The Tudor Bride (55 page)

It was different with Catherine, who had neither hidden her use of the jet-stone from me, nor her disappointment in its failure.

‘I had hoped for a longer respite from childbearing, Mette,’ she confessed. ‘But it seems we are a fruitful couple, Owen and I.’

I felt a little anxious about her diffidence. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Mademoiselle? Is there sickness?’

She sighed. ‘No, not unwell, just a little jaded. I must not grumble. There are so many who pray for children and do not get them.’ Another, longer sigh escaped her lips and she laid her hands on her belly. ‘When the warmer weather comes perhaps I shall be more positive about it, especially if Owen has returned. I have let my husband become intrinsic to my happiness and that is wrong because I should put God in that position, but it is hard to worry about my soul when I am worried about my soul-mate.’

Her frame of mind did not improve even when the wildflowers bloomed in the river meadows and the maypole was raised in the churchyard for the spring dancing. There were no protests from the villagers when we went to watch the girls and boys laughing and shouting as they wove their complicated patterns around the pole, their heads crowned in floral wreaths and their feet stamping out jigs played by a band which consisted of the blacksmith on the pipes, the reeve on the rebec and one of the villeins on the tabor. Alys and I tapped our feet as we watched Cat and Louise swirl among the girls, threading their gaily coloured ribbons around the pole, but Catherine hung back near the churchyard gate and kept her children by her side. She could not forget the frightening incident in the church on the feast of St Edmund.

‘The man who spat at us is standing near the band,’ she said, shaking her head when I came across and asked whether the boys would like to take a turn, ‘We will just watch from here.’

Jasper had not been in the church when the villagers turned on us and he was keen to take a ribbon at the maypole, but seven-year-old Edmund stuck by his mother protectively. ‘You cannot leave us, Jasper,’ he told his younger brother firmly. ‘When our father is away we must take care of our mother.’

His sturdy championship of her earned him a hug and a smile from Catherine. In Owen’s absence there was something lost and vulnerable about her which Edmund, now proudly seven years old, seemed to have sensed. William, of course, stayed loyally beside Edmund and so Jasper hung his head sheepishly and stayed with them, but his foot tapped eagerly to the music. Little Margaret was transfixed by the dancing and had crowned her doll with a daisy wreath like the big girls at the maypole but, nevertheless, clung close to the big brothers she worshipped. However she did not mind when I lifted her up so that she could see better. We all stayed where we were, a tight little knot set apart; in the audience but not of them. When the barrel of ale supplied by Catherine for the May celebrations was broached and the men began to caper rowdily with the village girls and women, we collected Cat and Louise and crept quietly back to the hall.

S
oon after this Catherine received an unexpected visit from the Earl of Mortain who had recently been installed at Windsor as a Knight of the Garter, becoming one of the twenty-four who constituted the membership of England’s highest order of chivalry.

Catherine was delighted for him. ‘Congratulations, Edmund. It is an honour well-deserved. We must have a banquet to celebrate.’ Her sapphire eyes sparkled in a way I had not seen for months and she clapped her hands with excitement.

At the time I know Catherine had regretted not being able to marry Edmund Beaufort, and at such a moment as this I wondered if she regretted it still. Now in his thirty-second year, he was a man of remarkable strength and vigour, with a physique honed by almost constant campaigning. The boots he wore over his fine blue hose may have been dusty from the road, but they encased a pair of long, athletic legs and his crimson broadcloth doublet was tightly buttoned over the sculpted sweep of a well-muscled torso. With his hazel eyes glittering hawk-like from under his blue velvet hat, I could not imagine there were many other Knights of the Garter to compare with him.

On his arrival Catherine had taken him straight to her solar and sent a maid to summon me. In such circumstances she liked to have me with her and in this she was wise, for people gossip and sometimes gossip finds a firm foundation.

The earl smiled and shook his head. ‘A banquet in your company is a tempting thought, my lady, but I must leave directly; besides there is really little to celebrate. Have you not heard that Paris opened its gates to your brother? More than two weeks ago. Ever since John of Bedford’s death, England’s cause in France has been crumbling and I am leading a relief force which sails for Calais in a few days. This is a flying visit to check on your family’s safety.’

