The Royal Rebel

Book 0: Jeanette of Kent duology

by Elizabeth Chadwick

Genres: Medieval Romance

Synopsis

1338: England has declared war on France, and Jeanette of Kent, cousin to King Edward III, says goodbye to her family and travels overseas with the royal court for the first time. Once in Antwerp, she is captivated by talented household knight, Thomas Holland, just as he in turn is powerfully drawn to her.

Although both know their romance is forbidden, their love for each other grows stronger than the danger they face, and they marry in secret. But before they can make their tryst known, Thomas has to leave for war, and in his absence, Jeanette is forced into a second marriage and locked away from the world.

Then Thomas returns, and the real fight begins. As hostile family members battle to keep Jeanette and Thomas apart, the defiant lovers vow to be reunited - whatever the cost...

From the award-winning and bestselling author, Elizabeth Chadwick, comes an epic love story set against the tumultuous backdrop of high chivalry, deadly warfare, devastating plague, and savage rivalry in the fourteenth century - the first of two parts telling the remarkable story of a woman who rose from royal rebel to formidable influence.

Release date: October 8, 2024

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 120000

Sample

Jeanette

Known to history as Joan of Kent, daughter of Prince Edmund of Woodstock (executed while Jeanette was an infant), the uncle of King Edward III

John of Kent

Jeanette’s brother, younger by three and a half years and heir to the wealthy earldom of Kent

Margaret Wake, Dowager Countess of Kent

Jeanette’s mother

Hawise

Jeanette’s maid, daughter of a yeoman and slightly older than Jeanette but still a young woman

Otto Holland

Thomas Holland’s younger brother and knight of the royal household

Thomas Holland

Young royal household knight of military and logistical skill, making his way in the world but with many rungs to climb

King Edward III

King of England, twenty-five years old at the outset of the novel, strong, fierce, romantic, warlike and ambitious

Philippa of Hainault

King Edward III’s Flemish wife, twenty-five years old, mother to their growing brood of children

Isabelle

Edward and Philippa’s eldest daughter, a child of six at the outset of the novel

Joan

Edward and Philippa’s second daughter, a child of four

Katerine, Countess of Salisbury

One of Queen Philippa of Hainault’s chamber ladies and a woman confident in royal circles; Jeanette’s chaperone and tutor in the absence of Jeanette’s mother

Joan Bredon

One of Queen Philippa’s chamber ladies and Jeanette’s particular friend

Lady St Maur

The lady with overall charge of the royal wards and children

Petronella

One of Queen Philippa’s ladies

Henry de la Haye

A knight attached to Thomas Holland’s household

Lionel

Edward and Philippa’s second son, born in November 1338

William Montagu Senior

Earl of Salisbury, Katerine’s husband and a close friend of King Edward III

Walter Manny

A senior-ranking household knight

Paen de Roet

A chamber servant of Queen Philippa’s

Bernard and Armand d’Albret

Gascon nobles, father and son

John de la Salle

Falconer and yeoman servant to Thomas Holland

Duncalfe

Thomas’s yeoman and manservant

John (of Gaunt)

Edward and Philippa’s third son, born in March 1340

Donald Hazelrigg

A knight often in the company of Thomas Holland and later, outside the novel’s scope, to marry Joan Bredon

Father Geoffrey

A Franciscan friar (imaginary)

Maurice of Berkeley

Thomas’s superior and royal household knight

Hannekyn

A chamber servant in Queen Philippa’s household

Isabel Holland

Thomas Holland’s sister, mistress of John de Warenne

John de Warenne

Earl of Surrey and Warenne, a friend of the Holland family

John Crabbe

King Edward III’s senior ship master

Samson

An archer belonging to Thomas Holland (imaginary)

William Burgesh

A royal household knight

Prince Edward of Woodstock

Eldest son and heir of King Edward III

William Montagu

Son and heir of William Montagu, Earl of Salisbury, and Katerine, his countess

Elizabeth de Montfort

William Montagu Senior’s mother

Raoul de Brienne, Comte d’Eu

French nobleman

Thomas Wake

Jeanette’s uncle, her mother’s brother

Agnes

A chamber lady in the Dowager Countess of Kent’s household (imaginary)

Ralph Stratford

Bishop of London

Mary

A servant in Katerine of Salisbury’s household (imaginary)

Edmund of Langley

Edward III and Philippa’s fourth surviving son, born circa May/June 1341

Maude Holland

Thomas, Otto and Isabel Holland’s mother

Costen de Roos

Flemish knight (imaginary)

