Then, her duty as hostess done, she turned to Bolingbroke, who stood to one side of King John, and greeted him with first a curtsey and then, formalities taken care of, with an embrace of genuine warmth.
Thomas, still standing by the railing of the deck, watched, his face quiet.
Bolingbroke’s mother, the Lady Blanche, had died when he was a toddler, and his father’s mistress then became his surrogate mother. Although Lancaster had married again, to Constance of Castile, Hal’s stepmother had rarely lived in England, and, on those occasions when she did, showed her young stepson nothing but a cold and distant face. Thomas had only met her once, but Bolingbroke had spoken often of her, and Thomas idly wondered that Lancaster had managed to get two daughters on the woman. Thomas had years ago decided that Lancaster had an unusually high tolerance to frostiness.
Now Katherine turned to greet Gloucester, her manner more reserved in the face of his loss.
And then …
… then Katherine turned, lifted up her face, and saw Thomas.
For an instant her face, still beauteous despite her years, remained expressionless, then she lifted the corners of her mouth in a sweet smile of genuine warmth.
“Thomas!” she called, lifting both hands and shifting her feet a little in excitement.
“Thomas!”
Thomas could not help but return her smile. As Katherine had been a surrogate mother to Bolingbroke, she had been the same to him. Thomas’ parents had died when he was young, caught in the same returning outbreak of pestilence that had killed the Lady Blanche. Raby’s first wife, his aunt, had been too busy with her own brood to spend much time with Thomas and, as he’d spent the greater portion of his youth with Bolingbroke, Katherine had stepped into the role of mother with as much genuine warmth and care as she’d extended to Bolingbroke.
She was riven with sin, for she had fornicated with Lancaster for many years and had born him two bastard children, but Thomas still loved her, and could understand why Lancaster had never given her up and now, if what Margaret said was true,
intended to make her his wife.
He waved, and moved down the deck, walking smoothly through the crowds of disembarking passengers as well as servants who had come on board to assist in unloading supplies and baggage, then hurrying down to where Katherine waited.
She hesitated as he reached her. “I do not know if I should embrace a priest,” she said, her smile now uncertain, then her eyes lit mischievously, and she leaned forward, putting her hands on Thomas’ shoulders and kissing him softly on his cheek.
“I have not seen you for some six years,” she said, leaning back. “You left with Hal to play at some tournament, and you never returned. I mourned you as if you were dead.” “Madam, you cannot infer that entering holy orders equates with death.”
“No? I lost you that day, Thomas. We all did. But,” she paused to smile a little, “I am glad you are now home, even if so dismally garbed.”
Thomas’ face hardened, feeling keenly her implied criticism of his decision to join the Dominicans. “You should rejoice, madam, for I have left the world of man to serve God.”
Her eyes searched his face. “I would rejoice, Thomas, if I felt that love of God had led you to that decision. But regret and guilt do not make good fuel to fire a lifetime of service to God… do they?”
She had now referred to the unmentionable, Alice’s death, the incident that had driven Thomas into the Church in the first instance, and now he drew back from her, stiff and cold. He would feel no guild Hadn’t St. Michael absolved him? Hadn’t he said he’d acted aright?
“Thomas,” Katherine said instantly. “I spoke thoughtlessly and now I must beg your forgiveness. I have been a poor hostess and an unthinking friend.”
“My decision to take holy orders must have been seen by many to be—”
“Thomas, we will not speak of it. Not now, not today.” Katherine’s face brightened. “Why, today I have my lord home with me, and Hal, and you! This is a time for rejoicing, for my family is together for Christmastide. Ah,” she turned as a servant spoke swiftly in her ear, “I must be off, there is so much to be attended.
Tom, will you join us in my lord’s private apartments this evening? There will be no formal reception for his grace the king until the morrow, and this evening we will be permitted to relax and laugh as old friends. Come, say you will join us.”
She took his hands and laughed merrily. “Yes? Ah, Tom, you make me a contented woman.'”
And then she was gone, back through the throng to Lancaster’s side, and thence to escort King John to the apartments that had been set aside for him.
Thomas glanced up at the formidable fortifications about the Savoy palace. It was no wonder that the French king would sojourn here during his captivity. The Westminster palace complex where King Edward lived was not so secure and the Tower not so commodious.
King John was to be treated as a guest, not a prisoner.
Lancaster’s chamberlain, a man by the name of Simon Kebell, appeared at Thomas’ side.
“Brother Thomas, it does my old eyes good to regard you again: I greet you well.
My Lord of Lancaster tells me you are to be accommodated within the main apartment complex. Look,” Kebell’s hand reached out into the crowd and snatched at a passing valet, “Robert will accompany you to your chamber.”
THE SAVOY palace was one of the wonders of London, and certainly constituted its most luxurious private dwelling. Although its heart was the traditional hall, a massive and grand chamber where all formal meals, audiences and entertainments were held, it also had a large number of private apartments and rooms, so that Lancaster and his family, as well as their most favored guests, could retire to a more informal and comfortable privacy. Not even King Edward enjoyed such comforts in his palace at Westminster. The Painted Chamber, one of the three main halls of Westminster’s palace complex, was not only the place where Edward conducted all audiences and banquets, he also slept there, his bed being curtained off at one end of the hall. Privacy was not a luxury the English kings enjoyed.
Lancaster not only had luxurious privacy and a grand hall to frame his magnificence and wealth, he also enjoyed all the accoutrements of power normally only commanded by monarchs. But then, by virtue of his marriage to Constance, Lancaster was a king (if only titular, now that Constance was dead… her death rumored to have been caused by a severe chill brought on by her personality), and by virtue of the lands and properties he owned about not only his native land but also the continent, he was the richest—and thus the most powerful— private individual in England. At any given time he commanded more wealth and could raise more fighting men than could his father, the king.
It was highly significant that King John was to be held in custody (if such a luxurious sojourn could be equated with custody) at the Savoy Palace under the protection of Lancaster. Even far to the north of England, where Thomas had resided in his home friary of Durham before leaving for Rome, there had been rumors that King Edward’s mind had softened with his years and, as the Black Prince was so often away (and now increasingly ill, Thomas added to himself), John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, was the effective King of England.
Thomas turned away from the window where he had been watching the continued activity in the courtyard as horses, equipment and baggage were still being unloaded and studied his chamber anew. It was small and barely furnished, almost a cell.
There was a stool, a small chest in which to stow his belongings (and they were not great: a spare robe, some underclothes and a small, unadorned, but highly cherished book of prayers) and a plain wooden bed to sleep on, and not even a fireplace for warmth. Nevertheless, it was private, something Thomas had not truly expected.
Well, that was all to the good, because he could spend his privacy well in prayer.
He sighed. He was back in England, and another portion of his journey done, but there was yet more to be accomplished. Thomas doubted he would be able to leave London before the Christmas celebrations were done, and that might be a delay of some two or three weeks. And then there was the Prior General to consider. Had he
heard that Thomas was traveling with Lancaster’s party? Was the grim-faced man even now riding his mule south from Oxford?
Richard Thorseby had the power to completely sabotage Thomas’ plans to move north to Bramham friary where, Thomas prayed daily to God, Wynkyn de Worde’s casket still rested undisturbed in some undercroft, and only Lancaster had the power to protect Thomas from the Prior General.