'She is wed, only a few weeks ago to the Duke of Brabant,' Harry said in surprise.
'Brabant? I missed that piece of news. Well, I pity her, I remember Count William saying once that he was no proper man.'
'Judged by your standards, probably not,' Clarence agreed.
The King allowed himself a slight smile. 'I must admit the poor lady has not been fortunate in her husbands. We shall have to look elsewhere for you, Humfrey.'
Humfrey shrugged. 'You know I'll do what you wish. I can find my pleasures where I will. Indeed, I think I'll sally out and see what this city of our ancestors has to offer. I remember reading somewhere that William the Conqueror forbade all houses of pleasure in his capital. Please God Harry the Conqueror will not follow that example – but no, you'd not carry your chastity to such lengths!'
Despite a momentary annoyance, this time Harry laughed out loud. 'We live in more enlightened days. And I would not like to be the one to restrain you.'
Thomas said seriously, 'You are too soft with him, Harry. As for you, Humfrey, your indulgences will be the ruin of you.'
Humfrey had his hand on the latch. 'Good God, when did a little honest lechery ruin a man?'
'I speak only for your own good.'
'So has every sober elder brother before you,' Humfrey mocked. 'I suppose it is of no use to ask either of you to company me?'
'Holy Cross!' Clarence exclaimed. 'Would you see the King deporting himself in a brothel? Or myself for that matter?'
'Peace, Thomas,' Harry broke in. 'Humfrey knows I cannot do that. He is only remembering the old days and teasing us. And I have no complaint of him in other directions.' He gave his brother a nod of kindly dismissal and Humfrey went out.
It was so typical of Thomas, he thought, to misunderstand and of Harry to know him better than he knew himself.
* * *
It was high summer before the King achieved his goal. Under a clear sky, where the burning sun shone on a field crowded with the nobles of both sides, the French at last met the English in reconciliation. The King and Queen of France sat under an awning of vivid blue, decorated with fleur-de-lys and while her sharp eyes surveyed the gathering, all parties vying with each other in magnificence, he looked vacantly about him and pulled at his rings.
'Mad, poor wight,' Humfrey said, 'how do we treat with a lunatic, Richard?'
'With courtesy,' the Earl of Warwick answered. 'He cannot help his madness.'
'I think Harry is touched with it to want to ally himself to such a family.'
'The Princess Catherine seems well-favoured and amiable.'
'In the first she may resemble her mother who I suppose had beauty in her day, but not in the second. Good God, Richard, look at Isabeau!'
Warwick glanced towards the Queen, her beauty long gone, the ravages of her dissolute life showing in her face. She had grown fat and suffered from gout. Jewels smothered her person and there was not a finger that did not bear a ring. She had a passion for animals and two dogs lay at her feet, a stand of merlins and peregrines was held by her falconer, and a page carried a gilded cage imprisoning a pair of song birds, while a cat slept contentedly on her lap, her hand constantly caressing it. She surveyed the gathering with eyes that were sharp between puffy lids and Humfrey added, 'God forfend that Catherine should ever look like that.'
'The Princess,' Warwick said in his stately tones, 'will have Harry for a husband – a rather different prospect.'
Humfrey looked appraisingly at the girl. She was of a good height and carried herself well, her eyes were almond shaped and set well apart, she had clear glowing skin, and even the long Valois nose which she had not escaped was slender and well-shaped. She kept her head under its gold net headdress modestly bent but Humfrey wondered what she felt at the prospect of marriage to Harry. She must, he thought, consider herself the most fortunate woman in Europe.
'Well, certainly Harry is better served than John,' he remarked. 'He is to wed Burgundy's daughter Anne – did you ever see so plain a girl? There are four of them each worse than the other.'
Warwick permitted himself a faint smile. 'John knows his duty.'
'And so do I but God forbid Harry should choose such a bride for me, and never,' he added with a burst of violent antipathy, 'will I wed any relation of Burgundy's.'
