John took Humfrey's arm. 'We have much to talk about,' he said. 'Will you come with me, brother?'
Together they went into the inner room, the King's solar, and at once John sat in the chair by the table that his younger brother normally occupied. The gesture was not lost on Humfrey and with a wry smile he closed the door. 'Abandon all hope all ye that enter here,' he said flippantly, quoting Dante, and John's frown grew heavier.
'I see your idle humour has not been checked by your high office,' he said severely. 'It is not trouble in France, though that is endless, which brings me home, as by your remark you very well know. Humfrey, for God's sake, why must you quarrel with our uncle?'
'I?' Humfrey's smile vanished. 'I see you have been listening first to his tale and no doubt to Suffolk as well. It was not I who brought a small army to Southwark. If you enquire you will learn I had only my household in London, a train of less than eighty men – was I going to make war with them?'
He sat down on a stool, stretched out his long legs and folded his arms. 'I think, brother, your hasty judgement would be better checked by a little humour. Don't you know our uncle by now?'
'Of course,' John thrust the query aside, 'but you cannot govern this realm in my place if you are at loggerheads with him.'
'Govern!' Humfrey exploded. 'My hands are tied by the Council, a collection of fripperers and fools – with, thank God, a few exceptions. Mowbray at least shows some sense.'
'Ah yes, the Earl Marshal. It is in my mind that he should be restored to his father's dukedom of Norfolk. He carries his office well.'
Humfrey's annoyance subsided. 'Aye, he does. That would please me well, John. But it does not please me that you uphold our uncle against me.'
'I do not,' Bedford said patiently. 'I only say that this strife must cease.'
'Then take the chancellorship from him.'
'I can't do that.'
'You can see that the Council do it.'
'Maybe. Either way I'll have peace between you before I go back to France, and when I go I beg you to put personal feelings aside. You let your emotions rule you, Humfrey, to the exclusion of common sense – and policy.' Bedford gave a heavy sigh and added, 'Which reminds me. What have you done to aid your poor wife?'
'What can I do?' Humfrey retorted. 'Philip, God damn his soul, is over-running her lands and I've begged her to leave but she won't. She wants me to go to her but where am I to get money for an army? I've burned my fingers once there.'
'A disastrous venture,' John agreed. 'Yet I pity the poor lady. Try to persuade her to return. I hear,' he added sternly, 'that another sits in her chair. I think, brother, it does not become you to flaunt your mistress in such a manner.'
Humfrey rose. 'Over matters of office I will listen to you, John, but what I do in my own house is my own affair.'
'I ask only caution and circumspection. You are in too high a place to cause such scandal. Have your mistresses by all means, but be discreet.'
Humfrey gave a shrug and a half angry laugh. 'I can see the Bishop has been talking to you.' He felt the old familiar truculent mood creeping on him, an impatience against authority. He would rather have got drunk with John than listen to this lecture, but their wild days had gone, as Harry had once said, and John grown too grave. 'Jacqueline has not complained of me,' he said at last.
'That is well,' his brother agreed, 'but I want your word, Humfrey, that you will form no attachment abroad without the Council's consent and do your utmost to bring your Duchess back to England. Leave me to make peace with Philip.'
'While I make peace with our uncle? I do not know who has the worst of the bargain!'
Parliament met in the early spring in Leicester and peace was not the predominating feature. Humfrey stood his ground and in no uncertain terms accused Bishop Beaufort of trying to start internecine war, of fomenting trouble from the day when he had urged Harry to take their father's place and their father's crown. He accused the Bishop of usury and simony and various other nefarious activities, carried away by the vehemence of his dislike, 'The church is full of ambitious men,' he cried out, 'and St Bernard was right, by God, when he said the time had gone for being shocked!'
The Bishop defended himself hotly and a slanging match ensued. It ended, as it must, by all the barons exerting themselves to bring about a reconciliation. The Bishop denied the charges, Humfrey unwillingly accepted his word, and they shook hands.
'But I think you will be better apart,' John said afterwards. 'Our uncle has agreed to resign as Chancellor and I'll take him to France with me. For your part, Humfrey, I'll have your word to keep to a bond between us.'
