by Jean Plaidy
I could see that he thought he had brought me good news.
I welcomed him, feeling greatly relieved that my pregnancy, as yet, was not apparent.
He told me that there was great rejoicing in France, and the news he brought was that my brother had been crowned in Rheims.
How could that be? I wondered. My little Henry was the acknowledged King of France. It had been part of the treaty of peace which had been signed between my parents and my husband who had graciously allowed my father to bear the title until his death, and my father was now dead. Henry would have been King had he lived, and then none would have dared raise a voice against that—but now he was dead and the crown had gone to his son Henry.
So how could my brother Charles be crowned King?
“The Maid came with him to the cathedral,” said the messenger. “It was a goodly sight indeed. She carried her banner high. ‘Jhesus Maria.’ So bold it was that all could read it. Her face shone with glory, my lady. All knew that she was God’s messenger.”
“And my brother…the Dauphin …”
“The Dauphin no longer, my lady, but King Charles VII of France.”
I wanted to say: that cannot be. I could see Henry’s face before me, shining with victory. If he had lived…oh, but if he had lived, everything would have been different. Owen would not now be my husband. Edmund would not have been born. I felt the child move within me as though to remind me of its presence.
No. If Henry had lived, it would have been a different story.
“Hope is springing up throughout France, my lady. It is hard to believe that this could have happened. It is a different country. The people have been given hope. And all through The Maid. But when you see her…my lady…that radiant goodness…it is not difficult to understand why.”
I lowered my head, and the messenger seemed suddenly to realize that, although I had been a princess of France, that was no longer my country and he was talking of the defeat of the one to which I now belonged.
I wanted to ease his embarrassment. I said: “It was good of you to come to me with this news. I thank you. It must have been a very hazardous journey for you.”
“I served your father. I knew of his love for you. I see now …”
“No…no,” I assured him. “It was good of you. I thank you. You must be refreshed. I wish you a safe journey back.”
He left me…subdued.
The weeks were passing. My pregnancy was beginning to show itself. September was coming to an end, and the mornings were misty; the trees were taking on their autumnal tints. Before the year was out, my baby would be born.
I remembered the day well. Messengers came riding to the palace. They always caused me great disquiet. If my enemy Gloucester discovered that Owen and I had broken the law and married—even though the law was made after our marriage—I could not guess what our fate would be. They would perhaps not dare harm me, and as my brother now called himself the King of France, they would have to act with caution. It was Owen for whom I feared. They would call him a traitor. I trembled for Owen.
Guillemote came running to me, her face puckered in alarm.
“They are asking to see you.”
“Can you not say I am unwell?”
She slowly shook her head. “They are from the Bishop.”
“From Winchester?”
She nodded.
“He is a cardinal now,” I said.
“I know. From the Cardinal, then.”
“What do they want?”
“Some message from him. Come…let me see. If you are seated, no one will know.” She brought a rug and wrapped it over my knees and my waist.
“We will tell them you have a chill and are staying in,” she said. “Mind you do not rise from the chair.”
Someone was knocking on the door.
Guillemote went to open it. Two men stood there.
“We are from his Eminence the Cardinal. We have a message for the Queen.”
“The Queen is suffering from a chill. She does not want to be disturbed,” said Guillemote.
“It is merely to deliver a message, and we have instructions to speak to her and her only.”
“Well then, do so,” said Guillemote. “The Queen is here.”
They came to me and knelt before me. I bade them rise and said in muffled voice that they should state their business as quickly as possible as I was feeling unwell.
“We are here to tell Your Grace that the Cardinal is on his way to you. He has something of great importance to impart to you and wishes to do so in person.”
Alarm seized me. I heard myself saying: “Where…is the Cardinal?”
“He has already begun his journey, my lady. He should be with you in the early afternoon.”
I felt sick with fear. How noticeable was the change in my body? Would the Cardinal realize that I was pregnant?
I thanked the messengers and sent them to be refreshed before they began their return journey.
Guillemote came running in with the Joannas. They listened in dismay to what I told them.
“What are we going to do?” I demanded.
“You could go to bed …” suggested Guillemote.
I pondered that. It was a possibility, but illness had been feigned so often and the Cardinal, astute as he was, would be fully aware of that. It might arouse his suspicions, I said.
“I have it,” said Joanna Courcy. “All of us will wear the fullest skirts we can find. We will pad ourselves out with petticoats. We shall all look alike.”
“He will think we have a houseful of pregnant women,” said Guillemote.
We all laughed, but our laughter was a little hysterical.
“He will be full of his own thoughts,” said Agnes. “Perhaps he will not notice if we all look alike.”
“That’s right,” I said. “He will see us dressed in a similar manner, as he will think, and it will not occur to him that one of us may be different. I think it is an excellent idea. We must get ready at once.”
