A Royal Ambition

by A Royal Ambition (retail) (epub)

  Gloucester, his hair ruffled beneath his hat, lifted his hand in salute to her. “God be with you, sister, that you may give my brother the son he deserves.”

  Catherine searched for the face she most wanted to see, but Owen Tudor was not there. Tears came to her eyes as another pain gripped her and she heard from outside the soft haunting notes of a Welsh love song, and she knew that he was there.

  She almost screamed as the midwife and physician made themselves busy beneath the sheets.

  “It won’t be long now,” Marie said comfortingly, “the head is almost born.” Catherine managed a fleeting smile before she gave herself up in total concentration to the birth of her child.

  Chapter Five

  The keen January wind howled outside the thick walls of Windsor Castle and played ghostly music through the long corridors. Catherine whimpered and moved restlessly in her sleep. A log fell in a shower of sparks, flaring for a moment and illuminating the sleeping figure of Marie, her sleeves still rolled above her plump elbows and her hair escaping in untidy tendrils from her hat.

  Catherine opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly at the crib, and then tried to sit up. She gasped as a pain gripped her.

  “Marie,” she said softly, but immediately the girl was awake and crossing the room on tiptoe.

  “I have a pain here. I thought all discomfort ended with the birth. Help me sit up, Marie.” She relaxed a little as the pain subsided. “Bring me the baby, Marie. I want to hold my son.”

  Marie smiled indulgently. “I’ll bring him, but make the most of it; once those starchy English nurses get their hands on him they won’t allow him to be disturbed from his sleep.” Gently she lifted the tiny boy and placed him in Catherine’s arms. “He’s a bonny child, my lady. His Majesty, King Henry, will be so pleased and proud.”

  Catherine’s smile faded. “He will be angry with me for giving birth to his son at Windsor. I should have made the move sooner, but I confess I was reluctant to leave. I have been so happy here.”

  She looked down at her sleeping son and her eyes misted with tears. His skin was petal-soft against her cheek, and his hair was downy and fair, lifting up from his head in little tendrils.

  “It was a good thing you hadn’t started the move; you might have given birth to the King’s son out in the fields!” She busied herself with some herbs diffused in water, straining the liquid until it was quite clear. “This will help with the pain, my lady. It is probably afterpangs, and will not last long.”

  The baby stirred and opened his eyes. His small fists fought the wrappings that bound him and waved futilely against the air. His lips quivered and he began to cry, softly at first, and then with growing force.

  “Oh, Marie something’s wrong with him. What is it my little love? Are you in pain?”

  She didn’t protest as Marie took the child from her and began to rub his back.

  “Wind my lady, that’s all it is,” Marie said smiling.

  Slowly the pale sun was coming up, dimming the candlelight and dispelling the mists that wreathed the castle.

  “You must try and eat something, my lady,” Marie urged. “Soon your visitors will come to look at the new prince. The bells will ring out the good news, and the citizens of the town will flock around bringing gifts. You must be strong to face it all. Here, have some of this good thick soup. It will warm you all through; then perhaps some duck, or even a pie.”

  Catherine held up her hands in protest. “Some soup is all I can manage for now, thank you, Marie. I promise I won’t allow myself to waste away, but really I’m not very hungry.”

  She tasted the soup and found it delicious, and as Marie had said it warmed her and brought some colour back to her cheeks.

  “Your Majesty.” One of her ladies was at the door, her dress billowing like a flower as she curtsied to Catherine. “The Duke of Gloucester is asking to be received. Shall I show him in?”

  Catherine, her mouth full of soup, nodded and waved her hand indicating that he be brought to her at once. She would be happy to see him. He had been delighted that the prince was strong and healthy, though for a moment there had been something almost like jealousy in his eyes as he’d looked down at the sleeping infant. Still that was only human. As brother to the King, he, no doubt, entertained the faint hope that he might himself one day rule England.

  “My dear Catherine, you are looking so well and more beautiful than ever.” Humphrey kissed her cheek, avoiding her eyes, and she knew at once that something was wrong.

  “What is it Humphrey? Have you news of the King? Is he coming home?” Catherine waited in suspense as Humphrey studied the ruby ring on his hand, struggling desperately to find the right words.

  “The King is ill, Madam, and that being so I trust you will forgive the sharpness of his letter to you. He is upset because you did not leave Windsor sooner; but he conveys his pleasure that you have born him a strong heir, and he indicates the wish that the boy be called Henry.”

  Catherine inclined her head, in agreement.

  Humphrey shifted his position. “You had better read the letter, Madam; but try not to worry yourself too much. My brother has spent a bad winter. The siege of Meaux has seriously taxed him; let us pray it is nothing more than that.” He rose, and bowed over her hand. “I will leave you to rest now, Catherine. Look after yourself and my little nephew. And don’t take Henry’s letter too much to heart.”

  As soon as he had left, Catherine unfolded the heavy document and Henry’s writing bold and angry leapt out at her. Her colour faded as she read the harsh angry words he had written – to him she was nothing less than a traitor for disregarding his wishes. She dropped the letter, and stared out at the cold bleak landscape. She had never had much of a marriage, but after this how could she bear to continue an alliance that was obviously so distasteful to the King?

