The Agincourt Bride (44 page)

‘We have only been back for a day,’ she informed me. ‘The princess is with the queen at present, but I know she is aching to see you. Will you come and wait in her chamber?’

‘Gladly,’ I replied.

‘She wanted to ignore the queen’s summons in order to wait for you, but I thought it politic to persuade her to go,’ said Agnes, leading the way from the room.

‘How is the queen?’ I asked.

Agnes made a face. ‘They say she is torn. She mourns openly for Burgundy, yet she yearns for reconciliation with her son. Now the new duke has come, demanding that his father’s killers be hunted down and brought to justice.’

‘What, all of them? Including the dauphin?’

Agnes nodded and whispered, ‘All of them.’ She cast a troubled glance at the guards lining the passage to the royal apartments and I understood the need for discretion.

‘Have no ladies come to wait on the princess yet?’ I asked as we entered her chamber, noticing the absence of the usual group of stools gathered around her canopied chair.

‘She insisted that none be appointed without her approval,’ replied Agnes. ‘She seems to have acquired a new assertiveness since the Duke of Burgundy’s death. See what you think. I hear her now.’

I swung round, expecting to see a familiar figure but for a breathless moment I thought a nun had entered the chamber. Then I saw that it was Catherine in a black habit and white wimple.

‘Oh, Mette, thank God!’ she cried and before I could make more than a half bend of the knee, she was rushing headlong into my arms – more impulsive than assertive I thought, eagerly returning her hug.

‘Have you taken holy vows, Mademoiselle?’ I asked as we drew apart.

Her laugh was as girlish as ever. ‘No, Mette. This is the dress of a tertiary nun. I have been accepted as a lay member of the Dominican community of sisters at Poissy and I wore the habit to attend the queen because it is my way of avoiding court mourning garb.’

Agnes remarked with a smile, ‘I see you also managed to avoid bringing any court damsels back with you, Madame.’

Catherine made a dismissive gesture. ‘There were several candidates there, but I refuse to consider them at present. Now, I want to talk to Mette – alone please, Agnes.’

My eyes widened in surprise at her firm tone as I watched Agnes curtsey and make her exit looking a little crestfallen.

I made no comment but said, ‘Well, Mademoiselle, let me immediately wish you a very happy birthday,’ and offered the little package I had kept tucked in my sleeve pocket. ‘I hope that eighteen will be a momentous age for you.’

Tears sprang to Catherine’s eyes as she took the package. ‘Thank you, Mette. I spent an hour sitting beside my mother and she never once mentioned my birthday. She was much too busy extolling the virtues of a marriage to King Henry – again! I have never known anyone who could change their mind as often as she does. This is so very kind of you.’ She tugged the ribbon off the present. ‘What have you brought me – Oh!’ Unwrapping a remnant of beautiful brocade which Jacques had used to make a gown, she found an enamelled gold reliquary bearing an image of crossed keys.

‘It is meant to contain a relic of St Peter, who as you know keeps the keys of Heaven,’ I explained hastily. ‘But I thought you could put the key of your altar inside. It would be safer. People will not be so curious if they see a reliquary hanging around your neck.’

Catherine lifted her eyes to my face and gazed at me for a long moment before kissing me on both cheeks. ‘What a thoughtful gift, Mette, thank you. You are right, it would be safer. Will you help me to do it?’

When it was done and the chain tucked back into the neck of her habit, she took my arm and led me towards the hearth, where a bright fire burned. I sat beside her chair on a stool. ‘First of all, Mademoiselle, how are you? You look thin.’

She made a face. ‘I knew you would say that! In my strict repentance regime, prayer and atonement came much higher up the list of priorities than food. But from the moment I heard that the devil duke was dead, I knew that your daring plan must have worked – but I did not know if you were safe. What risks you must have taken. How I wish we could have shared the news of the death of Burgundy, our joint nemesis, for I could have given vent to my true feelings of justified euphoria with you as with no one else!’

It was wonderful to be in her company again and our talk lasted more than an hour as we exchanged all the details of our time apart. Finally there were tears of emotion when I recounted the story of Jacques and Alys’ reunion and eventual marriage.

