The Queen's Secret

QUEEN OF ENGLAND

The Archbishop of Sens had blessed the bed and prayed God to make it fertile. We had been ceremoniously put to bed. This was the moment about which I had thought a great deal. No one had talked to me of what was expected of me. Isabelle’s marriage with her King of England had never been consummated; and afterward, when she had married the Duke of Orléans, she did not speak of such matters. My mother had told me nothing. She was the sort of woman who would have been born with the knowledge of everything that would be required of her.

I felt inadequate. I need not have done. Henry was a gentle and tender lover, and I was greatly relieved to discover that, instead of irritating, my innocence enchanted him.

During the night a grand procession came to our bedside with wine and soup as though to fortify us against the night’s activities.

When they had gone, Henry took me into his arms and laughed.

“The interruption was untimely,” he said. “Forgive me, Kate. I had to agree to it. Here am I, in a new country which has suddenly become mine. There will be enemies all around me. Of course, they are very agreeable now. They have to be.” He laughed again and I laughed with him. “But how do I know who is plotting against me? How do I know when someone is going to creep up to me and thrust a dagger in my back?”

I shivered and clung to him, which pleased him.

“Fret not, sweet Kate,” he said, “and know this: I am a man who is able to take care of himself as well as those about him. You will be taken care of from now on. So have no fear. But I think it as well to follow the customs of the country.” He laughed heartily. “Who wants soup and wine? There are other matters with which to concern ourselves than drinking soup and wine.”

And I laughed with him and was happy. I thought I was the luckiest princess in the world, for although my country had been defeated, my happiness had come out of it. And I was no longer merely the Princess of France. I was Queen of England.

The morning had come. We broke our fast together side by side…he now and then leaning over to kiss me.

“So,” he said, “how goes it with you, Kate? How feels it to be my wife?”

“My lord,” I replied, “it makes me wondrous happy.”

“That is what I wanted to hear…and truth it is…is it not?”

“It is the truth, my lord.”

“Then I am the happiest man…not only in France but in the whole world. There will be a feast today. It must be so. In truth, Kate, I think these feasts a waste of time.”

I nodded, smiling.

How wonderful it was to be together. There was an intimacy between us, but I felt there was much of him which I had yet to know.

I was able to meet his two brothers during that morning. I warmed toward them because it was clear that they both admired him.

There was Thomas, Duke of Clarence, and the younger Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. I should not have wanted to marry either of them. Thomas looked rather delicate and Henry told me afterward that he had sent him home after the fall of Harfleur because he was anxious about his health. Humphrey was different. I could see he had great vitality. He was very handsome and—said Henry—aware of it.

After the meeting Henry talked a little of them.

He said: “You will get to know my brothers very well in time. They are my good friends all of them.”

I said that I had seen by their expressions that they honored him and were very proud of him.

He smiled at that, well pleased that I had noticed or that they had betrayed their feelings.

“Then there is John,” he went on, “the Duke of Bedford. He is younger than Thomas. Humphrey is, of course, the youngest.”

I had guessed that that was a sore point with Humphrey. I felt he must be rather vain—although he had been very gracious and charming…perhaps a little too charming? The idea occurred to me that I might have to be a little wary of Humphrey.

But this was no time for misgivings. I had been married but one day and I had every hope that a happy future lay before me. I thought there would be weeks ahead when Henry and I would get to know each other really well; I was sure that the more I knew of him, the more attractive I would find him.

I had a rather rude awakening at the banquet that afternoon. We were side by side on the royal dais, contentedly listening to the musicians. It was a great delight to find that Henry was fond of music. He played the harp, as I did. He would play to me, he said. I should play to him; and we should play together.

One of the courtiers was talking to Henry, saying what a happy occasion this was, with which Henry agreed.

“We must celebrate it, Sire, so that the French do not forget.”

“I promise you this is something which will never be forgotten,” replied Henry.

“But there must be celebrations, my lord.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Henry.

“Well, in the first place, we should stage a tournament. We should show the French our skill.”

Henry was silent for a few seconds. Then he said coolly: “Tomorrow we lay siege to Sens.”

“My lord! So soon!”

“It is not soon. It is late. And there you may tourney to your heart’s content…not in play, sir, but in very truth. I do not anticipate great resistance. But we do not dally here celebrating my wedding…while there is work to be done.”

