by Jean Plaidy
“The child is a boy,” Guillemote whispered to me. “A bonny, healthy boy. A brother for little Edmund.”
I saw Owen at my bedside, the child in his arms.
“Here he is,” he said. “Just look at him. He’s perfect. Are you not proud of yourself to have produced such a child?”
“He is yours, too, Owen,” I said.
And I felt: everything…just everything is worthwhile for this moment.
We decided to call him Jasper. “Jasper of Hatfield,” I said. “Brother to Edmund.”
Edmund was brought to view his new brother. He looked with wonder at the small creature in the cradle.
“He is your brother,” I said. “You will always look after him, will you not?”
Edmund nodded gravely.
“You will always be good friends. You will always stand together. You will, Edmund, I know.”
“Yes,” said Edmund. And he repeated, “Brother Jasper.”
He hunched his shoulders, smiling, as though it were a great joke that he now had a brother.
THE MAID
Peace continued for a few weeks. Of course, we knew it could not last. We were prepared, for when the Cardinal had come to see me before Jasper’s birth, he had told me of the imminent coronation in France. It was becoming more and more apparent that I should be expected to be there, in view of the fact that I was French and sister to the man who was now calling himself King of France. I was not sure what part I should be expected to play. Owen thought it would depend on the state of affairs which existed between England and France at the time. They would perhaps want me very much in evidence. On the other hand, it could well be that they would want to keep me out of the public view.
“If this should be the case,” I said to Owen, “why should they be so insistent that I must go?”
“They are taking no chances.”
“Oh, Owen…must I go?”
“I do not see how it can be avoided. Your absence from the coronation at Westminster was acceptable. When the Cardinal visited you, you appeared to be unwell, so it was logical enough to assume that you were sickening for some illness. But if you plead illness again they will probably be sending doctors down to Hatfield to give a report on you. That could be very dangerous.”
“I suppose so many people have used illnesses as excuses that it can easily become suspect.”
“It is a good one if it can be substantiated.”
“You really think I must go, don’t you, Owen?”
“I am afraid, my love, that it would be highly dangerous not to do so.”
“And you, Owen?”
“It might be that I could come as a member of your household. You will surely be expected to take some of your servants with you.”
“If that were possible, I could bear it.”
“We shall have to make it possible.”
“We will. We will. Oh, but the children, Owen …”
“We cannot take them with us.”
“No…alas. They must remain. But to be separated from them. How long, Owen?”
“It will surely be some months.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t!”
“What excuse can you give?”
“That I am unfit to travel.”
“It will not work twice.”
“I will tell them the truth, then. I will say, ‘Leave me alone. Let me live my own life. I have my husband and my children…and my family. Rule this country as you will. Rule France too. But please do not try to rule me.’”
Owen took my hands and looked into my face.
“It is no use, Katherine, my love. Such talk will help us not at all. You will have to go or arouse suspicions. We cannot risk that. There must be no excuses this time. You must go as though it is a great pleasure to see your son crowned in your native land. It is the only way. It has to be done.”
“I can’t face it, Owen. Jasper has only just come to us. To leave him…to leave Edmund…for so long …”
“We have to do it. It’s no use fighting against it. And when it is over, we shall return to this quiet, idyllic life. It will be all the more wonderful to us. You will see.”
I wept silently.
“It is so hard to leave them…when they are so young.”
He stroked my hair as he held me tightly in his arms. “Think. You will be closer to Henry.”
“Henry is already lost to me. Do you think I shall ever be alone with him? I cannot see Henry now without seeing his crown. He is not so much my son as the King.”
“Yet underneath his ceremonial robes and crown, he is only a child. Remember that. He may want to talk to you. He may need your help. It may be that he needs you more than Edmund and Jasper do. They will be left in good hands. You need have no fear for them. Katherine, we have to face this. We dare do nothing else.”
I knew he was right. I had to prepare myself for separation.
I tried to explain to Edmund that I was going away, that I hated to leave him, but this was a matter of duty. He was not quite sure what that was, and I was touched by the way in which he clung to my skirts as though to prevent my departure.
“Guillemote will be here with you. And Jasper will be here.”
That cheered him a little. He adored Guillemote, and I think that when she was around he felt safe.
It would be natural for me to take a small entourage with me. Owen was in this, and so was Joanna Courcy. The other two Joannas with Agnes were staying behind to help Guillemote with the children.
I prayed that I would soon be back, but one could never be sure; and I doubted whether I should be received in France with the enthusiasm I had enjoyed when I rode with Henry at my side. The position had changed since then. I had not heard what was happening since the siege of Orléans, but I did know that there was a new spirit among the French and that the high hopes of the English had declined, with the result that there had been several French victories.
It was late February when Henry, after attending service in St. Paul’s asking God’s blessing on the proposed journey, made his way to Canterbury, where he was to spend Easter.
