A Royal Ambition
Page 1
A Royal Ambition
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Copyright
Chapter One
“Catherine, my child, what are you doing closeted in your chamber on a day like this? The Princess of France should be outside in the bright sunshine, proving to the world that the de Valois family are proud and indomitable. Come now, pull yourself together.”
Catherine dropped her comb, her hands trembling nervously, as Isabel, the Queen, strode into the room her head flung back, her dark eyes glowing.
“Come along girl, what ails you? Are you sickening for something?” Her voice was high and edged with sarcasm. “For heaven’s sake, Catherine, stop howling like a baby. You are sixteen years old, and should have learned composure before now.”
She paced around the room like a caged tiger, and even in her misery, Catherine could not help but admire her mother’s striking, even flamboyant, good looks. Her very skin seemed to radiate a sort of seductiveness; it was no wonder she never lacked for lovers. She had an aura of strength that Catherine greatly envied. Indeed she was compelled to be strong in order to deal with the King’s frequent outbursts of violence, but there were times when a little sensitivity would not come amiss.
Catherine brushed back her dark hair nervously. “It’s not every princess who is rejected by Henry the Fifth of England.” She pressed her lips together and looked away through the window, the sound of revelry drifting in with the hot sunshine, intensified her depression. “He wouldn’t have me, not even with the enormous dowry that was offered as an inducement.”
“Don’t be foolish, Catherine; the refusal is just a delaying tactic on the part of the English.” Isabel caught her daughter’s arm. “Either Henry wants further concessions, or he intends to make war on France. Now, don’t worry about it any longer. The marriage will take place, I am determined upon it.” She drew Catherine towards the door. “We will go along to the tiltyard and watch the handsome young men at their jousting; it’s a sight that always puts me in a good humour.”
The heat outside was almost tangible, the gaily coloured garments of the courtiers threw back the brightness, and the thudding of the horses hooves echoed through Catherine’s aching head like thunder. It seemed incredible to her that no one took the threat of war with the English seriously, even though there was ample proof of their strength in the ravaged towns and villages across the land.
She caught sight of Charles, and he waved excitedly. He looked more like a child at play than the future King of France. As she crossed the soft grass towards him, she was aware of the glances that followed her; the ladies were openly curious about her feelings for the English king. Well, let them look! Most of them were no better than strumpets, anyway, falling into bed with whosoever took their fancy.
“Charles, you look well today.”
She took her brother’s hand, pitying him the smallness of his stature and the fineness of his bones. He was still only a boy, and might grow into manliness with time.
“I won a joust, Catherine. It’s a great pity you were not present to see it.” His eyes were more luminous than ever, overlarge for his small face and giving him an almost girlish air. “Our cousin landed hard on the turf, I can tell you!”
Before Catherine could frame a reply, Isabel had come up behind her chuckling spitefully.
“No doubt Jean kindly allowed you to win. He always was a good-hearted boy with such a charming smile.”
The ferocity of Catherine’s emotions almost overwhelmed her. She felt like turning on her mother and raking her sneering face with her nails, but instead she clenched her fists, almost drawing blood from the soft palms of her hands, and forced herself to smile warmly at Charles.
“Well done, brother. No one throws away a joust for kindness’ sake; not even our cousin Jean.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed menacingly, the colour rising under the heavy bones of her face, and for a moment it seemed there would be a tirade of abuse showered on Catherine and Charles right there in the tiltyard.
Suddenly Charles pointed across the green to where the courtiers were bowing and dipping.
“Look, there’s Father!”
Catherine felt her heart dip in fear, but for once the King seemed to be in full command of his faculties. He was neatly dressed, and his wispy hair had been combed into place. She thought of the times when he roamed at large like a wild beast, his clothes ragged and covered in stale food; and his eyes terrible in their emptiness. Quickly she crossed herself. Perhaps it had pleased God to remove the sickness from the King for good, this time.
“Ah, my children, and my sweet little Isabel. It is good to see you enjoying the sports. Isn’t the sun beautiful?”
He bent close to his wife. She held her cheek towards him, barely able to conceal the repugnance she felt. The King didn’t seem to notice, his watery eyes were on Catherine. The breath almost left her body. She felt pinned to the grass, by his intense gaze.
“I wish to talk to you, Catherine. Come walk with me.”
Her father held out his arm. Catherine stepped out at his side, trying carefully to keep up with his long strides.
“The English King must not take away the throne of France, do you understand, Catherine?”
She struggled desperately to think of a suitable answer, but the King waited for none.
“Henry will marry you. It must be! Even though he procrastinates to give him time to prepare for war, it will come to the same thing in the end. An alliance through marriage. It has always been so.”
He looked directly at Catherine, his eyes strangely clear.
“Do not let them put pressure on Charles, he is too weak to withstand it; and France will split even more without some kind of king from their own blood.”
“I’ll do what I can, Father.”