At the mention of the capitulation of Paris, Catherine’s hands flew to her mouth. When she could speak, her voice shook. ‘Charles in Paris! No – no, I had not heard. I am dumbfounded. Poor Henry must be distraught.’

This observation provoked an incredulous laugh. ‘Ha! That would be an understatement. The whole council is in turmoil – so much so that they are actually agreeing with each other for a change, hence my hasty departure at the head of two thousand men. The Duke of York has been appointed Commander in France and sails for Normandy with an even larger force very soon.’

I heard a distinct note of irritation behind this last piece of information, and quickly discovered why as I served them with wine.

‘Gloucester insists that we should respect the late king’s intentions and reclaim the territory he won in France and to achieve these aims he managed to persuade the council that it is time your son assumed control of his kingdom and began to issue edicts in his own right. Of course these are not the king’s edicts at all, but Gloucester’s set under the royal seal. Your son has always admired his Uncle Humphrey, as you know.’

Catherine nodded despondently. ‘It is true, sadly. So that is why the Duke of York has been appointed Commander in France and not you, even though he is young and inexperienced and you are quite clearly the man for the job. Gloucester is a fool, serving his own ends, although actually it is his wife I mistrust most.’

‘Ah yes, the scheming Eleanor, regrettably my wife’s namesake, although there the similarity ends.’ Edmund took a good gulp from his cup and made a face which I hoped had nothing to do with the quality of the wine. ‘Unlike me and my Eleanor, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester have at last obtained a royal licence for their marriage. It was one of the first documents Gloucester guided the young king’s hand to sign. She is now the foremost lady in the land and she makes sure that all know it!’

Catherine’s eyes turned icy. ‘Does she indeed? Well she is wrong. I am the first lady in England – until my son marries that is.’

Edmund’s eyes started to twinkle, as if he found the prospect of a court cat-fight rather amusing. ‘You should also know that on the day I received the Order of the Garter, she was declared a Lady Companion.’

‘A Lady of the Garter?’ Catherine almost squeaked with indignation. ‘An honour I received when I became queen. Gloucester does this to taunt me.’

‘Then you had better go to court and show Duchess Eleanor precisely who is the first lady of the land. I am sure a daughter of France can run rings around a jumped-up troop-captain’s daughter.’

Catherine gave an audible a sigh of frustration. ‘I would make a point of going, if I were not with child again.’

‘Ah.’ The Earl eyed her figure appraisingly. ‘I confess I did wonder. You and Owen are richly blessed with children, as are my wife and I. We have three now, but all girls I regret to say. We shall have to try harder. Where is Owen, by the way? He is not avoiding me, I hope?’

‘Far from it; he is one of your greatest admirers. He is away in Wales dealing with some violent sabotage on my manors there. You must be aware of the growing prejudice against foreigners, Edmund. Ever since the failure of the Congress of Arras, the English have let their hatred of the enemy spill out into the streets and the countryside. I expect it will be worse now that Paris has fallen. My Welsh villeins fired barns and mills and refused to pay manor dues to a Frenchwoman, even though she is the mother of their king. And the English hate both the French and the Welsh. I have been subject myself to a horrible demonstration of hatred in, of all places, Hadham church.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that. I hope you informed the bishop. There should be reprisals – punishments.’

‘No, no. That would only make things worse.’ Catherine bit her lip. ‘I have been foolish to think I could live here anonymously forever. It is becoming too dangerous. Now that Henry is officially head of state, perhaps I should move back to court. If the king were to invite me, Gloucester could hardly object, however much his wife did.’

Edmund looked uncomfortable, his mouth twisting in doubt. ‘If you value your marriage and family, I would think twice about that, Catherine. Owen would face jail and you might quickly lose control of your children. Edmund and Jasper pose a very real threat to Gloucester’s position. Do not forget that Humphrey has no children of his own and it may be years before King Henry has an heir. If he knew of their existence, Gloucester would consider the king’s half-brothers a dangerous focus for conspiracy. He would do anything to prevent them getting near the seat of power.’

