The Agincourt Bride

by Joanna Hickson

  When Alys arrived with the quilts, I thought it best that she take them to the King, since she was the least threatening figure among us, small, sweet-faced and solemn, laden with her downy burden which clearly could not harm the most delicate pane of glass. When she and Catherine held out a quilt between them, the king did not move and his lips continued to mumble the prayer as they gently wrapped him in its feathery softness.

  I spoke to a man I took to be the captain of the king’s troop of guardians, a tall, surprisingly mild-looking character who was watching Catherine’s handling of the king with open admiration.

  ‘You need plenty of quilts,’ I suggested. ‘The king thinks he is made of glass and will break at the slightest touch.’

  ‘But the princess knows what to do,’ the man marvelled. ‘How does she know that?’

  ‘Perhaps because she is his daughter and she loves him,’ I said. ‘And he knows it.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘Amazing,’ he murmured. ‘It is a miracle.’

  Without demur the king rose and trotted between Alys and Catherine up the steps of the keep and the chastened group of guardians fell in behind the unlikely trio.

  ‘We will go to the chapel,’ Catherine told them quietly over her shoulder. ‘He will be content there while you prepare a padded room for him. But make sure it is well aired. If he gets too hot the madness seems to get worse.’

  A loud clapping sound was suddenly to be heard echoing around the courtyard. The Duke of Burgundy had appeared at the entrance to the keep and was slowly applauding the incongruous procession climbing towards him. The percussive noise was generated not by his hands which were gloved as usual, but from clapping together the pages of his Book of Hours, which he was carrying to Mass, and it brought King Charles abruptly to a halt.

  ‘Congratulations, Princesse,’ the duke drawled, his lip curling. ‘It seems you know how to cozen demons. We shall have to send you out to catch a unicorn.’

  Chillingly, the king began to scream again. Then everything happened in quick time. At Burgundy’s peremptory signal, the guardians moved swiftly forward and Catherine was forced to watch, powerless, as they bundled her father up in the quilts and carried him, thrashing and screeching, into the keep. The duke bowed as the king was carried past him.

  ‘God be with you, father,’ Catherine called in a high, choking voice. ‘I will pray for you, to keep you safe from demons.’ She almost spat this last word.

  Then she turned on her heel and ran down the steps. She did not attend Mass that day.

  In the late afternoon a long procession of carts and closed wagons, packs of hounds and mounted huntsmen trailed through the gatehouse, escorted by a phalanx of armed guards. Within minutes word had spread that the king’s hounds and hawks had arrived from Paris in readiness for the autumn hunts. As soon as I could, I hurried down to the kennel in the hope that Luc might have come with them. The long wooden lean-to erected against the curtain wall in the furthest corner of the outer bailey had been a quiet place before this, holding only a few resident hounds, but now it was overflowing with excited dogs, barking and yapping and rushing about sniffing their new quarters. And Luc was there, helping to sort them into their allotted enclosures; one for the hounds, one for the terriers and one for the stocky brindle alaunts with their wet jowls and fierce jaws. Pleased though he was to see me, he was clearly flustered by my arrival and kept casting anxious glances at a senior huntsman, a stubble-chinned individual who wore a Burgundian badge on his leather jerkin and glared at me through one of the woven-willow panels that divided the long shed into cages.

  ‘I’ll be free once the dogs are fed and bedded, Ma. I’ll come and find you then,’ he said

  I took the hint. ‘Come to the princess royal’s chambers in the inner bailey,’ I murmured, pushing off a couple of friendly terriers and backing away with a placatory smile at the huntsman. ‘Anyone will tell you where they are. I’ll warn the guard to look out for you.’

  Though Luc’s behaviour worried me a little, I took comfort in knowing I would find out later why he was being so wary, but before I reached the tunnel where the guard stood, I was accosted by a royal page. I recognised him, for he came frequently to deliver messages to Catherine. Perhaps alarm bells should have rung because he had never before been accompanied by two men-at-arms, but his pleasant smile beguiled me.

  ‘You are bidden to the grand master’s office, mistress,’ he said. ‘I am to take you there now.’

  I assumed it must be Guy de Mussy who wanted to see me. ‘What does he want?’ I asked, following as he set off towards the gatehouse.

