‘Your grace, my lord, my husband! You cannot mean to do this!’ cried Catherine in great distress.
‘The constable knows I am a man of my word,’ King Henry said again. ‘Calm yourself, Madame, the gates will open.’
But they did not. The wailing increased to a dreadful crescendo and the prisoners called to their families and to heaven again and again.
Catherine fell to her knees before Henry and clasped her hands together in supplication. ‘I am your queen and I am begging you for these men’s lives. They are not soldiers, my liege, they are family men, merchants and tradesmen who do not deserve to die. For your conscience and your soul do not do this.’
King Henry took her hands and gazed at her long and hard. ‘I understand your feelings, Catherine, and if I could I would grant your plea, for the laws of chivalry allow a king to accede to the supplication of his queen. But this is a matter of honour. The constable harbours known felons. He is the one to blame, he and his commander, the Pretender. They both know that unless a relief army is sent, the castle will have to surrender. There is no sign of a relief army. The garrison should surrender now. The lives of these men will be on the conscience of the constable, not mine.’
His face was a stern mask as he raised his arm and gave the signal to the hangman. With one fatal pull on the lever, the hatch dropped and the ten men fell through the gallows’ floor. Catherine buried her face in her hands and I rushed to comfort her. From the battlements the heart-breaking screams of the wives and children froze my blood. King Henry watched the ten bodies sway and jerk in a slow grisly dance then he turned and walked away as the rain began to fall in great oily drops. Within seconds the guns began to roar one after another.
‘Jesu, Mette, I am married to a monster!’ Catherine sobbed in my arms.
36
After the Montereau hangings relations between the newlyweds were frosty, to put it mildly. Nor was the ice any more likely to melt after the castle opened its gates only eight days later, proving what a waste of human life the whole sorry episode had been. The only thing the cold-blooded execution of ten men had achieved was a delay, time enough to allow the men held responsible for the devil duke’s death to somehow spirit themselves away to Melun, another of the royal castles now held by the dauphin’s supporters. Having achieved little except a serious dent in his reputation, the situation had left King Henry furious and frustrated. He was still bound by his vow to Philippe of Burgundy and so found himself unable to pursue his own primary aim, which was to confront the dauphin in his southern strongholds of Berry, Orleans and Touraine. Perhaps by way of distraction, he instead relentlessly pursued his other current endeavour – to father an heir.
Still haunted by the hangings, Catherine suffered Henry’s regular connubial visits in sullen silence and he apparently made no effort to placate her. The siege honeymoon had become just that, with Henry firing frequent salvos but making no apparent breach in Catherine’s defences. It seemed that she was almost back in the dark days of the devil duke, except that this time the violation was legal and sanctioned by the Church.
After a fortnight of this marital stand-off I received a summons from the Duchess of Clarence. She and her husband had a suite of rooms in a separate tower of the castle at Bray and I was escorted there by a page wearing the Clarence lions. I found the duchess alone and, cutting short my dutiful bend of the knee, she beckoned me forward to sit beside her in a low-backed chair. ‘Thank you for responding so promptly to my call, Madame,’ she began graciously. ‘I know that you often visit your daughter and little granddaughter at this time of day. It must be a great comfort to you to have them here close by.’
I was faintly alarmed at the thought that my movements had been so carefully observed and reported on, but hoped that I hid my consternation. ‘Yes indeed, your grace,’ I agreed politely, wondering what was coming.
When Margaret of Clarence smiled, as she did then, it was easy to see why she had been considered one of the court beauties of her day. ‘I know very well the joy that children bring for I bore my first husband six. Sadly however, that was not a happy marriage, whereas my present marriage was made for love but has produced no children. So I know the vicissitudes of the marriage bed.’
The duchess paused as if to gather her thoughts, smoothing the magnificent figured silk of her skirt with her ring-laden fingers. I thought it best to remain silent, waiting for her to continue.
