* * *
The coach bowled along at a brisk pace, and Margaret shivered inside even though the air was warm. She glanced from under her eyelids at her husband. He was quite relaxed, with no flicker of doubt or hesitation on his clean-cut features.
“My lord,” Margaret ventured, but he waved her to silence and she subsided, a fluttering feeling inside her, making her almost sick.
He was wrong, she felt it in her bones; he would come out of this the worse. Tears welled into her eyes. She tried to brush them aside without him noticing, but Lord Kilbourn missed nothing.
“Crying will bring you nothing but a red face, and that only serves to make a woman plain,” he said, not unkindly.
“The Queen has a terrible temper,” she blurted out. “She will not listen favourably to us, I know it.”
“Hush, Margaret, you don’t know what you are saying. In any case, if Owen Tudor sees us coming, there is no doubt he will stop us from entering, and will be ready to agree to our terms.”
He looked ahead of him, his expression bland.
“I have no terms of my own; they are all yours, my lord,” Margaret spoke stiffly.
She was still angry with him, but he took no notice of her. She was too puny to have any effect on him. He would do just what he had decided.
* * *
“Oh, I feel good today.” Catherine stretched her legs and pushed the sheets away from her. “See how the sun shines. It is a good omen; this is the day the midwife says my child will be born.” She turned to Owen and ruffled his silken red hair. “Wake up, my lord. How can you sleep on a day such as this? Don’t you know the day is half gone, and we still lie in bed?”
Owen drew her to him and smoothed back her hair. “Let us pretend it is still night.” He bit her ear sharply, and Catherine squealed. “Owen! Enough of your nonsense; look here are the children to see us.”
Edmund and Jasper climbed on to the bed, and Catherine immediately slipped from under the sheets.
“To stay in there with you three Tudor fiends is asking for injury of some sort or another,” she laughed. “Go on, boys; tell your father it is time he was out of bed.”
She called her ladies, and they helped her to dress, against a background of screams and shouts from the children, as they fought with their father.
“Shall I take the children away, my lady?” Marie looked anxiously at Catherine, but she waved her hands and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m feeling fine today; see how the sun warms the room and turns the hair of my three loved ones into beaten gold?”
She sat and watched them, a smile on her lips, her hands resting on her full stomach. Soon her daughter would be born, her little Jacina. It might even be today. She felt a lift of excitement, tinged with fear. Please God, let the birth be a good one; and the baby be well and strong.
At last, Owen emerged from the rumpled bed, a son on each arm. “Madam, do these belong to you?” He pretended to drop the boys, and they yelled in an ecstasy of fear. He set them on their feet, and told them to sit quietly near their mother. “Be careful of her,” he warned. “She is very precious. And we must look after her.”
Catherine smiled up into his eyes. Never had she loved him so much as at this moment.
“Your Majesty, there is someone to see you.” One of her courtiers bowed before her, his face grave.
Suddenly her mouth was dry. “Is it bad news?”
“Your Majesty, a messenger has come from France. The Duke of Bedford is dead.”
Catherine felt the room spin around her. John, good kind John, protector of her son’s interest, was dead. She felt tears slide down her cheeks, and she was not ashamed of them.
“There must be a special Mass,” she whispered. “That is all we can do for him now.”
Suddenly the day seemed dark. There were no good omens after all; only the news of death. She sent her ladies away and sat on the bed holding her shawl around her body for comfort.
Owen knelt before her. “Come, Catherine, this is the way of life; there is a death and there will be a birth. We cannot alter the shape of things.”
She clung to him. “John was a good man. He loved Henry, and cared devotedly for him. The others will just use my son to get power for themselves.”
“Don’t distress yourself, Catherine; we will guard him. He will come to no harm. Just think, in only a few years, he will be out of tutelage, and then no one will be able to dictate to him.”
Catherine shook her head. “You know how weak he is.”
Owen kissed her. “I love you dearly, Catherine. I will protect you and the children. Don’t you worry about that.” Catherine rubbed her head against his shoulder. “Yes, darling one, I know you will.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering who would protect him if she was not there.
* * *
Catherine looked with curiosity, as the coach stopped, and a young good-looking man alighted. After him came a girl who seemed vaguely familar. Catherine smiled; she was carrying a child in her arms. The couple were stopped and then moved forward again. She felt Owen stiffen beside her, and then she realised that the girl was Lady Margaret.
“Come inside, Catherine,” Owen said quickly. “I don’t want you to be upset any more today.” She glanced up at him and saw that his face was flushed.
“Why should I be upset, my lord?” she said, resisting his hand as he tried to draw her away.
Lady Margaret was dipping awkwardly before her, and at her side, the elegant Lord Kilbourn bowed respectfully.
Catherine watched as Margaret looked at Owen, her yellow eyes flashing some sort of message. What could it be? Surely the girl was married now, and very well married by the expensive look about her.
“This is no time to ask for an audience with the Queen,” Owen said sharply. “She has had bad news from France today, and she should be resting.”
At once Margaret made to move away, but Lord Kilbourn turned and caught her arm.
