Epitaph for Three Women

Chapter I THE WELSH SQUIRE

WHEN her brother-in-law came to tell Katherine that the King was dead, she could not believe him. Not Henry, not the mighty conqueror of her country, not the lover, husband and father of her child.

She stared at him incredulously, shaking her head. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘No. It cannot be so.’

John, the great Duke of Bedford, who had loved his brother Henry well and had always declared it was his dearest wish to serve him with all his might, and had indeed proved that this was so, now regarded her with melancholy eyes.

‘His last thoughts were for you,’ he told her. ‘“Comfort my dear wife,” he said. “This day she will be the most afflicted creature living.”’

She continued to stare at him with disbelieving eyes.

She murmured: ‘He was a little sick … yes … But death …! Oh no … not that.’

‘He should have rested. He insisted on going to Burgundy’s aid.’

Anger showed in her eyes, momentarily subduing her grief. All her life had been overshadowed by the conflict between Burgundy and Orléans. And once again it was Burgundy.

‘You knew him as I did,’ went on the Duke. ‘He would never rest while there was a battle to be fought.’

She murmured quietly: ‘England … France … my son … What shall we do now?’

The Duke laid his hands on her shoulders and drawing her to him gently kissed her brow.

‘It is for God to decide,’ he said.

And because he knew there was nothing else he could do to comfort her he called one of her women to him.

‘Leave her with her grief,’ he said. ‘But be prepared. It will be terrible when she realises what this means.’

So he was dead, the seemingly invincible Harry, the very mention of whose name had struck terror into the French. Since his coming to the throne he had left his dissolute life behind him and had devoted himself to winning the crown of France. He had been tall, handsome, virile, active yet gentle and just in his dealings save when his anger was aroused. Then men compared him with a lion. He was a man who refused to see failure and forever after when men spoke of him they would think of Agincourt, that famous battle into which he led his men with all the fire and confidence of a conqueror so that his tiny army, depleted by sickness, had faced the might of France and won a resounding victory. It had been a more than victorious battle for it heralded the end of the war which had been going on since the days when Edward III decided that he had a claim to France.

And just as the great warrior was about to accept the fruits of his conquest, he had taken to his bed and died.

Katherine might well ask, What now?

She was twenty-one. Not very old but it might be that a childhood fraught with disasters had prepared her in some way for them.

In Windsor Castle in England a nine months old boy was living cared for by his nurses under the control of Henry’s brother Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. That little boy – Henry like his father – was the most important child in England, because on the sudden death of his father he had now become England’s King.

Now that she had grown accustomed to the fact that Henry was dead a calmness settled on Katherine. Her brother-in-law John would tell her what to do and she would trust him, as Henry had.

She travelled from Senlis to the Castle of Vincennes where Henry lay and when she looked on the dead body of her husband her calmness deserted her and for the first time since she had heard the news, she wept. It was as though at last she realised what the death of Henry meant, and she was desolate, afraid of the future.

There were so many who wished to talk to her. His body must be taken back to England, they said. There should be no delay. But the Duke of Bedford had ordered that her wishes should be respected in every way.

She wanted to be alone, she said, just for an hour … alone to think. She ordered that her horse should be saddled; she had a desire for the solitude which the forest could offer.

So they saddled her horse and she rode out into the Bois de Vincennes while at a respectful distance the King’s squires waited for her. When she dismounted one of the squires hurried forward to take her horse. She looked at him. He was young, about her own age, tall, dark, with a face which interested her.

She said: ‘I have a mind to rest here for a little while. The forest is beautiful at this time of year. Do you agree?’

‘It is, my lady,’ he replied. He had an accent which she found difficult to understand, but then she was not as proficient in the English language as she would have liked to be. She remembered afresh how Henry had laughed at her delivery of some words. ‘I must improve,’ she had said demurely. ‘No,’ he had cried. ‘I like it your way, Kate. Don’t change. Just stay my little French Kate.’

She wondered if she was going on all her life remembering.

She said: ‘Already there are signs of autumn.’

‘It’s so, my lady,’ answered the squire.

‘It is sad … the summer over. The leaves are already changing colour. Soon the branches will be stark and bare.’

A terrible melancholy had come over her. As with my life, she thought. He is gone. Summer is over. The winter is coming on. Then she looked at the squire. He was very young – in the springtime of life one might say.

‘How old are you?’ she asked impulsively.

He looked surprised as though wondering of what interest his age could possibly be to this Queen.

But he answered promptly: ‘I am about to be twenty-one.’

She looked at him and smiled. A moment ago she had been thinking how young he was, with his life before him; and he was just her age.

It was like a revelation. Henry was dead; but she was alive and she was young. She was beautiful; she might be the widow of Henry the Conqueror but she was also the mother of Henry the Sixth of England and there was so much left to her. There was her baby to care for. Her whole life lay before her. She had lived through terrible hazards in the past; she would do so again if necessary.

For a few moments her melancholy had lifted. She smiled dazzlingly at the young squire.

‘I will return to the castle now,’ she said. ‘There is much to be done.’

Obediently he helped her to mount.

‘Thank you,’ she said. She looked at him steadily. ‘You have a strange way of talking,’ she went on in halting English. ‘I think you could say the same of me.’

He did not know what to answer and she smiled at him again.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what is your country? Where do you come from?’

‘I come from Wales, my lady,’ he answered.

‘Wales. Oh yes, I have heard the King speak of Wales. Tell me your name.’

‘It is Owen Tudor, my lady.’

‘Owen Tudor,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you, Owen Tudor. You have done well.’

She rode thoughtfully back to the castle. A hope had returned to her. It was strange that it should have happened during a few moments’ conversation with a Welsh squire.

They laid the King’s body in a chariot which was to be drawn by four horses. She had ordered that an effigy should be made resembling him as near as possible, and that this should be placed above the coffin and borne across France to Calais. On the head of the image was set a crown of gold and brilliant gems and about its shoulders was a purple velvet cloak trimmed with ermine. In the right hand was placed a sceptre and in the left a golden orb. It was uncanny. As though Henry had come to life again to observe his funeral rites.

The Queen had chosen those who would accompany the cortège to England.

‘What do you know of the King’s squire, Owen Tudor?’ she asked Bedford.

He had never heard of the man but would discover since he had caught the Queen’s interest.

Bedford was clearly wondering why the young squire had done this, and she answered quickly: ‘He seemed greatly moved by the King’s death. I have a feeling that he was a loyal servant.’

Bedford came back with the information: ‘A Welshman of obscure origins. Grandson of Sir Tudor Vychan ap something. These Welsh have unpronounceable names. I gather the father disgraced himself in some way and was outlawed.’

‘Don’t let us blame the son for his father’s sins,’ she said.

‘Nay, he pleased my brother. He was on the field at Agincourt and so distinguished himself that in spite of his youth he was made squire of the King’s body.’

‘I had a feeling that he had served the King well.’

‘How did he come to your notice?’

‘’Twas nothing. He brought my horse. I spoke to him and I was impressed by his … feeling for the King.’

‘Henry had a way with him,’ said Bedford. ‘He could bind men to him. It was one of his qualities as a leader. They would have followed him to hell if need be.’

The Queen showed signs of being overcome by emotion and Bedford hastened to discuss further details of the progress to England.

Before they left Katherine gave orders that Esquire Owen Tudor was to be among those who escorted the cavalcade to England.

So they set out and the Queen with her retinue followed the chariot containing the King’s corpse, accompanied by all the princes and lords of the King’s household and a few of his squires. At Abbeville they paused, where masses were sung for the repose of the King’s soul. It was an impressive sight and people waited along the roadside to catch a glimpse of it as it passed. The banners of the saints were held by the Duke of Exeter and the Earl of March and with them was Sir Louis Robsart, the Queen’s own knight, among numerous knights and nobles. Four hundred men-at-arms in black armour surrounded the bier; very sombre they looked, as befitted the occasion, their horses barbed black and their lancets held with the points downwards. At dusk, when the torches were lighted and they sang a dismal dirge as they walked, it was even more impressive – a solemn and fearful sight.

In every town through which they passed, masses were sung. They went through Montreuil to Boulogne and then on to Calais where vessels from England were waiting to carry the King’s body home.

It was a calm crossing and soon the white cliffs were in sight. Crowds of sorrowing people were waiting on the beaches and when the Queen stepped ashore she was greeted by fifteen bishops, and abbots and priests who were too numerous to be counted.

Katherine looked very young and desolate and won the sympathy of the people. They cheered her fervently. ‘Long life to the Queen,’ they cried. ‘God bless her and our baby King.’ She lifted her hand as she passed along in acknowledgement of their feeling for her but she was longing now for the dreary business to be over.

She wanted to be at Windsor, to see her baby, to assure herself of his well-being. She who had lived through the troubled reign of her father knew that she would have to be very careful now.

But for the time being she would go to Windsor. They would not attempt to stop her doing that. First she must see her little son, hold him in her arms. She must never forget that although he was only a baby – and very much like all other babies – he was the King of England. She was apprehensive. To be nine months old and King, surrounded by ambitious men, was a matter to be regarded very seriously; and although the baby sleeping in his cot was unaware of this … just yet … understanding would soon come to him.

In the meantime there was his mother to fight for him.

She was deeply moved as the castle came in sight. She had always loved it best of all her homes. To her it represented peace and security and her early life had instilled in her a need for both. The castle, grand and imposing with its Round Tower standing on an artificial mound surrounded by the deep fosse, the strong stone walls and battlemented towers, filled her with pleasure as she advanced. She could see the great forest nearby in which she and Henry had hunted together – not often for he had rarely time for such pursuits, but those great oaks had been the background of her first weeks in England when she had been so happy and young and innocent enough to believe that life would go on like that forever.

It was in that castle that her baby had been born and when she thought of that she felt a qualm of uneasiness for Henry had expressed the wish that his son should be born anywhere but at Windsor. Why had the impulse come to disobey him? She could not be sure, but it had been irresistible.

He had said: ‘I do not wish our child to be born at Windsor.’

‘Windsor is a beautiful castle,’ she had replied.

‘Ah, you love it well and that pleases me. I too have a fondness for the place.’

‘It should be the birthplace of kings,’ she had said.

Then he had taken her hands and looked very serious. ‘Not for our child, Kate. Not Windsor.’

No more had been said and they had revelled in the beauties of the forest and returned to the castle and partaken of the fine buck which they had proudly brought back with them. And they had laughed and frolicked together while briefly he forgot to think of war.

And when her time was near she had been at Windsor. I must leave here, she had told herself. It is the King’s wish. But she delayed leaving and the snow came. There were high snowdrifts everywhere and ice on the road. ‘It is no time for travelling, my lady,’ said her women.

And she was only too ready to agree. Henry would not wish her to take to the roads now. Who knew what would happen to a pregnant woman on a journey fraught with the dangers of winter travel?

It had been just a whim; she had always been one to shrug aside that which was unpleasant. It had been the only way to live through a childhood such as hers had been.

So in Windsor Castle her little Henry had been born.

With what joy she had sent messengers to France. How delighted Henry would be to learn that he had a son. And when the messenger returned to her she had sent for him and eagerly had asked: ‘How was the King? What said he to the news that he has a son?’

‘My lady,’ was the answer, ‘first he shouted his delight. He said it was the happiest moment of his life. And then …’

‘And then?’ she had asked. ‘What then?’

‘He wished to know where the child had been born, my lady.’

‘Oh!’ Her hand had flown to her throat and she had said quietly: ‘And what said he when you told him?’

The messenger had hesitated and she had gone on quickly: ‘Tell me.’

‘He turned pale. Then he said a strange thing, my lady.’

‘Yes, yes?’

‘’Twas something like this:

‘“I Henry born at Monmouth

Shall small time reign and much get

But Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all.”

‘Then my lady, he added with great melancholy, “But as God will, so be it.”’

For a while she had been uneasy but she refused to be depressed. It was only now and then that she remembered; but as she rode towards Windsor it came into her mind again more forcibly than ever, because the first part of the prophecy had come true. Henry had gained much and reigned such a short time. Henry the Sixth would reign long. Yes, he should; she would cherish him and love him, and see that no harm came to him.

Her brother-in-law Humphrey of Gloucester was riding out to meet her. With him was Henry of Winchester, the baby’s great-uncle, who was one of the child’s godparents. They were accompanied by a retinue of knights and squires.

The two parties drew up and faced each other. Humphrey of Gloucester rode up to the Queen and taking her hand leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Then she was greeted by Henry of Winchester in like manner.

‘Welcome to Windsor, dear sister,’ said Humphrey. ‘This is a sorry occasion.’

He was handsome like his brothers but already the signs of the profligate life he lived were apparent on his face. He was a man of overwhelming ambition and even at this moment when he genuinely mourned a brother whom he had loved and admired he could not help wondering what advantage to himself could come out of the circumstances.

The Bishop – son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford, beginning life as a bastard and later being legitimised – had always served the crown with loyalty. He was deeply disturbed by the death of the King, for he knew that with a child heir there was certain to be jostling for power and strife between various factions which was no good for any country.

‘Bless you, my lady,’ he said to the Queen. ‘May God guard you.’

Then they rode to Windsor.

First she must go to the royal nurseries.

‘You will find him in good health,’ Humphrey told her.

The nurses were with him. One held him in her arms and she was crooning a ditty to him while he played with coloured rings.

So unceremoniously had she entered that at first they did not recognise her.

Then someone said: ‘The Queen!’

They curtseyed deeply – all but the woman who held the child. Katherine went to her and took the baby.

He stared at her with wondering eyes and suddenly seized the gold chain about her neck and tried to put it into his mouth.

‘He seizes everything, my lady. He is so quick and bright …’

‘Henry, Henry,’ she said. ‘Don’t you know me? I am your mother.’

Then she kissed him tenderly and she took him to a window seat and sat down holding him tightly.

‘Yes indeed,’ she told herself, ‘I have much to live for.’

In the apartments of the Duke of Gloucester, he and the Bishop of Winchester faced each other. Humphrey had been trying to avoid the interview for he knew what its nature would be and he had no intention of listening to the advice of the old man.

Who in God’s name are these Beauforts? he asked himself. Bastards all of them. They should be grateful that their father thought enough of them to legitimise them and leave it at that. Instead they think they are as royal as I and my brothers are, and have a right to dictate to us what we should do.

Henry Beaufort had always had great influence with King Henry. He had been his tutor at one time and Henry had set great store by the views of his uncle. Before he had died he had named him as one of his son’s guardians.

And he wants to dictate to us all, thought Humphrey. Well, he shall find his mistake there.

Humphrey knew that the interview was to concern Jacqueline and he was certainly not going to be told what to do about her, because he had already made up his mind that he was going to marry her.

Humphrey was a man of conflicting characteristics. Dissolute in the extreme, given to frequenting low taverns and consorting with prostitutes, he was yet a lover of the fine arts. He had been most carefully educated at Balliol College and had quickly acquired a love of books which he had never lost. He collected them; and he honoured the men who produced them. When he was twenty he had made a gift of books to Oxford at the time when the library there was being enlarged. A patron of the arts, he was respected by those who performed in them and in their circle he became known as the Good Duke Humphrey. It seemed incongruous that one of selfish ambition who indulged in riotous living should earn such a title; but his was a nature of contrasts.

On his accession Henry had made him Chamberlain of England, and he had accompanied his brother to France and had taken part in the battle of Harfleur as well as that of Agincourt. In fact at Agincourt he had come near to losing his life when he had been wounded and thrown to the ground by the Duc D’Alençon. It was Henry the King who with characteristic courage and energy had found time to rescue his brother and save his life.

One must admire and revere Henry, Humphrey had believed; but when Henry was dead, what then? Humphrey was ambitious. A man must look to his own advantage. He had always believed that.

And who would have guessed that Henry would die so young? He was only thirty-five and strong, hale and hearty so it had seemed. And to be carried off by a fever and dysentery! It had happened to others. Soldiering was a profession which took a high toll of those who followed it. But who would have believed at the glory of Agincourt that Agincourt’s hero could so soon become a lifeless corpse.

Well, it happened and we must forsooth go on from there, Humphrey told himself.

His elder brother John had had the King’s confidence. He had the people’s confidence too. There was a quality of honesty in John which appealed to the people. But worthy as he was he had just missed that aura of greatness which Henry had had and which had enabled him to charm all those with whom he came into contact and inspire loyalty and belief in his invincibility. That was true leadership. It is found rarely and Henry undoubtedly had had it. And he, Humphrey? He was no Henry, he knew that. But he was a man who knew how to fight for what he wanted.

While John was in France Humphrey was in control in England. When John returned he would take a step backwards of course. But in the meantime he was in charge and he was not going to be dictated to by Beaufort, Bishop and royal bastard though he might be.

When the Lord Bishop had arrived, the squires had heralded him in with a show of reverence which irritated Humphrey, yet he had to admit that Henry Beaufort had an air of royalty about him. He could never forget he was the son of John of Gaunt and grandson of a King, and was not going to allow anyone else to do so either; and now behind him he had the authority of the Church.

Ambitious – was he not a Beaufort? Handsome – he took after his mother – and dignified. He was reputed to be impetuous and it was true he now and then acted without due thought; and he loved worldly possessions of which it was also said he had amassed a good deal. Whatever his faults he was consistently loyal to the crown. He had lent money to the King for his campaigns in France and none rejoiced more wholeheartedly than he at the success of those campaigns.

It was for this reason that he was now determined to turn Humphrey from a course of which he disapproved.

‘The Queen, God help her, will find comfort with her babe,’ said the Bishop. ‘Poor lady, I doubt she understands the difficulties ahead.’

‘’Tis a pity he is of such tender years,’ said Humphrey.

‘A matter which time will remedy.’

Humphrey was a little impatient. The Bishop had not come to him to talk of such an undisputed fact as the King’s youth.

Humphrey dismissed the squires and when they were alone and comfortably seated the Bishop put the palms of his hands together as though he were about to pray and looking steadily at Humphrey said: ‘I have heard disturbing rumours.’

‘My lord Bishop, who has not? Disturbing rumours are as commonplace as the air we breathe.’

‘Some are more disturbing than others. My lord, I would ask you this. Is it true that you are contemplating marriage with the Lady Jacqueline?’

‘I will confess to a liking for the lady.’

‘My lord Duke, I must have a straight answer.’

‘You must, Bishop? Why so? Is not this a matter between myself and the lady concerned?’

‘No, my lord, it is not. It is a matter of deep concern to France and England.’

‘You are dramatic.’

‘It is a dramatic situation. Have you considered that such a marriage could bring about a breach between England and Burgundy?’

‘So?’

‘We rely on our allies in France. The late King would have been the first to admit that. So would the Duke of Bedford. I ask you, my lord, have you discussed this matter with the Duke?’

‘My lord Bishop, let me tell you this. I will marry where I will, and neither my brother nor the Church shall dictate to me on that matter. I go where my fancy lies.’

‘It is to be hoped that your fancy is not to undermine our conquests in France.’

There was a brief silence. Both men were thinking of Jacqueline. Who would have believed, pondered the Bishop, that when Jacqueline of Bavaria had sought refuge at the English Court this would have been the result? She must be now about twenty-one years old. She was personable, though not outstandingly so, and an heiress, if she could regain what she had lost. The Bishop had no doubt that Gloucester’s eyes were as firmly fixed on her possessions as on the lady herself. Henry had welcomed her to England and had so favoured her that she had acted as godmother at the christening of young Henry.

Jacqueline was the only daughter of William IV, Count of Hainault, Holland and Zealand as well as being Lord of Friesland.

Jacqueline had been married to John of France, Katherine’s brother, who had briefly been Dauphin on the death of his elder brother Louis. Almost immediately John had died and when her father died also Jacqueline became the sovereign of Hainault, Holland and Zealand. With such possessions she was not allowed to remain a widow for long and a second husband was soon found for her. This was John, Duke of Brabant, her own cousin and also cousin to Philip of Burgundy.

Her father’s brother, at one time Bishop of Liège, took her possessions from her and made a treaty with her husband, the weak Duke of Brabant.

It was at this stage that she fled to England and threw herself on the mercy of the English King. Henry not only gave her asylum but treated her with the dignity due to her rank and the Spanish anti-Pope Benedict XIII was persuaded to grant her a divorce from the Duke of Brabant.

So here was Jacqueline in England, a member of the Court and a lady who was heiress to great possessions, if they could be won back, and in view of English successes on the continent, Humphrey did not see why they should not. Then he could be not only husband of Jacqueline but the Count of Hainault, Holland and Zealand. A pleasant prospect for a man who could never hope to rule England. His baby nephew and his brother John came before him. He was a man who would seize every opportunity and this had seemed one of them.

The Bishop saw the matter in a different light and that was why he was so uneasy.

‘My dear Bishop,’ said Humphrey at length, ‘you distress yourself unnecessarily.’

‘Then you see what the implications of this marriage would be?’

‘I see, my lord, that through it I could bring further honour to England.’

‘By marrying this lady you would put yourself in conflict with the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘I have not the same fear of the noble Duke as you have, Bishop.’

‘I fear what it could mean to England if he withdrew his support and ceased to be our ally.’

‘An uneasy ally,’ murmured Humphrey.

‘I agree and therefore to be treated with caution.’

‘One can be too cautious in life,’ commented Humphrey.

‘I know this,’ replied the Bishop. ‘My Lord Bedford will be as anxious to avoid this marriage as I am and as are all those who wish our country well.’

‘I like not your tone. None serves his country better than I.’

‘We are not concerned with what you have done in the past. This is one act which could bring disaster. By such a marriage you would put yourself in competition with Philip of Burgundy for the control of the Netherlands.’

‘They are in the hands of the one-time Bishop of Liège at this time.’

‘They will not remain there long. Burgundy will see to that. He will press his rights through his cousin of Brabant and, my lord, should this marriage take place I doubt not that you also will turn your thoughts to the lady’s lands. Burgundy will not see them pass to you … any more than you will wish to see them go to him. England cannot afford your quarrel with Burgundy, my lord Duke. That is why I ask you to consider this matter very carefully.’

‘Then you have done what you regard as your duty by asking me. Shall we let it rest there, Bishop?’

Arrogant coxcomb, thought the Bishop. Henry would never have allowed this had he lived. Each day one realised more and more what a tragedy it was that Henry had died.

The Bishop rose to his feet rather slowly; his limbs were a little stiff nowadays.

Pompous old fool, thought Humphrey. What right has he to tell me what to do? To hell with him. To hell with Burgundy. Why shouldn’t I have Jacqueline … and Hainault, Holland and Zealand.

