‘It must have been cut here in Brussels,’ said Paul, one of Charles’s knights. ‘You could never have ridden a full day with a saddle strap in that condition.’
‘Get back to the stables and check out the staff there… see what you can find out about the stable boys, and while you’re there, find a blacksmith or someone who can fix this saddle,’ ordered Charles.
Thirty minutes later they were back with a tanner who made a temporary repair to the strap and stitched up the damaged saddle. While the tanner was about his work the guards described word for word what the stable boys had told him earlier.
‘He said that when they came into the stables this morning, the Palomino was already tacked up and ready to go, so they assumed that Toby had done it for himself. When I explained the reason for my question he told me that two men claiming to be travellers arrived late last night at the tavern, and left early this morning without paying for their keep.
‘So my Lord… it looks as if your suspicions were right… we have a potential assassin in our midst.’
‘So it seems: But how are we going to track him down, and why Toby? That’s the question.’
I was offered the chance to return to Noordeinde but declined, as my curiosity to see the queen was greater than the pain in my shoulder. I was helped into the saddle and we began the second day of our journey an hour behind schedule.
The rest of the journey to Reims was uneventful. But my shoulder was hurting more than I cared to admit, and I suspected that we were travelling at a slower pace for my benefit, which upset me somewhat.
We stayed overnight at a hunting lodge belonging to a relative of Queen Henrietta, and while there, a serving girl rubbed some balm into my shoulder, she said it would relieve the pain, and I think it did help a little. I was not feeling very sociable, so I retired early to my bed, leaving the others flirting with the local wenches and drinking cheap wine.
***
The Castle of Doves was situated on high ground above Paris. We passed through the large iron gates and along the extremely long tree-lined driveway specially designed to give the occupants of the castle plenty of time to observe approaching visitors.
We had been travelling for three days, by far the longest I had ever spent in the saddle. My backside was tender, my shoulder was aching and I felt completely exhausted as we rode the final few yards into the courtyard. My discomfort was eased somewhat in the knowledge that I could now hand over the reins and forget about my trusty Palomino for a few days.
Standing each side of the double oak doors were two male domestics, and between them Charles’s brother James, Duke of York, who was holding the hand of their little four-year-old sister Henrietta, the youngest of the Stuart siblings.
James with a wide grin on his face watched as a multitude of servants rushed to attend to our horses and luggage.
I had expected the queen to be there to welcome us, but was later told that the queen does not meet her guests… it is they who go to her.
Little Henrietta, still too young to understand the vagaries of protocol, came running to greet us, jumping up and down excitedly until Charles had dismounted. He took her in his arms, and it was clear by the way she embraced him with tears of joy running down her pretty cheeks just how very close a family they were, and for a brief moment I envied them… seeing first-hand just what it must be like to have a brother or sister.
It was late afternoon, and beginning to go dark; I was about to follow Charles into the castle when Thomas called to me. ‘You see those lights over there,’ he said. ‘Well that’s Paris, you will find it an interesting place to explore.’
The Castle of Doves was not as big as I had expected… nor did it look like a castle. Nevertheless it was a majestic building with an impressive tree-lined entrance. I was equally impressed by the rear of the building and the extensive gardens stretching 200 yards and beyond to open ground, and then across open fields to a forest of tall Cypress trees. Not surprisingly a line of dovecotes were positioned each side of the gardens.
The servants and stable boys disappeared round the side of the building with our horses, and I followed Prince Charles into the castle through the open doors into a large reception area.
The inside of the house was equally impressive with many unique features including a beautiful painted ceiling which Thomas told me was: ‘The Alliance of Bacchus with Venus and his loves.’ I couldn’t help thinking how Veronica would have loved such an erotic painting on the ceiling in her parlour.
***
My first impression of Queen Henrietta was of surprise. She was much smaller than I had expected, and sitting on a large throne made her look even smaller.
Her teeth protruded a little, and she had thin arms. But she had a nice nose, a marvellous complexion and beautiful eyes.
She embraced Charles and offered Thomas her gloved hand. He bowed respectfully and kissed it in the most gentle way. I was impressed by his elegance and grace and took a mental note on how best to approach a queen… if ever I were invited. She then indicated to Thomas to sit by her side.
I watched from the back of the room and could not help but notice that the queen seemed always to address Thomas rather than her son, talking softly to him as one would a close friend. Perhaps it was because he was closer to her age, or perhaps it was because he was much wiser and more intelligent than her son.
They were talking in French and I could catch only a little of the conversation… certainly not enough to make an accurate record.
I was standing ten paces away and saw Thomas point at me. The queen looked briefly in my direction and nodded. He then came to me and without speaking, put a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the adjoining room.
‘Queen Henrietta wants to have a private word with her son just now, but has agreed to let you listen into any conversation that is not of a personal nature. On these occasions you will sit at the back of the room and keep quiet, any questions?’
