‘But I would positively forbid it, Mother. And I am the King.’
‘Yes, of course, Henry, but … but there are others who act in your name. And I’m not sure that you’re always aware of it. They’ve been doing it since you were a small baby. The Council … the Duke of Gloucester …’
‘Surely, my Uncle of Gloucester wouldn’t …’
‘Your Uncle of Gloucester is capable of anything, Henry. Believe me. Anything. I must ask you to promise that you will never, ever tell him anything about this. Perhaps I have already been too rash in entrusting you with the secret but I wanted you to know. Please, please for the love of God, give me your word that this will go no further than this room. Please, Henry. I am very worried for Owen and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to him. He is very, very dear to me.’
‘Very well, Maman. I give you my word.’ Henry nodded with his eyes closed. It didn’t escape Catherine that he had called her by the old name. Then he opened his eyes again and gave her a shy smile. ‘I would very much like to meet my brothers.’
‘Then you shall. Oh, my dear son, you shall! We must arrange for you to visit us at Bishop’s Hatfield very soon. It’s too much of a risk to bring them here to Windsor. I will go back to Hatfield for Christmas and tell them all about their big brother who will come to see them in the spring. They’ll be so excited. So will I. I can hardly wait!’
Catherine held out her arms to her eldest son as though it was the most natural thing in the world and he, somewhat taller than she was by now, put his arms around her. It was the first time they had embraced each other since he was a small child.
Christmas at Hatfield was an enchanting family occasion and Catherine, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, enjoyed herself immensely. The entire household attended mass on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas morning, before sitting down to a gargantuan mid-day feast of goose and pork.
Afterwards, Owen took his crwth from its case, tuned it carefully, and played carol after carol interspersed with a few jigs and dance tunes to amuse Edmund and Jasper. They played games, too, Blind Man’s Buff was the most popular but, when it ended in tears, Catherine handed the boys over to Joanna Courcy to put them to bed.
She went upstairs to wish them goodnight and help them say their prayers. Little Jasper was already fast asleep and she wouldn’t wake him but she had a special secret to tell Edmund about a big brother he never knew he had, the big brother who would be coming to see him in the spring. Listening wide-eyed to what his mother was saying, Edmund thought that perhaps next time he said his prayers, he would ask God to make it Christmas every day.
Owen was lying full-length on the hearth rug when she came downstairs again, his chin on his hand, gazing into the dying embers of the fire. When she joined him, he sat up and took her hand in his.
‘Did you have a happy Christmas, cariad?’
‘The happiest ever. The happiest Christmas of my life. Come, the fire is dying. Let’s go to our bed.’
‘Yes, you’ve had a long day, my sweet. Are you tired?’
She gave him a sidelong glance and smiled.
‘Not in the slightest,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-three
London, Summer 1436
Spring came and went and still the King had still not made the journey to Bishop’s Hatfield. He needed an excuse for his visit and couldn’t think of one. There were so many people who had to be informed, so much organisation ahead of the journey. His advisers politely pointed out that he had never visited his mother when she had been away from court on previous occasions and questioned his wish to do so now. Henry was an honest young man to whom truth, integrity and piety were everything. He couldn’t bring himself to tell a lie, not even a small one. It was easier just not to go to Hatfield.
Catherine had said nothing more to Edmund. Small boys have short memories and the secret she had told him before he drifted off to sleep on Christmas night had been forgotten as quickly as the taste of the festive plum duff. Now, at the height of summer, it was as if she had never said anything.
It was time for a visit to Windsor and there was a pressing need to make that visit sooner rather than later because, despite Owen’s avowed intention not to let her go through the agonies of a difficult child-birth again, she was expecting yet another child. She had certainly inherited her mother’s fecundity. It seemed that Owen had only to give her a sideways look, let alone anything else, and she would become pregnant, but she had neither the heart nor the inclination to refuse him. Torn between joy and trepidation at the prospect of another birth, she had to admit to herself that she was feeling far from well. While she still could, she would be wise to leave the boys in Hatfield with Owen and pay a fleeting visit to court, discharge her social duties there and get back to the family as soon as possible. Then she would be among people she loved and trusted and could concentrate on building up her strength for her confinement.
