So it was with my mother beside me that I rode into Paris. I was amazed at our reception. Banners hung from the windows, wine was running from the conduits in the streets and the cheers were deafening.
I was relieved. They bore me no resentment for having joined the conqueror, and I knew that their greeting was not given out of fear but love for me.
So we spent Christmas in Paris and we were happy. Surely, I thought, this must be an end of hostilities. What more did he want? I was bold enough to ask him.
“France is mine,” he said, “and what pleases me most is that I have made my French Princess Queen of England. But you will learn, little one, that there is often as much strife in holding what one has gained as in taking possession of it. To have is important, but it must not be forgotten that one must hold.”
However, for that Christmas we gave ourselves up to pleasure. He could be as merry as any. We danced and sang; we played the harp together.
It was a wonderfully happy Christmas.
I might have known it could not last.
My friend Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, told me that the English were getting restive. They were not pleased that their King should desert them and spend so much of his time away from his own land. Conquests were all very well and when the conquering heroes returned they could be certain of a rapturous welcome, but Henry was first and foremost King of England, and that should not be forgotten.
Margaret said: “I heard news from England. Humphrey of Gloucester is Regent while the Duke of Bedford is in France and…well, it is not that the people do not like Humphrey…but he is not like Clarence or Bedford. He likes a little riotous living. He frequents the taverns. He is overfond of women. Mind you, he is full of energy and has great charm. He is something of a scholar, too. He is an odd mixture of a man. But…he is very ambitious. I have always fancied that he is a little envious of Henry…oh, full of admiration, of course, but in my opinion he is deeply discontented because he was born his father’s youngest son instead of his eldest.”
“He sounds a little…dangerous.”
Margaret lifted her shoulders. “One to be watched,” she suggested.
Margaret was right. Messengers came from England. There were letters for Henry, and he shut himself in with them for some little time.
It was not long after that that he talked to me. It was night, and we were alone. He put his arms around me and said: “How do you fancy a sea voyage?”
I looked at him in astonishment and he went on: “The Channel is not at its most inviting in the winter, but crossing it is a necessity, I fear.”
“You mean…England?”
He nodded. “And soon.”
Everything was “soon” in Henry’s mind. He could never brook delay. Once he had made up his mind, the deed was as good as done.
“I must return,” he said. “I have been away too long. When all is said and done, England is my first responsibility.”
“And France?”
“I am going to appoint your mother Regent.”
“My mother!”
“I think she is devoted to your interests.”
I looked at him in astonishment and he went on: “Because they are hers. Moreover, it will be in name only. My brother John will remain in France. He will be in charge of everything.”
“But my mother …”
“Kate,” he said solemnly, “conquerors are never popular with the conquered. They are treated with honor only because the alternative would be too painful. A conquered people should be treated with care. They have been deeply humiliated by the conquest. The wise conqueror lessens the humiliation wherever possible. So I shall call your mother Regent and my brother John will, of course, make sure all goes well for us.”
“You trust John?”
“Absolutely. I am fortunate in my brothers. Thomas…dear Thomas…and John…good John and…er…Humphrey …”
“Humphrey is now looking after affairs in England for you.”
“Humphrey is the youngest.” He smiled affectionately. “He can be a little wild. I understand that.”
“As you were once,” I said.
“As I was once. It helps me understand Humphrey. He is a little like me. He will grow out of it.”
“You grew out of it when you became King. Humphrey will not have a crown to change him.”
“I should have grown out of it in any case…as he will. But…at the moment I must go back. I know all will be well here in John’s hands and very soon we shall return to France.”
I was excited at the prospect of going to England. For one thing, I should escape from my mother. I should indeed feel a few regrets to part from my father; but I was young and wanted new experiences. I was fast falling in love with my husband and the new life he offered; and to be with my father was a continual sadness, for one could not help sharing something of his sorrows and therefore one’s happy exhilarating existence must be tinged with the sadness of his.
As I said, Henry could not endure delay. We were going to England; therefore we should set out at once. It was winter, but, to Henry, that was of little consequence. He would have preferred spring, of course; but this happened to be winter and that was when we should go.
The Duke of Bedford had arrived with 6,000 men to escort us to Calais.
I liked my brother-in-law, John, as soon as we met. He was more like Henry than any of the others, not so much in appearance as—I was to discover—in character. He was a clever man, but slightly less clever than Henry; he was shrewd, brave, clear-sighted and resourceful. But it seemed to me that with all these qualities he just slightly failed to equal Henry. I think, too, that he was clever enough to know this, and I liked him for that. Henry was his hero and he was content to serve under him.
Humphrey was clever, but the difference between him and John was that John realized his limitations in regard to Henry; Humphrey did not, and all through his life he would tell himself, I would have equaled my brother Henry. The only reason I did not is that I had the misfortune not to be born my father’s eldest son.
