by Tony Riches
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.
When our tired army finally arrived in Hainault we were refused entry into the old Burgundian city of Valenciennes. Our arrival had obviously been expected by the people of Valenciennes, as the huge city gates were barred and the city looked ready to withstand a siege. An unseen voice shouted from the ramparts, imploring us to depart, first in French then in English. Our reply, that we came in peace to claim the birthright of Countess Jacqueline, seemed to strengthen the resolve of the men defending the city walls.
Duke Humphrey was in a black mood but unsurprised and had expected trouble, which is why he brought a mercenary army to Hainault. He was already discussing plans with Baron Mowbray to lay siege to the city. Countess Jacqueline persuaded him to leave Valenciennes and argued it was no longer the capital of Hainault. Duke Humphrey realised he should save his energies for the bigger prize of a triumphal entry into the true capital, the city of Mons. Jacqueline reminded us how she had left Mons in such unhappy circumstances, in fear of her life, so it was agreed.
We reached Mons on a misty autumnal morning, having camped for the night at a small border town called Crespin, where we were joined by Jacqueline’s mother, the Dowager Margaret. To our surprise she met us with her escort of several hundred fully armed Hainault troopers, as well as her full entourage of servants. Most importantly, she also had many supporters amongst the old noble families of Hainault who remained loyal to the memory of her father, Philip the Bold, the Burgundian branch of the House of Valois.
The gates to the city were opened to us after long negotiation, on condition that our army remained outside the city. Baron Mowbray had anticipated this and had personally selected three hundred of his best cavalrymen as a bodyguard to ensure our safety. He offered to garrison the men in the nearby towns and we rode through the gates where we were met by a deputation of the most important nobles in Mons.
After such a long ride it was pleasant to be provided with fine apartments in the heart of the city of Mons, where I was able to take a hot bath for the first time since we had left Calais. We were made welcome with gifts of rich Burgundian wine and Countess Jacqueline and her mother were kept busy receiving many visitors and restoring old alliances. Duke Humphrey was treated with deference but it was easy to see the tension and distrust behind the insincere smiles of the Hainault nobles.
There was time to explore the city while we waited for the diplomacy to take its course. Countess Jacqueline was proud to show her husband her capital and insisted we visited the castle and the gardens of the archery guild. Humphrey was recovering from the illness that troubled him on our journey from Calais and was keen to learn as much about Mons as he could. He asked many questions and impressed our hosts with a generous donation towards the completion of the guild’s new chapel. We climbed the hill in the park to have the best view of Mons and for the first time I realised the scale of what Humphrey wanted to achieve, for the lands he was claiming as his by right extended to the distant horizon.
I remember it was on the first day of December that the nobles of Hainaut finally convened to discuss Humphrey’s claim. Some still questioned the legitimacy of his marriage to the countess and were reminded that she had a dispensation from Rome. The duke was now her true and legitimate husband, so he should be recognised as Regent and Protector of Hainault. The dissenters argued long into the night on detailed points of precedence and legal procedure. Jacqueline explained this was typical of her people and was unsurprised when we were told that they were unable to reach agreement.
We learned that the objectors had absented themselves, meaning that those who remained had no authority to make such an important decision. It was just a matter of time. Three days later the nobles, aware of the fact our restless army was camped outside the city gates, agreed to send letters to the Duke of Brabant renouncing allegiance to him. Humphrey was greatly relieved that he had achieved this without the need to use force, although it was far from over, as we knew Holland and Zealand would not give in so easily. Jacqueline’s mother also pointed out that many important Hainault nobles still refused to acknowledge Humphrey as Regent, including the powerful Count of Conversan and the Lord of Jeumont, whose father Duke William had been amongst the many nobles murdered by the English after surrendering at the battle of Agincourt.
There was little that could be done about those who had always opposed Countess Jacqueline and remained loyal to the Duke of Brabant. Humphrey decided we would visit those towns which had accepted him as the declared governor of the county and Lord of Hainault. We also returned to Valenciennes, which he had so nearly attacked when we had previously been barred from entry. This time the gates to the old city were thrown open and the nobles and merchants greeted us with a cautious welcome. Humphrey promised to guard the citizens and respect their laws.
It was in Valenciennes that Humphrey found his way to my rooms one night, something which he had not done since we left England. I of course understood how he had needed to show his loyalty to Jacqueline but now he shared his true feelings with me. He was angry with the nobles who acknowledged him merely as regent for his wife. I remember him telling me the only way he was going to truly inherit her lands would be on her death. There was menace in his voice as he said this and I wondered if this marked the end of our adventure in Hainault.