Although Katherine found great comfort in the royal nursery she realised that this was a short respite. Soon people would want to see the baby and when the Parliament met she would have to take him to London. She would have to travel through the City holding the baby. Poor child, he would have to get used to being on show. But in the meantime she could be quiet. She could stay in her beloved Windsor; she could be with her baby like any other humble mother; she could ride in the forest although she could never get the solitude she longed for because always she would be accompanied by her attendants. They kept their distance, it was true; they understood her desire to be alone. Once or twice she had caught a glimpse of the Welsh squire. She remembered him with pleasure and she was glad that she had commanded that he be a member of her household. He stood out among the rest. He was not especially handsome but there was an air of innocence about him which she found refreshing. Perhaps, she told herself, it is because as a Welshman he seems different from these English; as I must seem.

She knew little about the Welsh. She vaguely remembered Henry’s saying that at one time they had given trouble … as the Scots had in the past and as the Irish did always.

It was late October when the messengers came from France. She received them immediately in her private apartments and she saw at once that the news they brought was of a melancholy nature.

‘My lady,’ she was told, ‘the King your father has died in Paris.’

She was silent. She could not judge her feelings at that moment. The father whom she had loved and for whom she had so often feared was no more. Poor sad King of France, whose life had been such a burden to him and to others. For a moment she was back in the Hôtel de St Pol, a frightened child listening for strange noises which might come from that part of the mansion which had been set aside for the King. She could remember turning to her elder sister Michelle and burying her face against her to shut out the sounds, and Michelle’s stroking her hair and whispering: ‘It is all right, Katherine, he can’t hurt you. He can’t get out. His keepers are with him.’

Then there was another memory, her father emerging from the Hôtel de St Pol, coming to the Louvre, himself again after one of those strange periods, caring for them all, caring for his country and his people.

‘His end was … peaceful?’ she asked.

‘My lady, when he came back to Paris he was well. He came through the streets and the people cheered him. He was deeply loved.’

She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was deeply loved. He was a good man when he was free of his affliction.’

‘The people knew it, my lady. They were saying that if the King had not suffered his illness the trials which have come to France would never have happened.’

The man stopped abruptly. He remembered suddenly that he was talking to the wife of the Conqueror. She was the enemy now.

She cut in quickly: ‘I understand how they feel. They are right. Everything went wrong for France when my father became ill.’

But she was thinking: Nothing would have stopped Henry. He was determined to win the crown of France and none knows more than I that he was a man who would have his way.

‘My lady, it would have warmed your heart to see how the people greeted him when he came to Paris. They were under the rule of the English …’ again that fearful pause and again she nodded reassurance … ‘but they shouted for him. “Noel!” they cried. “Noel!” and they seemed to think that because he was well again we should regain our country. And when he died his body lay in state for three days and the people came to see him and to show their respect and their sorrow. My lady, they said of him “Dear Prince, there will never be another as good as thou wert. Accursed be thy death for now thou hast gone there will be nothing for us but wars and trouble.” They likened themselves to the children of Israel, my lady, crying out during the captivity in Babylon.’

‘It must have been very moving.’

‘My lady forgive me. Like many I loved the King your father.’

She said: ‘Alas that he should have been so afflicted. And what is happening now in Paris?’

‘The Conqueror is there.’

The Conqueror. Her brother-in-law, John of Bedford!

‘He has ordered heralds to proclaim Henry of Lancaster King of England and France.’

The baby in the cradle. Her little Henry. Not yet a year old. Such weighty titles for such a little one to bear.

The messenger was nervous. His was an unenviable task. He must proclaim the death of the lady’s father when her husband had been the reason for France’s downfall and her own child was the usurper King of France.

She understood and her glance and gentle tones reassured him once more that she attached no blame to him because he showed so clearly his loyalty to his own country.

She dismissed him that he might be refreshed after his journey and she went up to the nursery for she felt an irresistible urge to be with her child.

Henry was sleeping peacefully in his cradle. His small hand was clenched about the bed quilt and he was sucking the corner of it. It brought him some sort of odd comfort and he sought it as soon as he was laid in his cradle.

Such a baby. Not yet a year old and already the crown of England was his and they were trying to force the crown of France on top of that.

She was afraid for him. In that moment she wished that she were the wife of a country gentleman living far away from the events which rocked the country. She imagined herself waking each day to the sound of birdsong and the lowing of cattle. It was absurd. Life was not like that. She tried to imagine the warlike Henry in such circumstances. Battle with conquest had been his life; and it seemed certain that it would be the lot of this little one in the cradle.

Why did men seek to be kings and rulers? What joy did it bring them? It had brought death to Henry and to her poor sad father nothing but unhappiness.

And as she looked down at her sleeping son she thought she saw her father’s face.

She began to tremble. It was almost like a revelation. She stared down at the baby. What had come over her? The little face was in repose; the chubby hand clutched the edge of the quilt. He was just a baby … not in the least like a sad old man.

She was melancholy; she mourned her father; and she was filled with apprehension for the future.

If only Henry had not died, she thought. How different everything would have been. Then she thought that if he had lived, he would have been the one who was proclaimed in Paris, and she would be beside him … the crowned King and Queen of France. And there would have been those in the crowd who would murmur against them.

No, it seemed that there was little happiness for Kings.

She went to the window and looked out. It was a damp and misty day. Winter would soon be upon them. She thought again of that December day when little Henry had been born in Windsor … forbidden Windsor, and she caught her breath with sudden terror.

She stared with unseeing eyes at the late wisps of foliage on the oak trees, and suddenly she caught a glimpse of the Welsh squire. He was riding into the courtyard on the way to the stables.

She remembered then that encounter in the forest and she had a desire to see him again.

She said to one of her women: ‘That Welsh squire, I would have a word with him.’

The woman looked surprised, but it was easy for Katherine to overcome awkward situations. She could always fall back on her lack of understanding of the language and the customs of the country.

‘I would like to know how he does his duties …’ she went on. ‘I would not want to think that I had introduced into my household one who …’

She floundered and the woman said: ‘Do you wish me to make enquiries about him, my lady? If he has done aught to displease you …’

‘No … no … I do not know. I will speak to him myself.’

‘Yourself, my lady?’

‘It is what I mean. Send him to me. I will talk to him in my ante-chamber.’

The woman curtseyed and retired to do her bidding, no doubt thinking that the behaviour of the French was sometimes incomprehensible. But the late King had said his wife should be humoured. He did not want her to lose her foreign charm.

He came into the room, rather shyly, surprised as he was naturally to be summoned to the presence of the Queen.

‘Ah, Owen Tudor,’ she said stumbling a little over his name, ‘the squire from Wales.’ She smiled for he was beginning to look alarmed. ‘There is no need to fear,’ she said. ‘I remember seeing you in the forest of Vincennes. I commanded then that you should join my household.’

‘I thank you, my lady,’ said the young man, ‘and if I have done aught to displease you …’

‘No, no. You have not displeased. You have pleased …’ He looked even more alarmed and she went on quickly: ‘You must understand I have not yet learned well the language. There are times when I say what is not always understood.’

He bowed and waited.

‘I just wished to talk to you,’ she said. ‘We talked before. It was good for me. I was very unhappy then … I still am unhappy.’

‘My lady, you have had a great loss. All England has.’

‘And Wales?’ she said.

‘I have always served the King well, my lady.’

‘I know, and now you must serve your new King.’

Her expression clouded. She had remembered what had set her off on this strange impulse.

‘Tell me, Owen Tudor,’ she said, ‘are you like your father … or perhaps your grandfather?’

‘My father was accused of murder, my lady,’ said Owen, ‘and I should not like that to happen to me. My grandfather was Tudor Vychan ap Gronw and he was a very fine man I have heard.’

‘You are proud of your grandfather, Owen Tudor?’

‘He received a knighthood at the hands of the great King Edward the Third. My father, Meredydd, was steward to the Bishop of Bangor.’

‘And he was the one who was accused of murder. Tell me about that.’

‘I know nothing of it, my lady. Families do not talk of these things except to say one of their number was wrongly judged.’

‘So you believe there was no murder?’

He lifted his shoulders. ‘I do not know, but my father was a hot-tempered man and he was outlawed and forced to live in the mountains. I was born there.’

Owen Tudor stopped, suddenly realising it was the Queen to whom he was talking in this manner.

‘Do you think you are like your father … or your grandfather?’

‘Sons often bear resemblances to their parents, I believe my lady.’

She looked at him blankly for a few moments. Then she said: ‘My father was mad.’

He did not know what to reply. He thought this was the strangest interview he had ever known. The Queen looked different from when he had seen her on previous occasions. She looked very young and vulnerable, like a young girl he might have known in the mountains before he had joined the King’s army.

She said: ‘I have just heard the news that my father is dead.’

She was overwrought. He understood that now. He must listen to her; he must behave as though it were the most natural thing for a Queen to send for a squire and talk to him as though they were two simple country people. He must listen, not talk too much and hope that she would not remember her indiscretion later and blame him for it.

‘Oh,’ she burst out suddenly, ‘you think it is very fine to be the daughter of a King, do you not, eh, Squire Tudor, do you not?’

‘It is a very great honour, my lady.’

She laughed a little wildly. ‘When I was three,’ she said, ‘I was put into the Hôtel de St Pol with my brothers and sisters. There were six of us … Louis, John and Charles were the boys … and then there were Michelle, Marie and myself, the girls. I was the youngest. Do you know why we were put there … the children of France? It was because our mother was living at the Louvre with her lover. He was the Duke of Orléans and my father’s brother. You are thinking why did my father the King of France allow her to do this … it was because he was mad, Squire Tudor. They put him away …’ She turned her head and her mouth twisted as though she was going to cry. ‘When he was … well, he was kind and good and by no means weak … a good King. But then terrible afflictions would come on him. He would rave and storm …’ She stopped and covered her face with her hands.

‘My lady …’ began Owen.

She dropped her hands. ‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘Stay. I can talk to you. I wonder why. I like you, Owen Tudor. You are good, I think, and I trust you. You do not know but once before you gave me … hope. I don’t know why it was. Perhaps because you were young … and innocent in a way … They have just brought me news of my father’s death. My little one is now to be crowned King of France. He is a baby yet. What lies in store for him? You think me strange, Owen Tudor. I am not English … I am not Welsh. I am French, and I am frightened. I am frightened for my son. I must talk of this … to someone … and there is no one.’

‘My lady, my wish is to serve you … now and always …’

She smiled at him.

‘I had heard stories of my father,’ she went on. ‘His madness came on suddenly. A terrible thing happened when he was young. He loved to masquerade and one day he ordered five of his courtiers to dress up as savages and they went to a ball. They wore tight costumes made of linens and these they covered with resin to which tow was stuck so that they looked like naked hairy men. Someone approached with a lighted torch and suddenly they were all ablaze. They could not remove their costumes, of course, and were burned to death all except the King, for his aunt the Duchess of Berry recognised him and shouting, “Save the King”, wrapped her cloak about him. The King was saved but the other five were burned to death. That was the start of his madness. It had been his idea and he blamed himself and for ever after he would have his fits of madness. They took his hunting knife away from him because he tried to kill himself with it. They put him away. He was fed like a dog and for five months no one went near him. He was violent when the moods took him. So they shut him away in the Hôtel de St Pol. We would hear him shouting and throwing himself against the walls of his chamber. We used to shiver and cling together and say: “That is our father the King.”

Owen stood looking at her while she was talking. He wished he knew what to say to comfort her.

‘Then,’ she went on, ‘there was my mother. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in France. She came from Bavaria. When she was present it was impossible not to look at her. All men desired her and she desired many men. My uncle, the Duke of Orléans, was her lover. When my father was in the Hôtel de St Pol he lived with her as King and together they ruled France. They liked it that way but you see there was Burgundy. My father’s uncle. He cared for France; he cared even more for Burgundy. Then he died and John the Fearless was the new Duke. Of course it was wrong. But is it ever right to murder? Did your father think so, Owen Tudor, when he was in exile in his mountain home? You see, my mother and her lover were bad for the country. They had put us … the children of France, into the Hôtel de St Pol and they would not pay for our household for they wanted the money to spend for themselves. So there we were, dirty, hungry and yes … Owen Tudor … we were lousy. We, the children of the royal house, lived like urchins in the slums of Paris. We had no clothes to wear … nothing to keep us warm … no food to eat … You see something had to happen and it did. The Duke of Burgundy caused the Duke of Orléans to be set on when he returned from supping with my mother and he was left dying in the streets of Paris. We were brought out of our misery. Then I was sent to the convent of Poissy where my sister took the veil. But why do I tell you this? Do you think I am mad … like my father?’

He went to her on impulse. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘No, no, my lady. I think you are good and brave and I will serve you with my life.’

She was sober suddenly. She withdrew her hand sharply.

‘You should go now,’ she said. ‘You have done me much good as you did before.’

She smiled at him and he bowed.

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I talked a great deal, did I not? I surprised you. Well, I am French, Squire Tudor, and you are Welsh. We are not like these English, eh?’

She was smiling and he smiled too.

‘Adieu, Squire Tudor,’ she whispered.

She watched him as he went out. She felt better. What nonsense to have thought young Henry would inherit his grandfather’s malady. Owen Tudor’s father was a murderer and he was the gentlest man in Windsor.

As before her encounter with him had done her good. She was glad she had brought him into the household.

Chapter II BURGUNDY

FROM a turret window Jacqueline of Bavaria watched for the arrival of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. Her hopes rested on him. Jacqueline was a young woman, but she already had had two marriages and was now contemplating a third.

Jacqueline was no fool. She often complained to her maid that her husbands had not so much married her as her possessions.

‘How fortunate you are, my girl,’ she said, ‘to have no possessions. You will know when you marry it will have to be for yourself.’

And now Duke Humphrey. She wanted desperately to marry him. Not that she was in love with Humphrey but he was important enough to have a certain charm. Power in men was something which Jacqueline had been brought up to admire and for her it always had been one of the most attractive attributes a man could have. Now it was a necessity for her to have a powerful husband if she were ever going to regain her rights and cease to be an exile living on sufferance in an alien land. That was the hardest part to endure. She who had once been a considerable heiress now to be relying on the bounty of a foreign court.

Marriage to Gloucester would change the position. A King’s son – and an ambitious man at that – would give her prestige and if his interest in her was tied up with her estates, well hers for him was in the security and hope which he could bring her.

At first her future had seemed promising enough. To be married to Dauphin John had been an excellent project with a crown in sight, which as soon as his father Charles VI died would be his. Poor mad old fellow, he had seemed more dead than alive, but there was that harpy Queen Isabeau who would have to be dealt with when John came to the throne. Jacqueline had been sure that she could deal with that situation. But it had never come to that.

John had shortly followed his brother Louis to the grave. Of course many said he had been helped there by his fiendish mother, but the affair was wrapped in mystery and it was certain that Queen Isabeau would extricate herself from such an accusation. She was now becoming friendly with the Duke of Burgundy as the better side to be on.

Well then, after poor Dauphin John was in his grave, Philip of Burgundy himself had thought it would be a good idea to marry her to his cousin – and incidentally her own, for Margaret of Burgundy had been her mother. So she had married another John and from the early days of their marriage she had regretted it. Her husband was a weakling, not what she would have expected to come out of Burgundy, and it was not long before her wicked uncle, yet another John known as John the Pitiless, for obvious reasons, was discovering that it was not right that such an inheritance – Hainault, Holland and Zealand – should be in the hands of a woman and that as the brother of the late Count William he had more right to it than the Count’s daughter.

What a weak ineffectual husband they had married her to! It was child’s play for their wily uncle to wrest the territories from the meek little Duke of Brabant and there she was without her possessions and saddled with a husband she did not want.

Katherine de Valois had meanwhile married Henry of England and when she herself was married to Dauphin John, Katherine had become her sister-in-law. Katherine was a kindly girl, ever ready to give an ear to those in trouble, so she had appealed to Katherine and Katherine and Henry, who was then alive, had made her very welcome in England.

And then she had met Duke Humphrey and from the first they had been drawn together. She knew that when he smiled at her he was really looking at Hainault, Holland and Zealand and when she returned that smile with all the charm she possessed she was seeing a strong and powerful man who could regain her estates for her.

Thus they were attracted and she waited eagerly for his coming.

At length she saw the cavalcade in the distance … banners flying, lances glistening in the sun. Humphrey always travelled in style and wished it to be remembered that he was the son of a King. She sometimes fancied his insistence on this had come about because his father had not become King until he had deposed Richard the Second. Humphrey and his brothers, the grandsons of John of Gaunt, had not been born in the direct line to kingship.

Never mind. Humphrey was a power in the land and while his elder brother Bedford was in France Humphrey was to all intents and purposes the King of England for that infant in the Windsor nursery need not be considered for years to come.

So she was triumphant as she went down to the courtyard to greet him.

He was a fine figure in his embroidered houppelande buckled in with a glittering belt; his full-blown sleeves followed the newest fashion and his hair was closely cropped, a fashion admired by his brother which no doubt accounted for its being followed so much. His shoes were long and pointed, though not ridiculously so; they matched his hose which were of two blending colours – blue and lavender.

He would have been a very handsome man but for the pouches under his eyes, the clefts at the side of his mouth and a somewhat ravaged complexion. They were the outward signs of the life he was reputed to live and yet there was about him a certain aestheticism. The debauched gentleman was yet a lover of the finer arts. An interesting man with conflicting characteristics, but there was one which overruled all others – ambition.

Jacqueline understood it all; and she would not have had it otherwise.

The servants handed her the goblet. She tasted it smiling – following the old custom which had arisen to assure the arrival that there was no poison in the cup.

Humphrey drank deeply and let his eyes rest on Jacqueline. Fair enough, he thought. She did not drive him to a frenzy of desire. It would take an extraordinary woman to do that nowadays. He had known too many of them. But Jacqueline … with all her estates, albeit they had to be won back … would suit him very well.

He passed the goblet to the waiting man-at-arms and leaped from his horse. He took her hand and looked at her searchingly. She smiled. ‘I have news,’ she said. ‘But pray you, my lord, come in. We are prepared for you. We shall do our best to offer you hospitality which shall be worthy of you – though that is impossible, of course.’

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘it is I who must prove myself worthy.’

Pleasant talk which neither of them meant or believed for one moment.

They went into the hall. He could smell the roasting venison and it was good. In fact everything was good. To hell with Burgundy. To hell with Bedford. He was sure that in a very short time, Hainault, Holland and Zealand would be his.

He was in an excellent mood when he sat down to eat. The minstrels played sweet music to his liking and only the finest musicians could please his refined taste.

She had whispered the news to him as they went in to dinner:

‘Benedict has annulled my marriage to Brabant.’

‘That is good news,’ replied Humphrey.

‘I hoped you would think so. Is it good enough though?’

Humphrey hesitated for only a few moments. It was not really very good. The man calling himself Benedict XIII was not generally recognised. In some circles he was known as the anti-Pope for since the Great Schism there had been much conflict in papal circles. Benedict XIII was a certain Peter de Luna chosen by French Cardinals and recognised only by Spain and Scotland.

It could often be useful to have these opposing sides for there was always a desire to win the support of people in high places. Oh yes, thought Gloucester, very useful. They would make Benedict’s annulment suit them; and on the other hand if at some time they wished to change their minds they could always throw doubts on its validity.

Humphrey’s hand closed over hers. ‘We’ll make it good enough,’ he said.

She sat back smiling complacently. It should not be difficult to bring back those excellent lands to where they belonged.

While the musicians played they were already making plans.

‘I see no reason why we should delay longer,’ said Humphrey.

A serving-maid was filling his goblet. She leaned closer to him; a lock of dark, rather greasy hair fell forward over her hot face; her bodice yawned a little to show an ample bosom. Their eyes met briefly. These greasy sluts appealed to him now and then. I have had a surfeit of fine ladies, he thought.

He followed the swing of her buttocks as she walked away not forgetting to glance over her shoulder at him.

A lusty wench, he thought.

‘There will be opposition,’ Jacqueline was saying.

‘My dear lady, when has opposition deterred me … or you either for that matter?’

‘Rarely, I admit.’

He leaned towards her. ‘They will shake their heads in dismay. They will curse us mayhap. Do we care, sweet Jacqueline?’

‘Why should I, if you do not?’

He put his hand over hers and held it tightly. ‘Then we go ahead, eh … without delay.’

She was gazing before her, smiling, seeing herself riding back through Hainault, Holland and Zealand, a strong husband beside her.

Humphrey smiled with her, seeing much the same; but the saucy serving-girl crossed his vision again. He was thinking: She will be a girl of some experience.

It was growing late. There was much to be done. They would ride off together tomorrow and the marriage should take place without delay. He retired to the chamber which had been prepared for him and wrapping his bed-robe round himself he sat on his bed thinking of the future. He had dismissed his servants.

He thought of Jacqueline and wondered whether she was expecting him.

Perhaps it would have been a loving gesture. He imagined himself taking her into his arms. ‘I could not wait for the ceremony, my love, so great was my need of you.’

No. It would not ring true. Jacqueline was too clever.

There was that other. A certain excitement was rising at the thought of her. It would be easy. He could send one of his servants to find her. They had performed missions like that for him often enough and would do so with discreet efficiency. If he wished it within fifteen minutes he would have the girl in his bed.

He was about to summon his servant. Then he hesitated. No. Perhaps it would not be wise. His brother John had said to him time and time again, ‘You’re too impulsive Humphrey. One day that impulsiveness will lead you into trouble.’

Why think of John now? Hardly the time to think of the good elder brother, the noble one, Henry’s favourite. John was not going to be overpleased by this marriage with Jacqueline. Yes, even John would lose his calm when he heard of that.

Still, perhaps it would be a mistake to send for the girl. Jacqueline might discover. And if she did … who knew. He thought he understood Jacqueline but he had had a great deal to do with women, and knowing them well, the one fact he was certain of was that one could never be sure of them.

He, who had lived through so many erotic adventures, could surely spend one night without one. I will, he told himself, for the sake of Hainault, Holland and Zealand.

John, Duke of Bedford, was a very uneasy man. There was scarcely a moment of the day when he did not bitterly regret the passing of his brother Henry. John was the one who had lived more closely in his brother’s shadow than any of the others. Henry and he had worked together, trusted each other, understood each other. It was as though part of him had died when Henry went, thought John, and the better part.

Sometimes it seemed to him that there was a blight on the family. Could it have been the result of their father’s taking the throne from Richard? There were some who believed such actions could bring a curse on a whole family. Not long after his accession their father, King Henry IV, had died of a loathsome disease. He had never enjoyed the power he had fought so hard to win. In fact John was sure that at times he longed for those days when he had been plain Bolingbroke. Crowns brought fearful responsibilities and it was only such as Henry – born to be King if ever a man was – who could carry them with ease and the certain knowledge of success.

