by Anne O'Brien
‘You must tell your King that I am not able to gratify him with my acceptance. It is not in my power to do so. Nor in his to persuade me.’
There was no hint of the anger that all but consumed me as Baron de Camoys bowed his way from my presence.
I lingered at the window of my chamber, watching the English courier depart.
‘Leave me.’
My women left, warned by my voice, obviously surprised by the raw tone that had crept in. As was I. Surprised and astonished at the anger of which I was capable. I who had rarely experienced anger in my life. Where was this heat born? Out of disappointment and regret, my newly sprouting hopes being shredded to destruction, like a flourishing bed of nettles beneath the peasant’s scythe over in the meadows. My hands clenched into fists on the stone window-coping, and I hammered them against the chiselled decoration until my flesh complained. But it did not hurt as much as my hopes that had been dealt their death-blow. I would not be haggled over, like a prime salmon in a fishmonger’s basket. Joanna of Navarre would be haggled over by no man. If Joanna of Navarre was to invite a second husband into her bed, he would be of her own choosing and for her own pleasure.
Which thought shocked me a little, until I considered the logic of it. Did I need a husband to enhance my status? To protect my country? To fill my coffers with gold and jewels? I needed none of these. With Brittany’s alliances intact, I had no need of a royal husband to ride to my rescue, and I would not be a decorative element in the pattern of Henry’s planning, to give pre-eminence to the new English monarchy.
My anger continued to hop and spit, fuelled further by an entirely superficial and unwarrantable irritation. As a prospective bride, was I not worthy of a fanfare, an embassy, an ambassador and a Lancaster herald? Was I not worthy of a finest kid document with seals and illuminated letters? If Henry was serious about marriage, I expected more. I expected more than Baron Thomas de Camoys, a baron of some status perhaps, but not one of the great magnates of England. He had come with no embassy, no fine-clad entourage to give Henry’s offer weight. I, Duchess and Regent of Brittany, was worthy of more, and Henry of England must know it. Why must I consent to some secretive arrangement, whispered behind closed doors? My marriage should not be a matter of some conspiratorial negotiating, as if it had some nefarious purpose rather than the alliance between two rulers of esteem.
Pride. Beware the sin of pride, Joanna. Nothing good will come of it. You will regret what you have done today.
I would not regret it. I had wanted, in a selfish corner of my heart, to be desired for myself. Could I not wish for that, for the first, for the only time in my life, rather than for the value of my breeding and the vast spider’s web of connection of my family?
It seemed that I could not.
*
‘Baron de Camoys,’ I said. Not exactly welcoming, some few weeks later. And with some surprise.
‘Madam.’
I had not expected a return visit. Had my refusal not be sufficiently plain? I could well imagine Henry’s displeasure at my rejection, but he was a pragmatic man and must accept it. I would be my own woman; I might have burnt my list of objections but the content remained true and fair in my mind.
Yet I admitted to my curiosity being engaged. What would my English courier have to say to me now? His return was very rapid. I doubted he had time to do more than repeat my refusal to his King before turning about and retracing his watery steps back to Brittany.
‘I bid you good day, my lord.’ I achieved a diplomatic smile. I had just ridden in from the town to discover this English delegation, red and gold pennons once again aflutter.
Already dismounted, my courier approached to take hold of my bridle. But as he looked up into my face, although I read the grave courtesy with which I was familiar, a courtesy that not even my previous blunt refusal could shake, I thought he looked strained. More than strained. Perhaps the crossing had been stormy enough to dig the line between his brows. He deserved a welcome from me, even if I was wary.
‘I see that you are in good health. Did you have time to visit your wife and new child?’
‘I did, Madam.’ He did not return my smile.
‘I doubt she was pleased to lose you again so soon. I surmise that King Henry’s desires were paramount.’