‘I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying because she was speaking in French.’
‘Of course she was. We are in France and that is her language, I understand that,’ said Thomas. ‘Just remember what I said about headings, take a note of the words that you do understand and I will go through it all with you later.’
I must have looked perplexed because he grinned and then chuckled.
‘Don’t worry Toby, I don’t expect too much from you, and what you don’t understand I will explain later.’
‘I think you quite enjoy watching me suffer,’ I said, ‘but I accept the challenge.’
We were sat together for no more than five minutes, when we heard raised voices from the adjoining room. The only two words I could understand were Lucy and Walter.
Thomas stopped to eavesdrop for a few moments, he then sat facing me.
‘I think I should tell you a little about the history of King Charles and his Queen. As you know she is French, and a devout Roman Catholic. While he is a Puritan who follows strict Protestant principles, despite the strong religious differences their fathers both agreed that the best way to bring together two potentially warring countries together, was for them to be married. But before the marriage could take place, a special dispensation from the Pope had to be approved. He agreed to the marriage only after he was assured that there would be some measure of toleration for Roman Catholics in England. The English government and Henrietta’s father, Henry IV of France, agreed, and the marriage took place… first by proxy in May, 1625, and later in June, 1626, at St Augustine’s Church, Canterbury.
‘The twenty-four-year-old King Charles was totally content with the marriage to Henrietta who was only fifteen at the time. He had married well and his bride was young and fit enough to provide him with many heirs. Henrietta on the other hand was totally against marrying a protestant but her personal wishes were of no consequence.
‘When she first arrived in England she brought with her an army of servants, all of which were Catholics. As you can imagine this caused considerable tension between them. So Charles sent them all back apart from her Chaplain and two ladies-in-waiting.
‘The first few months were challenging but the marriage became one of deep love and affection, especially after Henrietta provided her husband with the heirs he so desired.
‘The main problem is religion, and it is on this subject that Prince Charles and his mother always argue. James, like his mother, is a catholic, and no doubt little Henrietta will be raised as a catholic too. The King, his son Prince Charles, and her two other children, Henry and Elizabeth, are protestants. So there you have it. An insurmountable problem… and now to add to their difficulties we have the problem of Lucy Walter who is carrying the queen’s first grandchild.’
‘How is that a problem for the queen?’
‘Queen Henrietta is insisting that when the child arrives, he or she will live here in France with her, which means the child will be raised a catholic.’
‘What does Lucy think about that?’
‘I don’t think she has any say in the matter… her father agrees that his grandson or daughter would be better raised a catholic here in Paris, than a protestant in England under the rule of Oliver Cromwell. To add to the confusion… Lucy is now claiming to be married to the prince… and is apparently looking forward to living here in Paris as one of the queen’s ladies.’
‘What did the queen say about Charles and Lucy’s marriage? I take it she disapproves.’
‘She does, but it is not Lucy whom she blames… she blames Charles, she blames him for everything.’
‘Will Charles agree to Lucy and her child living here?’
‘He may have no choice. But enough of Lucy Walter, she is of little consequence, at this moment the queen’s main concern is securing the release of her husband King Charles.’
Thomas stopped talking and turned his head towards the queen’s chamber. The arguing had stopped and all was quiet in the adjoining room.
I wasn’t sure if he had finished with me, so I started gathering up my papers and asked, ‘What do you suppose they are doing in there?’
‘I believe they are trying to craft a suitable letter to send to London. The queen being a catholic has never had any influence or authority in England, so she is helping Charles to put together an appropriate letter, begging for leniency and a speedy release of his father. But it has to be in his own hand.’
‘Could you not do that for him?’
‘I could… and he may well ask me to check his work or even to make amendments.’
‘When will we be going back to Noordeinde Palace?’
‘Missing your girlfriend are you?’
‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ I said angrily.
‘I personally think we will be here for a couple of weeks, but Charles may decide to stay longer, perhaps until the problem of his father is resolved. So for the time being we are going nowhere.’
My question to Thomas was answered by Charles himself, a couple of days later.
‘We will be returning to The Hague on Monday. I would have preferred to go sooner but my mother had insisted we join her for Mass on Sunday.’
***
There was a brand new saddle created from the finest soft leather on my Palomino for the return journey, and I had been assured by Queen Henrietta’s physician that my shoulder was only bruised, nothing was broken and that all that was needed was rest.
I was offered help getting into the saddle, but not wanting to appear weak or feeble I brushed aside the offer and struggled on my own, trying (unsuccessfully I think) to make it look easy.
The return journey to The Hague appeared to be so much further than the outward journey, and my discomfort seemed to be getting worse with every stride.
I had a good rest at Brussels, and while I was relaxing and updating my records, Thomas and Charles were again questioning staff at the tavern, plus any others who might have had access to the stables.