Humfrey agreed for he could do nothing else. He signed the bond of unity between them in his bed in London, for he was ill again with pains in the stomach and loss of appetite. 'Let my brother do as he will while he is here,' he told Lord Berkeley, 'When he is gone I will have my way.'
John visited him again, bringing him a book. 'A French translation of Livy that you may like,' he said smiling, 'and more to your taste than mine. I brought it from Paris.'
Humfrey turned over the finely written pages, noting the initial letters of each chapter delicately coloured with wreaths of flowers. 'It is well done,' he said. 'You could not have given me a gift I would have liked better.'
They parted on good terms and John returned to France with Bishop Beaufort. Humfrey's sickness passed and he sat once more at the head of the Council table, freed from his uncle's presence and with the young King completely under his charge. He continued to live in state at Baynards with Eleanor beside him, heedless of John's warning and regardless of a slight stiffness on the part of one or two guests from among his City friends, until one afternoon when Archbishop Chichele arrived unannounced. He was just about to ride out to sup with the Earl of Huntingdon, but he paused as the Archbishop hurried up the steps into the hall, and begged a few moments of his private time. Seeing the crease of anxiety on his forehead, the flustered air, he conducted the old man to his solar. It was a pleasant room looking out upon the river and he bade the Archbishop sit where there was some cooler air coming in, poured wine and asked how he might serve him.
Chichele shook his head. 'It is I who hope to be of use to you, my son.'
'Oh?' Humfrey took a modest stool opposite him. 'You are my father in God. Pray tell me how?' The Archbishop was clearly finding this difficult.
'I was visited yesterday by . . . by a number of ladies, gentlewomen, my lord, whose husbands are men of standing in the City, aldermen and merchants.'
'Well? What was their purpose? And what had it to do with me?'
Chichele folded his hands in his sleeves and settled himself to his distasteful and embarrassing task. 'They begged me, from their great love for you, their Good Duke, to ask you to refrain from . . . from your present way of life.'
'My present way of life?' Humfrey queried blankly.
'Yes, my son. They meant no impertinence, indeed they were all godly women who care for you, some of whom visit your house and they are . . .' he was going to say "offended" but changed the word ' . . . disturbed by the fact that while your lady is in such dire trouble, another sits at the head of your table. Aye, and acts as mistress of your house.' The Archbishop stopped again, aware he had made another unfortunate choice. Furthermore he was then bereft entirely of speech, for instead of appearing either chastened or very much annoyed, either of which he was prepared for, the Duke had thrown back his head in one burst of laughter.
At last Humfrey managed to say, 'My lord Archbishop, forgive me, but the humour of it got the better of me – that these, what did you call them, godly women? should be so concerned for my morals as to go in a deputation to you strikes me as the best joke I have heard for a long time. I can just imagine their smug, honest faces. Perhaps they are offering up prayers for my immortal soul – if they see it in danger!'
'Are you saying you do not need such prayers?' Chichele asked quietly. He was shocked by such a ribald reaction.
<
br /> Humfrey choked back his mirth. 'Doubtless we all need others to intercede for us, but this is absurd. It is not their business.'
'I think it is mine.'
'Perhaps.' For a moment, his smile gone, he stared back at the old man. 'Yet I think we all allow ourselves a little licence from time to time, enough that we should not criticize others. Oh, not you, my lord, but can you say all priests are what they should be?'
'That is hardly to the point.'
'It is very much to the point. We are men, after all, and I never claimed to be a saint. You have delivered your reprimand and may say as much to your deputation.' Humfrey rose. Despite his laughter he had had enough of this interview. If he let annoyance at the whole ridiculous affair get the better of him, he would be very angry indeed.
The Archbishop however remained where he was. 'I have more to say, my son.'
'Then I am sorry if I seem inhospitable, but I am already overdue at my lord of Huntingdon's house.'
Chichele stood reluctantly. The interview had not gone as he had planned. 'Will you think on the matter? It is grave sin you commit, but even that would not give so much offence if it were not for the manner in which you flaunt it.'
