‘Now you are home I shall look after you,’ she announced. ‘There shall be no more going off to battle until you are well.’
The Prince smiled at her fondly. Joan had never behaved in a royal manner. She was a woman who would go her own way. It was a relief to know that she was there and that he could comfortably allow her to tell him what must be done until he was ready to go off again.
He should retire to his bed, said Joan. No, she would hear no protests. She knew the very posset to cure him. At least they must be thankful that this wretched matter was at an end. It had been a folly from the start to finish.
His servants smiled to see the great Black Prince ordered by his wife but they knew his nature. If he had made up his mind at that moment to leave the castle and take up arms no one – not even the masterful Joan – would have been able to stop him.
‘You should have been a commander in my armies, Jeanette,’ he told her fondly.
‘My lord, I am the commander in our castle.’
That made him smile.
‘I am happy to be home with you and the children,’ he told her.
‘Then you must prove your words by not going off again to fight senseless battles for ungrateful people.’
‘A waste, Jeanette … a waste of blood and money …’
‘And squandering of health. But enough of that. I’ll soon have you well again.’
She kept him to his bed and none might see him without her permission. The Prince was happy to lie back comfortably and allow her to rule him. The comfort of his bed, the assurance of her devotion, these were what he needed.
A ruler must have his failures, and what seemed the greatest triumph could in time be seen to have been an empty victory. So with Nájara.
Joan was right. If she had her way, there would be no battles. She would say: ‘You are the King’s eldest son. One day England will be yours and our little Edward will follow you. Be content with that. In any case it is one man’s work to govern England.’
His mother had felt the same, only she did not say it as forcefully as Joan did. He was sure that John’s wife Blanche would have agreed with them. It was a woman’s outlook.
There were times like this when he wondered whether they were right. How far had they advanced with the war in France? How much nearer to the French crown was his father than when the whole matter had started?
No farther after years of struggle, bloodshed and squandering of treasure! And if this ambition had never come to his father, if he had never decided that he had a claim to the crown of France …
This was no way for a soldier to think, particularly one who was reckoned to be the greatest soldier in Christendom. Jeanette’s influence, he thought wryly.
And there she was standing by his bed with yet another of her potions.
‘I believe you are a witch,’ he said. ‘You want to keep me to my bed so that I can never leave you.’
Joan laughed. She had the gayest laughter he had ever heard.
‘You put ideas into my head, my Prince. Ever since the day I forced you to marry me I have been wondering how I could keep you at my side.’
‘Jeanette,’ he said softly. ‘Oh Jeanette, did you have to use much force?’
‘You know full well,’ she retorted. ‘We could have been married years ago but for you.’
‘You were dallying with Salisbury and Holland then.’
‘Only in the hope of arousing some jealousy in your sluggish breast.’
‘Was that indeed the truth?’
‘You know it. You were for me and I for you but I could not ask you, could I? Some foolish law says that it is the man who must ask for the hand of the lady not she for his. It is a law that should be changed. When you are King, my love, that must be your first consideration.’
‘I doubt my parliament would be much impressed with my rule. Moreover there are women who decide to take matters into their own hands no matter what the custom.’
‘Some have that wit and boldness.’
‘Like my own Jeanette.’
‘You were cruel to attempt to persuade me to take that man de Brocas.’
‘I never meant you to.’
‘In your cowardly way you forced me to tell you I would marry no one but the greatest knight in the world and there was no doubt who that was, was there? My lord, I know your courage is great on the battlefield but you were a coward in very truth when it came to the lists of love.’
‘My Jeanette, I never thought you would look my way.’
‘As my eyes were fixed in your direction for many years that is a poor excuse. But no matter, thanks to your resourceful wife the matter was solved, though belatedly, and now you have at last – through none of your own effort – been brought to where you belong … and that, my lord, is in my care.’
‘God bless you, Jeanette,’ he said. ‘Often I thank Him for you.’
‘And I thank Him for you,’ she replied more soberly. She went on briskly, ‘The task of the moment is to have you well again and I warn you, my Prince, that you are not leaving this roof until you are.’
‘I would I could stay with you every day of my life.’
‘Untrue,’ she said. ‘You are a soldier … the greatest in the world they tell me. You long to lead your men into battle. It is in your blood. But not when you are sick. That is when I take command.’
‘As you say, my general. Tell me what has been happening here in Bordeaux?’
‘Pedro’s girls are still here.’
‘Constanza and Isabella. What will become of them?’
‘Constanza has become a rather ambitious girl for as you know, since the death of her sister Beatrice she has become the elder and the heiress to the throne. Now do not look excited! I have made up my mind that whatever grows out of this, Constanza is going to fight her own battles. Now, a happier subject and one which is really our concern. Your sons are clamouring to see you. “Where is our father?” they constantly ask. When I tell them that you are resting after the battle they cannot believe that you would need to rest. I am going to bring them to see you. Lie still and they shall come to your chamber.’
‘Jeanette.’ He caught her hand. ‘I like it not that they should see me thus.’
‘They will not know how ill you are. I have promised them they shall come. I will bring them myself.’
In a few moments she had returned, a boy on either side of her.
Edward the elder was about six years old, Richard three years younger.
Edward tore his hand from his mother’s and ran to his father, climbing on to the bed and embracing him.
‘My son, my son …’ The Prince looked at the eager little face glowing with health and high spirits. ‘Would you throttle me then?’
‘No,’ cried Edward, ‘only love you.’
‘And how are you, my son? How have you been faring? Tell me how far can you shoot an arrow … I hear good news from your horsemaster.’
‘I am very good, Father. I have to be because I am the son of the Black Prince. That’s you,’ he added almost conspiratorially. ‘And did you know you are the greatest soldier the world has ever known?’
‘That’s what they tell you, is it?’
Edward nodded vigorously and Joan said: ‘Richard is here, too.’
She brought the younger boy forward. He did not look as robust as his brother although he was tall for his age – in fact almost as tall as his brother. His long fair curls shaded a face which was almost feminine in its beauty. Young Richard had all the good looks of his Plantagenet ancestors, but he certainly lacked that sturdiness which Edward had undoubtedly inherited.