But Henry had died – cut off in his prime. He would never have believed that was possible. In the old days they had jousted together, played jokes on each other, dreamed of the future. And how differently it had turned out! There had been four of them, Henry, Thomas, himself and Humphrey. And now only two of them left. Thomas had died only a year before Henry. But his death was more understandable because he had been slain in battle.

Henry had loved him dearly. John clearly remembered the tragedy of Thomas’s death.

Henry had made him Captain of Normandy and Lieutenant of France. Poor Thomas, how proud he had been. But he was impetuous … always in a hurry. It will be his downfall, Henry had said; and how right he had been! If only he had waited; if only he had curbed his impatience. But Thomas wanted as glorious a victory as Agincourt. Henry would never have allowed it to happen the way it did – and consequently it cost poor Thomas his life. The Dauphin’s forces had advanced to Beaufort-en-Vallée and got as far as Beaugé. When the news was brought to Thomas he was eager to go into the attack. Henry would have warned him to wait until he could muster the main force; but being Thomas he could never wait for anything. So with a few chosen knights he rode into the attack and was slain.

Poor Thomas, he had yearned so for glory. He wanted to be as great as Henry. But alas, he was not. The tragedy is, thought John, that none of us is.

The Earl of Salisbury had recovered Thomas’s body from the battlefield and it had been brought to England and buried with great pomp at Canterbury, where the English paid homage to him, believing him to be almost as great a soldier as his brother.

And after Thomas the big tragedy: the death of Henry.

Only two of us boys left, thought John. Humphrey and myself.

The thought worried him and he wondered how much he could rely on Humphrey.

And now the King of France was dead. It was a calamity although not unexpected. When he had lived Henry had longed for it, for on the death of the King of France, Henry was to have been proclaimed that country’s king. That would have been a great and glorious occasion. But now there was only a baby boy where a strong man should have been. Moreover there was a Dauphin who would now call himself King of France and the English invaders must inevitably find themselves surrounded by a hostile people. None understood more than John that a proud people like the French would never submit to a foreign invader and accept a foreigner as their King.

A great deal depended on Burgundy. Henry had always said: ‘We need Burgundy.’ In fact the downfall of France was in a great measure due to the warring factions in the heart of her country. The long-standing feud between Orléans and Burgundy had weakened France to such an extent that the conquest had been more easily accomplished than it could possibly have been if the French had been united against the common enemy.

Henry had made John aware of the importance of Burgundy. Even on his death bed his thoughts had been of the Duke. He had gripped John’s hand and talked to him very earnestly and had said: ‘I leave the government of France in your hands, brother. But if Burgundy has a mind to undertake it, leave it to him. Above all things, I tell you to have no dissension with Burgundy. If that should happen – and may God preserve you from it – the affairs of France with which we have progressed so favourably would become bad … for us.’

They were words which were engraved on John’s mind because he had come to realise the wisdom of them. He was not likely to forget the importance of keeping the peace with Burgundy.

France was in turmoil. While mad Charles had still borne the name of King of France there was a respite. The French could go on believing that a usurper had not taken the throne. But now Charles was dead and action must be taken to bring the French to reality, so after the burial of Charles VI at St Denis, John had no alternative but to have the baby Henry VI declared King of France. This proclamation must take place in Paris and as the time grew nearer the more uneasy John became.

The body of the King of France was taken to St Denis and there with appropriate ceremony laid to rest, The only Prince to attend was John, Duke of Bedford. He had hoped that Burgundy would be there, but clearly Burgundy would have no desire to pay homage to the Duke of Bedford. He could not expect that.

So far so good. The ceremony had progressed without incident. Now came the testing point. He must ride back to Paris and there proclaim his nephew King of France.

He was deeply conscious of the sullen crowds. He knew that any moment they might arise and attack him. He had his guards who would be on the alert for any disturbance, and they had no weapons but he did not underestimate the power of the mob. He thought of Henry and took courage from the fact that he was doing what his brother would have done had he been alive on this day. Before him rode one of his knights carrying a naked sword, which was an emblem of kingly authority. The people of Paris would be aware of that.

He sat his horse very still and silent as the proclamation rang out: ‘Long live Henry of Lancaster, King of England and King of France.’

He waited. They could have come against him then. He might be called upon to face the violence of a Paris mob. He was deeply aware of the sullen silence all about him.

No. It was well. They had had enough of fighting. They had starved and suffered; they had lost members of their families; they were a subdued and beaten people. They knew that at this time they dared do nothing but accept Henry of Lancaster as their King.

John believed their English claim was just and true – as Henry had always said and others before him. It came through Isabella who had been wife of Edward the Second, and if the French upheld the Salic Law the English did not. Moreover they had won by conquest. Still they were considered to be usurpers.

The ceremony was over. He had done his duty. As he rode on to the Louvre he heard the rumbling of voices and he knew the silence was over. Henry had been proclaimed but now the discontent would break out. He knew they were talking of Good King Charles, not mad King Charles, the poor ineffectual man, reduced at times by his madness almost to savagery. The man whose rule had brought disaster to France had become a saint.

Was it not always so?

There were dispatches from England waiting for him. He was tired, exhausted by the emotion of his recent experience. But he must read the dispatches. There could be something in them of the utmost importance.

He read and when he came to the news of his brother Humphrey he paused. He felt the blood rush to his face. He could not believe it. He read it twice. Humphrey … married to Jacqueline. It was impossible. The woman was married already … and to Brabant – a marriage arranged by Burgundy which meant that the wily Duke had his eyes on Hainault, Holland and Zealand. And Humphrey had had the stupidity to marry this woman. He could not have thought of a better way of arousing Burgundy’s wrath.

He read on. Benedict had annulled the marriage with Brabant …

Benedict. The anti-Pope!

Here was disaster. Burgundy would turn against them. They could not afford to make Burgundy an enemy. Burgundy was the most powerful man in France. Henry’s all but last words had been a warning about Burgundy. Never act in such a way as to make him your enemy. Why, he had even offered to make Burgundy Regent of France on his death bed and it was because Burgundy had refused that John himself had had to take on that tremendous task.

And now by this foolish marriage Humphrey would soon be involved in a quarrel with Burgundy.

Exhausted as he was by the ordeal through which he had just passed he must think now how best to act. Should he explain to Burgundy, consult with him?

Oh Henry, he thought, had you been living at this day this could never have happened.

Philip, Duke of Burgundy, one of the richest and most powerful men in France, was the son of John the Fearless. At the time of the battle of Agincourt Philip had been nineteen years old, already married to Michelle, who was the daughter of the King of France and had, as a child, shared with Katherine the privations of the Hôtel de St Pol. The greatest regret of Philip’s life to this time was that he had not been present at the famous battle which had led to the downfall of France. Duke John had given orders that his son was not to leave the Castle of Aire where he was staying at that time and his governor, on pain of severe penalty, had been warned that no matter how much he protested Philip was to remain there.

Philip had chafed against such orders, but had not known of course how important that battle was going to prove. If he had, he vowed, he would have broken free no matter at what cost, and he would have been there.

And so the flower of the French army had been destroyed by a small opposing force and to her everlasting shame France had been brought to her knees. When he heard of the defeat, Philip wept for three days. He refused all food and those about him feared for his health. For years to come he was to refer to Agincourt as the most grievous time of his life.

As for Duke John, he also was overcome with grief. Two of Philip’s uncles, the Duke of Brabant and the Count of Nevers, had perished with much of the nobility of France. But while he mourned, Duke John rejoiced that his son had not been present on that field.

All the same he was ashamed that he himself had not been there and he sent his gauntlet to Henry who was at that time at Calais.

‘The Duke of Brabant is dead,’ he wrote. ‘He is no vassal of France and holds no fief there, but I his brother of Burgundy defy you and send you this gauntlet.’

Henry’s reply was characteristic of him.

‘I will not accept the gauntlet of so noble and puissant a Prince as the Duke of Burgundy. I am of no account compared with him. If I have had the victory over the nobles of France it is by God’s Grace. The death of the Duke of Brabant has caused me great sorrow. Take back your gauntlet. Neither I nor my people caused your brother’s death. If you will be at Boulogne on the fifteenth of January next, I will prove by the testimony of prisoners and two of my friends that it was the French who accomplished his destruction.’

This was an astonishing reply, completely lacking in the arrogance of the conqueror. It was a tentative hand of friendship towards the Duke of Burgundy and it had a marked effect on John the Fearless. He recognised in Henry not only a great soldier but a diplomat as well. He compared him with the mad and feeble King of France and thought what a much more worthwhile ally Henry would make. He ignored Henry’s invitation, however. Instead he marched to Paris and gave every indication of taking arms against the English; but he was really more concerned in the struggle for power between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs – this last named after the Comte Bernard d’Armagnac who had put himself at the head of the Orléans party.

This struggle had been going on in earnest since the Duke of Orléans, lover of the Queen, had been murdered at the orders of the Duke of Burgundy some years before. The King was inclined to favour the Armagnacs which set Burgundy thinking more and more favourably of Henry. Although there was no open alliance he made it clear that he did not consider Henry without claims and the attitude of Burgundy was a source of continual anxiety to the King of France.

Queen Isabeau, who enjoyed intrigue almost as much as she did amorous adventures, at this time decided that she would support Burgundy against her husband and the Orléanists. The only reason she had been with the Orléanists was because her lover had been the Duc d’Orléans. She found it most exciting to send feelers to Burgundy. She was living close to the King – while he enjoyed one of his lucid periods – and was in possession of information which could be useful to Burgundy. As for Burgundy he was only too delighted to have someone as influential as the Queen working for him against his enemies and encouraged the new friendship.

It was hardly to be expected that this should be undiscovered for long, for the Queen was not the only spy in the palace, and the Count of Armagnac soon learned that valuable information was being passed to Burgundy by none other than Isabeau herself. He took the obvious action of discrediting the Queen and this was not difficult, for the Queen’s conduct to say the least was discreditable. Since the murder of Orléans she had had a succession of lovers and the favourite at this time was a certain Louis de Bosredon who was not only her lover but worked with her in getting information to Burgundy.

Armagnac chose the obvious method of revenge. He went to the King and with a show of reluctance implied that not only was Louis de Bosredon the Queen’s lover but that he was acting with her in sending information to Burgundy.

Charles’s temper was unstable. Although at times he was the mildest of men he could suddenly fly into violent rages. He could not help but be aware of his wife’s infidelities. The whole of France had known that the Duc d’Orléans, the King’s own brother, had been her lover. Charles knew it too; but from the moment he had set eyes on Isabeau he had thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he still did. His mind was often cloudy even during those times when he was considered well enough to live a normal life; and when he heard that his wife was carrying on an intrigue with Louis de Bosredon in the palace itself he flew into a violent rage.

The Queen was amazed when he approached her. He knew her way of life; everyone knew of it, so why express such surprise? But even she quailed at the storm of invective he let loose upon her.

‘Charles, Charles,’ she murmured, ‘you must calm yourself. If you do not they will take you back to St Pol. Louis is a friend … of yours as well as mine …’

But for once the King was immune to her wiles.

‘You have not heard the last of this,’ he shouted; and he called for the arrest of Louis de Bosredon. That somewhat exquisite gentleman, on his way to the Queen to show her a new pair of embroidered gloves he had had made for himself and to ask her if she would care to patronise the excellent embroiderers he had discovered, was astonished to find himself seized and thrown into a dungeon.

The Queen was temporarily distraught, but she soon assured herself that she would bring the King to reason; and then she would take her revenge on that spy Armagnac. She would rouse the Burgundians to such wrath that there would be massacre in Paris.

It was not quite as easy as usual. The King was adamant in his determination to unmask Louis de Bosredon; he threatened to have him put to the question and the idea of his beautiful body being mutilated sent Louis into panic so that he very quickly admitted everything – his relationship with the Queen and his participation in her spying for Burgundy.

The King ordered that forthwith he be sewn up in a leather sack and thrown into the Seine. A sack on which had been embroidered ‘Let the King’s justice run its course’ was brought and the sentence carried out.

This was not all. Isabeau herself was not to go unpunished. She was banished from the Court and sent to Tours. There she was put into the care of guards who were ordered to watch her night and day and make sure that she neither sent out or received correspondence.

Isabeau thrived on intrigue. She was resourceful and now she decided to ally herself completely with the Duke of Burgundy. She was beautiful, she was beguiling; few men could resist her; certainly not members of the guard. Would one of them do her a service? she wondered. She need not have asked. The chosen man was honoured, he would serve her with his life and it might well be with his life if he were discovered, for what she asked of him was that he should take a message from her to the Duke of Burgundy.

John the Fearless laughed aloud when he received the seal she sent him. He liked the message which told him that if he cared to come to fetch her she would go with him.

To have the Queen in his possession, the Queen his ally! That would be greatly in his favour. He did wonder how he would be able to capture her without storming the château. But she was a resourceful lady. She evidently had ideas.

The messenger went back to tell the Queen that by the time she received his message, the Duke of Burgundy would be two leagues from Tours with a company of men.

Isabeau had her plan ready. She told the guards that she wished to go to Mass at the convent of Marmoutier which was outside the city walls. Her guards conferred together. They were not supposed to leave Tours. Isabeau stamped and raged. Did they forget she was the Queen? She asked only to be able to worship. Was that to be denied her? They would be sorry they treated her so ill. She would not always be in this sorry position and she was not one to forget.

The guards conferred together. What harm could the expedition do if she were well guarded?

So they set out but when they came near the church they saw a company of soldiers approaching. The guards were immediately wary.

‘My lady,’ said their leader, ‘we should return. These soldiers could be Burgundians or English.’

At that moment the Captain who was riding at the head of the soldiers galloped up to her.

He came close to Isabeau’s horse, took her hand and kissed it.

‘I salute you, my lady, on behalf of the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘Where is the Duke?’ she asked.

‘He is close by, my lady.’

‘Then arrest these men who believe themselves to be my captors.’

The astonished guards were bewildered; they could not believe that they had been victims of such a simple ruse.

And there was the Duke of Burgundy himself, riding to the Queen, bowing in his saddle, his eyes alight with pleasure and amusement.

‘Dear cousin,’ cried the Queen, ‘you have delivered me from captivity. We are friends. I shall never fail you. I know you to be a loyal servant of my poor misguided lord and all his family and a true protector of a sad war-torn realm.’

It was a great achievement. Burgundy and the Queen were allies. They set up a Court of Justice to replace that in Paris; Burgundy was now the acclaimed enemy of the King and still more inclined to be on friendly terms with the King’s enemy.

At the same time there was still no open agreement between Henry and Burgundy but they were moving closer together.

It was not until July of 1418 – nearly three years after the battle of Agincourt – that Henry took Rouen. This was the deciding factor and Rouen had held out valiantly realising that as capital of Normandy if it fell to the English that would put the seal of death on French hopes of victory.

It was a particularly heart-rending siege. The inhabitants sent urgent appeals both to the King and the Duke of Burgundy; they sent out from their city any who were unable to fight and this meant that old men, feeble women and young children were wandering in the districts beyond the city walls, dying of starvation; but the citizens were ruthless. They knew they were going to need all the food they had for those who could defend the city. All through the heat of August to the mists of September and the threat of cold in October the siege continued. December had come with all the bitterness of a hard winter. The citizens of Rouen were at the end of their resistance when a message came from Burgundy bidding them treat with the English for the best terms they could get.

It was desertion. Neither the King of France nor the Duke of Burgundy could or would help them.

Henry had expended men and wealth in the siege and he was angry with the citizens for holding out so long. He ordered that all the men should deliver themselves to him and believing this to be certain death the people of Rouen prepared to set fire to their city.

Henry was amazed at a people who could consider burning themselves to death and he immediately granted pardon to all men except a few whom he would name.

Thus on a cold January day Henry made his entry into the city of Rouen and now was the time for the French to come to terms with the English before they took the whole of France and thus made bargaining out of the question.

It was then that Henry set eyes on Katherine and no sooner had he done so than he greatly desired to marry her. He was first of all the soldier, though, and he was not going to concede too much even for Katherine. He had come for the crown of France and would take nothing else.

He was deeply aware of Burgundy. Eager as he was for the Duke’s friendship he was delighted because of the conflict between Burgundy and the King and the Dauphin. He wanted to keep that going.

Burgundy knew too well what was going on in Henry’s mind and determined to exploit it to the full. What he wanted was to enlarge his possessions, and he decided he might come to private terms with the English. He might be their ally – even against the French. Why not? The Burgundians were waging battle against the Armagnacs. At the same time he did not want Henry to think he would be a willing ally. He would have to be presented with advantages if he was going to join the English. And how could that be – a Burgundian fighting with the English to take the crown of France from the reigning French house!

At the conference Burgundy was extremely cold to Henry. Henry did not mind. He understood exactly where Burgundy’s thoughts were leading him.

They had refused his terms. They had refused to allow him to see Katherine again.

‘We want you to know, cousin,’ he said to Burgundy, ‘that we will have the King’s daughter and all that we have demanded with her. Otherwise we will thrust the King out of his Kingdom, and you too, my lord Duke.’

Burgundy had looked at him cynically and replied: ‘You speak as you will, sir. But before thrusting my lord King and myself from the Kingdom you will have to do what will tire you so much that you will be hard put to it to keep your hold on your own island.’

Henry bore the Duke no animosity. Of course he spoke in that manner. Of course he could not hope for an open alliance between them. It was true too that if he must go on fighting in France he would impoverish his own country. At this time he was flushed with victory and his people applauded their great King whose genius had brought him many conquests; but such conquests had to be paid for … with taxes … and still worse the blood of his soldiers.

Burgundy was right.

One day, Henry was thinking, he and I shall stand together. He is the only man in France that I would wish to be my ally.

Isabeau took a hand after that. She had made sure that she had charge of her daughter when she had seen that she was to be the best bargaining counter the French could hope for. The King was by then in one of his dark moods and shut away from the country. Very soon after that Katherine and Henry had been married.

Then there happened that incident which made Philip of Burgundy the enemy of the Dauphin of France and turned him towards the English with an enthusiasm which his father had never shown.

It was decided among the followers of the Dauphin that he and the Duke of Burgundy must settle their differences and in order that this should be so there must be a meeting between them.

The country was overrun by the English; there must be an end to this conflict within.

Messengers from the Dauphin came to the Duke to tell him that the Dauphin was now staying close to Montereau and if the Duke would come there the meeting would be arranged. Some of the Duke’s friends were against the meeting. It seems so strange they said. Why should you not meet the Dauphin at Court?

The Duke shrugged aside their apprehension and he went ahead with preparations for the meeting. He discussed it with his son Philip who would be pleased to see peace between their House and that of the King for the sake of his wife. He was devoted to Michelle. He had often remarked to his father that the royal princesses seemed of a different calibre when compared with the mad King and his vacillating son.

‘I hope you achieve peace, sir,’ he said. ‘Michelle gets very upset about this conflict. She would be so happy if you were on friendly terms with her brother.’

‘Michelle is right,’ said Duke John. ‘We should be standing together against the English.’

So Duke John had set out for Montereau and there it was agreed that the Duke and the Dauphin should approach each other from either end of the Montereau bridge and each of them should take with him ten men-at-arms.

In the centre of the bridge, the Dauphin and the Duke came face to face. Duke John doffed his hat and bowed low. ‘My lord,’ said the Duke, ‘it is my duty to serve you first in the land after God. I have come to offer you service.’

‘You speak fair words,’ replied the Dauphin. ‘None, I believe, speaks fair words better. You have long delayed coming to us.’

‘Indeed I have,’ replied the Duke. ‘And now I wonder why we are here, for nothing can be settled save in the presence of your father the King.’

‘The King will be content with what I do,’ replied the Dauphin. ‘There is one point I would take up with you, lord Duke. You are over friendly with our enemies the English and therefore have shown yourself to be lacking in duty to the crown of France.’

‘I did what I believe to be my duty,’ insisted the Duke.

‘You have failed in your duty,’ cried the Dauphin.

‘That is a lie.’

One of the men on the bridge shouted: ‘Vengeance for the death of Orléans.’

The Duke turned and saw the axe a second before it struck him.

‘A trap,’ he murmured as he sank to the ground. ‘Betrayal …’

They were standing over him, their swords drawn. There were many who wanted to avenge the murder of the Duke of Orléans. It was twelve years since it happened but it had rankled ever since. It had been at the very heart of the hatred of the Orléans faction for that of Burgundy. Now the man who had instigated that murder had become a victim himself.

When the news was brought to Philip he was stunned. His great and powerful father done to death on a bridge after having been lured to a meeting with the Dauphin, and there foully murdered.

He listened to the account of what had happened with black hatred in his heart.

‘They stripped him of his garments, my lord,’ he was told, ‘and planned to throw his body into the river.’

Philip clenched his fists in anger. They should pay for this. Curse the Armagnacs! Curse the Orléanists! Curse the Dauphin!

‘They were stopped doing this, my lord Duke,’ he was told. ‘One of the citizens of Montereau intervened. He put on the Duke’s shirt and breeches and took him to the church at Notre Dame.’

‘Curse, curse, curse them!’ cried the Duke.

The only way in which he could bear his sorrow was by feeding his anger.

Michelle, hearing the messenger leave and realising that he had brought ill news, went to her husband.

She stared at him in horror and he burst out: ‘Your brother has killed my father.’

‘No.’ Her hand went to her lips. She was trembling.

‘He lured him to his death. They were to talk of peace and when my father arrived they fell on him and murdered him.’

‘Charles … not Charles,’ she murmured.

‘Yes, Charles, our poor ineffectual Dauphin … All he is fit for is to stab brave men in the back.’

She turned away and buried her face in her hands.

He laid his hand on her shoulders. ‘Michelle,’ he said, ‘I hate your brother. Strange that I should love his sister.’

‘But this …’ she said.

He drew her to him and held her tightly. ‘Even this … makes no difference. I despise your father. I hate your brother … but I love you, Michelle.’

‘Then,’ she said, ‘we can face whatever is coming.’

He nodded. He held her against him that she might not see the desire for revenge in his eyes.