‘Oh this is wonderful!’ Catherine exclaimed. ‘They are happy, you say. Then possibly, Mette, you will be willing to return to my service?’ She looked earnestly at me and went on quickly. ‘I want to offer you the post of my Keeper of the Robes. You already do the job anyway, but this would be a proper court post. Not quite Mistress of the Wardrobe, but at least it means that you will have a department and quarters of your own and the rank of a court official. I do so very much hope that you will accept.’

I gulped and stared at her wide-eyed. I was very conscious that what she was offering me was an enormous favour. The post of Mistress of the Wardrobe to the princess royal was always conferred on one of her nobly born ladies-in-waiting, for it held high status within the court hierarchy, but even an appointment as Keeper of the Robes would make me a courtier – as far above a menial household servant as a count was from a commoner. I would be allocated my own bedchamber, could wear bright clothing and speak directly to other courtiers without avoiding their gaze and generally be treated as a human being rather than like palace vermin. I could hear my mother’s words when I was appointed Catherine’s wet-nurse; ‘
It is a good opportunity, Mette. It will be hard at first, but who knows where it could lead?
’ Even she could not have envisaged this.

My silence must have made Catherine think I was seeking a way to say no, for she gave me an encouraging smile and went on, ‘There will be twenty crowns and three suits of clothing a year. You could order them from your son-in-law if you wish.’ She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and her manner lost its new authority as she ended rather lamely, ‘I think it is a good offer.’

‘It is a very good offer, Mademoiselle,’ I responded, tears springing to my eyes. ‘I am honoured by it and of course I accept. I only hesitated because there is one proviso I must make, with your permission.’

‘Yes, Mette. What is it?’

‘I have promised Alys that I will be with her when her baby is born, so if the court leaves Troyes and you go with them I fear that I cannot. At least, not until I have seen her safely delivered.’

A look of relief spread over Catherine’s face. ‘That is not difficult to grant, for I believe the court will not be leaving Troyes for some time. Philippe of Burgundy has assumed his father’s position as joint regent with the queen and I must say I wish him the joy of her! She drove Louis mad, as you know. I have yet to meet Philippe, but Michele insists he is a good man. Hard to imagine with a sire like that! However, he is implacable about bringing his father’s murderers to justice, so he intends to treat with the English. That is why the queen is singing King Henry’s praises once more, because she wants to keep Philippe sweet. So the court will be staying in Troyes for the time being. Personally, I think Philippe wants the queen here because it is between Dijon and Arras and he can disappear to either Flanders or Burgundy whenever she begins to annoy him beyond bearing!’

‘But if you are surrounded with people who speak against your brother and praise the memory of your tormentor, it will not be easy, Mademoiselle,’ I felt bound to point out. ‘How will you manage?’

Catherine reached forward and took my hands. ‘With your help, Mette. Outside this room I can be whoever they want me to be, as long as I can come back to you and be myself.’

As she said this, there was a scratching at the door. Catherine gave my hands a little squeeze and nodded for me to investigate. It was the same page that had come to the shop in the Rue de l’Aiguille, but in my smart clothes and draped hat he did not recognise me.

He looked nervous and spoke in a whisper, proffering a sealed letter, ‘For Madame, the princess. It is from the Duchess of Burgundy. The messenger said it was urgent or I would not have knocked …’ His voice trailed off apologetically. I smiled reassuringly and shut the door.

‘What does it say, Mette?’ asked Catherine. ‘Open it please.’

It was a brief note which I read aloud. ‘Sister, my lord and I must depart tomorrow for Burgundy, to deal with his father’s estate. I am bidding farewell to our mother the queen and will afterwards come to your chamber, where I understand you have retired, but I trust will be ready to receive your sister, Michele, Duchess of Burgundy.’

I looked up to see Catherine pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. She rose hastily and took the letter from me. ‘Call Agnes, Mette. She should be here. I think you will find Michele much changed from the girl you looked after in the nursery!’

Michele, Duchess of Burgundy was indeed an altogether different creature from the shabby little girl who had followed the queen timidly out of the rose garden at the Hôtel de St Pol. After a few months in Jacques’ workshop, I could easily distinguish fine and costly cloth from its cheap and shoddy imitators and I knew instantly that the fabric of Michele’s black gown was extremely fine and extremely costly and its jet-beaded trimming had travelled all the way from a distant part of Castile only recently freed from Moorish rule. Clearly nothing but the best would do for the new duchess.

