The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham

by Tony Riches

  ‘Your daughter’s husband Henry, Earl of Powys. I regret to tell you he has died.’

  Once again I was shocked, yet at the same time relieved it was not the children. ‘I remember him as a young man, full of life. He can’t have been more than forty. Do you know how?’

  ‘No. I thought you should know before you see your daughter.’ She looked towards the main gatehouse. ‘I will bring her here, to the chapel. You must prepare, Eleanor. I will send a man to fetch you when your daughter is here.’

  I thanked her again and returned to my room, hardly believing what had happened. I felt a strange mix of elation and apprehension about seeing Antigone after so long. My mind was full of questions. How had her husband died? Why had she never written to me? Had she tried to visit and been turned away without me knowing? How would she look after ten years, and how would she feel about what had happened to me?

  It was important for me to look my best for my daughter. As I brushed dust from the hem of my red dress I realised Lady Ellen knew Antigone could soon be visiting when she gave it to me, yet decided to say nothing until she was certain. I combed my hair and plaited and coiled it in the new style I had seen Ellen wearing, and then an idea occurred to me. Taking the small blade the priest had given me, I made sure I wasn’t being watched through the grill in my door. I carefully cut open the stitching at the secret pocket of my old blue dress where the last of my jewellery was concealed.

  When I fled my home at Bella Court I filled a bag with gold and silver coins and my best jewellery. Over the years of my imprisonment these had been reduced to the rings I now wore, two gold brooches with large rubies and a pearl necklace given to me one New Year’s day by my husband. I had wasted the coins, rewarding my servants in the early days of my imprisonment, little realising I should have kept them to bribe my guards or pay for much needed food. The best and most priceless of all, the precious diamond brooch given to me by the king, was stolen from me. I curse the man who took my golden garter: Evil unto him!

  For the first time in over ten years, I fixed the ruby brooch at the neck of my dress and fastened my pearl necklace around my neck. I wished I had a mirror to see the effect. Once I would have been worried my jewels would be taken by the guards, yet now it was a risk I was prepared to take. Lady Ellen would not allow it. It was strange but the simple act of wearing expensive jewellery again made me forget all the hardship and gave me the confidence I needed to face my daughter.

  I heard footsteps and the bolt on my door slid noisily open. The guard gestured to me and I followed him down to the castle chapel, which had been lit with a dozen new candles, even though it was late morning. As I entered I saw Antigone, with a smartly dressed young boy as tall as her waiting awkwardly at her side. We stood for a moment, frozen in time, taking in the changes in each other over ten years. Still slim and attractive, she wore an emerald green dress and looked younger than her thirty years. I could still see the little girl who had squealed when Humphrey used to tease her.

  She rushed forward and hugged me, sobbing. It was all I could do not to cry, even though I had not been happier since her wedding day at Bella Court.

  ‘I thought I would never see you again, Antigone. It is so good to know you are well.’

  She looked at me, tears in her eyes. ‘My husband told me you were dead. He said you died of a fever, in Peel Castle.’

  ‘That is why you never wrote?’

  Antigone nodded, unable to speak. I wondered if that was what everyone had been told or if it was Sir Henry Grey’s way to end my connection with his family. In a sudden insight I realised we married our daughter to the wrong man. Henry Grey might have been a wealthy Earl but he was no politician and, at least up to the time of my arrest, had never been called to parliament. If we had found Antigone a more influential husband he might have been able to plead with the king for clemency and negotiate my release.

  ‘I am sorry to hear about your husband.’

  ‘Yes. It has been a difficult time for us.’ She seemed somehow angry about her husband and I wondered if he had treated her badly. Antigone dried her eyes as she gestured for her son to come forward. ‘This is Humphrey. He is twelve now.’

  I looked again at the tall and serious looking young boy who had been a baby when I last saw him. ‘You remind me of your grandfather, Humphrey. Do you know your name is a tradition handed down from your de Bohun ancestors?’

