by Tony Riches
Climbing to the top of Greenwich hill, we could see the whole of London, with the tall spire of St Paul’s surrounded by a forest of smoking chimneys. Trestle tables were soon laden with our banquet and the music of our minstrels turned heads all the way down to the river. It was easy to forget the hardship we had suffered in Hainault. We had arrived. Our party was the talk of London, which pleased us both well, for the duke was keen to restore his reputation—and I suspected I would soon be with child.
I take my daily walk within the high walls of the castle and feel a sense of loss. The beautiful daffodils are now gone. No trace remains that they ever existed. I hope at least they were picked by someone to brighten a room or even as a gift for a sweetheart. I see one of the feral pigs has also met its end, hanging by its hind legs from an iron ring fixed to the wall outside the kitchens. I stop and stare into the pig’s unseeing eyes, wondering if it had a painless death. A long, deep red slash across its throat tells its own tale.
Moving quickly on, with a nod to my ever-present escort of bored looking guards, I climb the stone steps to have a moment on the high parapet. The wind has picked up and tugs at my threadbare cape, whipping my long hair against my face as if in punishment. To one side the cold Irish Sea stretches into the distance, misty and troubled by white-crested breaking waves. A single fishing boat struggles to reach the shelter of the harbour, making almost no progress against the wind and tide and I feel some empathy with the crew.
There is still a dusting of the last of the winter’s snow on the windswept Welsh hills and I remember how it was snowing when my first child was born. Deeply suppressed memories of my friend Margery Jourdemayne return to haunt me. Despite our long liaison, it seemed the duke and I could not conceive a child. I was unconcerned at first, particularly before the annulment of his marriage to the countess. In fact, I feared a baby could be a step too far for Humphrey and his attentions would soon turn to another. I was painfully aware there were plenty of scheming women waiting for the chance to steal him from me.
When we were established in London everything changed. The duke declared that he wanted a son and heir to inherit his fortune. Although we were yet to be married, each month he asked if there were any signs. It was always false hope I offered him, against my better judgement, as I had to keep in his favour. I confided this to one of my most trusted ladies, who told me of a woman with a reputation for her knowledge of herbs and potions to help women conceive. Thus it was that I first met my true friend and companion, Margery Jourdemayne, known of by the people of London as the Witch of Eye next Westminster.
I felt a bond with Margery from the moment we first met, as if we had known each other for years. There was an ageless quality about her. Although her hair was turning grey and her lined and careworn face told of a life not without hardship, her eyes shone with the vitality of a much younger person. Her voice carried the accent of the poorer parts of London, yet her words showed the depth and breadth of knowledge that usually comes with good education.
Margery Jourdemayne became a regular visitor to our London mansion, always arriving in secret and, at my request, taking care to leave unobserved by the duke or our servants. She brought me a special potion to drink and told me it was made from stinging nettles and red clover, with wild raspberries to sweeten the taste. I still wonder if the real gift she had was to help me know the best days to conceive, as I did soon after following her advice.
Back at the high window of my room, watching a gathering storm on the Welsh hills, I remember the attic rooms where I was to spend so much time before the birth of my first child. The duke decided we would spend the Christmas season in the old Greenwich manor house he inherited after the death of the Duke of Exeter. I was not feeling in a festive spirit, as there was still no word from the Vatican about the annulment of Humphrey’s marriage to Countess Jacqueline. Humphrey wrote long letters to his brother, pleading with him to use his influence to support his case. I know John, Duke of Bedford, disapproved of me and hoped to persuade Humphrey to find a more suitable match.
The manor house was not as grand as our London mansion yet I felt at home there. The kitchen was the heart of the house, with steaming cauldrons of water always on the boil under the watchful eye of the good natured cook and housekeeper. Dark oak beams supported low ceilings and narrow, creaking stairways led to unfashionably small rooms, filled with the late Duke’s old furniture and smelling of damp until we had a log fire roaring in the wide grate.
