The Tudor Bride (52 page)

‘My lord of Suffolk humbly greets your grace and sends me with grave news.’ The visitor had left his sword and mail coif at the gatehouse and he knelt bare-headed, the sweat from his hectic ride still damp in his reddish-brown hair. He withdrew a folded and sealed letter from the purse belted around his padded gambeson. ‘This comes from the Earl of Mortain, my lady.’

Catherine took the letter and examined the seal briefly. ‘Thank you. But you can tell me the news, can you not, Sir Herald?’

The messenger nodded. ‘Mortain Herald came from Normandy yesterday to inform the council that his grace the Duke of Bedford died suddenly in Rouen two weeks ago. My lord of Suffolk has instructed me to convey his condolences on the loss of your royal brother-in-law, a great general and a noble statesman.’

There was a long silence as Catherine absorbed these sad tidings. ‘This is sad news indeed,’ she told the herald. ‘But why was Bedford in Rouen? I had heard he was attending the peace conference which the pope called at Arras.’

‘He did go to Arras, Madame, but there was a stalemate. My lord of Bedford left the conference and travelled back to Rouen in early September.’

‘He walked out, you mean. Was there a result of the conference?’

‘There was, eventually. The Duke of Burgundy and Charles of Valois have agreed a truce. It has taken the English commanders in France by surprise and at Westminster his grace of Gloucester has called an urgent session of the council.’

‘As well he might!’ Catherine was more aware than anyone of the significance of such a truce. ‘That Burgundy and my brother should exchange the kiss of peace is nothing short of miraculous. The Duke of Bedford’s death may be a dreadful consequence of it, for it places my son’s French crown in grave jeopardy and Bedford of all people would feel it as a mortal blow. He was the backbone of England’s rule in France. You say he died suddenly – was there any reason given?’

The herald shook his head sadly. ‘No, your grace. That is all I know.’

Catherine stood up, crossing herself. ‘I will pray for him and his poor widow. Jacquetta is so young to be left without a husband. Thank you for performing your duty, Sir Herald. Master Tudor will see that you are well rewarded and that you are rested and refreshed before leaving. Good day.’

As good as her word, Catherine went immediately to the church and settled herself before the altar of the Lady Chapel for a long period of personal prayer and reflection. I followed, worried by her pallor. Of all the late king’s brothers, John of Bedford had been her staunchest friend and champion. Had it been he who had led the regency council in England she might not have suffered the humiliations meted out to her by Humphrey of Gloucester. Catherine may have been praying for the soul of her brother-in-law but, kneeling discreetly behind her, I was praying that the collapse of the Burgundian alliance would ensure that Gloucester’s attention remained focussed well away from Hadham.

Catherine’s thoughts in the church cannot have been entirely for the soul of John of Bedford however, because that evening, when the trestles had been cleared, she stopped Owen from fetching his harp.

‘Do not play yet, Owen,’ she said. ‘I would like to read you and Mette the letter Suffolk’s herald brought from Edmund Beaufort. I think we need to discuss its contents. We will not be overheard here.’

Owen glanced across the room to where his two boys and my William were playing some game of their own devising, crawling over and under a makeshift obstacle course of trestles laid over benches. Pools of candlelight lit the occupied areas of the hall, while the abandoned corners were draped in shadow, rendering them dark and mysterious as the light died through the windows. Anne and Agnes had taken little Margaret up to bed with Gladys and Hester and Thomas, John, Walter and Hywell had gone off on some business of their own. Near the hearth Cat and Louise were playing a board game with Alys, occasionally protesting as the boisterous boys bumped or jostled their stools. I sat in the hearth-light with Catherine and Owen. As happened all too often for my liking, Geoffrey was absent in London.

Catherine unfolded the letter on which the seal had already been broken.

‘I will dispense with the greetings,’ she said, ‘and just read the content.’

I am sorry that I cannot tell you myself of the death of my lord of Bedford, but must rely on my cousin of Suffolk to convey the news to you. Everything here in Rouen is thrown into disorder as you may imagine and it is impossible for me to leave, especially with the funeral to organise and his widow to assist. According to his declared wish, the Duke of Bedford is to be buried in Rouen Cathedral. I would like to be able to tell you more about his death but alas his illness was short and I was not there in time. It seems to have been a sudden collapse and he died within hours. May his soul rest with God.

