Jewels were chosen for me. I had to practice my English; I had to learn to dance—a matter which, to my mother’s chagrin, had been somewhat neglected at Poissy. I was kept so busy that I had little time to brood on my situation—which was a good thing.
My dead sister was constantly referred to—“Isabelle did this…she had a habit of …”—until I felt I was impersonating her. And how I longed for her to be with me, to advise me…to help me…to explain what I had to do. The odious Henry of Monmouth had sought her at one time…and ardently, it seemed. She had turned from him in horror. He had never seen me…but his father was seeking me on his behalf. He might not want me any more than I wanted him.
Oh, Isabelle, I thought, if you were here, you would tell me what to do. You would help me to evade this fate which they are determined to press upon me. You did it. How can I?
But Isabelle was gone and I was alone; and I was completely at the command of my indomitable mother.
At length the ambassadors came. I had conversed with them in their own tongue and they had graciously applauded me on my command of their language, which I believe was due to politeness rather than truth, for I had stumbled a little. But it seemed my looks and my demeanor were acceptable; and there was reference to my likeness to my sister Isabelle.
My mother was not displeased.
“You did well,” she told me, and she patted my head. “I could have thought it was Isabelle all over again.” She perfunctorily dabbed at her eyes for a few moments.
The English emissaries were still in Paris, and negotiations went on. I heard that the demands of the King of England were too great; on the other hand they were not refused.
Every day I dreaded to hear the outcome, for I knew that once they reached an agreement—and it was certain that both sides wanted the match to take place—my fate would be settled.
But something happened which was to give me a respite—if only temporarily.
My mother sent for me and I knew at once that she was excited but a little uncertain.
“There is news from England,” she said. “This will undoubtedly delay our plans. I hope not for long. The King of England has died. Prince Henry has become King Henry…King Henry V.”
She was smiling at me coyly.
“Well, what do you say?”
“I…I was wondering what difference that would make.”
“Delay undoubtedly. Perhaps he will want to strike a harder bargain. It was hard enough, God knows, before. But now he is the King…we shall see. Do not fret, child, I am sure your father and I will manage to get this wonderful match for you…however much we have to pay for it.”
I shivered and was silent, and she pretended to construe my attitude as one of delight.
“I know how you feel,” she went on. “It is a dazzling prospect. A Queen…you, my little Katherine. You will learn what that means. I am a proud woman. Two daughters of mine Queens of England. Is that not a wonderful triumph?” She was smiling, gazing ahead. “Of course…he will be busy for a while…getting himself crowned and dealing with matters of state. We know that full well. So it may be that we have to wait for a few weeks or so…months mayhap…before he can give himself up to the delights of marriage.”
I escaped to my own apartments, and there I shut myself in with my thoughts.
A few months. At least it was a respite.
The embassy sent to assess my worthiness to become the bride of the King of England had departed. I wondered what sort of report would be given of me.
I gathered that I looked sufficiently like my sister to please them; and I fervently hoped that it would be a long time before Henry wanted to think of marriage. He was fourteen years older than I and from what I had heard had been on particularly friendly terms with a great many women: but of course that was different. He would have to marry, and the sooner kings married the better, for one of their first duties was to get heirs.
The thought made me shudder. How grateful I was to Henry IV for dying when he did. It ensured me a few weeks—perhaps months—of peace.
There was a great deal of speculation about Henry. He had been such a wild and reckless youth that people were asking what sort of king he would make. Many people said England would be ill-governed. Perhaps that was wishful thinking, for an ill-governed England would suit France very well. Heaven knew France was in a sorry state. There was what was tantamount to war between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs; the King’s periods of lucidity were growing more and more infrequent; the Dauphin was young and inclined to flaunt his authority, and there were sycophants all around him; he was not on good terms with his mother, who objected to his attempts to interfere with her plans. She, I believed, was intriguing first with the Armagnacs and then with the Burgundians. This internal strife had weakened the country to a considerable extent, and across the Channel was a new king who had not been tested yet but had made it clear that he was casting covetous eyes on France.
All were watching events on the other side of the Channel. There were rumors that the new king had changed his character overnight. There was no more roistering with rowdy companions, no more frequenting of low taverns. He threw these habits off as though they were a cloak and revealed his true nature—a young man with a mission to rule his country well and make it great.
“It cannot last,” said some. “It is just a phase. He is a wild young man. He goes from one mood to another. No one changes like that overnight as it were.”
Others said he had long wanted the crown and that he had been impatiently waiting for his father’s death to take it. There was a story in circulation that when his father lay sick he had taken the crown and tried it on and had very much liked the feel of it upon his head.
This man they had chosen for me seemed to have many facets and moods. He was a rake; he was a dedicated king; he cared only for the life of pleasure, yet he had waited with the utmost impatience to shoulder the burdens of state.