The man looked crestfallen and moved away.

I said: “Is this true? Are you going to fight tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said. “I shall begin to take Sens tomorrow.”

“But,” I began, “it is so soon after …”

“War waits for no man, Kate. I have you. You are mine now. We shall be near. I shall keep you with me. Have no fear. You will be safe…and when there is time, I shall come to you that you may console and comfort me.”

He smiled at me tenderly. I wanted to protest, but I knew him well enough to understand that nothing would deter him.

So…two days after our wedding, he was planning to continue to beat down any resistance in the country he had already won.

Well, I had married a soldier…a conqueror. I should have to remember what was important to him. He loved me…in his way, but nothing could prevent his going to war when he thought it necessary. Conquest…marriage…they came in that order.

I did wonder then if it was plain Kate of whom he was enamored or was it the Princess of France?

We had been married such a short time and already he was planning to go to war.

So two days after my wedding day I was alone. He had girded on his armor and gone, though not far.

He had said: “This will take but a short time. Soon I shall be back with you.”

“And then?” I asked.

He stood looking at me, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“And then,” I went on, “there will still be war.”

He came toward me and took me roughly into his arms. He planted a rather noisy kiss on my lips.

“You’re a soldier’s wife, Kate. And a soldier follows the fortunes of war.”

I was lodged with my mother, close to the town of Sens.

Henry’s brother, the Duke of Bedford, had joined him. Each day I wondered whether he would come.

I did not enjoy my mother’s company, although she treated me with some respect nowadays. The Queen of England was of more importance to her than the Princess of France had been. I was gratified when I remembered that I was of higher rank than she was; she the wife of the deposed monarch, while I was that of the conqueror.

She was very fat now. She would lie about, nibbling her sweetmeats, and would not be parted from her dogs. I wondered how many lovers there were nowadays. Was she still as eager for them? One thing she had not lost was her love of intrigue.

It seemed a long time before Sens surrendered, but it was only six days. Then Henry came to me. I thought he would be exhausted, but quite the contrary; he was elated.

There was a passionate reunion, but a short one, and I sensed that most of the time his main preoccupation was with his captains. He told me his next objective would be Montereau, which was in the hands of the Armagnacs.

He said: “Young Burgundy is eager for the fight. There he is in his elaborate mourning, vowing vengeance on his father’s murderers. I’ll swear he cares more for his father in death than he ever did in life. He cannot wait to get to Montereau. Now I have a plan. I want you to be near…but not too near. I want to be able to come and see you when there is a chance. So I am moving you to Bray-sur-Seine…you and your household…with your mother, of course.”

“I hope that you can come often,” I said.

“I hope so, too. Now prepare for the move. But first there will be our triumphant entry into Sens.”

“Shall I be there?”

“But of course. Are you not the Queen of England?”

So I prepared myself for the entry into the city. I often thought of it afterward and how incongruous it was that I, who belonged to the defeated House of Valois, should enter into the fallen city in the role of conqueror. But such was Henry’s personality that I felt I belonged with him and not with my family.

The Archbishop of Sens, who had performed the ceremony at our wedding, led us into the city. He was overjoyed because, after having been expelled by the Armagnacs, he was now reinstated by Henry.

We entered the great cathedral to the sound of a glorious anthem, and Henry turned to the Archbishop and said: “Recently you gave me my wife. Now, my lord Archbishop, I restore yours to you this day.” Which was a way of telling him that the archbishopric was given back to him.

What a happy day that was! But it was disappointing that war must go on. Henry was busy preparing, and when a battle was imminent I could see that he had no thought for anything else; and as soon as one town had fallen to him, he was preparing to take the next.

We moved to Bray-sur-Seine and settled in to await the fall of Montereau. My father, who had recovered a little, joined us there.

I was glad to see him but at the same time sad, for there he was, robbed of his royalty in a way, although he still held the title of King which Henry had graciously allowed him to keep. But he had no power; every decision must be made by Henry; and as soon as my father was dead, Henry would be King. I often thought of my brother, the Dauphin. This affected him more than anyone, for he had expected to take the crown; I knew that he had not wanted it and it had suddenly been thrust upon him, but having tasted power, he did not want to lose it…particularly in such a humiliating way.