I slid from the mare to stand beside him. The lines engraved between nose and mouth seemed even heavier now that we were face to face. He opened his mouth as if to reply, then shut it and merely gave a curt bow of the head. My desire to know Henry’s desires was pushed aside. There was sadness here, and this was far too public a place for me to encourage him to tell me.
‘Come with me, Lord Thomas.’
Silently he followed me, through entrance hall and a succession of chambers and corridors, where I stopped only long enough to redirect a skipping Blanche towards her nursemaid, until we came to a small parlour, a favourite and private place that collected the spring sunshine and overlooked one of John’s well-planted gardens. It always seemed to me a place where it was possible to find comfort. It seemed to me that Lord Thomas needed comfort.
Lord Thomas stood, waited, as servants came to divest us of outer garments, to leave wine. Shoulders braced, there was none of the warmth I recalled. Grief was written into every line of his body. Was this Henry’s doing? Had he given a difficult message to be delivered?
Then the servants were gone.
‘I see trouble in your face, sir.’
‘A personal matter, my lady,’ he rallied. ‘I have a reply from my King.’
Rejecting my overture, he produced a written missive from the breast of his tunic and a small package wrapped in leather. The letter he gave to me, and I took it, tucking it into my sleeve. It could wait. And so could whatever it was that Henry had directed this man to say to me.
‘Sit, Lord Thomas,’ I commanded. ‘Tell me what douses the fire in your eye. Is it the King?’
He remained standing, placing the package on a low coffer. ‘No, Madam.’
An inkling came to me. ‘Is it perhaps your wife?’
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Was she not safely delivered of the child?’
‘No, Madam. she was not. Elizabeth is dead. The child lives but my wife is dead.’
It was chilling, as was the unemotional delivery. ‘I am sorry.’
Not knowing him well enough to commiserate—for what would I say to him, not knowing the terms of his marriage?—all I could do was offer a cup of wine. Pouring it myself, I urged him to sit, closing my hand over his shoulder where all the muscles were taut.
‘Did you love her greatly, sir?’
If it was a true love match I might regret opening wounds, but I could not ignore the silently borne pain.
‘It was not a love match, Madam, but we had an affection. It is a grief that stays with me.’
It touched my heart. I knew of such grief for John. Not lover but friend whom I missed more than I would have thought possible.
‘Did you laugh together?’ I asked.
He looked up, surprised perhaps at what might appear an inconsequential thought.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Then I do indeed understand.’ He may not have loved her but he would miss her presence. ‘But the child is strong?’
‘Yes, Madam. A daughter. She is called Alice.’ At last the glimmer of a smile touched the gaunt cheeks. So much sadness.
‘And yet you came here to me?’
‘King Henry’s demands were urgent, my lady. I am his servant.’
And there was the return of the ambassadorial demeanour. And perhaps a glint of something else that caused a familiar jolt of concern. I had refused Henry’s offer, giving no hope that I would ever reconsider. Now, it seemed I was to discover how he had reacted to being so summarily dismissed.
‘Then tell me,’ I said, taking a low stool opposite. ‘Will I like what he has to say?’
‘I doubt it. Plain speaking, Madam?’
‘Plai
n speaking, Lord Thomas.’
‘I think I must stand for this.’ He rose, finished the wine in his cup and stood in the centre of the room, facing me.
‘Are you quite comfortable, Lord Thomas?’ He did not look it.
‘I think it would be for the best. I am the messenger but the words and the tone are those of my King.’ And he began.
The words were short, the delivery astonishingly abrupt. It was not Henry’s usual manner, but it certainly was when his temper was roused. I listened, absorbing the words, the cadence of Lord Thomas’s voice as he repeated what was unquestionably a furious complaint from the English King.
His ire, delivered by Lord Thomas, was superb.
‘My lord the King bids me inform you that he did not receive your reply kindly. God’s Blood! That you should consider him so lacking in grace and sensitivity, by offering marriage so soon after your own sad loss, wounds him deeply. He gave you time to grieve. If a mere four months seems too perfunctory, my lord gave you as much time as he dared. He considered that you might look higher for another husband if you thought him without interest in the matter. Your powerful Valois uncles and cousins might promote another more suitable match if he did not act precipitately.’
