A Royal Ambition

by A Royal Ambition (retail) (epub)

  Marie turned sharply, a sick feeling gripping her stomach. “Oh, my lady! Don’t say such a thing.”

  She stood looking in dismay at the Queen, as tears ran fast and bitter down her thin cheeks, as she cradled the child.

  “You have been ill before.” Marie forced herself to speak naturally. “Remember how ill you were when little Margaret was taken away from us? Yet you recovered from that despair, and lived to be strong. Now you have everything in the world you could wish for.”

  Catherine shook her head. “I have this premonition, Marie, and much as I might wish to live, to be with my husband and children, I feel it will not be.” She bent her head and did not meet Marie’s eyes. “I am tired, so terribly weary, that dying would almost come as a relief.”

  Marie gulped hard and went to Catherine’s side. “Oh, my lady,” she said brokenly.

  Catherine looked at her with a touch of animation in her gaunt face. “I don’t wish Owen to hear any of this. Allow him to believe that I am slowly improving. I could not bear to see his distress.” She paused a moment, to collect her thoughts. “In spite of everything, I know that Owen has truly loved me in all our years together. He has been a wonderful husband, and I do not regret any of it; so don’t cry for me.” She lay back a moment to recover her breath. “Now bring me fresh clothes and help me to sit beside the bed. Let them all see the Queen is out of her childbed, and is not dead yet.”

  The pain inside Marie was almost impossible to bear, as she did as Catherine requested. She was closer to the Queen than anyone, except her husband, and she knew that the Queen spoke the truth! Catherine was slowly dying.

  * * *

  “Ah, so Phillip has deserted the English. I thought it would not take him long.”

  Catherine sat near the window with her back to the sunshine; her long hair was combed forward in a new style that softened the sharpened contours of her face. She had dressed most carefully, and no one would suspect that each time she moved, her thin limbs ached intolerably.

  “It is a good thing John has not lived to see this.” Owen crouched on the floor at the Queen’s feet. “He spent his lifetime working to keep Paris and the throne for young Henry.”

  “Yes, but now Humphrey insists that the defeats have come about through mismanagement,” Catherine said quietly. “He cannot see how well Charles has built up the army, and the country’s resources. In fact, I am surprised at my brother’s success myself. I admit it.”

  She shifted her position carefully but Owen was quick to notice.

  “Another cushion, Catherine?” He jumped up and tried to make her more comfortable.

  Catherine laughed, and held up her hand. “Owen, can’t I even breathe without you worrying over me?” She touched his hand gently. “I know your concern, but I wish you would stop worrying. I am all right; can’t you see that I am feeling better today?”

  He smiled. She did look better, though her hand trembled in his and her lips were too pale.

  “I wonder how Charles feels about me,” Catherine said a little wistfully. “It would be wonderful if we could take our family to France for a time.”

  Owen grunted sceptically. “I can’t see the King of France holding out a hand to welcome the young King of England; even if he is his nephew. Perhaps, without the interference of Humphrey and the Bishop, such a thing would have been possible, but at this present time such a move would be folly.” He stared at Catherine indulgently. “Don’t tell me you are homesick, after all these years?”

  Catherine gazed out through the window. “I would have liked to see France once more,” she said thoughtfully; then she smiled. “Soon I will be too old to travel.” Her voice was deliberately light. “I am almost thirty-six years of age, and the mother of six children.” She crossed herself. “God rest the soul of little Margaret.”

  Owen frowned. “What is it, Catherine? Does something ail you, that you haven’t told me about?” He took her face in his hands and suddenly read the truth in her eyes. She closed them quickly; but it was too late. He dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t leave me, Catherine. I cannot live without you.” He put his face into her lap, and her hands were soft on his hair.

  “We must both be strong, Owen,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I would rather have kept it from you, but you are too sensitive to my feelings.” She took a deep breath. “Try not to grieve; we have a little time left. We must make all our remaining days happy ones.”

  She drew his face up to hers, and their lips met in a mingling of pain and love. And to Owen, it seemed that Catherine had already said goodbye to him.

  Chapter Twenty

  The flowers growing in the hedgerows lifted bright faces to the hot sun, and their perfume drifting across the scented June air, brought a contentment to Catherine, so that the journey seemed less arduous.

  “Isn’t it a lovely day, boys?” she smiled at her sons; and Edmund thoughtful as ever answered her politely.

  “I’d like to play outside, Mother; perhaps go down to the stream to watch the fish. Will we go there again soon?”

  Catherine smiled sadly. “I expect you will play there a great deal Edmund. And catch many fish. But just now we are going to visit a friend of mine.” She tapped Jasper gently as he pulled at his brother’s coat. “Be good now, or your father will be cross!”

  The coach rumbled on, and Owen, with Jacina in his arms, had fallen asleep. Catherine smiled softly. No wonder he was tired. He had spent most of the night trying to coax some life back into her numb limbs. He never lost patience, or gave up hope; that in spite of everything, she would recover.

  She looked out at the green grass and the tall trees reaching leafy fingers to the sky, and knew that she would not see another summer.

