The Crownless Queen

Book 0: Jeanette of Kent duology

by Elizabeth Chadwick

Genres: Medieval; Women's Fiction; Medieval Romance; Royalty Romance

Synopsis

From the award-winning and bestselling author Elizabeth Chadwick comes the much-awaited second novel in the Jeanette of Kent duology, The Crownless Queen - bringing to a powerful conclusion the remarkable story of a woman who began life as a royal rebel and ended it behind the throne...

Release date: April 9, 2026

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 120000

Sample

Jeanette

Countess of Kent in her own right. Known to history as Joan of Kent. Daughter of Edmund of Woodstock, youngest son of King Edward I by his second wife, Margaret of France. Wife of Thomas Holland, one of King Edward III’s former household knights.

Prince Edward of Woodstock

Eldest son and heir of King Edward III and his queen Philippa of Hainault. Thirty years old, a strong, virile, military hero, unmarried as the novel opens and a matrimonial catch throughout the courts of Europe.

Tom Holland

Jeanette’s son and ten years old as the novel opens.

Johan Holland

Jeanette’s second son, aged eight when the novel opens. Named Johan because there are just so many male characters named John in the novel and I had to find different versions to avoid confusion.

Maud Holland

Jeanette’s daughter, aged four as the novel opens.

Joannie Holland

Jeanette’s youngest child – just shy of two years old as the novel opens.

Alys FitzAlan

Third daughter of Richard FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel and ten years old as the novel opens.

Philippa of Hainault

Queen of England.

Isabelle

Grown-up daughter of Queen Philippa and King Edward.

Pippa de Roet

A young girl (damsel to the Queen) as the novel opens. Chamber lady serving Queen Philippa.

Hawise

Jeanette’s long-term serving lady.

Eleanor de la Warre

A noblewoman and chamber lady and friend to Jeanette.

Henry de la Haye

A household retainer and close friend of Jeanette’s first husband Thomas Holland and of Jeanette herself.

Hannekyn

Jeanette’s male chamber servant.

Walter de Roet

One of Prince Edward’s yeoman. Brother to Pippa and Katherine de Roet.

John Chandos

Senior knight in the service of Prince Edward and also a close friend.

Henry Burgesh

Another knight of Edward’s household.

Alice Perrers

The young widow of a London goldsmith and a woman on the make with fingers in numerous financial pies, and an eye to a more permanent liaison with the King.

King Edward III

Prince Edward’s father slowly passing the prime of life as the novel opens.

Snawit

Queen Philippa’s pet white squirrel. A medieval rendition of the name ‘Snow-White’ which was known at this time, long before the fairy tales.

John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster

Edward of Woodstock’s younger brother. A man of fierce intelligence, talent and charisma.

Roger of Clarendon

Prince Edward’s illegitimate son and squire in his household.

Rohese de Bohun

Companion to Alys FitzAlan.

William Montagu, Earl of Salisbury

Once married to Jeanette when they were teenagers.

Simon Islip

Archbishop of Canterbury.

Blanche of Lancaster

John’s wife and a great heiress in her own right.

Philippa of Lancaster

Blanche’s infant daughter by John of Gaunt.

Katherine de Roet

A young girl (damsel to the Queen) as the novel opens. Later, a serving lady of Blanche of Lancaster with a particular responsibility for the children of the house of Lancaster.

Richard FitzAlan of Arundel

Earl of Arundel, father of Alice FitzAlan.

Richard Lyons

Constable of the mint, merchant entrepreneur and a financial mover and shaker.

Marjorie de la Mare

One of Jeanette’s serving ladies. Allergic to fish.

Samson

An archer belonging to the Kent household.

Edward of Angoulême

Firstborn son of Jeanette and Prince Edward.

John Delves

A retainer in Prince Edward’s household.

Jean d’Armagnac

A Gascon noble engaged in a dispute with Prince Edward.

Pedro of Castile

King of Castile, the title disputed with his half-brother Enrique of Trastamara.

Constanza of Castile

Eldest daughter of Pedro of Castile and heir to his throne.

Isabella of Castile

Constanza’s younger sister.

Richard

The future Richard II. Son of Jeanette and Prince Edward.

Mundina

Richard’s nurse.

Thomas and Edmund

Prince Edward’s youngest brothers. Mentioned in passing but without speaking parts.

Guillaume Hermon

One of King Edward III’s physicians, sent to attend Prince Edward in Gascony.

