by Tony Riches
‘What was your mother’s name?’
‘Margaret.’ A distant memory comes back to me. ‘My father called her Meg when I was a child—although her proper name was Margaret.’
‘Margaret it is then,’ says Catherine decisively. ‘We will name her after your mother.’
‘Thank you,’ I feel strangely emotional, ‘that would mean a lot to me.’
The end of the taper in my hand shakes as I light another candle. I can’t recall when I had last been so nervous. The midwife closes the door on me, shutting me out of women’s business. All I can do is wait and pray and pace up and down. Unable to help I try not to think about the stories I’ve heard about what can go wrong.
I always wanted a son but have given little thought to what it could mean to be a father. It seemed unthinkable when Bishop Morgan first suggested a child would make it impossible for even Duke Humphrey to challenge the validity of our marriage.
I hear Catherine calling out to God, followed by a worrying silence, and am about to knock on the door when I hear the cry of a new-born baby. Unable to contain myself any longer I push the door open a little and peer inside, not sure what to expect.
Catherine is propped up in bed holding a pink bundle to her breast and smiles as she sees me. ‘It’s a boy, Owen. We have a perfectly healthy boy.’
The midwife wraps the baby tightly in clean linen and I look down at my son.
‘Edmund.’
Catherine looks at us both proudly. ‘Edmund Tudor.’
* * *
Nathaniel’s expression of surprise makes me grin like a fool when I ride through the gates of Wallingford Castle alone. ‘Good to see you, old friend, it has been a while!’
Nathaniel shakes my hand. ‘Good to see you too, Owen. What brings you back to Wallingford?’
‘We need to talk, in private. Catherine wishes to visit her son in Windsor.’
Nathaniel sends for something for me to eat while I leave my horse at the stables and then follow him to the royal apartments. I find it strange to discover my room in Wallingford is exactly as I left it. Out of habit I check Catherine’s apartment and find the furniture covered with dust sheets, as if she is expected to return at any time. A serving girl arrives from the kitchens, carrying a platter of bread and beef with a flagon of beer and two pewter tankards.
I wait until the staring girl has gone, then close the door and ask Nathaniel to take a seat. ‘Catherine is missing Harry and wants to visit him in Windsor.’
Nathaniel watches as I pour us both a tankard from the flagon of ale. ‘Does she plan to tell him about you—about his half-brother?’
I take a drink before answering and pull a face at the bitter taste. ‘That’s the thing, Nathaniel. She wants to tell him and I’ve no idea how Harry will take it.’
Nathaniel drinks some of his ale while I tear a chunk of bread, still warm from the oven, and bite into it hungrily.
‘You think he is too much under the influence of his tutor, Sir Richard Beauchamp?’
‘I do. He could have me thrown in the Tower—we simply don’t know.’
‘What about young Edmund?’
‘Catherine has asked the midwife to care for him while we visit Windsor.’ I smile as I remember. ‘I thought it a step too far for her to turn up carrying a baby.’ I take my knife and cut myself a thick slice of beef. I’ve hardly eaten all day and it tastes good. ‘As far as anyone is concerned, Catherine has recovered her health and there is no reason to suspect she has a second child.’
I study my friend, one of the few people I can trust and rely on. Nathaniel looks like a noble now, with his neatly trimmed beard. He has invested in good clothes and wears fine leather boots and a fashionable black felt hat. It is hard to remember the man in front of me as the studious clerk I once knew.
He takes another drink while I wolf down the rest of the bread and beef. ‘I can arrange the visit to the king, although I wonder... if it is a good idea.’
‘We will need to bring the usual retinue of servants and a royal escort.’
‘That’s easy enough to organise, but what about the queen? Is she coming here?’
‘No, we will travel by St Albans. You can wait there with the retinue while I ride ahead and collect Catherine from Much Hadam.’
‘You haven’t decided if you will tell the king?’
