by Tony Riches
Soon after we had arrived in Dover, Jacqueline showed me another of the secret messages which had arrived from her mother, the Dowager Margaret. It did little to reassure her anxiety about the trip. It transpired that the merchants had become used to prosperity under the peaceful rule of John of Bavaria and had no wish to see Humphrey reclaim their lands. The message said they offered to raise the considerable sum of thirty thousand pounds a year for Humphrey to remain in England. If the message had arrived when we were still in London it might have been possible to try to persuade Humphrey, but it was too late now we were almost ready to sail.
Despite the thick walls of Dover Castle I could clearly hear his angry reaction when she told him the news. He shouted that he was insulted by the suggestion he could be so easily ‘bought off’ reclaiming her rightful inheritance. As I expected, the message strengthened his resolve. It also marked the moment when I first heard him raise his voice at the countess. He accused her mother of being a scheming trouble maker. When I saw Jacqueline soon afterwards her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. It was a long time ago, but looking back I think that day in Dover was when she began to change her attitude towards me.
It was twenty-six years ago and my memory of some things is failing, yet I recall our departure from Dover that day so clearly. It proved, of course, to be the turning-point in my life and on that chilly autumn morning in the busy harbour I sensed nothing would ever be quite the same again. It was the first time I had set out on a sea voyage and I had always longed to see France, having heard so much about it at the court of Queen Catherine.
When the storm finally calmed we made our way to the bustling harbour. I knew Humphrey would not rest until he had secured Jacqueline’s lands, so we were going to be in France for a long time and our servants laden down with as much as they could carry. A soldier shouted something to us as we made our way to our ship. I couldn’t hear over the noise but Humphrey grinned and I suspected he was glad to be back with his comrades. Agincourt had been the making of him but that was some time ago now and I know he missed the life of a soldier.
Ours was one of the grandest ships and proudly flew Humphrey’s royal standard, a splash of colour against the dark clouds. I followed the countess up the narrow gangplank and wondered when I would next set foot on English soil. Every ship in the harbour was crammed with young soldiers, their equipment piled high. More waited on the quayside, huddled in noisy groups. Men-at-arms stood apart from archers, who in turn distanced themselves from the duke’s mercenary foot soldiers. I was amazed at how quickly the sailors climbed the towering masts to set the sails. The men in command were shouting orders. Sailors were heaving on ropes with a clever arrangement of blocks and tackles to raise the sails and all around the harbour I could see other ships being readied for the journey.
Horses protested loudly as they were hauled up gangplanks and tethered on the decks. Some of the families of the men had gathered on the quayside to say farewell and I remembered my father’s warning. He had worried when I told him of our plans but knew it was my duty to accompany the countess. That was the first time I met Anne, my father’s third wife. She seemed wary of me, as if I would somehow turn him against her. I remember thinking my father looked older, his grey hair thinning and his face deeply lined. He privately handed me a velvet purse, heavy with gold coins. He told me it was the last of my once great inheritance, so I must guard it well and use it only in an emergency.
Despite our ship being the largest of the fleet in the harbour, our cabin space below decks was cramped and soon filled with our supplies and belongings. As it was my first time at sea I wanted to be on deck when we sailed, so I put on my cape with a hood that would give me some protection if it rained. I left Jacqueline in her cabin and went to find Duke Humphrey. He was in good spirits, clearly glad to be sailing to France at last, standing high on the stern of the ship talking with the captain, who pointed to the approaching black clouds.
The experienced sea captain was right, as we had barely cleared the safe shelter of the harbour walls when a violent storm hit us, making the sails flap loudly and causing waves to break alarmingly over the bows. The soldiers on the deck had no shelter and were quickly soaked through to the skin, some hanging over the side to be sick. I was scared the ship would be swamped but the sailors continued on their course and the sea water simply washed off the deck. I gripped the wooden railing with both hands but was nearly thrown off my feet as the ship pitched to one side. I clearly remember how Humphrey put his arm around my waist to steady me. It had been some time since we had been together, so I felt safe in his embrace, although I knew he was no sailor.
One of the ships to our side turned suddenly in the strong breeze and came straight for us, its sails full and barely under control. I braced myself for the impact but both ships had good men on the helm and passed with a few feet to spare. I could hear the captain shouting for the sails to be reefed and the ship slowly settled back on course. Such near-misses must be commonplace with ships sailing so closely but it made me realise how vulnerable we were, even on this short journey.
It began raining heavily and Humphrey led me back to the cabin, where we found Jacqueline on her knees in prayer. I saw that Humphrey made no effort to comfort her and he seemed more concerned about my need to change into dry clothes than he was for his wife. I carefully chose an expensive deep blue velvet gown which I had been saving for a special occasion. Humphrey looked at me approvingly once I had changed and took my hand, leading me to the captain’s cabin. I suspected that some of the crew who saw us together could have mistaken me for the countess.
The captain had a nautical chart spread out on his table and was carefully checking the position of the other ships. The storm had scattered the fleet but the strong breeze was in our favour and their captains showed great skill in bringing them into line again. As one came closer to our side I could see the deck was crowded with soldiers, wet through but in good humour, as we heard them give a rousing cheer as they recognised the flagship.
