The Star of Lancaster (23 page)

‘
You
would do well to go to your home while you are safe,’ retorted the Duke.

Beaumanoir protested: ‘What are you doing to Clisson? He is your guest.’

‘Do you wish to be like him?’ demanded the Duke.

‘He is a great man,’ was Beaumanoir’s answer. ‘I should be honoured to be like him.

The Duke drew a dagger and held it to his face. ‘Then,’ he cried venomously, ‘I must put out one of your eyes.’

Beaumanoir drew back in alarm. He and Laval saw that they were caught. If they attempted to rescue Clisson, they would find themselves the Duke’s prisoners also. All the same Beaumanoir stood firmly and demanded to know on what grounds Clisson was arrested.

In a burst of fury the Duke shouted for guards to come and
take Beaumanoir which they did. Meanwhile Laval slipped quietly away and out of the castle.

The Duke went to his private apartments and, still enraged, sent for the Sieur Bazvalen, a man who had served him well through the years and whose loyalty was without question.

‘Bazvalen, my good friend,’ he said, ‘I want Clisson to die at once, and I want you to see that this is done.’

Bazvalen drew back in horror. He knew Clisson well. This demand was too much to ask. He was no murderer. He had killed men in battle, it was true, but this was different.

‘My lord . . .’ he began.

But the Duke waved his hand imperiously. ‘Let him be taken to a dungeon. Kill him, I care not by what means, and then open the trap door and let his body go into the moat.’

Bazvalen could see that it was no use arguing with the Duke in his present mood or he would find himself in danger, but he was determined not to have the death of Clisson on his conscience so he went to Clisson and warned him of what he had been ordered to do and planned that he would return to the Duke and tell him that Clisson was dead and his body in the moat. In the meantime they would plan some means of getting Clisson out of the castle.

But when Bazvalen reported to the Duke he was overcome by remorse. His anger faded and he realised that he had condemned Clisson without proving his guilt. ‘You are without blame, Bazvalen,’ he cried. ‘You but obeyed orders. The sin is on my conscience. I have murdered Clisson.’

He would not eat. He would never sleep in peace again, he said, and when he declared that he would give anything to have another chance, Bazvalen could hold back the truth no longer and confessed that he had been unable to murder Clisson who
still lived. The Duke then threw his arms about Bazvalen’s neck. ‘My good good servant,’ he cried, ‘you knew me better than I knew myself.’

The Duke’s anger had faded but he was always one to seek an advantage. His mischievous father-in-law had made evil suggestions which might be false but Clisson had been working with the French and therefore he could not be released until certain conditions had been filled. The Duke demanded the surrender of several towns which were in Clisson’s possession as well as a hundred thousand florins.

Clisson, delighted to escape with his life, was only too pleased to pay what was demanded and so bring about his release.

Joanna was annoyed when she heard that her husband had suspected Clisson of wishing to be her lover, especially as she was now pregnant, a fact which made her even more attractive in the eyes of the Duke. She was cool to him and when he humbly asked the cause of her displeasure, she cried:

‘You have suspected me of infidelity with Clisson. This has made me very disturbed at a time when you should do everything for my comfort.’

He was beside himself with grief. ‘Never for one moment did I doubt you, my love,’ he assured her. ‘I know you to be perfect . . . in every way perfect. You are my very reason for living. Without you I would die tomorrow and gladly. And the thought of that. . . that . . . monster . . .’

‘You think I would be attracted by a one-eyed varlet.’

‘They say he is very attractive to women . . .’

‘So you would compare me with . . .
women
.’

‘Never! Never! You stand above them all. I will give anything . . . anything I have . . .’

Joanna smiled at him. It was good to render him humble.

‘I know it . . .’ she answered. ‘But I beg of you do not again insult me by linking me with such as Clisson. I am the Duchess of Brittany. My great-grandfather was the King of France.’

‘My love . . . how can I win your forgiveness?’

She smiled sweetly. ‘I know it is all the measure of your love for me,’ she told him.

She knew too that now there would be even richer presents than before.

Her child was born soon after that, a daughter who died after a few weeks. The Duke was desolate. He wondered whether the Clisson affair was responsible.

Charles the Bad, the cause of the trouble, suffered a further bout of his painful illness. One of his doctors produced a remedy which gave him a little relief. Bandages were soaked in a solution of wine and sulphur and it was the task of one of his servants to wrap his limbs in them and sew the bandages together to keep them secure. When this was done he looked as though his body was wrapped in a shroud.

One night when a new man was sewing the bandages, which was a difficult task for Charles disliked being trussed up, he became even more irritable than usual for the man fumbled and the more Charles roared the more nervous he became. ‘I am like a pig being trussed up for the roasting spit!’ he cried in fury. Little did he realise the aptness of his simile. The servant became more and more clumsy and when he came to sever the thread he found he had mislaid the knife he needed to cut it. Charles was growing exasperated and in desperation the servant picked up a lighted candle to burn the thread and so release the needle. The effect was instantaneous and disastrous. The wine ignited and very soon Charles was wrapped in a cocoon of fire. He screamed in agony as servants rushed in. He
was rolled in his bed and smothered with heavy bed coverings, and in time the fire was put out, but not before Charles was so badly burned that it seemed unlikely that he would survive. He died a few days later.

It cannot be said that he was greatly mourned and when his son, Charles, became the King of Navarre there was general rejoicing for Charles had not been known as the Bad for nothing; and his son, another Charles, having shared his sister’s harsh childhood showed every sign of being the exact opposite of his father.