Humphrey retained the services of a midwife, who lived in a nearby cottage and checked the baby’s progress for me each day. I forget her name but recall her as a shrewd, good-natured woman, with sharp eyes that saw right through me without any sign of judgement. She told me she’d lost count of how many babies she had delivered in the parish. When the duke was called away to settle a dispute in the weeks before Christmas, I sent for the midwife and asked her to keep me company.
We passed the long hours with her tutoring me in the mysteries of childbirth. I was shocked at some of the things she told me, yet determined to learn as much as I could. In time our talk turned to knowing when the baby was due. The midwife asked me to remember when I was first aware of the child, then counted the days on her fingers. Between us we calculated that it would be a winter baby. I was also desperate to know if it was possible to tell if it would be a boy or a girl and asked the midwife if she could help me ask the help of Margery Jourdemayne, the one person I knew could have the answer.
More than a week passed before Margery was able to visit me. Laughing at the sight of my advanced condition, she placed a gentle hand over where my baby rested and confidently announced it would be the boy I longed for. She gave me a special potion of linden and chamomile flowers, mixed with honey, to ease the pain of childbirth and predicted it would not be a complicated delivery, knowledge for which I was extremely grateful.
The baby came late one night when the duke was away on business. I remember feeling a strange fear and excitement, then immense relief when I heard the newborn child cry out loud and strong. Duke Humphrey named our son Arthur and our lives changed again, now I had a baby to care for. He wished to keep news of his son secret until we were able to marry, so I had to stay at the old Greenwich manor house while he returned to his duties in Westminster.
The new servants became my constant companions, the wet nurse and nursery maid taking the place of my ladies, as I did everything in my power to ensure our son had the best care and attention. The waiting was made more bearable by regular visits from Margery Jourdemayne with the latest news and gossip from London. I was truly interested in her stories from people she knew in some of the poorer districts. Before I met Humphrey I lived and worked in the city and missed the excitement of the market-places and taverns. She was remarkably well informed and became my good friend and confidante, as well as my teacher.
As the weather improved Margery suggested we should restore the herb garden at the old manor. Much to the surprise of the gardeners, we set them to work with spades and hoes, rooting up the overgrown weeds, despite the cold. When spring finally arrived I also enjoyed long walks foraging for wild herbs and rare mushrooms in the woods with Margery. The fresh air and exercise was good for me and I learned a great deal about how to recognise and use special plants.
Arthur was barely a month old when he caught a fever. At first I thought he would soon recover, but then he began to cause me much distress with his sweating and shivering. I sent for Margery Jourdemayne and she came right away, despite torrential rain on a stormy night, to watch over him until he was well again. She told me he would have recovered well enough, yet I am sure she saved his young life with her special potions of willow and meadowsweet. It was a great comfort to me and sealed the bond of our friendship.
As I remembered her kindly face, a distant flash lights up the Welsh hills, followed soon after by a crack of violent thunder and I move away from the window to sit closer to the fire, my bones feeling the chill. I stare into th
e flames and the awful death of Margery Jourdemayne rests heavily on my conscience. I slept fitfully that night, my head full of memories I would rather forget.
Humphrey remained at his London mansion while there were meetings of parliament, returning to the Greenwich manor as much as he could through the summer. I noticed a change in him, as he was less ready to talk about his work or his progress in winning more support. Aware from Margery of speculation and gossip about my absence, I decided Arthur was old enough to be left in the care of his nursemaid and returned with Humphrey to be seen at his side.
I rode proudly through the streets of Westminster on a fine white mare, surrounded by my ladies in all their finery, with an escort of the duke’s personal guard. The clatter of the iron-shod hooves of our horses on the cobblestones brought crowds of onlookers. If the people were going to talk, at least I would not give them the satisfaction of thinking I was in any way ashamed of my circumstances. We attended a banquet at Westminster Hall where I could feel all eyes were upon me and I knew this was how it would be from now on.