Godwin and Joss

Two more of Thomas Holland’s archers (imaginary)

Edith

Mistress of Prince Edward of Woodstock

Robert Beverley

An attorney experienced in dealing with the papal court in Rome, representing Thomas Holland

Isabella of Juliers

Philippa of Hainault’s niece and wife to John of Kent

Nicholas Heath

An attorney employed to represent Jeanette at the papal court in Avignon

Robert Adhemar

A papal cardinal

John Holland

An attorney experienced in dealing with the papal court in Rome, representing William Montagu

John Vyse

Another attorney employed to represent Jeanette at the papal court in Avignon

Clement VI

The Pope

Bernard d’Albi

A papal cardinal

Amerigo di Pavia

An Italian mercenary captain serving in Calais

Geoffrey de Charny

A French knight with a reputation for high chivalry



Sitting at the river’s edge, enjoying the sun on her face, Jeanette was watching Grippe hunting water voles among the reeds when she heard her brother’s shout, and turned to see him running towards her.

The terrier splashed over to greet him, whiskered muzzle dripping, and John fended him off with laughing protests. ‘Mother’s looking for you,’ he announced.

Jeanette observed the antics of dog and boy, her amusement edged with irritation, although not at either of them. ‘What does she want now?’

John shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘Things to do with returning to court and crossing the sea. She’s not happy you gave your maids the slip.’

Jeanette rolled her eyes, knowing she would be lectured on her appearance, her deportment, her attitude. Walk don’t run. Think before you speak. Listen to your tutors and your elders. Don’t stare. Don’t be so forward. Remember the duty to your blood, and to your father’s memory. Remember you are royal. Every time she came home from court it was the same. She always hoped it would change, but it never did.

‘I wish I was going to Flanders.’ He was nine years old to her twelve, and eager for adventure.

Jeanette tossed her head, irritated by his envy. ‘You’ll be in Prince Edward’s household with your friends and training with weapons. You’ll be allowed to go riding and camping while I’ll be cooped up sewing with the women.’ All under the watchful gaze of the ladies of the court, including Katerine, Countess of Salisbury, who was her mother’s close friend and whom Jeanette heartily disliked.

‘But you will be crossing the sea on the King’s own ship and seeing new things!’

There was that, Jeanette conceded, although how much of Antwerp she would actually encounter was another matter. Queen Philippa was expecting her fourth child in the late autumn, and would keep to her chamber even if she did entertain guests. Opportunities to roam further afield would be few, unless they were clandestine – Jeanette had developed a certain expertise at absconding when driven by the desperation of boredom.

Sighing, she stood up and shook out her skirts. Grippe immediately sprang at her, leaving two perfect muddy paw-prints at knee-height on the pale rose velvet.

‘Hah, you’re in trouble now.’ John grinned, although without malice.

‘When am I not in trouble with Mama?’ Jeanette said impatiently, and with a sinking stomach, turned back to the castle.

John darted in front of her and practised running backwards. ‘She’s proud of us and scared for us – that’s all. She wants us to do well.’

‘Then she will forever want, because I always disappoint her.’

‘She’s just worried about you.’

Jeanette eyed his earnest, bright face and shook her head. Perhaps their father’s execution ten days before his birth, and the uncertainty and hardship of house arrest in the months afterwards, had imprinted upon his being and given him a different insight. As far as Jeanette was concerned, her mother’s worry was all about the family lineage and reputation, not her daughter’s well-being.

Jeanette often imagined herself as a caged hawk, eager to fly but thwarted by the conventions of her sex and the expectations of her rank as the daughter of a prince and cousin to the King. Next thing they’d be marrying her off to some flabby old baron as a sweetener to a peace treaty or a pact of war. She knew how it worked and wanted no part of it.

On her return from court a fortnight ago, she had been desperate to run to her mother, hug her warmly and be hugged in return, to have that contact and acceptance, but the moment had been as stilted as usual. Her mother’s embrace had been brief, her fingers hard and thin, patting Jeanette’s back, her kiss a cool peck, before she remarked how much Jeanette had grown and would need money for new gowns. In the next breath she had been asking how her lessons were progressing. It was about appearance and achievement, nothing of the heart.

Stiff with apprehension, Jeanette beat at her stained skirts to no avail, tucked a wayward strand of thick blonde hair inside her coif, and approached her mother’s chamber.

