The Queen's Secret

BERMONDSEY ABBEY

It was a hot summer’s day. We were in the gardens.

Owen was toddling now; the two elder boys were running about, playing some mysterious game, and as usual Jacina was trying to share in it and they were somewhat reluctant to allow her to.

I was early enough in my pregnancy not to feel unwieldy and I sat back enjoying the fresh air and the contentment of having my family about me.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of horses’ hoofs. I started up. Owen had risen. Guillemote came running toward us. She gathered the children together and was murmuring that she had something to show them and they must come with her at once.

Owen and I exchanged glances. We were always prepared for unexpected arrivals. We had planned for such an event many times. He turned and went toward the stables. Guillemote was hurrying the children into the house, and I followed.

I was surprised. Important visitors usually notified us of their imminent arrival. This, therefore, could not be anyone of standing; however, we must be prepared.

I stood at the window watching. The Joannas and Agnes had come to stand beside me.

We saw about twenty guards below. They swarmed across the gardens. One of them had taken hold of a stable lad and was obviously questioning him.

My heart leaped in terror. The boy pointed to the stables. That was where Owen had gone. Two of the men had taken their stand by the door of the house, one on either side. The others were making for the stables.

Then I saw a sight which terrified me. The men came out of the stables, and Owen was with them. He glanced up at the house.

I could no longer restrain myself. I ran down the stairs and out through the door. The two guards standing there were startled. They stepped forward.

“I am the Queen,” I cried. “Stand aside.”

They let me pass. I suppose they knew I could not get far, and in any case, the rest of them were straight ahead with Owen.

I went to them. “What is this?” I cried. “What are you doing in my house…in my gardens? Do you know who I am?”

The men bowed. “We have orders to arrest this man,” said their leader.

“Whose orders? How dare you! He belongs to my household.”

“He is the Welshman, Owen Tudor. He does not deny it.”

“Why should he deny it? Release him at once and go. Go, I say! You will hear more of this.”

“Begging your pardon, my lady, we have been sent here to arrest this man, and that we must do.”

“Go away…go away. On what grounds? How dare you!”

“On the grounds of treason, my lady. Treason against the laws of the land.”

“Owen!” I cried and ran to him.

The agony in his face was terrible to see. He was shaking his head, warning me. I could see his fear for me in his face; and I thought I should die of anguish.

“Where are you taking him?” I asked.

“To London, my lady. Those are our orders.”

“Why? Why?”

“Orders, my lady. We are sorry, but it is our duty and we must obey.”

He moved toward me but they held him back, and for a few moments we stood there, just looking at each other.

I saw his lips move: “Katherine…my love…always my love …”

“I will not allow …” I began.

He smiled at me tenderly, resignedly. “I will be back,” he murmured.

“They have nothing…nothing…of which they can accuse you.”

“No…no,” he soothed. “It is a mistake.”

But we both knew that it was not. Gloucester was back in England. This was his doing.

So often we had thought of something like this happening; we should have been prepared for it. We were in a way, but perhaps we had always deluded ourselves that it would never come. But we could not have imagined misery such as this.

I was almost fainting. I was aware of Guillemote and Agnes. They were holding my arms. I could only cry out: “No! No!”

And it seemed as though from a long way off I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs as they rode away, taking Owen with them.

· · ·

I do not know how I lived through the days which followed. At every sound I would start up, telling myself that Owen had come back, trying to delude myself that I had been living in a nightmare of horror conjured up by my imagination. We had feared it; we had planned for it; and because of that I had thought it had really happened.

I could not eat; I could not sleep.

“You will be ill,” scolded Guillemote. But she was the same. I knew how her thoughts ran, for they were similar to mine. Where was Owen? What was happening to him now?

We worried about the children. What could we tell them? Edmund and Jasper were too old not to know that something was wrong. Jacina knew too. They watched us with frightened eyes.

I could think of nothing but Owen…gone…taken by those wicked men. Should I ever see him again? I dared not think of that possibility. I could not bear to consider what my life would be without him. I was numb with misery.

I must do something. I must go to London. I must find him.

There was my son, Henry the King. He would help me. Bedford was dead. He was one who might have understood. How could I plead with Gloucester? I pictured him as I had last seen him. He had been so angry with me. Even then he must have been planning his revenge.

