Jehanne Plantagenet

I, Abbess of the Nunnery of St. Bertha, which lieth quietly among the Surrey holmes, am much given to this art of writing, new to women. Sith in my time I have written of dogs, hawks and forestry and tricked out the same with broad and good emblazons of colour, to the glory of God and England.

Now, on fair new parchments scented with the herbs which grow in the convent garden I will write of Jehanne Plantagenet, who was the daughter of our late Lord, Edward, King of England and France.

This King had eight sons and four daughters–Isabeau, Duchess of Bedford; Mary, Duchess of Bretagne; Margaret, Countess of Pembroke, and Jehanne, who died unmarried and whom I loved exceedingly.

She was even more goodly to look upon than her sisters and of a great debonnair gentleness in her manners, tall with eyen gray as glass and hair of a rippling gold.

She was very learned in her devotions and charitable to the poor, having learnt these virtues from her mother, Philippa.

And she was able with her loom to form noble pictures of hunts and jousts and saints in fair colours of blue and red and green, with flowers on the grass and birds in the trees so that they were the wonder of all who beheld them; and her brother, the Prince Johan, had a saddle-cloth she had woven with his armories, Richmond, Lancastre, Aquitaine and Lincoln, mingled with the Leopards of England, which was the marvel of the Spanish Knights when he went with Edward of Wales and Counciell into Spain to fight the Free Companies under the Sire Du Guesclin for the sake of Don Pedro, called Justicar by his people.

It is about this time I would write; this Don Pedro was cast from his throne by Don Enrique of Trastamare, his half-brother, who was aided by the French Free Companies that were lured out of France, where they did much mischief, by the King of that country, Charles, to plunder and despoil Spain.

Now, Pedro and his two daughters, Constantia and Isabeau, fled to Bordeaux, where our Princes were, and besought their protection, which was given right gladly.

And the English made march through Spain with thirty thousand men, and there was a cruel skirmish at Nafara in the spring season, 1367, and it ended in the discomfiture of Enrique and the French, and a right evil day for them, for the English went a-chasing of them and slew them to a goodly number and set on the throne again Sir Pedro of Burgundy.

This was a well foughten battle, and one that gave great renown to our valiant English Knights, who did acquit themselves with much hardiness and caused the Knights of Spain to recule before them in such wise that there was no getting them to another battle.

And this was the conquest of Spayne; now I will tell you of London and of Jehanne Plantagenet whose dame I was.

When came the news of the victory she was very joyous, and took me out with her on to the ramparts beyond the Chepe and the Church of the blessed Saint Paul, where the hawthorn and the eglantine that hath such a sharp sweet smell was burgeoning.

And with her were other maidens who had Knights at the wars, either in Spayne or Almaine or with King Wencelaus, and she questioned them of their lovers and spoke of Sir Johan Chandos in pleasant seeming, and of Sir Bertram Du Guesclin, who was made prisoner, and she spoke of her brother’s banners and how all had fallen back before them, and she gave their cry, “St. George, Gayonne!” in a laughing voice, across the fields.

Presently she made wreaths of daisies and cast them down a swift-running stream and watched them go, joyously; and still she spoke of the English and how they had held their Easter in the city of Burgos.

So I had great marvel to find her the day after, pensive in the window, with a sad air, and I asked her ailment, but with no manner of success; she put me by courteously and kept her counsel.

And I who held her in such worship could in no wise pleasure her, even by speaking of the adventures in Spayne and her dear brothers, Edward, Lyon, Edmund and Johan, for she saddened from day to day, and in the night made lamentable sorrows which she would give no reason for, and so from the blithest damosel of the court she was like to become the saddest.

And it fortuned that I discovered the cause, for I heard that our lord the King was to conclude a marriage between this princess and King Don Pedro of Castile, so to make sure the pact between them; certainly I believed this was why she was so downcast, for she would not leave England; yet I had marvel at it, for he of Spayne was a gentle knight and well renouned then, though afterwards dishonoured.

Then the King bid her to him, and in the name of love and lineage commanded her to this match, and she durst not deny him, but afterwards she came to me and drew me into a window above the river and spoke to me.

“Dame,” she said, “I am to wed the King of Spayne.”

And she took her face in her two hands right mournfully.

Then I advised me well and answered–

“He is a very mighty King and companion at war to your two noble brothers.”

“Dame,” she said, “I shall not go to Spayne.” And with great gentleness she sighed.

Now, it was Sunday evening and a great press of clouds about the sun, all red and violet, and in the water also these colours and the bridge white in the glowing brightness, and I looked out on these things as I answered–

“Ye must do your devoir to your father.” And Jehanne Plantagenet made reply–

“Yea, I will do my devoir, please God, but I shall not go to Spayne.”

And she lifted her head to aview the sunset, and we heard the sowning of the trumpets as the companies of the King’s archers came into the yard.

Then she took my hands and said–

“Dame Alys, give me leave and I will this day tell you something–and something heavy withal.”

I had great joy and honour in her amours, and I answered her–

“Behold my heart is as your own.”

Whereat she kissed me and said, “Ye shall hear.” And her eyes were troublous of grief as she spoke.

“Truly,” she said, “when I go to bed right doleful and weary of heart, one comes and parts the curtains and stands looking at me, and it is a lady in a gown of samite with a crown on her hair and rings on her hands, and she looks at me mournfully and as one who would give me warning.”

Then I was amazed, and made reply: “I desire you by the love of God to tell me who this lady is.”

Then said Jehanne Plantagenet–

“I think it is Blaunche of France, who was first wife to this Don Pedro, and is now in Heaven.”