It was mid-afternoon before we heard a shout from the lookout and could make out the distant shape of Calais on the horizon. Duke Humphrey Ied me back up to the deck so we could have a better view. A small patch of blue brightened up the sky and the rain had passed. We watched as the green fields of France slowly became visible. Soon we could see the harbour. Small fishing boats set out to greet us and I could sense the heightened anticipation amongst the crew. I began to wonder what fate awaited us in Hainault.
December 1450
Non fecit misericordiam
Winter has come to Beaumaris Castle, chilling the air so I see my frozen breath as I take my walk in the inner ward. My guards are under orders to tend my fire and I hear them curse as they carry heavy logs up the winding stone steps of my tower. They are simple men and their superstition reminds me of my mistress Jacqueline so long ago. A single glance from me is enough to silence them. I watch the guards closely to see a way to get to know them better, as I know it may be useful some day.
One of the guards reminds me a little of Arthur, my long lost only son. He has the same beguiling innocence and I see a question in his eye as he looks at me. It gives me hope. The other guards regard me as little more than an inconvenience, despite the fact I am the reason for their occupation. Also unlike the others, who speak only in Welsh, I have heard him speak in English. He seems popular and to be respected by them, even though some are clearly older than him. When the time is right I will ask his name and see what more I can learn.
Now I look forward to the winter solstice, when the sun begins its northward journey in the sky and the days will finally begin to grow longer again. From my translation of the little Book of Hours, which also must serve as my calendar to mark the passing days, I see it is the holy day of the martyr Saint Barbara on the fourth of December. Like me, she is unjustly locked up in a tower, hidden from the world and closely guarded. She was able to bring down thunderbolts and is made a saint for her faith.
I wish I could do the same but know it would instead be taken as certain proof of my necromancy.
I continue to carefully translate the Latin script to keep my mind sharp and pass the long hours. The priest takes comfort from my apparent return to the church, but my faith is long since gone. When I was young I remember being entranced by the sermons, delivered with such conviction in our family parish church at Lingfield. December was when we would listen in wonder at the story of the nativity, yet now I wonder how anyone could hear that tale of immaculate conception without questions forming in their mind.
As I write I recall instead the wonderful Christmas and New Year celebrations of my childhood. We would have a golden goose, the magical yellow colour created by covering it in butter and precious saffron. My mother told me the saffron had been brought back from the Holy Lands by brave Crusaders and it was even more precious than real gold. Years later Humphrey laughed at my innocence and told me saffron is expensive but grown in a place named Saffron Walden in Suffolk.
I also loved the special treat of Christmas puddings. The steaming kitchens at Starborough Castle were a hot and busy place, yet in my mother’s time they were also happy and exciting to a young girl. I was not supposed to visit the kitchens when I was young, yet I knew the cooks would let me help them make the puddings at Christmas and New Year. I remember they boiled a thick porridge of wheat, which they sweetened with sugar, currants and dried fruit, then spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg.
Years later I would plan special Christmas feasts for Humphrey. We would have banquets in our great hall, with all our friends and family. There would be venison and hot mulled wine. Travelling mummers would perform plays and dances, their faces painted and wearing colourful costumes, so one could only guess at their true identity. A favourite of the duke in those happy times were what we called the mystery plays. The story of Christ was turned to simple entertainment, with Humphrey easily persuaded to take the part of King Herod as an evil villain and I would sometimes play the innocent virgin Mary, much to his amusement.
Another of Humphrey’s favourite pastimes was to regale us all with reminiscences of the victory at Agincourt. It had been the making of him, and of course his brother King Henry V. He repeated the story when he had been drinking, so I was well used to his account of how the French were so completely defeated on that victorious battlefield in Normandy. He would tell how the English were outnumbered twenty to one by the French army, yet won the day through courage and bravery. Duke Humphrey was modest about his own role in the battle, but would admit to taking part in hand-to-hand fighting with his men at the front.
Many years later he gave me quite a different account of the events of that fateful day. I had known of the deep scars on his body but when I asked about them he was usually dismissive, calling them his ‘war wounds’. One evening, long after we were finally married, he had drunk a few glasses of his favourite wine and was in a reflective mood. I asked him to tell me what it really had been like for him in that muddy French field at Agincourt. He was finally ready to talk.
He told me how proud he was to be chosen to sail with his brother, King Henry V, on his splendid flagship the Trinity Royal in support of his claim for the French crown. It was the autumn of 1415 and King Henry V had raised one of the biggest English fleets ever assembled, numbering over one thousand four hundred vessels. They needed every seaworthy ship because they were carrying two thousand men-at-arms and some eight thousand of the finest longbowmen from England and Wales.
Humphrey said their army was accompanied by Welsh miners and master masons, experts at besieging castles, as well as heavy horses to haul a dozen of the new great cannons and siege equipment, which were loaded with much difficulty onto the decks of the biggest ships. The king brought his entire retinue of servants, including his trumpeters and minstrels, a sure sign to Humphrey it was to be a long campaign. Also on board the king’s flagship were the most respected surgeons and apothecaries in England, a more worrying sign that his brother the king expected his mission to claim the crown and kingdoms of France to also be a bloody one.
