Owen (7 page)

Harry leans back, the end of his lance wavering in the air as he rides. Then there is a cheer from the small crowd as his lance glances the edge of the black shield, fortunately not with enough force to swing the heavy sack of wet sand around.

Harry is still in the saddle as he brings his horse to a halt in front of the stables. For the first time I have an insight into a father’s pride in his son. The late king would have been pleased to see his son do so well on his first attempt. I also realise Sir Richard knows exactly what he is doing. Although the horse is small, he has chosen well.

As I make my way back towards the castle I find myself wishing I have a son of my own. I am twenty-eight now, old enough to have had several sons if I had not been so indecisive. I resolve to discuss the future with Juliette that evening. Glancing up at the autumnal sky I wonder how much longer we will remain at Windsor before the queen’s household moves to Wallingford.

Juliette lies on the comfortable pallet bed in my room and watches as I work at my desk in the last of the evening light. Nathaniel has been given the challenge of listing everything the queen will need when her household leaves Windsor Castle. His list fills many pages of yellow parchment.

‘Are you going to be long?’

I turn and sit back in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes. ‘This will keep. I can finish it in the morning.’

Juliette watches as I pull my shirt over my head and pour cold water from the jug into my bowl and splash some over my face. I smooth back my hair and sit on the end of the bed and pull off my heavy boots, then finish undressing and climb under the woollen blankets where she is waiting.

She still wears her thin cotton shift and is propped up on the pillow with the look I know means she wants to talk. For once I am ready to. Seeing how quickly Harry is growing has made me think about how the years are passing.

Juliette takes my hand in hers. ‘I find it strange, not seeing the queen so often.’

I understand, as Juliette came to England with Catherine and has spent almost every waking hour with her since she became her personal handmaiden. ‘Everyone is finding it difficult, even the queen. Sir Richard doesn’t even like Harry spending time with her.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s as if he thinks she will somehow undo all his good work.’

Juliette looks thoughtful. ‘The two households are growing apart. Sir Richard seems to be encouraging it.’ There is a hint of bitterness in her voice when she mentions the earl, ever since his clerk had not read out her name on the list of the queen’s household.

‘I have to keep things together as well as I can.’ I take her in my arms and hold her close to me. ‘Everyone wants to know when the queen is going to leave.’

‘It’s all they talk about.’ There is a note of sadness in her voice.

 
I brush a strand of auburn hair from her face. ‘The truth is… nobody has told her when we have to leave this place. They are so preoccupied with Harry—it’s as if they’ve forgotten about his mother.’

‘We always knew it would be like this.’ Juliette sits up again. ‘We need to decide what we are going to do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean? I’m talking about you and me.’

I don’t reply. Earlier I had decided to ask her to marry me; now I feel the familiar reluctance to make such a commitment. My thoughts are instead on how I felt when the queen put her hand on mine. It wasn’t accidental. She had been reaching out for me and I hadn’t misunderstood what passed between us in that moment.

‘Say something, Owen.’

I cannot do it. We would have been happy enough, wherever the queen took us. It would have meant Juliette persuading the queen to take her back as a maid, although it shouldn’t be too difficult, with her being one of the few French servants still in the household.

‘What am I supposed to think if you say nothing?’ Her voice is raised and she looks close to tears.

I know I can’t remain silent for a moment longer. ‘I'm sorry, Juliette.’

‘Sorry?’ She sounds exasperated. ‘I would have followed you anywhere. You know that?’ She wipes a tear as it runs down her face. ‘Is this because we haven’t had a child?’

I don’t reply. I will never find anyone else as perfect for me as Juliette. She loves me unconditionally and has always tolerated my failure to commit to her.

‘Say something—or I am giving up on you!’ She sobs.

‘I'm not saying goodbye, Juliette.’

‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ She glowers at me. ‘Tell me you’re not in love with Catherine?’

I try to find words to deny my feelings, yet they will not come.

‘I knew it.’ Her voice is bitter and she turns away from me, still sobbing.

I feel her whole body jerking with each sob. I have let her down, but cannot deny the thrill I feel to know that, after so many years of secret longing, Catherine, the Queen of England, has reached out for me.

The relentless, bone-chilling cold is made harder by the absence of Juliette. Although I often see her and she is always courteous, I am pained by the sadness in her eyes. On New Year’s Eve I join the congregation in the Chapel Royal for the midnight mass and pray on my knees for guidance. As I look towards the altar I see Queen Catherine turn her head and glance back at me. Our eyes meet only for a second but it is enough.

After six months of uncertainty at Windsor, the consent of parliament is finally obtained for Queen Catherine to remove her household to Wallingford Castle. Although even further from London, Wallingford can be reached by boat on the River Thames and is a comfortable day’s ride from her son. This is some comfort to the queen, as the young king will often visit and she can return to Windsor whenever she pleases.

The sprawling castle at Wallingford had a small fortune spent on it by successive owners, yet has most recently been used as a prison fortress. I arrive with a small army of carpenters and craftsmen, cleaners and restorers, to make it a palace fit for the queen. I see this move to Wallingford as a fresh start. I miss Juliette’s company, although we parted on good terms and I hope not too many months will pass before I hear she has found another.

