‘I will remember all that you asked of me, my lady mother,’ he murmured to Catherine when she hugged him before he quitted the room. ‘I will think of you all and pray for you. And I will find a way to come back and visit again soon.’
Edmund and Jasper broke off sharing another game to say their farewells to Henry. ‘Next time I will beat you at skittles,’ declared Edmund, his chin jutting determinedly. ‘I will be practising.’
‘Me too,’ said Jasper stolidly.
‘Then I shall have to practise as well,’ retorted Henry with a grin. ‘Next time will be a fine battle.’
‘Who was that, Mama?’ Edmund asked when the king had left the room, escorted by Owen and Maître Boyers. ‘I liked him.’
Catherine ruffled Edmund’s gold head. ‘I am glad,’ she said. ‘He is a good friend of ours.’
Such reticence was essential. Trusting a ten-year-old boy with her all-important secret was nerve-wracking enough, but to reveal the truth of their birth to these two, that were little more than toddlers, was a risk too far.
36
Catherine and Owen’s third child was born on the Feast of St Margaret, the twentieth of July 1432, and duly baptised in honour of that saint, which surprised Catherine who had thought she was destined only to have sons and thrilled Owen because Margaret was the name of his mother who had died when he was six years old.
‘Now I have a living reminder of the beautiful Margaret Vychan, whose voice I have inherited and who taught me my first notes on the harp!’ he cried, cradling the tiny girl carefully in his brawny arms, ‘As I shall teach you, cariad bach!’
There was no sign of the fear and anger that had caused his dispute with Catherine and driven him temporarily away three months before. After the king’s visit they had spent several hours closeted alone together and then it was as if there had never been a rift. In the glorious sunshine of that balmy Hadham summer, their idyll was restored.
Nor, after Margaret’s birth, could I bring myself to leave Catherine’s household as I had considered doing. Geoffrey and I had discussed taking William to live with us permanently in London, but he and Edmund Tudor were so close it seemed a shame to separate them. For two months of their earliest infancy they had shared milk from the same breast and it may have been this that had forged the tight bond between them so that they were seldom to be seen apart, even sharing a cot bed at night. Little Jasper tried to shadow their every move and most of the time they tolerated the younger boy, but now and then they managed to give him the slip to go off on ‘big boy’ expeditions into the woods. So adventurous did they become that a student from Hatfield Priory was hired to keep them from danger and also to teach them the rudiments of writing and reading.
For the sake of this harmonious attachment Geoffrey continued to journey patiently through fair weather and foul between his law practice in London and his work at Hadham as Catherine’s treasurer, when we managed to live like married people for spells of time. He was our main source of news from the outside world and so it was from him that we learned the following year of a new and more serious outbreak of hostility between Cardinal Beaufort and the Duke of Gloucester. Once again it was over the war in France and the cardinal’s calls for peace negotiations. Gloucester accused him of treachery and urged the Commons to raise taxes to underwrite further armies in order to defend England’s threatened territories, a move the cardinal deplored. These disputes became violent within the council and among their supporters on the streets of London, which eventually led to the return of the Duke of Bedford from France to try and restore calm and avert a very real threat of civil war.
However John of Bedford had done more than broker a much-needed peace between warring magnates. Having lost his first wife, Anne of Burgundy, to a sudden outbreak of plague in Paris, he had re-married and brought his new wife to England, seventeen-year-old Jacquetta of Luxembourg, the niece of Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund. The whole country began to speculate whether this union might not only strengthen England’s position in Europe, but also produce a potential second-generation heir for the English throne. In June, to Catherine’s delight, John of Bedford sent her a letter proposing that he bring his new wife to Hertford to meet her. On this occasion we had plenty of time to prepare, which was fortunate because Catherine wanted to put on a grand show for her favourite brother-in-law and his young and well-connected bride. She had new accessories and trimmings sent from London to spruce up her court attire and Alys was urged to recall all she could remember of the fashions seen around the hotels of Paris before she left.