The King was delighted to see her. Since their epiphany before Christmas last year, when she had told him everything, his attitude towards her had changed completely. Nowadays, he was her affectionate son. Gone was the unnatural formality of the past and, when they were alone, he was eager for news of his brothers. He assured his mother that her secret was still safe with him and he smiled when she told him that his little brother Edmund was pestering to be given a pony. Jasper, she said, wanted to learn to play the crwth, just like his father, except that his hands were too small to handle the instrument. They were both growing up very quickly.
Henry was growing up, too, she thought, noticing traces of a soft, downy beard on his cheeks. They’d have to find a wife for him soon, he was already old enough to be betrothed. And when he was married to a suitable royal bride, there would be no argument about who would inherit the crown of England. Not France, just England. She and everyone else knew that her late husband’s dream of a dual monarchy would never happen now; not since last year’s Treaty of Arras. France and England were drifting further and further apart.
Windsor was still the comfortable, relaxed family home it had always been and there were few formal commitments for her to worry about. She was surprised, though, to receive an invitation to spend a day at La Pleasaunce with the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, to celebrate Her Grace’s birthday. Catherine’s first instinct was to panic and her second was to refuse. She could plead illness, insanity … anything rather than spend a whole day with a man whom she loathed and a woman who undoubtedly loathed her. She wondered why she had been invited. She wanted to run back to Hatfield.
It was Henry who persuaded her. He, too, had been invited to the birthday celebration so, in the warmth of an August morning, accompanied by two dozen guards and a handful of smartly dressed courtiers, mother and son set out for Greenwich in the royal barge. They made an early start to take advantage of a high tide and as La Pleasaunce came into view they heard the sound of pipes and tabors, already playing as guests arrived.
La Pleasaunce was unashamedly devoted to pleasure. The manor house, large and elegant, was surrounded by river walks and gardens with shrubs and flowers, where secluded little arbours provided every opportunity for dalliance and secret amours. For this occasion, a large pavilion had been erected on the river bank and decorated with pennants which were fluttering in the gentle breeze off the water. Inside the pavilion, seated in regal splendour on a dais at the far end, the Duke and Duchess received their guests, only rising from their seats to welcome His Royal Highness the King as he entered with his mother.
Having first curtseyed to him, the Duchess made an enormous fuss of Henry and, having bowed, the Duke patted his nephew’s shoulder in a proprietary way. Then the Duchess turned to Catherine. ‘Your Highness,’ she said in a condescending tone, ‘my dear. I’m so glad you could come to our little party. My Lord, why not introduce the Queen to some people she might not have met? After all, it’s some time since we had the pleasure of her company at court. There must be s
everal people she doesn’t know.’ She turned away to concentrate her attention on the King.
Catherine, with Humphrey’s hand a little too intimately in the small of her back, found herself being shepherded from one group to another and being introduced to people she didn’t know and in whom she had no interest, making small talk for the sake of it. After an hour, she knew she shouldn’t have come. With so many people in the pavilion, it had become unbearable in the suffocating August heat and she really wanted to sit down, even if only for a moment. She was grateful for the concern of a tall, fair-haired, rather elegant older woman whose duty seemed to be to look after the guests. She noticed Catherine’s discomfort, helped her to a chair, and snapped her fingers at a footman to bring some wine.
‘You’re very kind,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s so noisy and I was really feeling quite faint in this heat. I’m better now, thank you so much.’
Smiling, the tall woman curtseyed before moving away. ‘It was my pleasure, Your Highness,’ said Margery Jourdemayne.
The Duchess of Gloucester had asked Margery to call on her the following week, a routine visit to enable Eleanor to stock up on her supply of Margery’s expensive skin creams and perfumes.