The Dauphin must not be allowed to think that he could treat Burgundy thus. Oh, Burgundy had murdered Orléans, yes. He knew. Burgundy had removed that lecherous cheat who leaped into the Queen’s bed as soon as the King was sent to the Hôtel de St Pol, who diverted the King’s exchequer into his own coffers, who made no effort to rule though he had been made Regent at the request of the Queen on whom at that time the King doted. It had been an act of service to the state to remove Orléans. Orléans and his mistress the Queen had put the children away in the Hôtel de St Pol where they lived like denizens of the stews of Paris … his own gentle Michelle, Katherine Queen of England and Marie now in her convent. Oh yes, his father had done his duty to the nation when he had caused Orléans to be removed.

It was different to call the mighty Duke of Burgundy to a meeting with the Dauphin and there murder him in cold blood.

When Michelle’s sister Katherine married the conqueror, when Henry declared that he would be King of France after the death of the mad old King, the new Duke of Burgundy decided that anyone who was the enemy of the Dauphin was his friend.

Thus a closer bond with the English was possible.

Now that King Henry was dead Bedford would proclaim Henry VI King of France and England. It was inevitable and well might the wretched Dauphin seek to raise forces against the English. His skirmishes were laughable. Bedford was a great soldier – not quite what his brother had been, it was true, but formidable. He would not make it too obvious to Bedford that he wished to be his friend.

For instance he did not go to the burial of the late King and the proclamation of the new one. That would have been asking too much of him. He did not wish to be seen taking second place to Bedford. But he admired Bedford; he would be a more staunch ally than that murderous Dauphin, now doubtless calling himself King of France.

Burgundy was surprised one day to find that Bedford had called on him. He glanced from a window and saw the Duke below. He must have arrived most informally. He was talking to someone, and he seemed animated and pleased.

He noticed then that Bedford’s companion was Anne. Burgundy studied his sister as though seeing her for the first time. She has a stately air, he thought; and she is comely. It struck him that Bedford seemed to think so too. He was talking to Anne with the utmost respect and somehow gave the impression that he regarded her as a very great lady.

That pleased Burgundy. So he should, of course; but he must not forget that Bedford was a very important man. Many would say the most important in France at this time.

Anne was eighteen. There had been offers for her but their father had always been too occupied with other matters to give them the consideration they deserved. There is time, he used to say; and as Anne showed little enthusiasm for them they had been set aside. He supposed it was now his duty to find a good match for Anne.

He went down to greet Bedford, trying to hide his wariness as he wondered what had brought the Regent to him in this informal manner.

‘I have long wished to talk with you,’ said Bedford. ‘There are several matters of importance which I want to lay before you.’

Anne inclined her head towards Bedford and smiling at him said she would leave him with the Duke.

Bedford’s eyes followed her as she disappeared.

‘Your sister is a charming and gracious lady,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes, I agree. It is good of you to come to see me. Have they taken your horse? Have you friends with you? Have they looked after you?’

‘Only a party of six. They are in the stables now. I do not imagine my affairs will take long.’

‘Then come in. You must refresh yourself.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘You have come from Paris?’

Bedford nodded.

‘You will take wine now. I hope you will dine with us.’

‘I will take a little wine. Then I will be off. I want to be on my way before nightfall.’

Wine was brought and looking into his goblet Bedford began: ‘I would ask your advice. This country is in a sorry state.’

‘The country has fought a bitter war … and lost,’ said Burgundy.

‘I sometimes wonder if any country ever truly wins. War brings hardships.’

‘ ’Twere a pity your brother … and those before him did not consider this before making war on France.’

‘Alas, it was not only the English who were making war in France.’

The Duke nodded gloomily.

‘We want to undo the effects of war as quickly as we can. I want to bring prosperity back.’

‘You have yet to face the Dauphin who calls himself King Charles VII.’ Burgundy’s face grew dark when he mentioned the Dauphin’s name and Bedford noticed that with pleasure. There was a hatred there which would never pass. Bedford rejoiced in what had happened on Montereau Bridge; it had made Burgundy the Dauphin’s enemy for ever and any enemy of the Dauphin must be a potential friend for the English.

‘We will deal with him, my lord Duke. He is a nuisance, nothing more. I have no great respect for that young man.’

Burgundy was silent.

‘The currency has been greatly debased,’ went on Bedford. ‘I want to encourage trade. Rouen has been sadly battered.’

‘The siege all but destroyed it,’ agreed Burgundy.

‘Aye, a great and valiant people. My brother had deep respect for the citizens of Rouen.’

‘I know it. They would have fired the city rather than surrender it.’

‘And he was lenient with them. Like the great conqueror he was he was always merciful in victory.’

‘And what would you ask of me?’

‘Advice … and help.’

There was silence. Burgundy was no fool. He knew the reason for this flattering show of deference. Bedford wanted to make sure of his friendship. And yet they respected each other. They must do: Bedford to come here and speak almost humbly; and Burgundy to shed his haughty indifference enough to listen.

‘I want to let the people of Rouen know that I plan to revive the woollen trade. I want to make them prosperous again.’

‘That is the best way to win their favour, my lord.’

‘I thought you would agree. I want your help in doing this. I want you to advise me. You know these French better than I ever can. A prosperous country and an end to strife … that will be good for Burgundy no less than France.’

‘It is true enough.’

‘Then to reform the currency, to get the wool trade on its feet again. Then there are the silk weavers of Paris …’

‘You do not talk like a soldier.’

‘Nay, it will please me to have done with wars. Would that please you too, my lord? To live in peace and prosperity … is that not to be preferred to the ravages of war?’

‘If it can be achieved with honour, most certainly.’

‘I want you to help me achieve it with honour.’

Burgundy was pleased and he made no attempt to disguise the fact.

‘You speak good sense … Regent,’ he said, and Bedford felt he was getting on very well.

‘There is one other matter,’ he said. ‘Your sister.’

Burgundy narrowed his eyes and regarded Bedford somewhat sardonically. Now he understood the meaning of this show of friendship.

‘I have seen little of her, too little. But it is enough. She impresses me greatly. Perhaps I am a sentimental man. My brother was the same. He took one look at Katherine and was in love with her.’

Burgundy smiled but it was not an unpleasant smile. ‘I think, my lord, he was more than a little in love with the crown of France.’

‘There you speak truth. But he delighted in Katherine. He said he was the luckiest man on earth because he would have them both … the crown and Katherine. And let me tell you this, my lord Duke: if the King of France had had no daughter my brother would still have had the crown of France. Nay, he took one look at Katherine and was in love with her. Thus do I feel regarding your fair sister.’

‘Like Katherine my sister has much to recommend her.’

‘My brother had a crown to offer Katherine. She is Queen of England now and was as soon as she married my brother. I cannot offer your sister a crown, but I can give her almost anything else she might desire.’

‘It may be that she will not desire you, my lord. Have you thought of that?’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Bedford, ‘and so great is my esteem for her that I would not have her forced to a marriage if it were distasteful to her.’

‘You are a gallant suitor, my lord Regent.’

‘She fills my thoughts. My brother was a simple man, and so am I. Perhaps like him I lack the ability to make flowery courtship but my heart is sturdy none the less and my feelings go deep.’

‘Then you would take my sister without a great dowry, I daresay.’

Just a moment’s hesitation then Bedford said: ‘I would not demand what the great House of Burgundy could not give but knowing its wealth and power I doubt it would wish one of its daughters to be sent to her husband like some low-born woman.’

Burgundy began to laugh.

‘You have approached my sister?’ he asked.

Bedford shook his head, and looked shocked. ‘My lord Duke, I am surprised you could suggest I should be capable of such indiscretion.’

‘Nay, I did not think you would for I fancy you would not wish to displease me.’

‘It is the last thing I would wish.’

Burgundy nodded. It all made sense. Cement friendship with Burgundy. It was the wisest way Bedford could act. His respect for the Regent had always been there; it was growing fast.

And it would be wise. By God’s Head, thought Burgundy, if I stood with the English what chance would that miserable little monster who calls himself the King of France have against us?

He would see him humbled. It would be a shock for the silly young fool when he heard that Burgundy’s sister was betrothed to Regent Bedford.

‘You raise my hopes, my lord Duke,’ Bedford was saying.

‘Such matters cannot be decided in a moment.’

‘Nay, but I see you are prepared to give consideration to this.’

‘It would depend on my sister Anne. I know not what she feels about the English.’

‘She seemed ready to show friendship to this Englishman.’

Burgundy nodded.

‘If you gave your consent,’ went on Bedford, ‘if we could come to some arrangement agreeable to us both I should be the happiest of men.’

It was clear that Burgundy was not ill pleased with the idea. Now was the time for John to hint at the matter which was the real reason for his seeking this interview with the Duke of Burgundy.

‘I have heard disturbing news of my brother Humphrey,’ he began.

Burgundy raised his eyebrows. He was clearly surprised by the change in the conversation.

‘Oh, forgive me burdening you with these matters. But the lady concerned is a connection of yours … in a manner of speaking … and this affair is much on my mind. You know my brother is of a somewhat impetuous nature. It was a source of great anxiety to my brother Henry. Humphrey acts first and then faces the consequences afterwards. They are not always pleasant. To tell the truth he has made a foolish marriage … or not in truth a marriage … but it could be awkward. It is the lady in question, you see.’

‘What lady is this? Is she of my acquaintance?’

‘Well … she is in truth a kinswoman of yours. I refer to Jacqueline of Bavaria.’ The Duke was astounded.

‘Married!’ he cried. ‘Did you say … married to your brother Humphrey!’

‘I did.’

‘It’s nonsense. She is married to Brabant so how can she be married to your brother Gloucester?’

‘It seems there has been some sort of annulment.’ Burgundy looked as though he was going to strike his guest. It was clear that he was deeply shocked. John congratulated himself on having put him in a mellow mood before he gave this news.

‘Annulment!’ cried Burgundy. ‘How could that be?’

He had arranged the marriage between his cousin of Brabant and Jacqueline who was also his cousin and he had his eyes on those important territories Hainault, Holland and Zealand. It was not going to be difficult for powerful Burgundy to wrest them from the one-time Bishop of Liège and soon he had thought they would be back where they belonged – ostensibly with Brabant which meant with Burgundy.

Bedford was eager to soothe him. ‘It is not a true annulment. Benedict XIII pronounced it.’

Burgundy was relieved.

‘Ah, it is no true marriage then,’ he said.

‘You can understand my anxiety,’ said John.

‘Your brother clearly has his eyes on her lands. What does he propose to do? To attempt to take them?’

‘He will plan that most likely. But whether he will carry it out, who knows. He tires easily of his projects.’

Burgundy was clearly disturbed.

‘I shall find some way of dealing with him,’ said Bedford. ‘I am sure I can rely on your help.’

‘You may rest assured that I shall not allow my cousin to be treated in this way. Those lands came to him with his wife.’

‘ ’Twas a pity Brabant passed them over so lightly to the old Bishop of Liège.’

‘Like your brother he is not always wise.’

They looked earnestly at each other. ‘We shall know how to deal with this matter,’ said Bedford.

As he rode away he was congratulating himself on his cleverness. He had broken the news of Gloucester’s folly to Burgundy himself, for it would never have done for the Duke to hear of it from another source, and he had turned it to good account, he believed. It might even have strengthened the bond between himself and Philip of Burgundy.

Chapter III A SCOTTISH ROMANCE

LIFE was pleasant at Windsor. Katherine knew that it could not go on like that. She would not be allowed to keep her baby to herself and live apart from ceremony. There had already been one occasion when she had had to take Henry to London for the meeting of the Parliament. So ironical it had seemed to have the King present, arriving in his mother’s arms, lying there looking with interest at those around him, laughing suddenly as though he found the proceedings ridiculous and then dropping off to sleep as if he found it after all unworthy of further attention.

How the people had cheered as she had ridden through the streets seated on a kind of moving throne drawn by white horses. Afterwards she had sat with her baby on her knees while the lords came up one by one to salute him, and they all said he had behaved with becoming gravity which was an indication of future wisdom.

But how glad she had been to come back to Windsor!

Two nurses had arrived. The first was Joan Astley and the Parliament had agreed that she should have a salary of forty pounds a year which was about the same as a privy councillor for the nursing of the King of England was a task of the greatest importance. She quickly became devoted to Henry and he took to her at once.

Then there was Dame Alice Butler who was given the same salary as Joan Astley and the same privileges including permission to chastise the royal infant if the need should arise. Katherine was thankful that this infrequently did, for Henry was a good baby – he rarely cried and he only did so when he was hungry or tired; he was contented and showed an interest in everything around him.

Katherine felt she could safely leave the care of her child with these two women.

Life at Windsor resembled that of a country house. There were not a great many visitors from Court. The Queen had implied that she wished to live quietly for a while as she continued to mourn her husband and her wishes so far had been respected but she feared that life would have to change in time.

One day however James the First of Scotland arrived to take up his residence there. She had heard much of him at Windsor for the castle had been his principal residence for a good many years. At one time he had been lodged in the Tower, and later he had accompanied Henry to France; but at the same time he was the prisoner of England and would remain so until his people paid the ransom required for him.

Katherine had expected a sullen young man. After all it might be expected that he would bear resentment towards a people who held him so long against his will. She was agreeably surprised when they met. He was some seven years older than herself – good-looking, witty, an eager conversationalist and a man who was ready to see more than one side to a question – in fact a very agreeable companion.

There followed delightful sessions when she talked with him, his chaplain Thomas of Myrton and others of his household. In the evenings there would be music and dancing.

He liked to talk with her of the past and contemplate what the future would be. He could remember a little of his native Scotland, though he had left it when he was ten years old and had not been back since.

‘Nor shall I go,’ he said, ‘until they pay the ransom for me.’

They had much in common for they had both lived through strange childhoods. Both had had a father who had suffered from weakness, mentally and physically, although King Robert of Scotland was not mad as Charles VI had been.

James and Katherine agreed that to be born royal was to be born to danger.

They rode together in the great forest of Windsor; they walked in the castle gardens and she told him of those fearful days at the Hôtel de St Pol and he told her of his childhood at Dumfermline and Inverkeithing. His fears had been less horrifying than hers for he had had a strong good mother; but he on the other hand had been in greater danger than she had, for she was only a girl – to be used later as an important bargaining counter it was true but as a child, of little importance.

‘It was when my mother died that I was in danger,’ he said. ‘My elder brother was murdered by my uncle and my father, fearing a like fate for me, decided to send me to France. However the English intercepted the ship in which I was sailing and brought me to the King – your husband’s father – and I have been a hostage ever since.’

‘You do not seem unhappy,’ she commented.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It happened when I was young. Ten years old. It seemed an adventure then. In a way it has seemed an adventure ever since.’

Of course he had been treated with honour. He was a King even though a captive one. Kings usually respected kings. They never knew when they themselves might be in need of respect. His education had not been neglected; he had excelled in manly sports; he had taken a great pleasure in literature and was writing his own poem which he was calling The Kingis Quair and he would read parts of it to Katharine now and then.

One day when they sat talking there were sounds of arrival at the castle and looking out they saw a girl riding at the head of a small band of attendants.

‘Visitors,’ cried Katherine. It was always pleasing to have visitors providing they were not important men from court who had come to make demands.

‘What a strikingly beautiful woman,’ said James.

Katherine agreed.

They went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers. Katherine recognised the young woman at once as Lady Jane Beaufort, the daughter of the Earl of Somerset. Katherine embraced her and then presented her to James.

He bowed low and Katherine was amused to see that he could scarcely take his eyes from Lady Jane.

For the next weeks Jane shared their rides and their talks and she seemed in no hurry to leave the castle.

They were in love. Katherine wished she could help them. She knew that they wished to be alone but she as the Queen must not allow any act of impropriety in her presence. On one occasion she went riding with them and deliberately lost them. The grooms were surprised to see her return alone and she told them she had lost the party; and they, accustomed to her eccentricities, thought no more of it. Then she wandered out into the gardens and seated herself on a rustic seat sheltered from the castle by bushes.

While she was seated there she heard the sound of footsteps and with mingling surprise and pleasure she saw Owen Tudor coming towards her.

He seemed overcome by embarrassment and she cried out: ‘I am pleased to see you, Owen Tudor. Pray sit down beside me. I would talk with you.’

He hesitated. He was always shy when she addressed him. He could not forget the great gulf which divided a Queen from a humble squire.

‘You think this is not … comme il faut … is that so? Not what is right for a Queen. But I do so much that is not right for a Queen. Shall I tell you I have just lost – on purpose – the King of Scotland and the Lady Jane. What do you think of them, Owen Tudor? Are they not a handsome pair? Are they not so beautiful … and is not it wonderful to be in love as they are?’

Owen was silent, tongue-tied in the presence of his Queen.

‘Of course he is a King,’ she went on. ‘But a King in exile. And she is royal, you know, Owen. Her father is John Beaufort Earl of Somerset, son of John of Gaunt and his last Duchess. She is connected with Richard II through her mother. I do not see why she should not mate with the royal house of Scotland. Do you, Owen?’

‘No, my lady.’

She turned to him suddenly. ‘In fact, Owen, I do not see why anything should separate those who love. Poor James, he has talked much to me. He had a sad childhood … just as I did. You should be thankful Owen that you were not born royal. He loved his mother dearly. I think he was a little unsure of his father. Still, his mother was always there to care for him … until she died. Then his brother was murdered by his wicked uncle. Why is it uncles are so often wicked? It is ambition perhaps and they are usually younger brothers who by removing one person here and another there could come to the throne. I sometimes wonder whether it is not foolish to dream of a crown, Owen. Do you think it brings happiness? Do you, Owen?’

‘No, my lady. I think it rarely does.’

‘It brought my husband happiness … I think above everything he loved his crown. Men do, you know, Owen. So that is why those who have no hope of a crown or power are happier than those who have. You should be a happy man, Owen Tudor.’

‘I am, my lady. Particularly so to enjoy your favour.’

She laughed. ‘You have it, Owen. It shall always be yours.’ She looked at him a little archly. ‘Unless of course you do aught to lose it.’

‘Will all my heart I shall strive to keep it,’ he replied.

‘With all my heart I trust you will. But what will become of our lover, think you, Owen? I would to God it were in my power to send him back to his kingdom with the bride of his choice.’

‘It may well be that his people will raise the ransom and he will go.’

‘Oh Owen, how happy you must have been among your Welsh mountains when you were a child!’

‘There was always the fear, my lady. Remember my father was in exile.’

‘Your father … yes … the outlaw accused of murder. We are all the victims of our fathers it seems. How pleasant it is here. I hope I shall stay long at Windsor. It is my favourite place. They will be wanting my son to take on his duties soon, I doubt not. Oh, you smile Owen. He is but a baby. Think of the burden on that little head! A baby … to wear a crown. They try to force the orb and sceptre into those chubby hands. I tell you, Owen, he will confound them all by trying to eat them.’

She laughed and he joined with her and the sound of their laughter reminded her of the impropriety of sitting in the gardens chatting and laughing with one of her squires. If they were seen …

She wanted to snap her fingers. What cared she for their rules. She would do as she wished and if she wanted to be with Owen Tudor so would she be.

He was uneasy though, and she remembered suddenly that her conduct could perhaps place him in greater danger than she herself would be.

That sobered her a little.

She rose and gave him her hand. He kissed it and released it quickly.

‘Poor Owen,’ she murmured, and she realised that he was even more aware of the danger than she was.

Even so she would talk to whomsoever she wished, and at the moment she was sure her conduct had not been observed. It was one of the blessings of living quietly.

She said fervently: ‘I want to stay at Windsor for a very long time.’

Then she walked quickly into the castle.

James and Jane were seated in a window-seat. He was reading to her from his Kingis Quair.

Katherine walked in softly and sat watching them for a while. There was an aura of happiness about them. How magical to be in love! It had never been quite like that with her and Henry. He had liked her well and she had liked him. This was different. This was not loving because it would be expedient to do so. This was love which crept up unbidden and caught two people and held them. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. She wondered whether it would ever happen to her and something told her that it would.

There was a scratching at the door and Thomas of Myrton entered. It was easy to see that something important had happened.

‘Come in, Thomas, and tell us your news. I see you are eager to do so,’ said Katherine.

‘My ladies, my lord,’ said Thomas, ‘I am to leave forthwith for Pontefract.’

James had risen. ‘Tell us more, Thomas,’ he commanded.

‘I think this time there will be an agreement. Perhaps, who knows, you may very soon now be back in your own land.’

Jane put out a hand and James took it and held it firmly.

‘It would appear that your fellow countrymen are ready to agree to the terms at last.’

‘They will pay the ransom then?’

‘Oh there is more than the ransom … sixty thousand marks …’

‘A great deal of money,’ said Jane.

‘For a King?’ asked Katherine.

‘All Scottish troops are to be removed from French soil.’

‘And they are ready to agree to that?’

‘It would seem so, my lord. In any case I shall know more in Pontefract. This may well be an end to your captivity.’

‘They will no doubt want to make a marriage for me,’ said James. ‘Thomas, you must tell them that I have already chosen.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I will do that,’ he said. ‘And my lord, until my return I beg of you do not act rashly. Let us see if we can conclude this matter to the satisfaction of all concerned. I now ask your leave to retire. I have to depart without delay.’

The three of them talked excitedly together.

‘I shall not leave without Jane,’ declared James.

‘I shall not let you,’ answered Jane.

Katherine listened eagerly. She asked herself what she would do in the circumstances.

She would snap her fingers at them all. She would marry for love; for seeing these two together and thinking of the lives of her parents and her own brief marriage she had decided that crowns – and even the world itself – were well lost for the sake of love.

There was great excitement at Windsor when the messenger came back from Pontefract. The treaty between the Scots and English had been arranged.

The King of Scotland was to be free – after some twenty years – to return to his land. Sixty thousand marks would be paid for his release in instalments of ten thousand a year and hostages would have to be given to make sure there was no defaulting. All Scottish troops would quit France. That was promised and then the best clause of all: King James must marry an English lady of noble birth.

‘There are times,’ said Katherine when she heard the terms, ‘when it seems Heaven is on our side. There is your English lady, James. I do not think there will be the slightest reluctance on her part.’

It was a glorious ending to a happy romance.

Messengers arrived at Windsor. This time they had dispatches for the Queen.

The King must appear before his Parliament and his mother should bring him to London without delay.

‘Well,’ said Katherine, ‘I suppose it was too much to hope that we should be left long in peace.’

The summons could not be disobeyed and she and Henry with a great many attendants and much ceremony – which must always accompany the baby wherever he went – set out for London.

It was Saturday night when they reached the inn at Staines where they were to stay the night before they made their entry into London. On the Sunday morning they prepared to leave and crowds came out to watch them.