Humfrey stiffened at that word, but he gave the old man an odd smile. 'I see. Sin may be condoned as long as it is well hidden. No doubt your godly ladies would not be so incensed if I kept my mistress more privily? That is hypocrisy.'
'And I do not advocate it – only a little discretion,' Chichele answered sharply. 'I am not so foolish as to believe any man perfect in this life. But you have a wife, my lord, and you put another in her place –'
Humfrey had his hand on the latch of the door. His voice grew cold for the first time since the Archbishop arrived. 'I am not ashamed of Mistress Cobham, nor of my love for her. I will not hide her nor put her to the indignity of slipping out of a back door when my friends come in the front. And they, and their wives, must take me as I am.'
'The Lady Jacqueline,' the Archbishop began and then became aware of the dangerous look in Humfrey's eyes. He made an expressive gesture with his hands. 'I have done what I could. Forgive me, my son, if I have offended you, but as a priest I must rebuke sin where I see it – even in so greatly loved a son as you.'
The look died. Humfrey smiled and opened the door. 'For your trouble in coming, I thank you. And don't fear for me, my lord. I truly love the lady and see no sin in loving her. As for my wife, I doubt if she will ever return to me. Oh, do not look so surprised, my lord, it is true. Our paths have separated.' He conducted the old man to the top of the stair. 'What you will say to your ladies from the City I don't know, but tell them for me that I am as I am and shame is not part of my nature. I think their love for me will hold.'
He was confident of that, and after the Archbishop had gone his momentary annoyance was lost again and he rode off to Huntingdon's supper with a broad smile as he contemplated the Archbishop and the indignant City wives facing each other.
He continued to live as he chose, but even his aunt Elizabeth also spoke to him on the subject. 'God knows,' she said frankly, 'that in my youth I caused gossip enough and went to my first marriage already with child, but there are ways of discretion, nephew.'
'Perhaps as you have done I shall learn them with age,' he answered with gentle impertinence, and had the satisfaction of seeing her laugh even while her be-ringed hand slapped his sharply. Aunt Joan was more earnest, giving him a finely bound Book of Hours and begging him to use it to his good, and he kissed her and promised to do so. With fourteen children to deal with what did she know of temptation, he wondered.
Summer came and at last on a warm afternoon a letter bearing the Vatican seal. It said merely that Pope Martin on studying all the facts, had found that the Countess Jacqueline's dispensation to marry had been revoked only four days after and that therefore her marriage to Duke Humfrey had been illegal. It was consequently pronounced null.
Humfrey crushed the parchment in his hand and then went up the stair to his bedchamber where Eleanor had women sewing at new hangings for the bed.
'My heart,' he said without preamble. 'l am free of my marriage. Will you share this bed with me as my wife?'
She gave a gasp and then her slow smile crept over her face. 'You see, my lord,' she said in a low voice, 'my rhymes bring some result.'
'Out!' He dismissed the women and when they were alone, swept her into his arms. 'I don't care how it has come about, but I think God has answered my desires, my prayers, more than your spells, my enchantress. For I have prayed to have you for my own before all the world.'
'And now I shall be your Duchess! Dear lord, when shall it be?'
'At once,' he answered. 'I'll not wait.' He kissed her ardently and felt her response as always, never failing to rouse him to desire beyond anything he had felt for any other woman.
A brief uneasiness stirred in his mind. He had laughingly called her an enchantress but could it be true? Had she flirted with the Devil to bring about his freedom? No! he shied from the mere thought. It was no more than a woman's foolishness, instigated by her love for him, and he cared for nothing now that she might be his wife. Furthermore, he would force the world to accept her, to give her the honour due to his Duchess. His marriage to Jacqueline had been a quiet affair but this time the ceremony should be carried out with great pomp.
That there were sneers, cruel remarks, he knew well. Had they not so sneered once at his grandfather when that great Duke of Lancaster married his paramour? It was his Aunt Joan in the end who turned the scale by her whole-hearted approval. She liked Eleanor, acclaimed her beauty, her manners, and in the end the church was crammed with barons and their ladies, knights and merchants all vying to see the bride and groom.