  ‘From my great-grandmother’s family.’ He glanced at Antigone. ‘Mother has taught us all the history of our family.’ His voice was confident and echoed in the chapel.

  I nodded in approval. ‘Lady Mary was supposed to have become a nun. She was already living in a convent and was taken from there to be married to your great-grandfather, King Henry IV, when she was barely your own age.’

  Young Humphrey smiled, the same wry, charming smile as I remember seeing so often on his grandfather’s face all those years ago. I wish my husband had lived long enough to see his grandson. He would have been proud.

  ‘Are your brother and sister well, Humphrey?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. Richard is now fourteen and Elizabeth is eleven years old.’

  Antigone added, ‘Elizabeth is growing fast into the image of you. She already has suitors after her.’

  I took Antigone’s hand and led her to one of the long wooden benches which served as pews in the chapel, gesturing for my grandson to sit with us. His eyes were attracted to my ruby brooches as they sparkled in the flickering candlelight.

  I unpinned one from the black lace and handed it to him. ‘I would like you to give this to your sister, to remember me by.’

  Young Humphrey took the jewel hesitantly. ‘Elizabeth will be most grateful, my lady.’

  I removed the second brooch. ‘This one is for you, Humphrey. If you wish you may give it to the woman you will one day marry.’

  He smiled as he looked at the ruby in its gold clasp, amused by the thought. ‘Thank you, Grandmother.’

  It was the first time I’d heard myself called that and I smiled back at my grandson. I removed my pearl necklace and handed it to my daughter, who looked at me in surprise. ‘I would like you to have this, Antigone. I have never been able to count the number of pearls. I know it cost your father a great deal. He would have been happy for you to have it now.’

  Antigone sat looking at the pearls for a moment and I sensed she was thinking of her father and wondering whether to tell me something.

  ‘Did they tell you he is buried at St Albans as he had always wished?’

  I shook my head. ‘They told me he was dead but not how, or where he was buried. I was going to ask Lady Ellen to find out for me.’

  ‘The old Prior of St Albans paid for his chantry and burial vault and the monks said masses for him. When I last visited the priory, candles were still being lit every day on the altar in his memory.’

  I hardly dared ask the question. ‘Do you know how he died?’

  She looked at me, a flash of anger in her eyes. ‘They say it was a sudden illness. I don’t believe it. He was arrested by men of the Duke of Suffolk. I think they murdered him.’ Antigone scowled as she remembered. ‘The queen took Bella Court the day he died. She has made it her own residence.’

  I cursed Queen Margaret of Anjou and her henchman William de la Pole, glad now he had met an unhappy end. My husband Humphrey could still be alive but for the queen. She had seen a way to remove him and now had my home, which rightfully belonged to my daughter and her children. I hesitated to ask the next question. ‘I was told by my jailor at Peel Castle that Arthur was executed by the Duke of Suffolk for treason. Is that true?’ I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

  ‘My brother was also arrested by the Duke of Suffolk, soon after father, with several good men of our household. Suffolk claimed he had evidence they were plotting to kill the king and place father on the throne, with you as his queen.’ She frowned at the memory. ‘There was no evidence or even a proper trial, yet they were all condemned t
o be hanged, drawn and quartered for treason.’ She looked across at her son, who was following every word, even though he must have heard the story before. ‘It was all a horrible plan by the Duke of Suffolk, for as they were hanged he arrived with the king’s pardon. They were all cut down and set free.’

  ‘Arthur is alive?’ My heart was beating fast now.

  ‘My brother has never been seen or heard of since. Henry, my late husband, said there was a rumour Arthur was murdered in secret.’ She half smiled at me. ‘I like to think he is hiding somewhere and will make himself known to me someday.’

  ‘I will pray for it, Antigone.’ We sat in silence for a moment as I remembered my son.

  Antigone took my hand. ‘The queen didn’t have father’s precious books. I made sure they were sent to Oxford, as he wished.’

  I remembered how important that had been to him. ‘When you were a girl our house was always full of scholars, translating the classics. Your father called you Antigone to show his admiration for Sophocles.’