Joanna who had become pregnant immediately after the death of her first child gave birth to a son who was baptised Pierre and this birth, to the delight of the parents, was quickly followed by the arrival of a girl child, little Marie.

The Duke was beside himself with joy. He thought Joanna more wonderful than ever. Not only was she young and beautiful but she was fertile too and for a man of his age that meant a good deal. He could scarcely tear himself away from her and no sooner was one child born than she was pregnant with another. There followed after Pierre who since he was the heir had become known as John Marie, Arthur, Gilles, Richard, Blanche and Margaret. Eight children in all, counting little Joanna who had died soon after her birth.

This was the happy state of affairs when Henry arrived at the Court of Brittany.

There the Duke was determined to show his pleasure in his guest. One thing he wished to do was to stress his contempt not only for the King of England but for the King of France as well.

He delighted too in Henry’s admiration for the Duchess.

Joanna was very different from little Mary de Bohun and
perhaps for that reason Henry found her attractive. Her conversation was lively; she was a woman of strong character; in truth she was the main reason for making his stay in Brittany so delightful.

If she had been a widow, he being a widower they would have made a perfect match. They were neither of them too old, nor were they immature, and they both had a largish family. Her intelligence on the state of affairs in Europe, and that included England, was remarkable. Henry could see that she advised the Duke with a wisdom which the Duke himself did not possess.

Yes, Joanna was an admirable woman.

He did not exactly mention his feelings to Joanna, but she was a very sensible and sensitive woman and she was aware of them; and she saw no reason to hide the fact that she found Henry attractive. There was nothing she liked better than to sit alone with him and talk. Not entirely alone of course, that would have been indiscreet and there was nothing indiscreet about Joanna. There would be attendants but Joanna could always see that they were not too close.

She told him about the affair of Clisson. It was a cautionary tale. The Duke had a fiery temper and he was capable of very rash acts when it took possession of him.

Joanna liked to hear about his children and his accounts of them seemed to be dominated by the amusing and very lively Lord Harry. He was concerned about Harry who was at the Court of King Richard. ‘I wished my father to take him,’ said Henry, ‘but the King would not let him go.’

That made him fearful, he admitted. The boy was in truth a hostage.

To her he could explain, how he felt shut out from his
country. It was sad to be an exile even when one was offered such hospitality as that which he had received in Brittany.

‘It will not always be so,’ she soothed. ‘I have a notion that Richard will not long remain on his throne. And then . . .’

‘And then . . . yes . . .?’

‘Well, you will no longer be an exile, will you? You will go away from us, and it would not surprise me if . . . But I talk too much.’

‘Sometimes it is good to talk of one’s dreams,’ said Henry.

‘They can be dangerous.’ She looked at him with glowing eyes. ‘Who can be sure of what will happen? You may be a King ere long, Henry of Lancaster.’

He said almost breathlessly, ‘There is a possibility.’

‘And I . . . What shall I be? My husband is not in good health you know.’

They were both silent. They felt the air was heavy with suggestion.

‘I think about it,’ she said. ‘He was an old man when I married him. He had had two wives and outlived them. I was given to him. There was no choice for me. But he has always been good to me.’

‘You have made him very happy.’

‘I have borne him children and he has always treated me with great care and affection.’

‘So should he do.’

‘But he cannot live long, I know.’

His hand had placed itself over hers.

‘Who knows what the future may hold?’ he said.

It was almost like a declaration.

She spoke in a louder voice, saying: ‘This son of yours, this Harry, he needs a wife.’

‘He will have one ere long.’

‘What of my daughter? That would link our families in a way which would be very agreeable to me.’

‘My son . . . your daughter . . . Yes. It would be . . . a beginning.’

She looked at him intently, her eyes sparkling. Yes, there was indeed an understanding between them.

The Duke was agreeable that their daughter Marie should be betrothed to Harry of Monmouth, for as he confided to Joanna when they were alone he was certain that there was deep dissatisfaction in England with the reigning King.

‘Richard will be off the throne before long. You will see, my dear. And then . . . it is up to Lancaster.’

‘There is another before him. Mortimer . . .’

The Duke snapped his fingers. ‘A strong arm and a steady head will decide. I think Henry is the one with those.’

He pressed her arm. ‘We have done well to make him our friend. We will strengthen our alliance by betrothing our girl to the young Lord Harry. She shall have a dowry of one hundred and fifty thousand francs.’

Preparations went ahead. The nuptials were to be celebrated in the castle of Brest which should be a gift to the bride and bridegroom. It was doubtful whether Harry would be allowed to come to France. Indeed it was most unlikely since he had not been allowed to go to his grandfather. However, the marriage could take place by proxy.

While these preparations were in progress there was a message from the King of France who wished for an immediate meeting with the Duke of Brittany concerning a matter of
importance to them both. Duke John was now somewhat infirm; he did not want to become involved in trouble, and he could not disobey the King’s summons unless he wanted to create a dangerous incident.

So he went. He was soon back. The King of France did not approve of Marie’s marriage to Harry. He had another bridegroom for her. He had offered the heir of Alençon, and to marry this noble prince the Duke would not be asked for nearly such a large dowry as the English were asking.

‘I could do nothing but accept,’ said the Duke morosely, thereby proclaiming that he felt his age sadly for earlier he would never have allowed anyone to force him into such a situation.