Jean, Duc de Berri

Brother of King Charles V of France.

Geoffrey Chaucer

Courtier, poet, civil servant.

John de Southray

Bastard son of King Edward III by his mistress Alice Perrers. Probably born at Edward’s palace at Sheen.

Bishop Brinton

Bishop of Rochester.

Lewis Clifford

One of the household knights of the Princely household.

Bishop William Courteney

Bishop of London.

Woodstock, Oxfordshire

Now lost but on the site of the current Blenheim Palace. In Jeanette’s time Woodstock was a royal palace and hunting lodge and had been for several centuries. Henry II’s mistress Rosamund Clifford lived here for a time and gave her name to a natural spring – Rosamund’s Well.

Donington Castle, Leicestershire

Nothing remains of the castle in north-west Leicestershire beyond earthworks. It defended a strategic crossing of the River Trent but fell into disrepair in the sixteenth century. The village of Castle Donington commemorates the Castle’s existence.

Sheen

A royal palace on the banks of the River Thames at Richmond upon Thames. A favourite residence of King Edward III. Later destroyed by his grandson Richard II while grieving for his wife, Anne of Bohemia. The Tudors rebuilt a new palace on the site and renamed it Richmond Palace.

Westminster Palace

Today in central London and part of the complex of the Houses of Parliament. The palace area in the fourteenth century was one of the King’s homes in London and the centre of government.

Byfleet, Surrey

A favourite manor house and country retreat of Prince Edward.

Windsor Castle

Royal castle in Berkshire both fortress and home. Site of St George’s chapel and centre every April for the gathering of the Knights of the Garter. Still in use today.

Kennington Palace

Royal Place close to the River Thames and London. A favourite home for Jeanette and Prince Edward. The Prince rebuilt the palace extensively in the decade before his marriage to Jeanette. Largely demolished by Henry VIII in 1531.

The Savoy Palace

An opulent palace on the banks of the River Thames close to Westminster. The London home of John of Gaunt and no expense spared. It was burned during the Peasant’s Revolt of 1381, and later rebuilt as a hospital for poor people, before later again becoming a barracks. More development in the nineteenth century transformed the site. The palace is remembered in names such as the Savoy hotel and the Savoy Theatre which stand on part of the site.

Bordeaux, Gascony, South of France

We don’t know precisely where Prince Edward and Jeanette lived while in the city.

Angoulême

The fortress where Jeanette would have lived and borne her first son is now the site of municipal buildings and much altered but sketches can be found online that give a good approximation of how the castle would have looked in earlier centuries.

Hertford Castle

One of the homes of John of Gaunt and his second wife Constanza of Castile where her daughter Catalina was born. In Hertfordshire on the banks of the River Lea. Mostly what remains is the Tudor gatehouse.

Stamford, Lincolnshire

House of the Greyfriars. Burial place of Thomas Holland, Jeanette’s first husband and of Jeanette herself. The tombs have been lost, but the fourteenth-century gatehouse remains.

Canterbury Cathedral

Burial place of Prince Edward (known to later centuries as The Black Prince) with a magnificent armoured tomb effigy and accoutrements.

Havering atte Bower

Royal palace in Surrey. A favourite retreat of King Edward III and his queen Philippa of Hainault. Abandoned in 1686 and by the early nineteenth century no walls above ground.







Alive in the pure joy of the moment, Jeanette laughed as Prince Edward, the King’s eldest son, grasped her hand and swept her into the dance. The circles of revellers rotated in opposite directions like cogs in a mill. Edward’s sanguine velvet sleeve brushed hers of pearl-encrusted silk, and the folds of their clothing kissed and parted as they moved.

A pendant gleamed in the hollow of Jeanette’s throat, depicting her device of a kneeling white doe collared with a crown, and on a gold chain below it a second pendant bore the blue and gold lion device of her husband, Thomas Holland, Earl of Kent, currently on duty in Normandy. She was missing him desperately. Edward was her dear friend and a fine dancer, but even while she took pleasure in the moment, her steps honoured her absent lord.

Edward clasped her waist as the circles reversed direction. Hop and kick and sway and pivot. At thirty-four years old and mother to four children, Jeanette was no longer the lissom girl who had danced in colourful dainty shoes at court in Flanders more than twenty years ago; yet, through and between the storms of life, her essence had remained true to that image. Her shoes tonight were crimson-red as she made the steps with light, creative precision.