Margaret Wake, Dowager Countess of Kent, widow of Edmund, Earl of Kent, uncle to the King, was poring over account ledgers with her clerk, two deep frown lines scored between her brows. Glancing up at Jeanette’s arrival, she pursed her lips, her taut expression more eloquent than words. She dismissed the clerk with a brisk command, and after he had bowed from the room and closed the door, she regarded the paw-prints smirching Jeanette’s velvet skirts and sighed.

‘It’s nothing,’ Jeanette said defensively. ‘They will brush out.’

‘It is not “nothing”,’ Margaret snapped. ‘That velvet cost seven shillings an ell. We are not made of money – and are those grass stains? For a certainty they will not brush out!’

Jeanette pressed her lips together and stared at her feet, feeling mutinous.

‘You must learn to be responsible for your possessions and your expenditure,’ Margaret said with exasperation. ‘You are of an age now to marry. Certain standards are expected of any bride that joins a family. I do not want to hang my head in shame at your behaviour. Your actions reflect on me, and also back to your father, God rest his soul.’

Jeanette blinked hard. She wanted to love the memory of her father, not have it used as a constant rod for her back. Her every action was measured against propriety these days. She had a vivid memory of playing at hobby horses with her brother and Prince Edward, and being told it was no longer seemly for her to straddle a pole – that she must be a lady, not a hoyden. Protests had been met with a day of bread and water, and the fierce, thin pain of a willow rod across the tender palms of her hands. It wasn’t fair; nothing was fair. And she certainly didn’t want to marry anyone.

‘You might have a position at court, but it costs silver from my coffers to equip you. That money is hard won by my toil, and not yours to fritter.’

Jeanette looked up. ‘I do not fritter!’

Margaret’s stare was relentless. ‘You would improve matters by not running wild with the dogs, letting them jump all over you, and by not riding through thickets, losing your headdress and tearing your sleeves. There is a difference between being lively and being wayward.’ Her mother’s frown deepened. ‘What am I to do with you? You pass the time of day with kitchen maids and servants as if it is an acceptable thing for a lady to do. Yesterday I found you sitting with the bee-keeper, licking honey from the comb and letting it drip all over your clothes.’

Jeanette jutted her chin. ‘I wanted to learn about the bees,’ she said. ‘A lady should know about such management.’

‘Do not be impertinent with me,’ Margaret said frostily. ‘You went out riding with your merlin earlier this week – astride, with only a single groom for company – the youngest one and no fit escort. Have you no sense of propriety? You are becoming a woman and it is neither safe nor respectable to behave in such a wise. In faith, daughter, you make my head ache. How is it that I can manage the affairs of an earldom and yet find it so difficult to deal with you?’

Jeanette sent her mother a resentful look. ‘I know what is set upon me, mother. I am good at my lessons. I can read anything you ask of me in French and English, and even Latin – anything – and understand it well. I know animal husbandry and estate management. I can curtsey to match any woman at court and play chess to rival any man. Why not praise me for those things?’ A lump was growing in her throat, tight and painful, attached to her heart. ‘I’ll never be good enough for you to accept me, will I?’

‘It is not a matter of being good enough,’ Margaret said, her knuckles blenching. ‘Until you heed the rules and boundaries of your sex and your position, all the learning in the world will avail you nothing.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘Why do you not understand? You are coming to womanhood and men are beginning to look at you in that light. It is not meet to smile at them and flirt, for it will encourage them to take liberties that will sully your reputation and mine.’

Jeanette folded her arms, pressing them around her body in a gesture of self-defence and defiance at the same time. There was nothing she could say or do when her mother was in this kind of mood. The words were like blows, and with each verbal slap she felt the sting and then the numbness.

Her mother sighed heavily. ‘My first husband died in battle, when I was little older than you are now,’ she said. ‘Your father was executed for alleged treason a few weeks before John was born. I was confined at Arundel under house arrest, not knowing what would become of us. You had to stand as godmother at John’s baptism because I had no one to turn to. I lost your brother Edmund when he was just five years old. What would have happened if I had spent my time in frivolity and running amok instead of doing my duty? Every day that dawned after your father’s death, every breath in my body, every heartbeat, I was engaged in a bitter fight for your inheritance. One day John will be Earl of Kent and he has a position with the King’s oldest son. You are being raised at court, in Queen Philippa’s household. You are the King’s cousin with a dowry of three thousand pounds to your name and that makes you a highly valuable marriage prize. You will not squander all my striving because you want to kick and rebel like a spoiled brat. People will look at you and see a girl who has been given too much liberty and has turned to wanton sin. Is that how you would repay your family? How can anyone take such wilful disobedience to their heart?’ Running out of breath, a pink tinge in her cheeks, Margaret pressed her hand to her throat.