I must see Henry.

“Guillemote,” I said. “I am going to see my son. I am going to beg him to send Owen back to me.”

“How could you see him?”

“I will go to London…to Westminster…wherever he is. I will go to Court. I will explain.”

“You could not travel in your state. My dear, dear lady, think of the child you carry. You must not distress yourself so.”

“Oh, Guillemote, why do you talk thus? They have taken Owen. How can I help being distressed? I must see Henry.”

“You cannot travel.”

“I will write to him. I will ask him how they dare arrest Owen as though he had committed some crime. What has he done?”

“My lady, he has married you.”

“Why should he not? We love each other, do we not? What harm do we do?”

“It was against the law.”

“Gloucester’s law! In any case, we were married before that became law.”

“I know. I know. Write to the King. He loves you well. It may be that he will come to your aid.”

“He will. Of course he will. He is my own dear son.”

I could not gather my thoughts. My hands shook so that I found it difficult to hold a pen.

“Henry,” I wrote. “You must help me. They have taken Owen away. You must order them to send him back. You must save your mother, for surely I will die if Owen does not come back to me …”

That would not do. I must write clearly. I must explain. I did my duty for my country and for your country, Henry. I married the conqueror of France. I bore his child, you, my dear one, and now it is only just that I should know some happiness. Please, Henry, if you ever had any affection for me, help me now. You can. You are the King. You must remember that. You can command these wicked men to undo the evil they have done to me …”

There were sounds of arrival below. I dashed to the window, but I could see nothing.

Guillemote was running into the room.

“Guillemote, Guillemote, what is it?” I cried. “Owen has come back. Oh, tell me Owen has come back.”

“There are men to see you, my lady.”

“And Owen?”

She shook her head. “They are saying they must see you at once.”

“Oh, Guillemote, what now? What now?”

“I know not, my lady.”

“Where are the children?”

She nodded her head upward.

“What is it, Guillemote? What do they want?”

“They will tell you, my lady.”

I followed her down the stairs. They were standing there. Guards…like those who had taken Owen away.

“My lady …” they began and hesitated.

“What have you to say to me?” I asked dully.

“My lady, we have come to take you on the King’s orders to the Abbey of Bermondsey.”

“To Bermondsey? But…why…why should I go to Bermondsey?”

“You will be cared for there by the abbess, my lady. It is the King’s orders.”

“My son’s orders? I do not believe it.”

He unrolled a scroll of parchment and showed me Henry’s signature.

“I do not understand …” I began.

“The King’s orders are that you should be taken to the Abbey of Bermondsey and put into the care of the lady abbess there. We must leave within an hour.”

I said: “The children …”

“We have orders for them, my lady. They are to be put into the care of the Lady Katherine de la Pole, the Abbess of Barking.”

“But Barking is not Bermondsey!” I said foolishly. “I am to go to Bermondsey.”

“That is so, my lady. And we have to leave very soon.”

“I will not,” I said.

They looked at me sadly. “Our orders are to take you, my lady.”

I felt helpless, for they were implying that if I did not go willingly they would take me by force.

“Where is Owen Tudor?” I asked.

They looked at me blankly.

“The children should be made ready to leave,” said one of the guards. “You too, my lady.”

Guillemote was standing behind me. I turned. We just looked at each other. I had lost Owen. I was going to lose the children…and Guillemote, the Joannas, Agnes…and all those who had served me well…everything I cared for would be lost to me.

This was cruel. This was unbearable. How could anyone do this wicked thing!

It was no use pleading with these men. They were only obeying orders.

Guillemote took my arm, and together we went up the stairs.

So they took me to Bermondsey. I was numbed by bitter misery. I did not say goodbye to the children. I feared to frighten them. I cannot forget the memory of Guillemote’s white face, her eyes wide with pain as they dwelt on me. There was a sense of desolation about the entire household. Everyone now knew that the disaster which for so long we had feared had come upon us.

I cannot remember very much of the journey. The abbess received me with deference. Her prisoner I might be, but I was still the Queen. My room was simple—bare walls except for a crucifix. I hardly noticed. Two nuns came in and helped me to bed. I lay in those unfamiliar surroundings, staring before me, seeing Owen walking across the grass between the guards…Guillemote hustling the children away.

They tried to make me eat, but I could not.

