The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham (2 page)

Last week I saw the horses being taken out for their exercise through the south gatehouse and wondered if my jailor would one day let me ride. Sir William
Beauchamp
has a good dozen horses in his care and I overheard one of the guards say he treats them better than he does me. I look the unruly soldier directly in the eye and know he fears I will use my powers over him.

I take my time on my walk and usually end in the chapel tower. It is simply furnished but a quiet, peaceful place. Always cool even in this summer heat, the chapel has a high vaulted stone ceiling and carved wooden panelling. Lady Ellen said it was built by King Edward for his personal use. I am grateful for his piety, as his chapel is where I can find some peace from the soldiers and my jailers. I kneel in contemplation but do not pray. God has long since forsaken me. Instead I remember those who have treated me well, the few who have been kind to me and those who have died in the nine long years since I was last a free woman.

My husband taught me history is written by the victors. If I have been foolish it was to trust those around me who had so much to gain by discrediting his good name and reputation through their false allegations against me. They have called me many things, witch, traitor and harlot, but I am a lady of noble birthright. It saddened me to hear my family scorned and my good father called a ‘mere knight’ at my trial. He would tell me the stories of his famous grandfather, my great-grandfather, the first Baron of Cobham.

My father Sir Reynold, the third Baron of Sterborough, inherited his title when his brother died. He taught me to take pride in my great-grandfather, one of the most important knights of his day, who was richly rewarded for his support of the new King Edward. He took part in grand royal tournaments and jousting with horses and was a brave man, proving his courage in the savage wars against the Scots. My great-grandfather distinguished himself at the battle of Crecy and negotiated the surrender of the French at Calais. My father told me the first Sir Reynold’s proudest achievement was to be summoned to parliament as a Lord.

My own grandfather, the second Baron, died before I was old enough to remember him. As a young girl I would visit his memorial in our old Saxon parish church at Lingfield in Surrey. I always read the Latin epitaph on his tomb and committed it to memory. I would like to think I have inherited some of his determination, as it read ‘
Here lies Reginald, Lord Cobham of Starborough. As a soldier he was brave as a leopard, wary in council, yet bold enough when occasion required
.’

My mother was Lady Eleanor Culpeper. Beautiful and well educated, she was the daughter of the wealthy knight Sir Thomas Culpeper. I have happy memories of her and of my childhood at our family estate of Sterborough Castle in Surrey. A fine castle set in extensive grounds, it was built by my great-grandfather and improved by each generation.

A wide moat was crossed by a long wooden drawbridge and my rooms were in one of the two towers with French style conical roofs each side of the gatehouse. I would watch from my window as I waited for my father to return from his journeys to London. He would always bring gifts from the city for me, my little sister Elizabeth and my brothers Reginald and Thomas.

I wear my mother’s simple gold ring to this day. She was sadly taken from me by a sudden illness when she was only thirty-seven. My father was heartbroken. He threw himself into his work and began to spend much of his time at court, achieving a knighthood for his services to the infant king. As well as bringing him closer to the centre of power in the land, my father’s renewed importance also led him to remarry. His unlikely new wife, Lady Anne, was the daughter of Sir Thomas, fifth Baron Bardolf of Wormegay. She was neither beautiful or rich, as her father’s wealth was confiscated after he took part in the ill-judged insurrection against King Henry IV and died of terrible wounds.

I saw little of my father after he remarried. I think it was because I reminded him too much of my mother and what he had lost. One of the sad consequences of the ill luck that befell me was that the last time I ever saw him was before my trial. He was not able to visit me before he died four years ago, so now I am alone in the world.

Apart, that is, from my children. It saddens me to write of it but I fear my son Arthur was murdered by men who knew of his innocence, yet I know my beautiful daughter Antigone lives. My three young grandchildren are part of the reason this journal must be in code, as I still have enemies who would delight in spoiling their young lives.

Lady Ellen came to see me with exciting news from London. I miss being at the centre of things but it seems bad news travels quickly. I know Henry VI is one of the least able kings to ever have ruled this country and England has been ruined by taxes raised to pay for the futile wars with France. The signs of his mismanagement are everywhere, so I was not surprised when Lady Ellen told me the people of Kent have rebelled against the king. Last month an army of commoner workers marched on London but the king had been warned and fled to safety in Warwickshire.

She was unclear of the details but Ellen heard that the Tower of London was overtaken and several of the king’s men roughly executed, their heads displayed on spikes for all to see. She heard the Archbishop of York bravely ended the rioting by agreeing to the rebels’ demands, although it seems more likely he has been used as a device to end this revolt. The rumour in the city is that the king has ordered the leaders to be hunted down and given a treasoner’s execution, a horrific way for any man to die.

I am most grateful to Ellen and look forward to her visits. I have yet to determine where her loyalty lies, so am careful not to criticise the king by calling him a madman, although of course he is. I pity his young French wife Margaret of Anjou, who is little more than twenty years old and has to try to rule the country when King Henry VI suffers from his bouts of insanity. It makes me sad to consider how different the world would be if my husband had been able to take his rightful place as king, with me at his side to guide him.

Ellen is not much travelled, although she is well tutored and well connected, so must surely have heard the dreadful allegations of my witchcraft, yet she shows no regard for it. One day I would like to see if she will hear the truth of it but that can keep. She has done much to benefit her husband W
illiam Bulkeley, as her father helped him secure his position in Beaumaris. For now, I am content to
listen to her opinion of the world outside this castle and form my own in secret.

Fratre regis

The summer has fortunately been dry and hot in Beaumaris. The sun has warmed the stones of this old castle so I can keep the shutters open, even at night. It is good to feel the salty air fresh from the sea and remember to be grateful I still have my health. Lady Ellen has not been to see me for some weeks but sent a servant with one of her gowns for me. The plain style and dull material is far from the beautiful dresses I once wore, yet it was a simple matter to alter so it fitted my more slender form. I doubt Ellen realises the worn blue dress it replaces was all I had to wear or that my cotton shifts are threadbare from washing as often as I am able.

At least I look like a lady of some value again, although the poor food in this place has made me thin. When first imprisoned I ate so well and exercised so little I put on weight. Now I can feel my ribs and have little appetite for the rough bread and salty stew the Welsh cook brings me almost every day. I have learned they call it ‘cawl’ and I suspect it is made from kitchen scraps. I use my little
Book of Hours
to note the saints days in advance and ask for special meals to be prepared, or a jug of wine instead of milk. One day Lady Ellen sent me a bowl of delicious strawberries, which I hadn’t tasted since I was at Greenwich.

When her husband, my jailer William Bulkeley, visited me and enquired in his usual way if I was well, I asked if he could kindly tell the cook to make me something else to eat. Bulkeley seemed dismissive but sent a servant carrying half a fine cured ham and a dozen sweet green apples, so he may have some pity for me after all. I must keep on the right side of him, as it is within his power to make my life more bearable or most miserable. I shall wait until I know him better but my dearest wish is for a visit from my precious daughter Antigone.

Now I must explain how I became a lady-in-waiting to Jacqueline, Countess of Hainault, Holland and Zeeland, Dauphine of Viennois, Duchess of Touraine, Duchess of Brabant and then Duchess of Gloucester, wife of one of the most powerful men in England. The countess had sought sanctuary and arrived in England at the personal invitation of the king, as an honoured guest of his court. Jacqueline was glad to escape the threat to her life from civil wars in her home countries of Holland and France. She also needed to prove her marriage to her dislikeable husband John, the Duke of Brabant, illegal on the grounds he was also her first cousin.

In the year 1423, following the death of my mother, my father decided it was time I joined London society. He was concerned to find some way to improve my prospects of marriage and see me become a respectable lady. The fortunes of my family were to be inherited by my brother, so my father thought it unlikely I would find a wealthy suitor. Instead he sought a place for me as a lady-in-waiting. Fortunately, he was at court and heard talk of the imminent arrival of the Countess of Hainault from France. Her husband had replaced her ladies-in-waiting with those of his own choosing and Jacqueline arrived with only a few servants and the most essential items, such was her haste. It was not a simple matter to arrange an introduction, as there were many others wishing to join such a powerful woman who enjoyed the protection of the king.

Before I was invited to meet the countess, I spent long hours preparing with a tutor paid for by my father, to learn as much as I could of her family. I found out she had not had an easy life, as her father died horribly before she was sixteen, making her the sovereign of
Holland and Hainaut
before she was prepared for the responsibility. Her father’s death, quite likely from poisoning, was soon followed by that of her husband, whom she had been engaged to since she was four years old. My tutor explained that they had been betrothed as children and her husband was the son of the French King Charles, so the boy had the title ‘dauphin’ as the heir apparent to the crown. The marriage had been arranged by the Duke of Burgundy, at the suggestion of his sister Margaret, Countess of Holland, who was of course Jacqueline’s mother.

When I met her I was surprised at how young and attractive the countess was, full of life and lively humour, with no trace of her troubled past. Her blonde hair was always braided in the latest fashion and diamond necklaces sparkled at her neck. The countess had an infectious laugh and a talent for seeing the amusing side of everything, so I was delighted to be asked if I would care to take my place at her side as her new companion.

I must admit my life had not been easy after my mother died. I followed my father to London and had fallen into difficult times, living in a rented house. The allowance he provided was barely enough to live on, and I met men who took advantage of my circumstances. They didn’t treat me well and damaged my reputation, so my father’s intervention was most timely.

I found the countess good company once I was used to her condescending manner towards me. She told me her ladies at her Castle Le Quesnoy were of course of high degree and noble blood, ladies of good life and reputation, wise, honest and in all respects worthy. They were also for the most part educated with her from childhood, so had a proper understanding of their place. Although by implication I was not ‘in all respects worthy’, I knew better than to point out none of them seemed to have been loyal enough to accompany her to England. I later learned that the king had only granted safe passage through the English lines for herself and her mother, so only a few servants came with her from France.

The countess was a woman of more names and titles than any I have known. Baptised ‘Jacoba’ in Hainaut, her mother the Dowager Countess of Margaret of Burgundy called her ‘Jac’ and the French ‘Jacqueline’, the name she chose to use here in England. She told me once her enemies called her ‘Dame Jake’ and worse. As well as being the sovereign Countess of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, she was also a Dauphine of the house of Viennois and held the title of Duchess of Brabant through her ill-chosen husband.

I soon learned to call her different names, depending on her mood and circumstances. She told me her people called her Domina Jacoha but nothing seemed to please her more than to be referred to as ‘la princesse’ in company, although she was more properly known as ‘the countess’ at court.
   

Jacqueline quickly came to regard me as her most trusted friend and confidante, which made the future turn of events more painful for us both. We were the same age and had both been born and grown up in country castle estates. She was a skilled horsewoman and we enjoyed riding fast in the royal parks, often leaving our armed escort far behind us. The countess was grateful for my help with her English and understanding of our manners, our English customs and fashions. In return she helped me to improve my French and Latin and started teaching me the Hainault dialect of her homeland.

There was little similarity in our upbringing or circumstances. My family were wealthy enough for comfort but of declining status since the glory of my great-grandfather’s time. Jacqueline came from a different world. She told me that in truth the modern ways had yet to reach the wooded hills of Hainault. The countess loved to talk about how her household numbered more than two hundred servants and was defended by an army of six thousand fighting men. She said her family home at Quesnoy was richly furnished, with priceless tapestries, exotic peacocks and maidens playing on golden harps. I realised listening to her stories that her family had ruled as feudal lords, demanding absolute obedience and enjoying the highest privileges.

Jacqueline was also a wealthy woman. In addition to her income from inherited lands in France and Holland, King Henry V
ordered a provision of one hundred pounds a month for her expenses so long as she sojourned in England. Once she told me the king had sent an envoy, Sir William Esturmy to proceed to Holland to offer the hand of his brother John, Duke of Bedford, to Jacqueline. It seems Sir William took his time and arrived too late, as by then she was married to the Duke of Brabant. I wonder if I would be in this prison now if he had reached Hainault in time.

When her marriage to the Duke of Brabant proved a disaster, Jacqueline’s mother encouraged her to seek refuge at the English court. She confided in me they had been afraid the king would be angry, but he was not. The king at once sent a personal letter of authority to permit her and her mother to pass safely through the English lines in France and entry into Calais. Jacqueline said that when she crossed the English Channel she was full of hope the tide might turn for her at last.

As the weather was fine I was permitted to walk the outer ward of the castle and climb the stone steps to the high battlement, watched by my ever vigilant guards. As I reached the top I could see two pairs of pure white swans on the dark moat which surrounds the castle on all sides. One of the soldiers told me the castle moat is deep and some eighteen feet wide at the narrowest point. I also learned that all the latrines empty into the moat, a thought I do not wish to dwell upon.

From my high vantage-point I can also see the blue green mountains of Wales and the shimmering expanse of the Irish Sea. Anglesey is of course an island, divided from the Welsh mainland by the narrow but fast flowing Afon Menai. A large sailing boat was unloading in Beaumaris harbour and the sounds of men’s voices carried well in the still air. It took a moment for me to realise they talk in Welsh and I wonder if Lady Ellen will teach their language to me.

If I were not a prisoner here I would think it a good place to be on a sunny day. Lady Ellen told me this spot was originally the thriving Welsh coastal village of Llanfaes. King Edward decided it was the ideal site for his castle and forcibly moved the entire village some twelve miles away to a place he called ‘Newborough’.

English kings have indeed shown scant regard for the local people, as even the Franciscan monastery here was plundered and destroyed by the men of King Henry IV, with many of the friars put to the sword for supporting the Welsh cause in their last uprising. It may be Ellen’s influence but I feel sympathy for the people of Wales, who have been punished so severely for trying to defend their homeland.

It was through Jacqueline that I first met Humphrey Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester, Earl of Pembroke and brother to Henry V, King of England. Of course I knew him by reputation, as he was a champion of the victory at Agincourt and second in line to the throne. I don’t know what I was expecting when I first met him but I was taken completely by surprise. Countess Jacqueline had been invited to stay at the duke’s London mansion, a fine building called Baynard’s Castle near Paul’s Wharf on the banks of the River Thames. The duke was not in residence when I arrived to take up my position as her lady-in-waiting, as he had been called away to deal with his business in Dover but Jacqueline was happy to tell me all about him.