The Agincourt Bride (55 page)

‘So you think I should teach the king how to be romantic?’ One of the duchess’ eyebrows had taken on a distinct upward slant and I detected a suppressed twinkle in her eye.

‘Well – yes, Madame. At least someone should.’

‘Hm,’ she pondered. ‘And you really believe that a little sweet-talking would help?’

‘If King Henry is able to urge his army to victory against the odds I am sure he can cajole one young girl to come willingly to his arms.’

The duchess looked a little doubtful. ‘Perhaps, but those are two very different tasks. However, I will tell him of your advice.’

It was my turn to look doubtful. ‘Would you not prefer to offer it as your own, Madame? After all it was to you he turned, not to the queen’s servant.’

From under the arch of her fine brows those shrewd grey eyes studied my face for a long moment and then she nodded. ‘You are a wise woman, Madame. I can see why Queen Catherine values your advice.’

I smiled ruefully. ‘Not always, your grace. She has a strong will. King Henry should bear that in mind also.’

‘I think he has discovered that already,’ the duchess remarked dryly, reaching for the little bell that stood on the table beside her. ‘Now that our business is over, Madame, let us take a little refreshment together. If you are willing to tell me, I would be fascinated to hear how you became such a pillar of Queen Catherine’s life.’

I do not know when the Duchess of Clarence managed to speak to King Henry, for the next day news came that we were to move on. The Duke and Duchess of Burgundy were to follow Jean the Fearless’ catafalque back to Dijon, where the murdered duke would finally be interred in the family basilica. The Duke of Clarence had already begun the laborious process of laying siege to yet another town, this time the formidable stronghold of Melun and, much to her dismay, Catherine was to join her parents at the castle of Corbeil, whence King Charles had been taken to enjoy some hunting.

I found the return to Corbeil castle unsettling, which is not surprising as it reminded me of my meeting with the dauphin and all the things, bad and good, that had happened as a result of that meeting. For her part, Catherine instantly hated the place; hated its thick walls and small, defensive windows and the heat which seemed to clog its cramped courtyards. And whereas in the past she had generally managed to keep her temper with her ever more fractious mother, she was now prone to exploit her equal status and argue with Queen Isabeau over the slightest difference of opinion. After only a couple of days she took to avoiding her mother’s company as much as possible, taking her meals in her chamber and resorting to her usual solace of rides out into the surrounding countryside, but even they did not seem to lighten her mood. I began to worry as her appetite waned once more and then she became even more depressed when Eve’s curse arrived, confirming for another month her failure to conceive an heir. When she woke to discover blood on the sheets, she sobbed in my arms. Gently I pointed out that it was not long since she had sworn to me that the idea of bearing an heir to a monster was abhorrent.

‘You do not understand!’ she cried in despair. ‘I said that because I hate him for killing those poor men at Montereau but now I realise that the sooner I am pregnant the sooner he will leave me alone and not treat me like a brood mare. He is charm itself when he visits, now that Margaret of Clarence has shown him how to be – oh yes, I know about that! – but as soon as he gets into bed he becomes like a stallion in a stable yard. Mount, mate, off!’

She dissolved into a paroxysm of sobbing, burying her face in the bedclothes and punching the pillow. Her hair was tangled and damp with sweat as I stroked her head with motherly concern, racking my brains for some way to relieve her misery.

In contrast to Catherine’s dejection, Alys was blooming in her new abode; a workshop and rooms that had been found for them in the town, on a street close to the castle entrance. There was a small garth at the back of the house and a young local girl had been hired to help with Catrine while Alys assisted Jacques to sew more of the light summer gowns Catherine needed so desperately.

To her surprise King Henry was not too disheartened by the arrival of Catherine’s monthly courses, for nothing seemed to dampen his good spirits. Far from feeling drained as she was by the excessive summer heat, he was full of energy, riding frequently between Melun and Corbeil and even taking the trouble to send Edmund Beaufort to tell Catherine if he was not able to come. The siege of Melun was a complex one, but the difficult logistics only served to fuel his enthusiasm. So absorbed was he by his plans and strategies that he could talk of nothing else over the suppers he shared with Catherine in her chamber on the evenings of his visits. Unexpectedly he continued to come, even when he was kept from her bed by faithful observation of church strictures on the taint of menstrual flow.