‘I imagine a girl of seventeen will display the very latest styles, and I shall be made to look frumpish and dowdy unless something is done,’ Catherine fretted. ‘We are so out of touch here in the country.’
Alys sought to reassure her. ‘The first gown that Jacques ever made for you was so ahead of its time that I think you may find it is now the height of fashion, Madame. If it would please you, I could re-line the sleeves in some of that beautiful, patterned Milanese silk I brought over from Paris. The court ladies will believe you had it specially made for their visit.’
Certainly, the striking turquoise-coloured gown with its underskirt of gold-embroidered cream satin was brilliantly lifted by the addition of Alys’s pale sea-green Italian silk, turned back on the long trailing sleeves to form a deep cuff with a trimming of costly Flemish lace. A padded V-shaped roll of the same fabric set off Catherine’s lofty headdress of gold netting with its ropes of pearls and shimmering veil of finest gauze. There was nothing dowdy or frumpish about the dowager queen of England as she stood in the June sunshine at the entrance to Hertford Castle to greet her distinguished guests. The great hall was decked with flowers and festooned with heraldic banners and an aromatic feast of six or seven courses was being prepared in the kitchens; there was nothing to suggest that this was not the well-established residence of England’s highest-ranked lady. Even her ladies-in-waiting were arrayed in elegant court attire and decked out in items from the royal jewellery boxes. Of course we no longer numbered the Joannas in our ranks, but Geoffrey had brought Mildy to join Agnes and Alys and Anne. The five of us stood proudly at Catherine’s back as the Duke of Bedford’s cavalcade trotted under the gatehouse tunnel.
In a gold-tasselled blue velvet side-saddle, Jacquetta of Luxembourg rode a high-stepping chestnut palfrey trapped out in azure silk, embroidered with the Bedford badge of a golden stump and harnessed in gold-embossed white leather, making it clear to the world that John of Bedford had showered his new bride with gifts. As gossip had proclaimed, Jacquetta was indeed a beautiful young woman; clad in butter-yellow under a nutmeg-coloured riding heuque, slender and fair with porcelain skin and a wide smile displaying perfect white teeth framed by soft, cushioned ruby lips. No wonder her new husband now appeared handsome and rejuvenated compared to the grey-faced and weary man Catherine and I had last seen in his brother’s funeral procession.
However, it was not the arrival of the lissom young bride or the statesmanlike bridegroom that widened my eyes, but the sight of the woman who rode beside them resplendent in a forest-green gown, her fine, dark features a striking contrast to Jacquetta’s apple-blossom delicacy. Those slanting violet eyes appraised us and I could tell from the sudden stiffening of her neck and shoulders that Catherine saw their enmity too. It was Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Gloucester.
Through the formal greetings and protracted banquet that followed, there was no opportunity for any private conversation with Catherine but from my position beside Owen at the reward table I watched her conversing animatedly with the Duke of Bedford and, across him, to his luminous bride, effectively cutting out the Duchess of Gloucester, whose place was at the end of the table on Jacquetta’s other side. This was the correct order of placement, according to rank, but I could see that it riled Eleanor of Gloucester, who was left for extended periods without anyone to talk to.
‘Why did no one inform us that the Duchess of Gloucester was coming?’ I aske
d Owen early on in the proceedings. ‘Would that not have been the correct etiquette?’
Owen was stressed by having to reallocate accommodation in order to find suitable chambers for the Gloucester entourage and finding it hard to school his expression into that expected of the calm and capable master of Catherine’s household. A mutinous look crept over his countenance. ‘It is my guess she invited herself along at the last minute, possibly under orders from her husband,’ he muttered. ‘The Gloucesters will not want Catherine to become too cosy with Bedford. And do not forget that Eleanor has been spurned more than once by the queen. Petty though we may consider it, she might be looking for ways to get back at her. If you are going to pry into someone’s affairs, you need to take them by surprise.’
‘What do you mean, pry?’ I looked down the main trestle where Eleanor’s two lady companions were engaging gaily with Agnes and Mildy, laughing at one of Mildy’s witticisms no doubt. ‘Should we warn Catherine’s ladies?’