It was difficult to know what to believe. I wanted to find out all I could about him, while I prayed that I might never have an opportunity of discovering whether it were true.
I was often in my mother’s company, and sometimes I felt that the more I saw her, the less I knew her. I had very soon learned that it would be unwise to show any defiance of her wishes. I had a habit of lowering my head in case she should read rebellion in my expression. I was always wishing that I might be sent away from Court. I longed for Poissy. But even if the negotiations did hang fire, I was still an important pawn in my mother’s game; and she wanted to keep me under close surveillance.
I was afraid of her. Large, voluptuous, perfumed, there was something snake-like about her. I saw it in the sudden venom in her eyes when she considered her enemy; and if I refused to fall in with her wishes, I could qualify for that description.
She must be at the center of some plot. I knew that she swayed between Burgundy and Armagnac, feigning friendship with each in turn and being the friend of neither. Yet, in spite of her love of intrigue, she wallowed in voluptuous indolence. Her sensuality was her most outstanding characteristic; and it must be satisfied at all cost. When I think of her now, it is to see her reclining on a couch in her splendor, lapsing into voluptuous ease, nibbling sweetmeats, calling to her little dogs, petting them, scolding them, popping sweetmeats into their mouths, stroking them while they watched her with attentive adoring eyes. I think she cared more for her pets than for any people. I supposed it was because they were completely hers to command. They obeyed without question. She did not have to manipulate them. But then I believed she enjoyed manipulating people; of course, she could fly into wild rages if those about her did not dance to her tune.
She had her lovers—several of them. I remember especially Louis de Bosredon, whom I particularly disliked. He was a nobleman who came from the Auvergne and she had made him her steward so that she could keep him close to her.
He was good-looking and very conceited. He gave himself airs, and I had heard it said th
at, because the Queen liked to have him in her bed, he thought he was all but in name King of France.
He clearly did not realize how short-lived the Queen’s favor could be and that she never seemed to show any regret for her lost lovers. Even in the case of the Duke of Orléans, who many believed had had a special place in her affections, she had shown no great sorrow when he was murdered.
My mother was anxious to keep my brother Louis close to her and to guide him in every way. He was a child no longer and many believed that before long he would be King of France. My father was growing less and less capable of understanding state affairs and there was a good deal of speculation about his abdicating in favor of the Dauphin. Courtiers were aware of this; and with every day Louis grew more important in the eyes of those about him—and in his own.
No one was quite sure which side the royal family supported…Burgundy or Armagnac. The Queen was so devious; she swayed between them. But Louis suddenly developed a very close friendship with the young Duke of Orléans and they were constantly together. They even dressed alike; and therefore Louis became a friend of the Armagnacs. The people followed the Court, and the Burgundians who had been in high favor in Paris were no longer so. It was fashionable now to stand with the Armagnacs. It was amazing how quickly people took up causes, and they were completely fickle. There was fighting in the streets and, I am grieved to say, often murders. Anyone who dared say a good word for Burgundy was set upon.
I felt a great sorrow for my country. People did not see that the continual bickering between two great houses could do nothing but harm to everyone.
It was not to be expected that the Duke of Burgundy would allow himself to be ousted from his position of power; and when his secret negotiations with the King of England were disclosed, there was a great outcry against him.
My mother was enraged.
“The perfidious scoundrel!” she cried. “He thinks he is the King of France…no less. How dare he! I’d have his head for this. Jean the Fearless! I’d give him something to fear!”
I do not know why she talked to me about it. I supposed it was because at that time she talked to anyone, so furious was she.
“Do you know what he has done? He has sent men to London, trying to persuade the King there to consider his daughter.”
My heart leaped with hope. Could it be that I was to be supplanted? I was sorry for the girl, but what an escape for me!
“He is offering his daughter as wife to Henry. Does he think he can achieve that! The upstart!”
Burgundy was no upstart, I wanted to say. He was more royal than she was. But of course I lowered my eyes and kept quiet.
“I never heard of such arrogance. Her name is Katherine,” she added wryly, as though that made the offense even more treacherous. “Yes…he hoped to get ahead of me…ahead of your father, by bringing about a marriage between that wretched daughter of his and the King of England.”
“And…what did the King of England say to that?”
“What think you? He is making high enough demands for you. Do you think he would think twice of Burgundy’s daughter?”
“She is royal.”
“She is not the daughter of a king. He is a king, is he not? He will take you in time…never fear. But he strikes a hard bargain. Burgundy is mad.”
That was not true, but perhaps he had been a little unwise.
My hopes that there would be a substitute were dashed. My father was brought out of retirement and set up in the council chamber.
He must sign certain documents which would be delivered to the Duke of Burgundy without delay, informing him that on pain of forfeiture and treason, he must not enter into any treaty with the King of England either for his daughter’s marriage or for any other reason.