I felt I was beginning to know my new family, and the experience was agreeable. My friendship with the Duchess of Clarence was now to be repeated with the Duke of Bedford.
We reached Amiens, where I was lodged with the bailiff. Several of my countrymen and-women came to see me there. They brought me presents and wished me well. It was comforting to know that they still held me in high regard. In fact, I think many of them were delighted to be at peace and were grateful to me for helping bring that about. There is no greater destroyer of happiness than war, when lands are devastated by ruthless soldiery and cities destroyed. Oh yes, it was a great relief to these people that the war was largely at an end, and their Princess was happily married to Henry of England.
We embarked at Calais. I do not want to dwell on the discomforts…I might even say torments…of that strip of water which had to be crossed. It is best forgotten. Henry, of course, was unaffected; but that did not mean he had no sympathy for those who were not. My relief at sighting the white cliffs of my new country was intense.
As soon as we alighted we were greeted by crowds of cheering people, and this continued throughout the journey to London.
“One of the first things we must do,” said Henry, “is to have you crowned. It will then be seen that you are the Queen in very truth.”
It was shortly after my landing on English soil that I was crowned in Westminster Abbey. There was not much time to prepare, but by now I had learned that, with Henry, everything had to be done with the utmost speed. I often thought of how my mother would have reveled in preparing me for that great event. Instead of which I had only three busy weeks in which to make myself ready.
I went from the Palace of Westminster to the Abbey, where I was crowned by the Archbishop. It was a solemn and impressive ceremony, as coronations must be. I was too moved and overwhelmed to remember all the people around me.
The banquet which followed remains more memora
ble to me. I think that was because of the people I met there.
There was the Duke of Gloucester, that Humphrey whom I had already met briefly, and of whom I had heard so much. He had arranged the feast and he stood bareheaded before me. We surveyed each other with the utmost interest. He was good-looking—rather like Henry; he had great charm; and I could see, by the way his eyes appeared to take in every detail of my appearance, that he was attempting to assess me in many ways. I supposed he was thinking that as the King’s wife I would have some influence with him; he was wondering, I guessed, to what use I would put it. He studied me with other objects in mind and I thought I detected faintly lecherous lights in his eyes. My opinion that I would have to be watchful of Humphrey was confirmed.
Another who interested me was Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. Margaret had mentioned him to me in my conversations with her, and I knew of his connection with the royal family. He was a brilliant man, a son of John of Gaunt, himself a son of Edward III, and Katherine Swynford, whom John of Gaunt had eventually married, after she had been his mistress for several years. The children had all been legitimized when the marriage took place. They were clever and ambitious and, Margaret said, the rest of the family was inclined to look down on them as, although made legitimate, they had been born out of wedlock. There had been trouble between Henry Beaufort and Gloucester and I was sure resentment lingered.
Another whom I met on that occasion was James I of Scotland, who was Henry’s prisoner and had been in a kind of captivity for the last seventeen years. He was treated with the respect due to a king, but he was a prisoner nonetheless. He was handsome and charming and he did not seem as though he were a captive. I wanted to know more about him and I decided I would ask Henry at an appropriate moment.
The banquet was sumptuous, but as we were in Lent it consisted mainly of fish; the only diversion from the Lenten abstention was brawn served with mustard.
As I looked at that table weighed down with fish of all kinds—soles, crayfish, lobster, roach, lampreys, congers and other varieties—my thoughts temporarily flashed back to those days in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, where there was only a crust or two to be shared by six hungry children.
The table had been decorated with tableaux, all bearing some significance to the occasion. There was one of St. Katherine, my patron saint, discoursing with doctors, and in the right hand of the statue of the saint was a scroll on which was written in gold letters “Madame la Reine.” There were others depicting Henry as the conqueror of France.
I was exhilarated and happier than I had ever been before. I believed that I had escaped from my troubled country forever and that my marriage was one of those romances which began in strife and ended in happiness ever after.
It was wonderful to be given such homage; I, the daughter of the defeated King, to be showered with blessings by my wise and all-conquering husband!
It was even more wonderful to be alone with Henry afterward. He was pleased with the day’s proceedings and, I think, delighted to see me overwhelmed by the welcome and honors I had received.
I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him of what I had endured in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, to make him see those cold and hungry children, wondering about that wild man, our father, who was confined close to us.
I could not believe all this had happened to that frightened little girl. But here I was…Queen of England…beloved by her husband and his people. It seemed too wonderful to be true.
He embraced me with passion, and it was not the time for talking of such things.
I was too excited to sleep; and I think he was too. We lay side by side in the stillness. I reached for his hand.
I felt a great desire then to learn something of the people whom I had met at the banquet. There were so few occasions when it was possible to talk to Henry of such things.
“Are you happy, Kate?” he asked.
“Beyond all my dreams,” I answered.
“Then so am I.”