As the summer came and passed into autumn, Arthur grew quickly into a boisterous toddler, thriving in the fresh country air, and I realised I was again carrying a child. This time I prayed it would be a girl. Once again, the duke insisted I must return to my sanctuary at Greenwich, away from questioning eyes. I waited out a long winter, virtually a prisoner in the old manor house, although I was happy there and Humphrey visited me as often as he was able to.
This time it was not to be an easy birth. I remember the dreadful sense of foreboding at concern in the eyes of my midwife. She sent one of the young serving girls at once for Margery Jourdemayne while she stayed at my side day and night. Sleeping on a thin straw mattress on the floor next to my bed and her intentions were good, yet her snores kept me awake until the small hours of the morning. I knew she feared the worst for my unborn child.
The servant girl was unable to find Margery Jourdemayne. I remember thinking this was a bad omen for the birth of my child. My pains came more frequently while we waited for her reply and I had to make my potions as best as I could to ease my suffering. The child was in the wrong position. It was as bad as it could be. At one time I overheard the midwife muttering to one of the girls that she might be able to save me or the child but not both. She boiled white willow with mandrake to ease my pain yet I still suffered greatly. A whole day passed before the child was born, by God’s grace a healthy girl. My prayers had been answered, although the midwife cautioned that I should not expect to bear more children in the future.
It took many weeks before I felt well enough to leave my bed. Even then I could only walk with the aid of a stick and still felt weak. Duke Humphrey was delighted with our beautiful baby and named her Antigone, from the Greek ‘against birth’, after her tumultuous entry into the world. Although she lacked the strength of her brother, she was bright-eyed and perfect in every respect, with my dark hair, her mother’s daughter.
My writing was interrupted by the nervous young scullery maid bringing me my food, a bowl of luke-warm stew and stale rye bread. They don’t allow me to have wine often now, so I must be content with the watery beer. I worried this would make me ill until I saw my guards drinking the same. As I ate alone I recalled the excess of the celebratory banquet when the message arrived from the duke’s brother in Normandy.
The messenger had ridden hard from Dover to tell us Countess Jacqueline had agreed a peace treaty with the Duke of Burgundy and that Humphrey’s marriage had been annulled by papal decree, on the grounds it was illegitimate. He carried the letter of annulment, bearing the seal of the pope. It was the news we had been longing to hear, for at last we were free to be married. I remember the excitement as the hasty arrangements were made for us to be wed in the chapel at Westminster.
I was to become a duchess, and knew how important it was for me to look like one. Seamstresses began work right away on my wedding dress while Humphrey busied himself with the details of the guest list. He saw this as his chance to set the past behind him and begin our new public life together. With our children discreetly hidden away at Greenwich Manor, we once more became the centre of attention. The ceremony itself was a simple affair, presided over by a stern-looking bishop, although the reception at the duke’s London mansion afterwards was marked by excess.
I contrived to make a grand entrance, keeping all the high-ranking guests waiting for as long as I dared before giving the signal for a fanfare of trumpets for the new Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. The wine flowed and every type of meat and fruit was served in so many courses it would have been impossible to eat them all. Humphrey gave an impressive speech, talking of a future of peace and prosperity for England, which was rewarded by a rousing cheer from the assembled guests.
April 1451
Sine cura
The onset of spring in Beaumaris is heralded by a visit from Sir William Bulkeley, wearing a rich velvet cape with a polished silver breastplate over his tunic and carrying a fine new sword at his belt. My jailor seemed in good spirits and was unusually talkative, so I took the opportunity to ask if Lady Ellen would be able to visit, as she has not been to see me since before Christmas. I also asked him again if his wife could be so kind as to bring me a new dress to replace the now ragged gown I have to wear each day, as well as some fruit to vary my poor diet.
