by Anne O'Brien
And yet he was changed, I decided, as he gave orders to his men, conversed with the Bishop, listened to the complaints of Worcester, then clipped his brother Somerset’s arm with a bark of laughter. Sometimes his tongue was like a blackthorn, sharp, precise, excusing none, until it became as smooth as a honeyed warden pear, inviting friendship, offering clemency. There was, indeed, only one man who drew the eye in that room. Only one dominant power. In those three years and more he had grown into his rank and made it his own, an impressive figure, more than worthy of his father’s shoes. Henry might not wear a royal coronet, but it was as if its distinction gleamed on his brow. If he was proud as Lancaster, he was doubly so now. Even when he bowed to kiss the Bishop of Exeter’s ring, he was the imperious King of England in every word, every gesture.
How little I knew of this man who in the eye of the law was my husband. This was the man to whom I owed my loyalty and my obedience.
A guffaw of laughter took my notice. What was it that would make him laugh? I had no idea. There had been little laughter in our experience together. How would I reach out and touch this man who was a stranger? What would I say to him after the trivia of welcome? Moreover, what would he think of me after our years apart? Would I see disappointment in his eye?
Marie de Parency was hovering to remove and dispose of my cloak, my hood, my gloves, and in true female style, as I removed them, smoothing my own skirts, twitching the short veil that protected the rolled silk chaplet, into some sort of order, I wished I did not look so travel-worn for this first meeting. Henry was far finer than I.
At last, Henry bowed.
‘Your chamber is arranged, Madam. Your daughters and their nurse are taken care of. And your household.’ Henry’s smile became a grin. ‘Your nurse has confiscated the pipe, but I’m sure we can negotiate for its return tomorrow. For a little while at least.’
Negotiate.
Negotiation was a skill in which I had competency. Was that what we must do now? Negotiate a new relationship?
‘I would be grateful for a few words in private, sir,’ I said.
‘I expected no less,’ came the reply. ‘In fact, to my mind it is imperative. We have waited long enough on the needs of others.’
He took my hand and led me to an anteroom that was empty of people and much else, sparsely furnished except for a carved cupboard painted with a frieze of prim saints, a prie dieu and a crucifix, although it had to be said that the tapestries were very fine, if not what I would have chosen for this occasion with their vivid seraphic scenes, sufficient to uplift the senses with anticipation of heavenly joy after death. Perhaps it was a chamber used by the Bishop, whose rooms we had just commandeered, for his private devotions. There we stood at last.
When we had last met in this fashion, Henry had kissed me with some passion, and I him. Henry had spoken of love, nor had I been slow in my response. The air around us had been bright with our desire to be together, even as we acknowledged that it could never be. Now here we were, man and wife before the law. But no kisses here. No easy words. Nothing but a shaking quagmire beneath our feet. We stepped as carefully as ambassadors of a hostile power, facing an unpredictable relationship.
‘I should ask pardon for my late arrival,’ Henry began.
‘We were blown off course,’ I explained unnecessarily.
‘I was waiting at Farnham, expecting you to put in at Southampton. I raced west when I heard. Your couriers tracked me down.’
‘Bishop Henry was certain they would.’
This was not the conversation I wanted. I wanted to know if he was gratified to see me here on English soil, if he had any reservations over this marriage upon which we had embarked in a fit of extravagance. I wanted to tell him that, although he might be assured, I was suddenly troubled by the finality of what I had done. What we had done. That I was not sure, and never would be unless we could revisit the past and all we had seemed to mean to each other. I needed to explain that I felt akin to the tapestry behind me. I seemed to be standing in a deep pit, steep-sided, with no angelic ladder to help me discover a path to paradise. What was worse, I had dug the pit myself.
I could not remember the passion that he had stirred in me.
Meanwhile, Henry was hunting for wine within the preserve of the painted saints. There was none, and since there were neither stools nor chairs for our use, Henry was soon standing in front of me again while the angelic throng rioted around us in their heavenly abode. But at least a cloak of honesty fell over us when Henry began to speak.
