The Tudor Bride

by Joanna Hickson

  ‘I thought you said she was not wanton,’ murmured Geoffrey, careful to ensure they did not hear.

  ‘Nor is she,’ I hissed back. ‘But this place has a way of making one light-minded. You said you had felt it yourself.’

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘I felt a lightness of heart rather than mind, but that was down to you, not the location.’

  I found myself blushing, but pretended it was indignation. ‘Well Catherine is sensitive to atmosphere even if you are not, and I believe Hadham will have exerted enough influence to make her want more of what she has found here.’

  ‘And I believe it is the handsome Owen who is the main attraction and Hadham only a means to an end. But we shall see.’

  He proved the more prescient, for Catherine made no mention of staying at the manor. Instead she asked the seneschal if he thought there was time for her to visit the church before leaving to ride back to Hertford. ‘We do not want to be caught by the dusk but I would like to pray for a while in that beautiful church.’

  The seneschal bowed. ‘By all means, my lady.’ He had obviously decided that whoever she was, she was no common female, regardless of her care-worn garb. ‘It wants three hours until sunset. The church is always open but the priest is often in the fields at this time of day. If you like, I will go and find him.’

  ‘That will not be necessary, thank you,’ she replied, ‘but some light refreshment before we leave would be very welcome.’

  We walked to the church of St Andrew, an unusually splendid place of worship for a small out-of-the-way manor, because after it had been selected by an early bishop of London as a retreat, he needed somewhere worthy of his standing in which to pray. Over the years generous donations to that end had been made by wealthy Londoners in return for indulgences to offset their sins. Many a Cheapside merchant must have hoped to reach heaven by contributing to the raising of St Andrew’s flint-stone walls.

  Catherine, with her ingrained reverence for the Church, was delighted by the wide nave with its fine arched bays and the soaring chancel with its beautiful stained glass east window and she went immediately to kneel at the bishop’s prie dieu near the altar, but the rest of us were more drawn to the graphic paintings on the plastered walls of the side aisles. In the right-hand aisle brightly coloured pictures displayed the glories of paradise and the heavenly rewards offered to the righteous and in the left a dramatic mural in black, browns and reds showed the terrors of hell and the evil faces of the devil and his demons tormenting wrongdoers for all eternity. I lingered for some time over a crude depiction of an adulterous woman being torn from her lover’s arms and dragged down to the flames by an ugly winged imp and I wondered what afterlife tortures awaited a middle-aged widow contemplating extramarital fleshly pleasures with a kindly widower.

  ‘Queen Catherine has the better idea,’ said Geoffrey quietly in my ear. ‘She turns her back on such grim warnings and her face towards Christ’s consolation.’

  His humanity made me smile. ‘That is because she believes the grim warnings,’ I said, ‘whereas I have my doubts.’

  ‘Ah.’ In the fold of my skirt his hand found mine and squeezed it. ‘Then we can look forward to sharing heavenly doubts as well as earthly delights.’

  The ride back to Hertford was a cheerful one for we were buoyed up by our own private exhilarations and so all the way along the quiet bank of the Ash we sang carols lustily, led by Owen whose strong tenor kept up a seemingly unending supply of verses while Catherine’s light treble voice, my lower alto and Geoffrey’s rousing baritone made quite a tuneful chorus.

  Catherine rode beside me, not wishing to appear too intimate with Owen – or at least I assumed that was the reason. However when we were far enough ahead of the men to converse without being overheard she abruptly shattered my complacent belief that the new understanding between me and Geoffrey was still our secret.

  ‘I saw you kissing Master Vintner, Mette,’ she said suddenly. ‘Is there something I should know?’

  I hesitated, collecting my thoughts enough to summon an evasive reply. ‘I might ask you the same question, Mademoiselle. We did not venture over the footbridge at the river for fear of interrupting something between you and Master Tudor.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She cast me a sidelong look. ‘But I asked the question first. I thought you and Master Vintner were just friends.’