I undertook to serve these meals, as I had during Prince Charles’ visits at St Pol, and King Henry grew used to my discreet presence just as Catherine’s brother had. It was as a result of one of their conversations that an idea came to me of how to relieve Catherine’s despondency, inspired by something the king himself said.

‘How do you think your father would fare if he joined the siege camp?’ he asked her as she toyed with some rather rich venison stew. ‘His presence could be very useful in parleys.’

Catherine frowned, pushing her bowl away. ‘But where would he lodge? You know how intensely he fears being shattered. I do not think he could bear the insecurity of a tent and he would be terrified by the sound of the guns.’

‘Yes, I realise that, but I believe my carpenters could build him a wooden pavilion similar to my tennis court, only with a roof and windows and even a padded chamber, just like the one he sleeps in now.’

‘Would that not take a long time to build?’

Henry laughed. ‘No, you do not realise how quickly my carpenters work. They can build a scaling tower in half a day. Such a pavilion will not take more than a few days, even with embellishment fit for a king.’

‘In that case, I think it a good idea. He has never fared well in the heat and I am sure he would benefit from the fresh air. As long as he cannot hear the guns and can sleep in a safe place. But what would you expect him to do?’

‘Just show himself now and then to the castle defenders. We would stop the guns while he did so. Their commander is one Seigneur de Barbasan, a doughty knight for whom I have great respect, but I fear he does not return the compliment. He declares that he will not parley with “the ancient and deadly enemy of France” but only with his liege lord, King Charles the Sixth.’ The king shrugged. ‘I can see his point of view, but I am sure that even if Barbasan does not immediately surrender, your father’s presence there might encourage the townspeople to put pressure on him. King Charles and Queen Isabeau are still very popular in Melun and conditions within the walls are appalling in this heat.’

Catherine fanned herself with her hand. ‘That I can believe,’ she said with feeling. ‘They are nearly as terrible here.’

I saw him regard her then with a surprisingly tender look and reach over to push a damp tendril of her hair back under the edge of her headdress. ‘Why do you not take this off Catherine? Would it not be cooler?’

She blushed then, as hotly as Edmund Beaufort did when she smiled at him, and at that moment I knew that the hangings at Montereau had not entirely killed her feelings for him. However he did not remove the artfully wired veil that hid her hair. ‘If it would please you, my lord, I will leave it off the next time you come,’ she said softly.

He chuckled at that, a rich, throaty sound I had not heard before. ‘It would please me as much as it obviously pleases you to tease me with waiting, my lady!’ he smiled.

The next morning I screwed up my courage and sent a page with a message to request an audience with the Duchess of Clarence. King Henry had already shown himself receptive to suggestions from her, so I hoped she might consent to plant the seed of my latest idea.

A few days later, Edmund Beaufort told us that carpenters had begun mysterious building works in a hidden green valley not far from the Melun camp.

‘As the king has spent so many nights away lately, the men suspect he has a mistress and is preparing to accommodate her closer to hand,’ the young squire said, adding indignantly, ‘Such coarse, common creatures do not understand that a king with a queen as beautiful as your grace would not need a mistress.’

‘Why thank you, Edmund!’ Catherine appeared delighted both by the compliment and the shy devotion of the boy who delivered it. ‘Pray do not disappoint them with the truth, which is that it is the queen’s father not the king’s mistress who is to be accommodated. Truth is never as fascinating as rumour, is it?’

To make the most of the cooler morning air, I usually rose at first light and attended to Catherine’s wardrobe, and there before cockcrow a few days later King Henry’s page brought me a summons to attend him. As I followed the messenger I was assailed by unpleasant memories of a similar summons two years before in Pontoise and became alarmed at finding armed guards at the door of the Corbeil Constable’s chamber. On admittance however, I was reassured to find King Henry sitting alone at a table piled with letters and documents awaiting his attention.