Now to my concerns about you and your children, which have been much on my mind, especially now that I am a father myself. My own two girls are strong and healthy, but I am aware how fast they grow and realise that my godson and his brother must now be quite big boys and old enough to start their education. I am sure that you and Master Tudor will have made more than adequate provision for this, but it occurred to me that if anything were to happen to either or both of you there should be someone who would be in a position to take care of them and raise them as befits their birth, until such a time as their brother the king shall reach his majority.

As you will know, my marriage to the Lady Eleanor has yet to be licensed by the council so I prefer to stay out of England until that situation is rectified. I expect to remain as a commander of our armed forces in Normandy, where I hold the Western border against the Duke of Alençon. It will not be the same here without the strength and wisdom of my lord of Bedford, but we will struggle on and it does mean that I am not at present in a position to offer your sons a position in my household.

Catherine paused here to make an observation. ‘I read between these lines that it is the Duke of Gloucester who makes difficulties over their marriage licence, perhaps in retribution for Edmund’s attempt to marry me. Gloucester can be vengeful, as we know to my cost. However, here is where we get to the proposal I wish to discuss.’ She cleared her throat and continued reading.

Another possibility is open to us however. My noble friend the Earl of Suffolk has a sister, Lady Katherine de la Pole, who has been a nun at Barking Abbey for many years and is now abbess there. As you may know, it is an ancient and well-endowed community which takes in numerous students; most of them are wards of the crown, and are provided with care, religious guidance and education of a high standard. If you are agreeable, I will make arrangements with Suffolk that, in my stead, the abbey would shelter your sons in the event of any misfortune to you. You can be sure that, no matter the opposition, the protection of the name de la Pole would guarantee security and safety for your precious sons.

Catherine dropped the letter to her lap and glanced questioningly from Owen to me.

Owen leaned back in his chair and made a face. ‘Lord Edmund is right. We should make provision of that kind, but I am not sure that Suffolk is the one to trust. We hardly know him.’

‘The letter would suggest that Lord Edmund is not aware that the Earl of Suffolk already knows your situation, Mademoiselle,’ I said. ‘Even so, he seems happy that Lord Suffolk should be told.’

‘Mette, is right, Owen.’ Catherine looked at him earnestly. ‘In fact it would not alter the position very much, except to bring the Abbess of Barking into our confidence.’

He was not mollified. ‘But what do we know about her? She may be a Mother Superior of the worst kind. I do not want my sons submitted to a regime of prayer and mortification under the rule of a bunch of pious virgins.’

‘Not all nuns are pious virgins. And if Burgundy invades England, as he now very well might, at least they would be safe in a convent, would they not?’

Owen stared at Catherine as if he thought she had gone mad. ‘Who says Burgundy will invade England?’

I must admit that I grew wide-eyed myself at the thought of such a thing, but Catherine was adamant. ‘It is not unlikely,’ she insisted. ‘Now that he has made peace with my brother, the duke may well turn his ambitions towards England. Philippe of Burgundy admired my valiant Henry and the good John of Bedford, but he has scores to settle with the Duke of Gloucester, not least over the matter of Humphrey’s outrageous attempt to annexe Hainault by marriage to Jacqueline. I only make the point that a convent would be a place of refuge in a time of war.’

‘Perhaps our first act should be to find out more about Barking Abbey and its abbess,’ I suggested. ‘Geoffrey could make some enquiries. Barking is in the diocese of London and he has made friends with the new bishop.’ William Grey had been translated to the bishopric of Lincoln and Geoffrey had made a point of establishing good relations with his successor, Bishop Robert Fitzhugh, in order to extend Catherine’s arrangement at Hadham.

‘That is a good idea, Mette.’ I detected a note of relief in Owen’s voice. ‘If we learn more we can make an informed decision. Meanwhile I suggest we let the matter drop.’ He downed what was left in his cup and stood up. ‘I am going to make my final check on the guard.’