The moment hung between mother and daughter like a bloody sword. Jeanette dropped her arms, and the tightness that she had been containing inside her chest surged painfully upwards. ‘Then do not love me, for I certainly do not love you!’ she cried. Spinning on her heel, she ran to the door, fumbled the latch, and fled the chamber, tear-blind, furious, distraught.

Jeanette paced her chamber, wiping her eyes with a piece of scrap linen and sniffing. The initial storm, verging on a tantrum of grief and rage, was spent, cried into her damp bed pillow, but tears kept leaking, and her throat was still tight. She had dragged off her headdress and her thick blonde plaits were messy with wisps of loose hair straggling free, and she was still wearing her smirched gown. If she was a hoyden, then so be it. She would show her mother! But she didn’t want it to be like this between them, and she felt horrible – sick and angry, and defiant.

She turned to the baggage bags and chests that were being readied for her return to court in the morning. Gowns and undergowns, shoes and two cloaks. Combs and veils. Cloths for her fluxes which had been coming regularly for six months now.

And the jewel box. It stood on the empty chest at the foot of her bed – a beautiful thing enamelled in blue and scarlet and gilded with gold. The finest work of Limoges craftsmen. In a moment of defiance, she had taken it from her mother’s chamber and brought it to her own, for it belonged to her by her father’s will. The father she had known but could not remember because he had been executed when she had been too small to have such cognition. But this – this box – at least was tangible.

She unlocked it with the golden key, also purloined from her mother’s chamber, opened the lid, and gazed at the contents. Her father’s rings of ruby and emerald. A cross on a gold chain set with pearls and sapphires and crystals, various brooches, but most wonderful of all, a belt of embroidered gold silk, featuring an enamelled white doe on the buckle plate, with a crowned chain around the base of its neck. Jeanette had always loved this piece, and she stroked the image for a moment before restoring it gently to its designated place and closing the lid.

The door opened and her mother walked in. Her face too was blotched, but her eyes were bright, although that might be from the wine she always drank when she had one of her headaches.

Margaret’s gaze fell on the enamelled box in Jeanette’s hands. ‘What are you doing with that?’ she demanded.

Jeanette’s cheeks burned beneath her drying tears. ‘I am taking it with me. It’s mine!’

‘You took it from my coffer without permission – how dare you!’ Margaret snatched the box smartly from her hands. ‘This might be your father’s legacy to you, but they are part of the estate and not to be worn frivolously. They are jewels for a grown woman who has accepted responsibility and position. When the time is right, you shall have them, but that time is certainly not now.’ She opened the lid to inspect the contents and make sure they were all still present; then she snapped it shut and fixed Jeanette with a hard stare. ‘You may think me harsh, but when you show me you are trustworthy, then we shall discuss the matter. Your father would agree with me in this, I am certain he would, for I was his wife, and you might be his child but you were barely in the world when he died – and that is my grief as much as it is yours.’

This time she was the one to leave the room, holding the box to her breast in a way that she had never held her daughter.

Empty now of tears, Jeanette turned to the waiting baggage chests and wished she was already on the road.

The next morning, Jeanette was ready soon after daybreak to set out on the return journey to court. She had an escort of two stalwart men at arms, her personal maid, Hawise, and a staid, middle-aged groom for the horses. The sunlit morning beckoned, drenched with all manner of possibilities as soon as she was out of these gates and away from her mother’s scrutiny. The bridle bells jingled as her black mare tossed her head, as eager to be off as her mistress.

‘Write to me, as I shall write to you,’ Margaret said stiffly. ‘I shall keep you in my prayers.’

‘Yes, mother.’ The words were easier to say from Ebony’s back. They had barely spoken since the jewel-box incident. ‘I will pray for you too.’ The words sounded more like a retort than a beneficence.

‘Remember your family,’ Margaret said. ‘Remember your lineage, and be humble before God.’ She folded her arms inside her cloak.

Jeanette’s brother lightened the moment with a gift, his grey eyes bright as he handed up a linen cloth, tied at the top in a rabbit’s ear knot. ‘Almond tarts for the journey,’ he said. ‘Don’t eat them all at once or you’ll get fat.’

Jeanette laughed. ‘As if I would!’

‘Hah, as if you would not!’