  Antigone smiled. ‘He named me after a Greek tragedy.’

  ‘He named you after a woman who was the rebel of her family, who valued spiritual laws above those of the state.’

  ‘I have not been much of a rebel, although that is going to change.’

  I turned to look at her, wondering what she planned to do.

  Antigone appeared serious again. ‘A Welsh noble named Gruffudd Vaughan was knighted on the battlefield for leading the men who protected King Henry V when he rescued my father at the Battle of Agincourt. He became a loyal follower of my father in France and when my husband’s father was killed at Baugé, my father entrusted Sir Gruffydd to return the Earl’s body to Powys and arrange his funeral.’

  She stopped and ran the pearls she was holding through her fingers like a rosary, the same frown I had seen on her face when she was a little girl. ‘My husband said Sir Gruffydd Vaughan, who had then been outlawed, had offended his honour by challenging his claim to the Lordship of Powys.’ She hesitated to continue but I nodded for her to go on. ‘My husband summoned Sir Gruffydd to Powys Castle and when he arrived, ordered his arrest. He had him executed, Mother. Sir Gruffydd Vaughan was beheaded in the courtyard of our home, without trial.’

  I could see it was hard for Antigone to tell this story, but could see there was more, and pressed her to continue.

  ‘Sir Gruffydd Vaughan’s supporters in Wales swore to avenge his death. That was three years ago. We returned to our mansion at Pontesbury and life went on. Then we had a message there was trouble at Powys Castle, so my husband returned there in January last year. They said he died in a hunting accident. I doubt we will ever know the truth.’

  I took my daughter in my arms and hugged her. ‘You said things were going to change?’

  Antigone looked at her son, my grandson, then back at me. ‘My husband left a will, granting me his estates in Normandy. I am leaving for France, Mother. I don’t wish for my son to be Lord of Powys. Richard will be the third Earl of Tankerville when he comes of age.’

  I realised what she was telling me. ‘It will be too great a journey for you to visit me again?’

  Antigone nodded, tears returning to her eyes. ‘I don’t know if we will ever be able to return to Wales.’

  September 1451

  Vindictis

  I felt a strange mix of elation and sadness after my daughter’s tearful goodbye on that summer afternoon. It was so good to know Antigone and the children, my grandchildren, were safe and well. At the same time, they would already be preparing for the long journey to Normandy. I knew I could never see her again. I also found myself thinking how different our lives would have been if Humphrey’s campaign in Hainault had succeeded. He could now be a prince of Hainault, or even Burgundy. I felt a new sense of grief for the loss of my husband. Talking of Humphrey’s death and seeing how much my grandson resembled him reminded me how much I missed him.

  If my son lives he would have found a way to let me know or at least send a message to his sister Antigone. In my heart I know he was murdered, a mother’s intuition, yet now at least there was a faint hope. He could also think me dead, if that was what everyone has been told. Lady Ellen said it had not been easy to find my daughter and send her a message. Somewhere at the back of my mind I cling to the thought that Antigone is right, Arthur is hiding until the day when he is sure it is safe to make himself known to us.

  Now I have given away the last of my jewels I know that ends any foolish thoughts of escape. Even if I were somehow able to evade my constant guards and make my way across the island to the western coast, I could not hope to pay for a passage across the Irish Sea with just my mother’s gold ring. Lady Ellen had been so kind to me. I would not repay her by bringing disgrace on her husband, so I am resigned to living out my days within these thick stone walls. I shall try to tell the rest of my story as fully as I can and hope one day anyone reading this will understand how my life was changed so cruelly and so completely.

  Thinking back to those last happy days at Bella Court, I remember how the release of the Duke of Orleans against my husband’s wishes proved he had less influence over the king than the cardinal, yet it seemed he had again survived. My father lost the good pension he received from the Crown for keeping the Duke of Orleans in custody, which he was relying on for his old age, but the Duke seemed to have respected his oath to the king. I suspected that after more than twenty-five years imprisonment, he was simply grateful for the chance to have a quiet life in France.