The dance ended on a clap and a flourish. The men escorted their partners from the floor to make way for a troupe of acrobats clad in motley costumes of scarlet and yellow, adorned with jingling silver bells. Pleasantly breathless, Jeanette allowed Edward to lead her to his own bench and make an intimate space for her at his side.

‘You still dance well,’ he said with a playful grin.

‘So do you.’

He was her second cousin; she had known him since childhood. Mostly she regarded him as platonic kin, but sometimes a flirtatious moment would dazzle between them – over in an instant but gleaming along the edge of their relationship like a blade. Her husband Thomas encompassed her world and always would. Edward was the future king and would make a dynastic union at his father’s dictate. Realising the danger, they were careful of the boundaries, but Jeanette was unafraid and certain of her own heart.

Vigorously applauding as an acrobat’s fluffy white dog leaped through a garland of ivy and evergreen, she glanced across the room to the group of children watching the entertainment, supervised by their nurses and a couple of squires. Her sons Tom and Johan, aged ten and eight, sat on the floor at the front, legs crossed, with their sister, four-year-old Maud. The youngest, Joannie, almost two, had been left in the family chamber with her nurse. Maud leaned against Tom’s shoulder, sucking her thumb and twiddling a lock of her bright brown hair. Jeanette decided that once the performance ended, it would be time for her to retire too. Tom had made room at his other side for Alys FitzAlan, one of the daughters of the Earl of Arundel, to give her a better view of the entertainment.

‘I have been thinking,’ Edward said, following Jeanette’s glance, ‘if your husband agrees, it may be time for my eldest godson to join my household as a squire – later this year perhaps. It would be my pleasure to train him.’

Jeanette regarded Tom with proud and tender affection. He was as quick as a deer, long-limbed and handsome. His hair, darker than hers, lighter than his father’s, was a rich tawny-gold, his eyes the same, and the effect was leonine and striking.

The time was indeed approaching for him to leave home to train in the household of a great lord, and who better than his godfather, Edward, Prince of Wales, whose enclave was a byword for chivalry, and whose military prowess was sung everywhere? He would receive an exemplary education. But oh, she would miss him. It was not as though they had never been apart – sometimes she had followed her husband overseas on tours of duty where bringing the children had been impractical. But they had been infants then, and this was an irrevocable step into manhood that would change everything.

‘You must speak to Thomas when he returns from Rouen,’ she said. ‘I am sure he will be keen to agree and honoured that you ask. I know Tom will be well trained and you will keep him safe.’

‘That goes without saying.’ Edward looked fondly amused at her concern. ‘You know he is as a son to me – indeed I regard your children as mine in all but name and siring. Tell your boys I will take them with me on the hunt tomorrow.’ He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it, before they both returned their attention to the acrobats, who had increased the stakes and were juggling with knives and flaming torches.

Before retiring to her chamber, Jeanette visited Queen Philippa who had retired early from the banquet. When Jeanette arrived at the royal apartments, the Queen was in bed, propped up against a riot of colourful silk pillows. A loose robe of purple velvet edged with ermine enfolded her body, and her hair lay over her ample breasts in two iron-grey plaits. A fall from a horse while hunting several years ago had resulted in a broken shoulder and the injury had healed badly, leaving her in constant pain, especially if she had to stand for prolonged periods bearing the weight of the heavy, decorated robes expected of her rank. She kept to her chamber more often these days, although her sharp eye still pierced the doings of the court, assisted by reports from trusted attendants.

Her oldest daughter, Isabelle, sat at her bedside, reading to her from a book of chivalric romances, but the moment she saw Jeanette she set the book aside, hurried to embrace her and indicated she should take her vacated chair.

‘Madam, I have come to see how you are faring,’ Jeanette said when she had risen from her curtsey.

Philippa’s face was taut with strain, but she smiled, and a muted sparkle shone in her dark eyes. ‘I am well enough, my dear. I shall not complain, for it will make no difference except to dull my mood. I am sorry your husband is not here to celebrate the festive season with us, but he will be home before long.’

‘I hope so, madam. I do miss him when he is away.’ Indeed, the lack of Thomas’s presence was a dull ache inside her.

‘Of course you do, and I know he would have enlivened the company. I remember the time he rode that big black warhorse of his into the hall and made it bow before the King.’

Both women smiled at the memory. One of the Queen’s damsels presented Jeanette with a cup of hot spiced wine.