Owen made a rueful face. ‘It is a little late for that. We must pray they are all discreet. You can be sure that every word they say will be reported back to Eleanor.’
‘And through her to the Duke of Gloucester,’ I commented sourly. ‘No wonder Catherine wanted to retire from court life.’
Suddenly Owen’s infectious smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and mouth and reminded me why women, and Catherine in particular, found him so attractive. His voice sank to a throaty whisper and he leaned closer. ‘Do you not think I might have had something to do with that?’
Returning his smile, I wagged a finger at him and whispered back, ‘Do not flirt with me, Master Tudor, just because you are obliged to avoid your lady’s eye!’
His head was turned away from the high table, but he must have had eyes in the back of it. ‘It is called diversion tactics, Mette. While her grace of Gloucester stares at us, she is not thinking about the queen.’
I glanced up at the high table. Lacking any conversational distraction, Eleanor was watching us curiously. Despite my best intentions, I found myself blushing.
After the feast we watched an entertainment in the castle garden. A stage had been erected, complete with a painted castle where a troop of mummers put on a pageant celebrating King Henry the Fifth’s famous run of siege victories in France. With glorious disregard for historical order, it culminated in a staged Battle of Agincourt, complete with volleys of blunted arrows and knights in armour galloping on hobby horses. Music was provided by a band of minstrels and some flowery and grandiose speeches were proclaimed by a master of ceremonies dressed as a herald. In a theatrical gesture to the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, a final tableau depicted the wedding of a beautiful golden-haired bride to a knight in shining armour at which Peace was the guest of honour.
‘Of course that final scene could equally have been referring to your own marriage to the king’s father, could it not, Madame? Was it not also meant to bring peace?’
Eleanor of Gloucester made this observation to her hostess as the three royal sisters-in-law, surrounded by their ladies, walked back through the garden to the great hall. The evening sun cast slanting shadows across the formal pattern of small hedges, flower beds and gravel paths as it slipped below the crenellations of the curtain wall. A perfect evening for schemes and subterfuges, I thought.
Catherine cast a swift glance at Eleanor. ‘You are right, my marriage did seal a treaty, but we should not detract from the compliment to Duchess Jacquetta. Many hopes of peace are invested in her marriage to his grace of Bedford.’
She made a small bow in Jacquetta’s direction and was rewarded with a dazzling smile. Not for the first time the new duchess put me in mind of Catherine at the same age. Although both were fair, they did not look much alike and the duchess was taller, but each moved with the grace and carriage of a dancer. Eleanor’s gait, on the other hand, reminded me of a cat’s, stealthy and sinuous, like one of the wild pumas I had seen in the royal menagerie at the Tower of London.
When she spoke again her voice was a deceptive purr. ‘Of course the peace treaty is usually secured before the marriage is made. However, when the bride is as beautiful as her grace of Bedford, it is no wonder the bridegroom was anxious to hasten the nuptials and seek peace to enjoy them. Meanwhile, my own lord endeavours to defend the territories so fiercely won by their conquering brother, rather than surrender them at the negotiating table.’
‘There has to be a time for everything, does there not?’ Jacquetta did not say much but whenever she did, she went higher in my estimation. ‘We should remember those words in the bible; “a time to love and a time to hate, a time of war and a time of peace”. My lord of Bedford believes that France – all of Europe – needs peace.’
There was silence between the royal ladies for several paces. I could not see Eleanor’s face, but I detected a definite edge to her voice as she made a sweeping gesture towards her two companions. ‘It is remarkable that we are sisters, is it not? How much pressure could we exert on the policies of our lords if we combined our efforts?’
‘Are you suggesting an alliance, Eleanor?’ Catherine sounded astounded. ‘Because I fear your own lord would be the first to cry witchcraft if he caught a whiff of such female conspiracy. Besides, I suspect our aims and objectives are very different. Jacquetta here may have motherhood more in mind than meddling in government.’