Michele paused on the threshold, gazing around the chamber in a leisurely fashion. Her black veil drained her pale complexion of colour but her large blue-green eyes glittered shrewdly as she took in every detail. ‘I am pleased to see you are alone, Catherine,’ she said, evidently categorising me and Agnes as nobodies. ‘But I hope you will acquire some more suitable mourning garb soon. That hideous habit hardly fits your rank and status.’

I shrank back against the hangings, hoping to meld into the mythical scene woven into the tapestry, and marvelled how someone could so vividly resemble her mother when she had spent almost no time in her company. Not that Michele looked like Queen Isabeau – her features were too plain and severe for that – but her carriage and attitude echoed those of her mother so closely that she inspired the same shiver in my spine as I felt in the queen’s presence.

Catherine refused to be intimidated however, remaining seated in her canopied chair and gesturing towards the carved armchair she had ordered to be placed beside it. ‘Welcome, sister,’ she said gravely, ‘please sit down. Actually I consider the habit of a tertiary admirably appropriate for the circumstances. I am sorry to hear you are leaving. I thought the duke was waiting until his father’s body could be conveyed to Dijon for burial.’

Michele crossed herself piously. ‘It is shameful that the body has not been released to us!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is another instance of Charles’s cowardice. Not only does he deny any involvement in the murder of his cousin, he even refuses to admit to knowing where the body has been buried.’

‘Perhaps if your husband had not condemned him to the scaffold out of hand, he might have been more amenable,’ suggested Catherine mildly. ‘But let us not argue. Will you return to Troyes once these exequies have been completed?’

‘I expect so. Philippe wishes me to keep you company while he urgently pursues a treaty with the English.’ Michele shook her head at the cup of wine Agnes offered in refreshment. ‘I would prefer a little spring water,’ she said primly. ‘I drink wine only if a toast is required.’

‘Or when the priest offers the blood of Christ, surely?’ observed Catherine slyly.

Michele’s brow knitted. ‘But then it is no longer wine, sister, is it,’ she snapped. It was not a question. ‘I take it you have been made aware that this approach to the English will renew the prospect of a marriage between you and King Henry.’

‘Is that why you are here?’ Catherine enquired. ‘To see if I am willing? What if I object? That would seriously affect the chances of a peace treaty, would it not? And I hear Philippe desperately wants one.’

Michele forced a smile. ‘I think desperately is too strong a word. He considers a treaty with the English is the best way to bring our recusant half-brother and his accomplices to book. Anyway, I hardly think you will refuse a marriage that would make you a queen.’

‘I have met King Henry only once,’ Catherine responded, ‘but he seems acceptable.’

Michele’s snort was almost unladylike. ‘Acceptable! My little sister finds the King of England and conqueror of Normandy only “acceptable”! Who would be irresistible then, Catherine? Emperor Sigismund?’ She accepted the spring water Agnes brought and sipped it neatly.

‘Oh no,’ responded Catherine blithely. ‘Too old – and I hear he has already taken a new wife. The second empress’ name is Barbara, I believe.’

‘It is not wise to be flippant about marriage,’ said her sister pompously, setting down the cup.

‘Oh I am not flippant about marrying King Henry,’ Catherine assured her. ‘The match has been dangled before me for so long that it has ceased to excite me, that is all.’ She leaned forward earnestly and went on, ‘But if we are to be companions, on your return you will be able to educate me in the advantages and disadvantages of matrimony. Tell me,
is
marriage exciting, Michele?’

A dark flush spread across her sister’s throat and face and for a few moments she was lost for words. Then she frowned with irritation. ‘Marriage is a contract which carries certain obligations, Catherine. You know that. Being excited is not one of them.’

‘But bearing children is,’ said Catherine gently. ‘How awkward it must be if they do not come along.’

I counted the years. Her sister and Philippe of Burgundy must have been sharing a bed for at least seven years and so far there had been no offspring.

The duchess stood up suddenly and smoothed her skirts. ‘As I said, you should beware of flippancy, Catherine,’ she admonished. ‘It does not sit well in a queen. I will take my leave now. There is much to do before my lord and I depart at dawn tomorrow. I am sorry I have no time to help you to select some noble companions, but I advise you to do so without delay.’ She cast an eloquent glance in my direction. ‘You will find them better company.’