Humfrey dressed with the utmost care. Master Heap created a short-waisted coat for him with full skirts, edged with fur, the sleeves slashed and accentuating the width of his shoulders, the colour royal purple, the trimmings of cloth of gold. While the tailor finished his work, twitching the folds again and again until he had achieved perfection Humfrey looked over his head to the only other person in the room.
'Well, Elys, do I have your good wishes?'
'As always, my lord.'
Humfrey laughed. 'You are as transparent as a pane of glass. But you make the best of it.'
Elys felt the colour go up under his skin. 'What's done is done, sir. And your happiness is all I have ever cared for.'
'That,' Humfrey agreed, 'I know to be true. And all old quarrels are mended today, eh?' He held out his hand.
Elys would have knelt to kiss it had Master Heap not been crouching on the floor between them, but as it was, fortuitously, he clasped Humfrey's hand instead as a friend would do.
After the ceremony the Duke gave a great banquet in the hall at Westminster. Eleanor sat beside him, aware that she was now the first lady in the realm, and well aware of the jealousy concealed beneath the polite talk. Utterly confident she bore herself more like a Queen than a mistress whose union had but just been made legal.
'Wretched woman,' the Countess of Suffolk said to Lady Stafford. 'To think that we shall have to give way to her. It is past bearing.'
The feasting went on for many hours and Eleanor put herself out to be charming to the seven-year-old King, smiling indulgently when he fell asleep. 'Poor child,' she said over his head to the Duke of Exeter. 'Such long ceremonies are wearing for him. And for you too, my lord,' she added courteously for he looked pale and unwell. He had long been a widower and seemed more than his fifty odd years.
'I am a little tired,' he admitted but still sat bolt upright in his chair. Only a few moments later however, his face went very red, sweat stood on his forehead, and he began to sway in his seat.
His squire and a page hurried to him, but it was Humfrey who was first to reach him.
'Uncle Thomas, you are ill? Let me help you.'
'No . . . no . . .' Exeter muttered. 'No need . . . my apologies . . .'
'Come,' Hu
mfrey said, 'we'll find a bedchamber for you to rest awhile.'
Exeter shook his head. He seemed to be gasping for air. Then after two or three breaths he recovered a little. 'I'll go home,' the old Duke insisted obstinately but he drank the wine. 'There . . . I am better. Forgive me, nephew, for interrupting your festivities.'
'If you will go then I'll send Sir Elys Foxton with you,' Humfrey said firmly. 'He can bring me news of you in the morning.' He summoned Elys with a crook of the finger and Elys went out to see the barge made ready as the Duke was helped to his feet. At the stairs William came briefly from the hall.
'I'm sorry you must miss the feasting.'
'I am not. The wine turns sour in my stomach.'
'I saw you drink enough of it.' The herald looked at him in exasperation. 'What eats you now? I thought you'd put the past aside.'
'It's not just that.' Elys stood staring out across the water. 'Don't you see, William? She will bring him ill, I'm sure of it. She's not like the Lady Jacqueline. If only our master had stayed wed to her! But this bitch –'
'For God's sake!' William glanced round at the waiting oarsmen, one or two men in Exeter's livery coming down the steps. 'Lower your voice. And don't speak so against our new lady. What have you against her?'
'I wish I knew, but I don't trust her. And I can't like her.'
'It doesn't matter,' William pointed out, 'what you or I like or don't like. My lord Humfrey loves her, we can all see that, and that is all that counts.'
'She took him from the Lady Jacqueline.' Elys's voice was shaken with swift anger. 'I'll not forgive her that. Nor for whatever comes.'
'You've drunk too deep,' William said. 'Here's the Duke. I think in your present mood you're best out of the bedding ceremony tonight.'
'It's no bridal bed,' Elys retorted and giving the sick man his arm went down the last of the steps.
Exeter's condition worsened during the night and in the early hours of the morning despite the efforts of his physician, he died. Elys sent for Humfrey at once, and only a few days after the gaiety of the wedding they were all plunged into black and attending the funeral. To Elys it seemed like an omen but he kept that thought to himself.
The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5) Page 18
