A Royal Ambition

by A Royal Ambition (retail) (epub)

  “My instructions are that you keep out of my way. My son is coming outside into the fresh air. He needs some colour in his cheeks. He is still only a child.”

  She swept out of the room, and docilely, her son accompanied her.

  “Come Henry. We will look at the flowers, and play in the lovely soft grass. Perhaps we will go and see the horses, and you may ride a little.”

  Henry looked at her doubtfully and suddenly tears came to his eyes.

  “I’m afraid of horses. Don’t make me go on one.”

  She looked down at him with pity and took his hand in hers. He didn’t resist. He went with her passively, the tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “My poor boy,” she said softly, “between them all they are making a weakling of you.”

  She drew him into her arms and he curled up like a small soft animal, his head leaning wearily against her.

  For a long time she sat in the grass holding her son, knowing that with her decision to marry Owen she had forfeited her few remaining rights over her child’s future.

  Chapter Seven

  “The Council has betrayed me!” Catherine stormed through her chamber, clenching her fists to her sides to prevent her from striking out at someone. “In spite of the Bishop’s promise of help, an injunction has been made forbidding the marriage without the King’s consent. Consent!” Catherine’s voice was contemptuous. “How can a small boy give his mother consent?”

  Marie hurried into the room. “My lady, please don’t take it so badly. You will find a way. Everything will come out all right. Don’t cry so bitterly.” She rubbed the Queen’s wrists, struggling to keep the tears from her own eyes. “Decisions can be revoked; you know that as well as I do.”

  Catherine sat up and held her hand wearily to her temples. “They think they have beaten me, Marie,” she spoke rapidly in French so that no one could understand. “But they don’t know Catherine de Valois very well. This is one thing I want more than life itself, and I will do anything in my power to bring the marriage about.”

  From outside the door came sounds of voices raised in argument, and Catherine indicated that Marie go and find out what was the cause of the disturbance.

  “It is Owen Tudor, my lady. He wishes to see you, but the ladies are attempting to send him away. He is very unpopular since the rumour about the marriage spread around; many of the courtiers have taken to ignoring him.”

  Fresh anger brought Catherine to her feet. “I will see him, but in public; and if anyone dares to slight him they will have me to answer to.”

  She refreshed her face with the sweet orange water that Marie quickly prepared, and then dressed carefully in her most magnificent gown.

  “Give me your arm Owen. I wish to join the company.”

  Gracefully she moved along the corridors to the great hall, smiling into Owen’s eyes assuring him without words of her unchanged love.

  Humphrey rose from his chair as she entered, and bowed politely. “I had heard you were indisposed, Your Majesty, but I am greatly relieved to see that it is not so. You look more beautiful than ever.”

  She favoured him with a brilliant smile. “My lord, it is a mystery where these tales come from.” She waved her hand including the elegant courtiers in her conversation. “Boredom causes a great deal of mischief, don’t you agree?”

  As Humphrey made to move away, she caught his arm tightly. “I have asked Owen Tudor to entertain us with his singing. It is my wish that you remain in my company for a time, my lord, so as not to offend such a worthy friend of the throne.” She smiled warmly at Humphrey. “But of course, you know how he fought with our late king at the battle of Agincourt; how many here have so fine a record I wonder?” Some of the lords looked to Humphrey for direction.

  “I’m sure that while he maintains his high record of obedience, no one would wish to offend Owen Tudor, Your Majesty.” He thrust the words from him as if they burned his lips.

  Catherine inclined her head. “I trust you are right, my lord, because he who does so, offends the Queen of England, and that could be called treason, could it not?”

  She relaxed her hold on Humphrey’s arm and he withdrew, his colour high and his eyes dark with anger.

  “He hates me like poison!” Owen whispered. “Be careful that he does not become your enemy, too. He is a formidable man and would stop at nothing – even murder – to gain what he wants.”

