'And what of the Scots King's ransom?' Talbot demanded. 'If he is killed in France we won't get one gold piece of it.'
'We may be sure the King does not wish that,' Humfrey said with finality, and rose, putting an end to further discussion. He would enjoy telling that restless unhappy young man that his leash was being lengthened; perhaps that would stop him mooning over Joan Beaufort.
In June Humfrey signed the proclamation of the good news that King Harry had married his Catherine in a magnificent ceremony which was only slightly marred by the new Duke Philip of Burgundy attending in deep mourning. The French Queen had disowned the Dauphin, hinting that he might be the bastard of one of her many lovers, Harry was proclaimed Regent and heir of France, and the whole of England went mad with joy, the celebrations in London lasting many weeks.
By Candlemas the next year Harry brought his bride home, freed of her shyness and lively to talk to. Humfrey considered it a waste of time to converse at any length with people who were not well informed, but Catherine had been educated to her position, and he discovered she had read not only her own French poetess, Madame de Pisan, but a translation of Master Chaucer's Troilus. Harry was immersed in business now that he was home after more than three years and was glad to see his bride entertained by his youngest brother.
'I hear you had only two bridal days before you rode off with the army,' Humfrey said one evening when they were alone in Harry's private solar.
'The war did not stop for my nuptials,' the King said, and then he grinned with a youthfulness Humfrey had not seen for a long time. 'I wish you had been there. They have some odd customs. In the middle of my wedding night half a dozen lords burst into our chamber with bowls of soup and wine – to refresh us! Yes, I thought it would amuse you.'
Humfrey was sprawled on Harry's bed and he flung his arms behind his head in a paroxysm of mirth. 'Holy Cross! At an awkward moment, I can guess.'
'Yes,' Harry agreed ruefully. 'The French are a strange people, but Catherine is –' he paused, 'my delight.'
At the end of February it fell to Humfrey as Great Chamberlain to organize her coronation feast. No task could have been more to his liking for he arranged pageants from ancient history, readings of poetry, music and songs and dancing. He designed costumes himself, gathered all the talent he could find and in the great hall at Westminster stood bare-headed with his wand of office to supervise the whole fantastic affair.
It was not many days afterwards that Harry sent for him and asked abruptly if he remembered the late Count of Holland's visit with the Emperor Sigismund and the unhappy troubles of his daughter and heir, the Countess Jacqueline.
'Of course I remember,' Humfrey said. 'She's married to the Duke of Brabant who from all accounts is a poor sort of creature.'
'Exactly,' the King agreed. 'Her father's brother, whom men well-named the Pitiless, seized her lands by a nasty piece of trickery, and she writes asking me if I will allow her sanctuary in England. As Warden of Dover will you go and greet her in my name?'
'Of course,' Humfrey said. 'Poor woman, I pity her the two husbands she has had.'
'I believe,' Harry said carefully, 'she is already petitioning the Pope for divorce.'
Humfrey took the road for Dover lost in thought. He had hardly arrived there when he received some unhappy news. His brother Thomas had been besieging the Dauphin's forces before Baugé and in an impulsive attempt to prove himself as brilliant a soldier as his eldest brother he had hurled his troops against the Dauphin's army, recently reinforced by Scottish volunteers.
They had been cut to pieces. Clarence died in the first few minutes, Somerset and Huntingdon were prisoners and it was a grievous defeat. They had never been close but Humfrey mourned his brother. As for the insufferable Somerset, perhaps a spell in a French prison would take some of the conceit out of him. Huntingdon had apparently acquitted himself better than in previous encounters and no doubt would be ransomed in due course, but it was Thomas who occupied Humfrey's thoughts at the moment. Consequently it was dressed entirely in black that he went down to the harbour to meet the Duchess Jacqueline, wishing she had arrived any time but the present moment.