“We do not wish to distress Your Majesty; perhaps you could spare us some time, my lord?”
Catherine looked from one to the other, and imperiously ordered them to come inside the chamber.
“I will know what this is all about,” she said firmly. “If there is one thing I can’t stand, it is a mystery.”
She was breathless by the time she reached her chamber. She sat carefully in the cushioned chair, glad to relax. The sun had made her eyes ache, and she felt faintly dizzy.
“Be seated,” she said.
Lady Margaret was standing awkwardly, like a young colt, her eyes full of pain and her slim shoulders slumped. Owen, too, looked careworn; in fact it was only Lord Kilbourn who seemed to have a smile on his face.
“Now what is this all about? Do you need help in any way?”
Silence greeted her words and then softly, Margaret began to cry. The baby in her arms stirred, and whimpered; and she hugged it close, her tears falling faster than ever. Lord Kilbourn had a sardonic smile on his face that was quickly beginning to irritate. He moved over to the child and drew back the covering so that the red silky hair was exposed. Margaret did not look up. She merely sobbed into the silence of the room.
Suddenly everything was clear to Catherine. “What is it you want, Lord Kilbourn? Money I suppose?”
“Your Majesty, I have only good intentions. I felt it just…”
Catherine held up her hand for silence and she seemed to grow in stature.
“Guards!” she said, and immediately the doors opened and her men awaited her command. “This man has laid his hands on a royal personage; it is treason. Remove him to a place of imprisonment.”
She stared at him stonily, as he pleaded with her to release him.
“I will consider what is to be done with you at some later date,” she said remorselessly. “Your wife may return to her home and keep her possessions; all of them,” she said pointedly. “Now leave me. Everyone. I wish to be alone.”
She stood in silence long after they h
ad left, and the sound of their footsteps had died away. Several times, Owen tried to approach her, but she didn’t want to see him; she didn’t want to see anybody.
She curled herself up on the bed, not even allowing Marie near her. What was the use of anything? What was living for? She thought back to when her first daughter had died. It was then that Owen took Margaret, and she, Catherine had forgiven him for it. But she hadn’t known then that there was to be a child. How could she bring herself to forgive and forget such a thing as that?
The night dropped down, and Catherine still lay alone in her chamber. She wanted no tapers lit; she wanted to curl up and stay like a little winter animal, separated from the world and from reality. The day that had begun with so much promise was ending, and the results of it were pain and heartbreak. John of Bedford was dead and now her heart was dead because of Owen’s faithlessness.
Chapter Nineteen
“So John is dead. God rest his soul. He was a fine honest man.”
Humphrey sat up in his bed, the ache in his chest having eased a little; even his cautious physicians had said he was a little better. They stood around him now, eyes watchful for any adverse signs.
“He was a good brother, and I shall see to it that his work in France continues as he would have wished.”
He looked down at the documents in his hand. Phillip of Burgundy was calling for a conference between his own people, and the English and French, and he, Humphrey, Regent of England, would go personally to Arras to see that the Burgundian Duke did not play any tricks.
“Bring my clothes!” he commanded, disregarding the consternation his words caused. “I must be up and about again.”
He felt good as his feet touched the floor. He was fit for many years yet, and perhaps he would obey his advisers and forgo the rich food and wine that he loved so much.
He smiled smugly. That fool, the Cardinal, had thought him already in his grave. He had seen the calculating look in the old man’s eyes, as he watched him writhe on the floor in agony; but he would see that Humphrey was not so easily disposed of.
He whistled merrily as he walked along the corridors. France and Phillip of Burgundy would toe the line once he showed them he was no weakling, and would not be trifled with; but in the meantime, he might as well find his amusements where he could.
* * *
“Mother, please let me speak to you.”
Catherine looked languidly at her eldest son, as he bent over her. His face was pinched and white, and she wondered impatiently what was wrong with him now.
“Yes, come sit beside my bed, Henry. Surely those are not tears I see in your eyes? And you a big lad of thirteen?” Her voice was soft, in spite of her irritation, and she folded his hand between hers, drawing him nearer.
“May I stay here with you and Owen, mother? The children are very fond of me, and I of them.” He fidgeted a little as he attempted to explain. “Since my Uncle Humphrey became Regent, I don’t really know what is expected of me. I am torn in opposite directions because the Cardinal advises me differently to my uncle.”
Catherine sighed. “Neither of them are speaking in your interest, my son; you must listen to them both, and try to form your own opinion.”
Henry looked dejected. “It is so difficult, mother, but I’ll try.” His face brightened. “When Edmund and Jasper grow up, they will help me, won’t they? I know they love me.”
“Yes, they do love you, Henry,” Catherine smiled fondly. “I hope you will remember that, and allow no one to turn you against them. Remember, they are your half-brothers, and deserve respect from others.”
“I will always look after them, Mother. I promise you.”
She kissed his cheek. “You are a good boy, Henry; too good perhaps for the position you hold. You are so trusting.”
“But I may stay here, mother, is that not so?” He looked so anxious that Catherine hugged him impulsively.