  “Let us forget them all.” Catherine waved her hands in the air as if to sweep her worries away. “Sing me some of your lovely Welsh songs, so that I can dream we are in a different world with all our problems solved.”

  She seated herself comfortably in the high-backed chair in the centre of the room, and closed her eyes as the haunting melody filled the hall.

  * * *

  Marie heard the singing from the solitude of her chamber. The notes filled her like liquid gold, and suddenly she was filled with an unbearable longing – a longing for something that she couldn’t explain. She looked down at herself wondering how much she had changed from the young girl who had lain in the sweet fields under the moon with young eager Michel. It wasn’t that she had grown old. Her body, though a trifle plump, was still well-shaped and attractive. But somehow the cold English climate, and even colder Englishmen, had robbed her of her laughter and gaiety. She needed a man to love her, to make her bloom again.

  She heard the bustle of the ladies’ dresses in the royal chamber, and then her lady’s voice called her name. Marie smiled. Pushing back her discontent, she hurried to Catherine’s room. The Queen was lying on the bed, her dress a pale flower against the richness of the tapestries that hung around the walls.

  “I see you are recovered from your mood, my lady. Have you put a few noses back where they belong?” Marie smiled indulgently as Catherine rolled over on to her stomach, and kicked her slippers on to the floor.

  “Oh, yes, and the biggest nose of all was that of the Duke of Gloucester. He didn’t take it kindly. But he was forced to be polite to Owen. Of course, all the others followed like the sheep that they are.” She sat up and crossed her bare feet under her skirts. “All the same, they think I am tied by their wretched injunction, but the Bishop will find a way I’m sure of it. He longs to be a cardinal and will go to any lengths to achieve his ambition. What’s more, he hates Humphrey; it’s common knowledge.”

  Marie stood hands on hips. “Be careful, my lady. Humphrey is a clever and powerful man. It wouldn’t be wise to underestimate his capabilities.”

  Catherine nodded. “I know. But he will be very careful, because one day my son will be king.”

  * * *

  The dawn crawled greyly in through the palace windows, resting pale fingers on the bed where Catherine lay already wide awake. News had come from France which had disturbed and frightened her, and at the same time aroused a strange excitement within her.

  Her brother, the Dauphin, had decided to go to war with the English, led it seemed, by a maid they called Joan. Victories were being won as town after town was recaptured for France, and this woman, who paraded shamelessly in man’s clothing, had so inspired Charles that he was contemplating a coronation some time in the near future.

  That meant defeat for John of Bedford, and the loss of the French throne for her son; but nevertheless, the events held some satisfaction for Catherine. With her brother crowned as Charles the Seventh how much stronger her own position would be. Even Humphrey would be forced to recognise Charles, and perhaps he would urge the council to withdraw the injunction forbidding the marriage.

  Impatiently, she pushed the sheets aside and padded on bare feet to the window. The stone was cold to her touch, and she shivered, thinking of the mellow sunkissed walls of the palaces in France. It was a great pity that Owen would not consider living abroad. There were so many places more pleasant, and much safer than England. The pale sun rose and splashed patches of light across the fresh spring grass, and Catherine breathed deeply. If the truth were known, she too would
grieve for England if she were forced to leave it now.

  Her ladies were astonished when they saw she had risen without calling on them.

  “I wish to go out early and take a walk in some pleasant company,” she declared arrogantly, knowing quite well they would disapprove.

  “Your Majesty demeans herself.” The voice was small but decisive, and Catherine stared in astonishment at the lady Mary Beaufort who knelt at her hem arranging her petticoats.

  “What did you say?” She gave her skirts a sharp tug so that the girl almost toppled over on to her knees. She curtsied and got to her feet.

  “I think you should have more consideration for yourself and your position, my lady.”

  Mary Beaufort was a good few inches taller than the Queen, and though her hands trembled she was obviously determined to have her say. Catherine, even in her anger could not help but admire her courage.

