Jean Plaidy - [Queens of England 07]

by The Queen's Secret

  I was sorry for him. He had been a good man, kindly if stern. He had always tried to do what he considered right, and what more can a man do?

  He lacked Henry’s genius, but who did not? Events were too much for him. It was tragic that such a good man should die disappointed.

  His death was the final break with Burgundy. It was timely, too. It really seemed as though God’s hand was against the English, for it happened just at the time of the Treaty of Arras and must have decided Burgundy.

  There was no Englishman whom Burgundy trusted as he had trusted Bedford. So he had made his decision. Frenchman would not fight Frenchman again.

  We heard of the rejoicing throughout France. People were dancing in the streets. Burgundians shook the hands of the Orléans-Armagnacs. They drank together. They vowed never to fight each other again. The only cause for which they would fight would be that of France.

  The Duke of Burgundy had signed the Treaty of Arras.

  “Long live Charles the King!” shouted the people. “Long live the Duke of Burgundy!”

  I believed that England’s hopes in France were doomed from that day.

  But my main thought was: Gloucester is now next in line to the throne. If Henry were not there, he would be King.

  Paris was about to be taken back by the French. The English were leaving; and in the midst of this turmoil, my mother died.

  I cannot believe that she was sorry to go. Her life must have changed drastically. She was old and fat and full of gout, and to a woman who had used her beauty and set such store by it, using it to satisfy her ambitions, old age must have been hard to bear.

  I wondered what she felt on her deathbed when she was about to leave the world which had meant so much to her. She must have known that the English were preparing to leave Paris and that her son’s triumphant army would soon be in possession of the capital. And what did she think Charles would say to her? She had scarcely been a friend to him, and certainly not a good mother.

  He had been at one time beset by doubts as to his legitimacy. It was Joan of Arc who had convinced him that he was the King. His mother had sided with his enemies…against him. She had been responsible for so much misery that had befallen his country; and his mother-in-law, Yolande of Aragon, had shown him what a mother could be.

  He would hate his own mother. Would he show any mercy to her now?

  That was something we should never know, for she died before the English left.

  They showed a certain respect for the dead. They had her body laid in a coffin which was placed in a barge and carried down the river to the Abbey of St.-Dénis, where she could be buried among the kings and queens of France.

  So there were two deaths in one short month.

  “Gloucester will have other matters with which to concern himself now,” repeated Owen.

  From the peace of Hadham, Owen and I kept an eye on what was going on.

  The death of Bedford, we assured each other, had made such a change in Gloucester’s prospects that he had almost certainly turned his attention from us. We began to settle into our peaceful life once more.

  Looking back now, I feel that we seized those days with great eagerness because we felt we had to live each one to the full, being fearful of what disaster could come upon us at any moment.

  The quarrels between the Cardinal and Gloucester persisted. Now that Burgundy and the King of France were allies, the English cause in France seemed hopeless, and the Cardinal wanted to explore plans for bringing about peace.

  Gloucester was of a different opinion. He declared that there had been mismanagement. All we needed was a return to the methods of his brother, and we should be successful again. He was the man, he tried to assure the country. But although he was cheered in the streets, for his great asset was his charm and a certain bonhomie which he could produce at a moment’s notice, no one really thought he could attain the victories which had come to Henry.

  Owen said: “We should be thankful that he is so occupied. It is certain that, in the midst of all this, he can give no thought to our little matter.”

  The Cardinal thought that Henry should make a marriage with the eldest daughter of my brother Charles. He got so far as putting the suggestion before the French. To my relief, they treated it with an indifference which infuriated the English. I could not help thinking of my father, whose madness many believed had come to him through his mother. That was what had made me fearful that it might have been passed on to Henry. But I had consoled myself that it was only when he had been disturbed by The Maid that I fancied I had seen signs of instability. But everyone had been affected by The Maid. And what of Charles? He had always been rather odd…and his daughter…what of her? They were only faintly uneasy thoughts which came to me, but I was glad when the match was put aside.

  Then Gloucester went to France, and we settled down to peace. And during that period of peace I became pregnant again.

  Once more I settled into that state of contented serenity. I often wondered afterward how I could have shut my eyes to all that was happening about us; but I did. When I look back, I can see that some of the happiest times of my life were when I was expecting a child, because then I seemed able to forget all fear of what trouble might be brewing for Owen and me.

  We heard items of news. The English were doing badly. They were somewhat demoralized by the loss of Paris. Calais had been assailed, and that was one of the reasons why Gloucester had left England to rush to its defense. To the English, Calais was the most important port. It was the gateway to France.

  Gloucester suffered a blow to his vanity because Edmund Beaufort, nephew of the Cardinal, saved Calais before he arrived. I could imagine his chagrin. It would make him feel even more venomous toward the Cardinal.

  I laughed about it with Owen, but my main thoughts were with the coming child.

  Then Gloucester came back to England.

