Virley began to push his way to the front of the crowd. The time had come to right an old wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tuesday July 25th1441
Normally, Edmund Kyrton discharged his duties with diligence, pleased at his promotion from Sacristan to Abbot following the death of Richard Harweden, proud of his new responsibilities as the head of the Abbey of Westminster. But he had to admit that his rather sophisticated predecessor had been far better at dealing with members of the royal family than he was ever likely to be and he was certainly not looking forward to his meeting with the Duchess of Gloucester this morning. So far, he’d had very little to do with her. What he did know about her had been gleaned from other people and, if what they said was true, she would be an intimidating woman.
As a deeply committed Benedictine, Abbot Kyrton had readily offered the Duchess sanctuary when she’d thrown herself on his mercy a week ago, but since then he’d shied away from having much to do with her while she made her temporary home in the sanctuary cell. Today however, he must face up to his responsibilities.
The Duchess was alone save for the presence of one tiring woman.
‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ he greeted her.
She gave him the ghost of a smile and nodded her head to acknowledge him.
‘Do you bring me news, Father Abbot?’ she asked.
‘I do,’ he said.
The Duchess Eleanor looked pale and tired. Deep shadows under her grey eyes gave her a haunted look. He noticed the tiring woman moving in to stand close behind her, as though to defend her mistress.
‘I trust you don’t mind the presence of my maid, Father?’ she asked. ‘I would prefer her to stay with me. She will help me to remember what you tell me.’
‘I have no objection to that,’ said the Abbot.
Despite the limitations of her accommodation, the Duchess Eleanor still wished to observe the social niceties and had asked Jenna to procure some sweetmeats to offer Kyrton or anyone else who might visit her. He waved away the pewter plate.
‘Thank you, no,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t much time, so I think I should begin immediately.’ He hesitated and took a deep breath. ‘Your Grace, I have been asked to tell you that this afternoon you are again summoned to appear at St Stephen’s to give account of yourself.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes, Your Grace. At the Royal Chapel. And ...’ he hesitated, ‘and, er, I understand that you will be required to answer a charge of conspiring to, er, to bring about the death of His Highness, King Henry.’
‘No!’ said the Duchess emphatically. ‘Absolutely not! I have already sworn before Archbishop Chichele that I only ever had the King’s welfare at heart. I swore on oath before all the bishops, archbishops, all those people who were questioning me yesterday, that I was concerned about the King’s health. That was all.’
‘That is not how it appears, Your Grace, and I’m afraid I also have to inform you that you are not the only person summoned to appear this afternoon.’
‘Who else? Tell me, Father Abbot, who else!’
‘Magister Bolingbroke, Your Grace.’
A loud wail escaped Eleanor and she seemed to withdraw into herself, her hands over her head. Jenna’s heart bled for her mistress and she plucked up the courage to speak.
‘I’m sorry, Father Abbot,’ she said quietly, ‘I know I have no right to interrupt you, but you can see Her Grace is still dreadfully distressed after her experience yesterday. Does she have to appear again quite so soon?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ said Abbot Kyrton, ‘and there’s nothing I can do about it. The decision is not of my making.’ Then, glancing at the distraught Eleanor, he added more kindly, ‘I’m afraid I can do nothing to help. Her Grace has been ordered to appear before the highest ecclesiastical court in the land so even I, as Abbot, cannot insist that she must remain in sanctuary at the Abbey.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Do what you can to comfort your mistress, but tell her the guards will be here at noon to accompany her to St Stephen’s. God bless you, my child,’ he said as he made to leave. Then he looked down at the Duchess Eleanor who still sat with head in her hands, the picture of despair.
‘God bless you both,’ he added.
Jenna did her best to help the Duchess appear self-possessed and dignified for her second appearance at St Stephen’s. Overwhelmed by the thought of what she faced, Eleanor occasionally seemed to sink into herself, so helping her dress and prepare to face another ordeal was rather like trying to dress a big rag doll. There was still half a bottle of Kitty’s headache remedy left but Jenna almost had to force it down her mistress’s throat. Thankfully, it had the desired effect and by the time the guard came to accompany them to St Stephen’s, Eleanor seemed much calmer.