  “I presume you are talking about my affection for Owen Tudor?” She spoke almost pleasantly, aware that the other ladies were waiting with bated breath. Lady Beaufort nodded, her lips pressed firmly together. Catherine faced them all. “He was a friend of my late husband, the King. Is he not good enough then to be my friend?”

  The silence stretched uncomfortably and even Mary Beaufort avoided the Queen’s eyes.

  “Very well,” Catherine said briskly. “I have not taken him to my bed, so what is it you object to?”

  Mary Beaufort stepped forward and Catherine noticed that her eyes were narrowed spitefully. “We could understand that, Your Majesty, but to even consider marrying a – a Welshman!”

  Catherine recoiled at the scorn in her voice. Her eyebrows rose and she waited for an explanation.

  “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but such a man is lower than the most common English yeoman. The Welsh are a most barbaric race.”

  Catherine spoke quietly. “I see no difference of face or stature except that he is of better build than most Englishmen, and being myself a foreigner, I was not aware that there was any difference of race in these British Islands. I have been indulgent long enough. I will hear no more. Continue with my dress so that I can take advantage of the sunshine while I may.”

  She was not to have her walk. Already the courtiers stood in little groups in the corridors, and the name of the Maid of Orleans was on everyone’s lips. Catherine moved towards Humphrey.

  “Surely a woman is not capable of outwitting the English army?” She spoke with concern. She knew that the Duke firmly believed in the young king’s right to rule France.

  “Unfortunately, Madam, that is just what she is doing.”

  “I should not take it all too seriously,” she said. “John of Bedford is an experienced soldier. He will know how to deal with the situation.”

  Suddenly she was at a loss not knowing what she wanted. If Charles was the victor, her son would be cheated of the French throne; and yet her brother was entitled to rule in his own country. He, too, was the son of a king.

  With relief she saw Owen enter the chamber. He looked very handsome in the morning light, every inch a man with an aura of virility that was almost tangible. She went to him and laid her hand on his arm.

  “Come and talk to me. Lighten my spirits!”

  In the shadows of the corridor, Owen drew her aside and held her close, kissing her lips and hair. “Catherine, you are so beautiful,” he murmured, and her hands shook as she pushed him aside.

  “Tempting though it may be to stand here and enjoy your embraces, we must walk in full view of all at Court. I will not be labelled whore, as my mother was.”

  Sedately, she walked along the stones, and Owen fell into step beside her. She longed to take him to her chamber and close the door on the outside world. She wanted nothing more than to lie in his arms and enjoy his love; but not yet – everything must be perfect between them.

  “My ladies tell me you are a barbarian, because you are a Welshman. Does that make you angry, Owen?”

  Something she could not understand forced her to hurt him. He stood still and looked down at her, his face pale and his blue eyes unwavering.

  “They may say what they wish, but I want to know what you think of me, Catherine.”

  He was motionless, and suddenly she was sorry for the strange impulse that had taken possession of her. She put her arms around him, but he did not return her embrace.

  “You know what I think, Owen. I long to marry you and be your wife; and have your children. Could I say all this unless I loved you?”

  “Half of the court are of mixed blood, mine is pure. Come down to me from the great princes of Wales. I am proud of my heritage, Catherine, and I want you to be proud, too.”

  She lifted his hand to her lips. “I love you Owen. I am proud of you.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips until at last his arms held her close.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw the flutter of a dull brown gown and sighed. Lady Mary Beaufort was hurrying at full speed to catch her attention. She drew herself up and took a deep breath. Let her dare to speak any more treason and she would be punished.

  “A messenger came from the Bishop, Your Majesty.” She was breathless, and her eyes were wide with curiosity as Catherine took the document from her hand.

  “Why were you entrusted with it?” Catherine spoke sharply, her heart beating rapidly with hope that the Bishop of Winchester had found a solution to her problem.

  Mary curtsied. “The Bishop is my kinsman, Madam. Had you forgotten?”