Henry was in a bad mood. The crowd no longer interested him. He screamed until his face was purple and all feared he would do himself some harm. He tried to throw himself from his mother’s arms and behaved in a manner so unlike his usual placid self that it was decided he should be returned to the inn. So the protesting child was taken back and there he lay all through that day in a fractious mood.

On the next day, being a Monday, they set out again. Henry was his old self, smiling, chuckling, showing an interest in all about him.

He will be very pious, prophesied the people. So young and already he shows his disapproval of travelling on a Sunday.

So at this early age Henry had already received his reputation for piety.

On Monday they arrived at Kingston and on Tuesday by degrees to Kennington and on the Wednesday he rode into London, sitting on his mother’s lap, and it seemed that all London had come out to see their adorable little King.

At Westminster he attended Parliament and was shown to the assembly there who were well pleased with his progress and it was decided that he should remain in his mother’s care for a little longer.

Katherine rested for a while at Eltham Palace and from there went on to her castle of Hertford. It was pleasant to be in her own castle for it had come to her as it had to the Queen of her father-in law and it would go in due course to baby Henry’s Queen when he had one, for it had been granted to John of Gaunt and thus had come to this side of the family.

She decided she would spend Christmas there and she sent word to James asking him if he would join her.

‘I have already asked Lady Jane Beaufort,’ she said. ‘I thought you and she might have a good deal to talk about.’

They accepted with grateful thanks.

She also asked that some of her personal guards come to Hertford and she made special mention that among them should be the squire Owen Tudor.

What a happy day that was in February of the following year when James the First of Scotland married Jane Beaufort, at the church of St Mary Overy in Southwark. Katherine insisted on being present for she felt she had played a prominent part in this romance and was overjoyed that it had worked out as it had. She could never have borne it if the lovers had been separated, but of course they would never have allowed that to happen.

It was a fairy-tale ending and when the decree had been announced that the King of Scotland must marry a noble English lady he had cried: ‘Right gladly and I have already chosen.’

There could of course be no objection to marriage with the noble Beauforts … royal themselves through John of Gaunt if they had made their entry into the world on the wrong side of the blanket. What mattered was that they had been legitimised afterwards and held high posts in the land. Moreover Jane was royal through her mother.

The Earl of Somerset was delighted with his daughter’s marriage and her uncle the Bishop of Winchester insisted that the banquet should take place in his palace close to the church.

It was a glorious occasion but nothing was more splendid, Katherine decided, than the happiness on the faces of the bride and groom.

The day after the wedding it was announced that ten thousand marks of the ransom were to be remitted as Jane’s dowry and the couple were then free to start their journey to Scotland. At Durham the hostages would have to be delivered into English hands but there seemed to be no difficulty about that.

A few weeks later Katherine said goodbye to her dear friends.

She knew that she was going to be very lonely without them, and when she rode to Hertford where she had decided to rest awhile, she selected Owen Tudor to ride beside her.

‘I shall miss them sorely,’ she told him. ‘But right glad I am to see their happiness. Does it not gladden the heart to see love like that, Owen Tudor?’

He answered quietly: ‘It does, my lady.’

‘That it should have turned out so neatly … that was what I liked. “You must marry a noble English lady,” they said, and there she is … already there. How fortunate they were, Owen; if you can call a man fortunate who has spent the greater part of his life a prisoner.’

‘He is finished with prison now, my lady.’

‘Yes, he gains his rightful place on his throne and his love with him. Do you not think love is the finest thing that can happen to a man and woman, Owen Tudor?’

‘I … I could not say, my lady.’

‘I can … and I will. It is, Owen Tudor. It is!’

Their eyes met and she felt a great happiness creeping over her.

‘They were able to marry,’ he said. ‘They are fortunate indeed.’

‘The happy ending,’ mused the Queen. ‘No … not the ending … Marriage is just the beginning. But they are together … and whatever may come it can be mastered … with a loved one to share it. You think I behave strangely … for a Queen?’ she added.

‘My lady, I think there never was such a Queen as you.’

She turned away. The love affair of James and Jane had affected her deeply. It had made her see what she never dared look at closely before.

Chapter IV THE MARRIAGE OF BEDFORD

A VERY important ceremony was taking place in the town of Troyes. John, Duke of Bedford, Regent of France was being married to Anne of Burgundy, sister of the great Duke and such an alliance could not fail to raise speculation not only throughout France but in England as well. The English saw it as a master-stroke. Charles of France saw it as disastrous. The old Duke of Burgundy should never have been murdered on the bridge at Montereau. It was deeds like this which were the start of feuds that could go on through centuries; and France at the moment was in need of all the friends she could get. To have alienated Burgundy in such a way was a major disaster. And not only would France lose Burgundy’s friendship: England would gain it.

John himself was filled with complacency. Gloucester’s conduct had been enough to alienate Burgundy altogether. He flattered himself that he had warded that off by this brilliant stroke of genius. John was too shrewd not to realise that the Gloucester affair was not over yet. It would be a blow of great proportions if his brother was ever foolish enough to try to regain Hainault, Holland and Zealand. At the moment he was just a threat. Pray God, thought John, that it remains only that until I can stop the mad affair.

John was philosophical. Life had made him so. He realised that in such a hazardous position as he found himself he could take only one step at a time. This he intended to do. And it was a very clever and happy step he was taking now.

He glanced at Anne riding beside him. The ceremony was over and they were on their way to Paris where the Palace of the Tournelles had been made ready to receive them. Anne was young and beautiful; moreover she was good and gentle, even greater assets. She had placidly agreed to the marriage which showed that she did not regard him with disfavour, and he did not think her willingness had anything to do with politics. There seemed no valid reason why Anne should greatly wish for a friendship between Burgundy and England. So it seemed likely that she did not find his person displeasing.

He was handsome, they said. But did they not often say that of Princes? He had a finely arched nose and well defined chin but he was inclined to put on flesh and his skin was too highly coloured, perhaps the result of much exposure to weather. However he bore a resemblance to his brother Henry and he felt that was in his favour.

Anne was a good deal younger than he was, but that was often the case in marriages such as theirs.

As they rode towards Paris he wanted to reassure her that he would be a good and faithful husband to her.

He said to her: ‘There is some surprise concerning our marriage among the people.’

She answered: ‘It is to be expected.’

‘England and Burgundy … at such a time.’

‘My brother is no friend to Charles of France.’

‘One would not expect him to show friendship towards his father’s murderer.’

Her face was sad. It was tactless of him to have referred to the murder. After all, the victim had been Anne’s father also.

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

She looked at him with surprise.

‘I reminded you of your father,’ he explained. ‘It was tactless of me. It was a great blow to you to lose him.’

‘Murder is terrible. I wish there could be an end to bloodshed.’

‘There will be,’ he promised. ‘It shall be my aim to make France prosperous again and that can only be done through peace.’

She turned to smile at him and he felt a glow of pleasure. She was very beautiful and perhaps she could grow fond of him.

It was a happy man who rode into Paris. This was a great step forward. Married into the House of Burgundy to the sister of the Duke with a dowry of 150,000 golden crowns and the promise that if Philip should die without a male heir the county of Artois should be hers! And even if Philip should have an heir, Anne should have as compensation 1,000,000 golden crowns.

A good marriage. A magnificent dowry, a young and beautiful girl – and the greatest matter for rejoicing was the alliance with Burgundy.

The palace was magnificent and the festivities to celebrate the wedding must be equally so. There were banquets and balls but all the time John was aware of an uneasiness. It seemed difficult for everyone – including Anne – to forget that he was the alien conqueror.

In time, he told himself, it will be forgotten. Time? How long? And he was realist enough to know that even if he kept a firm hold on the government of the country there would always be factions to rise against him. Charles was no mean enemy. He might be weak, impetuous, and often listless but the French still regarded him as their true King and would go on doing so – him and his heirs for centuries to come. Occupation was never easy.

All through the celebrations he was aware of suspicions; he knew that he was watched furtively. He would be strong though. He would be as Henry would have been. Henry had married their Princess; he had done the next best thing: he had married into the House of Burgundy.

He wished he could be sure of them. He even wished he could be sure of Anne.

She was young, inexperienced, an idealist and he found great delight in her. She was docile, eager to please him, but he felt that he did not really know her. He wondered how much Burgundy had had to persuade her to the match. Would he have bothered? Oh yes, indeed, Burgundy saw the marriage as a way of flouting Charles VII and at the moment his bitterness against the murderer of his father was uppermost in his mind.

But John had other matters to occupy him as well as his marriage. A soldier could not give too much thought to his personal affairs except when they were closely connected with his duties. This marriage of course was a very important part of them. But now it was accomplished. He must always try to emulate Henry. Henry had been delighted with Katherine, but he would never have sought the marriage if she had not been the daughter of the King of France.

Messengers were constantly arriving at Les Tournelles. He was eager to know how his forces were faring at D’Orsay for that town had been in a state of siege for more than six weeks and the stubbornness of the townsfolk was an irritation to him for it meant expending so many men and so much ammunition to enforce the siege.

It was time D’Orsay collapsed; it must before long, he assured himself, and then he thought of the siege of Rouen which had caused his brother such anxieties. But it had been successful at last and had indeed been a decisive factor in Henry’s victory. D’Orsay was hardly as important as that but at the same time he was anxiously waiting for news of that beleaguered town.

It was while he was thinking of this matter that news came of the surrender of D’Orsay.

Anne was with him. He smiled at her. ‘At last,’ he cried. ‘Who would have thought such a place could hold out so long.’

She smiled at him sadly. He remembered that smile later. It was not always easy to remember that these people who were holding out against him were her countrymen.

He stood at the window watching the bareheaded prisoners being brought into Paris. These were the men who had made the siege of D’Orsay such a costly matter.

Anne was beside him.

‘You look sad,’ he said.

‘I was thinking of those men. Where are they being taken?’

‘To the Châtelet,’ he told her.

‘Prisoners,’ she said.

‘What would you expect them to be, dear lady? They have killed my soldiers; they have fought against me.’

‘In defence of their town,’ she replied.

He sighed. ‘It was foolish of them. Had they surrendered six weeks before they would have saved us and themselves much suffering. They must pay for their folly.’

He turned abruptly and left her.

When he was asked to pass sentence on the prisoners he said it should be death. The citizens of France must learn that it did not pay to hold out against the Regent and severe penalties must await those who did; it was the only way to deter others.

There was gloom in the city of Paris. The people did not like these public executions. They hated to see their own countrymen led out to be slaughtered. For what reason? Because they had defied the usurpers!

On the morning of the day fixed for their execution, the streets were deserted. That was better, thought John, than having them crowded round the place of execution. It was a good sign. Sullen they might be but they were resigned.

He was sure that he was doing the right thing.

Anne came to him as he sat at his table in the antechamber. He rose and bowed. ‘You wished to speak with me?’ he asked.

‘Yes. It is about the prisoners.’

‘They are to be executed today.’

‘John, please do not do it.’

He softened. ‘It has to be,’ he explained gently. ‘They are an example, you must understand. I cannot endure many more of these pointless sieges. They drain our resources too much. They take too much time. I cannot have great bodies of men concentrated round one town because the people are so stubborn and will not give in.’

‘Please understand that they are only defending their homes.’

‘They would have defended them better by surrendering to my men. What good have they done? They have starved the citizens of their town; they will leave their wives without husbands and their children without fathers.’

She turned passionately towards him. ‘My lord … pardon them.’

‘Pardon them! You do not mean that surely?’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘I ask you. Pardon them.’

‘My dear lady, do you understand what this means? To pardon them would be to advise others to do the same. They would say I was weak …’

‘They might say you were strong.’

He laughed. ‘Never.’

She said: ‘I should think it showed strength. To kill them shows that you fear that others will do likewise.’

She bent her head to hide the tears in her eyes and he was overcome by a sudden tenderness.

‘You do not understand these matters,’ he said gently. ‘My dear lady wife, you must allow me to decide. You are too gentle, too good. You do not understand the perils of war.’

‘I understand too well,’ she replied. ‘There has always been war … War between my house and the Armagnacs … War between France and England. Everyone in this poor war-torn land knows war, my lord.’

‘Sweet lady, you must leave these cruel matters to men.’

‘War has always been a man’s game, has it not? A game … yes that is it. It is a game. You play with living men as you would play with toy soldiers. You forget that they are not wooden soldiers … they are living flesh and blood.’

He tried to take her hand but she withdrew it and sharply turning ran from the room.

He stared after her. He was upset by the encounter. She saw him as cruel, indifferent to suffering. She saw him as a monster crazy for power. It was not so. He had been brought up to fight. It was part of a boy’s education. If he did not excel in the jousts he was considered to be a weakling and was despised by those about him. Anne did not understand.

An hour passed. He was still thinking of her. She had seemed more beautiful in tears than she had in her magnificent wedding gown.

What had she said? It showed weakness. It was nonsense. The men had to die. It would be folly to allow the people to think that they could flout his army and be forgiven like naughty schoolboys.

He must forget Anne’s outburst. She was hysterical; she was illogical; she brought a woman’s reason to that which was a matter for men.

He sat staring before him. He went to the window and looked out on the empty streets. Then he called to one of the guards.

Anne stood before him. Her eyes were shining and he saw that her cheeks were wet.

She was smiling at him. She said: ‘You did it then. You stopped the order.’

‘You spoke for them so earnestly.’

‘But you said …’

He went to her and took her hands in his. He kissed them.

She said, ‘Thank you.’

Then he put his arms about her and held her close to him.

He was rejoicing in his marriage – not friendship with Burgundy, not the promise of Artois, nor all those golden crowns … but simply because he loved her.

Chapter V THE DUKE’S MISTRESS

HUMPHREY, Duke of Gloucester was in his element. He thrived on intrigue. His marriage to Jacqueline had focused attention on him and there was nothing he enjoyed more than being at the heart of a controversy.

‘Ha,’ he said to Jacqueline, ‘this has made my brother realise that there are other members of the family besides his important self. It has pricked the pride of proud Burgundy. Imagine the consternation in the camps of these two worthy gentlemen, sweet wife.’

‘I can well imagine it,’ retorted Jacqueline, ‘but what concerns me most is when we are going to get control of my territories.’

‘All in good time our lands will be ours. Leave it to me.’

He looked at her slyly. He did not greatly care for her. Stripped of those delectable lands she would have no appeal for him at all. Her nature was not what he would call warm – quite the reverse. She indulged in what he called bed frolics with something less than enthusiasm. It was clear to him that if he had married her for her lands she had married him that he might get them for her.

Never mind. The project was a pleasing one and it still intrigued him.

He was constantly sending messages to Europe. He was trying to get the Pope, Martin V, to agree that Jacqueline’s marriage to Brabant was not valid – Benedict did not carry enough weight – for although he was not entirely pleased with his marriage it was very important that it was recognised to exist.

There were disquieting messages from his brother John. It was a foolish thing he had done, insisted John. If he had been told that once he had been told twenty times. Burgundy was incensed, John added. Always Burgundy! John seemed to be obsessed by Burgundy. And he had married the mighty Duke’s sister! Poor solemn old John forced into marriage because of brother Humphrey’s feckless conduct!

‘As a matter of fact,’ he told Jacqueline, ‘I am working very hard on our project. Do you know that e’er long I shall have amassed an army of five thousand? The time will soon be here when we are ready to cross the water, land at Calais and then march through to Hainault.’

‘And you think Burgundy will allow that?’

‘Burgundy will not be able to stop my gallant five thousand.’

‘I trust you are right.’

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. How far did she trust him? She was no fool and she knew that any woman would have to be a fool to trust Gloucester far.

‘So my love,’ he went on, ‘it is now for you to make your preparations. What say you to that? You will want to select your household, for I will not have you travel in any inferior style than that of a queen.’

‘I have no intention of doing otherwise,’ she told him.

He nodded pleasantly.

‘Then, sweet wife, speed on your plans. Before October is out we should be on our way. We do not want to wait for the winter, do we?’

‘As soon as that?’ she said.

‘Aye,’ he answered, ‘as soon … or sooner. If you do not believe me, go and study the accounts my treasurer is compiling. He will be pleased to discuss them with you, for he is mighty pleased with his efforts.’

‘I will,’ she said.

He bowed as she went out and then made his way to the apartment which they shared together.

A woman was hanging up one of Jacqueline’s cloaks in a cupboard. He had seen her before and noticed her. He had in fact come here in search of her.

‘Why ’tis Lady Eleanor, I do declare,’ he said.

She turned round. She had large dark brown eyes and thick dark hair; her cheeks were highly coloured and Humphrey thought of her as luscious. Her figure was voluptuous in the extreme, small waisted, large bosomed and ample hipped. The belt she wore at her waist accentuated this.

‘Ah,’ she said saucily, ‘I too will make a declaration. It is Duke Humphrey.’

‘And you are pleased to see him, mayhap?’ he murmured.

‘My lord, is there any reason why I should not be pleased?’

‘Indeed no. There is every reason why you should be pleased. I will tell you this. I find you are a very pretty woman.’

‘Ah.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Then you have not come to tell me that you are displeased with me and would dismiss me from the Lady Jacqueline’s household.’

‘Nay, nay, I have come to tell you that I would wish to take you into mine.’

‘My lord jests,’ she began but got no further because he had put his arms about her and his mouth was pressing on hers.

She was warm in her response as he had known she would be. He had had his eyes on her for days … and he knew well enough that she had been aware of it and was cordially inviting him to proceed.

‘You’re a witch,’ he said. ‘You’ve bewitched me.’

‘Mayhap. But it is not my occult powers that have done it.’

‘Well, what shall we do about it, eh? What should you say?’

‘I should say that you must remember your good wife, the Lady Jacqueline. But it might be that I will not say what I should.’

‘Then what will you say?’

She drew away from him and put out her tongue provocatively. ‘I shall say this, my lord. You are a man … and men do what they will … when they will, how they will. What does a poor woman do?’

‘You mean …’ he said.

‘I mean nothing, fair sir. Yet I could mean anything.’

He approached her again. He seized her. ‘I want you,’ he said. ‘You know it.’

She opened her wide languorous eyes and said, ‘When? Here?’

‘Why not?’ he said.

‘You are a bold man.’

‘You’ll find me as bold as you wish me to be.’

She pushed him from her. ‘Here? … when my lady might come at any moment?’

‘She is studying the accounts. I sent her to do so.’

‘That you might come and see me?’

‘You know I’ve had my eyes on you for days.’

‘I saw the lust in them.’

‘ ’Tis not the first time you’ve seen such looks I’ll warrant. Nor satisfied them either,’ he added.

‘My lord you are offensive.’

‘You arouse a madness in me.’

‘Never mind. Soon you will be overseas. Just curb yourself till then.’

‘You will come with us. You must.’

An alert look came into her eyes.

‘Shall I be there then?’ She came to him and put her arms about his neck. ‘I should not wish,’ she went on, ‘to find a man to my taste and then to lose him to the Dutch or the Zealanders or the folk of Hainault.’

‘Is that what you want? To come with us?’

She put her head on one side. ‘I’d have to try you first to see if I wanted that.’

She dragged him through a door. They were in a small closet. ‘My sleeping apartment,’ she explained. ‘Small but it will suffice, I think, for at such a moment as this even the mighty Duke of Gloucester has other things to think of than his surroundings.’

‘My God,’ he said. And he laughed in triumph. He was in a fever of excitement such as he had rarely known before. His delight was increased when he realised that his eagerness was matched by hers.

He was convinced he had never before enjoyed such an encounter.

For a woman like this one he could forget not only Jacqueline but Hainault, Holland and Zealand.

Preparations for departure were proceeding rapidly and there were frantic messages arriving from Bedford.

‘For God’s sake,’ wrote Bedford to his brother, ‘do nothing rash. Burgundy is incensed. This could lose us his friendship.’

Humphrey laughed and bombastically declared to Eleanor that it amused him to see old John in such a panic. It might lose him Burgundy’s friendship but it was going to bring vast advantages to Humphrey.

‘Don’t you think I should consider myself, sweetheart?’ Eleanor replied that indeed he should for it was something which he did to perfection being so practised in that art.

He could laugh at her; she amused him; she was ambitious for him too; she wanted him not only supreme in her bed but in the field. It amused her to have a powerful lover. She wanted him to be the most powerful man in England; and he would be when he regained Jacqueline’s lands.

He had rarely been so pleased with himself. He was so proud of being Jacqueline’s husband and Eleanor’s lover.

Eleanor was with them when they left for Calais. He would not have sailed without her, so important had she become to him. She was the most erotically skilled woman he had ever known and he had known a few. The intrigue necessary to keep his liaison secret from Jacqueline excited him. He had rarely been so pleased with himself. He would lie with Eleanor usually in some secret place and when they were satiated with their lovemaking he would talk to her of his plans.

She applauded his schemes. She said when he had secured Jacqueline’s territories he could turn his thoughts to England. It would be years before little Henry could rule and there was only John over in France. He would be likely to remain occupied there for some time.

‘There is that old devil of Winchester,’ Humphrey reminded her. ‘A curse on these Beaufort relations … the lot of them. Bastards all of them.’

She laughed and nibbled his ear.

Wonderful sessions they were. On the boat together arriving at Calais, the excitement of wondering what they would find; having to travel through country where they might meet Burgundy’s forces. But there was no opposition. It was all so easy. Right to the borders of Hainault they came and there was no sign of an enemy. Instead the people came out to welcome Jacqueline. They had no love for the ex-Bishop of Liège.

Glorious days. The conquerors riding through Hainault, stopping at the houses of nobles who had nothing but a hearty welcome for them … or in truth for Jacqueline; receiving the dignitaries with Jacqueline beside him and aware – oh very much aware – of Eleanor, hovering close. And then at odd times seeking a meeting. Anywhere, anyhow! How they laughed at the strange places in which they found themselves !

Two things had become clear to him. Conquest was easy and the more he knew of Eleanor the more he realised that he could not do without her.

Easy conquest, a wife who had achieved her ambition and was happy just then to make it her sole concern, and a mistress who delighted him more every time he saw her.

What more could a man ask?

It was too much to expect that life could go on like that. Rumours came through to the effect that Burgundy was preparing to come against him and that the mighty Duke had joined forces with Brabant.

Gloucester ceased so openly to sneer at Burgundy as the rumours grew more alarming every day.

One day one of Burgundy’s messengers arrived, bringing with him the suggestion that Gloucester return at once to England and that Jacqueline go back to her husband the Duke of Brabant, and they both forgot this farce of a marriage to Gloucester.

There was a letter from Bedford too. He was urging Gloucester to take heed not only for his own sake but that of England, for Burgundy was on the point of concluding a truce with France. ‘You can guess what a blow this is to us,’ wrote Bedford. ‘We are pressed as hard as we can be and if we lose Burgundy’s support, which we shall undoubtedly do if you persist in angering him, we could be in a most unhappy position.’