‘Also, as a result, I am both aunt and sister-by-marriage to the king and therefore one of the few women who know him well, all of which explains why it is to me that he has turned for help in a very private matter. Before I continue however, I must impress on you, Madame Lanière, that what passes between us from now on is to remain absolutely confidential. I know you have always had Queen Catherine’s best interests at heart and therefore I can trust you not to repeat a word of this conversation.’
‘If it concerns her grace then of course you have the promise of my complete discretion, Madame,’ I declared. ‘I will swear it on the bible if you wish.’
‘That will not be necessary.’ The gleam of a smile sprang once more to the duchess’s thick-lashed grey eyes. ‘Queen Catherine tells me you are her most trusted confidante and that is enough for me.’
‘I am fortunate to remain high in the queen’s regard, Madame. I owe her everything.’
She nodded, satisfied. ‘Very well – let us get down to business. My task is this – to ask for your help on behalf of King Henry.’ She shifted a little in her chair, as if settling herself to the job in hand. ‘It must be obvious to anyone with sensitivity that the king is a complex character – a driven man with huge ambition for himself and his country. He also has great faith in God and a hungry intellect.
‘However, it must be admitted that he lacks emotional depth. His mother died when he was eight and he was reared in a completely male environment to be a soldier and a king. If he has a soft side it has never had a chance to develop. However, he is sensitive enough to realise that something has gone badly wrong in his relationship with Catherine. The bright and beautiful girl he thought he was marrying seems to have vanished. Oh, she does not defy him or refuse him, but she is cold and silent. While she gives him her body, she has closed her mind to him. I thought that you might have some idea why this should be so. Apparently the first days of the marriage were quite satisfactory from his point of view. It is only in recent weeks that things have changed. He simply does not know what to do.’
I did not respond immediately, but sat pensively rubbing my palms together, thoughts tumbling in my head. Should I be tactful and vague, or should I be honest? I glanced up into the duchess’s clear, searching gaze and opted for the latter, though nervously.
‘Might I suggest more precisely that it has been since the unfortunate hanging of hostages in full view of their wives and children under the walls of Montereau castle, Madame, that her highness has changed towards her husband?’ I offered.
Margaret of Clarence raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah. Do you think that might have something to do with it?’
‘More than that, I would suggest that it is the chief cause of the coolness between them,’ I persisted. ‘To speak plainly, it was unwise of the king to ask Queen Catherine to witness that event. She is young and has been protected from much of the violence of war. Any girl of her age and upbringing would be dreadfully shocked by such a gruesome, and might I suggest regrettable, sight?’
The duchess frowned angrily. ‘I was not aware that she was there. I can easily imagine that she was very shocked. Is there any way you can suggest that he might redress this error, Madame?’
‘Short of bringing the ten men back to life, no, Madame,’ I said with a grim smile. ‘However, I did indicate that was the main cause of the queen’s withdrawal – not the only one. There is also the matter of the way King Henry treats her.’
The Duchess cleared her throat. ‘Ahem. I hope she is not coy about her duty in the marriage bed. She is his wife and
she is not a child. She cannot deny him his marital rights.’
I shook my head. ‘No, no. She understands that and I note that King Henry has not implied that she does. But before the unfortunate incident at Montereau, she had expressed concern to me that the king was very formal in his manner at all times, even in bed. She said that he was polite and kind and did not frighten her, but nor did he offer any tenderness or intimacy.’ I spread my hands. ‘She may not be a child but she is still a young girl and all young girls hanker after a little romance, do they not? Even in a marriage that has been arranged by lawyers and fixed by treaty.’
‘So you think I should teach the king how to be romantic?’ One of the duchess’ eyebrows had taken on a distinct upward slant and I detected a suppressed twinkle in her eye.
‘Well – yes, Madame. At least someone should.’
‘Hm,’ she pondered. ‘And you really believe that a little sweet-talking would help?’
‘If King Henry is able to urge his army to victory against the odds I am sure he can cajole one young girl to come willingly to his arms.’