My mother laughed in derision.
“The man is undoubtedly mad. Does he think Henry would take such a match? No…no…he’ll look higher. He is the King of England, is he not?”
I could see that my hope of escape had been too optimistic.
We heard that the new King was displaying great energy. He was extremely popular in a way his father had never been. He was young and virile; Henry IV had been old and ailing. In fact, his last years had been plagued by a terrible illness. Now there was a great driving force in the nation. The shipyards were busy; there were preparations for war which was always a matter for concern; and already the young King had distinguished himself on the battlefield.
There was a rumor that he was thinking of claiming France. His great-grandfather, Edward III, had had an obsession that France, in truth, belonged to England, which was due to the marriage of Edward II to Isabelle of France. Edward had waged war in France. Poitiers and Crécy were still remembered.
Henry sent messengers to France. He was ready now to open negotiations for the marriage.
“He liked the portrait of you,” my mother told me. “No doubt it reminded him of Isabelle. He was most upset that he did not get her.”
But when she saw the demands Henry made, my mother was less euphoric.
“Really!” she cried. “He asks too much. He is too sure of himself. He is young…and feeling his way, no doubt.” She smiled indulgently. She had a weakness for young and virile men.
I was glad of his demands, for it seemed they were too great to be met. Postponement at least was something.
I heard that he was demanding Normandy, Anjou and Maine and that I was to bring a dowry of two million crowns.
“It is outrageous,” said my mother. “Even if we were inclined to concede the territory…where could we find two million crowns?”
Negotiations flagged once more and the trouble which had begun by Burgundy’s perfidious act in trying to arrange a marriage for his daughter behind the King’s back caused further outbreaks of fighting. It was almost as though we were at war.
In the midst of all this the bargaining was renewed.
The Dauphin Louis could talk of little but Henry of England. He jeered at him. How dared he make such demands? The English had no right to be in France. They had gained much through Henry II’s marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their son King John had obligingly—as far as the French were concerned—lost it all. Now those lands were back where they belonged, and that was where they should stay.
I had opportunities of talking to Louis now and then. How different he was from the young brother I had known in the Hôtel de St.-Paul! He was now longing to be King. He thought my father should give up the crown and pass it to him without delay.
“He is sick of mind,” he said. “He will never be able to govern. If I were King, I would subdue Burgundy for a start. I would stop this fellow of England daring to make such demands. If I were King, I should tell him to marry you, sister, and think himself honored.”
“Why should he?” I asked. “He is a King.”
“And are you not the daughter of a King? When you are Queen of England, you must always think of your native land. You must work for France…when you are Queen of England.”
“It may turn out that I never shall be. The matter has been discussed many times and there is always some hitch.”
“It will not always be so. Oh, if I were but King, how different everything would be!”
I could see why my mother kept a close watch on Louis. I wondered what would happen when he became King. He had no love for her and he would certainly not brook her control. What would she do then?
I asked him to tell me what he knew of Henry. “For, if I am to be his wife, it will be good for me to know,” I said.
“Oh, you will deal with him, sister. Any woman could. He is but a boy.”
“He is fourteen years older than I am.”
“He has spent his life roistering in taverns in low company.”
“I have heard that he has spent some time on the battlefield.”
“Just a soldier. He will never be able to govern England. I have no fear of him.”
“Some people seem to.”
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��They would be frightened by their own shadow. I shall be King one day…then you will see.”
“Louis,” I said earnestly, “how necessary is this marriage to France? Must it be?”
He looked at me shrewdly. “It is of importance,” he said. “We have had trouble with the English. There is always trouble with the English. Such a marriage might put an end to it. They have this notion that they own our land. It was due to all those marriages…years ago. Well, France is mine and I intend to hold it.”
“And must I marry Henry of England?”
He nodded his head. “It seems to me that most people in France think it would be an excellent conclusion…and I am of the opinion that the English are of like mind.”
“Then…providing he does not ask too much…it will take place?”
“Yes, sister. It must. For France.”
I could see that unless Henry made outrageous demands—which he was capable of doing—my fate was certain.
Disquieting news was coming from across the Channel. Henry was demanding subsidies from his Parliament. “For the defense of England and the safety of the seas.” What did it mean? There was a great deal of shaking of heads and uneasy speculation.
Henry’s demands, which included me, could not be met. And it seemed he was preparing to make even greater demands.
Alarming statements were coming from England. The crown of France, in fact, belonged to him, declared Henry. The English did not recognize the French law precluding women from ascending the throne, which law was the reason why the throne had not come to Isabelle, wife of Henry’s ancestor Edward II. These claims had been raised before and had caused strife between our countries; and now here they were again.
The Queen's Secret Page 6