‘I am finding it uncommonly difficult to initiate a conversation with you, Madam Joanna, despite the fact that you are by law my wife. Once, as I recall, I kissed you and pledged you my love until the day of my death. And you, Madam Joanna, were quick to kiss me and tell me that my love was returned in equal part.’ A smile gleamed in his eye although his face remained severe. ‘How is it that we have nothing to say to each other now?’
My lips parted to reply. Then closed. How disconcerting.
I could negotiate a treaty with this man. I could discuss the strengths and weaknesses of royal finances. I could certainly explain the intricacies of French policies, their search for power and ambitions to acquire more land. I could oversee and explain the state of domestic expenditure in a royal household. I could even begin negotiations for a royal marriage. I could be obedient and dutiful, supportive and loyal, forthright and well-informed, sure of my power; reliable for all those tasks a royal husband might ask of his wife, a superb helpmeet. I had done all of those things, been all of those things. I could do them all again.
But love? How could I talk of love? I had no experience of it.
‘Are you well?’ he asked as if he feared that my silence might be a remnant of mal de mer.
‘I am, sir. And you?’
Holy Virgin! My mind scrabbled to express all the feelings that I had believed were there, in my heart, in my mind. In a moment of inexplicable trepidation I felt I needed Lord Thomas to interpret between us. I had felt closer to Henry when the wooing had been in Lord Thomas’s surprisingly eloquent hands. Facing the reality of Henry’s glittering eminence, I was at a loss.
This was no good!
‘Henry…’ I said.
‘Joanna…’ he replied, eyes gleaming again with perhaps a little mischief.
‘I need to say…’
Say what is in your heart.
‘Tell me what it is you need to say. And I will tell you what is in my mind,’ Henry invited. He was not tongue-tied, but then he had already married a woman he loved. He knew the rules of this game far better than I.
‘What I wish to say, what I wish to know, is…’
A figure, stepping quietly into the shadow of the carved arch of the doorway, took my eye, stilled my tongue.
Do you still love me, Henry? Because I am floundering in the unknown. The words I would have spoken faded into the air around us as Henry gave his attention to his brother, Bishop Henry.
‘Forgive the intrusion, Henry.’ At least the Bishop acknowledged me with a little nod of his head. ‘I understand how difficult this is. But do we go on tomorrow?’
‘Yes, we do. We’ve no time to waste.’
‘That’s what I said. It’s just that His Grace of Exeter is planning to bless your arrival and your union with the lady in a High Mass. If we are to escape, we need your authority. He won’t accept mine.’ Bishop Henry shrugged, in no manner discommoded. ‘One day he will, but for now it has to come from the King’s own mouth.’
‘Tell the good bishop what the King’s own mouth is saying.’ How it pleased me to hear Henry’s exasperation, much like my own. ‘Tell his grace that I am in a delicate meeting with the Duchess of Brittany. With my wife. With whom I have not had conversation for more months than I can count.’
Bishop Henry’s face had stilled. ‘There is another matter, Henry.’
‘Can it not wait?’
‘It cannot. Owain Glyn Dwr can never wait.’
&
nbsp; Momentarily a frown touched Henry’s brow, the jewels on Henry’s breast glinting as he moved fully to face his brother. ‘Does it need to be addressed now?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I’ll come,’ Henry said, and to me:‘Forgive me.’
‘Of course. Is there a problem?’
‘Nothing that need give you concern.’
‘Who is Owain Glyn Dwr?’
This gentleman was swept aside, Henry’s hand flaring with a ruby, deep crimson at its heart. ‘Just a temporary Welsh thorn in my flesh. Nothing that will spoil our marriage.’