Nathaniel’s question is one I have discussed many times with Catherine, once almost arguing about it. ‘We will have to see, Nathaniel. I am considering telling Sir Richard, if I have the chance.’
Nathaniel’s eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘What if he reacts badly?’
‘I think Sir Richard will agree that Catherine can see Harry when she wishes, and we can only do it with his support. It is a risk—but we can’t hide for the rest of our lives.’
Harry is taller and it seems the training has finally had effect, as there is something more regal about his manner. The earl has dressed him in an ermine-trimmed robe for the meeting and he wears a gold coronet unselfconsciously. Instead of running to embrace his mother he bows to her formally and waits while she curtsies in return before speaking.
‘It is good to see you, Mother.’
Catherine smiles. Her son is playing the part as he has been instructed. ‘And you, how you have grown.’
I am watching Sir Richard who stands behind the king with another knight I’ve not seen before at his side. Both wear their swords on low slung belts, fighting weapons, which have probably seen use in battle. I see the earl is studying Catherine, as if trying to detect anything unusual. Someone must have told him she suffered with her father’s problems, and I guess it could have been Cardinal Beaufort.
Most importantly, I realise that the earl and the knight, who must be the king’s full-time bodyguard, seem disinterested in me. Standing well back from Catherine, for once I find it useful to become an invisible servant again. It comforts me to know the bishops have kept their silence. No one knows our secret, for now, at least.
Harry sees me though. ‘Good day, Tudor.’ There is a welcoming note in the young king’s voice. ‘You must ride with me while you are here—and see how I have improved my skill at the joust.’
I bow to him. ‘It will be a great honour, Your Highness.’
Sir Richard notices me at last. ‘I need to talk with you, Tudor.’ He looks at Harry. ‘We will leave the king to spend a little time with his mother.’
‘Of course, my lord.’
I follow the earl down long, familiar corridors, rehearsing in my mind what I need to say. It crosses my mind that these could be my last moments as a free man, if God wills it. Sir Richard takes me to the room he uses for his study and keeps me standing while he sits behind a large oak desk cluttered with papers.
‘So tell me, Tudor, is the queen dowager ill?’
I look at the earl. An honest man, although unpredictable, Sir Richard’s long grey hair is receding and his face is deep with the lines which show he has not chosen an easy life, despite his considerable wealth.
‘Queen Catherine is well, my lord, yet there is something I have to tell you.’
‘What is it?’ He doesn’t sound the least bit interested in what I have to say.
‘She has remarried, my lord. To me—and we have a child now.’ I blurt it out, my carefully rehearsed speech forgotten.
The earl stares at me in disbelief and slumps back in his chair as he calculates the significance of the news. ‘Who knows of this?’
‘We kept it secret, until now.’ It is only half a lie.
‘The child... was born in wedlock?’
‘He was, my lord.’
‘And you have witnesses to the marriage?’
‘We do, my lord. Two bishops.’
The earl studies me with new curiosity. ‘You know the consequences of this, Tudor?’
He still hasn’t invited me to sit and I stand straight, trying to sound more confident than I feel. ‘I wanted you to be the first to know, Sir Richard, as we need your a
dvice before we inform the king.’
The earl sits up and it is clear their tactic has worked. ‘The queen dowager is not informing him right now?’
‘No, my lord, we thought it best...’
‘I don’t want him told until after he returns from the coronation in France, is that understood? He has made good progress and something like this could be upsetting.’ The earl stands and walks to the window. He seems deep in thought, then turns to face me. ‘I appreciate your discretion, Tudor, but you know what people will say?’
I don’t answer as I know well enough.
The earl regards me with steel-grey eyes. ‘They will say you abused your position, took advantage of the queen—seduced her.’ He shakes his head at the thought. ‘I doubt the Duke of Gloucester will take kindly to this, Tudor. He’ll have your head on a spike!’
Now I regret ever agreeing to leave our peaceful sanctuary at Much Hadam. I made the long journey so Catherine can see her son and now I can’t be sure if I will even be allowed to leave. The earl can have me arrested and will not be unduly concerned about the queen dowager’s wishes.