  “Mother, I want to ride on the horse!” Jasper jumped excitedly from his seat, his sturdy young body, quick and eager.

  Catherine caught him close, and kissed his red hair, “Calm down, my son; you must be patient. The journey is nearly over.”

  As she spoke, the grey walls of Bermondsey Abbey appeared on the horizon, and mingled with her relief that soon she would be with the good Abbess and her sisters, was regret that from now on the gay, colourful world of the court would be lost to her forever.

  “Owen, we are there.” She had hardly spoken the words than he was awake, his strong hands reaching out to cover her own.

  “You will be in good hands here; and perhaps your friend, the Abbess, will be able to help you more than I have done.” He tried to smile and Catherine was unable to kill his hopes altogether.

  “Yes, she is very experienced at caring for those who are sick. But I cannot see that anyone on this earth could do more for me than you have done.”

  Jasper leaned out to look at the abbey. His blue eyes filled with excitement, because he was in a new place. Soon he would know every corner of the mellow building; his sharp eyes would seek out all its secrets. He had a mind like a magpie. He hoarded images and sensations. Above him, he saw the sky blotted out for a moment as the carriage passed under the gateway, and then it was all excitement as the lady in a long dark gown, that rubbed roughly against his cheek, lifted him down to the ground.

  * * *

  Marie closed the last lock of the chest with a snap. Now everything of Catherine’s was packed away; her trinkets, the red dress she’d loved so much – there they were all hidden from sight. It was strange, almost eerie, as if the Queen was already dead.

  Marie shuddered. This was the first time in her life that she’d been parted from Catherine, and she felt as if a part of herself was missing. Something that even the presence of her husband and child couldn’t make up for.

  “You may go now.” One of the ladies of the court stood at the chamber door. To her Marie was nothing but a servant, who had risen above her station by the indulgence of the Queen.

  Marie put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I will go now; what is there left to keep me?”

  She strod
e past the gaping woman and left the royal apartments. Soon, she and Tom, and their son, would move to the house near the abbey, the house that the Queen had bought for them, at the same time as she had settled a pension on Marie.

  “I want you to be independent,” she’d said smiling in her old vivacious way, “so that you can keep an eye on my family for me.”

  There were tears in Marie’s eyes as she thought about it. She loved Catherine, as if she was indeed related by blood as the gossips had said, and she understood the Queen’s desire to see her settled with no need to beg from anyone.

  She left quietly without looking back. She had always changed homes when the Queen did, and this time was going to be no different.

  The sun blazed down and for a moment, Marie saw nothing but the orange glare in the bright sky; then she heard voices, sharp and clear on the still air.

  “Why has the Queen left her residence? I have come from France to see her.”

  Holding her hand to shield her eyes, Marie saw Humphrey of Gloucester seated on his horse, a large shape against the sky.

  The murmured reply from the Queen’s secretary was lost on Marie, but she saw Humphrey stiffen in the saddle.

  “My God! I hadn’t realised she was as bad as that.”

  There was a note of triumph in his voice that set Marie’s teeth on edge. If she had a blade about her she would have thrown it straight for his heart; and damn the consequences.

  “Well, in that case, I need detain you no longer.” Humphrey wheeled his horse around. “His Majesty must be brought to his mother’s bedside. Where has the Queen been taken?”

  The unsuspecting secretary gave the information readily, and Humphrey chuckled.

  “Now we shall see how great a man is this Owen Tudor. No longer will he hide behind his wife’s skirts.”

  The sound of the galloping horse beat into Marie’s head. She would have to warn Owen that Humphrey would take his revenge if he could.

  * * *

  The walls of the abbey were deep and cool, and Catherine was grateful for the comfort she found there. The Abbess was a serene woman, and an honest one. She made no attempt to conceal the fact that she knew Catherine was dying. Calmly she went about her duties, her hands gentle and practical, as if they tended royalty every day of the year.

  “You will care for my children?” Catherine could scarcely bring the words out for the tears that choked her. “I know that while in these walls, they will be safe from anyone who seeks to harm them.”

  The Abbess inclined her head. “They will be safe, have no fear on that account.” She helped Catherine to sit up against the pillows. “Look outside; the children play very happily under the trees.”

  Jasper was shouting and pulling at Edmund’s arm until he agreed to climb up into the sturdy branches.

  “The summer has gone by so quickly,” Catherine said. “The leaves are almost the same colour as my children’s hair.” She smiled at the Abbess. “My months here have been peaceful ones. I wonder how many more such I will have.”

  The Abbess smiled. “Only God knows the answer to that, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine watched the boys for a few moments longer, and then her strength deserted her, and she slipped back, her face almost white as the sheets.

  “Where is my husband?” she asked breathlessly. “He seems to have been away from me for some time.”

  She worried constantly about him. Several times she had begged him to return to the mountains of his home country where he would be safe from Humphrey’s anger. But he would not leave her, and she felt warm inside when she thought of him.

  “I believe he went to visit his friends. He is to bring Marie with him, to see you today.”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, I remember now; he told me. I hope he will not be long.”