  “What’s wrong, my lady? You look like someone bewitched. Is there anything I can do?”

  Marie bustled around the bed pulling the covers in place and straightening the pillows. Catherine shook her head listlessly.

  “I knew the King would be displeased, but I didn’t think he would take it so badly. He assumes I stayed here deliberately to flout his authority.” Catherine bit her lip in an effort to stop the tears. “He should have remained with me as any loving husband would do, and then he would know it wasn’t my fault.”

  Marie shook out Catherine’s foot rug with undue vigour, her actions revealing her indignation, but she knew better than to voice any criticisms.

  “Please rest my lady,” she said with forced calmness. “You must be given time to recover your strength.”

  * * *

  The bells that had rung out so joyfully only a few short months ago to celebrate the birth of a prince, now tolled mournfully on the warm, still air proclaiming to the people that their king was dead. Catherine sat in her favourite corner of the grounds draped heavily in dark mourning clothes, and there were tears on her cheeks. She cried because Henry was her husband, and the father of her child, but she felt no real sense of loss.

  “Try not to grieve, Catherine. My brother would not have wished it.” John of Bedford patted her arm almost paternally, though he was no more than a few years her senior. “As regent, I will look after my nephew’s interests as if they were my own. You need have no fears on that score. And when I leave for France, you will have Humphrey to protect you here.”

  She put her hand out to him in gratitude. “You are very kind, John. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She thought with pity of the tears that had sparkled on his brown cheeks as he’d ridden with her behind the coffin, and how the crowds had cheered to see her. It had come as a surprise to realise that she was so popular in England, partly, she guessed, because she had provided them with a new king. And she was living proof of French submission.

  “I will miss your sense and kindness very much, John. I will pray that the wars will soon be finished, and then you may be here to help with
my son’s education. He needs someone like you to guide him.” She leaned forward on an impulse, and kissed John’s cheek. “And God go with you, my lord.”

  He flushed with emotion. “And God be with you, Catherine. Guard the infant king well. While he lives there will be no fight for power. He is the sovereign, and there can be no disputes.”

  Catherine felt a chill of fear at his words. As she watched him stride away across the grass, she felt an impulse to call him back and force him to stay at home to care for Henry himself. But she knew with a deep certainty that he would not give up the struggle for France any more than her husband would have, and one day the effort might kill him as it had killed the King.

  * * *

  “Why should the magnates oppose my wish to be Regent?”

  Humphrey paced the great hall, his colour high and his arms waving angrily and Catherine seated in her high chair could not help feeling a measure of sympathy with him. “Do I not guard the young king and his mother, and do I not love my country?”

  His voice rose dramatically and one of the ladies sitting behind Catherine giggled softly. “Yes and does he not love the ladies too well,” she whispered.

  Catherine silenced her with a look and Humphrey came to stand before her.

  “Can you think of any reason, or cause, that could go against me, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  She smiled up at him sympathetically. “Perhaps they will relent, my lord; and for myself I could not hope for a better Regent for my son and myself.” She set out deliberately to charm him out of his ill humour. “Come Humphrey, let us call out the musicians. Music will soothe and entertain us.”

  She saw Owen Tudor enter the hall, and immediately her heartbeats quickened. To hide the blush that rose to her cheeks she smiled ever more warmly at Humphrey.

  “Perhaps I can put in a word for you, my lord; though I doubt if there will be much notice taken of what I have to say.”

  He suddenly took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You are the most sympathetic and charming woman it has ever been my fortune to meet.”

  He looked into her eyes, his own hot and searching. Catherine disentangled her hand, feeling slightly uneasy.

  “And you, my dear brother, are the most flirtatious of men, with a gift of charming the ladies that is second to none. Do you not think to add me to your necklace of pearls!” She laughed to soften the reproof, but the speculative look remained in Humphrey’s face.

  She stayed a little while longer and then making the needs of her infant son the excuse, left the hall.

  She had been resting only a few minutes when her ladies entered.

  “Your Majesty, Duke Humphrey of Gloucester wishes to see you.”

  Catherine swallowed a sigh, and sat up reluctantly.

  “Very well, show him in.”

  She folded her hands together in an attempt to look composed, but Humphrey was quick to notice the traces of tears on her cheeks.

  “My dear, you are unhappy. But that is only natural with my brother only recently buried.” Humphrey took her hand folding it between his large fingers. “But you must not be lonely. I will not have it, and isn’t it a natural thing that I your kinsman should wish to comfort you?”

  He smiled, and looked so young and handsome that Catherine warmed to him.

  “Your kindness is very much appreciated, I assure you. I will take great pleasure in your company, as I have always done. But tell me now, what is the real reason you were not allowed to be Regent?”

  Humphrey stood abruptly, and Catherine realised that she could not have found a more effective way of diverting him than the one she’d chosen.

  “My uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, is my real enemy. He desires to become a cardinal. He is power mad, but then the Beauforts were always ambitious.”

  Catherine was surprised by the bitterness in his voice. “But, my lord, no one is more powerful than you and John of Bedford, the young king’s very own uncles. Who could usurp your authority?”