I, with my little entourage, joined him there.
I was formally received by him, but I saw his eyes light up with pleasure as they rested on me, and I knew he was glad that I should be near.
I did have an opportunity of being alone with him, and it seemed then that he set aside his crown and stepped out of his ermine robes to be my little son.
“I have missed you,” he said.
If only we could all be together! I was thinking of how I would introduce him to his half-brothers, Edmund and Jasper Tudor. If only that were possible! If only we could all be one happy family!
I laughed at myself. What an absurd flight of fancy. I wondered what Henry would say. They would have molded him to their ways. I supposed Warwick was, after all, following his instructions. Kings could not be kept at their mothers’ sides. They had to be brought up to ride, to shoot, to go into battle when the time arose. They were hurried through their boyhoods to make them quickly into men before they had had time to be young. They would say that was a woman’s view.
“I have missed you so much, too,” I said. “But I heard about your coronation.”
“Oh yes, I am truly King now. The Earl of Warwick says that a king is not truly a king until he is crowned.”
“Well, you are that now, my son. How like your father you are!”
“Am I?” he asked eagerly. “I have to be like him. They are always saying that. ‘Your father would have done this. Your father would have done that.’ That is what they are always saying. If I do not please them, they say that my father would be ashamed.”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “He would have understood. He was a great soldier, but he was a good, kind man as well.”
“I wish he had not died.”
“A great many people wish that.”
“If he were alive, I should not have to be King …”
I smiled a
t him sadly. “Your coronation must have been impressive.”
“It was so long…and there were so many speeches…so many things to remember.”
“But I heard you did your part well.”
“Did they say so?”
“Yes…everybody did.”
He looked pleased. “I thought the banquet would go on forever, and they were all watching me …”
“Well, they would, you being the King.”
“It is a strange feeling…to be a king.”
“Yes, it must be.”
“Why do you stay shut away in the country?”
“There is little I could do at Court.”
“You would be near me.”
“I would so rarely see you.”
“I wish …”
“Tell me what you wish. You are the King. It should not be so difficult for you to achieve.”
“What I wish no one could give me. I wish my father would come alive, and then I should not have to be the King.”
My poor Henry, weighed down with honors which he did not want! His dearest wish was to be robbed of his crown!
I was glad that kingship had not given him grand ideas of his importance. Rather it seemed it had had the opposite effect.
We stayed in Canterbury over the Easter week and then made our way to Dover. On St. George’s Day we were ready to cross to France. Cardinal Beaufort was a member of the party and he was in charge of the King’s person. Ten thousand soldiers had joined us at Canterbury and they were ranged on the shore, ready to board the vessels when the order was given.
The sun was shining as we went on board, and very soon, with a fair wind behind us, we were sailing for Calais.
We were blessed with a smooth crossing, and about ten o’clock on a bright and sunny morning we landed.
The Cardinal insisted that we ride at once to the church of St. Nicholas, where High Mass was celebrated.
We stayed a short while in Calais and then the Cardinal said that we should make our way to Rouen where he hoped to find the Duke of Bedford waiting for us.
I gathered that we should remain at Rouen while arrangements were made for Henry’s crowning at Rheims. It was an uncomfortable situation, as only recently my brother had been crowned and given the same title which was now to be bestowed on my son. I could sense, too, that there was a very different feeling among the soldiers from that which I had known when I came to meet that other Henry. Uneasiness had replaced triumph. I heard whispers of The Maid.
It was surprising to me that one woman—and a girl at that—could have so changed the outlook of people. In the towns and villages through which we passed we were regarded suspiciously. I knew that the soldiers were on the alert. This country was no longer meekly accepting the conquerors. In fact, the conquerors were on very uncertain ground. Could this all be due to one girl? She must have had divine help. Many believed that, and there was I being influenced in the same way as those superstitious people who thought that God had sent His help through the person of a country girl, to drive the English out of France.
I knew that the Cardinal was very uneasy.
I did not have much opportunity of speaking to him, but now and then he seemed to remember that I was the Queen and the King’s mother, and then there would be a little discourse between us.
He would not have spoken of his uneasiness if I had not insisted on doing so.
I said to him: “Are you anticipating trouble, Cardinal?”
He raised those haughty brows and looked at me in surprise.
“It is clear that something has changed here,” I insisted.
“In what way?”
“It would seem to me that the English are no longer regarded as the triumphant conquerors.”
“There have been a few setbacks, but nothing of any great importance.”
“So the fall of Orléans was of no importance?”
“It would have been better if it had not been allowed to happen.”
“The crowning of Charles …”
“An empty ceremony. The Duke of Bedford is a great soldier and a magnificent organizer. He has everything under control.”
“I suppose it is hard to dispel a legend of this sort which has risen up.”
“You are referring to the woman who dresses up in men’s clothes?”