The Duke was seated below the Queen and behind his chair stood his son the Count of Charolais. Now that they were all to be allies Humfrey had perforce to be civil to Philip which, he told Warwick, he found extremely difficult. He added, 'I suppose we may thank God at any rate that the Dauphin is not here. The Armagnacs are welcome to him. They thirst for Burgundian blood more than they want poor Charles, but he is, saving the mark, a figurehead! Not that it will do them much good. The King may be mad but the Queen is not.'
'No,' Warwick agreed, 'yet ambition is a strange thing when it begins to eat into a man. Ah, we are ready to move, I think.'
Harry had appeared from the rich silken pavilion provided for him. He was dressed in black velvet with an overtunic of shimmering cloth of gold, his mantle of royal purple, a gold circlet about his head, his sceptre in one hand. With a little smile he nodded to Humfrey who took his place with Clarence, one on each side and a little behind him, followed by Henry Chichele, Archbishop of Canterbury, and a procession of noblemen. To the sound of trumpets, with banners waving, the procession crossed the meadow, trampling bright buttercups beneath their feet while beyond the fenced area crowds of soldiers from both sides, as well as people from the town, gathered to watch the proceedings.
Harry reached the throne, embraced the poor mad King, kissed Isabeau's fat hand and then her cheek before turning to Catherine. He took her hand and put it to his lips and then he said, 'Lady, look at me.'
Catherine raised her head, her eyes met his and for a long moment they stared at each other. Then a little modest smile lifted her mouth to reveal white even teeth, and Harry turned her hand over to plant his kiss in her palm.
There was a ripple of approval, Queen Isabeau smiled, and the mad King began to hum a little song. Isabeau tapped him fiercely on the wrist and he subsided, sudden tears trickling down his face.
Harry took his seat on his own red-decked throne and the negotiations began. At first there was a lot of talk and flowery phrases delivered on both sides. Archbishop Chichele spoke of the need for Christian peace and the Archbishop of Paris, not to be outdone, capped this with a longer sermon on brotherly love, after which the Earl of Warwick set out in plain terms the King of England's wishes. He demanded ratification of his conquest of Normandy, a return of all the lands agreed upon at the treaty of Bretigny by his great-grandfather King Edward Ill, an enormous marriage portion for his bride Catherine.
There were a few shocked exclamations and a good deal of whispering. The Queen said something in a low voice to Burgundy who announced that there would have to be much discussion of the terms, anxious as they were for peace, and in the meantime could they not all dine together at the great table set out in the open. Harry sat next to Catherine and talked to her exclusively and it was observed that her shyness soon left her and she was listening eagerly, answering his questions with a new confidence.
'He does not waste time,' was Humfrey's amused comment. 'Perhaps six years of chastity have been enough for him.'
In the King's pavilion afterwards Humfrey asked Harry plainly if he liked the Princess. 'I see you are determined to wed her,' he added, 'but will you find pleasure in your marriage bed?'
'Pleasure?' Harry echoed. He paused while Sir Waiter Hungerford, now steward of his household, saw that pages brought fresh water and towels and set about easing their King out of his gorgeous clothes. 'I had thought to wed the Princess for political reasons, for peace, for my inheritance and for the sons which I pray Almighty God will grant me, but,' he gave Humfrey a faint smile, and touched his breast fleetingly, 'she touches me here as no other woman has done.'
'You've not given them a chance the last few years!'
/> 'Maybe not. I am glad, for I think I love her.'
'Holy Cross! Already?'
'Love, like the spirit, comes on the wind,' the King said. Undressed and with a robe wrapped about his naked body he dismissed his attendants and sat down on a stool. 'Yes, I love her, and I desire her. Is it not strange?'
'Very strange,' Humfrey agreed. 'I thought you grown too sober now, too much a King to indulge the gentler passions.'
'I am a man.'
'So you are, but King first. Only –' he broke off.
'Well,' Harry said sharply. 'What is it? I see you hold some reservations.'
Humfrey made a deprecatory gesture. 'I can't help it, though I'm sorry if I vex you, but look at that dribbling old madman, look at the Queen, a vicious bitch if ever I saw one, and as for the two previous Dauphins, Catherine's brothers – I think we may thank God they are under the sod. And Charles is no better.'
Harry had listened to this in silence, but as Humfrey paused for breath he said, 'Have you never seen in England a wild rose growing in a briar patch? Beauty can blossom in the wilderness.'