But he was our enemy now. The ill-advised murder of the Duke of Burgundy had put him firmly in that unfortunate position—a Dauphin without hope of fulfilling his destiny.

My father might be sunk in melancholy, but my mother was as eager for intrigue as ever. She was constantly in my company, telling me what I should do. I did not consider that she had made such a success of her life that I needed to emulate her. I would listen to her and shrug my shoulders. I should do what Henry wished.

How long the days seemed without him! They were enlivened by visitors from England who had come to pay homage to me as the new Queen. My mother was delighted to receive them. She still behaved as though she were the Queen, and her manner had not changed since the days when she held great power.

She received the visitors graciously, with me standing beside her. I accepted this. In spite of everything, I could not help feeling sorry for her. I could not believe that she was still attractive to her lovers; moreover, I myself was happy and when one is happy one is inclined to be sorry for anyone who cannot possibly enjoy the same bliss—and therefore one is lenient toward them.

The Duchess of Clarence—my sister-in-law Margaret, who had arrived with the English party—was very agreeable to me.

She told me a great deal about life at the English Court and how it changed with each king. With Richard it had been elegant and gracious; it had been less so with his successor.

“The King’s father was not a happy man,” she said. “I think he had Richard’s death on his conscience. He was always afraid that ill luck would come to him through it. Henry IV was a haunted man.”

“My sister Isabelle has told me something of what happened.”

“Ah, our Little Queen. I heard she was most enchanting.”

“She loved Richard.”

“She was only a child.”

“I suppose children can love.”

“That is so, of course.”

“Will the English like me?”

“They will love you.”

“But I am French. Do they not see the French as the enemy?”

“They will see you as the King’s wife, and he is their idol. And when he returns as the conqueror, you will see how dearly they love him. They will applaud everything he has done…including his marriage.”

“I do understand.”

She looked at me quizzically. She said: “You will make many friends in your new country, but I will be the first.”

I held her hand and pressed it.

Another time she talked of her childhood. There had been great tragedies in her family and we could sympathize with each other. Three years after her father’s death, when her eldest brother was only twenty-five years of age, he had been beheaded for treason, and his head had been set up on London Bridge.

“Why?” I asked. “Why did they do such a thing?”

“Well, it was all due to the new King…the father of the present Henry. Richard was King and Henry’s father, who became King Henry IV, thought he would be a better king than Richard. My brother was loyal to Richard. If Richard had been victorious then, it would have been Henry IV who lost his head. My brother rose against Henry. He set himself at the head of a company of men and went to the Little Queen.”

I cried out: “My sister told me of this. They deceived her. They said that Richard was alive and free.”

“My brother believed it. That was why he was so confident. He had seen a man who was exactly like the King. It was a trick. However, my brother was captured and that is how his head came to be on London Bridge.”

Our conversation brought back to me those days when Isabelle had been with me and told me of her love for Richard.

I talked to her then of my childhood, of my sisters—Michelle who was now the Duchess of Burgundy, and Marie in her convent.

It was a great pleasure for me to have such a companion. It passed the days while I was waiting for the siege of Montereau to end. So the Duchess of Clarence, my new sister-in-law, became my friend.

The people of Montereau put up a strong resistance. They knew that outside their walls, fighting with the English, were the Burgundians led by Duke Philip. Montereau had been the scene of the murder of the late Duke Jean the Fearless and they guessed Burgundians would want their revenge. This knowledge doubtless strengthened their resistance.

It was inevitable, though, that in due course the town should fall to Henry.

Soldier that he was, he was not a violent man. He wanted victory not revenge. He killed only when it was necessary to do so, and if those who were conquered fell in with his wishes, he would be lenient with them. He made no effort to avoid the hardships his men endured and shared them with them. That was one of the qualities which made him the greatest soldier of his age and was the reason why his men were prepared to follow him anywhere.

Therefore there was no undue slaughter at Montereau.

He told me that Philip of Burgundy made a drama of the occasion. He called attention to his bereavement. With dramatic ardor he visited the place where his father had been buried in a pauper’s shell. He ordered that a pall should cover it and lighted candles be placed around it. He then took a solemn vow that he would dedicate his life to bringing his father’s murderers to justice. He would make it his unswerving duty to do so. And to this cause he would place his body, his soul and all he possessed.