  The page shrugged. ‘He did not say. I am just to fetch you.’

  ‘With an escort?’ I queried, startled by the loud clomping of nailed boots as the two soldiers fell into step behind us. ‘It must be important.’

  There was no response to that, but the page quickened his pace and we trudged across the rest of the bailey in silence. In the grand master’s chamber there was no sign of Guy de Mussy but another, older squire was there, a man who did not look at all friendly. He had wiry salt and pepper hair, a red beard and a scar splitting one eyebrow and he, too, wore the Duke of Burgundy’s St Andrew’s cross on his shoulder. His severe expression and aggressive attitude sent tingling waves of apprehension down my spine.

  Clearing his throat he said gruffly, ‘There is a discrepancy in the inventory of goods that were brought from Princess Catherine’s apartment in the Hôtel de St Pol. You are responsible for the princess’ furnishings and chattels and I would like you to account for one missing jewel-studded gold hanap.’

  I stared at him in astonishment, for having made my own inventory I knew without doubt that there was nothing missing from among the goods that had been transported from Paris. ‘The princess has two jewelled hanaps, Monsieur,’ I gulped. ‘Which one of them is said to be missing?’

  The grizzle-haired squire unrolled a parchment, which I recognised as the inventory taken by the grand master’s clerk when the carts were loaded for the journey to Pontoise.

  ‘The missing hanap is of chased gold with inset stones of onyx and beryl,’ he said, reading from the parchment and then glaring at me from under a pair of bristly eyebrows. ‘Worth several crowns, Madame.’

  ‘And it is not missing,’ I protested. ‘I myself served wine in it to the queen only a few days ago.’

  ‘But has it been seen since?’ persisted the squire in a hectoring tone.

  ‘Not since I locked it away afterwards, no. The princess only uses the gold hanaps for important guests and I do not check all the items in the strong box every day.’

  ‘But you do have charge of the keys, do you not, Madame?’ The man’s gaze dropped to the heavy iron chatelaine which swung from my belt, not quite hidden by the flap of my apron. ‘And no one else has a copy of the strong-box key.’

  ‘The grand master has copies of all the keys. I do not think you could call him no one!’ I exclaimed in heated riposte.

  ‘And where do you keep the strong box?’ persisted the unpleasant squire, the threatening nature of his questions becoming more intense with every query.

  ‘In the garderobe of the princess’ bedchamber,’ I replied and, as I said it, events suddenly began to slot together, like cogs in a winding gear. There had been someone in Catherine’s bedchamber the night after the queen’s visit. Someone who had crept to the garderobe, opened the strong box, removed the hanap and locked the box again. It had been the clicking of the lock that had woken me. Meanwhile, the intruder had made his exit as swiftly and silently as he had come.

  ‘The king’s men will be searching your quarters at this moment, mistress,’ added the squire with a sneering grin, ‘and the grand master himself wants to speak to you afterwards, but until then you will wait here. These men will show you where.’

  He indicated the two men-at-arms behind me, who put their hands meaningfully on their daggers and stepped up very close, giving me a none-too-gentle shove in the direct
ion of a spiral stair set in the corner of the chamber. My heart began to pound, but there was nothing to do but comply and after a short climb I found myself in a small, round turret room furnished with a single bench and, ominously, a wooden pail. As soon as I stumbled through the door, assisted by another shove from one of the guards, the door slammed shut and I heard a bar being dropped into slots on the other side.

  There had been no opportunity to plead my case, but if there had been, what could I have said? I knew I was the victim of a set up and as to who had set me up, that was easy – the Duke of Burgundy, or someone at his behest. But what I did not know was why? It was that mysterious ‘why’ that set my heart pounding with fear.

  I had plenty of time to think about it and nothing else to do. I had no light and as night fell it soon became almost pitch dark in the little chamber. Only a faint gleam of starlight filtered through the one tiny window high up in the wall and a stray beam from the stairway lamp trickled through a knot-hole in the planking of the door. I heard the Compline bell and when it stopped tolling I tried hammering on the door but quickly realised there was no point, nor was there anything but shadows to see through the knot-hole. Investigating the wooden pail, I discovered a jug of water set down inside it and realised that my imprisonment had been carefully planned. There was water to drink and a pail to relieve myself in. I would be there all night – maybe longer.