‘Come in,’ she called in response to a knock on her door. ‘Ah, Margery. I haven’t seen you since my birthday celebration. It was good of you to help out with the guests. Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘I was glad to be of service, Your Grace, and I enjoyed it very much,’ said Margery. ‘It was a great success. Perhaps even more of a success than you realise.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘As it happens, I spent a little time seeing to the needs of Her Highness the Queen. I was able to find her a chair and a glass of wine when she said she was feeling faint. She was clearly very uncomfortable.’
‘Well, it was rather hot in the pavilion.’
‘Your Grace …’ Margery paused, to gain the maximum impact for the statement she was about to make. ‘The Queen is pregnant.’
‘What!’ The Duchess dropped a bottle of Hungary Water and spun round in her chair, open-mouthed. ‘Pregnant! How can she possibly have become pregnant?’
‘Presumably, Ma’am, in much the same way as any other woman becomes pregnant.’ Margery could have bitten her tongue. The Duchess’ nerves were very raw on the subject of pregnancy but she appeared not to have noticed Margery’s faux pas.
‘Yes, but … but who by? Has she married while she’s been away from court? Surely not! We’d have known! Or has she been sleeping around? The slut! Who with? Not with Edmund Beaufort. Can’t be. He’s in France. Besides, he’s married to Eleanor Beauchamp now and she’s breeding like a rabbit by all accounts.’ She looked stunned. ‘Margery, how do you know that the Queen is pregnant? Did she tell you?’
‘Oh, no, Ma’am. She didn’t need to. I could tell by looking at her. She was showing all the signs. Despite the cut of her gown I could see that she’s … well, she’s thick in the waist and there were shadows under her eyes. Her face was blotchy, too. It’s always easy to tell, especially in the summer. Yes, I would say she has a baby due in about four months.’
‘You’re sure, Margery?’
‘As sure as I can be, Ma’am.’
‘Dear God. Wait until I tell Humphrey.’ She waved her hand in dismissal then paused. ‘Oh, and Margery …’
‘Yes, Your Grace?’
‘Find out who the father is.’
Margery Jourdemayne had reckoned without the loyalty of Catherine and Owen’s friends, none of whom would ever have dreamed of betraying them. But she knew that, eventually, someone would need money badly enough to tell her. She didn’t have long to wait before she was approached by a groom from the royal stables at Windsor whose gambling debts had got him into trouble. Once he had said the name ‘Master Tudor’, it didn’t take Margery long to find out everything and she lost no time in conveying the information to the Duchess of Gloucester.
Eleanor longed to pass on such an explosive secret to her husband but, knowing his unpredictable moods and painfully aware of her own inability to conceive, she pondered the wisdom of telling Humphrey about Catherine’s pregnancy and the existence of her other children by Owen Tudor. She had no wish to be compared unfavourably with the Queen when it came to the vexed question of fecundity but, having come to the conclusion that Humphrey would probably find out about it eventually, she waited until he appeared to be in a genial frame of mind and then chose her moment with care.
She immediately regretted having said anything, so alarming was his reaction to the news. He turned a dull red with fury and sweated so profusely that she genuinely thought he had done himself serious harm. He paced up and down the room, swearing and smashing his right fist into the palm of his left hand.
‘Humphrey, don’t upset yourself so much, you’ll only make yourself ill.’
‘Shut up, madam. Let me deal with this. I won’t have women meddling in affairs of state.’
‘But it’s not an …’
‘Eleanor, it is! Don’t you see, you stupid woman, that there are now other possible heirs to the throne? The King’s half-brothers? They all have the same mother, for God’s sake, and she’s still the Queen of England, for all that she’s been shagging like a bitch on heat with that great oaf of a Welshman. I knew she was a slut for all her simpering and whimpering over my brother Henry. I knew it! She’s just like her slut of a mother. Well, I’ve got to make it impossible for those bastards of hers to inherit anything. I must get them from her somehow. Does the King know about them?’