Her ship was riding at anchor, the sails furled, and in the stiff wind her skirts blew, her mantle was tossed upwards and the scarf about her neck twisted itself over her face, while her headdress an elaborate affair of silver cloth and wire and gauze, became dislodged, was caught by the wind and blown into the sea where it bobbed on the water like a miniature silver boat. Her flaxen hair, coiled tightly about her head, loosened and fell heavily on to her shoulders. Her women ran to help her and Humfrey expected her to be irritated by this spoiling of her dignified arrival. Instead, the face that was revealed from behind the rebellious scarf bore no such sign. The Duchess Jacqueline sat down on one of her travelling chests and had lapsed into giggles as Humfrey came forward to take her hand. He gave her his usual swift summing-up. She was short and inclined to plumpness but her round face was rosy with health, her features flat in the Flemish style, her eyes a deep luminous blue. Fearless eyes he thought, showing courage and humour, and he bent to kiss her fingers with a smile on his own face.
'Welcome, my lady,' he said, 'I am sorry an English wind should so ill treat you.'
Her women had caught up the plaits, found more pins and used her scarf as a veil, but Jacqueline was unruffled. 'I bless your English breeze,' she answered, 'for it has brought me safe to your white cliffs. I have heard of them and watched for them as we came across. I think you have a beautiful land, my lord Duke.'
'I undertake to show it to you – there's more than white cliffs to England.' Courteously he offered her his arm and as they turned away to where he had horses waiting, half a dozen urchins who had been gaping at the arrival plunged into the sea to retrieve the Duchess's lost hat.
Humfrey entertained her to dinner in the castle, the hall in the centre of the keep hung with tapestries and banners, fresh sweet smelling rushes mixed with herbs on the stone floor, and the food served on gold and silver platters. Gloucester Herald announced the grace to be said by Master Beckington, now with a permanent post in Humfrey's household, and then in a ringing tone ordered in the ushers. They came bearing gold dishes, one heaped with sliced crane's meat, another with roast suckling pig, there were pigeon pies, baked mallard, tarts and jellies and pretty 'subtleties' to tempt the appetite. It was all done very much in the grand manner and during the meal the conversation was general, Lady Berkeley and Lady Hungerford both endeavouring to make the guest welcome. While they chatted Humfrey leaned back and watched the Duchess, was pleased with what he saw, and during the evening exerted himself to make witty conversation, so that she laughed often.
On the morrow they were to ride to Canterbury, and on the second day they reached Leeds Castle. In the evening the Duchess was exclaiming on the beauty of the place and as the air was mild, Humfrey offered his arm and suggested a stroll by the waterside. Lord Berkeley and Madame Huysegon, one of Jacqueline's ladies, followed at a distance, but for a while host and guest were reasonably private. There were ducks on the lake and waddling about the grass, and Jacqueline said, 'At home I feed them. It is a childish sport but they are so comical.'
'It is good not to be too serious,' Humfrey agreed. 'I find sober people very tiresome at times, do you not, my lady?'
'I should not think you could ever be dull,' she said. 'I have not had so pleasant an evening for many a day.'
'I have heard,' he answered carefully, 'that good fortune has not favoured you as it might have done – or as you deserve. I am very sorry.'
'Oh!' She gave a little shrug, 'I believe, my lord, that life is what one makes of it and I mean to do more with mine than endure any longer what I have suffered at the hands of my husbands.'
'It cannot be easy for a woman.'
'It is not, but I will not be used,' she said determinedly and paused to pick a sprig of blossom and stand sniffing it. Humfrey cast a warning glance at Berkeley who rightly in
terpreted it as meaning that he was to remain at a distance. Jacqueline went on, 'I grieved that my uncle, Duke John, was so horribly murdered by that dreadful man, Tanneguy, but I did not like him. He forced me to wed the Duke of Brabant after the Dauphin Jean died – and Jean was a stupid boy. To be Queen of France would have been no compensation for enduring him as a bedfellow.'
Humfrey regarded her with quizzical smile. 'Most women would think a crown worth almost anything. My sister married the King of Denmark who has I believe has as many mistresses as there are nights in the year, but she thinks it worth a gold circlet on her head.'
Jacqueline laughed outright. 'Oh, I am not without ambition, but I do not look to France.'
Humfrey wanted to say 'then where?' but he did not and she went on, 'I mean to have my lands in my own right – and a Count of my own choosing when the Pope has freed me from Brabant.'