The hours passed. Night came. I did not sleep. I just lay there in that austere bed wanting to die.

The abbess was a kindly woman. She was concerned about me and tried to make me talk.

“You must find peace,” she said.

“There is no peace for me,” I replied.

“God will help you.”

I was impatient. “All I want is my husband and my children.”

She was indeed a good woman. I saw compassion in her face.

“Would you not pray with me?” she asked.

I turned my face to the wall.

“I want to help you,” she said.

“Then give me back my husband and children. That is all I want. The right to live as the humblest woman is allowed to…the right to be with my family.”

She left me in despair.

Another day. Another night.

“You must rouse yourself,” said the abbess. “You will lose your reason if you continue thus.”

Lose my reason! Her words had sent me back to the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I was hearing that wild voice calling for help. I was seeing my son bemused by the sight of The Maid. The abbess had reminded me of the shadow which hung over my family.

Be calm, I said to myself. Think of other things.

But I could think only of Owen and the children around us…a bright sunny day…and such happiness suddenly shattered by the sound of horses’ hoofs coming toward the house.

I was alone. The abbess had left me in despair.

I started to think back over the years of my childhood, to my first meeting with Henry, to my life with him…the birth of my son. They were not unhappy days. But it was only when I knew Owen that I discovered what true happiness was. Few people find it as Owen and I had. What a tragedy that we should have had to hold it so carefully until it was finally snatched from us.

The words of the abbess kept coming back to me. “You will lose your reason.” There were times when I was not sure whether I was in the past or the present. Sometimes in the night I would think I was in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, lying close to Michelle for warmth while Marie prayed at the bedside. I thought: I must be calm.

The idea came to me that the only way in which I could live through the days was by writing it all down. Perhaps I should discover where I might have acted differently. Could this have been avoided? Was there a way in which Owen and I could have been together and there was no cruel parting? Was it just possible?

It was true that I felt better. The abbess was pleased that I had this occupation. She could see that it helped me.

Writing materials were supplied to me, and through the days I wrote. I became fascinated by the project, I think largely because for hours at a time I could lose myself in the past and shut out the desolate present.

The summer had gone. I had no knowledge of what was happening to my family. I was sleeping a little better now…I did not dread the long nights as I had, for, having written of the past and in a manner lived it again, I felt a certain exhaustion at the end of the day which I welcomed.

I would sometimes dream that I was happy again, that Edmund, Jasper or little Jacina was telling me what they had done that day, that little Owen was talking to me, in his quaint baby way. I cherished those dreams, for they brought a fleeting happiness into my dreary existence.

It must be nearly Christmastime. I was trying not to think of last Christmas. I had covered so much paper with my writing. I was getting near the end. It was almost unbearable now because I was writing about my life with Owen and the children, and all kinds of little incidents came to my mind…too trivial to record but precious to me.

One early morning I awoke in agony.

I had allowed my grief to overwhelm me. I had not thought of the life I carried within me.

My baby. Would they allow me to keep the child? They must. They could not part a mother from her newly born child. The abbess was no monster. If I could have my child with me, perhaps I could find some solace.

But there was some time yet.

It was two months before my child was due.

They were at my bedside. I had been oblivious of all else but pain. I had even forgotten the loss of my husband and my children.

There had been nothing but agony.

“My child …” I murmured.

I saw my dear confessor, Johan Boyers, and I thought: I am dreaming. But it was not so.

“My lady …” he said.

“Johan!”

“I came when they sent for me.”

“Johan…where is Owen?…Where are the children?”

He shook his head. “You must rest.”

“My baby …”

He lowered his eyes. “The birth was premature …” he said gently.

I murmured: “I see. Not content with ruining my life, they have killed my baby also.”

He said: “The child still clings to life, but I think I should baptize her without delay. What name shall she be given?”

I don’t know why I chose Margaret. It just came into my mind.

“Margaret,” he repeated. “She shall be Margaret.”

“Johan?”

“Yes?”

“You will not go away.”

“I will come back to you later,” he said.

I lay there, exhausted. So I was to be denied even the blessing of my newborn child.

Johan Boyers brought great comfort to me during the days which followed.

He said: “They sent for me when you were so ill.”

“I must have been near death or they would not have done so.”

“You were very ill…but you will recover.”

“Shall I, Johan?”