  Humphrey patted her hand. “The Bishop is rich, very rich; and wealth speaks with a loud mouth in England today. With money, he controls a great deal of the country’s affairs, and continues to line his pockets as well. But don’t worry about it; we will talk about more pleasant things.”

  Long after Humphrey had left, Catherine thought about what he had said. It was becoming increasingly clear that there were plots afoot that she had no knowledge of and no control over. She sighed. Humphrey wasn’t quite the pleasant, if amorous fool, she’d imagined him to be. He wanted power as much as anyone, and she wondered to what lengths he might be prepared to go to get it.

  * * *

  News came through from France that Duke John was doing well in the campaigns. It pleased Catherine to learn that instead of leaving desolation behind him across the country, he was making new laws to help the people rebuild their lives.

  “You are looking very thoughtful, my lady. Is anything troubling you?”

  Marie stood before her mistress, her cheeks flushed from the walk she had just taken, her hair tossed by the wind.

  “I wonder if anyone remembers me at home now that my poor father is dead?” Catherine said. “I expect my mother is already consoling herself with a new lover. They will be more eager than ever to win her favour now I daresay. And Charles, will he ever forgive me for that treaty that gives my son precedence over him for the French throne?” Catherine covered her eyes. “I feel as if I’ve been a pawn all my life, Marie; used by other people to bring them something they wanted. I’ve never been loved for myself alone.”

  Marie tutted, overcome with emotion. “Don’t take on so, my lady. You have always had my love.”

  Catherine looked up quickly. “Oh, I know how sincere your devotion is, Marie, believe me, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She sighed. “I’m afraid that Humphrey is intending to ask for me in marriage. He hasn’t spoken of it, yet, but only because I’ve managed to keep him at arm’s length. He wants power. As my husband and step-father to the King, he would be the most powerful man in the country.” She leaned forward resting her chin on the ledge. “If I was sure a man loved me for myself alone, even if he were a commoner, I’d take him for a husband.”

  Marie looked shocked. “My lady, don’t even say such things. You were brought up in a royal household, the princess of France, and now you are Dowager-Queen of England. You could not think of marrying beneath you.”

  Catherine looked at her with tired eyes. “I may not be an honest woman and marry but I can be like my mother and take lovers when I choose. Is that what you mean, Marie?”

  Marie shrugged in bewilderment. “I suppose you could marry suitable to your rank, my lady. There are many of the lords who look to you with more than a passing interest.”

  Catherine got to her feet suddenly throwing a cushion to the floor. “I’m sick of doing what is acceptable to other people. I am flesh and blood! I do not stop feeling just because I am Queen Catherine of England.”

  She ran to the bed and fell across it sobbing hysterically. She longed more than anything to confide in Marie about her love for Owen Tudor, but she would never understand how a queen could love a gentleman-at-arms.

  He was drifting away from her. She had seen him yesterday talking intimately with the simpering lady Jayne, and if she wasn’t very much mistaken the girl was with child.

  * * *

  “My father will never agree to me marrying you and when he finds out about the baby I will be in disgrace. He will disown me.”

  Jayne looked up at Owen, her blue eyes large and filled with tears; and he wondered what on earth had possessed him to make love to her.

  “Come, don’t cry. There must be some way out of this. Surely if I explain to your father how it was, he will forgive you, and allow me to provide for the child?” He took her in his arms. “I don’t like to be unkind, little Jayne, but I wasn’t your first, nor your only one was I?”

  She didn’t answer, just burrowed her face closer t
o him, hiding like a little animal from the unpleasant facts of the world.

  “We will make an appointment to see Her Majesty Queen Catherine and throw ourselves on her mercy. There is no other way.”

  Jayne was suddenly frightened. “I can’t face them all, Owen.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s time you faced reality Jayne. There are unpleasant things. But I’m with you and I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”

  * * *

  The Queen was pleased to give them an audience, but she requested that they wait in the outer chamber until her other business was finished.

  “She does it to humiliate me,” Jayne whispered fiercely, and turned to outstare one of the many ladies who seemed to find pressing errands that took them to and from the chamber.

  Owen felt there was some justification for her feelings, and as the time went by, his own anger began to grow. Several of the courtiers came through, and one of them made a lewd remark; then Catherine appeared for a moment in the doorway of her chamber, her eyes sweeping over Jayne as if she were some sort of curiosity.

  Suddenly Owen rose. “Your Majesty!”

  His voice echoed along the length of the corridor startling everyone into silence. He walked determinedly to the door of the chamber.

  “Your Majesty, do we have an audience with you or am I mistaken? If I am wrong and you do not wish to see us do I have Your Majesty’s permission to retire?”

  Catherine studied him coolly for a moment, her dignity unruffled. “You may enter and bring the Lady Jayne with you. And you have my assurance that I am not deaf or stupid. And I will not be shouted at in my own castle.”

  The very control in her voice showed the strain she was under, and suddenly Owen’s anger left him as he saw the dark shadows that circled her eyes, and the paleness of her cheeks. She waved her hands to the ladies who reluctantly left the room, disappointed at having to miss the excitement.