We did so and I had to admit that it would have taken more than a cardinal, beset by his own ambitions, to be aware that my figure was any different from that of my ladies.
I sat in a chair covered by a rug. I should still keep up the myth of a chill.
The others ranged themselves around me. Joanna Belknap had a book on her lap as though reading aloud to us. The rest of us held our needlework. It was a peaceful scene—an indication of the life I lived in my chosen seclusion.
Guillemote had arranged that Edmund should be kept as far away as possible from my apartments.
And so the Cardinal found us.
He came to me and kissed my hand.
“You will forgive my remaining seated, Cardinal,” I said. “I have a slight chill. They have been dosing me with their remedies, which has made me feel uncommonly lazy.”
“Remain in a warm room,” said the Cardinal. “’Tis the best for a chill in the head.”
“I believe that to be so. It is good of you to come and see me.”
“A pleasure, Madam.”
He looked at the ladies seated around me. I waved my hand, and they rose rather awkwardly in their padded garments. I watched the Cardinal closely. He showed no interest in their bulky skirts, I was relieved to see.
He had aged. The bitter feud with Gloucester had taken its toll of him. There were lines under his eyes, and his handsome face was slightly ravaged. It still retained its proud and haughty look which seemed to me to be reminding people that he was royal. Watching him, I had the conviction that Gloucester would never get the better of him.
“I trust Your Grace will soon recover from this indisposition which I rejoice to see is not great,” he was saying.
“Thank you, my lord Cardinal. I am sure I shall soon be well.”
“I would not have disturbed your peace,” he went on, “but this is a matter of some urgency concerning the King.”
I was alarmed. “He is ill?” I cried.
“The King i
s in the best of health.”
My relief must have been obvious.
“Your Grace need have no fears on that score. The King is carefully watched over by several of us, and the Earl of Warwick gives good reports of his progress.”
“I am glad to hear of it.”
“If Your Grace came to Court, you would have more opportunities of seeing the King.”
“I hear from him often. I pray that all will go well with him. What is this matter which so deeply concerns him?”
“Your Grace will no doubt be aware of the situation in France?”
“I know something of it.”
“Bad news travels fast. This woman who has appeared on the scene …”
“You mean Joan The Maid.”
“That is how she is known. She has created a certain amount of harm.”
“A young girl can do that! I have heard that she is a young girl.”
“She makes a great show of her virginity. Whether it is true or not, I have no idea. I rather doubt it…living with rough soldiers as she does.”
“There is a great deal of talk about her. She seems to have achieved…miracles.”
“The French have had some initial success, it is true.”
“Which is attributed to her?”
“It would seem so. It is a form of hysteria.”
“I have heard that it has resulted in the coronation of my brother. Is this true?”
“Yes, it is true. He calls himself the King of France now. But he is King in name only, of course.”
“And the people of France …?”
“Well, their mood has changed. They have, it is true, risen out of the lethargy which previously possessed them. They are telling themselves that God has sent The Maid to bring them victory.”
“And this disturbs you?”
“It is nonsense, of course, but, as I have said, it has had a certain effect on the people.”
“And she has recaptured Orléans.”
“That is so…and there have been one or two other victories…minor, of course…but they have put heart into the French.”
“And taken a little from the English?”
“These matters are very unfortunate. People are superstitious. They see omens everywhere. The French believe that God is fighting with them. He comes in the shape of a young maid. It is nonsense…but it has had its effect, since they have dared crown the Dauphin.”
“Well, you say you do not regard it as important. You say it does not change the case.”
“We do not like it. And this is the reason for my visit to you.”
My heart started to beat wildly. I was wondering when he was ever coming to the point, but had feared to show my anxiety by pressing it.
“As soon as possible,” he went on, “we shall take the King to France and have him crowned there. He is the true King. The throne was freely given by your father to the late King, your husband. It is a pity King Henry V did not have himself crowned at the time of his victory. Then there could have been no disputing who was the true King of France.”
“He did not wish to deprive my father of his crown during his lifetime.”
“Such gestures, while noble, often lead to confusion. However, we intend to right that as soon as possible. Our King Henry, young as he is, must go to France as soon as it is convenient to do so, that we may put the crown of France on his head. But as he has not yet been crowned King of England, we propose to do that at once, and it would be meet and fitting for his mother to be present on that occasion.”
“You mean for the crowning here …”
“I mean for both. It will be advisable for you to go to the ceremony in Westminster, but necessary, I think, to that which follows in France.”
I was filled with dismay. Go to France! Leave my babies? Leave Owen!
He went on: “The first ceremony will take place next month. I doubt not that you will need a little time to prepare.”
Next month! I hoped I did not betray my consternation. Next month it would be impossible to hide my condition.
And to go to France …
I was on the point of crying out: I cannot. It is quite impossible. But I restrained myself. The last thing I must do was betray the true state of affairs to this astute man.