Lord Thomas took a breath. I doubted that Henry had. ‘My lord the King considered it a case of now or never. If he gave you too little time to mourn, he apologises. Nor did he ever consider your value in a marriage because of the quality of your blood. He was d…’ Lord Thomas drew in his breath and began again. ‘My King was disturbed that you would consider him capable of this. My lord the King was very graphic on this point, Madam. He spoke at length. I was to tell you he is still desirous of a marriage with yourself, even if you are a prideful woman.’
Lord Thomas paused with a quizzical appraisal of me. ‘Do I continue, Madam?’
By now I was on my feet.
‘Certainly. I am agog.’ Astonished at this tirade at my expense, I waved him to continue. Nothing loath, Lord Thomas picked up where he left off.
‘Furthermore, Madam, my lord the King says that he is well aware of all the arguments you will probably produce to offset this union. He will voice every damned one of them. And give you an irrefutable answer for every damned one, that no woman of sense could ignore.’
‘And did the lord your King use those exact sentiments?’
‘He did indeed, my lady. And others.’
I did not know whether to be amused or affronted.
‘I think you, and I, might need more wine, Lord Thomas.’
‘I think I might. But I’ll finish first, my lady, if it’s all the same to you.’
I nodded.
‘My lord the King knows that many would consider your two nations of England and Brittany to be enemies. War between France and England also hovers on the cusp. He understands the likelihood of French pressures on you to refuse any offer made from England. Such diplomatic pressures should not be allowed to persuade you. An alliance would be of vast benefit to both England and Brittany. You should put aside your pride and consider that.’
‘Very true,’ I managed as he drew breath. ‘My Valois relatives would oppose such a match without a second thought. I imagine I would be deluged with advice and threats.’
‘And your personal opinion, my lady?’ He saw the surprise in my eye. ‘My lord the King would wish to know.’
‘Then you may tell him. For the Duchess of Brittany to jump into a marital bed with the King of England would be anathema.’
‘The Duchess of Brittany might not so jump. But is it not the choice of yourself, Madam Joanna, to jump into a marital bed with whomsoever you wish?’
I stiffened, certainly affronted at such impertinence. ‘Is that your King’s observation, or your own, Lord Thomas?’
Lord Thomas’s face was awash with bright colour. ‘I would not so presume, my lady.’ Henry, through his eloquent courier, continued to assault my ears. ‘You are not a woman to give in to threats or persuasion against your better judgement. And particularly from France. So my lord the King would say.’
Affront returned threefold. ‘Has Henry had the temerity to discuss this with you?’
‘Yes, my lady. Henry said to tell you: Don’t let them undermine your own wishes.’
And I noticed that formality had dropped away from Lord Thomas’s delivery.
‘How can I prevent them undermining my own wishes?’
‘Henry says: It’s a simple matter. Don’t tell them.’
‘Don’t tell them? How could I not tell them?’
‘As he will not tell the English parliament that he has in mind the Duchess of Brittany as his wife.’
Now I was astonished at how fast we had dropped into this political issue.
‘What of your parliament?’ I asked ‘What would your parliament say when my ambassadors arrive in London to discuss the terms of my marriage?’ I was shocked at how my thoughts were leaping ahead. ‘What would Henry say to them?’
‘He would say nothing to the point. He would welcome your ambassadors publically, discuss in private. He is under no compulsion to inform parliament of such private matters. He will say only as much as needs to be said.’
‘Is then our proposed marriage as unpopular in England as it would be in Brittany?’