The duchess looked a little doubtful. ‘Perhaps, but those are two very different tasks. However, I will tell him of your advice.’
It was my turn to look doubtful. ‘Would you not prefer to offer it as your own, Madame? After all it was to you he turned, not to the queen’s servant.’
From under the arch of her fine brows those shrewd grey eyes studied my face for a long moment and then she nodded. ‘You are a wise woman, Madame. I can see why Queen Catherine values your advice.’
I smiled ruefully. ‘Not always, your grace. She has a strong will. King Henry should bear that in mind also.’
‘I think he has discovered that already,’ the duchess remarked dryly, reaching for the little bell that stood on the table beside her. ‘Now that our business is over, Madame, let us take a little refreshment together. If you are willing to tell me, I would be fascinated to hear how you became such a pillar of Queen Catherine’s life.’
I do not know when the Duchess of Clarence managed to speak to King Henry, for the next day news came that we were to move on. The Duke and Duchess of Burgundy were to follow Jean the Fearless’ catafalque back to Dijon, where the murdered duke would finally be interred in the family basilica. The Duke of Clarence had already begun the laborious process of laying siege to yet another town, this time the formidable stronghold of Melun and, much to her dismay, Catherine was to join her parents at the castle of Corbeil, whence King Charles had been taken to enjoy some hunting.
I found the return to Corbeil castle unsettling, which is not surprising as it reminded me of my meeting with the dauphin and all the things, bad and good, that had happened as a result of that meeting. For her part, Catherine instantly hated the place; hated its thick walls and small, defensive windows and the heat which seemed to clog its cramped courtyards. And whereas in the past she had generally managed to keep her temper with her ever more fractious mother, she was now prone to exploit her equal status and argue with Queen Isabeau over the slightest difference of opinion. After only a couple of days she took to avoiding her mother’s company as much as possible, taking her meals in her chamber and resorting to her usual solace of rides out into the surrounding countryside, but even they did not seem to lighten her mood. I began to worry as her appetite waned once more and then she became even more depressed when Eve’s curse arrived, confirming for another month her failure to conceive an heir. When she woke to discover blood on the sheets, she sobbed in my arms. Gently I pointed out that it was not long since she had sworn to me that the idea of bearing an heir to a monster was abhorrent.
‘You do not understand!’ she cried in despair. ‘I said that because I hate him for killing those poor men at Montereau but now I realise that the sooner I am pregnant the sooner he will leave me alone and not treat me like a brood mare. He is charm itself when he visits, now that Margaret of Clarence has shown him how to be – oh yes, I know about that! – but as soon as he gets into bed he becomes like a stallion in a stable yard. Mount, mate, off!’
She dissolved into a paroxysm of sobbing, burying her face in the bedclothes and punching the pillow. Her hair was tangled and damp with sweat as I stroked her head with motherly concern, racking my brains for some way to relieve her misery.
In contrast to Catherine’s dejection, Alys was blooming in her new abode; a workshop and rooms that had been found for them in the town, on a street close to the castle entrance. There was a small garth at the back of the house and a young local girl had been hired to help with Catrine while Alys assisted Jacques to sew more of the light summer gowns Catherine needed so desperately.
To her surprise King Henry was not too disheartened by the arrival of Catherine’s monthly courses, for nothing seemed to dampen his good spirits. Far from feeling drained as she was by the excessive summer heat, he was full of energy, riding frequently between Melun and Corbeil and even taking the trouble to send Edmund Beaufort to tell Catherine if he was not able to come. The siege of Melun was a complex one, but the difficult logistics only served to fuel his enthusiasm. So absorbed was he by his plans and strategies that he could talk of nothing else over the suppers he shared with Catherine in her chamber on the evenings of his visits. Unexpectedly he continued to come, even when he was kept from her bed by faithful observation of church strictures on the taint of menstrual flow.
I undertook to serve these meals, as I had during Prince Charles’ visits at St Pol, and King Henry grew used to my discreet presence just as Catherine’s brother had. It was as a result of one of their conversations that an idea came to me of how to relieve Catherine’s despondency, inspired by something the king himself said.