Humfrey gave a characteristic shrug but it seemed Harry was determined so he left him to sleep. The next morning after Mass he confided his anxiety to Archbishop Chichele. 'Tainted blood,' was how he put it. 'I grant you the Princess seems both beautiful and lively but she is to be the mother of a future King of England. I would have seen Harry with a woman of less doubtful stock.'
'The King will marry whom he wills,' Chichele said. 'Not even the Council will sway him. I have known him these many years, since I was a simple Welsh lad tending sheep –'
'Until God called you to tend other sheep. Can you not speak to him?'
'I, Lord Humfrey? No, for I have learned that when his mind is made up, naught will change it. But if you feel so strongly mayhap he will listen to you.'
'No,' Humfrey said. 'I tried. In any case if it is what he wants then it must be so. I'll not oppose him now that I've had my say.'
The Archbishop smiled. 'My lord, I know you too. Your brother will command your love as long as he lives.'
Humfrey sighed. 'You are right, of course, and I must dance at his wedding with what goodwill I can muster. Only I can’t stand that smug Philip of Charolais whose morals are worse than mine, grinning all over his face as if the Burgundians had won this victory.'
The feeling of dislike ran through the ranks and Elys got into a brawl with a Charolais man that only Humfrey's timely arrival prevented from reaching a bloody conclusion. He would cheerfully have allowed Elys to knife the offender but for deference to Harry's express wishes. But the marriage did not take place, as Humfrey expected, shortly after the meeting, for the wrangling went on and on and finally the parties broke up, each to consider their own position. Duke John of Burgundy rode off and to everyone's astonishment agreed to meet the Armagnac faction and the Dauphin to discuss ways to peace. 'Who can ever trust a Burgundian?' Humfrey snorted.
Harry did not waste time after the meeting at Meulan. As no terms were decided upon he seized Pontoise and sent Clarence reconnoitering around the walls of Paris itself while he himself moved on with Humfrey to the siege of Gisors, that ancient bone of contention. He sent Huntingdon to block the road to Paris but as Humfrey remarked, 'the blundering idiot got lost,' leaving Clarence to deal with a contingent of Armagnacs, considerably larger than expected so it was to Clarence's credit that he beat them off.
Riding to Gisors beside Harry Humfrey thought he had never seen so desolate a countryside, the fields untended, cottages burned, any peasants in their path fleeing to the woods with their meagre possessions. And it was at Gisors, before his guns had really taken their toll, that startling news was brought by a breathless dusty messenger.
It seemed that Burgundy had gone to meet the Dauphin and the Armagnacs at Montereau and on the bridge had walked halfway across with a dozen attendants as both sides had agreed.
'And then, sire,' the messenger went on, 'a certain messire Tanneguy, a Breton who is a very doubty fighter with arms like a blacksmith, cried out that the Burgundians had slain his lord, and seizing an axe he split the Duke's head open.'
'Holy God!' the King stood stunned for a moment and then slowly he crossed himself. 'He was not always my friend but I'd not wish such a death on anyone.'
'And the Dauphin watched it done?' Humfrey asked incredulously. 'He was a party to it? Or did he have Tanneguy hanged for such a deed?'
'No, my lord Duke. Indeed they rejoiced together. The Duke's followers fled and the Dauphin had the body thrown into a pit with not so much as an Ave said over it.'
Harry's face contracted with horror and disgust.
'They are murderers, blasphemers. And they shall be punished.'
Warwick was standing in the September sun, close by the King, his brow knitted, his hair brushed forward over a balding patch, and he said gravely, 'This will put a very different complexion on matters.'
'It will indeed,' the King agreed, tight-lipped. 'By God, I swear that murderer will not ascend the throne of France while I live.'
He spent the rest of the day in council with his chief captains, and by evening a document had been drawn up and sent to the Queen of France, her husband being judged unable to give a lucid answer. Now the King of England's demands were increased – as well as all the rest he would be recognized as heir to the throne of France, to be his when King Charles went to his rest. The Dauphin must be disowned, dishonoured, banished.