“It was effective,” commented Henry. “But I believe his devotion to his father was slightly less intense during the latter’s lifetime. I believe he went so far as to curse his father for not allowing him to be present at Agincourt. Jean gave orders that his son was to be guarded and not allowed out. Philip made an attempt to escape and was restrained. I believe he thinks that, if he had not been prevented from being there, the result of the battle would have been different.”

I told him how pleased I was to have his brother’s wife, Margaret, with me and how we had become good friends.

“She is a good woman, and Clarence is a good man. I’ll confess that of all my brothers I love him best—though I suppose many would point out that Bedford is the more worthy. But one does not always love people for their worthiness. And Clarence…Thomas…has always been my special friend. I suppose it was partly because he was the nearest to me in age.”

“I think she is sad because she sees so little of him.”

“He is a soldier…like the rest of us.”

“Would it not be wonderful if these wars could be over!”

He laughed at me. I was not sure whether he agreed. I had seen the excitement in his eyes at the prospect of battle; and I knew that, tender and loving as he was to me, the real excitement in life for him was in conquest. I wondered what he would have been like if there had been no war to occupy him.

I had no opportunity of finding out.

No sooner was Montereau in his hands than we must move on to Melun.

I with my family and our attendants were housed not far from the camp.

Henry was thoughtful and kind to my parents; none would have believed that my father was the conquered king and Henry the conqueror. He was most anxious for my father’s comfort.

He said to me: “The house is far enough for your father not to hear the cannon. I am sure that would disturb him. And yet it is near enough for me to be able to ride to you now and then should the siege take longer than I expect. That was why I chose it.”

I was amazed at his concern. He had had musicians brought to the house in Melun, because he had heard that when my father became uneasy and showed signs of another lapse, he could be soothed by music.

When Melun fell, the next objective was Paris.

I wondered how I should feel, riding into our capital side by side with its conqueror. Henry was uneasy too; he thought there might be certain hostility, and for that reason he chose to go on in advance. He said he did not want to put me in any danger; and before I entered the city he must make sure that all would be well.

So it was with my mother beside me that I rode into Paris. I was amazed at our reception. Banners hung from the windows, wine was running from the conduits in the streets and the cheers were deafening.

I was relieved. They bore me no resentment for having joined the conqueror, and I knew that their greeting was not given out of fear but love for me.

So we spent Christmas in Paris and we were happy. Surely, I thought, this must be an end of hostilities. What more did he want? I was bold enough to ask him.

“France is mine,” he said, “and what pleases me most is that I have made my French Princess Queen of England. But you will learn, little one, that there is often as much strife in holding what one has gained as in taking possession of it. To have is important, but it must not be forgotten that one must hold.”

However, for that Christmas we gave ourselves up to pleasure. He could be as merry as any. We danced and sang; we played the harp together.

It was a wonderfully happy Christmas.

I might have known it could not last.

My friend Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, told me that the English were getting restive. They were not pleased that their King should desert them and spend so much of his time away from his own land. Conquests were all very well and when the conquering heroes returned they could be certain of a rapturous welcome, but Henry was first and foremost King of England, and that should not be forgotten.

Margaret said: “I heard news from England. Humphrey of Gloucester is Regent while the Duke of Bedford is in France and…well, it is not that the people do not like Humphrey…but he is not like Clarence or Bedford. He likes a little riotous living. He frequents the taverns. He is overfond of women. Mind you, he is full of energy and has great charm. He is something of a scholar, too. He is an odd mixture of a man. But…he is very ambitious. I have always fancied that he is a little envious of Henry…oh, full of admiration, of course, but in my opinion he is deeply discontented because he was born his father’s youngest son instead of his eldest.”

“He sounds a little…dangerous.”

Margaret lifted her shoulders. “One to be watched,” she suggested.

Margaret was right. Messengers came from England. There were letters for Henry, and he shut himself in with them for some little time.

It was not long after that that he talked to me. It was night, and we were alone. He put his arms around me and said: “How do you fancy a sea voyage?”

I looked at him in astonishment and he went on: “The Channel is not at its most inviting in the winter, but crossing it is a necessity, I fear.”

“You mean…England?”

He nodded. “And soon.”

Everything was “soon” in Henry’s mind. He could never brook delay. Once he had made up his mind, the deed was as good as done.