  ‘We are friends,’ I said, ‘and have been so for some years as you know, albeit for some time at a distance. I wonder though whether a queen and a servant can even be friends, let alone anything more.’

  She coloured violently under her drab hood, protesting, ‘You and I are friends!’

  ‘Yes we are, but not without attracting our share of slur and censure – and ours is only a friendship, not a love affair. You must be very careful, Mademoiselle.’

  She would have flared up then, were it not for the two men riding a few yards behind us. As it was she set her jaw in a stubborn line and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘We will talk about this later. I should not have touched on the subject of your kiss. I am sorry.’

  I sought to lighten the mood with a mischievous smile. ‘But I am not sorry – for the kiss I mean. In fact, if you want the truth, I rather enjoyed it.’

  Her expression softened and she returned my smile. ‘Did you, Mette? Did you indeed? Well, well.’

  No more was said on the subject because at this point we had to manoeuvre into single file in order to negotiate an overhanging tree and we rode the rest of the way in close formation. However I was grateful that she did not take long to seek an opportunity to continue the conversation because whatever opinions she held about my relationship with Geoffrey it was at least unexceptional, whereas I feared that an affair between the queen mother and a Welsh squire would attract the wrath of the world and, more seriously, its vengeance.

  After Mass the following day, she asked me to bring our cloaks for warmth and steered me through the privy garden to the turf-seat in the centre, a bank of grass under an arch of rose briars affording a clear view of anyone approaching for twenty yards all around. Luckily the grass was dry and once we had settled ourselves, Catherine launched straight into the topic on both our minds.

  ‘When I told you that I saw you kiss Master Vintner, I did not mean you to think that I disapproved, Mette,’ she said. ‘In fact I am glad if there is love between you, for you have been sadly lonely for too many years.’

  ‘No more lonely than you, Mademoiselle. But nothing is settled between me and Geoffrey Vintner. I am far more concerned about what may have occurred between you and Master Tudor.’

  She avoided my gaze, restless fingers smoothing the dagging on the sleeve of her gown. ‘What do you imagine may have occurred, Mette?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Let me put it this way. I imagine that a log shifted on sleeping embers and sparks flew, but I do not believe that any flames have leaped yet.’

  Catherine’s head remained down but after a short pause, a gurgling laugh rose in her throat. ‘My goodness, Mette, how long did it take you to come up with that metaphor?’

  Beguiled by her mirth I let my guard drop. ‘Actually it was Geoffrey who came up with it. I thought it summed up the situation perfectly.’

  Steely blue eyes were suddenly drilling into mine. ‘You discussed my affairs with Master Vintner?’

  There was no longer any point in being cautious. ‘Of course I did, Mademoiselle. He is your treasurer and the only lawyer you can trust to give you accurate advice and not carry information straight to the council of regency.’

  ‘But I have not given you permission to discuss my affairs with anyone! How do I know you are not carrying tales to the council? Someone is.’

  I was flabbergasted. It had never occurred to me that she might accuse me of treachery. ‘You honoured me yesterday by asking for my company on a secret mission to visit Hadham and today you suggest I might be a spy for the council! There is no logic in that, Mademoiselle.’

  C
atherine shook her head as if to clear it and laid a hand on my arm. ‘You are right. I am sorry, Mette. Of course you would not betray me, but however close you are to Master Vintner I would still rather you two had not discussed my relationship with Owen Tudor.’

  ‘Is there a relationship with Owen Tudor? That is what I am anxious to know.’

  ‘No, there is not. But yesterday he declared his love for me, a love which he says he has felt since the first time he played the harp for us in the Vallon Vert. That is eight years ago, Mette! He says he has loved me for all that time and I never knew.’