  Slumped miserably on the bench, I set my mind to considering the situation. I remembered the wiry-haired squire’s statement that someone was searching my quarters and wondered whether they realised that, in fact, I had no quarters. I slept in Catherine’s chamber and I kept my belongings, such as they were, in a small wooden chest in her garderobe. There was only one key to this chest and I had it swinging on my belt, so they would have to smash it to search it. That they would do so, I had no doubt, if only to leave evidence of their visit, for I knew full well that although it had not been in my locked chest, the gold hanap would be ‘found’ there and produced and I would be accused of stealing it. And the only fate that awaited someone who robbed the royal family was the hangman’s noose.

  Despite the warmth of the night I sat in the darkness shivering. I racked my brains trying to figure out how I could prove that I had not removed the cup from the princess’ strongbox, but could not come up with a solution. I knew that Catherine would vouch for my honesty, but in the present circumstances she was as powerless as I was to influence proceedings. For some unknown reason the Duke of Burgundy wanted me out of the way and for him an accusation of theft was as easy to arrange as a day’s hunting. He gave an order and it was done.

  Then I began to worry about Alys and Luc. Would they find out where I had gone and come looking for me? I hoped they would not, for at all costs I did not want them to be involved in any way with this monstrous lie. Dear God, I thought in panic, would they have to see their mother hanged? Even if they did not, they would suffer as the children of a proven thief, would be stripped of their posts and left to fend for themselves as best they might and in the dead of night I imagined such terrible consequences for both of them that I had to bite my fist to stop myself from crying out in despair.

  As a distraction I continued asking myself questions, for although I now understood the how, what and who of my situation, I had not fathomed out the why. Why was the Duke of Burgundy doing this to me? I was a nobody who made no impact on his life whatsoever. Was it possible that he remembered me from that awful morning in the nursery all those years ago? Surely not. He had not encountered me since and, even if he had, there was no chance that he would recognise me. Why would a great lord who ruled the lives of thousands remember the violence he had inflicted on a nursemaid fourteen years before? It might still prey on my mind, but it surely would not trouble his. No, it was something in the present, in the here and now, some reason he needed me out of the way.

  Not one to invoke heavenly aid very often, at this point I fell to my knees and began to pray, burbling frantic entreaties to God and his Holy Mother and all the saints I considered relevant. For suddenly I knew what it was that I prevented the devil duke doing and I was praying that I was wrong, praying that it would not happen, praying for a miracle. Yet all the time I knew that I was right, that the thing that I feared so much was probably happening at that very moment and that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

  20

  I was released from my confinement before dawn by a bemused-looking soldier, who shoved me down the stairs and out of the grand master’s office without ceremony or explanation.

  ‘Why am I being released?’ I asked, almost tripping on my skirts in my haste to quit the gatehouse.

  ‘Do not ask questions,’ he growled. ‘Just thank God you are free, for by all accounts you are lucky your neck is not to be stretched.’

  Back at the tower I found Alys curled up in a corner of the entrance lobby, hugging her knees. She sprang up to greet me with exclamations and tears of relief. ‘I thought you were dead, Ma!’ she sobbed. ‘Some soldiers took me to the guardroom and would not let me leave. They said you were a thief and would be hanged and I was to be thrown out of the castle as soon as the gates opened. Then, suddenly, they let me go. What in heaven’s name is happening? Have they accused you of stealing?’

  ‘Yes, but I do not know why I have been released,’ I said. ‘Have you seen Luc?’

  Alys shook her head. ‘No. Why, is he here?’

  ‘The hunt arrived last night,’ I told her. ‘But I am glad he has not been here. That means they do not know he is in Pontoise. Can you run to the kennel and see if you can speak to him without anyone seeing? Tell him not to come here. I will meet him later. I must go the princess immediately. Come back as soon as you can.’

  It was too early for any of the ladies-in-waiting to have come from the constable’s house, so I found Catherine quite alone, huddled not in her own bed but on my mattress, wrapped tightly in one of her linen sheets so that she almost looked like a corpse. When she heard my voice she hurled herself into my arms and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.