“I must return,” he said. “I have been away too long. When all is said and done, England is my first responsibility.”

“And France?”

“I am going to appoint your mother Regent.”

“My mother!”

“I think she is devoted to your interests.”

I looked at him in astonishment and he went on: “Because they are hers. Moreover, it will be in name only. My brother John will remain in France. He will be in charge of everything.”

“But my mother …”

“Kate,” he said solemnly, “conquerors are never popular with the conquered. They are treated with honor only because the alternative would be too painful. A conquered people should be treated with care. They have been deeply humiliated by the conquest. The wise conqueror lessens the humiliation wherever possible. So I shall call your mother Regent and my brother John will, of course, make sure all goes well for us.”

“You trust John?”

“Absolutely. I am fortunate in my brothers. Thomas…dear Thomas…and John…good John and…er…Humphrey …”

“Humphrey is now looking after affairs in England for you.”

“Humphrey is the youngest.” He smiled affectionately. “He can be a little wild. I understand that.”

“As you were once,” I said.

“As I was once. It helps me understand Humphrey. He is a little like me. He will grow out of it.”

“You grew out of it when you became King. Humphrey will not have a crown to change him.”

“I should have grown out of it in any case…as he will. But…at the moment I must go back. I know all will be well here in John’s hands and very soon we shall return to France.”

I was excited at the prospect of going to England. For one thing, I should escape from my mother. I should indeed feel a few regrets to part from my father; but I was young and wanted new experiences. I was fast falling in love with my husband and the new life he offered; and to be with my father was a continual sadness, for one could not help sharing something of his sorrows and therefore one’s happy exhilarating existence must be tinged with the sadness of his.

As I said, Henry could not endure delay. We were going to England; therefore we should set out at once. It was winter, but, to Henry, that was of little consequence. He would have preferred spring, of course; but this happened to be winter and that was when we should go.

The Duke of Bedford had arrived with 6,000 men to escort us to Calais.

I liked my brother-in-law, John, as soon as we met. He was more like Henry than any of the others, not so much in appearance as—I was to discover—in character. He was a clever man, but slightly less clever than Henry; he was shrewd, brave, clear-sighted and resourceful. But it seemed to me that with all these qualities he just slightly failed to equal Henry. I think, too, that he was clever enough to know this, and I liked him for that. Henry was his hero and he was content to serve under him.

Humphrey was clever, but the difference between him and John was that John realized his limitations in regard to Henry; Humphrey did not, and all through his life he would tell himself, I would have equaled my brother Henry. The only reason I did not is that I had the misfortune not to be born my father’s eldest son.

I felt I was beginning to know my new family, and the experience was agreeable. My friendship with the Duchess of Clarence was now to be repeated with the Duke of Bedford.

We reached Amiens, where I was lodged with the bailiff. Several of my countrymen and-women came to see me there. They brought me presents and wished me well. It was comforting to know that they still held me in high regard. In fact, I think many of them were delighted to be at peace and were grateful to me for helping bring that about. There is no greater destroyer of happiness than war, when lands are devastated by ruthless soldiery and cities destroyed. Oh yes, it was a great relief to these people that the war was largely at an end, and their Princess was happily married to Henry of England.

We embarked at Calais. I do not want to dwell on the discomforts…I might even say torments…of that strip of water which had to be crossed. It is best forgotten. Henry, of course, was unaffected; but that did not mean he had no sympathy for those who were not. My relief at sighting the white cliffs of my new country was intense.

As soon as we alighted we were greeted by crowds of cheering people, and this continued throughout the journey to London.

“One of the first things we must do,” said Henry, “is to have you crowned. It will then be seen that you are the Queen in very truth.”

It was shortly after my landing on English soil that I was crowned in Westminster Abbey. There was not much time to prepare, but by now I had learned that, with Henry, everything had to be done with the utmost speed. I often thought of how my mother would have reveled in preparing me for that great event. Instead of which I had only three busy weeks in which to make myself ready.

I went from the Palace of Westminster to the Abbey, where I was crowned by the Archbishop. It was a solemn and impressive ceremony, as coronations must be. I was too moved and overwhelmed to remember all the people around me.

The banquet which followed remains more memorable to me. I think that was because of the people I met there.