Their destination was the city port of Harfleur, one of the most important harbours on the coast of Normandy, which they planned to use as a base for a march up the banks of the Seine, all the way to Paris. It was a great adventure to Humphrey, who until then had always lived in the shadow of his brothers, King Henry and John, Duke of Bedford, who was to take charge of the country in the king’s absence. It was also his chance to show his military skill to those who dismissed him as a scholar, and prove he was a fit and able heir to the throne, if the succession was ever to pass to him.
The voyage started with a bad omen, as one of the ships caught fire and was quickly ablaze when it was barely underway. A good breeze caused the flames to set light to the sails of the ships closest to each side before they could manoeuvre away. All three ships were lost, with most of those on board, as few could swim to safety. Despite himself, Humphrey saw this as a portent that all would not be easy in the months to come, but the same winds that had fanned the flames also sped the fleet quickly across the English Channel. They anchored in the bay of the Seine a few miles from Harfleur, without further incident.
The port town of Harfleur was found to be small but well defended, taking advantage of the land and protected by a high stone wall with tall towers overlooking each of the gates. Humphrey’s men established a chain across the mouth of the harbour and stockades at the gates to prevent anyone from entering or leaving. The giant siege canons they had brought were unloaded and hauled into position using teams of horses. He described how these fearsome cannons kept up their noisy barrage day and night, deafening the men who worked them, blasting huge stone balls at the walls and towers. The siege should have been over quickly, but the garrison was commanded by two experienced knights, who defended it bravely.
Humphrey confessed to me that all was not well for the English army. As the weeks of siege fighting drew on, their supplies of food and water ran worryingly low. His men started to desert in the night and many fell ill from drinking bad water. All were tormented by a host of black flies and weak from their poor diet. They began pillaging the farms and villages around Harfleur, against the strict orders of the king, who commanded that looters were to be hanged on the spot. King Henry V also ordered that any harlots and camp followers who came to corrupt his men were to have their left arms broken as a punishment. This did little for morale and several men were severely punished for fighting their own side.
Despite their greatly inferior numbers, the Harfleur garrison continued to make successful night-time raids against the English, using their local knowledge to ambush the English guards and picking off those who came within range of their deadly crossbows. It began to look as if this small force of barely three hundred men were going to see off the might of the English army, if they could hold out until reinforcements arrived.
A breakthrough came when the Duke of Clarence captured a French convoy carrying supplies and ammunition for the beleaguered port. The small garrison of Harfleur tried a desperate last attack but many were killed, badly wounded or taken prisoner. There was no sign of the French army and after a month of fighting the garrison surrendered, raising a white flag of surrender and throwing open the gates. It was a costly victory, as Henry had lost a third of his army, but like Calais, Harfleur became an English port.
King Henry V sent more than half his army back to England by way of Calais, with many French prisoners and carrying cases of gold and other booty taken from the people of Harfleur. Humphrey assisted with overseeing the repairs to the walls and ditches of the town, so it could be defended by the new garrison. He stayed in Harfleur for two weeks then left with his brother Henry, with nearly two thousand men-at-arms and thirteen thousand archers. Sir Thomas Beaufort, Earl of Dorset and Humphrey’s uncle was left in command of some three hundred English men-at-arms and a thousand archers who had been chosen to remain in Harfleur.
They were in no con
dition to march on Paris and instead followed the rest of the English force north to the safety of Calais, to wait out the winter and recover their strength. As they marched, more men died from what they called the bloody flux and lack of proper food. Even worse, a good many men deserted in the night, rather than face the risk of catching the flux or the prospect of facing the French army that was rumoured to be waiting for them.
As Humphrey feared, the French were camped in great numbers on the opposite bank when they reached the wide River Somme. This meant a long detour to cross the river at Bethencourt. It was mid-October and the sick and wounded soldiers had marched two hundred miles in twelve days, with barely enough provisions for one week. It rained heavily and supplies were running low, so it was an exhausted army that found their way completely blocked by the French at Agincourt.
Humphrey remembered that the French encampment stretched far into the distance. From their many banners he could see a great army of men had marched from all over the country. Knights on horseback paraded around the camp and men-at-arms practiced advancing in tight formation. The sheer number of soldiers facing them was too much for King Henry V. He released some of the remaining prisoners they had been intending to ransom, with a message for the French commander, offering to return Harfleur and make good the damage caused in the siege. In return they asked for safe passage to Calais, where they would embark for England.
His answer was the sound of the French celebrating, the sounds of revelry continuing long into a cold and sleepless night. There were no celebrations in the English camp. Henry’s future had never looked so bleak and Humphrey told me he wondered how any of them could expect to live through the next day. He recalled that the last meeting with King Henry before the battle was a sombre affair, made bleaker by news that reinforcements sent from Calais to aid them had been captured on route, with many men killed. King Henry commanded they would die fighting, to the last man, rather than face the shame of capture by their enemies.