‘I will have to worry about that when the time comes, my lord. It is the queen dowager who needs your help and support.’
The earl crosses over to an elaborately carved cabinet. ‘I don’t know whether to curse you or thank you, Tudor.’ He pulls open the door to reveal a collection of wine casks and silver goblets. He fills two goblets from one of the casks. ‘By God, you seem to have outsmarted us all. I don’t like that—but I appreciate your honesty.’ He hands one goblet to me and raises his own. ‘Congratulations, Tudor. I have decided your intentions are honourable.’
I raise my goblet in the air. ‘To the King of England and of France.’
‘To the King.’
* * *
Bishop Philip Morgan fills his chair to overflowing with his portly figure as his deep voice rises to the high, hammer-beamed roof of the great hall at Much Hadham palace. He has been invited for dinner and says a long Latin grace before we can eat. When he finishes I fill the bishop’s goblet with sweet, amber-coloured mead.
‘What news from London, Bishop?’
The bishop tastes the rich mead and nods in approval. ‘The rows between Duke Humphrey and Cardinal Beaufort have reached a new level. They divide the council with their accusations.’ He pauses as if recalling some incident. ‘I regret to say their self-interest is to the detriment of the country.’
‘Perhaps it will keep them too busy to concern themselves with us?’
‘God willing.’ He makes the sign of the cross absent-mindedly on his chest. ‘That and, of course, the coronation in France.’
‘You are to travel to France, Bishop Morgan?’ Catherine sounds concerned.
‘I am.’ He frowns. ‘You know the girl Joan was put on trial?’
Catherine answers. ‘We heard.’
‘Duke John of Bedford has colluded with Cardinal Beaufort. They wish her dead before the coronation.’
‘She is to be executed?’ Catherine’s French accent returns.
‘I regret to say... she is.’ He looks saddened at the prospect.
‘Has she been found guilty of witchcraft?’ I think it unlikely.
‘Witchcraft, heresy—and dressing like a man. Her crime is to believe she hears voices telling her she is chosen by God to lead the French army to victory.’
‘No good will come of this. Duke John of Bedford will make a martyr of her.’ Catherine must be thinking of her brother.
The bishop nods in agreement. ‘The whole thing is a sad business. I understand that she is only nineteen years old.’
The maid brings their first course, a fine glazed ham, carved into slices and served on trenchers of bread. I see the bishop’s goblet is already empty and refill it with mead. Bishop Morgan mentioned a liking for it once and Nathaniel makes sure we have a cask when he visits.
‘You said that Bishop Grey’s tenure is coming to an end?’
The bishop finishes his mouthful of ham before replying. ‘Robert Fitzhugh is to become the new Bishop of London. I knew his father, Baron Fitzhugh. A good man, I worked with him on the Treaty of Troyes.’
Catherine remembers him. ‘I travelled with Baron Fitzhugh from France. He helped escort the late king’s body back to Westminster Abbey—and now he too is dead.’
‘Does this mean that we need to move from here, if Bishop Grey’s tenure is ending?’ I have mixed feelings at the thought, as I am comfortable at Much Hadham and it is where my son was born.
The bishop lays down his knife and looks at us both. ‘That depends. Robert Fitzhugh’s appointment is supported by Cardinal Henry Beaufort.’
‘So we cannot rely on him to keep silent?’
Bishop Morgan shrugs his shoulders. ‘All I am saying is... we can’t be certain. William Grey is a trusted friend, while Robert Fitzhugh is young and ambitious.’
Catherine looks around the great hall which has become their home. ‘I don’t want to be too far from Windsor. Now we have taken Sir Richard into our confidence it should be easier to visit Harry.’