Humphrey tossed his brother’s letter aside. Did John think he was going to give up all these newly acquired possessions just because he was told to?

A further letter from Burgundy affected him more deeply. Burgundy was challenging Humphrey to a duel – the time-honoured method of settling a difference.

When Jacqueline heard she shrugged her shoulders: ‘You have a fair chance of winning,’ she said.

‘Against Burgundy!’ Humphrey quaked at the thought. Burgundy’s reputation was such as to strike terror into the heart of any man. He sought an early opportunity of telling Eleanor.

‘Duel?’ she said. ‘Nonsense. I don’t want Burgundy to murder you … or to return you to me in such a state that you are of no more use to me.’

They laughed but he was seriously disturbed.

‘I’m tired of Hainault and Holland,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m homesick. I want to go back to England. What are these places compared with home? I’ve always told you you are chasing the wrong things. Think what you can do at home … a baby on the throne and you his uncle! Brother Thomas is no more. Brother John is engaged in France. That leaves Humphrey free of the field. I’ve always said it but I’ll say it again. Get out … before Burgundy comes in.’

‘Jacqueline would never agree.’

‘Then let her stay.’

‘You mean leave her here?’

‘I’ll swear that is where she wants to be.’

‘It would mean she would have to face Burgundy alone.’

‘She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to. She could go back to Brabant.’

‘I doubt it will come to that unless Burgundy insists. He seems to be the one everyone is afraid of.’

‘He has great power.’

‘Listen to me, my love. Let us go back to England. Would you agree to come?’

‘You don’t imagine I should let you go without me, do you?’

‘Do you think anyone or anything could make me leave you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You’d put up as big a fight for me as you would for Jacqueline’s lands. But you’re not going to put up a fight for either. Let the lands go … Humphrey … and keep close to me.’

‘Let them go!’

‘You are going to have to when Burgundy marches in. He’s only waiting until he has made his peace with the French. You don’t want to be humiliated in defeat do you, Humphrey? Of course you don’t. We’ll go to England before that can happen.’

‘How can we?’

‘It is easy. You will say you are going to raise fresh troops and to prepare yourself for your duel with Burgundy.’

‘You are a clever girl, Eleanor.’

‘I live to serve, my lord,’ she retorted with a touch of irony in her voice.

It was amazing how easy it had been to deceive Jacqueline. She accepted all he said. Yes, they would need more troops. He must make preparations for his duel. He must go. She would hold the land until he returned. He could take only a few of his knights with him. It would be better to leave a large force with her.

To all this he agreed. He took a fond farewell of her and started out on the journey to Calais. He had a few anxious hours because naturally Eleanor could not ride openly with him. And of course it was expected that she would stay in Holland in attendance on Jacqueline.

They came to an inn where they would spend a night and still she had not joined the party.

He was beginning to fear that she had no intention of coming with him. Could it be that she had found a new lover and had worked to get rid of him? No, they had had such amazing times together; there could not be another person in the world who suited her as he did. She had interested herself so ardently in his affairs. She wanted to be beside him when he took power in England. She had been homesick for England from the moment she had set foot on foreign soil.

But there he was and where was Eleanor?

The horses were in the stables and he with his small band of men went into the inn. He was taken to a room. The innkeeper opened a door and he went in.

Eleanor was lying in the bed.

‘How long you have been in coming,’ she reproached him.

Then he fell upon her and his delight was greater than he had ever known.

Chapter VI THE DUKE AND THE BISHOP

HENRY BEAUFORT, Bishop of Winchester, was deeply disturbed when he heard that Humphrey of Gloucester was back in England.

He expressed his disquiet to Richard de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick. Warwick was a man of good reputation, renowned for his honour and selfless devotion to the crown. Henry Beaufort prided himself on a similar loyalty. He was the second son of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford and he had never forgotten that he owed his advancement to his relationship with Henry the Fourth who was his half-brother. Their father had expected Henry always to care for the Beaufort branch of the family even though at one time they had been illegitimate – and this Henry had done.

Such a start was something never to be forgotten by a man like the Bishop, and he had sought to serve both his half-brother Henry the Fourth and his nephew Henry the Fifth with devotion. He was now ready to offer that allegiance to Henry the Sixth. He deeply deplored the fact that the new King was a baby and that others should have to be set up to govern during his minority. He had the highest regard for John, Duke of Bedford. It was a different matter with Humphrey.

Now Henry Beaufort was shaking his head and muttering that it was an ill day for England when Gloucester had come amongst them once more.

Warwick agreed. ‘The mission abroad was doomed to failure before it began,’ he said.

‘And in addition is threatening to lose us Burgundy’s support. My Lord Bedford is extremely anxious about the outcome.’

‘And well he might be. Now Burgundy will doubtless walk in and take over Jacqueline’s territories.’

‘I would to God Bedford would return.’

Warwick understood such sentiments. Since Bedford and Gloucester had left the country Beaufort had taken on the responsibility of governing. He had been made Chancellor once more and was held responsible for all the unpopular measures which had had to be taken to support an army in France.

He and Gloucester had been enemies from the time of Henry the Fifth’s death. Beaufort had never wanted Humphrey to have a place on the Council. He was, of course, the brother of the late King and uncle of the reigning one; but Beaufort believed him to be not only selfish and licentious but quite incapable of wise government. He had made this very clear to everyone including Gloucester which naturally did not endear him to the Duke.

At this time Beaufort unfortunately was undergoing a phase of unpopularity in London, and the citizens were expressing their preference for the absent Duke. Beaufort had brought in some unpopular laws and the Londoners were not slow in expressing their irritation with these. They declared he showed more favour to the Flemish traders than he did to the English merchants. Moreover he had approved orders made by the mayor and aldermen restricting the employment of certain labourers.

All the difficulties of city trading including the extorting of taxes were blamed on the Bishop.

‘Bills have been posted on the gates of my palace,’ he told Warwick. ‘The labourers have been meeting and threatening what they will do to me if they lay their hands on me. I tell you, Warwick, there is no joy in this task … even without the presence of the Duke of Gloucester. I have taken the precaution of putting a garrison in the Tower in case there should be trouble. I dread to think of what would happen now if Gloucester rode into London.’

He was soon to discover.

In a few days Gloucester was making it known that he was back and he was going to find out how deeply offended his friends the Londoners were with the Bishop.

In the first place he had sent messages to the Mayor, whom he knew to be on his side with the merchants who believed that the Bishop had treated them badly.

‘My good friend,’ he wrote, ‘we must curb the prejudices of this upstart Bishop against our worthy citizens. I beg of you place a guard on the bridge so that when the Bishop would cross into the city he is prevented from doing so. It will let him know that I am back to uphold the rights of the Londoners.’

The Mayor obeyed Humphrey and when the Bishop was about to make his way into the city he was challenged by men-at-arms who told him that on the orders of the Mayor and the Duke of Gloucester he could not be allowed to enter.

As was inevitable, in spite of the Bishop’s effort to curb it, fighting broke out between the Bishop’s followers and those citizens who were determined to uphold the Mayor’s decision.

Uneasily the Bishop retired. It was even worse than he had imagined. Not content with creating harm to English rule in France by angering the Duke of Burgundy, Gloucester was now set on making trouble at home.

The Bishop sought out Warwick once more. There was no need to explain to him what had happened at the bridge. It was common knowledge.

‘The fighting was fierce while it lasted,’ explained the Bishop. ‘If I had not retired and called off my men there could have been a disastrous riot. Heaven knows how far it would have gone. I wonder, my lord, if you will agree with me that there is only one thing to be done. If you and the Council agree I propose to do it without delay.’

Warwick nodded gravely. ‘I presume you mean that we must ask the Duke of Bedford to return.’

‘That is exactly what I had in mind.’

‘I fear it is necessary. It may be dangerous however for him to leave France at this time when the alliance with Burgundy has been so impaired.’

‘Gloucester has made trouble in France; he could make greater trouble in England.’

‘That is true. And when all is weighed and considered it is England which must be defended first … if it is a matter of making a choice.’

‘I see you are in agreement with me. I must send an urgent message to the Duke of Bedford. However much his presence is needed in France it is even more urgently needed here.’

That very day the Bishop dispatched an urgent message to the Duke of Bedford.

Little Henry was being dressed in a crimson velvet robe. It was a lovely April day and it was decided that he must appear before the people at St Paul’s. The opinion seemed to be that the sight of their baby King might help to appease the angry discontent which was beginning to prevail among the Londoners since the return of Humphrey.

Katherine looked rather sadly at her little son. He would not be four years old until December. It seemed a pity to force him into these ceremonies. She wondered what he thought of all the pomp. He showed no sign of being disturbed by it.

She had tried to explain to him.

‘It is because you are the King, my dearest. The people want to see you.’

‘Are you a King too?’ he asked.

‘No, only boys can be Kings. I am a Queen.’

‘Is Joan a Queen? Is Alice?’

Poor sweet child! What a lot he had to learn.

‘You must smile at the people when they cheer you.’

‘Why will they cheer me?’

‘Because you are the King. Because they like you.’

He smiled then. Dame Alice was a little stern with him. After all, she had been given the right to chastise him. Not that she did very often because he was a good boy, scarcely ever in need of chastisement. And he never bore a grudge against Alice any more than he did against Joan. He loved them dearly. They were part of his life as his mother was. And Owen, of course.

When he sat on his pony Owen led him round the field. He enjoyed that. Owen talked to him in a soft Welsh voice which Henry liked. If Owen stopped talking he would say: ‘Go on, Owen. Go on.’ And Owen would talk about the Welsh mountains and when he was a little boy no bigger than Henry and although Henry did not understand all that was said he liked to hear Owen talk.

His mother liked to be there. She would put her arms about him and smile from him to Owen. He liked the three of them to be together like that.

Now he was going to ride through the streets of London and all the people would come to see him because they liked him, so he had to remember to smile at them and like them.

‘Alice,’ he said, ‘suppose I don’t like them?’

‘You’ll like them,’ said Alice. ‘You’ve got to. They’re your people.’

His people! Like his horse. Like the beads on a stick which his mother had given him. His, like that, he wanted to know.

Well not quite, was the answer but one day he would understand. It was often One Day. There was so much he would know then but when would One Day come?

His mother showed him the little velvet cap turned up round the brim above which was a little crown. They put it on his head.

‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘It’s heavy. It hurts me.’

‘Come, sweetheart,’ said his mother. ‘You have to wear it, you know.’

‘I shan’t,’ said the King, snatching it off his head.

Stern Alice took it and replaced it. ‘Kings,’ she said very solemnly, ‘have to wear their crowns whether they like them or not.’

That seemed to settle it. He was wondering about Kings and the people who were his and forgot about the crown on his hat.

How the people cheered him! They loved him. He looked so incongruous in his royal robes with the miniature crown on his head and his fat little hand clutching the miniature sceptre. He smiled. They liked him. They were his in some strange way which he would understand One Day.

They took him into St Paul’s and there he was set upon his feet and two lords so magnificently clad that he wanted to stare at them and examine the jewels on their robes walked with him to the high altar.

There was a great deal of talking and it seemed to go on for a very long time but he was very interested in the proceedings and afterwards they led him out of the church and placed him on a beautiful little white horse and he was led through the streets of London. All the traders in the Chepe stood watching him with wonder and several women called out ‘God bless him.’ He was their darling little King. They threw kisses at him.

And he thought then that it was a very nice thing to be a King after all.

John discussed with Anne the letter he had received from the Bishop and the Council.

‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that my brother Gloucester creates trouble wherever he is. I really think it is imperative that I return to England.’

The Earl of Warwick had come to France and he had disturbing stories to tell of the troubles which were working to a climax in England. ‘Your brother,’ he said, ‘is determined to oust Henry Beaufort from the Chancellorship.’

John shook his head. ‘My uncle is a good and honourable man. Would I could say the same for my brother.’

‘The Duke of Gloucester is a very ambitious man, my lord. And when a country has a King who is a minor that can create a difficult situation.’

‘ ’Tis so, my lord Warwick. I would to God my brother Henry had not died and left us this burden.’

‘A tragedy indeed. One so able … so noble … and to die in his prime when he was needed as few have been needed before.’

‘It was a stroke of great misfortune for our country. But we must do what we can to avert disaster.’

‘Which means, my lord, I think that your presence is needed to sort out this trouble.’

‘I am not happy about the state of affairs here in France.’

‘Nay, this affair of Burgundy …’

‘He was my friend, Warwick. His sister is my wife.’

‘Let us be thankful for that, my lord.’

‘Oh, I am fortunate in my marriage. Anne will do all she can to keep her brother at my side. But it is disquieting that Holland and Zealand are already in Burgundy’s hand. When the ex-Bishop of Liège died – most conveniently – Burgundy declared himself the heir and marched in. There remains Hainault and I understand Burgundy is attacking that unhappy land at this time.’

‘What chance has Jacqueline against him?’

‘None.’

‘And she is left alone to face him.’

‘Deserted by my brother. But it would have made no difference if he had been there. Burgundy will conquer Hainault in no time. You see what my brother has done. He has alienated Burgundy from us and at the same time increased Burgundy’s power.’

‘He will be filled with remorse.’

‘Will he? He will not regret the harm he has done me. He will just mourn the loss of the lands he tried to win.’

‘And, my lord, can you leave this field now?’

‘I must, Warwick. I cannot allow dissension in England. What I propose to do is to leave men whom I can trust here while I go to England. I hope my stay there will be brief. But go I must. Warwick, it pleases me to see you here and I am going to appoint you to remain here and with the help of Salisbury and Suffolk to look after matters in my absence.’

Warwick bowed and said that he would do all in his power to serve his country, and Bedford was pleased.

Then he returned to Anne.

‘I wonder how you will like to journey to my country?’ he said.

‘I shall like better to go to your country with you than for you to go there alone,’ she replied.

Their relationship had deepened since he freed the men of D’Orsay at her request. She was with him … even when it meant going against her brother. It had not come openly to that yet. Bedford fervently hoped it never would. But he was grateful for her loyalty and it was a joy to him to be able to talk freely to her. She could sometimes give him good advice for she knew the minds of the French; and she could always offer comfort.

So they left Paris and began the journey to the coast. As he was riding towards the town of Amiens a band of hostile men were waiting for him. They sprang out and attacked his followers – of whom there were not many; he was afraid for Anne and kept her close to him. However, the crowd were only armed with bill hooks – nasty weapons perhaps but not much use against skilled guards – and they were quickly dispersed; but it was a warning always to be on the alert and it brought home the truth that in spite of the fact that he had brought a certain prosperity to France he was still regarded as the usurper.

When he reached England he was greeted by the news that Philip of Burgundy had beaten Jacqueline’s forces and she herself was his prisoner.

Humphrey was feeling decidedly displeased with the manner in which life was going.

He was fast losing interest in Jacqueline. He wished he had never involved himself with her. He did congratulate himself, though, that he had left her in good time. It would have been disastrous if he had been there when Burgundy had marched in. What if the mighty Duke had captured him as well as Jacqueline! He had been wise to listen to Eleanor’s pleadings to return to England. It was the best step he could have taken in this sorry business. He had no time in his ambitious life for lost causes and he was beginning to believe that Jacqueline’s was that.

She had sent him urgent calls for help. But what could he do? She was in Burgundy’s hands now. It would need an army to go to her aid; and was the English Parliament going to grant him the means of raising that? Not likely.

What was occupying him now was his quarrel with his uncle Beaufort. Bastard uncle, he reminded Eleanor. Thinks himself as royal as I am. That was the trouble with these legitimised bastards. They could never forget that they were in truth bastards. It rankled. It made them want to assert themselves.

Beaufort should be ousted from the Chancellorship. Indeed he should be ousted from the country. ‘For,’ he told Eleanor, ‘he is no friend of mine.’

It was not long, of course, before Bedford arranged a meeting with his brother.

He has aged somewhat, thought Humphrey. It is all that responsibility in France. He does not know how to live, this brother of mine. He has the power. There is no question of that. He’s King in all but name, but how does he enjoy himself? That wife of his … Burgundy’s sister. What is she like? There is often little fun in these marriages of convenience.

Bedford was cool. He was indignant of course that he had been brought to England when the situation in France – partly due to Humphrey’s feckless behaviour – was not very secure.

Was he ever going to be allowed to forget that he had offended the all-mighty Burgundy? And now he was at odds with Bastard Beaufort and John did not like that either.

‘It seems,’ said John with that aloof manner which made many men respect him and few like him, ‘that you leave a trail of trouble wherever you go.’

‘It is others who make the trouble.’

‘It seems strange that you are always at the heart of it. Burgundy …’

‘Oh please, brother, let us give Burgundy a rest, eh? I am tired of that sacred name. Believe me I have had the power and importance of the gentleman served to me morning, noon and night.’

‘He happens to be of great importance to our success in France.’

‘I know, I know … and you have married his little sister to placate him. A wise move, brother, and one I should expect of you. I hope the Lady Anne is not too burdensome a duty.’

‘I insist that you do not speak disrespectfully of the Duchess of Bedford. Nor have I come to discuss the disasters your actions have caused in France. That sad story is well known to us all. This quarrel with the Bishop of Winchester must stop.’

‘So Uncle Henry has been whining to you, has he?’

‘I have the report of the Council.’

‘Are they too against me? Oh, sly Uncle Henry has primed them, I don’t doubt.’

‘No sooner do you return to England than you are quarrelling with the Chancellor who, with the Council, has kept order very well during our absence.’

‘Has he? Have they asked the people of London?’

‘The merchants of London are often disgruntled. They resent the taxation which is necessary if we are to bring the crown of France to England and keep it there. It is for you to explain to them the need for taxation. They want us to be victorious. These things have to be paid for. Moreover, do you imagine that if the Bishop ceased to be Chancellor taxes would be any less?’

‘Brother, he tried to keep me out of London. He was in a plot to kill me. Do you know he planned to seize the King.’

‘That is nonsense. Why should he seize the King?’

‘That he might rule. That he might have charge of the boy. That he might set his own men about him.’

‘Humphrey, you talk nonsense.’

‘I’ll tell you more,’ went on Humphrey. ‘Do you know that he plotted against our brother Henry? Do you know he counselled me to take the crown from our father?’

John looked at his brother in dismay. Was there no end to his folly?

John ignored the outburst and went on to talk of the need for unity in England. To bring such charges against the Chancellor, and a member of their family at that, could do nothing but harm.

‘But if they are true, if we nourish a viper in our nest … should we not bring this matter to light before he can do much damage?’

John said no more. It was useless trying to reason with Humphrey; his one desire was to patch up the quarrel so that he could restore some sort of harmony and get back to the important business of governing France.

He discussed the matter with members of the Council and explained the charges which Humphrey had brought against his uncle. No one believed them; but Humphrey was after all the King’s uncle, and when Bedford was in France he was the Regent of England. The Bishop had only assumed the role because both brothers were out of the country.

It was decided that to satisfy the Duke of Gloucester there must be an enquiry and that the Bishop should be asked to prove that the charges brought against him were untrue.

That such charges could have been sufficiently believed that they had to be proved untrue was a great blow to the Bishop’s pride. To have been accused of treachery towards his half-brother, Henry the Fourth, and his nephew, Henry the Fifth, and in fact also to the little Henry the Sixth was so unjust that he could only express his amazement.

Bedford tried to placate him. ‘It is better to have the matter settled as amicably as possible. All you have to do is show these accusations to be ridiculous and they will be dismissed.’

Beaufort could see that Bedford was right. Because his accuser was the son of Henry the Fourth, uncle to the little King and brother to Bedford, he had special privileges and one of these was to invent arrant lies about others.

Wounded and humiliated, the Bishop faced the Council, confounded his accuser, made it clear that he had never committed treason, and was exonerated.

‘I will hand in the Seals,’ he said, ‘for I will not remain Chancellor after such accusations have been made against me. I have long intended to make a pilgrimage and this I will now prepare to do.’

Bedford was disturbed. ‘I shall have to return to France in due course,’ he told Anne. ‘I dare not stay away too long. Gloucester will be my deputy here which alarms me.’

‘Could you not persuade the Bishop to return to office and since your brother has shown himself incapable of keeping the peace take the government out of his hands?’

‘You have learned a little about Gloucester. He regards the Regency as his right. While I am here it is mine, that is true; but if I am not, he is the next in succession. I fear if I attempted to appoint someone else there would be trouble. He has his supporters. He is popular with the Londoners. Men such as he is often are. I must stay a little longer.’

‘I have heard rumours that he is interested in a woman of not very good reputation.’

‘Yes, that is Eleanor Cobham. She is the daughter of Lord Cobham … or said to be his daughter. Some will tell you she is of doubtful antecedents. It may be that she is a bastard of Cobham’s whom he has brought up in his household.’

‘Your brother seems to be deeply enamoured of her.’

‘Humphrey is rarely enamoured of anyone or any project for very long. It seems likely that his obsession with the woman will pass. But, my dear, I am more concerned with the political strife he seems to delight in raising. His women are of no great concern to me.’

‘Then we must perforce resign ourselves to staying in England for a while.’

‘At least you enjoy seeing my country.’

‘That I enjoy, but I do not enjoy seeing you anxious.’

‘Ah,’ said Bedford smiling. ‘That is the cross I have to bear as do all those who live close to the throne.’

‘The cross sits lightly on your brother Humphrey’s shoulders.’

He looked at her very seriously. ‘Sometimes I wonder how it will all end for him.’ And for a moment he let his thoughts dwell on how pleasant life could have been if he had been born a humble squire and Anne a lady of no great birth. They could have found much to interest themselves and occupy them in a country estate shut away from the perils and intrigues from which he knew they would never escape.

Sometimes such thoughts came even to the most ambitious men.

He was further disconcerted when the Pope offered Henry Beaufort a Cardinal’s hat and nominated him cardinal priest of St Eusebius. Beaufort had been offered this during the reign of Henry the Fifth, who had sternly forbidden him to accept it. To become a Cardinal would direct Beaufort’s efforts, and even loyalties, away from England and towards Rome. Henry had been very much against that.

Now Beaufort accepted.

‘My brother’s work once more,’ muttered Bedford.

Chapter VII THE QUEEN PLIGHTS HER TROTH

CHRISTMAS had come and Katherine decided that it should be kept at Eltham. The King was now five years old and earlier in the year his uncle Bedford had made him a knight and several other boys had received their knighthoods at the hands of young Henry himself. That had been an interesting ceremony and Henry was now beginning to realise that he was different from other boys. People bowed to him, kissed his hand, cheered him, applauded him and made him feel very important in every way. He found it pleasant and was now beginning to expect to be treated in this special way by everyone as soon as he escaped from the nursery. There his mother, Joan and Dame Alice remained in command.