Sir William promised to see what he could do. I resent his condescending attitude towards me, yet I know from what Ellen has told me that he is a decent, honest man, trying to do his job as well as he can. He was as good as his word, for the next day I had a message from one of the guards that Lady Ellen was waiting to meet me in the courtyard. She was accompanied by a servant carrying a wicker basket laden with gifts for me.
Although she tried to hide her concern, I could see Ellen was troubled by how I looked after the hardships of the long winter. It was a bright sunny morning but a chill wind came straight from the sea, so we sought shelter in the porch of the chapel while she showed me what she had brought. My ever-present guards waited outside in the wind, watching with open curiosity on their faces in place of their normally bored expressions.
She took from the wicker basket a dark red dress with black lace, sparkling with small black beads at the neck and cuffs. It had a finely woven pattern of flowers and was the work of a skilled seamstress, like those I had worn so long ago at Bella Court. As well as the beautiful red dress, there were two cotton shifts and a pair of fine black boots with leather laces. I tried the boots on and fortunately they are a comfortable enough fit, much needed replacements for the badly worn pair I have been wearing for as long as I can remember. As I put them on I wonder if Sir William noticed my old shoes and mentioned it to her.
Ellen also gave me a sweet apple, a real treat at this time of year, which I suspect came from her personal supplies. I thanked her for her kindness to me and, as I held one of the apples, realised my body craves fresh fruit. I have lived on dry bread and the salty, barely palatable Welsh stew called ‘cawl’ for most of the long winter. Although the cooks sometimes added pork or mutton, more rarely even scraps of beef, my mouth watered at the sight of the apples. Lady Ellen nodded in approval and I ate the delicious apple while we talked, savouring every bite.
She told me how she worries that the lawlessness and unrest in London will soon spread to the rest of the country and eventually reach across the water to Beaumaris. I learned from her that Sir William has ordered the castle guard to be ready at short notice if required and has a man permanently posted at the door to their house, such is his concern for the safety of his family.
I understand why the people are angry at the king and government’s failure to prevent further losses of English territory in France and dare to tell her Humphrey was right. The hard-won victories of his father are being squandered by King Henry VI and his French queen. I feel the first glimmer of hope for a long time that others will draw the same conclusion and petition for my release.
Ellen s
ought my advice about herbal remedies for her youngest son William, who suffers with a persistent cough which keeps him awake at night. I recommended a drink infused with rosemary and thyme, if she can find any this early in the spring. This is the first time Lady Ellen has made any reference to my reputation. I can only see it as a positive thing that she trusts me to advise on the care of her young son.
Encouraged, I requested a favour, which as a mother I was sure she would understand. I asked her to make enquiries on my behalf to find my daughter Antigone. Even if Sir William could not allow her to visit me, it would put my mind at rest to know she is safe and well. I explained she is married to Sir Henry Grey, Lord of Powys, and may be living at his castle near the Welsh border. Lady Ellen said she could make no promises but would raise the question with her father when she saw him next. He is well connected and, being on the Welsh mainland, any enquiries he makes will not compromise her husband’s position.
I think on her words back in my room as I put on my beautiful new red dress. It needs altering to fit me well, yet it lifts my spirits to wear something so well made after so many years of cast-offs. To my regret, I realise that in my delight at seeing so many gifts, I forgot to ask Lady Ellen for more parchment and writing ink. My last supply from the priest is running low and I have no idea when he will next come to see me or if he will be able to help me again. I try to conserve what little I have left by diluting it with a little rainwater and keeping my coded writing as small as I can, as there is so much to tell of the years after I became a duchess.
Standing at the high window of my prison, I remember the feeling of excitement when we were granted permission to build our new home in Greenwich. Humphrey didn’t waste a moment, recruiting master builders from Italy, stonemasons from France and an army of labourers to clear acres of bracken. Giant old oak trees were felled to provide wood for the supporting beams and the scent of sap from freshly sawn timber carried on the wind.