‘My little namesake, Pippa,’ said the Queen fondly. ‘You remember Paen de Roet from my chamber? This is his youngest daughter, and what a boon she is to me.’

‘I do indeed, madam.’ Jeanette inclined her head and Pippa blushed and curtseyed.

‘Her sister, Katherine, serves in John and Blanche’s household,’ Philippa added, referring to her third son and his wife. ‘They are both such good, attentive girls, as I would expect of Paen’s daughters.’

‘Better behaved than I was I warrant,’ Jeanette said with a smile.

Isabelle laughed, as did Philippa, albeit wryly. ‘That would not be difficult at times. Certainly you got into some scrapes, and you were so irresponsible – but I never doubted what was in your heart.’

‘You married for love,’ Isabelle said with admiration. ‘And you fought to hold on to that love – you taught me to be truthful to myself.’

Pippa regarded the three women, wide-eyed with avid curiosity, and the Queen’s smile developed a fixed quality.

Jeanette hesitated, wondering how to reply. She had married Thomas in secret when she was barely a woman, but then he had gone to war, and her mother had led her to believe he had died in battle and forced her into a bigamous marriage with William Montagu, now Earl of Salisbury but back then a boy of thirteen. Soon afterwards, Thomas had returned, wounded but very much alive. The Montagu family had refused to recognise the validity of the first marriage and had locked her up. She and Thomas had fought their way through nine years of legal wrangling before the Pope had eventually declared in their favour. Queen Philippa had belatedly chosen to support their cause because it suited her purpose at the time, but the King had been ambivalent at best and coldly opposed at worst. Prince Edward, however, had supported them staunchly throughout, and later strengthened his support by standing as godfather to their sons. Isabelle, a witness to that long struggle, had staged her own defiance. When her parents arranged a marriage for her, she repudiated the groom and refused to consent, until finally her exasperated mother and father had conceded defeat. Now at twenty-eight, she remained unwed and was the senior lady of her mother’s chamber.

‘Yes, I did marry for love,’ Jeanette said at last, ‘but I was fortunate.’

‘More than fortunate.’ Philippa eased herself on her pillows, looking wistful. ‘You and Thomas have grown together, not apart as so often happens. God decides our fates and who knows what will follow each day from the next. So much can change in a heartbeat.’ She winced. ‘I need to rest now, but you must visit again tomorrow, and bring the children. I would like to see them.’

‘Of course, madam.’ Jeanette rose and curtseyed, and young Pippa de Roet escorted her to the door.

Isabelle followed to see her out and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s good to have you at court,’ she said.

‘And I am glad to be here among so many friends.’

Returning to her lodging, escorted by one of Philippa’s squires, Jeanette pondered the Queen’s words. In eleven years of marriage to Thomas, they had gone from struggling on his soldier’s wage to a life of power and magnificence. Her beloved brother John had died childless of the pestilence, and they had inherited vast swathes of land and entitlements. Where Thomas had once had to borrow money and rely on the King for handouts, men now came to him, cap in hand, seeking loans, even the King. Never had they been so influential or prosperous. They had four beautiful children and their love for each other had remained as strong and as fiery as fortified Burgundy wine. Thomas had lost his beloved brother Otto a year ago during a battle campaign and Thomas had still been mourning that loss when he departed for Rouen. It was a grim reminder that Fortune’s Wheel was fickle and terrifying. Everything, nothing, and everything.

Arriving at her chamber, she thanked her escort, and once her chamber lady Hawise had taken her cloak and helped her undress to her shift, she went to look at her sleeping children, illuminated by the soft glow of the night lantern. Joannie was flat on her tummy in her crib, her little cheek flushed in slumber. Jeanette leaned over to gently tuck the fur coverlet around her shoulders, then moved on to Maud, curled up in Jeanette’s bed with the family terrier, Hal, and Thomas’s black gazehound, Nimble.

Her sons shared a bed beyond hers. Johan was sound asleep, sprawled on his back, limbs in abandonment, but the lantern light reflected a glint from Tom’s eyes, watching her.

‘Have you said your prayers?’ she asked softly.

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘Your godfather wishes you and your brother to join the hunt with him tomorrow. I think you will like that.’