“You may stay for a while, until Humphrey of Gloucester decides which form of tuition you will receive next. In any case, he is to go to France; so I do not think he will be concerned with you for the present.” She patted his cheek. “Now go and play; enjoy the sunshine and your freedom, and let me get some rest.”
She lay back wearily. Why couldn’t Henry have been strong like his father? It would be so good to know that her future and the future of her other children would be in strong hands.
“Catherine, are you sleeping?”
She turned her head slowly to look at Owen. His face was drawn, and anxious. She held her hand out to him; and thankfully, he took it.
“Yesterday,” she said quietly, “I think I almost hated you. But today, I am of a softer frame of mind; and in any event, nothing seems to matter a great deal.”
“How are you feeling, Catherine? Are there any pains yet?” Owen sat carefully beside her, his hands still holding hers.
She shook her head. “I feel nothing except utter weariness. Sit beside me and I will try to sleep.”
She closed her eyes, and the dark lashes sank like shadows against the pale skin of her cheeks. The fresh flush of health seemed to have left her once more, and she was a small, defenceless woman in an enormous bed.
* * *
Catherine thought she was in a dream, and her body was being encircled by skirts grown too tight for her. Then she opened her eyes, and realised that her labour had begun. Marie was walking softly, preparing already for the birth.
“How did you know before I did?” Catherine asked in amazement.
Marie smiled. “I always know, my lady. I know everything about you. I should do. I’ve served you long enough.” She brought a cup to Catherine. “Drink this, it will help; though I don’t think this labour is going to take long. Your daughter will be born before the sun rises.”
Catherine felt her spirits rise. God be praised if Marie was right. She was so tired that she could not spend hours struggling to bring her child into the world. She felt she would die in the attempt.
“Does Owen know?” she said softly, and Marie nodded continuing with her preparations. “He will be glad when it is all over,” Catherine said, wincing as the pain began again. “He says there must be no more children for me after this; he wants me to be well and strong.”
Marie moved around the bed. “Hush, my lady; the physicians will be here soon. I don’t want them to think I have allowed you to tire yourself. Try to go with the pain. Let it carry you along. You must not fight it.”
Catherine smiled. “You are right, Marie, you are always right! I am in your excellent hands.”
* * *
Jacina was born just before sunrise, a healthy, lovely baby girl. Her hair was red like her father’s, but her eyes were dark, almost black.
“Just look, my lady! She is beautiful; oh! a lovely child. Are you not delighted, my lady?”
Marie was beside herself with joy, and Catherine smiled with tears in her eyes.
“Owen, what do you think of her? Oh, God be praised for giving me so much joy.”
Catherine’s face was radiant, and as Owen knelt beside her, his heart quickened with hope. Perhaps now, they could begin afresh. He would make sure that nothing he did would ever upset the Queen again.
“She is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.” He held the tiny dimpled fingers and stared in wonder at the perfectly formed nails. “Our daughter; she is almost as beautiful as her mother.”
“Her Majesty must rest now,” Marie said, and immediately took charge of the sickroom, ushering everyone, including Owen, outside. “She must sleep, so that she can regain her strength.”
Catherine lay back, grateful for the silence. It was wonderful to have the birth over, and to know that the daughter she had longed for was strong and healthy.
“I am so happy, Marie,” she murmured, her eyes drooping with tiredness. “I will rest, and then when I feel better, we will celebrate; but I will think of that later.”
She closed her eyes and relaxed, dimly conscious of Mari
e’s hands drawing the covers closer over her shoulders. It was good to be cared for in this way.
* * *
Marie sat by the bed, watching the Queen. Her cheeks seemed shrunken, and her eyes had become even more deep-set. There was an unhealthy tinge of yellow under the skin, and Catherine seemed to have aged greatly in the two weeks since her child had been born.
“My head aches, Marie.” Catherine pulled herself up against the pillows with difficulty, and her dark eyes glittered as if with fever.
Marie rose at once, anxious to make Catherine more comfortable. She shook the pillow, and held a cup to the Queen’s lips.
“Here, my lady; some wine will do you good. And perhaps now you could bring yourself to eat something?”
Gasping a little, Catherine shook her head. “Not just now. My bones ache, and somehow even the feel of the air against my flesh gives me pain.” She lay back exhausted, and closed her eyes. “It is taking me a long time to recover from the birth of my little Jacina. But she is worth all the discomfort. Bring her to me Marie, please.”
Reluctantly, Marie brought the baby to the Queen’s bedside. It seemed that Catherine’s arms had become too frail to hold even such a tiny child.
“Just look at the way her hair curls. She is going to break some hearts when she grows up.”
A fond smile lightened Catherine’s face, so that for a moment she seemed almost her former self; and Marie’s spirits lifted. Perhaps, given time, Catherine would be well again, issuing orders in her charming but imperious way.
Marie had become more devout lately. Perhaps by following the Queen’s example. Every night she prayed that her lady would regain her health. It was heartbreaking to see the Queen so tired and weak.
“See how she stares at me.” Catherine kissed the tiny face of her daughter, holding her close. “I feel I won’t be spared to enjoy my baby for very long.”
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