Bishop Morgan drains his goblet of mead. ‘I am to join the king in France for his coronation visit—and this is not envisaged as an expedition of short duration. John Stafford, Bishop of Bath and Wells and Bishop William Alnwick of Norwich are to accompany me. I expect it could be some time before I am able to return, so you are welcome to stay at the manor of the Bishops of Ely in Hatfield. My house is not as grand as this,’ he waves at the high ceiling self-deprecatingly, ‘although it has the advantage that no one will expect to find you there.’
Chapter Ten
We become guests of Bishop Morgan in late summer and find he has been modest about his manor house in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Some seven miles west of Hertford Castle, the village is known as ‘Bishop’s Hatfield’ because of the imposing palace of the Bishops of Ely, and his house at Hatfield has great chimneys of red brick, extensive, well-maintained gardens and at least twenty full-time servants and staff.
On the outskirts of St Albans, Hatfield also has the advantage of being closer to Windsor Castle, although young Harry is in Calais, with the Earl of Warwick and Bishop Morgan, preparing for his coronation. He is not expected to return for at least six months and his formal letters, rarely revealing more than he is in good health, are delivered from Wallingford by Nathaniel.
Nathaniel stays overnight at our spacious new home, before returning with Catherine’s letter of reply. He also acts as my deputy at Wallingford, keeping the servants and staff of the queen’s household under the illusion that she could return at any time. On his last visit he also brought an innocent looking letter from Cardinal Beaufort, also now in France, enquiring after the queen dowager’s health. Catherine drafts what she hopes is a reassuring reply, although we guess it will not be the last of the matter.
I was content at Much Hadham but never felt completely at ease, as we always knew it was a temporary home. Bishop Morgan has tenure for life as Bishop of Ely, so we are welcome to remain at his home in Hatfield for as long as we wish. Catherine seems more content now and delights in taking personal care of Edmund, rather than having to hand him over to nursemaids, as she had with Harry.
The bishop’s servants are used to visitors staying and have no reason to guess their newest tenants are the Queen Dowager of England and her second husband—or that the noisy infant is a half-brother to the king. Catherine is grateful for help from one of the palace maidservants, a local woman named Briony. She has been in the service of the bishops of Ely since she was a girl and soon becomes Catherine’s personal chambermaid and companion.
A few years younger than Catherine and always talkative, with an engaging sense of humour, Briony was born in Hatfield, so her local knowledge is useful to us. She explains that each Wednesday the town square becomes a bustling market-place and people travel from all around the area to buy and sell all kinds of goods and livestock and share news and local gossip.
In the village of Much Hadham it had been almost impossible for Catherine to take a walk without being noticed. Hatfield is quite different, a busy market town, with new people passing through on their way to London or north to York. For the first time in her life Catherine is able to come and go as she pleases without drawing attention. Briony helps her to dress so she blends in with the local women and they often visit the bustling market together.
Catherine enjoys exploring the ramshackle market stalls, which spring up in noisy profusion once a week. It is possible to buy everything from freshly baked bread and live chickens to the practical boots worn by country people. Cooking pans in all shapes and sizes are sold alongside candlesticks and spurs, woollen cloth, silk and linen. Cartloads of dry rushes for hall floors are heaped next to bales of wool and planks of wood.
Farmers bring wagons laden with sacks of corn, wheat and barley, millers offer bags of flour and blacksmiths shoe horses. Catherine’s favourite corner of the market is where she can find fresh garden produce, apples and sweet pears, vegetables, garlic and herbs. Sometimes there are even spicerers at the Hatfield market, selling exotic cinnamon, cloves and many different types of sugar.
Traders shout for Catherine’s attention, offering free samples and passing ribald comments when they think she is out of earshot. Briony knows many of them by their first names and is happy to teach Catherine the art of bartering—never paying the price which is asked.
Edmund grows into a strong and healthy child, with his mother’s bright blue eyes and golden hair. Briony carries him when they visit the market and Edmund squeals with delight when she holds him high to see the assortment of goats, sheep and pigs herded into pens, some newly slaughtered and hanging by their back legs, dripping bright red blood.