She made a face at him, but his gesture had lifted her mood. ‘Be a good boy,’ she said. ‘Look after Grippe – talk to him about me every day – I don’t want him to forget me while I’m gone. And tell Edward I shall miss him!’

‘My word on it, sister.’ He stooped to pat the dog leashed at his side. ‘Grippe will be waiting your return to muddy your dress again. And I promise I’ll remember you to the Prince. Come back safely.’

Smiling through a sudden sting of tears, she blew a kiss to him and Grippe, nodded brusquely to her mother, and reined Ebony to face the castle’s open gates and the road back to court.



‘You’re being watched,’ Otto warned his brother.

Thomas Holland looked up from securely stowing his baggage pack and cast a glance over his shoulder at the group of ladies who had recently joined the cog bobbing at anchor, awaiting the tide. The King was still ashore talking to a group of nobles, with Queen Philippa roundly pregnant at his side, but some of the ladies had been sent aboard to ready her quarters for the journey, including the girls and young women who were royal wards of her household, and the two little princesses, Isabelle and Joan, aged six and four.

Thomas was more concerned with seeing to the safety of equipment than paying attention to the women’s flurry. He preferred to keep his distance, although the green livery of a household knight was a beacon when it came to being recruited to perform little tasks by the more formidable ladies in the Queen’s entourage. They seemed to think that when not on active military duty, the King’s knights existed to attend their every whim.

A party of older girls, flighty with excitement at the prospect of a sea voyage, stood in a giggling huddle. One in particular had fixed her gaze on him. She was tall and willowy, with a coil of plaited hair in mingled tones of honey, cream and gold. When he met her stare, she held the contact for a long moment, before looking down, a smile curling her lips.

‘Be wary of that one,’ Otto warned, his tone amused but pointed. ‘She’s after you.’

Thomas shook his head, smiling, but unsettled by the girl’s candid regard. He resumed his own concerns, but remained aware of her scrutiny. If she was with the royal party and among the Queen’s women, then she was of high status, and therefore a dangerous prospect. More giggles flurried his way, and a louder shriek of laughter, followed by a sharp rebuke from one of the older ladies that resulted in semi-silence, punctuated by muffled titters.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to play with fire,’ he said. ‘There will be plenty of women in Antwerp without becoming embroiled with one of the royal wards.’

‘Henry says he knows a drinking house where they will take out their combs for three groats.’ Otto nodded at one of the other young knights, currently out of earshot. ‘Imagine lying with a woman with her hair down and her legs up round your waist.’

Thomas could more than imagine. He had enjoyed several such encounters on the recent Scottish campaign, including one in Berwick that still gave him sinful dreams. Otto hadn’t been with him then. ‘Best keep your mind above your balls until we get there,’ he said, and nodded towards the gangway. ‘Here are the King and Queen.’

At Lady Katerine’s sharp rebuke, Jeanette tore her gaze from the handsome, raven-haired knight. Her stomach was fluttering and she felt the urge to giggle even more and had to clap her hand over her mouth.

She was saved from herself by a fanfare of trumpets as King Edward and Queen Philippa boarded the cog with the rest of the Queen’s entourage. Jeanette dropped in a deep curtsey, her skirts creating a pool of tawny silk on the decking. She dared an upwards glance. The royal couple wore garments dripping with jewels and embroidery. The Queen’s gown was loosely cut to encompass her pregnancy and she walked with care, but she had a smile for everyone and an adoring look for her tall husband with his straight, fierce nose and keen blue eyes.

A cushioned, luxurious shelter awaited her behind the mast, protected from the wind and waves by a decorated canvas cover. Once she had been escorted within and settled in comfort, the King kissed her hands and departed to his own ship, for it was unwise for them both to embark on the same vessel, even if the weather was set fair and the voyage only a day and night’s sail. Their son and heir, ten-year-old Edward, was remaining behind as a ruling figurehead guided by counsellors until their return.

Jeanette was delighted that the knight she had been admiring was staying aboard their own cog as part of the Queen’s guard. Several other girls were eyeing him too, whispering behind their hands while the older women were distracted seeing to their royal mistress.

Beneath Jeanette’s feet the cog shuddered as the crew loosed her mooring ropes and raised her anchor. Like a horse released from its halter, the ship bucked and pranced on the tidal drag. The Queen’s chaplain stood at the prow, voice and staff raised in blessing, exhorting God to grant them a safe, swift passage.

Jeanette crossed her breast and momentarily forgot the knight as she absorbed the new experience of leaving dry land. A stiff breeze blew a belly into the striped sail, turning it into an ale-drinker’s paunch, and above it at the pinnacle the lions of England rippled out, fierce gold, tongued with long red streamers. The waves slapped beneath the cog’s strakes and burst white spume against her sides.