They eventually abandoned their investigation when they realised all their questions had amounted to nothing.
On arrival at Noordeinde Palace… physically and mentally exhausted, I retired straight to my attic room and fell asleep.
I was awakened by Thomas accompanied by Princess Mary’s personal surgeon who confirmed that the pain in my shoulder was nothing more than a bad sprain. He put my arm in a sling and told me to rest. I was not convinced by his diagnosis, the pain was just as bad as ever… but I was too tired to argue, so for the next few days I meandered around the grounds and the stables, usually carrying a book feeling bored and useless.
I explained to Louis and Anne as best as I could the reason for my arm sling. I also told them once again about the incident on the ship… but I had no answer to their questions on who would want to harm me. I lay awake at night asking myself the same question.
‘Surely you must have some idea Toby, perhaps you have upset someone in the past… can you not remember anything?’
‘Trust me Anne, I have racked my brain for answers, I have no idea, I have never had any enemies… never.’
‘Well you can’t work with your arm in a sling, and you can’t ride… but you can walk and you can study, so get your books and let us go to the summerhouse.’
Louis smiled at me. ‘I think that’s an order my friend.’
‘I think you are right,’ said I.
The following morning when I gave Thomas the work I had done the previous day, he put it to one side and said, ‘There seems to be little doubt that for some unknown reason you have an enemy who intends to harm you… someone as yet unknown. And despite extensive investigation, and that of my Lord, Prince Charles, we still have no idea as to who it could be. So as well as your usual studies, I am going to teach you how to use a sword properly. There is nothing wrong with your right arm so you have no excuse.’
I thought I was too young for arms training but Thomas obviously thought otherwise, and as well as learning to use a sword to defend myself (which I think I became quite good at), he taught me to shoot a firearm. He also gave me a dagger which he insisted I carry with me at all times. I agreed to carry it, though I could never imagine a time when I would ever want to use a weapon in anger.
I saw very little of Prince Charles over the following months, when he was not busy seeking support for his army of liberation, or planning how best to save his father, he was with Lucy walking for miles hand in hand and on their own. Perhaps Anne was right… perhaps they really were in love.
Anne taught me how to play tennis and despite being a rubbish player, I enjoyed the exercise and being with her was always a joy.
***
Apart from my eventful trip to Paris, the summer spent at Noordeinde was one of the most joyful and memorable times of my life, but things were about to change, the days were getting shorter and my Lord Prince was becoming restless.
Holland and France had their own problems and Charles, not wanting to outstay his welcome, decided it was time to move on.
He summoned his most trusted allies to a council of war and after hours of deliberations it was decided the most likely place to recruit help in raising an army of liberation would come from either Lord Leslie, the commander of the king’s forces in Scotland, who were holding a line north of the Forth, or from Ireland, which is the option he chose.
It was Thomas who informed me of Charles’s decision, and it was he who offered me the choice of following the prince, or staying at Noordeinde.
‘Will you be going with him?’ I asked.
‘I will because I have no choice. But you, my young friend, do have a choice. Our first stop will be Jersey in the Channel Islands. You may stay here with your friends if you wish… or you can come with us.’
‘I want to be with y
ou. I want to keep up with my lessons.’
I thought Anne would probably be a little emotional so I took the easy option and told Louis first.
‘Well good luck my friend,’ he said, ‘take care and come back in one piece.’
Before I had time to think how best to tell Anne she came straight out and asked me. ‘Is it true Toby, that you are going to war?’
‘All I know is that we are going to the Channel Islands, and then to Ireland. I don’t know if there will be a war, I do hope not.’
‘Do you have to go?’
I didn’t want to go to war but was secretly looking forward to something different, new challenges, a new adventure, but I dare not say that to Anne. So I lied. ‘I have to do as I am told… as do you, it is up to Thomas whether I go or stay.’
***
Jersey was to be our first port of call, and from there to Ireland.
By the time Charles had assembled his meagre resources and was ready to set sail, we were well into October. Winter was on the way… the days were getting shorter and the weather colder.
The ships were moored at Breda, less than an hour’s ride from Noordeinde… and it was around eight in the morning when the lines were released and the ships slowly drifted through the early morning mist… past the port of Rotterdam and into the English Channel.
I watched from the window of my cabin, sometimes reading a little, and sometimes resting, but early in the evening as the light began to fade, I was on deck to watch as we passed through the narrowest point of the channel between Dover and Calais.
The wind up until this point had been moderate, but as we passed through the straights, a strong breeze began to whip the sea into white topped waves.
I was surprised how emotional I felt at the sight of the white cliffs on the south coast of England, and found it hard not to cry. Thomas was by my side but I chose not to speak to him for fear of sounding like a girl.
Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart Page 7