"Will he?'
'I think so. I have cause to ask for annulment.'
'Cause?' He stood still. Looking up at her face, seeing the expression in the large blue-grey eyes, she went on with a frankness he had not expected, 'Indeed and indeed. The Duke is not only perverted – and he is as much use in bed as that wooden stump there – but he is loathsome in his person. He treated me to some disgusting scenes and I will never be under the same roof with him again.'
Humfrey leaned against the stump compared so detrimentally to the Duke of Brabant. Her candour intrigued him, her tendency to lapse into laughter was endearing and her determination seemed to him beyond the ordinary. Furthermore, she was the true heiress to Holland, Hainault and Zealand, and he as the youngest brother in England would do well to look elsewhere for aggrandizement. The prospect opening up before him dazzled him.
He offered her his arm again and as they circled the lake, looking across at the grey walls arising out of the water, he had already made up his mind to marry her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
James was not sure he could stand, which was undignified for a King, nor could he restrain the bubbling giggles as he and Humfrey stumbled and half fell down the stairs. They were trying to descend arm in arm which, as the staircase was narrow, was not easy.
'Steady! Steady,' Humfrey said and hiccupped. 'Will you have it said that a Scot can't hold his wine?'
'I've not had much practice,' James spluttered, 'Not till I came campaigning with you, nor at – the other thing.'
Humfrey rocked with laughter and sent them both to the bottom, sprawling in a heap. 'By God, though, you did not do badly. I wanted the fair one and you took her from me – youth cheating his elders!'
'She wanted me,' James said defensively. He disentangled himself from Humfrey's long legs and slumped on the lowest stair. 'Anyway the dark one had her eye on you. What did she call you? Tres beau comme un ange.' He relapsed into giggles again. 'Tres beau you may be, but un ange, no!'
Humfrey hauled him to his feet. 'No, I thank God. Angels must have a dull time of it.'
James began to sing,
'When she and I got under sheet,
She let me have my way complete
And now her girdle will not meet . . .'
'I'm surprised at you,' Humfrey said. 'When did that bawdy stuff find its way into your prison cell?' Out in the street the cold air sobered them.
James felt rather sick then, but after a few moments to his relief the nausea passed. Dreux was quieter now, a shattered town yielded after a long siege, Humfrey its conqueror. There was still a good deal of mess and rubble lying about, still a corpse or two unburied, but Humfrey's picked guards had restored order and sent the soldiers with their plunder to the camp. Humfrey stepped over an unsavoury mess thrown from a pillaged butcher's shop. 'I'm glad,' he said, 'that Harry allowed you to come with me. You needed to see warfare at first hand.'
Suddenly all the laughter, the drunken satisfaction, died out of the Scottish King. 'I saw it,' he answered, 'at Meulun.'
'When Harry hanged a score of your compatriots? But they were fighting for the French and you wouldn't command them to yield to you.'
'Couldn't,' James retorted. 'What Scot need obey a captive King?'
'Well, Harry says he will send you home after this campaign.'
'Will he keep his promise?'
'If he has given his word he will do it.'
James sighed. 'He so wraps up his phrases that I don't know if he has. Speak for me, Humfrey.'
'Of course. I already have. We've always been friends.' Humfrey had his arm, guiding him along the dark street. 'I hope I've not taught you the arts of war too well for our comfort in the future.'
'I'll not be the first to start any quarrel, especially if –' James stopped suddenly.
'If Harry allows you to take a bride home. We all know you're head over ears in love with my cousin Joan.'
'Is it so stupid,' James asked, 'being in love? Or do you care only for . . . for what we've just been doing?' He thought of the room high under the eaves, of two beds and two sisters and Humfrey's complete lack of any need for privacy. Only awkwardly had James followed his example and he turned in revulsion from the memory when he contemplated the lady Joan Beaufort.
Humfrey was laughing at him again. 'My poor innocent, you have so much to learn, and it's well for you that I am your teacher. Of course I don't only care for that. In fact – well, never mind. Sometimes I think I am a hundred years older than you.'