  ‘Oh, Mette, Mette, thank God you are here – and free! He said he would not harm you if I did as he ordered but I was terrified he would go back on his word!’ Catherine’s face was swollen from crying. I stroked her tangled hair and uttered all the soothing words I could think of. I did not ask what had happened because she would tell me in her own good time – and anyway, in my heart I already knew.

  When she grew calmer I sat her down in a chair, still stroking her hair and said gently, ‘Stay here, Mademoiselle. I will tell everyone you are unwell and have a bath set up in the salon. You will feel better when you have washed him away.’

  She stared at me for a long time, her sapphire eyes dull and red-rimmed. At length she asked hoarsely, ‘You know, Mette? You know what he did to me? He told me to tell no one. I am so frightened for you if he thinks you know.’

  I put my finger to my lips and shook my head. ‘We will not talk about it now. The most important thing is for you to get clean. Can you bear to be alone for a few minutes while I order the bath?’

  From Catherine of France to Charles, Dauphin of Viennois,

  Oh my beloved brother,

  I cannot write my name and yours at the head of this letter without bewailing the fact that both have been dishonoured and besmirched by the actions of one man – that vassal of the devil, Jean who calls himself The Fearless. You and I are children of France, the son and daughter of the king, scions of Valois as he is himself, and yet he has treated us both like the lowest worms that crawl on the earth, making you a bastard and me a whore. He is a son of Beelzebub, whose hellfire is not hot enough to consume him. Against all Christian principles of loving thine enemy, I hereby declare that I hate and abhor Jean, Duke of Burgundy, more than I hate and abhor those who crucified Our Lord.

  I cannot write what it is that Burgundy has done to me because there is still enough remaining of my innocence that I am ignoran
t of the words to describe it. Suffice it to say that I believe I remain a virgin, in the precise nature of the term, but even so he has destroyed every vestige of the purity of my soul. He threatens imprisonment and even death to my dearest friends and companions if I do not submit and I must remain constantly under the same threat and coercion as long as Burgundy holds the position he presently occupies beside the king.

  For our father’s sake I must not give in to despair. He is at present in the grip of the worst form of his affliction.

  You once told me that you thought I would never take my own life because I am too stubborn and too devout, but that one day I might wish I had. That day has come.

  Pray for me I beseech you,

  Your sister beset by evil.

  Catherine

  Written at Pontoise Castle, in the early hours of Tuesday, September 30th, 1418.

  Those were dark days, when we all learned what it was to be powerless in the grip of evil. The Duke of Burgundy came often to Catherine’s chamber before the court left Pontoise and on each occasion she would warn me to keep away.

  ‘I do not on any account want him to see you, Mette. He would not hesitate to kill anyone he thought might threaten his position.’

  Burgundy would signal his intention during dinner, by carving a choice piece off his own portion of meat and having it presented to her by an attendant. I saw it happen the first time and initially thought nothing of it because the code of good manners among the nobility held it to be a gesture of esteem for food to be shared in this way between occupants of the high table, but I noticed that when the page bent his knee beside Catherine’s chair and offered the duke’s gift, she went as white as the manchet bread from which the royal trenchers were cut. When I mentioned it later she tearfully revealed the significance of the action.

  For a time I wondered how the duke entered Catherine’s lodgings without passing the guards at the entrance, but I soon solved that riddle. The stair which led up to the salon and bedchamber also led down into a vaulted under-croft where supplies were stored against the possibility of a siege – barrels of salted meat and fish and sacks of flour. Armed with a lamp, I ventured down into the dark recesses of the vault and in a far corner discovered that some barrels had been moved to expose a mildewed door with freshly-greased hinges. I remembered what the carter had told me on the day of our arrival, about the castle being built on the remains of an ancient fort and I guessed that the duke was making use of some underground connection between the keep and the tower, as the intruder must also have done who removed the incriminating gold hanap from the strongbox. So Burgundy had planned his evil predations well in advance and ensured that Catherine was given her particular lodging on purpose, with its convenient underground access and lack of accommodation for inconvenient ladies-in-waiting. When Burgundy discovered that Alys and I were sleeping in the princess’ chamber, it must have irked him considerably, but it also showed him the high regard in which Catherine held us and thus the means whereby to exert his will.