There was the Duke of Gloucester, that Humphrey whom I had already met briefly, and of whom I had heard so much. He had arranged the feast and he stood bareheaded before me. We surveyed each other with the utmost interest. He was good-looking—rather like Henry; he had great charm; and I could see, by the way his eyes appeared to take in every detail of my appearance, that he was attempting to assess me in many ways. I supposed he was thinking that as the King’s wife I would have some influence with him; he was wondering, I guessed, to what use I would put it. He studied me with other objects in mind and I thought I detected faintly lecherous lights in his eyes. My opinion that I would have to be watchful of Humphrey was confirmed.

Another who interested me was Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. Margaret had mentioned him to me in my conversations with her, and I knew of his connection with the royal family. He was a brilliant man, a son of John of Gaunt, himself a son of Edward III, and Katherine Swynford, whom John of Gaunt had eventually married, after she had been his mistress for several years. The children had all been legitimized when the marriage took place. They were clever and ambitious and, Margaret said, the rest of the family was inclined to look down on them as, although made legitimate, they had been born out of wedlock. There had been trouble between Henry Beaufort and Gloucester and I was sure resentment lingered.

Another whom I met on that occasion was James I of Scotland, who was Henry’s prisoner and had been in a kind of captivity for the last seventeen years. He was treated with the respect due to a king, but he was a prisoner nonetheless. He was handsome and charming and he did not seem as though he were a captive. I wanted to know more about him and I decided I would ask Henry at an appropriate moment.

The banquet was sumptuous, but as we were in Lent it consisted mainly of fish; the only diversion from the Lenten abstention was brawn served with mustard.

As I looked at that table weighed down with fish of all kinds—soles, crayfish, lobster, roach, lampreys, congers and other varieties—my thoughts temporarily flashed back to those days in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, where there was only a crust or two to be shared by six hungry children.

The table had been decorated with tableaux, all bearing some significance to the occasion. There was one of St. Katherine, my patron saint, discoursing with doctors, and in the right hand of the statue of the saint was a scroll on which was written in gold letters “Madame la Reine.” There were others depicting Henry as the conqueror of France.

I was exhilarated and happier than I had ever been before. I believed that I had escaped from my troubled country forever and that my marriage was one of those romances which began in strife and ended in happiness ever after.

It was wonderful to be given such homage; I, the daughter of the defeated King, to be showered with blessings by my wise and all-conquering husband!

It was even more wonderful to be alone with Henry afterward. He was pleased with the day’s proceedings and, I think, delighted to see me overwhelmed by the welcome and honors I had received.

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him of what I had endured in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, to make him see those cold and hungry children, wondering about that wild man, our father, who was confined close to us.

I could not believe all this had happened to that frightened little girl. But here I was…Queen of England…beloved by her husband and his people. It seemed too wonderful to be true.

He embraced me with passion, and it was not the time for talking of such things.

I was too excited to sleep; and I think he was too. We lay side by side in the stillness. I reached for his hand.

I felt a great desire then to learn something of the people whom I had met at the banquet. There were so few occasions when it was possible to talk to Henry of such things.

“Are you happy, Kate?” he asked.

“Beyond all my dreams,” I answered.

“Then so am I.”

“It is wonderful that you came into my life. You have carried me away from all the strife…all the fears…everything that made life so…uneasy.”

“That is what I intended to do. Shall you be happy in England, Kate?”

“If you are with me.”

He pressed my hand and there was silence.

After a while, I said: “Tell me about the King of Scotland.”

“James? A pleasant enough fellow.”

“He seemed…quite charming…and not like a prisoner.”

“He has been with us for many years. It must be seventeen years since he was captured.”

“Seventeen years a prisoner?”

“He’s better off here than in his own land. When we took him, his life would not have been worth much if we had sent him back. Warring uncles, you know.”

“I do know…indeed.”

“A child king…that is one of the worst ills which can befall a country. Let us thank God that you and I are young. We’ll have sons…many of them…as my father did. See how useful my brothers are to me. But to be a child and a king…that means trouble. There are too many seeking to rule…fighting each other. You know that, with your Armagnacs and Burgundians. There’s nothing unusual in it, Kate. It was the natural course of affairs…So we must get to it. Let us get sons…we must waste no time.”