Even in the grainy light she saw his face brighten with pleasure. He was so ready to try his wings beyond the nest and these days at court were a good introduction. The final say could wait on his father’s return. Leaning over, she kissed his brow and stroked his hair. Of all the things Thomas had given her and she to him, this firstborn child was one of the most precious. ‘My handsome son,’ she said, and he smiled at her sleepily.

A few moments later, Jeanette climbed into bed beside her daughter and the dogs, blew out the light and pulled the fur cover over her shoulder against the chill. She missed her husband’s warm, strong body beside her. Setting one hand over her womb, she hoped when he returned they might, in the joy of reunion, make another child between them; there was room in the nest, and she would never tire of seeing his essence in the faces of their offspring.

The next day’s biting cold did not deter the men from their intention of riding out to hunt in the park beyond the palace complex. They gathered in the courtyard soon after a red sunrise and stood in breath-misted groups, talking, jesting, bonding as the grooms brought the horses and the dogs milled underfoot, snuffling, eager to be away.

Standing on the periphery to wave them off, Jeanette heard Edward ask Tom to hand him his gauntlets, which the boy did with careful alacrity, his cheeks rosy-bright with cold. Edward pulled them on, clenching his fists to ease the fit over his knuckles before turning to his black courser. He swung effortlessly into the saddle, long-legged, powerful. One hand on his thigh, the other gripping the reins, he observed Tom mounting his own pony and remarked positively on his horsemanship. Tom jutted his chin with pride and flicked Edward a worshipping look. Then Edward similarly complimented Johan and winked at him as he managed his sturdy little bay.

Jeanette smiled at the exchange while feeling a little sad. Her longing for Thomas was still strong this morning, like a shadow at her side. She wished she had gone with him to Rouen, but there had been business to deal with at home and he had assured her it would not be for long. But it was three months now, and in the short winter daylight it felt like for ever.

The King gestured from the saddle of his dappled stallion and the fewterers blew the hunting horns, sounding the away. In a clatter of hooves and exuberant shouts, the company departed at a brisk trot, dogs straining their leashes and already giving excited tongue. Tom and Johan were too busy staying close to the Prince, their hero, to turn and wave to her, and Jeanette recognised yet another sign of their all too rapid travel towards independent manhood.

When the last rider had clattered from the yard leaving the grooms to sweep up the dung, she set out with her two closest ladies, Hawise and Eleanor, to walk Hal and Nimble. Her daughters had remained behind in the communal royal nursery with their playmates, which meant Jeanette could stride out as she loved to do.

The mud on the trails winding through Woodstock’s gardens and woodlands was solid enough to walk on, with ice crusting the puddles of last week’s rain. Walking briskly, unleashing the dogs to let them run and sniff, Jeanette took the familiar ways she had known since childhood, to the place known by local folk as ‘Rosamund’s Well’.

Whenever at Woodstock, Jeanette always paid her respects to this special spring and pool. She would drink the water and say a prayer with the same reverence as lighting a candle in church. A tale attached to the location told how one of her ancestors, a king long ago, had built a water garden here for his mistress, who had then died untimely. Jeanette did not know how true it was, but the place had always exerted a pull on her emotions. Stooping to cup her hand in the icepure water, she made a silent request that Thomas might soon come back to her. As she spoke her amen, it started to snow.

By the time she and her ladies returned to the palace the ground wore a light dusting like sifted flour, and their footsteps left dark tracks across the powdered courtyard. Small, scurfy flakes rebounded off her cloak, stinging her face, and she thought with relish of the cup of hot wine and the blazing fire waiting within.

They were crossing the yard when a horseman arrived and dismounted from a hard-ridden chestnut, mud-splattered and steaming. As he handed his reins to a groom, Jeanette recognised with a jolt of shock Henry de la Haye, one of Thomas’s retainers, who had accompanied him to Rouen. His gaze fell on her with her ladies, and he swallowed jerkily. Hal and Nimble ran to him, boisterous with excitement, eagerly greeting a fellow pack member.

‘Henry? What is it? Is there news from the Earl?’ Jeanette hurried towards him, her stomach sinking while the dogs bounded and jumped for joy.

‘God save you, madam,’ he said hoarsely. ‘There is indeed news, and I have ridden hard to bring it, but we should go within out of the cold. I cannot tell it to you here.’

He was grey with exhaustion, and shivering, and Jeanette began to feel sick and frightened. She would have stamped her foot and commanded him to tell her on the instant, but he was ready to collapse, and she knew already he bore news she did not want to hear, for there was a world of grief in his eyes.