“Surely,” I said, “this cannot be. Wherefor should she give you warning?”

“Sith you ask me,” said Jehanne Plantagenet, “I believe she gives me warning that I am to marry a right dishonourable and ungentle Knight and one that would slay me even as he slew her.”

Thereon I, right affrighted, bade her speak words of good cheer, for this was a grievous thing she said, and one not for credence that the King Don Pedro had slain Queen Blaunche.

But the Princess was sure of it, for she vowed the vision came as a warning.

“And I,” she said, “sith I would rather die in Westminster than live in Spayne, will not have this marriage.”

Then was I blithe to tell her of the great feastings there would be for her wedding, both in this realm and in Spayne, and how she would be a Queen and have her own court; howbeit, she put it all by.

“Dame Alys,” she said, “say no more, for I have such a love for another man that I may not bear to leave the place where he is.” Then a two times she gave a little sigh, and I was sore amazed.

“Dear lady,” I said, “Who is he?”

She answered me. “A man of war, one of the divers captains of the King’s archers, and I have such a puissant affection for him that I could not turn to any other.”

There was a while stillness and one without touched the dulcimere, and I heard the bells ringing from the Abbey of St. Peter, and the sun was almost set.

Then Jehanne Plantagenet kneeled down to me.

“Peradventure you will be good to me,” and she laid hold of my hands. “This Knight’s name is Sir Paon de Brambre, and I have never spoken to him all my life, though every day I see him and he loves me well. Now I have prayed Christ and Mary to save my soul alive, and I think to-night I shall go with my lady Blaunche, but first I would speak to this Knight I love so well.”

All this she said right graciously, but I wept for ruth while she spoke again.

“Dame Alys, get me this knight here into my chamber after supper that I may take leave of him, let him come in full armour with his shield.”

And though I broke my devoir I let it be established between us that I would bring this captain, and afterwards I found him in a study in the garden and gave him my message, whereat he went right pale.

Now, when I returned to the chamber of Jehanne I found she had lit it full of fair wax candles and was seated on the dais clad in a red gown of Damascus richly besewn; and she looked pale and thin, yet joyous, and bade me beside her until I was to let in secretly the Knight Sir Paon, which I did presently.

And he was all armed save he carried his bassenet; on his arm was a long-pointed shield painted with his armory, and his face was wasted and sad and his eyen blue as Thames water.

Right within the door he went on his knees and folded his hands with never a word.

And from the dais at the other end of the chamber Jehanne Plantagenet looked at him and said a-high–

“Sir, in God’s name, tell me if you have a great love for me?”

And he a little changed countenance and bent his head very slowly.

“God hath holpen me to this moment,” he said, “but He cannot put it into my mouth to say how much I love you.”

“Sir,” she answered him, “ye may always have me for your lady, and though ye are not rich in goods or heritage ye shall be rich in this that she, who was a King’s daughter, loved you exceedingly, and I think you will be a worthy Knight and one full of honours, and when you have a wife I pray you tell her of me and let her be a fair woman, but as for me I am contracted to a villain knight in the name of love and lineage, and yet will not marry him and yet will do my devoir.”

Then Sir Paon shook in his harness, and I had great pity of his dolours.

“Fair sir, recomfort yourself,” said Jehanne, “I have lived gaily and shall die loyal. See you these candles, ten for the ten commandments whole and unbroken, seven for the seven works of charity and the seven deadly sins, five for the Five Wounds and the five senses, three for the Trinity. Now when I am dead and ye see these burning about my tomb and the poor people saying prayers for my soul, I beseech that you shall add a taper to my memory.”

And the water washed his eyen and he could not speak.

“As I so greatly loved this goodly town of London,” said Jehanne, “ye, living here, shall think of me, even at the time of the jousts and the great feasts, Easter, Christmas and the Holy Trinity, and remember I ever loved you the alder-beste of all in the world.”

And Sir Paon was sore discomfited that she should talk of death, and she came down from the dais.

“Truly,” she said, “this world is nothing and love is a great deal, and it matters not at all if we be dead or alive if we love–one another.”

Then fair and softly she bent a little towards him and held out her hand, and he took it as if it had been God His robe and pressed his tears upon it, but she the while was smiling.

And so they parted, and he went his way and Jehanne kissed me on the brow and said prayers before the candles, and then to bed silently.

And I had great ruth of all I had seen that night and for the dolorous sorrows of these two, and I wished that two that so loved might have been mated.

So I lay awake listening to the bells and the throstle that now and again moved in the orchard boughs as it came to the dawning. And presently I heard sweet words that came from the chamber of Jehanne Plantagenet.

“Lady Blaunche, Lady Blaunche, have you come for me?”

Then I advised with myself well and was very afraid and sat up in bed, but could by no means speak.

For a long while it was silent, and I rose at last and went into the inner chamber, and it was cool with an Eastern light.

And Jehanne Plantagenet was lying out with the chequered curtains of blue and white withdrawn from her visage and the clothes of the bed straight over her and no breath at all in her body.

Round her were burning the candles of fair and pure wax, and she was surely dead.

And because I felt there were Heavenly Spirits in the room I kneeled me down, and these two princesses, Jehanne Plantagenet and Blaunche of France, went hand in hand across the orchards to Paradise.

She was carried through the city she loved with her visage open and her head on a white cushion and buried in a painted tomb behind the High Altar of St. Paul’s Church, and Don Pedro was slain by Don Enrique not long after, and I kept my peace.

Now Sir Paon de Brambre went to Almaine and died fighting.…