  BERMONDSEY ABBEY

  It was a hot summer’s day. We were in the gardens.

  Owen was toddling now; the two elder boys were running about, playing some mysterious game, and as usual Jacina was trying to share in it and they were somewhat reluctant to allow her to.

  I was early enough in my pregnancy not to feel unwieldy and I sat back enjoying the fresh air and the contentment of having my family about me.

  Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of horses’ hoofs. I started up. Owen had risen. Guillemote came running toward us. She gathered the children together and was murmuring that she had something to show them and they must come with her at once.

  Owen and I exchanged glances. We were always prepared for unexpected arrivals. We had planned for such an event many times. He turned and went toward the stables. Guillemote was hurrying the children into the house, and I followed.

  I was surprised. Important visitors usually notified us of their imminent arrival. This, therefore, could not be anyone of standing; however, we must be prepared.

  I stood at the window watching. The Joannas and Agnes had come to stand beside me.

  We saw about twenty guards below. They swarmed across the gardens. One of them had taken hold of a stable lad and was obviously questioning him.

  My heart leaped in terror. The boy pointed to the stables. That was where Owen had gone. Two of the men had taken their stand by the door of the house, one on either side. The others were making for the stables.

  Then I saw a sight which terrified me. The men came out of the stables, and Owen was with them. He glanced up at the house.

  I could no longer restrain myself. I ran down the stairs and out through the door. The two guards standing there were startled. They stepped forward.

  “I am the Queen,” I cried. “Stand aside.”

  They let me pass. I suppose they knew I could not get far, and in any case, the rest of them were straight ahead with Owen.

  I went to them. “What is this?” I cried. “What are you doing in my house…in my gardens? Do you know who I am?”

 
The men bowed. “We have orders to arrest this man,” said their leader.

  “Whose orders? How dare you! He belongs to my household.”

  “He is the Welshman, Owen Tudor. He does not deny it.”

  “Why should he deny it? Release him at once and go. Go, I say! You will hear more of this.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, we have been sent here to arrest this man, and that we must do.”

  “Go away…go away. On what grounds? How dare you!”

  “On the grounds of treason, my lady. Treason against the laws of the land.”

  “Owen!” I cried and ran to him.

  The agony in his face was terrible to see. He was shaking his head, warning me. I could see his fear for me in his face; and I thought I should die of anguish.

  “Where are you taking him?” I asked.

  “To London, my lady. Those are our orders.”

  “Why? Why?”

  “Orders, my lady. We are sorry, but it is our duty and we must obey.”

  He moved toward me but they held him back, and for a few moments we stood there, just looking at each other.

  I saw his lips move: “Katherine…my love…always my love …”

  “I will not allow …” I began.

  He smiled at me tenderly, resignedly. “I will be back,” he murmured.

  “They have nothing…nothing…of which they can accuse you.”

  “No…no,” he soothed. “It is a mistake.”

  But we both knew that it was not. Gloucester was back in England. This was his doing.

  So often we had thought of something like this happening; we should have been prepared for it. We were in a way, but perhaps we had always deluded ourselves that it would never come. But we could not have imagined misery such as this.

  I was almost fainting. I was aware of Guillemote and Agnes. They were holding my arms. I could only cry out: “No! No!”

  And it seemed as though from a long way off I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs as they rode away, taking Owen with them.

  · · ·

  I do not know how I lived through the days which followed. At every sound I would start up, telling myself that Owen had come back, trying to delude myself that I had been living in a nightmare of horror conjured up by my imagination. We had feared it; we had planned for it; and because of that I had thought it had really happened.

  I could not eat; I could not sleep.

  “You will be ill,” scolded Guillemote. But she was the same. I knew how her thoughts ran, for they were similar to mine. Where was Owen? What was happening to him now?

  We worried about the children. What could we tell them? Edmund and Jasper were too old not to know that something was wrong. Jacina knew too. They watched us with frightened eyes.

  I could think of nothing but Owen…gone…taken by those wicked men. Should I ever see him again? I dared not think of that possibility. I could not bear to consider what my life would be without him. I was numb with misery.

  I must do something. I must go to London. I must find him.

  There was my son, Henry the King. He would help me. Bedford was dead. He was one who might have understood. How could I plead with Gloucester? I pictured him as I had last seen him. He had been so angry with me. Even then he must have been planning his revenge.

  I must see Henry.

  “Guillemote,” I said. “I am going to see my son. I am going to beg him to send Owen back to me.”

  “How could you see him?”

  “I will go to London…to Westminster…wherever he is. I will go to Court. I will explain.”

  “You could not travel in your state. My dear, dear lady, think of the child you carry. You must not distress yourself so.”

  “Oh, Guillemote, why do you talk thus? They have taken Owen. How can I help being distressed? I must see Henry.”

  “You cannot travel.”

  “I will write to him. I will ask him how they dare arrest Owen as though he had committed some crime. What has he done?”

  “My lady, he has married you.”

  “Why should he not? We love each other, do we not? What harm do we do?”