Catherine watched him cross the hall to the main door, then caught my eye and shrugged. ‘He becomes more nervous every time someone else is told about the children,’ she sighed. ‘When is Geoffrey due back at Hadham, Mette?’

‘Not for some time,’ I told her ruefully. ‘The Michaelmas term has only just begun in the courts and he has quite a few cases to deal with. But if you can do without Walter for a few days he could take me to London. I might even make some discreet enquiries myself before I return.’

Catherine looked grateful and reached over to take my hand. ‘Would you, Mette? It is getting a little late in the year for comfortable travelling but I would be grateful. Will you mind leaving William again?’

‘As long as he is with Edmund, William is happy.’

Catherine laughed. ‘Well that is true. If they did not have such different colouring, one would almost think they were twins.’

I shuddered. ‘I am glad they are not. I would not wish the birth of twins on any woman!’

Catherine shook her head solemnly. ‘Nor I. Look what happened to poor little Joan Beaufort.’

It was five years since we had heard that the Queen of Scotland, Catherine’s former lady-in-waiting, had produced not one but two male heirs, but sadly the younger one had died during the first fragile month of life.

‘At least one of them survives and so there is another James to inherit his father’s throne,’ I said. ‘I do not suppose Scotland is any more willing to accept a female ruler than England or France.’

Catherine’s face clouded. ‘Princes and barons will always squabble when there is no strong leader to bring them to heel. I am serious about Burgundy being dangerous now that he has made peace with Charles. All Henry’s territories are vulnerable without John of Bedford’s wily rule. Gloucester does not have the moral strength needed to get a grip on the government of one kingdom, let alone two.’

I
nstead of heading straight for London, Walter and I took a detour and spent a night at an inn in Highgate recommended to us by Thomas Roke. When we left next morning we found ourselves transfixed by the view from the top of Highgate Hill. In the distance to the west the River Thames wound its way in a series of loops through the Chelsea marshlands, north past the palace of Westminster and the mansions of the Strand, then east to the City of London itself, tucked snugly behind its high walls and spewing clouds of smoke into the sky. Directly below us lay our destination, the village of Eye, one of several incorporated into the manor lands of Westminster Abbey.

A hilltop wind had whipped the blood into our cheeks and we soon headed for the shelter of some woodland on the lower slopes. It was a cold autumn day and fallen leaves swirled under our horses’ bellies making them dance excitedly and heavy grey clouds rolled off the horizon across a chalk-white sky. The main purpose of our journey was to make enquiries in Barking about a lady who I was sure would be a perfectly respectable abbess of a long-established abbey, but first I intended to learn more about a woman whose activities concerned me much more; Margery Jourdemayne. At the end of our last meeting, the Wise Woman of Eye had warned me, somewhat menacingly, to be careful. Since then I had learned of her previous trial and imprisonment for practising sorcery. Now I wanted to find out more about her connection with Eleanor of Gloucester. Where I came from, sorcery was a weapon much to be feared, and while the duke had shown Catherine a very male antagonism in his quest to dominate the king, I knew his duchess to be a devious character who would use more dangerous and subtle means to further the cause of Gloucester.

As we turned off the road onto the field paths of Eye, it began to rain and I pulled the hood of my mantle over my head. Walter led the way and hailed the first person we saw, a man who was mending a gate leading into a neatly hedged pasture containing a herd of shaggy brown cattle.

‘God keep you, goodman, I seek the house of Jourdemayne,’ Walter called. ‘Can you direct me?’

The fellow dragged off his grubby hood and scratched his stubbled chin. ‘Is it the Master or Mistress Jourdemayne you seek, sir?’

‘Do they not both dwell in the same house?’ Walter flashed the man a mischievous smile.

The returning grin revealed only a scattering of teeth. ‘Aye, that they do but the Master is away at this time finding a market for these beasts.’ He indicated the cattle grazing peaceably on the still-plentiful grass of the meadow, their backs turned against the wind and rain. ‘But if you seek Mistress Jourdemayne, she is up in the woods collecting herbs for her cures.’

He jerked his head towards the belt of trees that ran along the field’s edge and up the side of the hill beyond. Walter glanced at me with one eyebrow raised and I nodded agreement that we should go there.