  She turned to face me then, shifting on the grassy bank to take both my hands in hers, instantly establishing an intimacy between us that had not been there before. In my eyes she had hardly changed from the naïve thirteen-year-old girl who had been brought from her convent to the French court to be groomed as a bride for King Henry of England; luminously beautiful and educated in everything except how to handle the opposite sex. I thought by now she might have learned this art, but from what followed I realised she had not.

  ‘Oh, Mette, I have been so blind. Perhaps I should have realised, but truly I did not. Not until I felt his hands on me, pushing me back into the saddle when I nearly fell. It seems ridiculous but it was like lightening striking through my body. Suddenly I knew that I matter to him: me – Catherine – I matter. He was not saving Queen Catherine, or the king’s mother, or the highest lady in the land whom he is duty-bound to serve, but a woman he really cares about. I have never felt special to someone before, just for being me – not with Henry, not with Edmund and certainly not with that odious Guy de Mussy who turned out to be Burgundy’s lackey. When Owen kissed me on the island later, I thought my body would melt!’ She looked rapturous and distressed both at the same time and my heart went out to her. ‘What should I do, Mette? It is such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling and I just want it to go on for ever. Tell me why I should deny myself this happiness when everything else that made me happy has been taken from me?’

  Humphrey of Gloucester can have had no idea what a maelstrom he would create when he denied Catherine the chance to marry Edmund Beaufort. Had that union gone ahead, I thought, this situation would never have arisen because Catherine would have been content to follow her allotted path, making a marriage among her own kind which would doubtless have brought her all the satisfaction of rank and family that she had always been led to expect. And Owen Tudor would have remained silently in the shadows, loyally quelling his pangs of unrequited love as he had already done for so long. Now we were in unknown territory; passions had been unleashed that might have remained dormant and benign and the future looked uncertain and precarious, not just for Catherine but for all of us who loved and served her.

  I shook my head, smiling ruefully. ‘Oh, Mademoiselle! And you base all this on one shove and a few kisses?’

  There were tears in her eyes now and I wanted to hug her. She was twenty-seven, but what did she know of love and affection?

  ‘Yes, Mette, yes I do. And I know it is foolish. He wants me, Mette, just me – to be with me wherever and whenever he can. He does not expect anything from me. He does not ask for titles or honours or high office. He does not even mind if no one ever knows that we love each other!’

  I did hug her then, like the daughter she practically was. All her life she had done what she was told, sometimes even when she was told to do it by evil men with wickedly selfish motives, and this was the first time I had seen her desperate to do something that the world and the Church and the law forbade her to do and do it just because it would make her happy. I hugged her because I desperately wanted her to be happy and yet I did not see how that happiness could ever come to be.

  I had reckoned without her strong will and fierce determination. When we parted the tears had vanished. She had become practical. ‘Now we have to devise a way to achieve this. Do you have any suggestions?’

  I blinked, taken aback, then I blurted out, ‘But it is impossible surely! How can you keep a liaison like that secret?’

  Catherine scowled and shook her head. ‘Oh no, Mette, not a liaison; I am going to marry Owen.’

  ‘Marry him!’ My exclamation came out like a squawk. ‘You cannot! What about the Marriage Act?’

  She snapped her fingers derisively. ‘The Marriage Act – pah! They sent me a copy of that stupid act to frighten me. So I read it very carefully and there is one thing they forgot. No one with land and a title will marry me because of the forfeits, but Owen does not have any land or title to lose so he does not care. We need to find a trustworthy priest to marry us but otherwise we will not tell anyone. The marriage will just be between us and God. That is all that matters.’

  ‘All that matters to you, Mademoiselle, but to the rest of the world it will still look like a liaison. Even if the council do not find a way to end it, you will be branded a harlot and they will stop you seeing the king. And do not forget that Owen is Welsh. They may even declare the relationship treasonous. You would be risking Owen’s life and even perhaps your own!’

