The Agincourt Bride (38 page)

When Agnes knocked at the chamber door at the usual time, she was greeted by an emotional Catherine, who recounted her ordeal to her horrified friend. The headache which had plagued Agnes the previous day had retreated, but her brow was now knitted with deep concern, especially after Catherine revealed her plan to outwit Burgundy. The bell rang to summon them to Mass, which Catherine usually attended, but she made no move to go and instead bade us array her in one of her most ornate gowns and headdresses and a full set of jewels in prepar-ation for the queen’s visit.

‘She will come after Mass, I have no doubt,’ Catherine said, nervously pacing the floor, the strain of anticipation drawn in the tight set of her jaw and the thin line of her mouth. ‘I must rehearse what I am going to say.’

Queen Isabeau did arrive direct from the chapel as expected, accompanied by her faithful German lady companion, Baroness Hochfeld.

‘You were not at Mass, Catherine, so I thought you would be in bed, but I see you are not,’ she said accusingly as she swept across the room, barely acknowledging the curtsies of its two visible occupants. The Flanders mares had put in an appearance again earlier but Catherine had told Agnes to send them away, refusing even to lay eyes on them. So it was apparently only Agnes who supported Catherine, as I was well hidden behind the curtains of the big bed. Nevertheless, out of habit, I still dropped to my knees at Queen Isabeau’s arrival. The Queen seated herself comfortably in Catherine’s canopied chair, signalling that Catherine, Agnes and the Baroness Hochfeld should dispose themselves on stools, which they did.

‘If you are not ill, daughter, why were you not in church?’

Her mother’s direct question seemed to disconcert Catherine, as if this was one answer she had not prepared. ‘I – I did not feel well enough to leave my chamber, Madame. I thank you for taking the trouble to visit me.’

‘You do not look ill,’ returned the queen. ‘Come nearer, child, so that I can see you.’

Reluctantly, Catherine rose from the stool she had deliberately chosen some distance away and allowed Agnes to set it closer to the queen’s chair. ‘You seem in good spirits yourself, Madame,’ she said as she sat down again.

‘Well, of course I am in good spirits. This morning his grace of Burgundy rode off to Melun, declaring that he will return with Charles. During all the time that he has been talking and talking with the perfidious English king, he has also had ambassadors talking to Charles and soon there will be an agreement. Henry of England will be forced to flee back to his foggy little island and our beloved cousin will unite France as she has not been united for years. The Virgin be praised, it is the answer to our prayers!’

I could imagine the thoughts that were spinning in Catherine’s head. Burgundy the Peacemaker! Our beloved cousin! How could her mother mouth such adulation of the duke when only a month before she had sung the praises of King Henry as if he stood ranked with the saints?

‘You really believe that Charles will be reconciled with Burgundy?’ cried Catherine in disbelief. ‘That is madness. Charles would not trust the duke to stroke his dog, let alone kiss his hand. I fear you are sadly mistaken, Madame, but then Burgundy is very good at misleading people.’ She must have jumped up as she spoke, for I could hear her voice come and go as she paced the room in her distress.

There was a note of cold but contained anger in the queen’s response. ‘No, Catherine, it is you who is misled. I command you to sit down. We can talk about this calmly together. I know you are disappointed about the marriage to King Henry, but there will be another match. We will find you a worthy bedmate, never fear.’

I could hear the swish of Catherine’s skirts as she continued to move about, ignoring the command to sit; a deliberate solecism since it left her head higher than the queen’s. ‘My
fear
is that this will stir King Henry into greater belligerence,’ she persisted. ‘And can you truly imagine Charles taking counsel from Burgundy, Madame? He abhors Burgundy, or why did he flee from Paris when the duke’s forces arrived?’

‘That action was ill-advised, but he is wiser now and he understands his position. It is not easy to bridle a spirited young stallion, but Burgundy is the ablest statesman in France and Charles has at last recognised that fact and taken the bit.’

The swish of silk skirts halted. ‘And you, Madame? Will you give Charles the support he needs? Or will you cross him and differ with him at every turn as you did with Louis? Charles is sixteen now. He should be regent of France. He is no longer a boy to be ordered about by his cousin and his mother!’