  This memory gave me an idea. If it is true people think I died in Peel Castle, there will never be any call for my release and I will languish here forgotten by the world. I need to find a way to petition the king, without causing trouble for Lady Ellen and her family. Just as the Duke of Orleans swore an oath before the king in Westminster Abbey, I could do the same. I resolved I would offer to be exiled for life to Normandy, where I could live out my days in peace with my daughter and grandchildren.

  I lay awake until I could hear the shrill calls of seagulls, marking the dawn outside my window, as I pondered how I could make my petition and who would be able to represent my interests. I decided I must first secure the permission of Sir William Bulkeley but I can hardly expect him to speak to the king on my behalf. Lady Ellen told me her father was well connected yet it seemed unfair to put her in a difficult position after all she has done for me. Only one person came to mind. The king will I hope remember my former secretary and chaplain John Hume, the man who betrayed us all, if he still lives.

  I realised the danger we were in one evening when I was having a late supper alone with Humphrey. We had dismissed the servants and I commented that he seemed unusually quiet. He didn’t answer me, so to make conversation I said how happy I was that at least life could now continue as normal. My husband banged his hand on the table and raised his voice at me as he never had before, calling me a naive and stupid woman. He stormed out of the room, leaving me with the awful realisation there was something going on I didn’t know about.

  Later that night my husband confessed there was something he hadn’t told me, which we must discuss. Far from forgetting the serious allegations against him, the cardinal was planning his revenge. He told me I must take care what I said in front of my ladies-in-waiting, the staff and the servants, and to let him know of any sign they could be spying on us. He made me promise not to travel anywhere in public without an escort of his personal guard. He had no idea when or how the cardinal would act against him, only that it was almost certain he would do so.

  He said he was put in mind of Cicero’s moral tale of Damocles, who, given the chance by Damocles to try life as a king, saw a sharp sword suspended over his head by a single hair from the tail of a horse. This, the king explained, was what life as ruler was really like. There can be nothing happy for the person over whom some fear always looms. People had already been warning Humphrey to take care and he confessed he was beginning to question the loyalty of everyone. I
didn’t ask if that included me, although I was glad we had maintained the highest secrecy when we made our illicit experiments.

  As soon as I could I warned Thomas Southwell and Roger Bolingbroke to make sure no word of our secret activities ever got out. They both swore that nothing had ever been mentioned to anyone and I know they understood the seriousness of our situation. It seemed we had succeeded, as I was certain my husband would have immediately questioned me if he had heard so much as a rumour. I also asked them to destroy any potentially incriminating evidence and to let me know if anyone began asking questions.

  Life did begin to return to normal again, although I was always looking over my shoulder, wary of the cardinal’s spies. I was now suspicious of every servant, however long we had known them. My maids attended on me from the moment I woke until I closed my eyes to sleep at night, so it was not easy to always be careful what we said in their hearing. I had not forgotten how easy it had been to learn everything about Queen Catherine and Owen Tudor simply by retaining one man in her household.

  Even my loyal ladies-in-waiting now also fell under suspicion. I was aware many of them came to Bella Court to enhance their social prospects. My own life changed completely when I became a lady-in-waiting to Countess Jacqueline, so I was under no illusions about what could hide behind their smiles. Everyone has their price and Cardinal Beaufort was a wealthy man. There was no question of dismissing them, for they were good company and entertained me with all the latest gossip, a constant reminder of how people loved to talk about the misfortune of others.

  As the weeks passed Humphrey became something of a recluse, immersing himself in his studies, translating Greek classics. He only left Bella Court when he had to and refused my requests to organise entertainment for our friends. Our home, once so lively and vibrant, became sombre and tranquil, with few visitors, other than dull scholars who came to help Humphrey with his work. I became bored, missing the bustle of London and soon began returning to the city. Out of respect for my husband’s wishes I always now had an armed escort when visiting, although this simply drew more attention to our grand procession through the narrow, crowded streets.