“The shock of everything…it brought on the birth…too soon …”

“And I lost my child …”

We were silent for a few moments. Then I said: “You were there, Johan…what happened?”

“I can tell you that the children are well.”

“With strangers?”

“The abbess is a good woman. She will do all she can for them.”

“They will want me. They will miss Owen. They will need Guillemote.”

“Guillemote is trying to get to them. The abbess is a compassionate woman. Guillemote hopes that she will be able to get into the abbey…to look after the children as she has always done.”

“Oh, God bless her!”

“And Owen …”

He was silent for a moment and I prompted him: “Please tell me. Tell me the truth.”

“He is in Newgate.”

“The jail?”

He nodded.

“On what charge?”

“Treason…in marrying against the law.”

“It was before the law was made.”

“That will certainly help.”

“Johan, you have done me so much good.”

“Would you like to confess?”

“What should I confess, Johan? I have sinned in these last months. I have railed against God for taking from me all that I cared for.”

“Let us pray together.”

“There is one thing, Johan. My first husband, the King, I did sin against him. He asked me to make sure that our son was not born at Windsor. Yet I allowed him to be born there.”

“Why did you do this?”

“I cannot say. It was some compulsion. I could have left Windsor before it was too late…but I did not. I stayed on. I cannot understand it now. Was it the prompting of the Devil?”

He shook his head. “God meant the King to be born at Windsor. That is why it happened.”

“Yes,” I said. “Let us pray together.”

It was wonderful to have him with me. He was part of the old days.

He did not go from the abbey until I was able to leave my bed.

Christmas had passed and January was coming in, with wintry weather.

I thought of the great fires we had had at Hatfield and Hadham, of Owen telling the children stories. They loved to hear of the Welsh mountains and the days of his ancestors.

I felt the tears falling down my cheeks.

I was very weak. I could not walk about my little room without feeling exhausted.

The abbess was alarmed. She said she must get the physician to see me.

I think people sometimes have a premonition that the end is near. I did, and it had a calming effect upon me. I knew this austere cell would not be my home for much longer. I knew now that I would never see Owen and my children again; and, oddly enough, I experienced a strange feeling of reconciliation because I could feel this world slipping away from me.

When this year of 1437 came in, I believed I should never see the end of it; and I knew that was not a fancy; it was a revelation.

I wondered that Henry had not come to see me. He would have done so, I was sure, but he was very much under the influence of his uncle Gloucester now. Gloucester was the heir presumptive to the throne. I trusted Henry would be well looked after. He would have come to me, I knew, if it had rested with him. He had always loved me, even though we had been so little together.

They must have been worried about my health, for Johan Boyers was sent for again.

His coming was a great joy to me—not only because he was a familiar face from my happy past but because he had good news for me.

He waited until we were alone, then he said: “Owen is free.”

“Free!”

“He has escaped from Newgate.”

“Oh…they will catch him.”

“He will not be caught. He will be too clever for them. He eluded the guards and got right away. He is in Wales, I believe. He got a message through to me for you.”

“Oh, Johan…is this true?”

“He says…he will be with you…as soon as it is possible. He said, ‘Tell the Queen that we shall be together again. It will be my greatest aim that this shall be so.’”

I was silent. I was unaware that I was weeping until I tasted the salt tears on my lips.

I shall never see Owen again. When he comes it will be too late.

Everyone around me knows it. They are very kind and gentle.

I was so shocked when I came to them. I became so weak…too weak to recover from the premature birth of my little girl.

So…I am dying. I still have the strength to hold my pen. My spirits have lightened a little. I no longer have to look ahead to long years without Owen and the children. I shall be reunited with them one day. I know it.

Today is New Year’s Day.

I had a gift which gave me great pleasure because it was from my son. So Henry had not forgotten me. He would have come to my aid if he could, I always knew. And this was his way of saying so. He had sent me a gold tablet on which was a crucifix set with pearls and sapphires.

My poor Henry! He is only fifteen years old. The tablet tells me that he would have helped me…if he could.

I prayed then…deeply and sincerely…for him, my son. May his life be easy. May the burden of the crown sit lightly on his head.

I am too tired to write more. It cannot be long now. I pray for Owen’s safety and for the happiness of my children and all those who have loved and served me well during my life, which is soon to end.