'Will she agree to that?' Humfrey asked that night at supper. 'That knock-kneed evil boy is still her son.'
'She will agree,' Harry said, 'or I will storm Paris itself.'
'Do you know the men are saying so already? That you will enter the heart of France through a hole in Burgundy's head? Oh, we have some wags in our army.'
'Their humour is what keeps them the kind of fighting men I need,' Harry said surprisingly.
'Humfrey, I am sorry to ask it of you just at this moment, but I want you to go to England, act as my Regent. I need John here.'
'John? Why?'
'Because he is more diplomatic than either you or Thomas,' Harry smiled across the table at him. 'He is experienced in such things. You remember how well he handled the Emperor.'
'I suppose so,' Humfrey agreed resignedly. 'I shall miss your triumph, for triumph it will be.' He pushed away the remnants of his supper and it occurred to him that there was a good side to the proposal. 'At least it will be pleasant to sup more elegantly for a change. Campaign food leaves much to be desired, and campaign quarters. But you never think of that.'
'No. As long as there is sufficient to keep one's body fit to fight, I can't say it matters to me what is set in front of me. Go home and enjoy some soft living for a while.'
'Thank you,' Humfrey grinned at him. 'I won't pretend I shall not enjoy that. And at least I shall be spared the sight of that detestable Philip taking his father's place. Will he favour your cause now that he is Duke of Burgundy?'
'God knows,' Harry said, 'but I shall watch him, believe me. He may prove a more reliable ally than his turn-coat father.'
'If so, I wish him a hole in the head also,' Humfrey answered with feeling.
'I know you dislike him,' his brother agreed, 'but in statecraft personal likes and dislikes having nothing to do with it. I trust you to bear this in mind when you are home. Now that Uncle Henry has resigned his ambitions and refused the Cardinal's hat he is likely not to be in the best of moods. Don't quarrel with him, Humfrey.'
'I wish you would forbid him the Council.'
'I can't. You will have need of his advice and his money both,' Harry added with a faint smile. 'I know it is dangerous to put the pair of you in the same room but it is you who will sit at the head of the table, you who will be responsible.' The King paused and then added, 'The country's welfare must come first, remember that.'
'Of course,' Humfrey said, his mind on another tack. 'Harry, I shall need a greater residence in London than I have.'
'That is for state purposes, and anyway it is yours. I have often thought.' Humfrey paused, 'that if Greenwich did not belong to Uncle Thomas, how well it would suit me.'
'Maybe, but he has shown no sign of wishing to leave the place. You must look elsewhere.'
'I know.' He would have to relinquish that dream, Humfrey thought, at least for the moment, but he remembered the conversation with John and the ideas that had filled his head during Uncle Thomas's dinner. Still, there was a possible alter native that was at least reasonably appealing. 'I had thought,' he broached the subject tentatively, 'to rebuild the Savoy. It would be satisfying to see it as it was in Grandsire's day. Of course it would need a great deal of –'
'Good God,' the King broke in, 'there's no money for that! I need every penny the Exchequer can raise.'
'I suppose so. But there always seems to be money when need arises.'
'Your need,' Harry said, smiling. 'You have never looked on money as Uncle Henry does, I'll grant you that, but this time our own desires must wait. I give you leave to dwell at Baynards if that pleases you.'
'Well enough for now,' Humfrey leaned back in his chair and belched satisfactorily. 'But as far as I recall that needs money spending on it as well. It's not even embattled.'
Harry gave a shrug of irritation. 'Oh, peace, brother, do you think I can consider that at this moment? I pray you attend to your duties and not your desires.'
But they parted affectionately and Humfrey went home. On his way to London, he went as he had planned to Canterbury and the merchant's house. It was a bright September day and the door stood open. He walked in unannounced and a startled servant told him that the master of the house was at the Moot Hall for a meeting.
'And Mistress Margery?'
'Upstairs, my lord, in the solar.'
Humfrey went up two steps at a time and drawing aside the curtain saw her sitting by the window. In her lap there was a child with red-gold hair. He crossed the room and stood looking down at her. She gave a startled cry and before she could speak he became aware of eyes exactly like his own staring up at him.
The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5) Page 10