Eleanor was cowed by her husband’s rage. ‘Er … M-Margery didn’t say. Perhaps he does.’
‘Aye, he’s probably in on the secret as well. I seem to be the only person in England who didn’t know about it. Well, this is where I show them what happens when they make a laughing stock of Humphrey of Gloucester. I’m damned if I’ll let them get away with it.’
Catherine was back in Hatfield with Owen in time for Michaelmas and they were returning from a family walk in the late September sunshine. Edmund was astride Pegasus, his new pony. With a firm hold on the bridle, Owen walked alongside, patiently explaining to his son that since the pony was named after the great winged horse of the Greek gods, it was rather inappropriate to call him ‘Peggy’. Holding his mother’s hand, Jasper trailed a kite along the ground because there wasn’t really enough wind to fly it.
‘Hâf bach Mihangel,’ Owen said contentedly. ‘St Michael’s little summer. I’ve always loved this last short burst of warmth and sunshine before the winter sets in.’
Catherine smiled. ‘But the fireside has its delights in winter,’ she pointed out. Her husband gave her a sidelong glance. ‘There’s only one place I like better,’ he said. Owen and Edmund went to stable Pegasus while Catherine took Jasper back to the house. Edmund begged his father to be allowed to stay with his pony for a little longer, to feed it some windfall apples he’d found. Owen, ruffling his son’s hair affectionately, left him and his pony in the care of one of the older grooms. He took the short cut from the stables back to the house through the service door to the kitchen and was alarmed to hear raised voices coming from the hall.
He found Catherine surrounded by a group of half a dozen people, some of whom he recognised, some he didn’t. There were guards, too, in royal livery. Surely, that was the Countess of Suffolk, Alice de la Pole and, if Owen wasn’t very much mistaken, her husband’s infamous henchmen, Sir Thomas Tuddenham and John Heydon. At the centre of the group’s attention, Catherine had her arms protectively around Jasper, clutching him to her.
‘Owen, thank God!’
‘What the devil is going on here? What do you people think you’re doing?’
‘We’ve come for the Queen’s children,’ said Sir John Tuddenham, a big bruiser of a man. ‘On the King’s orders.’
‘Well, you can’t have them,’ said Owen. ‘They are my children too, you know, and I absolutely forbid it. You are not taking them anyw
here.’
Tuddenham’s lip curled in scorn. ‘No jumped-up little Clerk of the Wardrobe can forbid me to do anything!’ he said. ‘I’m certainly not taking orders from you.’
‘But he is my husband,’ Catherine protested, hysteria rising in her voice. ‘And I am the Queen. I will not let you have my children.’
‘The King’s orders take precedence,’ snapped Alice de la Pole.
‘Here’s the warrant if your … er … husband wants proof,’ said John Heydon, producing a piece of parchment. Owen made a lunge for it but Heydon held it aloft between thumb and forefinger.
‘So you can read, can you?’ Heydon asked rudely, dangling the warrant deliberately in front of him.
‘You insolent …!’ Owen ripped the warrant from Heydon’s hand. Yes, that was the royal seal, there was no mistaking it. But it was not the Great Seal. It had clearly come from the palace but not necessarily from the King himself. He broke the wax, unfolded the warrant, and began to read. ‘I don’t recognise the hand,’ he said.
‘No doubt it was dictated to a scribe,’ said the haughty Lady Alice. ‘Be that as it may, the King wants his brothers brought to court. Immediately.’
‘Yes, so it seems. Why do think that might be, my Lady?’
Owen was stalling, very uneasy as he tried to understand the situation. If it genuinely was an edict from the King, then it had to be obeyed without question. He knew that the Lady Alice’s husband, the Earl of Suffolk, was steward of the King’s household. He was a decent enough man by all accounts but Owen had heard that when it came to loyalty, he tended to run with the hare and with the hounds and he was known to be one of the Duke of Gloucester’s cronies. Of course, Owen could perhaps offer to take the boys to court himself, or at least to travel with them. That would put Catherine’s mind at rest.
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