“It is wonderful that you came into my life. You have carried me away from all the strife…all the fears…everything that made life so…uneasy.”
“That is what I intended to do. Shall you be happy in England, Kate?”
“If you are with me.”
He pressed my hand and there was silence.
After a while, I said: “Tell me about the King of Scotland.”
“James? A pleasant enough fellow.”
“He seemed…quite charming…and not like a prisoner.”
“He has been with us for many years. It must be seventeen years since he was captured.”
“Seventeen years a prisoner?”
“He’s better off here than in his own land. When we took him, his life would not have been worth much if we had sent him back. Warring uncles, you know.”
“I do know…indeed.”
“A child king…that is one of the worst ills which can befall a country. Let us thank God that you and I are young. We’ll have sons…many of them…as my father did. See how useful my brothers are to me. But to be a child and a king…that means trouble. There are too many seeking to rule…fighting each other. You know that, with your Armagnacs and Burgundians. There’s nothing unusual in it, Kate. It was the natural course of affairs…So we must get to it. Let us get sons…we must waste no time.”
I was happy that night, but the next day Henry said: “I must get up to the north. There is a little trouble there. I have been away too long.”
“When do we leave?”
“I shall go today and you will stay here for a while. You will be more comfortable here.”
“Without you?”
“It is not for long. Just a short trip up to the north. I shall have to go to France soon and I shall have to replenish the army. Money, Kate. That is what I need and it has to come from the people. So to the north first to settle them down…and then to the countryside to show myself as the conqueror, the King of France to be. I want to show them how their money is spent. They love victories. Well, praise God! I have had some of those.”
“So you will go as a soldier…not as a husband.”
He slapped his thigh and laughed. “There you have it, Kate. That’s the answer.”
I was bitterly disappointed. All the euphoria of last night had gone. I knew I had hoped for too much. He would constantly be going off and I should have to face long periods without him. It was my fate and I should have to accept it.
Before he went, he said: “I’ll be with you by Easter, Kate. We’ll celebrate the feast together.”
I felt lonely without him and with only Guillemote—how thankful I was that I had been able to bring her with me!—and the few friends I had been able to make since my arrival to keep me company. It was so different from what I had hoped.
Easter seemed long in coming. I was excited when on Palm Sunday I left Westminster Palace for Windsor.
I loved Windsor on sight and have done so ever since. I was thrilled as we came through the park and forest and up the long walk on either side of which grew stately elms. I was thinking of Henry and wondering how long we should stay in this beautiful spot.
I hoped the people of the north had settled down and that his subjects were prepared to give him what he wanted. Then I thought that, if they did, soon his army would be off to make fresh conquests. What conquests? Had he not subdued France? Bedford would act as his deputy there. I wondered if I could persuade him that it was his duty to remain in England. The idea was ludicrous. It would amuse him, though. I could imagine his laughing at me.
There was so much to occupy me at Windsor. I loved to roam through those stately rooms; I loved to walk outside, to stroll around the castle, to touch those gray stone walls. When I heard that Edward III had started to rebuild certain parts of the castle and Richard had finished it, that seemed to bring Isabelle close to me. I was sure she had stood where I was standing, for Richard would have brought her here; he would have shown her the mews which he had built for his falcons.
Each day I looked for Henry. Good Friday came…a day spent in prayer and meditation; then Easter Day and he still did not come.
“The King must be here soon,” I said to Margaret, Duchess of Clarence.
“Yes, in time,” she answered. “It is always so with kings. One can never be sure. Something may have happened…something which needs his attention.”
“Something more pressing than his desire to be with me,” I said a trifle bitterly.
“You married a soldier, my lady,” she replied.
It was during the period while I was waiting for Henry to come to Windsor that I met Margaret’s daughter, Jane. I had noticed this lovely young girl about the Court and had wondered who she was; and I was particularly pleased when Margaret presented her to me.
I congratulated her on having such a beautiful daughter. She saw that I was puzzled because I knew she had not been married long enough to Clarence to have a daughter of such an age.
She explained to me: “Her father was John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset. He was my first husband.”
She talked to me then about her sons Henry, John and Edmund; but it was Jane on whom she doted. I supposed that a mother in her position saw little of her sons, who were always taken away from their own home to be brought up in the household of some nobleman where they would learn the chivalric arts. I had always thought that was sad and that my brothers, sisters and I could have had a far happier childhood if we had not been born royal; but the same applied to all noble houses.
I discovered that Margaret’s first husband had been the eldest son of John of Gaunt by Katherine Swyford; so there was royal blood in the veins of her children.
I wondered a great deal about Margaret. Was she happy with the Duke of Clarence? He had seemed to me a charming man when I had met him—but very briefly, of course.
It was pleasant to get to know Margaret. It helped to pass the time while I was waiting for Henry to come as he had promised.
Easter had passed when a message came from him.
The Queen's Secret Page 11