Jeanette detached herself from her companions, suddenly irritated by their laughter and shrieks as the cog bowed to the waves. Going to stand at the side on the upper deck, she watched the vista change as they furrowed through the greater waves of the open sea. She didn’t want to be confined inside the deck shelter with the other ladies. She could sit on a footstool and gossip any time, but this was her first sea crossing and the experience tugged at her soul. She wanted to remember this for the rest of her life.

The port shrank to a vista of tiny buildings standing on a hemmed colour block of ruffled blue and green. Jeanette lifted her face to the wind. This was what it was. This was how it felt. Absorbing every sensation through her young body, she relished the moment and laughed with joy when a larger wave buffeted the ship, sending up a sparkle of silver spray. The horse was energetic now, eager to chase. When her friend Joan summoned her to eat and drink with the others, she didn’t want to leave her position, but obeyed rather than face a reprimand. Once she had made an appearance and behaved meekly, she could escape again to her wave-watching.

She curtseyed to the Queen, to Lady Katerine, Countess of Salisbury, and to Mistress St Maur who had overall responsibility for the royal wards. Supposedly, eating dry bread would stave off the mal de mer as they sailed into heavier seas. Jeanette had noticed some of the ladies looking peaky, but her own stomach growled with hunger and she had to stop herself from wolfing her portion lest she attract censure. Nibbling daintily, she concealed her exuberance, and eventually, when everyone had finished, offered to throw the crumbs overboard.

‘Let the servants do that,’ Katerine said sharply. ‘It is not your place.’

‘Oh, leave her, Kate,’ the Queen intervened, smiling at Jeanette with a sparkle in her eyes and handing over her own napkin. ‘Do not throw into the wind, or it will blow back upon you.’

‘No, madam.’ Jeanette curtseyed, flashed Katerine a triumphant glance, and returned to the ship’s side. Mindful of Queen Philippa’s warning, she made sure to shake the cloths in the right direction. Now she truly had cast bread upon the waters.

In the corner of her eye she saw Lady Katerine beckoning her to return and considered ignoring her, but eventually complied because it wasn’t worth the scolding she would receive otherwise. As she turned, a boisterous wave smacked the ship’s prow. Caught off balance, she staggered, and would have fallen except for the support of a firm hand under her elbow.

‘Steady, demoiselle,’ said the raven-haired knight. ‘It takes a while to acquire sea-legs.’

His eyes were a rich peat-brown and his smile sent a lightning jolt through her body. ‘I am all right,’ she replied, flustered but determined to recover her dignity.

He released his grip and bowed, and when he stood straight, his expression was full of indulgent humour. Jeanette swept him a haughty look, and with head high, returned to the ladies, although inside she was quivering. A swift backwards glance revealed that he had turned away and was already going about his business.

‘Come and sit by me,’ Katerine instructed. ‘It is unseemly to go wandering about the ship bothering others.’

‘I stumbled, that is all,’ Jeanette defended herself. ‘I wasn’t “wandering” and I wasn’t bothering anyone.’

‘No, but you lingered when you should have returned immediately. You must learn decorum.’

Jeanette puffed out her cheeks to show what she thought and received a prim glare.

Queen Philippa called for one of her ladies, Petronella, to read from a book of romances – an Arthurian tale of a grand tournament held to find the most valiant and chivalrous warrior in the land. As Jeanette listened, her imagination made the hero into the knight who had caught her arm to steady her, and her heart filled with a hollow yearning.

The wind freshened and the motion of the ship became frisky as they approached the mid-crossing. Jeanette listened to the creak of the ropes and timbers, the shouts of the sailors, and wished she could run up the rigging to the lookout platform where the banner flew. Lady Katerine started to turn green and had to go and lie down. Unaffected, Jeanette turned to her friend Joan Bredon, who was two years older than she was and knew a great deal about everything, and enquired nonchalantly about the knights sailing with them.

‘I know the one you are really asking about,’ Joan said, not in the least fooled, and shook her head as Jeanette started to protest. ‘You would be wise to leave him well alone.’

‘If you know his reputation, then you must know his name,’ Jeanette persisted.

Joan rolled her eyes. ‘If you have to be curious, he is Thomas Holland, one of the sons of Robert Holland of Thorpe. The fairer one with him is his brother, Otto.’

‘Why would it be wise to leave him alo