I will never regret what I did then, as it was clear he was never going to be accepted. I reminded him of a promise he had once made to me. The details are hard to recall, as we had drunk more than a little wine and it was late, but he took my hand and asked me to marry him. I pointed out he was already married and he laughed, as for having spent so much time and energy proving his marriage to Countess Jacqueline to be legal, he would now have to find some way to justify a divorce. I worried what his enemies would make of it but Humphrey was resolute. There was no shame in marrying me, even though I had been his mistress. It was what his grandfather had done before him, and his enemy in England, Cardinal Beaufort, could not possibly object, as his own claims to legitimacy were based on such a union. Humphrey was used to having his own way and I was beginning to realise this was no hollow promise.
The raising of the army and the journey to Hainault had cost him dearly. As well as the cost to his reputation, he had invested heavily in the expectation he would be inheriting vast new estates. Unknown to me, while we had
been seeing the sights of Mons, the Earl Marshal had taken Humphrey’s army deep into the territory of Brabant as far as Brussels, dealing ruthlessly with the limited resistance they met and pillaging anything of value.
Humphrey had been impassive when the news of this reached us. I knew he must have ordered it, for he would have been furious if he hadn’t known how his men were breaking his promises to the nobles of Hainault. He had told me once how his own brother King Henry V had ordered men hanged from the nearest tree for less, as an example to others.
It was now no longer possible to pretend he was anything other than an invader and he warned me it was simply a matter of time before the nobles organised their resistance and our lives could be at risk. Countess Jacqueline had often told us how her people were renowned for their skill with administering deadly poisons and how she suspected that both her father and husband had been served poisoned food. It was time to return to the safety of England, so we had to find a way to do so with some dignity.
The next morning we rode back to Mons and Humphrey began negotiations for the terms of his withdrawal. The duke demanded restitution of forty thousand gold crowns, a huge sum of money but his mercenary army needed payment and there was still the return journey home. It was Christmas and the nobles of Hainault had other things to think about, finding endless reasons to delay making a proper response to Humphrey’s demands.
As the year drew to a close without any progress, a deputation arrived in Mons from the citizens of Valenciennes who were complaining about the drunken and rowdy behaviour of our soldiers, who now occupied the city. The looting had now resulted in several deaths. People were being arrested on questionable charges and held as prisoners for ransom. By then I knew Humphrey had encouraged the men, as we also received urgent pleas from Soignies and its surrounding villages to restrain our English troops.
His ploy worked, as the nobles reluctantly agreed terms, but only on condition the oaths he had sworn to keep law and order in the county were respected. Humphrey lacked the diplomatic skills of his brother John, the Duke of Bedford, but he seemed to enjoy taking his revenge on the nobles of Hainault. Mindful of Jacqueline’s warnings, we quickly packed the few belongings we had brought with us to Mons and prepared to depart the city for home.
Looking back on those events after so many years I realise he was putting a brave face on what must have been a hard decision. Humphrey had publicly declared his intention to claim what was his by right, so to return to England empty handed was potentially ruinous for his social and political reputation. Our ships were laden with treasures looted from the lands that could have been his but there was one notable person who had not returned with us—Countess Jacqueline.
I had watched, with increasing hope for my own position, as the distance between them grew greater each day. Once Humphrey realised his wife was not going to win him his estates in Hainault, his manner to her changed to one of patient tolerance. He was always respectful toward her but chose her company only when he really had to, preferring instead to ride the hunt with his men, writing long letters and spending his nights secretly visiting my own apartments. Then her people fought back and everything changed.
We had grown used to the regular complaints about the increasingly harsh treatment of the local townspeople. The resistance had always been vocal but suddenly it turned into an organised army. News arrived from one of the frontier towns that the Count of St Pol had easily over-run our small garrison with a force of over forty thousand men. As well as Burgundian soldiers, this new army was reportedly attracting Hainault men who were tired of Humphrey’s presence, as well as French mercenaries.
This is how we found ourselves camped on an easily defended hilltop not far from the besieged town of Soignies, facing an uncertain future. Countess Jacqueline and her mother had remained in Mons but I felt safer taking my chances with Baron Mowbray and Duke Humphrey. He issued a challenge to the Burgundian army to come and fight him, confident of our superiority. The Count of St Pol had more men but, thanks largely to the Earl Marshall, our army was better disciplined and organised. The Burgundian army assembled on a nearby hill and we waited for their attack, our entire future in the balance.