“I did mean the one whom they call The Maid.”
“A momentary wonder. An exaggeration.”
“It seems to have put heart into the French and taken something from the English.”
“Whatever has been taken will be put back.”
I was not sure how much importance he attached to Joan of Arc, but I believed he was deceiving himself into thinking that she could have no effect on the war.
I soon discovered that he was by no means unconcerned about her, for as we marched through those villages, the change in the mood of the people was decidedly noticeable—and it seemed that a kind of despairing depression had fallen on our men.
Owen, who always rode in my party but never beside me, for we had warned ourselves most severely about the dangers of betraying our relationship and to be continually on the watch lest we betray it, made a discovery. He wanted to tell me, but as no opportunity presented itself, he gave the news to Joanna Courcy, asking her to tell me.
“They have captured The Maid,” she said.
“The English?”
“No…not the English. The Burgundians, who were laying siege to Compiègne. Joan was on the march with three or four hundred men on her way to Crépy when she heard that John of Luxembourg, an ally of the Duke of Burgundy, had started to besiege the town. She went to the rescue of the besieged. Some people think there was treachery. There was a good deal of envy, and some of those who should have been her staunchest supporters, being so jealous of her sought to trap her. Many of them got away in boats when the battle was going against them, and Joan with a few others assisted them in their retreat. There is a strong suspicion that her own soldiers may have betrayed her. In any case, the gates of the city were shut before she could get out. She is in the hands of John of Luxembourg and he has taken her to his castle of Beaulieu.”
“I suppose that is the same as being in the hands of the English?”
“Not quite. He will probably ask a ransom for her. He’s Burgundy’s man…and the relationship between Burgundy and the English is at the moment a little strained.”
“Poor girl. I wonder what will happen to her now.”
Joanna shook her head. “It will be the end of her glory, I am sure.”
The Cardinal was clearly overjoyed, so I knew that his indifference to The Maid had been assumed.
I wondered what I should find when I joined my brother-in-law, Bedford, at Rouen.
Such was the state of affairs in France at this time that our journey to Rouen had to proceed with the utmost care. The fact that the King was one of our party meant that no risks must be taken. I thought of my little ones in England. They would be safe, Joanna was constantly assuring me. Guillemote would defend them with her life.
There were rumors about The Maid. She had escaped, said one. She had been recaptured, said another. Then…there had been no escape. She was still the prisoner of the Count of Luxembourg. She would be sold for a large sum of money, that was certain. And who would be ready to pay that large sum of money to get her into their hands? The English! And what would her fate be when she was their prisoner—she, who had been responsible for turning the tide of war against the English? However much they denigrated her, however much they pretended to ridicule her, they must realize the truth of this.
I must admit that my thoughts were mainly occupied with the desire to get back to my children. Moreover, I could not see a great deal of Owen. He had stressed to me the necessity to be careful. But at least there was the comfort of knowing that he was there.
So cautiously we processed on this slow and tedious journey, and although we had landed at Calais in April it was not until July that we arrived
in Rouen.
Bedford was there, anxiously awaiting our arrival. He had changed a good deal. He looked careworn and much older. The events of the last year had naturally had their effect on him.
His great concern was for the King, but he greeted me with the kindliness which he had always extended toward me. He was the sort of man who would never forget his brother’s injunctions to look after me, and would carry out his promise to do so to the very best of his abilities. How differently I felt toward him than I did toward his brother Gloucester.
I was delighted to find that his wife was with him. Because of our relationship, Anne of Burgundy and I had seen each other now and then during our childhood, and we had always liked each other. It would have been difficult not to like Anne. She had grown very beautiful, with a beauty which comes from an inner goodness rather than from features.
I was able to talk to her more freely than to other members of the party—except, of course, Joanna Courcy.
She told me how anxious her husband was.
“The situation here,” she said, “is worse than is generally admitted. It is incredible what this Maid has done. She has even aroused Charles from his lethargy sufficiently to get him to agree to a coronation.”
“Poor Charles!” I said. “He never really wanted a crown.”
“Nor did his brother Jean. How strange that so many fight to attain a crown and that those to whom it comes by inheritance would rather someone else had it.”
“Well, there are always many to fight for it. What a strange position we are in!”
“And you and I, Katherine, now owe our allegiance to a new country…and one which was the enemy of our native land. What a mess it all is! I think that, if there had never been this quarrel between Burgundy and Orléans or Armagnacs, everything would have been different.”
“But my husband was determined to take France.”
“And my husband is determined to follow his brother’s wishes.”
“And we are caught up in it. Your case is different from mine, Anne. I was married to Henry as part of a treaty. You married his brother because you loved him.”
“Yes. I was one of the lucky ones. But you loved Henry. John says that Henry was above all other men. It was such a tragedy. John has never got over it. He worshiped his brother.”