Eleanor took her arm. ‘Madam, we should go inside as Sir Henry says.’

Jeanette snapped at the dogs to cease their leaping, and turned towards the palace. Each step she took was like wading through waves.

A roaring fire greeted them in the hall where servants were toing and froing with dishes and cups, baskets of bread and wheels of cheese, preparing for the hunting party’s return.

‘Madam, will you sit down?’ Henry gestured to an empty window seat.

Jeanette’s dread increased. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Tell me the news now – standing or sitting, it will make no difference.’

Tears swam in his eyes, and he swallowed hard. ‘Madam, I do not know how to say this, yet I must. The Earl, my lord, your husband, was taken by a fever and went to God five nights since. His body and his soul are in the care of the Friars of Rouen.’

The words crossed the space between them, creating the reality, but she had raised a barrier against them. She heard what he said, but the sense was meaningless. Once, long ago, her mother had attacked her with the false news that Thomas was dead in battle. She had believed the lie, and it had led her down a nine-year path of suffering. This might be a lie too, even though Henry was one of Thomas’s close companions and his expression raw with anguish.

‘Madam, truly you should sit down.’

‘No!’ She shook her head in vigorous denial.

‘We are all grieving and shocked, but I give you the truth. The Earl passed to God three days after the morning of Christ’s nativity. I was at his side with others and the last word to leave his lips was your name.’ Henry cuffed his eyes. ‘Bringing you this news is the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life, but I undertook it, for my lord’s honour and for yours.’

Jeanette continued to stare at him while her mind and body plunged into an icy limbo. The words still meant nothing because she would not allow them to. It was unbelievable. Thomas, who had been her lodestar and reason to live since she was twelve years old. Thomas was dead, and suddenly her heart was a stone.

‘If you are lying to me, I will have your head,’ she said in an ashy whisper.

‘And I would give it gladly, madam.’ Henry’s shoulders shook, and his voice broke with grief. ‘I wish indeed that I was lying, for then it would not have to be true for any of us.’

The numbness intensified, whitening her vision, but then came the pain, flooding her veins, filling her up, coagulating. She screamed in denial and continued to scream until her breath failed. Henry caught her as she collapsed and her last awareness was of his arms wrapping around her as he shouted for help.

Time blurred. Jeanette surfaced momentarily from debilitating shock to realise she was no longer in the hall but in the Queen’s apartments, lying in a soft feather bed with people gathered around her, murmuring in sympathy and consternation as they tended to her. She drank the various tisanes and nostrums they gave her, and was aware of the constant presence of priests and the coming and going of physicians and friends, but she resisted full lucidity – not wanting to return to a world without Thomas in it. At one point she heard Edward enquiring after her in a worried voice and turned her face to the wall, refusing to see him. Various ladies took turns to sit with her and pat her hands and none of it mattered. She sought refuge in numb slumber. For an instant on waking all would be well before she remembered that Thomas would never wake again, and it was so unbearable that she turned again into darkness.

Eventually, the pain withdrew, becoming a dull, cramping ache, and the fog thinned to mist. Tears came and, with them, harsh, choking sobs that left her throat raw and her body exhausted. Reality, however, remained solid. No matter how much she sought oblivion, she was back in the world. The children were brought to see her, and she gathered them tightly to her body and cried. She and Thomas would create no more sons and daughters. These four precious souls were all she had of him. They were his legacy, each one half of his being. Joannie was too young to understand and would not remember him, and for Maud too that awareness would fade; his daughters would have to live on the stories they were told. But Johan was old enough to hold clear memories, and Tom, his father’s heir and representative, was fully aware. He watched her with serious tawny eyes, smudged with shadows. Dear God, how she loved these children, but bearing their grief on top of her own was so hard when her heart was shattered and the world was grey.

Tom stood in Woodstock’s stables, shivering, but not so cold that he wanted to return to his mother and the horrible atmosphere of inconsolable grief. He and his father had spent many happy moments in the stables at home, bonding over their mutual love of the fine Holland blood-horses. He had learned so much from him and always looked forward to his lessons, which did not feel like lessons at all.

He wanted so much to emulate his father and command the respect of men. To be good, honourable and diligent; to be a fine lord and soldier. He wanted to ride one of the famed Holland black stallions at his father’s side – but that was never going to happen now, and it wasn’t fair. His father had promised to begin teaching him to joust when he came home, but that anti