The old castle is spacious, having been expanded and extended many times from the original motte and bailey. The high tower on the top of the motte, dominating the skyline for miles around, will fly the royal standard when the queen is in residence. The kitchen, with its red-tiled, pointed chimney is next to the great hall and the royal apartments face out over the river. Two curtain-walled outer baileys add protection and the peaceful cloisters of the priory of St Nicholas offer somewhere to escape the noise and bustle within the castle grounds.

I ride around the perimeter wall of the great castle, accompanied by Nathaniel, who takes notes of the things needing repair and ideas for improvements. On the riverside are rows of willow traps, full of wriggling eels. A weir provides water for the castle mill, which grinds flour for the bakery, as well as for the people of Wallingford. We watch at the busy quayside as trading boats from as far as London unload supplies for the royal household.

The castle is far from luxurious, and little thought had been given to the servants’ accommodation in the past. As I found during my summer visits, servants and household staff are expected to sleep wherever they can. For those who work in the kitchens this means a warm pallet close to the ovens. Some even choose to sleep in the stables with the horses. There is no obvious place for me to stay.

While overseeing the refurbishment of the queen’s apartments I discover chambers which might have once been lodgings for Queen Isabella’s ladies-in-waiting. I make one of these my study, as it has an adjacent room where I can sleep at night. It is not as well appointed as my room in Windsor but has a mullioned window with good views out over the river. This is useful as I can observe anyone crossing the bridge approaching the main gate. My new room at Wallingford also has the advantage of being close to Queen Catherine’s apartments, connected by a narrow corridor.

By the time the queen arrives at Wallingford the refurbishment of her apartments is complete, as well as the wing for use by the young king and members of his household who travel with him. It is agreed that the king will visit for the summer months, so I arrange for the old tiltyard to be renewed and made ready for use.

Wallingford is more than simply a change of location, as the queen’s new household is more relaxed and informal than at Windsor, particularly under the strict regime of the Earl of Warwick. The queen seems happier for the first time since Edmund Beaufort left and even Duke Humphrey seems more interested in his career at Westminster than who is coming and going at Wallingford.

On a bright spring morning I am invited to ride with the queen and her ladies as they explore the Berkshire countryside. We are accompanied by the elderly Constable of Wallingford Castle, Thomas Chaucer, and escorted by four of his mounted soldiers. I like Chaucer, although I am aware the constable is a first cousin of Bishop Beaufort and undoubtedly the bishop’s spy in the queen’s new home.

A portly man in his sixties, with the leathery, weather-beaten face of someone who spends a great deal of time outdoors, Thomas Chaucer is the only son of the renowned poet and philosopher Geoffrey Chaucer and has been constable at Wallingford Castle for many years. He has a ready wit and an endless knowledge of the history of the castle and the local area. Most importantly for me he has been helpful with the difficult task of removing tenants to make room for the queen’s household.

I ride behind the queen and her ladies-in-waiting, enjoying the feel of the sun on my back after the long winter. Wallingford is more rural and quieter than Windsor and we meet no one as we ride alongside the riverbank and down a lane leading to open meadow pasture. The only sounds that morning are the calls of distant woodpigeons and the leisurely clip-clop of our horses’ hooves on the old cobbled road.

Thomas Chaucer rides at my side and is in a talkative mood, keen to share his tales of serving with the king in France.

I encourage him with a question I know he will appreciate. ‘You fought at the battle of Agincourt, Constable?’

‘I took twelve men-at-arms and thirty-seven of my best archers to Agincourt, in the service of King Henry.’ He glances across at me. ‘Were you there, Tudor?’

 
‘I was fourteen. They said I was too young to fight.’ I look across at the old constable. ‘Was it as tough as I’ve heard?’

Chaucer sits back in his saddle as he reminisces. ‘Lost half my men. I nearly lost my horse!’

‘I served Sir Walter Hungerford, first as a page and later as his squire, with the king’s archers at the siege of Rouen.’

Chaucer seems impressed. ‘Of course—I know Sir Walter well. He’s done well for himself, as he is Baron Hungerford now.’ He smiles. ‘Who’d have thought he would become Treasurer of England?’

‘He was most generous to me. It’s thanks to him I am here today.’

Before the constable can reply, a colourful cock pheasant is startled from the hedge with a screech and a rapid whirring of wings. Its sudden appearance frightens the queen’s horse, which rears up, throwing her to the ground. One of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting shrieks with alarm and I dismount and rush to Queen Catherine’s assistance. I can see she has fallen badly.

‘Someone hold the queen’s horse!’ I take Catherine’s gloved hand. ‘Where are you hurt, my lady?’

She doesn’t answer and her eyes look dazed. Fearing the worst I turn to Thomas Chaucer.

‘Can you send men for a wagon or the queen’s carriage? We need her physician. She won’t be able to ride back to the castle.’

Thomas Chaucer shouts to two of the guards and they ride off. He dismounts and takes the bridle of my horse, as well as the queen’s.