With a brief nod he acknowledged my bend of the knee and gestured me to rise. ‘I have dismissed my clerks for I wish to talk with you confidentially, Madame Lanière,’ he began without preliminaries. ‘The Duchess of Clarence speaks warmly of your wisdom and discretion.’

‘Her grace is kind to do so,’ I said, hoping this meant the duchess had also spoken to him of my latest idea.

I admit to feeling overawed in the king’s presence, for even working at his desk at this early hour he cut a distinguished figure in his colourful doublet liberally embroidered with Lancastrian swans and roses, a gilt and silver-sheathed sword strapped to his hips and the spurs of kingship fastened to his highly-polished leather bottins. Despite his scarred cheek, he gave the impression of a supreme being, a demi-god at the zenith of his regal and physical powers, fit and lean and awesome.

‘You are the keeper of the queen’s robes, so I presume you can manage to pack what is necessary for a few days away without her being aware of what you are doing?’ It was more of a statement than a question, posed in clipped, businesslike tones that did not invite a negative answer.

‘Yes of course, your grace,’ I replied.

‘Good. Then after the midday meal today, Edmund Beaufort will bring her grace’s horse and an escort and baggage train and convey you all to the special pavilion I have had built near the camp at Melun. Choose whichever of the queen’s ladies you like, but there is only room for two and yourself of course. The queen knows nothing of this and I want it to be a surprise for her. Can I trust you to keep my secret?’ He looked at me from under beetled brows.

‘Yes indeed, your grace,’ I responded, wondering fleetingly what he would do if I said no. ‘But may I ask one thing?’

His hazel eyes narrowed. ‘Ask,’ he grunted.

‘Is there any possibility of hangings at Melun?’ My heart was in my mouth and I felt rather like a mouse caught in the swooping shadow of a sparrow-hawk, but I was still driven to pose the query.

‘Why do you ask that?’ he barked, his frown becoming fiercer.

‘Because I do not think the queen has the constitution to withstand another such spectacle, your grace. Not if she is to bear you an heir.’ In the folds of my skirt I crossed my fingers and put up a mental prayer to the Virgin that he would understand that I dared to say this out of love for her.

King Henry steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the table, studying me intently. I held my breath and waited.

‘If there are any, I will ensure that she does not witness them,’ he said at length, suddenly favouring me with one of his crowd-pleasing smiles. ‘That will be all, Madame.’

I bowed low and retreated, feeling the effects of that smile as goose-bumps on my skin. I was elated, convinced that a retreat from formality was just what this new and fragile marriage needed.

C
atherine later called the place where the pavilions had been built
Le Vallon
Vert
– the ‘little green valley’. It was a deep, sloping rift a mile or so behind the siege camp, caught between two craggy outcrops of rock and completely hidden from the town, while the solid rock of the crags baffled and deflected the roar of the nearby siege guns. In its quiet fastness, a stream rippled over pebbles and stones, forming little pools and short, rushing rapids, filling the air with its cool music.

Just as aptly it might have been called ‘the valley of the kings’, for the building at the lower end, where the little stream rushed towards its confluence with the Seine, was furnished for the King and Queen of France and the other, higher up in a shaded green glade where spring-water bubbled over a rocky lip, stood waiting for the King and Queen of England. Each nestled behind a stout defensive palisade and consisted of two large and airy chambers, one above the other, with an entrance tower at one end containing a ground-floor service room and a spiral stair leading to the upper chamber and a small ante-room at the top. Tents for servants, sentries and latrines were pitched outside the palisades. Artists had painted the wooden walls to resemble stonework and decorative battlements topped the pavilions, bearing the lions and lilies of the two kingdoms, while the towers fluttered with banners and flags.

Shadows were lengthening when we arrived, entering the valley from the top without encountering the siege camp and so the journey had passed with laughter and the air of a joy-ride, unassociated with war or weapons. At the final stage I had to get out and walk because the path was too narrow for the carts, so I did not see Catherine’s first viewing of the stream and the pavilion, but I could imagine her delight. With ash trees and ferns overhanging the fountain and the sound of birdsong loud in the branches, it was an oasis of peace and calm, seemingly untouched by the dust and noise of the siege being ruthlessly pursued on the other side of the hill.