There were great festivities at Christmas. He very much enjoyed the giving and receiving of presents. Joan Astley helped him to choose a pair of gloves for his mother and hide them so that they would be a surprise for her. He had great difficulty in keeping the secret and on more than one occasion nearly let it out. His mother had caught Joan putting her fingers to her lips and had looked very bewildered. He had enjoyed it all very much. He loved the smell of pies baking and meat roasting and his mother had told him that there would be mummers and dancing and Jack Travail would be invading the castle with his merry companions.

Eltham, that palace which had been built by Edward the First, was some eight miles south of London on the road to Maidstone. Henry was used to living in palaces but it was exciting to come to this one at Christmas time and to pass over the ivy-covered bridge with its four groined arches. As they entered the great hall he held his mother’s hand and the retainers came forward to kneel before him. He extended his hand for them to kiss with a natural grace. It was all part of being the King.

He could scarcely wait for Christmas morning when he would give the gloves to his mother and see what he was to be given.

Among his presents were some coral beads which delighted him more than anything else for they had once belonged to his great ancestor Edward the First. Joan Astley told him stories of the great Kings of England and the glorious lives they had led. Edward the Third interested him particularly because he had been a boy when he had come to the throne – a little older than Henry it was true. Quite old, Henry thought him. But everyone said he was just a boy.

There were a few other children who had been brought to the palace to share his games – the sons and daughters of noblemen – and they played bob apple and blind man’s buff in which the elders joined. Then there were the players who performed a miracle play. Henry found this a little dull but when Jack Travail and his companions came into the hall and entertained them all with his games and plays Henry was enchanted. He clapped his hands with the rest and cried: ‘More! More!’ much to Jack Travail’s delight. Henry wished it was always Christmas.

Dame Alice came all too soon and declared that it was well past bedtime. The other children were seized on too and Henry was taken, protesting a little, to his bed where he was soon fast asleep.

In the hall the Christmas merriments continued.

Katherine seated on a low stool surrounded by a few of her attendants watched the dancing. It was four years since she had become a widow. A long time. She should marry again, all said it. She was surprised that they did not try to persuade her to do so and perhaps persuade forcibly. She supposed her father’s death and the preoccupation of her brother who was trying to regain his throne and the fact that she was a French princess who had her home in England were all reasons why she was given some respite.

Besides, when a woman has married once for State reasons she should be allowed to make her own choice of a second marriage. That had always been a kind of unwritten law, not always adhered to, of course, especially when a woman was a specially good bargaining counter which she would have been but for the upheaval in France.

Because of that she was allowed to live her quiet life at Windsor whenever the fancy took her.

The ladies and the squires were dancing together. She declined to join in. She wanted to sit quietly and watch. Christmas had made her thoughtful. Lately the question of what her future would be had been constantly in her mind. She was twenty-five years of age. No longer a girl.

Her eyes went to Owen Tudor who was partnering one of the ladies in the dance. He was scarcely graceful. Dancing was not one of Owen’s attributes. Dear Owen! He was often quiet and thoughtful nowadays. She wondered if the same thoughts occupied him as did her.

The dancers were pirouetting which some of them performed very gracefully. She clapped her hands. ‘See who can turn the longest,’ she cried. ‘Come closer that I may see.’

So they approached and she called on one at a time to perform before her. The ladies applauded and some of the men were laying stakes on who should be able to do the most turns on tiptoe.

‘Come, Owen Tudor,’ she called. ‘It is your turn. I wish to see you perform this pirouette.’

‘My lady,’ he said, flushing a little, ‘I am no good at it.’

‘Nevertheless you must try,’ she said.

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of despair which amused everyone, then he came close to her and began to turn on his toes. In a second or so he had toppled forward. The Queen put out her arms and he fell into them.

It was the first time they had made such close contact and both were aware of a tremendous excitement. It could only have been a few seconds that they remained so, looking at each other, but the true nature of their feelings was revealed to them … and perhaps a hint of them was given to others.

Owen recovered himself first. ‘My lady …’ he stammered. ‘A thousand pardons …’ He scrambled to his feet, his face now scarlet.

The Queen laughed on rather a high note. ‘’Twas no fault of yours, Owen,’ she said. ‘Methinks, alas, you are not going to be the champion.’

Everyone was laughing now. Owen Tudor was happier on a horse than pirouetting in the ballroom, they said.

‘Happier still,’ whispered one of the men, ‘in the company of Queen Katherine … alone.’

When the Queen retired for the night she was very thoughtful. She had known for some time, of course. When she went out riding and he was a member of the party the day brightened. If they could contrive to be alone then it was indeed a happy day.

She faced the truth. She was in love with Owen Tudor.

One of the women who was combing her hair said to her: ‘My lady, have I your permission to speak openly to you?’

This was a faithful friend, one who believed because of the favour Queen Katherine had shown her she was especially privileged.

‘What is it?’ asked Katherine.

‘It is being noticed, my lady, that you show much favour to Owen Tudor.’

‘Owen Tudor. The Welsh squire? He is a very good squire. The King is greatly attached to him.’

‘My lady, people talk.’

‘Of course they talk. They have tongues have they not?’

‘At times mischievous people talk slanderously.’

‘Against me, you mean?’

‘Yes, my lady. Against you and … Owen Tudor.’

‘What say they? Tell me that.’

‘That he would be your lover … and that he is low-born and you are a Queen of England and a daughter of a King of France. Also, he is Welsh.’

‘Welsh? What of that?’

‘They say the Welsh are barbarous savages.’

‘Then they speak nonsense, do they not? Owen Tudor has shown he is as gallant and cultivated a gentleman as any we have at Court.’

Her vehemence frightened the woman who had thought only to offer a gentle word of warning. She did not believe for one moment that the Queen could possibly take a lowborn Welsh squire for a lover.

‘Ah,’ said Katherine, ‘I am not English either. Do they say that I also am a barbarous savage?’

‘You are a French Princess, my lady. The Welsh are not as the French. The Welsh live in the mountain valleys like peasants.’

‘Oh,’ cried Katherine angrily, ‘they are advancing a little as we talk. The savages have become peasants. I did not know that there was the difference in the races on this British island.’

‘Forgive me, my lady. I did but tell you what I had heard because I thought you ought to know.’

Katherine stood up and laid a hand on the lady’s arm.

‘You are my very good friend,’ she said. ‘Do not fret. I shall do nothing to disgrace you.’

Then she leaned forward and kissed the woman’s cheek.

The woman shook her head. The manners of the French were unaccountable, she thought.

Never mind. She had done her duty.

Katherine rode beside Owen Tudor. They had missed the rest of the party on purpose.

‘I have to speak to you,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘They are talking about us. It was at the ball.’

‘You fell into my arms,’ she said.

‘It was not my intention. I was no good at their dancing.’

She burst out laughing. ‘You looked so … funny, Owen, and I liked you for it. I liked it very much and then when you fell I held out my arms to catch you.’

‘It was unpardonable of me to fall upon you.’

‘Then the unpardonable is pardoned,’ she said.

‘You are so good to me,’ he murmured.

‘Owen,’ she answered, ‘is it not time that we faced the truth?’

He did not answer for a moment. Then he said staring ahead of him: ‘You must send me away. I could go to France. Men are constantly being sent to France. The Duke of Bedford is raising a new force to take back with him when he returns.’

‘I forbid it,’ she said firmly. ‘Are you not my squire?’

‘Aye, and one whose mission is to do you good service. It is why I know I must go to France.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You shall do as I say … that is if you want to. Dismount, Owen.’

‘Dismount, my lady?’

‘That is what I said.’ He obeyed. ‘Now help me to dismount.’ When he came to her she put her arms about his neck. She kissed his lips. He was hesitant but only for a moment.

She slid to the ground and they still stood together, their arms about each other.

‘It has slowly come upon us,’ she said, ‘but now there is no denying it. Do you love your Queen, Owen?’

‘With all my heart,’ he said. ‘I would die in her service.’

‘And live in it?’

‘I will do whatever she commands me now and forever.’

‘That is a true lover’s vow. I will make mine now. I love you, Owen Tudor, and here solemnly in this green sward I take you as my husband, my true husband that needs no mumbling of priests … no grand fine vestments, no signing of contracts … nothing but love.’

Owen said: ‘How I have longed to hold you thus.’

‘And I to be held. Shall we walk awhile and talk? Let us tether the horses.’

‘What if we are discovered?’

She laughed. ‘I am the Queen, Owen. I shall do as I please.’

‘We will have to take care. If this were discovered …’

She was silent suddenly. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you are right. You could be in danger. Oh, Owen, that frightens me. I will be careful but, Owen, we are not going to be denied each other. That I insist on … but only if you will take the risk. Will you?’

‘I would risk my life for you.’

‘My fear is for you. For myself I care not. But we cannot be denied, can we? We have faced the truth. Owen, we love each other. We are going to be together for I could not endure my life without you.’

‘Nor I mine.’

‘Then we shall meet … we shall be as husband and wife together. I am so happy. For so long I have been lonely. I was fond of Henry but this, Owen … this is wonderful. This makes everything worth while for me. Does it for you, Owen?’

‘My love,’ he whispered, ‘we shall forget everything but each other.’

‘Shall we plight our troth here … in the greenwood?’

He closed his eyes and held her close to him.

‘Let us find a spot,’ she said, ‘away from the world where no one can find us.’

Gloucester was as enamoured of Eleanor Cobham as he had ever been. Not only was she voluptuous and skilled in erotic arts so that she continued to surprise even his jaded palate, but she was ambitious too. She kept a close grip on affairs. She had been immensely amused by his conflict with the Bishop of Winchester and when he was inclined to be depressed by the dismal nature of his prospects she would point out his successes. It had been a complete victory over his old uncle, hadn’t it? Beaufort had had to give up the Chancellorship and being a Cardinal got him out of the way.

That, said Eleanor, was subtle politics, for which, with her help, he had a decided talent.

He did occasionally have a twinge of conscience about Jacqueline. She had relied on him and had really believed he would get her estates back for them both to share. And it might have worked, of course, if they had been able to hold onto the estates and if Eleanor had not come along.

Now his great desire was to be with Eleanor and to spend their time exercising their considerable talents in bed – and that came first – and then in political intrigue.

It was true in some measure that he had won the battle with his uncle; but it had had the result of bringing brother Bedford to England, and that was not so good. He could very well do without the presence of his brother. John took command and everyone held him in such high respect that whatever John said they were inclined to agree was right.

John criticised Humphrey’s rule generally. To be at the head of government was a task not to be taken lightly, he reiterated. One must dedicate oneself to the needs of one’s country. One must subdue one’s own personal desires, one’s greed. That was the burden of John’s song. Let him live up to it. It was not brother Humphrey’s way. ‘Let my brother govern as he will while he is in the land,’ he said to Eleanor. ‘For after his going over to France, I will govern as seems good to me.’

Eleanor agreed.

‘You can be sure,’ she said, ‘that as soon as John feels he can safely leave, he will be off.’

Appeals were constantly coming from Jacqueline. It was no use, he told himself. She should give up. How could she stand out against Philip of Burgundy? If he could not send troops, she wrote frantically, could he send her money?

He approached certain members of the Council. If they would grant her a little money it would ease his conscience. He was not sure whether it was his conscience which bothered him or the desire to harry Burgundy.

John came to see him. Very soon now he would return to France. ‘For which mercy let us be thankful,’ Humphrey had said to Eleanor.

‘You have asked the Council for money to send to Holland,’ he said. ‘This is madness.’

‘Madness … to consider a request from my wife?’

‘Do you want to anger Burgundy still further?’

‘Burgundy! Burgundy! Burgundy!’ sang out Humphrey. ‘He has become your patron saint, has he not, brother?’

‘I do not have to explain again, do I, the importance of his friendship to us?’

‘If you did it would have been for the ten thousandth time.’

‘The need to hold that friendship is more important now than it was when you first heard it. Now, give me your promise. Your adventures in that direction are at an end. Be thankful that they were not even more disastrous.’

When brother John talked in that way it was wise to put up a semblance of agreement. John was the most powerful man in England as well as France.

Never mind, the field would be clear when he went back with his precious Burgundian wife.

‘I shall not allow my brother to dictate to me,’ he told Eleanor.

John left for France and as soon as he had gone Humphrey approached the Council again and asked for five thousand marks to send to Jacqueline.

It was refused. Humphrey shrugged his shoulders. He had done what he could, Jacqueline’s was a hopeless case. This was confirmed when one day a message came to him from the Pope. His marriage to Jacqueline had been annulled.

‘Burgundy’s work,’ he said to Eleanor.

She was pleased. There was a sly expression in her eyes. Why not? She would enjoy being the Duchess of Gloucester. For once she applauded Burgundy’s action. She would not suggest it just yet. She would wait and shrewdly implant the suggestion into his mind, so that he thought it was his own idea. However, nothing must be done hastily. Divorces were tricky. She did not want to go through a form of marriage with Humphrey and then to have someone prove that it had been no marriage at all. And what if by that time he would have outgrown his desire for her company? One could never be sure. Men who had indulged as freely and consistently as Humphrey could become suddenly satiated. Eleanor was cunning, and one of the lessons she had learned was never to come to too hasty a conclusion to important matters.

The delegation was being discussed everywhere. In some it aroused amusement, in others concern.

‘They say it was made up of very respectable women.’

‘All very well dressed, I heard.’

‘That was so, no rabble. They came in orderly fashion. Well, it is a scandal.’

‘He used to be so popular with the Londoners, remember.’

‘Yes, they showed clearly that they preferred his rule to that of the Bishop. But what they strongly object to is that woman, of course. She is so blatant and he takes her everywhere. He remains besotted by her. They say he has never been faithful to one woman long.’

So the gossip continued.

Humphrey was annoyed. Eleanor was more so, for really it concerned her most.

The fact was that a body of merchants’ wives had presented themselves to the Council and announced that they were deeply shocked by the conduct of the Duke of Gloucester. He had abandoned his wife and was now flaunting his harlot Eleanor Cobham who was beside him wherever he went. Her manners were bold and she proclaimed with every gesture the nature of her relationship with the Duke. The wives of the merchants demanded more propriety in their rulers.

The women were graciously received by members of the Council. Nobody wanted to offend the merchants and they guessed that to offend their wives might be even more disastrous. It was pointed out to them that the Duke’s morals were really no concern of the Council and that the Pope had actually annulled his marriage.

This the women had to accept; but it did show the growing unpopularity of the Duke and when he rode out into the streets of London boys who could quickly dodge out of sight before they could be caught called after him.

The Council told him that his authority must be curbed. He could not expect the same power as that extended to his brother. He protested but that was little use. The housewives of London had had their effect. Before he had relied largely on his popularity with the Londoners. That that had waned considerably was obvious.

While he was grinding his teeth over his encounter with the Council the Earl of Warwick came to see him.

He had never liked Warwick. One of those honourable upright gentlemen, friend of John, loyal to the crown, not a man to diverge one little step from what he considered to be his duty. He had been a close friend of Henry the Fifth and very highly thought of by the late King.

Warwick characteristically came straight to the point. ‘My lord, I come to tell you that I have been formally committed to the task of guardianship of the King.’

Gloucester narrowed his eyes.

It was his place to have the guardianship of the King. Was he not his uncle? Who should have charge of the child but his nearest relative – and it was understood that he could not indefinitely be left to the charge of his mother. John was the elder brother, it was true, but Humphrey was here on the spot.

But to appoint Warwick was an insult to him.

‘And who has bestowed these powers on you?’ demanded Gloucester. ‘I have not been consulted.’

‘The Council, my lord, but you will remember that the late King, your noble brother, named me as guardian of his son. He bequeathed the care of his education to me and now that the King is of an age for serious education I would fulfil the promise I made to his father.’

Gloucester ground his teeth in dismay. But what could he do? Those housewives of London had unnerved him more than anything else. He felt as though the ground was moving under his feet.

‘The King is now seven years old,’ went on Warwick. ‘He should have his own household and a body of knights and squires whom we shall choose for him.’

‘I see that the matter has been decided,’ said Humphrey shortly.

‘It is as you would expect, my lord Duke. I have sworn to teach him to love, worship and dread God. I shall develop his character along virtuous lines and let him know that God favours righteous Kings.’

‘Does He?’ asked Gloucester.

‘My lord, I believe virtue to be the true way to happiness and that no joy can come to a ruler or his nation through avarice and ill doing.’

‘I hope your wisdom matches your piety, my lord Warwick.’

‘I have been commissioned to teach him, nurture him, to give him a good grounding in literature, language and all other arts and to chastise him when he does aught amiss.’

‘Take care with the cane, Warwick. Kings have long memories.’

‘I shall not allow such a consideration to cloud my actions. Also, my lord, I am to have the power to remove from him any persons who I consider shall be harmful to him.’

‘Great powers are yours, my lord.’

‘I shall do my best to use them wisely. The castles of Wallingford and Hertford have been chosen for him during the summers and Windsor and Berkhamsted for his winter residences.’

‘I can see that it has all been well planned. And his mother?’

‘He will see her frequently.’

‘Perhaps then she will emerge from her widowhood. It has been a long one.’

‘I am sure the Queen will never cease to mourn her husband.’

‘Maybe. Maybe. I wish you well of your task. I think you are going to need all the good wishes you can get.’

‘I am well aware, my lord Duke, of the gravity and importance of my task.’

Warwick left the Duke. It had been easier than he had hoped. Gloucester was angry that the care of young Henry had been passed to him; but he was still smarting too strongly from the signs of his unpopularity in the city of London to raise objections as he might otherwise have done.

‘Warwick has the King,’ Gloucester told Eleanor. ‘I don’t grudge him the task. Henry is not the meek boy some think him.’

Eleanor said: ‘You should take care not to lose your influence with him.’

‘Nay, I’ll be favourite uncle. Moreover tutors who are stern – and Warwick may well be – don’t always keep their pupils’ affection. The cane is a good way of beating out future favours. I imagine Warwick is too upright to consider this axiom. He’ll not spare the rod and that may well spoil his future chances.’

They laughed together. The appointment of Warwick was nothing more than a minor irritation.

So Henry had passed out of his babyhood. He must no longer stay under his mother’s influence. She should be grateful, she supposed, that they had allowed him to stay so long.

She thought: It will be easier now. There will be less attention focused on me. Perhaps I can live now like a humble country lady. That would suit her very well, for the most important part of her life was those hours she spent with Owen.

What an ecstatic relationship was theirs! Perhaps the more so because it was to be carried on with secrecy. Now that the King had left, important people had left with him. If she could go on living in obscurity in the country she must be thankful for this. She had contrived that Owen visit her bedchamber when the household was asleep, and he had climbed up and in at her window. But that could not go on for ever. It had been the happiest night of her life. Then she had been able to cast aside all pretence – for they had both pretended for many years; she that he was just a good squire; he that he was not in love with the Queen.

‘I love you,’ she told him twenty times during that first romantic night; and he had left her in no doubt that he shared her feelings.

She had come alive at last – alive as she had never been before. A fervent passion possessed her and she knew that it would be deep and abiding. She was not a girl any more to love romantically and this emotion had built up between them over the years. They had both tried to deny it, knowing that it would present difficulties, insurpassable difficulties they had seemed, but nothing was insurpassable before this torrent of love. It swept all aside. What cared she if he were a humble squire? What cared he if she were a Queen? They were lovers, meant for each other from the first moment they had been together. Now this love would not be denied. Her love for Henry had existed. But it was not to be compared with what she felt for Owen Tudor.

It was inevitable that those about her should notice the change in her. They saw the expression in her eyes when they alighted on the Tudor; they heard the inflection of her voice when she spoke of him.

Dame Alice and Joan Astley shook their heads together. They would not remain long, they knew, for their task was done. Their little one had been taken from their care and they were two sad women. When they were not talking of him and hoping that the Earl of Warwick would not be too harsh with him, they were wondering about the web the Queen was weaving about herself.

They were wistful. It had not been like a royal household. How pleasant it would have been to contemplate the arrival of more little ones who would be delivered to their care.

Dame Alice wondered whether she should warn the Queen that people were whispering about her and Owen Tudor.

Eleanor Cobham picked up the news. She prided herself on having what she called ‘her ear to the ground’.

She was greatly amused and lost no time in telling her lover of the rumours she had heard.

‘The Queen has a lover, eh?’ said Gloucester. ‘Well, are you surprised? Did you imagine the dear creature was living the life of a nun down there in the country? How did you think she spent her days?’

‘She was devoted to her son. But now he has gone she is following her own inclination it seems.’

‘I hope it is a worthy inclination.’

‘I have heard it is some humble squire. A Welshman at that.’

‘Is that so? Lucky squire! Katherine must be very loving to have chosen someone from the stables.’

‘They say they are deeply in love. That the Queen has always lived most virtuously before.’

Humphrey was thoughtful.

‘It is at such times that there is danger,’ he said. ‘She must not be allowed to forget that she is the Queen.’

It was a somewhat delicate subject. Eleanor had never suggested that Humphrey marry her, but he did wonder whether it was in her mind. He wondered how he would act if she started to bargain for marriage. Therefore he did not wish to discuss this passion of the Queen’s too closely. It could open up that other subject.

But he did think that the Queen’s future was a matter he should take up with the Council and he would do so without delay.

He must tread very carefully where his own affairs were concerned. As though to remind him of this there was more news of Jacqueline. Burgundy had defeated her completely and she had realised that she had no chance against him. She had signed a treaty at Delft in which she submitted to Philip’s wishes. She recognised him as her heir and co-Regent of her territories. By this she did not lose everything. But she had to promise that she would never marry without his consent for the form of marriage she had gone through with Gloucester was declared null and void. She renounced him utterly and accepted the fact that she had never been married to him.

The realisation had come to Katherine that she was to have a child. At first she was overwhelmed with joy. This seemed the perfect outcome of her love for Owen. Then she began to consider what this would mean.

She was a King’s widow. Where could she go while her child was born? Some women might be in a position to hide themselves away for a few months. It was difficult with a queen.

Moreover she was unmarried. Would it be possible for her and Owen to go through a ceremony of marriage? Why not? Her priest could marry them. This must be so now that there was to be a child. She would marry Owen and then proclaim to the world what she had done. The Council couldn’t stop her once the ceremony was over. Moreover what affair was it of any but herself and Owen? They had their work to do governing the country. What could the marriage of a late King’s widow mean to them? They could now concern themselves with the young King. They had taken him from her.