Catherine must have advanced close to the queen’s chair, for I heard a sudden rustle and thump as the baroness rose to protest. ‘Princess, really! This is too much.’

‘Thank you, baroness, I will handle this,’ Queen Isabeau broke in, her voice sharp, like the cracking of ice. ‘I do not need reminding of the age of my son Catherine, nor of my duty towards him as the dauphin.’

I almost choked and revealed my presence. Suddenly Charles was her son again and she was calling him dauphin! Catherine was right; the queen’s mind was veering without a rudder, totally unable to steer a true course!

But she continued remorselessly. ‘And I will not ask again that you sit down. Now!’ There was a pause when Catherine must have obeyed. ‘Thank you. I will overlook this outburst on the grounds that you are overwrought and anxious for the future – your own petty future I would point out, rather than the future of France, which must always be my first concern.’

Catherine’s tone was deceptively sweet when she resumed her discourse. ‘And in this newly reconciled France, Madame, I take it that the man who was to have been my future is to be driven back over the Sleeve as soon as possible. Will that also be Burgundy’s first concern?’

‘Well of course,’ declared the Queen with satisfaction. ‘Burgundy and the dauphin together will hound the English back across the sea.’

‘Now that will be impressive,’ remarked the now apparently docile Catherine. ‘I must say that I despaired of ever seeing Burgundy raise the Oriflamme, but I suppose he might prepared to do so now that he will be able to hide behind Charles.’ Her voice turned suddenly icy. ‘Where do you think he will be “unavoidably delayed” this time when battle is joined?’

Queen Isabeau’s patience all but snapped. ‘Mother of God, Catherine, you tread very dangerously! Burgundy has never hidden behind anyone. He is the mainstay of France. If it were not for him, we would be at sea without a sail.’

From her confidences of the previous night I knew that Catherine would not stop now and the anger in her voice intensified as she pursued her theme. ‘If he is the mainstay of France, it is only because so many others more worthy were killed or imprisoned at Agincourt. Burgundy is unchallenged now because he failed to fight then. I shall never forgive him for that. And what makes you think that Charles will ever forgive you and Burgundy for declaring him a bastard and stripping him of the dauphincy? Are you conveniently forgetting that? Do you not see that Burgundy duped you into signing an edict which publicly made you a traitor and an adulterer, just as he will attempt to dupe Charles into a truce which he, Burgundy, has no intention of keeping. It is a trap! Madame, I beg you to consider the precious life of your only remaining son. Support him and cease to put your faith in Burgundy!’

When she stopped speaking, a hush descended on the room, as if no one dared to breathe. Then Queen Isabeau’s voice snapped out, vibrating with fury.

‘Enough! You speak treason, Catherine, nothing less! I should have you arrested but you are deranged by the failure of your marriage treaty, so I will be lenient. However, you clearly need some time to reflect on your duty and your position. Baroness, I think a spell with the nuns at Poissy will curb the princess’ wayward spirit. See to it for me, would you? And it is to be no cushioned retreat. This is an opportunity for a sadly misguided girl to learn the error of her ways. I will ask your sister, Abbess Marie, to devise a regime of prayer and chastisement that will bring you to true penitence, Catherine. There will be no communication with the outside world, no visitors and no books. Prayer, hard work and silence are the cure for disobedience. You will not leave this room until arrangements have been made. Guards will be set and you should thank God that they do not come to remove you to a prison cell.’

No one spoke but there was much shoving of stools as the occupants of the room fell to their knees once more and a rustling of silk as the queen and her companion made their exit. I emerged cautiously from my retreat to see Catherine rise and sink into the cushions of the chair her mother had just vacated, a satisfied smile tilting the corners of her mouth.

She caught my eye and gave me a conspiratorial little wink. ‘Well, Mette, I wonder what Burgundy will say when he hears I am sent to a nunnery?’

I frowned. ‘Sadly your guess was right, Mademoiselle. Now that there is finally to be no marriage to King Henry, the queen has no more use for you.’

‘I am a thorn in her flesh,’ nodded Catherine. ‘She wants me out of her sight, as she does everyone who dares to defy her. At least I am to be sent to a convent and not to my grave! How will you like life in a convent, Mette?’