February 1451
Omnia vincit amor
Blizzards pack drifts of snow hard against the castle walls and trap me in my room for several days at a time. I am grateful the fire in my hearth is kept well stocked with seasoned logs as it keeps the chill of winter from these cold stone walls. Unable to take my walks in the inner ward, I am also grateful for my secret journal that makes me feel I am using my time well. As I write the story of my life I feel great sadness and suffer the pain of many regrets, yet I know there is also so much to be grateful for.
It was a freezing March day, which chilled us all to the bone as we anxiously waited on that hill in distant Hainault, wondering when we would have to be ready to fight. I remember how the heavy canvas of our tent flapped in the bitter breeze and my future husband put his warm, fur-lined cloak around my shoulders. He made a pretence of cheerfulness but his dark eyes showed his true feelings. To me he was an open book, no secrets to hide. I knew how deeply he worried about our safety and the likely cost of our failed enterprise to his reputation and his purse. I also sensed he was troubled by the dry cough that ensured neither of us had much sleep, as it presaged the return of his illness when he most needed to be strong and well.
Humphrey recalled how this was not the first time his path to Calais and the welcome safety of a ship home to England had been blocked. Ten years had passed since Agincourt but I could see the events of that day had left mental as well as physical scars. His voice was hushed as he told me again how men trampled over their dying comrades in that muddy battlefield. A life could end in the flash of a single arrow or be spared, as his was, by the bravery of others. He had watched as wave after wave of Frenchmen were beaten back by the king’s body guard or surrendered, little realising the English would show no mercy to any prisoners they could not hold for ransom. Humphrey remembered little of how he was dragged from the battlefield, but told me he heard them call for the priest to pray for his soul, so certain was his fate.
I will never know if it was recounting the story of Agincourt or his returning illness that weakened his resolve to fight the Burgundians. I wonder if he knew to do so could put my life at risk. I did not expect good treatment from the Burgundians if they had succeeded in an attack. We had grown close since he had made the decision to leave for Calais and his talk now was full of the things we would do when we finally returned home. Despite the unhappy outcome of our time in Hainault he was still regent of England and hoped to start a new life in English politics, away from the mud of battlefields.
The duke spent long hours discussing tactics with Baron Mowbray , the Earl Marshal, listening carefully to the reports from the scouts who had made the journey across the valley to spy on the activities of the Burgundian army. I had grown to like the Baron and once, when alone with him, I asked about his family. His father was Sir Ralph Neville, also Earl Marshall and one of the most powerful knights in the north of England, yet it was the story of his mother, Lady Katherine Neville, Duchess of Norfolk, which really interested me. Joan Beaufort, Countess of Westmorland, was the illegitimate daughter of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and his mistress, later wife, Katherine Swynford. I wondered if this was why the Earl Marshall was one of the few men of rank who seemed unconcerned I was Humphrey’s mistress and treated me as a lady.
Baron Mowbray had recalled all the men garrisoned in the villages. They seemed in good spirits, having travelled to Hainault expecting to fight, and were ready for a battle. John Mowbray’s experience of fighting in France really counted now we were in such a perilous position. He had already sent several successful forays across the open ground between the two hills to test the enemy strength. Men had been killed on both sides in these skirmishes, yet each time the Count of St Pol’s disorganised soldiers had been no match for our mercenaries.
These small victories were an important boost to morale.
After long hours of patient waiting, word finally reached us that the enemy was retreating. A rousing cheer went up. The duke thanked the men for upholding the honour of the English and ordered that those who wished to see off the Burgundians could do so. He did not follow them, preferring instead to write a response to the nobles of Hainault in negotiation of our safe passage to England. A messenger arrived before nightfall bearing the news that a truce had been declared. We were free at last to begin the return journey to Calais, where our ships were waiting.
It was just as well I had kept up my work of translating my old Latin prayer book, as the priest made a welcome yet unexpected return after a long absence. Melting snowflakes adorned his cloak, like tiny diamonds set in the rough wool. Grey stubble on his chin made him look much older and he leaned heavily on his wooden staff as if he would fall without its support. The priest apologised that the harsh weather and parish work had kept him away from the castle. He inspected my writing approvingly, complimenting me on my progress. I realised from the way he held the work close to his face that his eyesight was failing and he was finding it difficult to read.
He told me he had finally been able to visit the Augustinian monks of nearby Penmon Priory to obtain more writing materials, during a break in the weather. He reached in his bag and handed me a bundle of good thin parchment, as well as spare quills and a small bottle of black ink. I thanked him for his kindness, as my supplies were running low and I had feared I would soon run out. It was some time since I’d had any company, so I asked the priest to stay and tell me more about my neighbours at the priory. I sat on my wooden cot and pulled the chair closer to the fire to keep him warm. He looked into the flames in contemplative silence for a moment, then began speaking in his soft Welsh accent.