‘What do you mean by “anything to prevent them”?’ Catherine asked sharply. ‘Are you implying that Gloucester might want to get rid of them, Edmund? Even kill them?’ Her voice rose to panic pitch.

I had picked up my embroidery in order to look busy, but at this point the needle froze and every hair on my body seemed to bristle in alarm.

‘No, not kill them. Heaven forefend; I do not think even Humphrey would do that.’ Edmund reinforced this statement with an earnest smile. ‘But I strongly believe that secrecy is their salvation, at least in the short term.’ He stood up. ‘Now, am I to see my godson while I am here, or must I depart without a glimpse?’

His complacency only served to make me more fearful. I recalled my conversation with Margery Jourdemayne and wondered how much of her ‘image magic’ had accompanied Eleanor Cobham’s rise. Just how far had she taken her consort with the devil? And if the duchess were to discover the existence of the Tudor children, what kind of magic might she try against them?

Edmund Beaufort stayed only long enough to watch the boys ride their ponies, give tips on how to steer them while holding their wooden swords and shields and snatch a quick meal. I had argued with Geoffrey about whether William should share Edmund’s riding lessons, being unlikely to complete the rigorous training of a knight, but I could see no harm in him becoming as competent a horseman as possible. However, now that he was seven I knew that the time was fast approaching when Geoffrey would want him to start attending one of the schools attached to the Inns of Court in London.

As May progressed into June, there was still no news of Owen and his cousins and the women of the Hadham household became progressively more dejected. Only the children with their bright voices and constant activity prevented a pall of gloom settling over us. I fretted about Catherine’s health, which had not improved as it usually did when she moved into the middle months of pregnancy. She was constantly tired and complained that there was a nagging pain in her belly.

‘Not a sharp pain,’ she explained. ‘Like a belt around my stomach that is too tight and cannot be loosened. Did you ever feel like that when you were carrying, Mette?’

It was early morning and her pale face was puffed and blotchy. I suspected that she had been crying in the night.

‘No, not that I can remember, but there is always something to worry about when you are with child. What you must do is eat well and get plenty of rest, Mademoiselle. I do not think you are doing either of those things. Did you sleep last night or were you at your prie dieu in the small hours?’

She gave me a guilty look. ‘I cannot sleep for worrying about Owen,’ she said. ‘Prayer is the only thing that comforts me. But God does not tell me where he is or why he has not sent any word. I am truly worried, Mette. Perhaps he has run into danger. Do you think I should send someone to make enquiries?’

‘It has only been two months since they left, Mademoiselle. I am sure there will be a message soon or else they will be home. I will make you an infusion of caraway. Perhaps that will relieve the discomfort.’

She drank it daily and I did not hear any more complaints, but nor did she look any better. In my own prayers I included regular pleas for Owen’s return.

At the beginning of July Hywell and John at last rode in. They reported hearing of unrest everywhere, especially in the rural areas of England where men had been recruited for the French wars. ‘We Welsh are not exactly welcomed when we pass through towns, but the French are detested,’ John revealed as we plied them with ale and cold capon to make up for days of bread and cheese in the saddle. ‘Once men flocked to fight behind the hero of Agincourt, but now they want to pull up the drawbridge and keep the French out of England. Everyone fears an invasion.’

They had brought a letter from Owen for Catherine, penned in his own hand in script that was crabbed and smudged from lack of practice. She peered at it for some minutes, brow creased with the effort of deciphering its content.

‘He says my manors are restored to working order and he has gone somewhere else, but I cannot make out the name of the place. Where is it, Hywell? What has happened there?’

Hywell had picked up little Gladys and was playing with her on his knee, while Agnes looked on happily. At least two of the Hadham women would be cheerful again, I thought, glancing at Alys who sat quietly next to John, pretending not to cast frequent sideways glances at him to reassure herself of his presence. I only wished Owen had come home to put a smile on Catherine’s face.

‘It is called Penmyndydd, my lady,’ Hywell said. ‘Owen’s grandfather lives there still and it is where his parents are buried. I believe the old man is in need of some help. Does he not say?’