‘There are some in England who will not support such a match.’ For the first time Lord Thomas’s eyes slid from mine to study the tiles at his feet. ‘The trading interests are keen on both sides of the channel as you are aware. Henry urges that this should not be seen as a hindrance. Any opposition can be overcome. Your marriage could be a stepping stone to improving relationships between English and Bretons. All obstacles can be set aside. Does the Duchess of Brittany bow to the demands of anyone but herself?’The Baron de Camoys was regarding me again from under level brows.
‘She might well bow to the demands of the Duke of Burgundy,’ I said honestly.
‘Your uncle.’
‘And a powerful man.’ I imagined him on my doorstep with hard words for me to hear. Had this exact point not been the first in my list of reasons why this alliance could never come to fruition? ‘I might wilt like a rose under a hard frost.’
‘Henry is of the opinion that you are made of sterner stuff. A hawk, he said. I assure you he does not see you as a frost-smitten rose. He is of the opinion that you will not allow the Duke of Burgundy to dictate to you in the name of your cousin of France.’
I thought about this. Unexpectedly I laughed. It sounded so simple. And it was not. The laughter died abruptly.
‘And I will tell Henry,’Lord Thomas said,‘that his advice made you laugh. And laughter made you quite beautiful.’
My eyes flew to his.
‘You were pale, my lady. Laughter becomes you.’ It was no apology.
‘I wish it were a matter to laugh about.’
For there were deep policies to be considered. I would not discuss them. I dare not discuss them. To do so would prove to me that I was actually considering this alteration in my state, when I knew I must not.
‘Do you have a reply for my King, my lady?’ We had reverted to formality again.
‘Yes. Tell your King that I accept his apology. I will consider his forcefully worded views.’
How weak I sounded. But I could not leap into this. I would not be hounded.
‘I should warn you that the King will not be satisfied.’
‘I need no warning.’ I felt my hackles rise. ‘I am not a young girl to be swept off her feet by powerful argument other than her own.’
‘My King ventured that such would be your reply. That any decision you took would be grave and well-considered. That is what he expects of you, my lady. And he has sent you this, to keep him in your mind. He says to tell you that it was once a gift to him from his father, the Duke of Lancaster.’ Lord Thomas retrieved and held out the strangely shaped package. ‘King Henry treasures it and knows it will be in good hands in your keeping. He knows that you will use it well.’
Unable to resist, I unwrapped the gift from its thin leather covering, to discover there an engraved case that would hold a pen, and an inkhorn, silver gilt, created by a master craftsman who had smothered it with a riot of leaves and tendrils. Holding the ink horn to the light, I read the inscription. God make us goode men. It was as fine a piece of work as I had ever owned. It was certainly a measure of Henry’s regard for me.
‘It is beautiful. Will you tell your King? I too will treasure it.’
‘And your reply, my lady?’
What did I want? I could not vacillate for ever. It was not in my temperament to do so. Smoothing the fine engraving with my fingers, I decided to open a door into my own heart.
‘Give King Henry my thanks, Lord Thomas. And tell him…’
It was not easy at all. I was not given to exchanging confidences.
‘My lady?’
‘Tell the lord your King this. I will consider marrying again. But that all the arguments in the world are of no weight unless the heart is engaged.’
‘They are rarely so between families of power, my lady.’
‘As I know. But I am in the position of having a choice. I am under no compulsion, either from friends or family. As your King exhorts me, I will come to my own decision, and in its deciding I will take into the reckoning the state of my heart.’
I shivered at the depth of my honesty.
‘King Henry says that it would be regretful if a woman of your quality lived alone for the rest of her life,’came back the reply, and I felt my brows rise at the scope of discussion of my person between these two men. ‘But I will tell him of your sentiments.’
‘What will he say?’ I was suddenly more than curious.
‘He’ll say be damned to that, I expect. I will tell him. If you will accept my assertion, my King’s heart is indeed engaged. He thinks you are a woman of immense courage.’
‘But what of duty and service? What of loyalty?’
‘They are for you to bear. Forgive my plain-speaking, my lady, and that of my King.’