But I thought his smile was thin and I swallowed a sigh. So much for our intimate exchange of thoughts, ended before it had begun. It should not have surprised me, for was not a sovereign’s life at the beck and call of others? Henry was a new king with an impression to make. Nor, clearly, was he ready to let me into his confidence. I prepared to follow Henry back into the Bishop’s audience chamber where the easy conversation had, in our brief absence, become something of a heated exchange. But Henry, instead of moving forward, suddenly came to a halt in the doorway, half-turning towards me.
‘I know you had a hard journey. My people told me of the dangers you had to face to come here. I would not have had that for the world. I had hoped for a good landing, and for me to be with you when you set foot on the shore of your future home. Instead it was all hardship and unpleasantness, although even Worcester admitted you were a most courageous traveller.’
‘I was well cared for.’
Henry’s smile was wry. ‘I can take no blame for the storms—I am not master of the waves—but I am sorry. Perhaps I should have postponed your coming until the spring and calmer seas. But I was in haste to meet with you again. I believed that you felt the same.’ His chin tilted, eyes quizzical as he watched my reactions. His smile was quite gone. ‘How hard it must have been for you, leaving your sons behind. I presume that was the King of France’s doing?’ For the first time we were touching on personal matters.
‘Yes, through my uncle of Burgundy. I was warned what would happen.’
‘You know of course that it was indirectly an attack against me. A malicious ploy, to threaten you and so prevent your alliance with a man France sees as an enemy and a foul usurper. France will not enjoy the prospect of any formal alliance between England and Brittany.’
‘Yes. I know it.’ I could not deny it. ‘My uncle of Burgundy did not think I would risk so much to come here to you.’
Henry took a step back into the room.
‘Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell me that such abhorrent pressure was being placed on you? It was not right that you should carry such a burden alone.’
A little warmth stole into my heart, that he should care, but I kept my reply businesslike, because that is what he wanted. ‘Because the decision had to be mine. It would have been unjust to shuffle Burgundy’s threats onto your shoulders, however willing they might be to take the burden.’
‘A woman of integrity.’
‘I hope so.’
‘How do I show my appreciation for such a sacrifice? To choose life here with me rather than the care of your sons. Many women would not. I admire your courage.’
It unlocked my words, his care for me, his ultimate compassion.
‘I was anguished. But I have no regrets for being here. If I appear less than joyful, you must put the blame on the effects of the lamentable voyage.’
‘An honest woman and a strong one too. I knew I had not been wrong in my judgement.’
So I had been lacking in grace at our meeting on the road. I felt heat rise in my face as I sought to find words to make reparation, yet in the end I had no need of them, because Henry, astonishingly, understood.
‘Do you think I have no intimation of all you have been through?’ he asked. ‘You could not be more wrong. Thomas de Camoys has proved to be a man of remarkable intuition, who reported your trials with no bending of his damned knee to my royal dignity. I know you have had no one to lean on. Now I give you permission to lean on me.’ And he was striding back across the room, gripping my hands in his, clasping them together within the calloused shelter of his own. He kissed one cheek and then the other, then my lips. ‘There is my promise for the future, superficial as it must be. Now I must deal with this matter of Glyn Dwr before my brother returns to drag me away.’ He re-covered the ground to the door at a lope, before looking back over his shoulder. ‘You are far more beautiful than Ambassador Rhys who stood as your proxy. We will make a magnificent union of it.’ His smile was intoxicating, like a cup of hippocras on a winter’s morn. Before it vanished as fast as it had appeared. ‘I could have lost you to the storms before I had even found you again.’
Alone again, I watched as Henry departed to inform the Bishop of Exeter that his offer of a Mass was kind but not necessary, before addressing himself to his counsellors and knights who were still in hard discussion. Henry was not smiling now. It worried me that there were pressures on him of which I was not aware. But I would remedy that, as I would seduce the fractious English.
‘I could have lost you to the storms before I had even found you again.’
Henry could never have known how important that declamation was to me. I would prove to be a good wife and an effective queen. Henry would, in his own good time, enlighten me as to the importance of this man Owain Glyn Dwr. And perhaps Henry would even find the time, and the inclination, to kiss me again. It might be that I would rediscover that moment of pure mystical happiness in the chapel at Nantes that had evaded me ever since.