'One can't learn much shut up for most of one's life,' James said petulantly.
'I know, I know, and you had to have your dreams. I'm hoping to be wed soon myself.'
'Are you?' James asked in surprise. They had reached the large merchant's house where they were to lodge and already in the ground floor room Humfrey's gear was being unpacked, the inevitable books on the table. 'Who's the bride?'
'Ah,' Humfrey said, 'that I can't tell you yet, not till I've got Harry's leave.'
The Scots King threw himself into a chair and yawned. 'And when you're wed will you forswear evenings like this?'
Humfrey grinned at him. 'Is it likely? But perhaps I may – for a while anyway – if my bride is all I hope.'
'I think,' James said, 'you are a cynic.'
'Not at all. I'm a realist, and I know myself.' Humfrey was standing by the table and he picked up one of his volumes. 'Do you know this, James?'
'I'm sure to,' James was half asleep now, 'You've read me all your books on this campaign.'
'Listen,
Between March and April,
When sprays begin to spring,
The little bird in bird-song,
Delights and longs to sing.
And lost in love, I cling
To the fairest sweetest thing.
Blisses may she bring
To me, her bonded one.
Think of that and your Joan and take yourself to bed.'
James stared at him in astonishment. That Humfrey could turn from a drunken animal greed of the last hour, that he had shared, to the sudden beauty of these words, reading them in a voice full of genuine feeling, astounded him. His English cousin was an enigma he would never understand and he went unsteadily up the stair, one of Humfrey's servants guiding him to his bed, Humfrey's smile following him as he went.
A few days later they rejoined Harry and the brothers met over supper. 'My thanks,' Harry said. 'It is England again for you now, Humfrey.' He had a sheaf of papers beside his platter, business as always coming before food with him. 'I want you to deal with these for me.'
This time Humfrey had no regrets, and seized his opportunity. 'The Countess Jacqueline is, I think, still at Windsor with the Queen and your son. Have you considered, Harry? The Countess might be a suitable bride for me.'
'She is not free,' Harry said in some surprise.
'She will be, in due course.'
His brother gave him a searching look. 'I thought you had sworn never to become entangled with any relative of Burgundy's.'
'So I had. But then I had not met Jacqueline.'
'Oh,' H
arry said. He crumbled bread thoughtfully. 'I don't know if it could be done without offending Philip and I do not want to do that at this moment.'
'Why should he object?'
'Because he made an agreement with Brabant. If Brabant has no heir, which from all we hear seems likely, Philip is to inherit her flat Flanders acres.'
'Without reference to her? That is damnable. And anyway the marriage is to be annulled so Brabant will have no further rights over her property. She has applied to the Papal Court and God knows she has good grounds for a divorce.'
'Maybe so, but it is a very difficult situation and we must move carefully. Maybe I can hold Burgundy by wedding John to his sister Anne as I planned. As for you, Humfrey, do you really wish to marry the Countess?'
'I do. For more reasons than those flat acres as you call them.'
'I see,' Harry smiled. 'Well I will think on it.'
Humfrey sailed for home and his first sight of his nephew was in the Countess Jacqueline's arms.
'Is he not an enchanting babe?' she asked, a warmth in her round face as she smiled down at the infant. 'He is so like his father.'
Humfrey touched the golden down on the babe's head and wondered that women so often saw incomprehensible resemblances to grown men and women. 'My brother is eager to see him. As soon as it can be arranged he wants John to take Queen Catherine to France to join him.'
'Is it safe? The fighting is over?'
'We've made Paris safe enough,' he said and as Jacqueline handed the child back to his nurse they walked together along a passage towards the royal apartments. From a narrow window Humfrey could see the Thames below the hill on which this castle of Windsor stood, the meadows flat, March rain clouds driving across the sky above, and wasting no more time, he caught her hand and drew her into the window embrasure. 'Have you learned more of England since I left, lady?'
'Oh yes,' she said at once. 'It is so beautiful – I remember you telling me that at Dover. And King Henry has been most generous to me. I have an allowance, I live at court, I am godmother to his son – indeed it was a happy day for me when I came to your country.'
The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5) Page 12