I drew a deep breath and knelt down beside her chair. ‘I fear that I will not be coming with you, Mademoiselle,’ I said softly. ‘Agnes must be your companion, and she is more familiar with Poissy anyway.’ A glance behind me at Agnes’ gentle face told how glad she would be to go, but Catherine’s lip was trembling. She had become desperately vulnerable since the vile actions of the duke and I felt my heart lurch. ‘I never wish to leave you, Mademoiselle. And it is not for ever but only for a short time. Firstly, my own family has need of me …’

‘Why, what has happened to Luc, or is it Alys?’

‘Yes, Mademoiselle, it is Alys. She needs me now as she has never needed me before and, as a mother, I cannot desert her. She is pregnant.’

‘Oh!’ Catherine’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise and I could see a succession of thoughts register on her face before she spoke further. ‘Is it Jacques’?’

I nodded. ‘Of course it is Jacques’. We conspired to foster their friendship and we succeeded beyond our expectations.’

Her eyes widened, her expression settling into one of resigned comprehension. ‘We did, did we not? And what does she want to do?’

‘She wants to go back to Troyes and tell Jacques. I have promised that I will go with her. So you see, I cannot come with you to Poissy.’

‘Yes, I see that you cannot.’ Catherine sighed and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Will you come with me to Poissy, Agnes? It may well be bread and water and sore knees for some weeks.’

Agnes moved nearer and knelt beside me, smiling up at her old school-friend. ‘That will be heaven, compared to the hell you are escaping by going there, Catherine,’ she said simply.

Throughout this exchange we had heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door, where the guard was being reinforced on the queen’s orders. Proof that Catherine was officially under house arrest. It might be only a matter of hours before she was escorted to a barge and rowed away to Poissy.

‘There is a second reason I want to go to Troyes that I must discuss with you, Mademoiselle,’ I whispered hastily, conscious that we might not be left alone for much longer and that ears might already be pressed to the door. ‘Shall we pray together for your safety?’ I rolled my eyes towards her turret oratory as I said this and Catherine was quick to grasp my meaning.

‘Yes, indeed, and for little Alys as well,’ she whispered back, standing up and raising her voice for the benefit of any listeners. ‘We will go to my oratory now and prepare ourselves for the weeks ahead.’

In the little chapel there was hardly room for three of us to kneel before Catherine’s triptych of the Virgin, so we abandoned the idea of ‘prayer’ and stood together to discuss the plan I had hatched during the previous long sleepless night. At first Catherine was adamant that it was too dangerous, but I gradually managed to persuade her that it was, in fact, the best chance she had of rescue from a future which now looked bleaker than ever before.

At the end of our conversation she grasped both my hands in hers and, with tears in her eyes, bade me take the greatest possible care of myself. ‘Oh, Mette, we are to be parted again and I must be grown up and sensible about it,’ she said miserably. ‘We will not even be able to write to each other, so I will not know whether you have been successful in any of your endeavours – not until I leave the convent and who knows when that will be.’ She squeezed my hands so hard it hurt and then kissed me on both cheeks. ‘May all the saints protect you and keep you safe until we meet again, however long it may be before we do.’

R
econciliation! The church bells of Corbeil were ringing a joyful peal and passers-by shouted the news. ‘The king and the dauphin are reconciled! Peace is declared!’

I exchanged dismayed glances with the boy at my side before we both hastily altered our grimaces to smiles as we noticed the triumphant grin on the face of the charettier
perched on the driver’s seat of the covered wagon in which we were travelling. He had turned his gaze from the road ahead to share his delight at the news.

‘Burgundy’s done it! God be praised!’ he yelled above the crunch of the wagon’s iron-bound wheels on the cobbled street and the answering rattle of its load of barrels and baskets. ‘Now Paris will eat again.’

Despite the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I managed an enthusiastic nod, grateful that the noise prevented any further conversation. The charettier was doing us a big favour by letting us ride on his wagon and we did not want to offend him.

Yves was the good-hearted fellow who, four years previously, had rescued my badly wounded husband from the carnage of Agincourt and taken him to the monks at Abbeville. He knew the whole sad story. Luc asked him and he agreed out of sympathy to take me and Alys in his wagon, which was to carry supplies after the royal hunt was summoned to meet the Duke of Burgundy at Corbeil.