Picking up the queen in my arms I carry her to the grassy bank, then turn to her ladies-in-waiting who watch with shocked expressions. ‘I’m afraid the queen has fainted, but thank God, her injuries don’t look serious.’

I am watching when Catherine’s eyes flutter open and begin to focus on my face. ‘How do you feel, my lady?’

‘My head hurts—and my ankle.’ Her voice is soft.

I smooth her forehead gently with my hand and feel her relax a little. Before I realise what is happening my touch becomes a caress and I see how she looks into my eyes. It is the same look I saw when she glanced back at me in the chapel at Windsor.

Thomas Chaucer seems to feel he is in some way responsible for her accident. ‘I’m sorry Your Highness, the hedgerows are full of pheasants—they can be quite excitable at this time of year. I should have ordered a man to ride ahead to flush them out.’

‘A pheasant, of all things!’ She manages a weak smile. ‘It’s not your fault, Constable. My mare is skittish about things like that. I should have controlled her better.’

Chaucer still holds the bridle of the queen’s grey mare and pats its neck. ‘She seems to have calmed down, Your Highness.’

We hadn’t ridden far from the castle and the carriage soon appears in the distance. I am concerned the queen will have difficulty climbing into it when it arrives.

‘Could you try to stand, my lady?’ I help her, offering her my arm for support. ‘I think the only way to get you safely into the carriage is for me to lift you.’

Catherine puts her arm around my neck to steady herself and for a second I hold her close, surprised at how light she feels, and then carry her to the waiting carriage. Thomas Chaucer leads the queen’s horse by the bridle and once the carriage has been turned around we head back to the castle.

I wait outside the queen’s apartments while she is seen by her physician, James Somerset, who eventually emerges and says the queen wishes to see me. She is sitting in a chair by the window overlooking the river and turns when she hears me enter. A swelling on her forehead is noticeable now, but she smiles when she sees it is me.

‘How are you feeling, my lady?’ I return her smile, noting there are no ladies-in–waiting in her chamber now and we are alone.

‘My head aches... and my ankle is a little swollen.’ She stretches out her leg and looks down at her foot. ‘Somerset has told me he will prepare a poultice of herbs.’ She wrinkles her nose at the thought. ‘He says I will find it difficult to walk for a few days.’

‘You had a lucky escape, my lady.’ I think she is fortunate not to suffer far worse injuries.

‘It all happened so quickly. I wanted to thank you, Owen, for helping me.’

‘I only did what anyone would have done.’

‘I am glad you were there this morning.’

I see the look in her eyes. Again, an unspoken bond passes between us and on an impulse I take her slender hand in mine, the greatest risk I have taken yet. If I have misread her it could cost my job and I might never see her again.

‘I thought... it was going to be a lot worse for you.’

She doesn’t pull her hand away or reproach me. Instead she gives my hand a gentle squeeze. It tells me all I need to know. I look down at her small hand, her long fingers with their gold rings set with rubies and diamonds. It feels warm and soft, a hand that has never known hard work. Catherine’s fingernails are perfectly manicured by her maid. A memory of something Juliette said flickers through my mind and I push the thought away.

‘I need to get back on a horse as soon as I can.’

‘They do say that you should get back in the saddle if you take a fall.’

‘Does the same apply to lovers, do you think?’ Her voice sounds suggestive.

I feel her caress the back of my hand with her thumb, a subtle gesture. Even if anyone is watching they would not notice, yet it sends a clear message. Emboldened, I decide to take another risk before the moment passes.

‘Edmund Beaufort?’

Catherine sighs. ‘He was a breath of fresh air when I needed it. I believed I was in love with him... yet he was too easily frightened off by Gloucester.’

‘And now you need... to get back in the saddle?’

She doesn’t reply and I hold my breath, wondering if I have gone too far, then she leans across and kisses me softly on the cheek. It is completely unexpected.

‘I love you, Catherine.’ My voice is almost a whisper. Although there is no danger of us being overheard, my future hangs in the balance.

‘I have known, for a long time, Owen,’ she smiles, ‘your poorly kept secret.’

I hold her close and tenderly kiss her on the lips, something I dreamed of for many years. It feels so natural I can’t believe she has made me wait for so long.

* * *

The harbingers arrive first, with their banners and proclamations, the advance party of the young king, who is to stay for the summer and prepare for his coronation. Sir Richard Beauchamp is making no compromises with his responsibilities as master of the king’s household, which numbers almost two hundred, including several young nobles, royal wards of a similar age, who are being educated with him, his first royal court.

This is more than double the household of the queen and Nathaniel is kept busy allocating lodgings for this great influx of people, planning how they will all be fed and ordering long lists of extra supplies. There are so many we have to create a tented area in the outer ward. With more than sixty additional horses, a new stable is hastily built against the inner curtain wall, along with more temporary accommodation for visitors and servants.

The earl has also sent a message. I am required to personally inspect everything from the stables to the refurbished tiltyard and the cleanliness of the castle kitchens. I privately curse Sir Richard, as I have been happy since the queen moved to Wallingford. It seems we will now be returning to the old regime of Windsor Castle and I must become a servant again.