I was happy that night, but the next day Henry said: “I must get up to the north. There is a little trouble there. I have been away too long.”

“When do we leave?”

“I shall go today and you will stay here for a while. You will be more comfortable here.”

“Without you?”

“It is not for long. Just a short trip up to the north. I shall have to go to France soon and I shall have to replenish the army. Money, Kate. That is what I need and it has to come from the people. So to the north first to settle them down…and then to the countryside to show myself as the conqueror, the King of France to be. I want to show them how their money is spent. They love victories. Well, praise God! I have had some of those.”

“So you will go as a soldier…not as a husband.”

He slapped his thigh and laughed. “There you have it, Kate. That’s the answer.”

I was bitterly disappointed. All the euphoria of last night had gone. I knew I had hoped for too much. He would constantly be going off and I should have to face long periods without him. It was my fate and I should have to accept it.

Before he went, he said: “I’ll be with you by Easter, Kate. We’ll celebrate the feast together.”

I felt lonely without him and with only Guillemote—how thankful I was that I had been able to bring her with me!—and the few friends I had been able to make since my arrival to keep me company. It was so different from what I had hoped.

Easter seemed long in coming. I was excited when on Palm Sunday I left Westminster Palace for Windsor.

I loved Windsor on sight and have done so ever since. I was thrilled as we came through the park and forest and up the long walk on either side of which grew stately elms. I was thinking of Henry and wondering how long we should stay in this beautiful spot.

I hoped the people of the north had settled down and that his subjects were prepared to give him what he wanted. Then I thought that, if they did, soon his army would be off to make fresh conquests. What conquests? Had he not subdued France? Bedford would act as his deputy there. I wondered if I could persuade him that it was his duty to remain in England. The idea was ludicrous. It would amuse him, though. I could imagine his laughing at me.

There was so much to occupy me at Windsor. I loved to roam through those stately rooms; I loved to walk outside, to stroll around the castle, to touch those gray stone walls. When I heard that Edward III had started to rebuild certain parts of the castle and Richard had finished it, that seemed to bring Isabelle close to me. I was sure she had stood where I was standing, for Richard would have brought her here; he would have shown her the mews which he had built for his falcons.

Each day I looked for Henry. Good Friday came…a day spent in prayer and meditation; then Easter Day and he still did not come.

“The King must be here soon,” I said to Margaret, Duchess of Clarence.

“Yes, in time,” she answered. “It is always so with kings. One can never be sure. Something may have happened…something which needs his attention.”

“Something more pressing than his desire to be with me,” I said a trifle bitterly.

“You married a soldier, my lady,” she replied.

It was during the period while I was waiting for Henry to come to Windsor that I met Margaret’s daughter, Jane. I had noticed this lovely young girl about the Court and had wondered who she was; and I was particularly pleased when Margaret presented her to me.

I congratulated her on having such a beautiful daughter. She saw that I was puzzled because I knew she had not been married long enough to Clarence to have a daughter of such an age.

She explained to me: “Her father was John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset. He was my first husband.”

She talked to me then about her sons Henry, John and Edmund; but it was Jane on whom she doted. I supposed that a mother in her position saw little of her sons, who were always taken away from their own home to be brought up in the household of some nobleman where they would learn the chivalric arts. I had always thought that was sad and that my brothers, sisters and I could have had a far happier childhood if we had not been born royal; but the same applied to all noble houses.

I discovered that Margaret’s first husband had been the eldest son of John of Gaunt by Katherine Swyford; so there was royal blood in the veins of her children.

I wondered a great deal about Margaret. Was she happy with the Duke of Clarence? He had seemed to me a charming man when I had met him—but very briefly, of course.

It was pleasant to get to know Margaret. It helped to pass the time while I was waiting for Henry to come as he had promised.

Easter had passed when a message came from him.

He could not come to Windsor, but I was to leave at once and go to Leicester, where he would join me.

Overjoyed, I prepared to leave.

It was wonderful to be with him again. I forgot all my resentment that he had not kept his promise to come to Windsor.

I was happy, but when he explained to me that I was to take part in his journey through the country, I understood why I had been summoned.

“You see, Kate,” he said frankly, “you are important in this. I am asking them for money. I need money. I have to keep an army in France. I have to prepare to take the crown when the time comes.”