Catherine doubted that even in the event of the marriage taking place, she would have any influence at all over Henry. Hadn’t Isabel herself called him “headstrong” and “impulsive”?
She became aware that the King’s hand was trembling beneath hers. He stopped walking and stared away over her head, as if seeing things that weren’t really there.
“If only my brother, Louis had not been so shamefully killed, he would help me now. You know it was our own cousin who struck him down? I have never recovered from that treachery, but then a king is surrounded by traitors all his life. It is difficult to tell friend from enemy.”
He was shaking now as if stricken by the ague and quickly, Catherine led him inside, away from the hot sunshine and the prying eyes that followed him speculatively wherever he went. She knew that wagers were made about the length of the King’s life, and a mingling of anger and despair throbbed through her so that she suddenly felt unbearably tired.
“Rest Father,” she said, softly relieved when his servants came forward to take charge of him. “I will do my best to look after Charles.”
She hurried from the room trying to blot out the picture of her father disintegrating into a mindless idiot. It seemed so cruel after the moments of lucidity he had enjoyed for a short time out
in the warmth of the sunshine.
“Catherine!” Suddenly Isabel appeared in the dim corridor like a spectre, her lips pressed coldly together, her dark eyes flashing. “What confidence was the King so anxious to impart to you?”
Catherine was startled and bewildered. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”
Isabel caught her arm. “I intend to know what the King said to you. Come along girl. Speak up, before I slap you hard!”
Catherine wrenched her arm away. “His Majesty made a simple request, and one that I doubt I’ll be able to comply with; that I intercede with Henry of England on behalf of my brother Charles.”
She was gasping and forcing down the feeling of sickness that possessed her, when suddenly Isabel laughed, the tension gone from her face.
“You and Charles, what a bright pair you both make! Even if Henry does marry you, what makes you think he’d take any notice at all of anything you might say? As for Charles, he is nothing but a bastard foisted on me by some lover. He will never rule France while I live and breathe!”
Suddenly it was cold. Catherine stared at her mother, seeing her clearly for the first time as the real power in the land. No wonder her lovers were so attentive. They held more in their arms than a warm sensual woman. When they bedded Isabel they thrust their way into riches and power beyond their wildest dreams.
As if in some nightmare, Catherine saw Charles step noiselessly out of the shadows, his thin face pale; and in the dimness, his eyes glittered strangely menacing. He stood squarely before Isabel, his young face transformed.
“Be careful, madam. Though I may not be strong, I have friends who are prepared to be strong for me. My following is greater than you imagine.” He smiled unpleasantly. “By the way, you were quite right about the incident in the tiltyard just now. I did cheat; just be careful mother that I don’t cheat you.”
He turned and walked away quietly, almost as if he was suspended from chains, the soles of his feet barely seeming to touch the ground.
Catherine was almost afraid to look at her mother. She had expected Isabel to strike Charles for his impertinence but all the time he was speaking she had stood dumb, with an expression of loathing; and yet almost of fear in her face.
“Go to your room Catherine!” The Queen stood tall once more her presence strong, dominating everyone in sight. She lifted her arms towards the heavens. “Was ever a mother burdened by two such wretches as I have given birth to?”
Catherine made her way into her chamber, her hands trembling, though the sunshine was still hot outside. She sank down on to the bed her head aching as if it would burst.
“Marie,” she called, “come and help me out of my dress before I choke.”
Her maid hurried to her, an anxious look on her smooth young face. “What’s wrong, my lady? Not still worrying over the English pig, are you?” She was deft and gentle in her movements and soon made Catherine comfortable, bathing her face in sweet orange water.
“That’s better,” Catherine smiled. “What would I do without you Marie?” She lay back against the pillows, relaxing. Her eyelids began to droop. “I’m not worrying about Henry,” she said drowsily. “There are enough troubles nearer home to keep me occupied. I don’t think you should refer to the King of England as a Pig.”
Catherine laughed as Marie, quite unconcerned began to neatly fold away the clothes her mistress had just discarded.
“Ah, there is a seam opening here. I will sew that before it becomes worse, my lady. Perhaps at last you are putting on some flesh to cover your bone.”
Although the same age as Catherine, Marie’s attitude was protective, almost motherly and Catherine wondered suddenly if there was any truth in the tale that Marie was one of the King’s love-children, brought up in the royal household by the good graces of Queen Isabel. If it were so, there must have been some very good reason for the Queen’s generosity, a salve to her own guilty conscience perhaps?
Catherine held up her slender fingers and examined them against Marie’s large capable hands, laughing softly. No one could mistake the maid for a royal princess, but to Catherine it did not matter a jot. Marie was more dear to her than ever a true sister could have been.
“Here, my lady drink this. It will help you to sleep.” Marie held a cup towards her and Catherine took it gratefully. “You just put it all out of your head. Why, Henry of England is ten years your senior: quite an old man! You can do better than that with your looks.”