*
‘Where are we going now?’ I asked, barely able to catch my breath.
Our royal party made its way, in a rush now, from west to east, through Bridport and on to Salisbury, where I managed another brief, almost private, conversation with Henry. A matter of minutes. Would our life together always be like this, with demands on his time and his ear, battering at him from every side? It had been difficult to get him alone to any degree, even though I considered myself to be mistress of manoeuvrings and organisation.
‘Winchester,’ Henry replied, reading a courier’s delivery held in one hand, at the same time eating a mutton pasty grasped with the other, liberally spreading crumbs that were pounced on by the dark-brindled greyhound that frequented Henry’s heels. Nothing regal or imperious about him this morning. I had forgone the pasty.
‘Winchester,’ I said. I had expected London. Were not royal marriages performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury with all the sacred majesty and soaring arches of Westminster Abbey to give appropriate verisimilitude? That much I knew. It was certainly what I was expecting. As a Valois princess it was my due.
Henry heard my hesitation. He finished the pasty with a quick chew, licked his fingers and thrust the letter into his belt.
‘We will be wed at Winchester. I have a debt to pay to Bishop Wykeham.’
‘A debt?’
His smile was magnificently enigmatic. ‘I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. We will honour him with our presence. And now I need to give some instructions to my ever-glowering and dissatisfied lord of Worcester…’
It was clear that he did not intend to say more about the debt, or the instructions, whatever they might be. I was left watching his retreating figure, catching a brisk list of orders being delivered. I was left to ponder my situation. Once again Henry was walking away from me while I was being kept in the dark, growing darker by the minute.
When I wed John of Brittany, and I a young girl under the dominion of my father, it was an occasion of much rejoicing and expense, an opportunity for the aristocracy of Navarre and France to join with their Breton relatives, all encased in gold and jewels and damasked satin. I had been young and overawed, even anxious of an event that had not been my choice. My father’s will had been my law. This marriage in England was my choice, at my behest, yet still I was anxious, now that the moment had arrived, when I had not thought I would be so. How could I
be anxious about an event I had striven so hard to encompass? But would this place Winchester be sufficient for a royal wedding? My haphazard arrival gave me no intimation that it would have suitable grandeur.
Perhaps Henry was aware of my concerns for, having dispatched a squire to ride on ahead, he returned to where I still stood and continued as if there had been no interruption.
‘Then, when we are wed, we will go to London and you will be crowned at Westminster.’ He was still brushing crumbs from his sleeve. ‘There you will receive all due consideration as a princess of the Valois blood.’
There was an astringency in that final observation, in the sharp glance. So Henry had noted my disapprobation at being escorted with no more ceremony than an item of luggage.
‘I have no doubt of it, my lord,’ I said with praiseworthy composure.
Oh, but I had. Too many doubts, as we were given orders to mount. I felt that I was part of a campaign in which I was not a priority. A situation that I might accept, if someone took the time to inform me. Henry rode off.
‘The King is preoccupied, my lady,’ Lord Thomas observed at my side. ‘It is not an easy time for him.’ Now why did I feel that he had been ordered to keep me company? He made, as ever, an eloquent apologist for my absent husband.
‘I had noticed it.’ A little flame of temper flickered in the grey morning. ‘Perhaps you would explain to me why we are in such a hurry.’ I turned my head to look directly at him.
For a moment Lord Thomas looked like a hunted man, then came up with:‘Perhaps because our King cannot wait to make so beautiful a woman as yourself his wife, my lady.’
‘Base flattery, my lord,’ I replied briskly, without compassion for my companion who had coloured to the roots of his hair. ‘All I know is that there are events pressing on us that no one is speaking of in my hearing. Including you, Lord Thomas. Are there untold difficulties in this kingdom?’
‘No difficulties that cannot be solved, my lady.’