Entering the chapel for the second time was just as awe-inspiring as it had been the previous day. Jenna had never seen such wall paintings, such altarpieces. Neither had she ever seen so many imposing ecclesiastical figures assembled in one place and they were all here again. She couldn’t have named them individually, but their croziers, their mitres and the sumptuousness of their robes marked them out as bishops, archbishops and clerics of the highest rank.
Eleanor knew them, though. There was the hated Cardinal Beaufort, her husband’s arch-enemy and his most outspoken critic. Cardinal Kemp was there, too, along with Archbishop Chichele. She liked Chichele: perhaps, today, he would be kind to her. Humphrey liked Chichele, too, but the others were all men her husband loathed and who probably loathed him equally. If only Humphrey was not away from home. If only he could be here to help her!
Bolingbroke was already on the witness stand, clutching the rail, his knuckles white. He had the look of a man who had buckled under the weight of accusation, defeated and bent. As Eleanor was brought into the room, Henry Beaufort turned and pointed towards her.
‘This is Her Grace, the Duchess of Gloucester,’ he said, before he turned back to address Bolingbroke again. ‘And is this the woman at whose bidding you claim that you and Southwell used the astrolabe to cast a horoscope?’
Bolingbroke hung his head and mumbled something.
‘Speak up, man! The court cannot hear your reply!’
‘Yes,’ said Bolingbroke, louder this time.
‘And for what purpose did she want you to cast a horoscope?
Bolingbroke fixed his gaze on the floor, at a point somewhere between himself and Eleanor. He would not look at her.
‘Her Grace said she was concerned about the health of His Highness the King.’
‘Ah, so this was the King’s horoscope, was it? I see.’ He waited several moments, rubbing his chin reflectively, then he said: ‘And what did you and Master Southwell learn about the state of the King’s health?’
‘That he might suffer a bout of illness later this year. No more than that.’
‘An illness, eh? And might that have been a fatal illness?’
‘We sincerely hoped not, my Lord, and we prayed diligently to that end.’
‘Very well. That is all for now, but do not imagine for one moment that we have finished with you. You may step down, but you will be called to face more questions – you may depend on it. We must get to the bottom of this. Take him away! And call the Duchess of Gloucester to the witness stand.’
‘Prisoner dismissed. Call Her Grace the Duchess of Gloucester!’
Bartholomew Halley stepped forward to take charge of the prisoner and Beaufort returned to sit behind the long table with the other members of the jury. There was a buzz of conversation while four guards grouped themselves around Roger Bolingbroke and escorted him from the chapel.
Now it was Archbishop Chichele’s turn to ask the questions. He watched anxiously as Eleanor stepped up to the witness stand. She looked very ill.
‘Would you like to sit, Your Grace?’ he asked.
‘If I may,’ she replied, grateful for his concern. Chichele, her husband’s friend. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad after
all.
She was wrong. Archbishop Chichele’s kind gesture in offering her a seat was the only one she received throughout the entire proceedings. The Duchess was accused of no less than twenty-eight transgressions and vehemently denied them all, insisting that her only concern had ever been to be a good wife to her husband and a faithful subject of the King’s. And still the questions kept coming, accusation followed accusation, fingers were pointed and voices were raised. As the afternoon wore on, Eleanor became increasingly exhausted.
The questioning was too clever for her tired brain, too slick, too sly. The answers she tried to give were distorted by her questioners and fired back at her. Once again, Cardinal Beaufort rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of the table where the other council members were sitting. He walked towards Eleanor and she struggled to hold her head erect and look at him. He paused until he was certain he had the full attention of everyone who was present in the chapel.