  “It was against the law.”

  “Gloucester’s law! In any case, we were married before that became law.”

  “I know. I know. Write to the King. He loves you well. It may be that he will come to your aid.”

  “He will. Of course he will. He is my own dear son.”

  I could not gather my thoughts. My hands shook so that I found it difficult to hold a pen.

  “Henry,” I wrote. “You must help me. They have taken Owen away. You must order them to send him back. You must save your mother, for surely I will die if Owen does not come back to me …”

  That would not do. I must write clearly. I must explain. I did my duty for my country and for your country, Henry. I married the conqueror of France. I bore his child, you, my dear one, and now it is only just that I should know some happiness. Please, Henry, if you ever had any affection for me, help me now. You can. You are the King. You must remember that. You can command these wicked men to undo the evil they have done to me …”

  There were sounds of arrival below. I dashed to the window, but I could see nothing.

  Guillemote was running into the room.

  “Guillemote, Guillemote, what is it?” I cried. “Owen has come back. Oh, tell me Owen has come back.”

  “There are men to see you, my lady.”

  “And Owen?”

  She shook her head. “They are saying they must see you at once.”

  “Oh, Guillemote, what now? What now?”

  “I know not, my lady.”

  “Where are the children?”

  She nodded her head upward.

  “What is it, Guillemote? What do they want?”

  “They will tell you, my lady.”

  I followed her down the stairs. They were standing there. Guards…like those who had taken Owen away.

  “My lady …” they began and hesitated.

  “What have you to say to me?” I asked dully.

  “My lady, we have come to take you on the King’s orders to the Abbey of Bermondsey.”

  “To Bermondsey? But…why…why should I go to Bermondsey?”

  “You will be cared for there by the abbess, my lady. It is the King’s orders.”

  “My son’s orders? I do not believe it.”

  He unrolled a scroll of parchment and showed me Henry’s signature.

  “I do not understand …” I began.

  “The King’s orders are that you should be taken to the Abbey of Bermondsey and put into the care of the lady abbess there. We must leave within an hour.”

  I said: “The children …”

  “We have orders for them, my lady. They are to be put into the care of the Lady Katherine de la Pole, the Abbess of Barking.”

  “But Barking is not Bermondsey!” I said foolishly. “I am to go to Bermondsey.”

  “That is so, my lady. And we have to leave very soon.”

  “I will not,” I said.

  They looked at me sadly. “Our orders are to take you, my lady.”

  I felt helpless, for they were implying that if I did not go willingly they would take me by force.

  “Where is Owen Tudor?” I asked.

  They looked at me blankly.

  “The children should be made ready to leave,” said one of the guards. “You too, my lady.”

  Guillemote was standing behind me. I turned. We just looked at each other. I had lost Owen. I was going to lose the children…and Guillemote, the Joannas, Agnes…and all those who had served me well…everything I cared for would be lost to me.

  This was cruel. This was unbearable. How could anyone do this wicked thing!

  It was no use pleading with these men. They were only obeying orders.

  Guillemote took my arm, and together we went up the stairs.

  So they took me to Bermondsey. I was numbed by bitter misery. I did no
t say goodbye to the children. I feared to frighten them. I cannot forget the memory of Guillemote’s white face, her eyes wide with pain as they dwelt on me. There was a sense of desolation about the entire household. Everyone now knew that the disaster which for so long we had feared had come upon us.

  I cannot remember very much of the journey. The abbess received me with deference. Her prisoner I might be, but I was still the Queen. My room was simple—bare walls except for a crucifix. I hardly noticed. Two nuns came in and helped me to bed. I lay in those unfamiliar surroundings, staring before me, seeing Owen walking across the grass between the guards…Guillemote hustling the children away.

  They tried to make me eat, but I could not.

  The hours passed. Night came. I did not sleep. I just lay there in that austere bed wanting to die.

  The abbess was a kindly woman. She was concerned about me and tried to make me talk.

  “You must find peace,” she said.

  “There is no peace for me,” I replied.

  “God will help you.”

  I was impatient. “All I want is my husband and my children.”

  She was indeed a good woman. I saw compassion in her face.

  “Would you not pray with me?” she asked.

  I turned my face to the wall.

  “I want to help you,” she said.

  “Then give me back my husband and children. That is all I want. The right to live as the humblest woman is allowed to…the right to be with my family.”

  She left me in despair.

  Another day. Another night.

  “You must rouse yourself,” said the abbess. “You will lose your reason if you continue thus.”

  Lose my reason! Her words had sent me back to the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I was hearing that wild voice calling for help. I was seeing my son bemused by the sight of The Maid. The abbess had reminded me of the shadow which hung over my family.

  Be calm, I said to myself. Think of other things.

  But I could think only of Owen and the children around us…a bright sunny day…and such happiness suddenly shattered by the sound of horses’ hoofs coming toward the house.

  I was alone. The abbess had left me in despair.