No, she was of no importance. She had been once, of course; and they had made full use of her to help bring about the peace between England and France. That was over. Henry was dead and she had been free for six years.

She was longing to tell Owen. How delighted he would be … and yet afraid. Only for her, of course. That was why he felt fear, as she did for him. For themselves each was ready to face whatever storm they had to, for the sake of what they had been to one another.

He came to her during the afternoon. Those who lived close to her could not help but know of the relationship between them, for it had been impossible to keep it secret from them. So Owen came and went frequently to her apartment and they were used to seeing him there.

She clung to him and then she told him. He was silent and she dared not look into his face.

When she did she saw that he was overjoyed and yet fearful, as she had known he would be, but the wonder of it was too great at the moment for him to give full vent to his fears.

‘Our child,’ he could only murmur. ‘Oh Katherine … my Queen … to think that you and I are to have a child.’

Then he was all concern for her. She must take care of herself. She would have to have special attendants … He stopped, remembering. Then he looked at her, fear uppermost now. ‘Katherine … how … ?’

‘I shall arrange it,’ she said. ‘I have faithful friends who will help me.’

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘We should marry,’ he said, ‘for the sake of the child.’

She nodded.

‘I could find a priest who would do it,’ she said. ‘And we will … simply … and speedily.’

‘Before the child …’

‘Oh yes, before the child is born. Owen, I shall send for Dame Alice and for Joan. They have been unhappy since Henry was taken from us. They will help me.’

‘A child,’ he said in a bewildered voice. ‘Our child. Oh Katherine … how happy you have made me. Shall we have a girl, or perhaps a boy?’

‘We will be content with what we are given,’ she said. ‘This is like a miracle. They took my son from me … and now you have given me this.’

‘It will not be easy.’

‘Dearest Owen,’ she said, ‘I am no longer young and I am old enough to learn that the best things in life do not often come easily.’

Chapter VIII ORLÉANS BESIEGED

JOHN, Duke of Bedford had returned to France to find the position as indecisive as ever. He must bring this deadlock to an end. It was true that Burgundy having settled his quarrel with Gloucester and Jacqueline to great advantage to himself was more inclined to be friendly. Anne, to whom he was devoted, had a certain influence with him, and John was more hopeful than he had been since the miserable affair of Gloucester’s marriage – or mock marriage – had given him such anxieties.

His great desire was to put an end to the fighting and he wanted to strike one decisive blow which would make it perfectly clear to the French that it was useless to continue with their resistance so that they would resign themselves to English rule and settle down to bring prosperity back to the country.

He knew that it was asking what was almost impossible of a proud people. The Earls of Salisbury and Suffolk on whose counsel he set great store were of the opinion that if they could capture Orléans they could take a very large step towards victory.

Bedford was dubious. Not, he hastened to add, that he questioned the importance of Orléans but he did feel that the taking of it would be a lengthy operation. It would mean keeping a large contingent of men to besiege it. The winter was coming on; who knew how long such a siege would last?

‘The winter is even more cruel for the besieged than for the besiegers,’ Salisbury pointed out.

‘True enough,’ agreed Bedford, ‘and we could bring in supplies for our men. But it would be a mighty task nevertheless.’

‘I believe most fervently that until we take Orléans and get command of the Loire we cannot proceed very far. Orléans is as important on the Loire as Paris or Rouen on the Seine.’

‘And as well defended as those cities.’

‘It could be taken by siege, my lord,’ said Salisbury, ‘and it is essential to our cause.’

John knew that he would be unwise not to listen to the Earl of Salisbury who was one of the most experienced captains of the English army – it might not be too great an exaggeration to say the finest. He had waged successful battles in Champagne, Maine and Normandy and he had been in England recently for the sole purpose of gathering an army to, as he said, bring such a reckoning to the French that they would no longer have the stomach to fight. Enthusiastically he told Bedford of the ease with which he had recruited bowmen to his armies. It had been more difficult to get cavalry and men-at-arms, for they were too comfortable at home to want to go to a country which had for long been suffering the effects of war; but he had had a moderate success and had persuaded more than four hundred men of that kind to accompany him, while he had garnered more than two thousand archers.

He had his eyes on Orléans. The key to the problem, he called it. He was adamant. They must take Orléans …

At length John was convinced and in the misty month of October the siege of Orléans began. Philip of Burgundy sent a small force to help the English and John was grateful for this show of friendship. But the Orléannese were stubborn; they were proud of their city – and justly so. They would make no easy surrender to the English. There was a strong conviction within those walls that this was no ordinary siege. It was not just their city which was at stake. It was the whole of France. A certain fatalism had come to them and this showed itself in a determination to accept any hardship rather than give in.

Orléans was a very fine city, lying on a bend of the River Loire – a city of stone and wood houses with high slate roofs, of towers and steeples, of long winding streets which had changed little since the days when it had been under Roman occupation. Its walls were six feet thick rising high above a moat, and these walls were flanked by towers, thirty-four of them, each of which had five gates and two posterns. All along the walls were parapets with machicolated battlements from which boiling oil or paving stones could be thrown most effectively down upon an invading enemy.

A stone bridge led from the town to the left bank of the Loire. Set on nineteen arches it was more than a bridge; it was the dwelling place of many of the Orléannese for houses lined the bridge on either side. On the eighteenth of the arches a small castle had been built and this was known as Les Tourelles.

The Orléannese were not surprised to find themselves in siege. They had in fact been expecting it to happen for some time. They knew that town after town was falling to the English and it must in time be their turn. For the last three or four years they had been collecting arms and storing them in their Tower of Saint-Samson; they had dug dykes and even built fortifications. They were as prepared as it was possible for them to be for the Earl of Salisbury when he came. So it was no shock when on that September day the Earl reached the town of Janville, which he took with ease, and from there sent a message to the townsfolk of Orléans that he was marching towards their city and that he demanded their surrender.

They formed into an orderly procession and, with priests and merchants, women and children, rich and poor, marched through the streets singing psalms as they went into the churches to ask God and their patron saints to come to their aid.

They would need it, for Salisbury had brought with him the flower of the English army. The result of the battle for Orléans could be decisive in settling the outcome of the war. Salisbury had convinced Bedford of this and he was now as certain of it himself as he was of anything. With him rode Thomas, Lord of Scales, William Neville, his nephew Lord Richard Grey, William Pole, Earl of Suffolk and William’s brother John Pole and many other nobles. One of the best captains in the army was also there – William Glasdale, a squire of more humble birth than the noblemen, but one on whom Salisbury relied as he did on few others.

Salisbury saw at once that the little castle of Tourelles, which was really a fort, prevented their crossing the bridge and his first move, therefore, must be to take it.

The Orléannese put up a desperate fight for Les Tourelles, but after a few days were unable to hold out against the superior strength of the English and when they were forced to abandon Les Tourelles they had to face the fact that they had lost one of their most effective defences.

It was a Sunday afternoon when the strange event occurred.

The flag of St George was flying from the fort. The French turned their eyes from it in rage and dismay while the Earl of Salisbury eyed it with the utmost pleasure because now he had a vantage point. From the topmost point of the tower he could see right over the walls and into the city.

He ascended the tower in the company of Captain William Glasdale and a few others and for some moments they stood overlooking the city. Then suddenly the window was shattered. A cannon ball had taken off a corner of the window; a paving stone came away and this struck the Earl carrying off half his face. He fell senseless to the ground.

While his companions picked him up Glasdale looked round and realised that the shot must have come from the nearby tower of Notre Dame which appeared to be deserted apart from one small child casually standing there.

It was a very mysterious event, and disastrous for the English and within a few hours of being taken to Meung-Sur-Loire Salisbury was dead, never having regained consciousness since the blow struck him.

They had lost their leader, the man who was certain of victory, and they were appalled. It was more than the loss of a great General, for this was the beginning of the strange stories which were to be circulated in Orléans and the surrounding countryside.

People who had been near Le Tour Notre Dame when the cannon had been fired swore that no one had been there, except a young boy who had been playing quietly.

Had he fired the cannon which killed Salisbury? He could not be found that he might be asked. He had appeared briefly and slipped away.

Could it be a sign from Heaven? asked the desperate Orléannese. It must be. They had to believe it. They needed help so badly and who better than Heaven could supply the kind of help they needed. Orléans was thirsting for miracles. So when something happened that might be one they glorified and magnified it.

It was a sign from Heaven, they said. They would yet be saved.

Winter was coming in. The people of Orléans still refused to surrender and the English living uncomfortably outside the walls of the city suffered as many hardships as those within the city. The Bastard of Orléans had been sent to the aid of the Orléannese. He was a warrior of great skill and charm and he brought new heart to them. The son of the Duke of Orléans and his mistress Madame de Cany-Dunois, he was a man of power in France. His bastardy had been of small inconvenience to him; he was after all a Prince’s bastard. He was at this time advancing in his twenties and he had many successes behind him. He brought further hope to the city, for with him were warriors of great reputation such as Maréchal de Boussac and the Lord of Chaumont. Lord Scales, William Pole and Sir John Talbot had taken over command of the siege since the death of Salisbury and as Christmas was coming on they sent messages into the city to suggest to the Bastard of Orléans that they should call a halt to hostilities for Christ's birthday.

There was an air of expectation within the city. They believed that their prayers had been answered. The story of the death of Salisbury was discussed constantly. It had now become a miracle. The cannon, it was believed, had been fired from an empty tower. The only one who had been seen there was a small child. Could a child have fired a cannon? It was hardly likely. A mysterious hand had removed Salisbury from their path. Heaven was helping them.

One story in circulation was that an English cannon ball had fallen on a table where several people sat at dinner. The cannon ball bounced off the table and no one was hurt.

A better story was of the cannon ball which had fallen near La Porte Bannière for in that spot there had been several hundred people yet it had done no harm except knock off the shoe of one man. Laughingly he cried: ‘The English go to a great deal of trouble to make me put on my shoe twice in one day.’

These stories multiplied and the wonder of them increased with the telling. The people of Orléans were looking for a miracle. It was very comforting indeed to believe that God or the saints were giving them these signs.

So on Christmas day they were all ready to call a halt for the sake of Jesus Christ who was born on that day.

The Bastard himself sent his best musicians over to Les Tourelles; and all through the day there came the sound of their music and the singing of English carols.

The Orléannese stood on the city walls listening, without fear, and the English forgot the hardships they were enduring.

The enemies were friends … just for Christmas day.

There was a certain air of excitement among the Bastard and his friends for their spies reported that the English army was very short of food and that it had been arranged that a large quantity of victuals was to be brought to them from Paris.

‘They are in dire need of these supplies,’ said the Bastard. ‘If we could intercept them and prevent their arriving, we should be turning the tables. They cannot go on without food. This could be the saving of Orléans.’

God was indeed on their side. They were sure of it now. It should not be difficult to waylay the convoy and capture it. It could be put to very good use in Orléans.

The Bastard left the city in a mood of hope and people crowded into the churches to pray. It was another sign, they said. They only had to be patient, believe in God and His miracles and not only Orléans would be saved but the whole of France.

In Paris the Bastard encountered the Count of Clermont, a young man of royal blood and exceptional good looks and charm of manner, who had received his spurs and was full of his own importance. The Bastard instructed him to take his men and watch along the road for the coming of Sir John Fastolf, a seasoned English warrior who was in charge of the convoy.

Clermont was determined to distinguish himself and he wanted the honour of capturing the stores to be his alone. He was not going to let the Bastard of Orléans take all the glory. The importance of this encounter was clear. To stop that convoy reaching the English would starve them out. They would have to give up the siege and the glory of saving Orléans would be his.

The Bastard parted company with him to go off in another direction and as Clermont was riding merrily along at the head of his troops so certain of victory, a messenger came galloping up to them. Some Gascon soldiers had sighted the convoy. They believed they could take it easily for the English were quite unaware of any danger. They could at this time catch them ill prepared for an attack.

‘Make no attempt to before I arrive,’ cried the jaunty young Count. This was going to be an easy victory, but it was his.

Meanwhile the English realised they had been sighted and that an attack was imminent. They had three hundred carts and wagons full of much needed provisions, and they were accompanied only by a few guards, archers and cavalry men with some merchants who had supplied the goods and a few peasants to help unload them.

Sir John Fastolf, with Sir Richard Gethyn, knew they were in a very dangerous situation from which a great deal of ingenuity would be needed to extricate them. They were in the worst possible country as they were completely unprotected and if a strong force came against them they would be quickly overcome.

But Sir John was a seasoned warrior. This was not the first difficult position he had been in and he was ready to try any expedient which might be of use.

They had seen the Gascons and wondered why they did not atttack. If they had done so the convoy could have been lost.

‘God has given us time,’ cried Sir John. ‘It is what we needed, and with His help we may pull through.’

He then outlined his plan. The wagons should provide that defence which their position in the plain denied them. There were three hundred wagons – one hundred and fifty a side when they were lined up with a narrow passage between them. All around the wagons they placed stakes pointing towards the attackers; behind the stakes stood the archers so when Clermont arrived full of confidence, the English were prepared. He gave the order for his cavalry to advance, which they did. A shower of arrows met them; the horses stumbled on and broke their legs on the stakes. It was then not a difficult matter to rout Clermont’s men after that, and when the Bastard arrived he was wounded in the foot and narrowly escaped being taken prisoner.

Clermont, seeing his glory vanishing, sulked and refused to go to the aid of the wounded Bastard. Three hundred Frenchmen lost their lives in the battle before the wagons – very little the worse for their part as fortifications – were trundled on to the walls of Orléans.

There was great rejoicing among the English when the outcome of the battle was known. They had their supplies – the loss of which could have meant the need to abandon the siege.

Sir John Fastolf was a hero and when the wagons were unloaded and their contents seen to consist largely of herrings, this encounter was known from henceforth as the Battle of the Herrings.

The Orléannese were dismayed. God had not been on their side this time. He had allowed that silly young Comte de Clermont to deprive them of victory.

The little miracles of the cannon balls were losing their power to comfort.

The Comte de Clermont might be the King’s cousin but when he entered Orléans he was received with contempt. Even the Bastard recovering from his wounds was disconsolate and Maréchal de Boussac who had returned with him was hinting that his presence was needed elsewhere.

The Orléannese were losing that buoyant hope. They sadly needed a miracle.

The citizens talked together. They were being abandoned by those who had come to help them and that could mean only one thing. These men believed that the case was hopeless.

Some of the forces of the Duke of Burgundy were outside the walls with the English. Suppose they offered to surrender to Burgundy? That would prevent their town falling into the hands of the English.

It seemed to them that there was nothing else to be done. They could not go on starving and holding out against desperate odds. They would offer then to surrender themselves to Burgundy.

Philip of Burgundy was by no means displeased. He would be happy to take Orléans, he declared, and the town should be surrendered to him.

But it was hardly to be expected that the Duke of Bedford would stand quietly by and see Burgundy walk into Orléans. Why should he agree to this when it was clear that the Orléannese were on the point of surrender? He and Burgundy were allies it was true, but uneasy ones. Burgundy was already too powerful. Why should he, Bedford, make him more so? When he thought of all the men, time and money he had wasted on this siege he was incensed.

‘Indeed this shall not be,’ he said. ‘I do not care to beat the bushes so that another may get the birds.’

Burgundy, all prepared to march into Orléans, was furious. He immediately withdrew his troops and there was a rift between the allies.

‘We will continue with the siege,’ said Bedford grimly, and the Orléannese were as stubborn as ever. They would go on enduring hardship rather than give way to the English.

Then even he became aware of the rumours in the air. He paid little heed to them. He had learned from his ancestors that leaders only believed in superstitions when they worked in their favour.

This one was set about by the French. And a lot of nonsense it was. He laughed to think of it for it showed how desperate they were to fabricate and circulate such stories in the vain hope of bringing comfort to a people who had had their fill of suffering.

There was a young maid, said these rumours. She had heard voices telling her that God had chosen her to save France.

John laughed aloud. Let them indulge in their fantasies. Poor things, perhaps it could bring a little comfort to their hungry bodies; their good sense must tell them that defeat was in sight.

A peasant girl indeed. A virgin. They stressed that. She was going to ride into battle and drive the English out of France.

He was surprised that the French allowed themselves to indulge in such superstition.

The weary siege continued but as the weeks passed the name of Joan of Arc was heard more and more frequently and even John, Duke of Bedford could not ignore it.

Katherine was at Hadham in Hertfordshire. It was quiet there and she could rest in peace and make plans.

She had sent for Dame Alice Butler and Joan Astley. They knew why before she told them. Dame Alice said she could see it in her face.

‘As you know,’ said Katherine, ‘I have taken a husband.’

They bowed their heads and waited.

‘Our union must of course remain secret … for the time. But now I find I am to have a child.’

‘We shall look after you, my lady.’

‘I knew you would,’ replied Katherine. ‘You loved my son so much. It is a pity these men see fit to take children from those who have nurtured and loved them.’

‘They will make a King of him before he is a child,’ said Dame Alice.

Joan nodded.

‘We must perforce keep quiet about this matter,’ went on the Queen, ‘until I know what the Council will do about it. I would not wish ill to befall my husband.’

The women understood well. Owen could be taken from her. He could be imprisoned for what he had done and being of humble birth his actions might be construed as treason. He might be sentenced to the traitor’s horrible death.

These women understood very well the delicacy of the situation; but their chief concern would be to bring the baby safely into the world.

Joan was handy with her needle and she was able to arrange Katherine’s garments so that her pregnancy was not as obvious as it would otherwise have been.

Katherine sent for her priest. She told him that she was going to take Owen Tudor for her husband and that she wished him to perform the ceremony without delay.

He was astounded and reluctant. Katherine was a Queen, and he could place himself in danger if he performed this ceremony.

He shook his head. ‘My lady, methinks you should inform the Duke of Gloucester of your intentions. If he is agreeable we can perform the ceremony without delay.’

‘I am with child,’ she said. ‘The ceremony must take place at once.’

The priest was horrified. He wanted none of this matter.

‘Are you a man of God?’ demanded the Queen. ‘Will you deny me marriage to the father of my child?’

The priest had no answer. She cajoled; she persuaded; she threatened; and when she pointed out that he was going against the laws of the Church by denying her marriage, at last he promised to perform the ceremony the next day.

Later that day one of her women came to her in a state of great agitation. It was a rumour she had heard.

It was said that the Duke of Gloucester had induced the Parliament to make a law prohibiting any person marrying the Queen Dowager or any lady of high degree without the consent of the King and his Council.

‘This cannot be true,’ she cried. ‘Why … after all this time? Why does he do it now?’

She did not need an answer to that question. It was because he knew.

But Gloucester could only have heard rumours of her liaison with Owen Tudor.

‘What will become of us?’ she cried in terror. But she was not one to give way to despair. Perhaps the horrors of her childhood had prepared her to fend for herself.

Gloucester or no Gloucester she was going to marry Owen Tudor. She was determined that her child would be born in wedlock.

Perhaps, she thought, it was better not to mention to the priest that there was this rumour about her marriage. If he married them in innocence he could not be held to blame. She would tell him that it should be a very secret affair. Only her immediate circle should know it had taken place. They would go on just as before. She would have her baby to care for and she would hope that Gloucester and his Council would lose interest in the mother of the little King.

The ceremony took place in an attic at Hadham and everyone present was sworn to secrecy. The priest asked permission to leave as soon as the marriage had been completed, which Katherine readily gave.

So she was married.

A few days later Gloucester’s new law forbidding her to marry without consent was passed and she was officially informed of it. What could she do? It was too late now.

‘Say nothing,’ she said. ‘These matters pass.’

She was now completely absorbed by her love for Owen and the imminent arrival of their child.

The Duke of Gloucester was a source of great irritation to the Council and it occurred to them that his power could be considerably diminished if the King were crowned. He would then no longer need a Protectorate. The King, though a boy, would rule in his own right. Thus the power of Gloucester could be curbed at one blow.

The Council were in unanimous agreement and on a clear and bright November day young Henry was brought to Westminster.

The Earl of Warwick led him to the high scaffold which had been set up in the Abbey and there he sat looking before him very solemnly, a little sad but conducting himself, as all agreed, with humility and devotion.

The crown was placed on his little head and he knew better now than to complain of its heaviness. He had already learned that although it was sometimes gratifying to be a King it had its drawbacks.

After he had been crowned he must go in procession to Westminster. There three Dukes walked before him carrying three swords which were symbolic of mercy, estate and empire, and Henry himself was led by two Bishops and six Earls with the Barons of the Cinque Ports carrying his pall and the Earl of Warwick his train. Judges, barons, knights and all the dignitaries of the city of London must attend.

The Bishop of Winchester – now a Cardinal – sat on his right hand at the feast and the new Chancellor, John Kemp, was on his other side. It was very formal and Henry was sorry for the Earls of Huntingdon and Stafford because they had to kneel beside him during the feast, one holding the sceptre and the other the sword of state – although he was uncomfortable enough himself in his heavy robes and crown.

And when he was seated and the hereditary champion rode in to challenge anyone who did not agree that Henry was the rightful King, the boy held his breath and looked about him anxiously wondering what would happen if anyone disputed that fact.

No one did and the feast began. Henry wished that he were back in Windsor talking to his mother while Dame Alice and Joan Astley served him with his simple food.

So he was crowned and he was most forcibly reminded that he was King of England.

His uncle Bedford sent messages from France.

He approved of the crowning of the King; he now wished him to be crowned King of France. That was very important. So no sooner had Henry come through one coronation than he was to prepare himself for another.

It was in an atmosphere of mystery that the little Tudor came into the world. It was impossible, of course, to keep his existence completely secret but only those in the household need know.

If visitors came they would not want to see the nurseries. The servants were loyal. They had to be if they would keep their positions and most of them were fond of the Queen.

Katherine had determined that it should all be achieved as comfortably as she could make it. And she did very well. Owen now continued with his duties as squire but he lived in the Queen’s apartments.

They were two happy parents with a baby son.

They discussed what he should be called; Owen suggested Edmund and as Katherine wished all the time to please Owen she agreed to it.

So little Edmund flourished and it was not long before Katherine was once more pregnant.

By that time the strange stories of a peasant girl were reaching England.

She was said to be a virgin endowed with commands from Heaven.

Katherine talked of her a little. She was mildly interested because the girl was French and said to come from Domrémy, a part she knew slightly.

But there was too much to interest her in her own household for her to give much thought to a strange story about a certain girl they were calling Joan of Arc.