‘You say you wanted nothing more than to be a loyal subject of the King’s and a devoted wife to your husband?’ he began.
‘Yes, my Lord, that is so. I wanted nothing more than that.’
‘Very well. Now let us, for the moment, make the assumption that you were, as you say, solicitous of the King’s welfare, anxious that he might not be well. How did you express those anxieties? Did you pray regularly for His Highness?’
‘I prayed every day that if His Highness was ill, he would be restored to good health. The King was always in my prayers, day and night.’
‘And your husband, did you pray for him, too?’
‘Always.’
‘You said a moment ago that you wanted nothing more than to be a good, dutiful wife to your husband. Yes? Correct?’
‘Yes, that is my dearest wish.’
Rounding on her and pointing an accusing finger, Beaufort barked his next question.
‘Then why did you not give him a child?’
‘I did!’ Eleanor was indignant: the question had thrown her entirely off balance. ‘I did! No, no, I didn’t give him a child, that is true, but I prayed with all my heart that I might conceive one. I pleaded with God, I asked holy men and nuns to intercede on my behalf.’
‘And did you take any medicines, any pills or potions to help you?’
‘I did, I did. I did everything I knew how to do.’
‘And still you were barren?’
‘Yes.’ Her anguished reply seemed to have been torn from her. ‘I was still barren.’
‘And where did you procure those pills and potions you admit to using?’
‘From ... oh, from several places, from various people.’
‘From wise women and the like?’
‘Sometimes. If I thought it would help, I would try anything.’
‘Village wise women are often known to practise witchcraft. Were you aware of that?’
‘I ... I don’t know ... I know nothing about that. I was simply doing my best. I meant no harm by anything I did. But I did, desperately, want to have a child. I admit that. My husband had no legal heir and I longed to give him a child. I longed to! It was the greatest gift I could ever offer him.’
‘But you failed him.’
Dumbly, Eleanor nodded. There was nothing she could say. She had failed. There could be no argument with that. She was close to tears and exhausted under the verbal battering. In her befuddled mind, she was aware that she had somehow been forced into the confession that she had used the services of a wise woman. And Henry Beaufort hadn’t finished with her yet.
‘And did you ask a wise woman for potions and lotions and perfumes to make you attractive to the Duke your royal husband, before you were married?’
‘Well, I ... yes, perhaps I did. But we were married many years ago. I don’t remember clearly.’
‘But you admit to having taken medicines and drinks to make him love you?’
‘Well, perhaps, as I said. But many women do that. I was certainly not the only woman at court who used the services of Mistress J ... er...’
It was a trap. She bit her tongue but too late.
‘Mistress Jourdemayne, perhaps?’
‘Yes, my Lord, Mistress Jourdemayne.’ Eleanor nodded, then looked up at her tormentor. ‘But she supplied many ladies of the court with such things.’
‘No doubt,’ said Beaufort. ‘No doubt. Very well, that is all for now.’
Archbishop Chichele held up his hand. ‘My Lords, gentlemen, Her Grace the Duchess has endured several hours of questioning this afternoon and still admits to only five of the twenty-eight charges made against her. I am going to suggest that this court should now adjourn so that we may decide how best to proceed with this very vexing case. It has been decided that, in due course, there will be another hearing, which will be conducted under secular conditions so that certain aspects of the case will be better judged. I must tell you that I have already discussed some of the issues raised with His Highness the King and he is anxious that things be brought to a swift conclusion for the common good, with just and proper punishment meted out in due course. But for the moment, Her Grace the Duchess may return to her sanctuary in Westminster Abbey. This court is now dismissed.’
‘Court is dismissed! Be upstanding!’
Rising to her feet, the Duchess staggered a little and Jenna, sitting close behind her, moved quickly to put her hand under her elbow, fearing she might faint.
There was a scraping of chairs being pushed back as the distinguished members of the council stood up from the table, stretching their cramped legs and collecting their belongings. Making his way out of the room with everyone else, Cardinal Beaufort manoeuvred himself closer to Archbishop Kemp.
