale, is why your case is a difficult one. My second wife was even the same. My sweet little Jeanne would not hear my protestations till her sister was settled safely in the grave.”

I interrupted him with a groan. “Why did you not try to persuade her?”

Charny smiled sympathetically. “How many hours have I been gone, Sir Potenhale? You may pledge me a full cup that I have tried persuasion till my mouth was dry as sand. Enough, enough. We must let the Almighty have His will. He has frustrated your guilt and kept you a knight. He may yet frustrate her duty and make her a good man’s wife.”

And with that, my prisoner gripped my shoulder affectionately as a father might do to his son and wished me a dreamless sleep.

AUGUST, 1350
– 1354

12

The truce between our two countries that had been concluded at the fall of Calais was renewed several times, even after the death of the French king. John, the son of Philip of Valois, had inherited an uneasy country. The devastation of the plague was but a few years past, and shortage of labor had brought famine throughout the land. It was no wonder that John wished to maintain the truce and avoid open warfare with Edward.

In England, the situation was only slightly less dire. The shortage of serfs on manorial estates made the work of each laboring man more valuable to his liege lord. Farm workers, seeing their importance, began to negotiate with stewards, demanding more benefits to work their master’s estate. Some lords—without men enough to work their lands—lured serfs from other masters with offers of higher wages.

To solve this problem, Edward enacted the Statute of Laborers in 1351. It forbade peasants to leave their native manors and enjoined masters to keep their wages at pre-plague prices. This edict, however, was largely ignored, and landholders continued to accommodate the demands of the laboring men so that the famine which beset France could be averted.

Though England and France were not ready to resume the hostilities, neither one was quick to make the concessions that could lead to a permanent peace. The pope, as was his way, urged a resolution of the quarrel and offered to mediate; both monarchs sent envoys to Avignon for a conference. Edward proposed a fair exchange—England would give up its right to the crown of France if France returned to England the full sovereignty of Guienne. That province, as you doubtless remember, had first come to England with the marriage of Queen Eleanor to Henry Plantagenet. At that time, the borders of English Guienne encompassed a full quarter of the territory of France. Since then, the extentof English Guienne had been much abridged, until little remained under English control save the territory of Gascony.