“I thought I should come in person,” he went on, “to stress the importance of this. But of course you will realize that and how necessary it is for you to be present. The King is young. And at such a time he will wish to be with his mother.”
I wanted to shout at him: yet you took him away from me. You gave him to Alice Butler and Joan Astley!
“And,” went on the Cardinal, “your presence in France will be a great help. Especially now…when there is a sign of rebellion amongst the French. It will remind the people that the King’s mother is their late King’s daughter. So I have come to ask you to come to Court within the next week or two.”
I could not go to London. That was certain. But what excuse could I give? I must have turned pale, for the Cardinal was a little concerned.
“I trust I have not tired you,” he said.
“I…er…I must apologize for being in such a low state.”
“It was good of you to receive me.”
“Then goodbye, Cardinal. Thank you for your visit. They will send my women to me…immediately.”
He bowed himself out and no sooner was he gone than Guillemote and the others burst in.
“You look shocked,” said Guillemote.
“So will you be…when you know what he came for.”
“Pray tell us and do not keep us in suspense,” begged Agnes.
“They are going to crown Henry, and the Cardinal thinks I should be present at the ceremony.”
“When?” cried Guillemote.
“Next month.”
There was a shocked silence.
“You cannot go,” said Joanna Troutbeck.
“That is certain,” I agreed.
“It is simple,” said Guillemote. “You will just be ill. What else can you do? It is well that you have set the stage. We will start right away. I shall get you to bed. Before the Cardinal leaves, it shall be known that you are less well than you were when he arrived, and your faithful servants, appalled by your condition—which has nothing to do with his visit, as they were aware you were more ill than you allowed it to be assumed—are getting you to your bed without delay.”
My son Henry was crowned at Westminster on the sixth day of November of that year 1429 in the presence of Parliament. His mother was not present. She was at that time somewhat unwieldy, keeping to her apartments and taking good care not to be seen by any but those whom she could trust—the birth of her child being expected in a matter of weeks.
Poor Henry! I was sad that I could not be with him. I wondered what he was feeling. At eight years old he was too young to have a crown placed on his head. He had always been a solemn child. I guessed he had become more so. He would need to be.
I wondered if he missed me. I felt a deep grudge against those who had taken him away from me. Was he thinking of me at this time? Did he ever think of me…or was I just part of that early childhood which must have become like a hazy dream to him.
I wanted to hear all I could about the ceremony.
Owen thought it was not only because they wished to take him to France and crown him King of that country that they had hastened his coronation in England; for when he was crowned, Gloucester would lose his post of Protector, and Owen imagined that it was the need to thrust Gloucester out of that important role which had been the deciding factor in this rather hasty coronation.
“Surely they will not expect my son to govern?” I said.
“No. But it is a way of getting rid of the present Protector. You are not the only one, my love, who sees him as a menace.”
“I know the Cardinal does, for one.”
“Others too, I’ll swear.”
We heard reports of that ceremony in Westminster Abbey. Warwick had led Hen
ry in. He looked splendid, they said, in his rich coronation robes; and the people loved him for his youth. He was solemn and serious, looking rather sad and wise, as though he fully understood the significance of the ceremony and was already aware of the burdens of kingship which were being set on his young shoulders.
If I were not actually at Westminster, my thoughts were with him. I would write to him and tell him how sad I was that I could not be present at such a time. But that was not strictly true. I was carrying his little half-brother or -sister and that was a fact which made me rejoice.
But how I hated this web of deceit which I had been forced to weave about myself. I did not care so much that I must lie to Gloucester and the Cardinal; but I wished I did not have to do so to my son.
I had a letter from him which I treasured. In it he expressed his sorrow at my illness, and he was deeply distressed because I had not been present to see him crowned.
A splendid banquet had followed the ceremony in the Abbey, and during it a proclamation was made that in the New Year the King would be leaving for his French dominions.
During the weeks that followed, to the exclusion of all else, I was absorbed in preparations for my child’s arrival. The same methods of secrecy which had been the order at the time of Edmund’s birth were put into practice.
“We are getting accustomed to it,” said Guillemote.
It appeared to be satisfactory for everything went smoothly. I often thought how lucky I was to have such loyal servants. I marveled at this, for there was not one of them who did not know that what they were doing would be construed as a crime against the state and, if it were discovered, could result in imprisonment for them…perhaps even death.
The days were short now, and darkness was already creeping into the palace before four o’clock in the afternoon. The snow was falling heavily.
“That is good,” said Joanna Troutbeck. “It means we cannot have visitors catching us unawares.”
At last the time came. They were all around me and I felt safe with them.
My ordeal was not a long one. It was easier than it had been with Edmund; and when I heard the cry of my newly born child, I forgot the need for secrecy and all my fears in my joy.