Catherine smiled affectionately. “Twenty-six is not exactly ancient, Marie, and he is a king after all.”
“Pouf! A king may not be a man when it comes to affairs of the bedchamber Lady Catherine and I have had more than one humble man who has been royal between the sheets.”
Catherine waved her hand. “Go away, Marie, and let me rest. And don’t think I believe all that rubbish, because I don’t! Not for one minute!”
Marie winked saucily. “I know I sometimes exaggerate, but only a little.”
Silently she left the room and, smiling, Catherine settled herself down to rest.
The sun paler now, cast dazzling orange lights against her lids, and she turned on her stomach, pressing her face into the soft bolsters. What was the use of worrying about any of it? Her fate would be decided without her knowledge or consent, and as a dutiful daughter she would merely have to comply with her parents’ wishes. She yawned widely, feeling her body relax deep into the comfort of the bed.
“Catherine, are you asleep?”
She had been, almost, but the sound of her brother’s young, anxious voice brought her sharply awake.
“What is it Charles? Is anything wrong?”
In spite of her drowsiness, Catherine felt a tug of pity for the small, pale-faced boy sitting uncomfortably on the edge of her bed. She held her hand to him, and he took it, his face eager. Tears welled like crystals on his long lashes, and with quivering lips he dashed them away.
“I’m sorry Catherine. I just came to apologise for the way I acted earlier. I seemed to frighten you.”
She smiled and put her arm around his thin shoulder. “You did frighten me a little, I must confess. You even managed to put fear into our lady-mother, and that is something to see!”
“Well, I meant to scare her. Why does she hate me so much Catherine? And why does she pretend I am not the King’s son? It’s that which hurts me most of all.”
It was a constant source of embarrassment to Catherine that the Queen should so lower herself to insinuate Charles to be illegitimate. And she felt a thrill of anger to see what a profound effect it was having on her brother.
“I think it is something she does because she is afraid of the power you will one day have,” she said slowly. “You are the King’s son. See how you look like him, and like me too! If you are not his son, I cannot be his daughter.”
Charles leaned against her shoulder. “You are so sensitive of other people’s feelings Catherine. Sometimes I feel I won’t live to be Charles the Seventh of France.”
He sounded so doleful that Catherine laughed.
“Marie!” she called. “Bring some wine. The dauphin is feeling low, and needs some cheer.”
Without question, Marie quickly poured some of the sparkling wine, and with a curtsey handed it to Charles, who stared suspiciously into the cup as though he were being offered poison.
“Go on,” Catherine urged. “Marie makes it herself and it is uncommonly good for easing a troubled mind and tired body. See how well I feel now?”
After the first few mouthfuls, Charles needed no further encouragement.
“Give me more,” he demanded. “It is as you say, quite good.”
The long shadows were spreading across the bedchamber, and Marie quietly tiptoed around the outstretched feet of the dauphin, in order to light the candles. Catherine slept like a child, her lashes dark smudges against her soft cheeks.
“It looks as if it is to be left to me to get young Charles back to his bed.”
Ma
rie stood hands on hips smiling wryly down at the young boy. He looked defenceless, almost like a baby, but he hung limp and heavy enough in Marie’s arms when she tried to get him to his feet. She was panting and breathless, terrified of discovery by the time she got him to his chamber.
“Michel,” she called, softly, “come and get the Dauphin into bed.”
A tousle-haired youth appeared in the doorway, his eyes dark with sleep. He stared at Marie in surprise, and then down at the young Charles, still fully clothed in his brightly coloured doublet.
“Not attending young boys now are you?” he said teasingly. “Perhaps that’s the reason I haven’t been seeing you very much lately?”
Marie glanced at him over the sleeping form of the Dauphin.
“Or could it be that you do not please me so much Michel?” she whispered, smiling at him provocatively.
Michel leaned forward and deliberately pinched one of her full breasts. She turned her back on him, pretending anger.
“See to your duties Michel. This is no place for foolishness.”
He came up behind her, and his arms encircled her waist.
“Please Marie, come out into the fields with me. It’s dark now, and no one will see us. We will be in a world of our own.”
She turned and put her arms around his neck, drawing him close. “Perhaps one day we will marry, do you think so Michel?”
Driven by emotion he would have agreed to anything. He kissed her briefly, and released her.
“Give me just a few minutes, and I will be with you.”
He was panting a little, and Marie smiled to see the way he quickly drew off the rest of his master’s clothes, carelessly throwing the jewelled shoes to the floor. She went out and stood in the dimness of the corridor and when Michel joined her, they ran hand in hand out into the sweet night air.
Something had woken Catherine from her sleep, and now restless she sat staring out of the window up at the deep blue of the night sky, with its scattering of brilliant stars. The air was still warm and the scent of many flowers below her made it unbearably sweet. She heard a soft laugh and saw the flutter of a dress amongst the trees. She knew at once that it was Marie and her young lover, though it had seemed for a while as if the affair was cooling off.