  ‘Only if they find out and they will not. We will disappear to Hadham and live there in secret. I will join the king for the Easter celebrations as planned and I will announce that afterwards I am going into retreat. That is what council members like the Duke of Gloucester want, is it not? – that I should disappear from the political scene. They do not care where or how, as long as I do not get in their way.’

  ‘But can you disappear in Hadham? It is off the beaten track, that is true, but it is not in the wilderness. What if someone comes visiting – like the Bishop of London for instance? It is his manor after all.’

  Catherine shrugged. ‘Let him come. Let anyone come. Owen is my master of the wardrobe. That was a public appointment. Only my closest friends will know the truth. I can make this work, Mette, I know I can.’

  ‘And what does Master Tudor say to this plan? Does he know he may be risking a charge of treason?’

  She gave me a sheepish look. ‘Well no, we have not discussed the future in that sort of detail. But he says he would die for me.’ A note of defiance crept into her voice.

  I snorted derisively. ‘When a man says he would die for a woman he generally does not mean he would literally give his life for her, Mademoiselle. It is a form of speech.’

  ‘Not when Owen says it. He gave me his oath of fealty on his knees, just as a subject does to his king. He is my vassal in life and limb. Truly, Mette; you can ask him if you like. Better still, you can be there when I ask him to marry me and you can warn him he will be risking his life. He will not care, you will see.’

  ‘I hesitate to suggest this, but would it not be better if Master Vintner were involved? He is a lawyer. At least he could give you his expert opinion on the legality of such a marriage.’

  Catherine stood up and shook herself. ‘Brr! I am getting cold sitting here and I want to go riding before dinner. I will think about your suggestion, Mette, and let you know my decision.’

  Automatically I rose too. You did not sit when the queen stood, even when you had just hugged her like a mother. ‘Do not leave it too long if you wish to take advantage of Master Vintner’s legal advice, Mademoiselle. I happen to know that he has pressing business in London and will return there very soon.’

  She shot me a sharp glance. ‘Anyone’s pressing business in law gives me particular cause for concern. The courts sit at Westminster, only a step away from where the council meets. But you tell me Master Vintner is loyal and I have to believe you. Come to me after my ride, Mette, while I prepare for dinner. We will talk again then.’

  I would have liked to speak privately with Owen Tudor before that but there was no opportunity. Hitherto I had thought nothing of the fact that he invariably accompanied Catherine on her morning rides, but now I realised that those embers I had borrowed from Geoffrey’s poetic analogy had been regularly stoked by these daily excursions and after Lord Edmund’s suit failed had probably given Owen the courag
e to make his dramatic declaration. I dearly hoped that all the other inhabitants of Hertford Castle were equally unaware of where those rides had been leading, because if Catherine was serious about wanting her incongruous love-match to be kept secret, such mass ignorance would be essential.

  25

  I never admired Owen Tudor so much as I did that evening in the queen’s presence chamber. The previous day, when he had declared his love for Catherine, he cannot have imagined being subjected to the kind of interrogation that Geoffrey put him through twenty-four hours later, yet he sat patient and still on his cushioned stool and laid his soul bare for us to scrutinise. When she agreed that Geoffrey should be present, I am sure Catherine cannot have expected him to probe quite as candidly as he did.

  He started with his usual courtesy. ‘With the permission of her grace I would like to ask you a few questions, Master Tudor. I assure you on my oath as a lawyer that nothing said within these walls will be repeated outside them.’

  Catherine broke in hurriedly and with an apologetic look. ‘They know what took place between us yesterday, Owen, but they are both on our side.’

  The squire gave her a smile which spoke more eloquently than his words. ‘I know that Madame Lanière will always be on your side, my queen, and I also know that she and Master Vintner are good friends. If you both trust him then I can trust him.’

  Geoffrey nodded briskly, as if he had expected no less. ‘First of all then perhaps you would tell us exactly what did take place between you and Queen Catherine yesterday?’

  Preamble over – cut to the chase, I thought. I had not seen this professional side of my lawyer friend before.