‘How do you think your father would fare if he joined the siege camp?’ he asked her as she toyed with some rather rich venison stew. ‘His presence could be very useful in parleys.’
Catherine frowned, pushing her bowl away. ‘But where would he lodge? You know how intensely he fears being shattered. I do not think he could bear the insecurity of a tent and he would be terrified by the sound of the guns.’
‘Yes, I realise that, but I believe my carpenters could build him a wooden pavilion similar to my tennis court, only with a roof and windows and even a padded chamber, just like the one he sleeps in now.’
‘Would that not take a long time to build?’
Henry laughed. ‘No, you do not realise how quickly my carpenters work. They can build a scaling tower in half a day. Such a pavilion will not take more than a few days, even with embellishment fit for a king.’
‘In that case, I think it a good idea. He has never fared well in the heat and I am sure he would benefit from the fresh air. As long as he cannot hear the guns and can sleep in a safe place. But what would you expect him to do?’
‘Just show himself now and then to the castle defenders. We would stop the guns while he did so. Their commander is one Seigneur de Barbasan, a doughty knight for whom I have great respect, but I fear he does not return the compliment. He declares that he will not parley with “the ancient and deadly enemy of France” but only with his liege lord, King Charles the Sixth.’ The king shrugged. ‘I can see his point of view, but I am sure that even if Barbasan does not immediately surrender, your father’s presence there might encourage the townspeople to put pressure on him. King Charles and Queen Isabeau are still very popular in Melun and conditions within the walls are appalling in this heat.’
Catherine fanned herself with her hand. ‘That I can believe,’ she said with feeling. ‘They are nearly as terrible here.’
I saw him regard her then with a surprisingly tender look and reach over to push a damp tendril of her hair back under the edge of her headdress. ‘Why do you not take this off Catherine? Would it not be cooler?’
She blushed then, as hotly as Edmund Beaufort did when she smiled at him, and at that moment I knew that the hangings at Montereau had not entirely killed her feelings for him. However he did not remove t
he artfully wired veil that hid her hair. ‘If it would please you, my lord, I will leave it off the next time you come,’ she said softly.
He chuckled at that, a rich, throaty sound I had not heard before. ‘It would please me as much as it obviously pleases you to tease me with waiting, my lady!’ he smiled.
The next morning I screwed up my courage and sent a page with a message to request an audience with the Duchess of Clarence. King Henry had already shown himself receptive to suggestions from her, so I hoped she might consent to plant the seed of my latest idea.
A few days later, Edmund Beaufort told us that carpenters had begun mysterious building works in a hidden green valley not far from the Melun camp.
‘As the king has spent so many nights away lately, the men suspect he has a mistress and is preparing to accommodate her closer to hand,’ the young squire said, adding indignantly, ‘Such coarse, common creatures do not understand that a king with a queen as beautiful as your grace would not need a mistress.’
‘Why thank you, Edmund!’ Catherine appeared delighted both by the compliment and the shy devotion of the boy who delivered it. ‘Pray do not disappoint them with the truth, which is that it is the queen’s father not the king’s mistress who is to be accommodated. Truth is never as fascinating as rumour, is it?’
To make the most of the cooler morning air, I usually rose at first light and attended to Catherine’s wardrobe, and there before cockcrow a few days later King Henry’s page brought me a summons to attend him. As I followed the messenger I was assailed by unpleasant memories of a similar summons two years before in Pontoise and became alarmed at finding armed guards at the door of the Corbeil Constable’s chamber. On admittance however, I was reassured to find King Henry sitting alone at a table piled with letters and documents awaiting his attention.
With a brief nod he acknowledged my bend of the knee and gestured me to rise. ‘I have dismissed my clerks for I wish to talk with you confidentially, Madame Lanière,’ he began without preliminaries. ‘The Duchess of Clarence speaks warmly of your wisdom and discretion.’
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