  She turned her face to the wall, shutting out the brightness of the autumn sun. She had so little time, and she wanted her loved ones with her every moment.

  * * *

  “She is weaker, but at peace with herself.”

  Owen sat on the wooden chair, his arms folded before him. At his side sat Marie, her face filled with pain and compassion.

  “I wish there was more I could do. I have always been with my lady, to tend to her and care for her from the time we were both children.”

  From outside came the sound of horses, and quickly Marie ran to the door, her heart beating fast. Owen sat stiff in his chair, his hand fingering the knife in his belt.

  “It is Tom.” Marie was weak with relief. “He has brought another pair of horses. For a moment I thought…”

  “I don’t mind too much what Humphrey does,” Owen said, “but if he tried to take me away from Catherine while she is still alive, I would go mad.” He drank from the cup Marie put before him. “I don’t think he would dare attempt anything just yet; he will hold his hand until… later.”

  Marie nodded in agreement. “Yes, I feel that; but even so, be very wary, my lord. I trust him as I trust a viper.”

  Tom came and sat near the crackling fire. “Sorry if I startled you; I didn’t think.” He rubbed his hands. “The air grows crisp. I’m glad of a fire, Marie.” Watching him, Owen marvelled at how little Thomas Cooper had changed in the twenty or so years he had known him. He was still as strong and agile as the day they set sail for Agincourt. That was a lifetime ago! The only reminder of it all was Tom’s stiff arm and the awkward way he sometimes held his head when the old wound in his neck seemed to be giving him trouble.

  Now, he sat here in his snug little house with Marie, and a strong fine son sleeping in his bed. A lucky man indeed! But then none of them had thought in those far-off days that one day Owen Tudor would marry Catherine of France, widow of the King. In spite of the sadness that was always with him now, Owen knew he wouldn’t change his life one bit from its course.

  “I’d better be getting back to the Abbey.”

  He rose almost reluctantly, much as he wanted to be with Catherine; the pain of it all was sometimes unbearable.

  “I will be ready in a moment.” Marie wrapped herself warmly for the ride, and kissed Tom’s cheek. She clung to him for a moment. “I will be back before dark,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  He put his hand out to her. “Take your time, my love; the Queen needs you more than I do at this time.”

  Together, Marie and Owen left the house and rode across the fields that were sharp with the smell of rotting leaves. Soon the branches would be bare, and winter would be laying cold hands on the country.

  * * *

  “The King is here to see you, Your Majesty.”

  Vaguely, Catherine saw the slim figure of Henry, her son, standing at the bedside. She tried to smile, and beckoned that he should sit near to her.

  “How old are you now, Henry?” she whispered, praying that he had become more of a man since she’d last seen him.

  “I’m fourteen, Mother.” His voice was soft, with a hint of tears in it. “How are you feeling today? A little better, I pray.”

  She inclined her head. “Henry, promise me that you will care for your brothers, and for little Jacina.” She stopped, fighting for breath. “Remember they are descended from the same womb as you are; and they deserve royal favour.”

  Henry nodded firmly. “As God is my judge, Mother, I will care for them. I love them, you see.”

  He closed his mouth in the stubborn way that weak people often have, and Catherine felt a great sense of joy grow inside her. There was no doubt that no one would change Henry’s mind on that matter, at least.

  “I don’t know what you can do for Owen Tudor, my son; but he has been a true father to you in everything but fact. If you can shield him, my son, do so.”

  It was difficult for her to go on, and alarmed, Henry called out for someone to come.

  Catherine shook her head. “I am all right,” she protested. “I feel a little weak, that is all.”

  Owen sat beside her and gathered her frail form into his arms.
“Please, Catherine, don’t try to speak. You will wear yourself out.” Gently he pushed back her hair from her forehead beaded with sweat and pulled the covers over her shoulders.

  Catherine fixed dark eyes once more on her son. “Remember, Henry, what you have promised.”

  He bowed his head to hide his tears and twisted his white slender hands together. “I will remember, Mother. Please do not distress yourself.” He stepped away from the bed realising that no one could dismiss the King. “I will leave you now, Mother. I will take Edmund and Jasper outside for a while.”

  Catherine watched him go, a look of peace on her thin face. Her hand groped for Owen’s and they clung together knowing that this would be the final goodbye.

  “Go to Wales, I beg of you, my love, so that you will be safe. I will be with you every step of the way in spirit, you know that.”

  Unable to speak Owen nodded, and desperately tried to summon a smile. Catherine lifted her hand to touch his red hair, that sprung bright as ever over his brow, then her eyes became misty, and her hand dropped like a discarded petal on to the bedcover.

  * * *

  Outside the abbey, the snow was deep and the pale January sun shone on the red hair of Edmund Tudor. The bells began to toll, but the young boy had no idea of the meaning behind the mournful sound.

  “When I am a man, I shall have a son; and he will be Henry, after you,” he said, trying to comfort his half-brother, who although he was King of England, unaccountably had tears in his eyes.

  But Henry didn’t hear. He looked away over the small boy’s head, unaware that the Tudor tree had begun to blossom.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2000 by Chivers Press

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited