The Secret Diary of Eleanor Cobham (8 page)

The French forces were well fed and well-armed, but not well led, as their choice of Agincourt as the place to block the English march to the coast proved a poor one. The recently ploughed fields turned to deep mud after so much heavy rain. After hours of waiting the French foot soldiers advanced in waves. They were accompanied by the sounds of an ominous drum beat, with mounted cavalry galloping on each side.

Humphrey described how it seemed his men would be overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. Then the tide turned in his favour. The air was filled with more arrows than he had ever seen as the English made their desperate last stand. The front ranks of the French broke formation as men fell, mortally wounded. Inhuman shrieks rang out as the sharpened stakes proved horribly effective, impaling the charging war horses. He watched as his archers deliberately aimed at the flanks of the horses, causing them to rear into the air and throw their riders into the mud. Some of the French had heavy armour and sank into the freshly ploughed field, starting a crush where they trampled over each other, driven on by the pressing force from behind. Now within range of the longbows, this made for an easy target for the skilled English bowmen.

Humphrey could have stayed in the relative safety of the rearguard, but he was young and adventurous. He dismounted from his horse to fight at the front, with his best men on either side, using his sword on any of the approaching enemy who made it through to the English lines. He shook his head as he described the carnage, with his archers using mallets and billhooks to finish off wounded Frenchmen. In the heat of the battle he somehow advanced too far into the enemy ranks and suddenly found himself surrounded by French soldiers.

He was well trained but had little experience of this close combat and told me he was soon battling for his life. He remembered killing several men in the fierce fighting before he met his match. He later found it was no less than the commander of the French second wave, the Duke of Alencon, who struck him down with a savage blow. Humphrey said he fell backwards in the deep mud, severely wounded in the groin. He was losing a lot of blood and couldn’t stand. Word reached King Henry, who rushed forward to save him, surrounded by his personal guard.

His brother told him the rescue nearly cost him his own life, as he received a heavy strike on his bascinet from a French axe that could have been fatal. The Duke of Alencon was eventually disarmed and knelt before Henry in surrender, expecting to be ransomed, but was swiftly executed by one of his guards before Henry could respond. Humphrey later heard this was not the last of the executions. The cousin of the King of France, Antoine of Burgundy, Duke of Brabant had his throat cut as he lay wounded on the field.

Many French had been taken prisoner and while Humphrey was being carried off to have his wounds tended, six hundred French cavalry charged to free them. At the same moment a band of armed peasants from Agincourt attacked from the rear, ransacking the king’s supplies and taking his crown jewels and all the gold and silver carried from England. Henry was outraged but there was nothing he could do, as he didn’t even have enough men to guard the prisoners, and reluctantly ordered that they all be killed.

Humphrey told me he passed out with the pain, resigned to his fate. If he had not been the king’s youngest brother he would surely have died from loss of blood, as his wounds were deep and the risk of infection from the mud of the battlefield was high. The king’s own physicians cleaned his wounds and tended him until he was well enough to return home. He had been twenty-five at the time of the battle and quickly recovered, with the deep scar to show for his adventure, but he never fought in a battle again.

Our arrival in Calais nearly ten years after that victory in Agincourt was welcomed by most of the population, some who turned out to show their loyalty but most I suspect out of curiosity. We had brought nearly half of Humphrey’s army with us, over five hundred archers and twice as many foot soldiers. Some cheered and shouted to us but others looked anxious, perhaps conscious of the precarious hold the English had over the walled town.

 
The fleet had returned to Dover with the tide to collect the rest of Humphrey’s men, leaving us to wait in the French port. Humphrey had secured us a fine mansion in the middle of Calais and established his men in the barracks. He sent riders to the city of Mons to announce our presence and set out our demands for the reinstatement of Countess Jacqueline’s rightful inheritance.

 
Humphrey knew Calais well, having been there many times. He explained how it had first been taken by his great-grandfather, King Edward III after a short but brutal siege. The town's leaders had refused to surrender and faced execution, but the English had taken anyone of rank hostage and evicted all other inhabitants, sending messages to England for people to come and take such property as they wished.

At Christmas time I had a visit from Lady Ellen, whom I have not seen for nearly two months. She gave no reason for not visiting me for so long and I didn’t ask, but she brought her little son to see me, carrying a present. Named William after his father, Ellen’s son is a confident boy with his father’s dark hair and at six years old, grown enough to be curious about my presence in this castle. He handed me his present, a small basket of fruit and spiced gingerbread. I thanked them both, as it was a long time since I had seen a ripe peach or eaten sweet ginger. I was grateful for their kindness.

Ellen told me how she was teaching young William to read and that he could already write his own name, after a fashion. He took great interest in my writing desk and my small collection of feathers that will be soon made into quills, so I made him a present of my small iridescent feather. It had cost me nothing but a little time, of which I have plenty, and it clearly gave him great pleasure, as he admired it as if it were the most precious of gifts.

His mother also appreciated my gesture and I think it helped build a little trust between us. She told me there was little news from London since we had last met but Ellen had learned more of the fall of Queen Margaret’s main supporter, William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk. It was William who had negotiated the king’s marriage to the fourteen-year-old Margaret of Anjou and was rewarded by being made Duke of Suffolk two years ago.

The lives of Humphrey and William de la Pole had been intertwined since they fought together at the siege of Harfleur. Humphrey told me once he never trusted William’s father, the Earl of Suffolk, who was one of the many who died an unheroic death at Harfleur from the bloody flux. William himself was so badly wounded during a counter-attack by the French garrison that he was amongst those shipped home. He therefore missed the carnage of Agincourt but his older brother Michael de la Pole, heir to the family title, who became the new Earl of Suffolk, was one of those killed in the battle.

I cursed the man who was suspected of the murder of my beloved Humphrey and now it is unlikely we will ever hear the truth. Suffolk is dead, executed by an unknown hand for his scheming. He had been on the ascendant, a powerful advisor to Queen Margaret, appointed Lord Chamberlain, Lord High Admiral and of course made Duke of Suffolk. His sudden fall was probably due to public anger at the loss of the hard won English territories in northern France.

Ellen was uncertain of the details but told me how he had been arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London for alleged plotting with the French against the king. Suffolk must have had some influence to avoid being executed for treason. It was rumoured that the queen had intervened, as he was instead sentenced to five years' banishment from court.

The story she told me was he protested his innocence but fled by sea to Calais and was apprehended by a faster ship, possibly sent by the Constable of the Tower, acting on secret orders from the king, or even Richard, Duke of York. She looked to see her young son wasn’t listening. He was happily playing in front of my fire with his brightly painted wooden toy soldiers, a Christmas gift from his father. Ellen whispered to me that the headless body of William, Duke of Sussex, once one of the most powerful men in England, had been found on the beach at Dover.

After my visitor had gone my mind returned to another Christmas, so long ago in Windsor, and I wondered what the country would have been like if events had taken a different turn. If Queen Catherine had given birth to a daughter, instead of Henry VI with his ambitious French wife, the throne would have rightfully been inherited by my Humphrey, with me at his side.

Ad portas civitatis

The new year is marked by snowflakes drifting in the air. They melt as soon as they settle but I sense we are in for a hard winter. My first visitor of the year was my jailer, William Bulkeley. He arrived early one morning, knocking noisily on my wooden door and dressed in a fine new uniform. There was a new confidence about him I had not noticed before and I saw he was quite handsome in a rugged, Welsh way. He looked around my cold room, noting the soot blackened hearth and the thin ice which had formed on the earthenware jug of water left for me the previous night.

What he had to tell me made my heart beat faster.
 
He announced his decision that I was to be moved the next day and told me I should make ready my few possessions. Since my so-called trial and sentence over ten years ago I have been moved many times, but I have become used to this peaceful place and feared the move may not be for the better. At the same time, I could not resist a sudden unexpected feeling of hope that I may be released at last, having served penance enough for my mistakes. This will be my tenth long year of imprisonment, my husband and even my enemies are now dead and I am forgotten by the world. Even when Richard, Duke of York came to this place he seemed unaware of my presence here, or worse, indifferent to it.

The king’s advisors surely see me as no threat. I could be allowed to end my days in the company of my daughter Antigone and to see my little grandchildren. William Bulkeley must have noticed the look of hope in my eyes, as he quickly explained I was simply to be moved to a room in the south-east tower. He gave me no reason and I knew better than to ask.

My immediate concern was for the safety of this journal, so I took it from the secret hiding place under the loose floorboard and hid it in the folds of my dress, making a bundle of the rest of my poor possessions. My guards did not bother to search me when I left my room for the last time, and although a small victory, it gave me some comfort.

The designer of Beaumaris Castle loved symmetry, so much that my new room is almost identical, with one important difference. My windows which looked out across the inner ward with nothing particular to engage me, now provide a view through a slit in the outer wall of the castle, across the Menai strait to the mountains of mainland Wales. It catches the early winter sun which brightens my mornings. For a long time now I have woken with the cry of the gulls at dawn and gone to sleep at sunset. I much prefer writing at my window in sunlight and am carefully conserving my tallow candles, as I don’t know when I will have more. I have learned to be grateful for the little I have. Who knows what the future holds for any of us?

My recollection of that first time I visited France is a happy one. There was a great sense of anticipation in our new house in Calais. Duke Humphrey even spoke of the possibility of building a mansion in his new lands in Hainault and making it our main residence. Even Jacqueline was in a brighter mood once we were on our way to her homeland. She was full of stories of the wonderful palaces she had lived in as a child. The duke and I had heard them all before but listened with new interest, needing to know as much as we could about our potentially dangerous destination.

While we waited for our fleet of ships to return with the rest of Humphrey’s army, I accompanied the countess on an exploration of the bustling town of Calais. It had always been a trading port and the centre was busy with noisy merchants selling everything from fresh fish and fruit to fine silks from the Orient. Although the local people were probably used to strangers, Humphrey had insisted we were followed by a well-armed band of soldiers from his personal guard, so we drew unwanted attention wherever we went.

In the evenings Jacqueline would be visited by the ladies of the town and we entertained ourselves sharing news and gossip of events in England and France. They welcomed me to join in, which helped me to further practice my French, as they spoke little English where we were going. It was from the ladies of Calais that I learned more of how Philip, the powerful Duke of Burgundy, had formed an alliance with Humphrey’s brother John, Duke of Bedford. John had married the duke's sister Anne the previous year and I realised how Humphrey now threatened to undo all John’s careful peace-making with our arrival in France to pursue his claims.

Duke Humphrey kept busy writing letters to the influential men of Mons, setting out his claims to Countess Jacqueline’s territories. He was impatient to be heading for Hainault, as every day in Calais was costing him, in precious time, as well as wages for his mercenary army. He grew restless, complaining that every day we delayed would allow his enemies more time to plot against him. We knew his brother John was working on a diplomatic agreement but Humphrey was in no mood for compromise.

Even when we received a deputation of finely dressed nobles from Flanders, refusing passage through their country, Duke Humphrey would not be deterred. It was of course a setback but not unexpected. We treated them to a splendid banquet, with music and dancing and flagons of good French wine. I think they understood the Duke’s position, even if they didn’t support him, and we parted on good terms with agreement that we would respect their wishes. I think it was the closest I ever saw Humphrey come to diplomacy.

When the remainder of his men arrived, we travelled to their camp outside Calais. Although I had seen the preparations in Dover I was surprised at how many of them there were. The encampment was a huge sprawling place, like a temporary town, the surest reminder he was ready to fight if necessary. The air was thick with the smell of wood smoke from the many camp fires, which made my eyes sting and lingered on my clothes. At least it masked the rank odour of men and animals.

I could feel many eyes upon me as I stood with Jacqueline at a discreet distance from Duke Humphrey as he addressed his men. They gathered round him, eager for news of when they would see some action. I remember how he revealed little of his plans but instead warned them not to pillage the local area when foraging for food and fodder for the horses. He showed his skill in winning over the men with promises of glory and reward and raised their spirits when he announced extra rations of ale and ordered a whole ox to be roasted.

Baron John Mowbray, the Earl Marshal, finally arrived in the early morning on the second day of November. We watched from the harbour wall and I counted forty-two heavily laden ships, four of them having been delayed or blown off course. I had enjoyed our stay in Calais but knew Humphrey had been counting the days until the arrival of the rest of our mercenary army. I might not have liked Mowbray but he was Humphrey’s appointed commander, with experience of the war in France, and had fought at the side of King Henry 
V
at the siege of Harfleur but was glad to see him, as it marked the start of our new adventure.

Baron Mowbray wasted no time organising the unloading of the ships. It was good to see the men respected him and there were no complaints as our supplies and equipment were carried to our camp. As well as many good warhorses, I noticed that the ships had brought carts laden with siege equipment and some small cannons. Duke Humphrey had told us he was prepared for whatever awaited us in Hainault but this was the first time I had appreciated the scale of what he had in mind or the possible dangers for us all.

It was the middle of November when Mowbray led us out of Calais on the long march to the city of Mons and on to Hainault. I rode with the duke and countess and remember looking back to an impressive sight, as we had brought nearly two thousand horses, followed by over four thousand men-at-arms, archers and foot soldiers. At the rear we had a motley assortment of camp followers and the supply wagons stretching all the way back to Calais.

I would have expected the duke to ride alongside Baron Mowbray at the head of the army he had worked so hard to raise, yet he rode with us in silence behind the main cavalry, a grim expression on his face, a sign his recurring illness had returned. He had brought with him his own physician, but the potions seemed to be having little effect as we made our way to the county of Artois and the lands of the Dukes of Burgundy.

We were unsure of the welcome we would receive in Burgundian territory. Countess Jacqueline was in good spirits after so long away from her homeland but Duke Humphrey had told us the men were at full readiness to fight if they had to. The sheer size of our army meant there was no chance of our arrival passing unnoticed, or that our intentions could possibly be seen as peaceful.

Those days in Calais seem so long ago now as I watch from my high window. The tops of the Welsh hills are white with a fresh fall of snow and the people retreat into their homes to escape the chill of winter. There are no visitors to the castle today, so my only distraction is to watch the herring gulls as they swoop so effortlessly over the battlements, as if mocking my imprisonment in this unfinished castle.

The builders of Beaumaris castle have included corridors within the thick walls which connect my new room to the chapel tower. Lit only by the tall window openings to the inner ward, these passages are mainly used by the guards to avoid the winter rains. In places the corridors are so narrow I can easily touch the cold stones on both sides as I feel my way to the chapel at dusk.

The last time I passed through the corridor I noticed a movement in the poor light and saw it was a small bird sheltering in the passageway. I bent down to take a closer look and realised it was a bedraggled pigeon. It had made a little nest at the side of the corridor from twigs and straw. The pigeon’s bright eyes looked back at me without concern and I left it in peace, taking some comfort from the way it seemed to sense I would do it no harm.

Like that small bird, I feel safe in the sanctuary of the chapel. I can imagine in King Edward’s time it would have been a magnificent sight, but the once colourful wall paintings have now faded and where there may have been a golden crucifix now stands a poor replacement made from wood. My guards wait at a respectful distance while I kneel at the altar, not in prayer but in quiet contemplation. I found my mind returning to our reception in Hainault. It was such a long journey for so little reward, but one which changed the course of my life forever.