  “Do you know anything of the contents?” Catherine persisted.

  Mary looked exasperated and shrugged her square shoulders. “I know nothing, Your Majesty, except that I must keep the matter of the letter a close secret.”

  Catherine broke the seal and quickly read the Bishop’s spidery handwriting. A smile came to her lips, as she passed the letter to Owen.

  “You may leave us now; and thank you for the service you have done me. I will not forget it.”

  Mary hesitated for a moment hoping Catherine might say more, but the Queen turned away and there was nothing she could do but curtsey and leave the royal presence.

  “Well, Owen, what do you think of that?” Catherine’s eyes glowed. “The Bishop feels that a secret marriage would achieve our ends. There will be nothing Humphrey or anyone else could do once the ceremony is actually an accomplished fact.”

  Owen was suddenly serious. “Catherine, I couldn’t love you more than I do now.” He looked at her intently. “Why marry me at all, and risk so much? I would be content with anything you were prepared to give.”

  Catherine held both his hands. “That is not for us, Owen, haven’t I said that time and time again? I want a real marriage, and I have waited a very long time for real love to come into my life. I won’t have it made a shoddy thing, unsanctified by God and the church. Can’t you understand, Owen, I want to be your wife.”

  He drew her close, and Catherine rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes closed, oblivious to the courtiers who looked the other way pretending not to see their queen and the Welshman close together in an embrace.

  Chapter Eight

  “Marie, come quickly. You won’t believe what has happened!” Catherine was so excited she could hardly speak. “Charles has been crowned King of France. It’s true, the ceremony took place yesterday in the cathedral at Rheims!”

  She sank down into her chair, her hands clasped together, making a crumpled ball of her handkerchief, as she pictured the scene. The hot July sun would be spilling through the magnificent stained-glass windows, and the jewel-bright clothes of the courtiers would set off the old, mellow stones of the cathedral walls to perfection.

  “I wonder how Charles looked, Marie. If only I could have been there to see him anointed with the holy oil; with the princes and bishops waiting to acclaim him their king. Oh! how wonderful it must have been!”

  Marie moved uneasily. “My lady, the Duke of Gloucester is waiting outside. He begs an audience with you; and the you
ng king is with him.”

  Catherine rose hastily and hurried into the outer chamber, brushing the tears from her eyes and doing her best to still her shaking hands. She curtsied quickly to her son and then leaned forward to kiss him.

  “I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting. The news from France has so disturbed me. And how are you my lord duke?”

  Before Humphrey could reply Henry placed his small hand on his mother’s arm. “It really doesn’t matter if your brother rules France, Mother,” he said innocently. “I don’t really wish to go there to live anyway. I like it here in England.”

  Catherine flushed aware of Humphrey’s displeasure. “Please, let us be seated and we shall have refreshments brought to us. We might as well be comfortable while we talk.”

  Henry smiled warmly at her, and she longed to hug him, but she doubted if Humphrey would approve of such a gesture.

  “John intends to deal firmly with this insult, of course. It cannot be allowed to pass, you realise that?”

  Humphrey was becoming just a little arrogant. He looked at Catherine speculatively, as if she was one of his women; his eyes probed as if they could see through her clothes, and Catherine felt her anger rise.

  “Are you aware that your tone is not one usually used to address the Queen of England?”

  She spoke quietly but two spots of colour burnt in her cheeks. Humphrey collected himself and bowed quickly.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It is just that like you I am upset that a usurper has taken the throne from our sovereign.” He waited while Catherine inclined her head in agreement, and then continued: “I believe that John intends for the King to be crowned in Paris, but the details are not yet complete.”

  Catherine glanced at him anxiously. “Is it safe, my lord? The King is so young.” Unconsciously her hand came to rest on that of her young son, and with a smile Henry curled his fingers into hers.

  Humphrey leaned forward. “John would do nothing to endanger such a precious life, you know that as well as I do, Catherine.”