‘A word before we leave,’ he said quietly, falling into step beside his friend. ‘I thought it interesting that she was prepared to implicate the witch, didn’t you?’ he asked. ‘And therefore herself, of course, by association. Do you think she realised what she’d said?’
Archbishop Kemp raised his eyebrows and gave a slight shrug. ‘Whether she did or didn’t is immaterial,’ he said. ‘Because we have a confession that she used the woman’s services. And that’s all we need. The Duchess has all but admitted to using sorcery and the black arts to get Gloucester to marry her.’
Cardinal Beaufort smiled. ‘Then we shall have to have Mistress Jourdemayne called to defend herself,’ he said, ‘but the case against her is water-tight. According to a fellow I met at St Paul’s Cross a week or so ago, she is well known around Westminster and there are those who still openly call her the Witch of Eye, ever since a case was brought against her several years ago in which he himself had been mistakenly implicated.’
‘Might that not be sour grapes on his part?’
‘No, not at all because he told me that he also saw her quite recently at St Sepulchre’s where she was meeting Bolingbroke. He recognised him. So it’s high time she was dealt with, once and for all. You remember what the Book of Exodus says about women like her, don’t you?’
‘Chapter twenty-two,’ said Kemp with a knowing smile.
‘Indeed. God gave the Laws to Moses and those laws are laid down in Exodus, so there can be no argument. The instruction in chapter twenty-two, verse twenty-seven is very clear. Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.’
‘And who are we to disagree with the Bible?’ said Kemp with a look of wide-eyed innocence.
***
Abbot Kyrton was waiting to meet the Duchess when she returned. Whereas he had been led to believe that she was little but a shallow personality with insufferable pride in her clothes, her jewels and her possessions, he had seen her earlier in the afternoon for the vulnerable woman she was. And he had pitied her. Realising that she was exhausted and deeply upset, he resolved to show her a little human kindness this evening. After Vespers, he would offer her a modest supper in his own rooms, he decided. She might appreciate a gesture of friendship.
‘Why, Father Abbot!’ she exclaimed, ‘how very kind of you. But really, you must
not trouble yourself. Besides, I’m weary. I would like to retire early to my bed.’
‘You must, of course, if you so wish, Your Grace, but I thought perhaps you might enjoy a civet of hare with me this evening. I eat only modestly at supper time, but I imagine this would be better fare than you have been accustomed to in the last few days. It might take your mind off your troubles for a few hours. You might sleep the better for it.’
The Duchess glanced at Jenna, almost as if she was incapable of making a decision for herself and needed someone to do that for her. Of course, a servant would never be invited to sit down with her at the Abbot’s table but she would feel quite nervous without her. Jenna smiled encouragingly.
‘I’m sure you’d enjoy that, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘It would be a change for you and perhaps it would help you to relax a little. And, as it happens, I would very much like to have a few hours off this evening, if I may. I haven’t seen Kitty for some weeks. You remember? She’s the little girl I mentioned to you.’
‘Oh, yes ... well in that case,’ said the Duchess. ‘But ... but I would still like to retire to bed at a reasonable hour.’
‘I will be back here at the Abbey before sundown, Your Grace, to help you prepare for bed.’
‘Very well, then.’ Eleanor nodded, turning away towards the main door of the monastery, with Abbot Kyrton attentively at her elbow. Hardly had the great door swung shut behind them than Jenna began to walk as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself, through the village and into the demesne of the Manor of Eye-next-Westminster. Then she broke into a run. For once, she didn’t care whether she saw Kitty or not, but she had to see William.
***
At first glance the Abbot’s private rooms at the Abbey appeared austere, there were no tapestries on the walls and the floors were covered only with strewing herbs but the furniture was of an excellent quality, the chairs comfortably upholstered. A beautiful oak table in the centre of the room was set for two diners though there would have been room for at least another ten on the long benches to either side of it.
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