Jacquetta turned to face the other two ladies. ‘Are children not the hope of every marriage?’ she said, her cheeks the colour of a linnet’s breast. ‘I know my lord prays for an heir and surely it is every woman’s wish to fulfil God’s holy ordinance.’
‘I do not believe motherhood is God’s only intention for women,’ Eleanor said. ‘So many female saints are virgins, are they not? I believe we can aspire to more than simple motherhood.’
‘Do you have children, my lady of Gloucester?’ It occurred to me from the way Jacquetta posed the question that she may already have known that Eleanor did not.
‘No,’ Eleanor snapped. ‘But nor is a child the only thing for which I pray. I believe we are on this earth to fulfil ourselves in many ways. It is not enough to let things happen. We owe it to ourselves to make them happen.’
‘But not at the expense of others, I hope,’ suggested the young bride, showing signs of alarm at Eleanor’s fervour.
The Duchess of Gloucester glanced briefly at Catherine, then away. ‘Not unless it is necessary,’ she said.
When the Lords and Commons met in the second week of July, John of Bedford claimed precedence and took over the presidency of the Parliament from his brother. His first action was to reverse the changes in the king’s household made by the Duke of Gloucester eighteen months before, with the result that when King Henry made a surprise visit to Hadham on his way to spend Christmas at St Edmund’s Abbey, he brought with him his new steward, William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, a replacement for the incompetent Sir Robert Babthorp.
‘I like my household much better now that my lord of Suffolk has made changes to the staff,’ King Henry told Catherine when they were seated together in the hall after dinner, set slightly apart from the rest of us but not entirely private. ‘He has recently been ransomed from two years captivity in France, you know.’
Catherine cast a glance at the earl, a rather aloof figure who was leaning against the chimney hood, staring into the fire. A handsome and well-built man in his mid-thirties, he was a protégée of the cardinal and married to his great-niece, Alice Chaucer, a strong indication that his new appointment was another Beaufort move against Gloucester. We were told this by Geoffrey, who was professionally involved with Alice’s father, Sir Thomas Chaucer, son of the famous poet whose wife’s sister had been the cardinal’s mother. Alice was a famous beauty still in her twenties and a widow since the Earl of Salisbury was killed at the siege of Orleans; no doubt she had brought her new husband a sizeable dower. The Earl of Suffolk seemed to be on the way up, despite the fact that under his military command England had lost m
uch ground in France. Catherine alluded to this fact in a voice loud enough for the new steward to hear.
‘We hear that a lot of ransom money has gone to France in recent, years Henry, and a lot of territory. Your present commanders seem intent on losing all that your father fought so hard to win.’
Suffolk swivelled his gaze from the fire to fix it on Catherine and bowed before speaking. ‘I am one of many councillors who argue that we should seek a peace settlement with your brother in France, Madame. But I understand you no longer take an interest in affairs of state.’ He delivered this last statement with such a charming smile that it was not clear if he was criticising Catherine or congratulating her.
‘I have told my lord of Suffolk about your marriage, my lady mother, and the existence of your new family,’ Henry put in quietly. ‘So Master Tudor may come out of hiding, wherever he is.’
After seeing the king in Suffolk’s company, Owen had judged it sensible to make himself scarce and had not appeared for dinner. Alarmed by her son’s dramatic and disturbing revelation, Catherine paused to collect her thoughts, taking a few deep breaths while never taking her eyes off the earl.
‘As far as I am concerned, the state has always taken far too much interest in my affairs, my lord,’ she said at length, meeting his smile with a cool sapphire stare, ‘especially over the matter of my marriage. I am deeply grateful to the Bishop of London for allowing me to stay here at Hadham, where the long nose of the state rarely sniffs. I dearly hope it will remain that way. If you wish to consult me on the chances of the council achieving a peace settlement with my brother, then I suggest you make an appointment to meet me at Hertford Castle, where I conduct the small amount of official business that comes my way.’
The Tudor Bride Page 38