He paused and looked at me uncertainly, realizing I knew that he was talking to me about the death of my father, which must take place before the crown was his.

“Forgive me, Kate. I have the manners of a rough soldier. I should know better.”

There was something endearing about him in such a mood. It was characteristic that he could see faults in himself and did not hesitate to admit them. If he were wrong, he never pretended to be right. He was like that with his men. It was one of the reasons why he had their complete loyalty.

He put his hand over mine and I clung to his.

“You understand me, Kate. I know your fondness for your father. Poor man. His is a sad fate. He will never be wholly sane, I fear; and I do not think he values his life greatly.”

“That is true,” I said. “In his frenzies he called for those about him to kill him.”

“On his passing I shall be crowned King of France and that has to come, Kate. Well, I want the people to realize the achievement of our armies. I want them to understand that we have become mighty and will be mightier still. I want them to see you beside me.”

“As part of the spoils you have brought home from France,” I murmured.

He laughed and swung me up in his arms. “There is no booty which has delighted me more.”

So there I was beside him, through those triumphant rides, listening to him as he talked to the people, eloquently rousing them to patriotism…making them see that it was imperative that they pay for the glory which was theirs.

It was wonderful to see the effect he had on them.

We visited every church on the route where he thanked God for His help in the past and reminded Him that it must not be withheld in the future.

Henry was deeply religious. He was indefatigable in his condemnation of the religious sect who called themselves the Lollards.

“Lollards?” I said. “What a strange name.”

“It comes from the German Lollen, I once heard,” he told me, “which means, ‘to sing.’ I suppose they earned their name because they are always singing hymns. John Wycliffe started it off. Writing…preaching heresies. There could have been a serious rising against us. Fortunately we discovered this in time.” He was silent, his brow furrowed. “A man I knew well at one time,” he went on after a pause, “it was in the days of my youth. John Oldcastle…he was the head of it. He was the last man I would have believed would have turned to religion. He changed. Men change. A crown changed me and these heresies changed him. And what we were, we are not today. But…it is in the past. But I am moved when I think of John Oldcastle. He was hung up and burned alive.”

I caught my breath in horror.

Henry nodded slowly and sat very quietly, staring into nothing.

Then he roused himself and said: “A man one has once been merry with…we drank together, laughed together…sported together…but we could not see into the future then. No…I cannot believe this of old John Oldcastle.” He stood up abruptly. “Life goes on,” he said. “I’ll pray for the old fellow tomorrow. Pray with me, Kate.”

I would indeed, I said: and I fancied all that evening he went on thinking of his onetime friend who had turned traitor through religion.

I could not forget the man. He had once been Henry’s friend and yet he had come to a terrible end. Henry had been fond of him once. How could he have allowed that to happen?

He might have been a traitor, yes, but surely he could have had a less horrific death? Henry could have stopped it—and he had not done so. He was ruthless. I had known that. He pursued his ends with unswerving determination. How else could he have achieved so much?

Into my love for him there crept that night a little fear. Our courtship had been brief. I had been enchanted by the genial conqueror. But how much did I know of Henry? He was a man who could allow an old close friend to die in such a terrible manner.

I knew that we must soon be parted. I had learned that would be the pattern of our lives. I must therefore give myself up to the pleasure of his company while it was there for me to enjoy, for how could I know, from day to day, from hour to hour, when it would be snatched away from me?

It was about this time that I made a wonderful discovery. I believed that I was with child, and that drove all other speculations, doubts and fears from my mind.

I had meant to wait until I was certain before I told Henry, but I could not keep the news to myself.

I had never seen him so delighted. I laughed and exulted to see his joy.

“I believe,” I said, “that something can be more important to you than a victorious battle.”

“Battles are won…or lost, but this is our child. Yours and mine, Kate…and England’s. Our little king. We shall call him Henry. Yes, he must be Henry after his father and grandfather. King Henry VI of England.”

“Henry, please do not be so sure that it will be a boy.”

“But of course it will be a boy. You do not think my firstborn could be anything else!”

“He’s mine too.”

He laughed out loud. “You were meant to be a mother of sons. And suppose…just suppose that this one is not a boy. The next will be…and the next…and the next …”

“Please, let there be one at a time. I am not even absolutely sure. I did not mean to tell you until I was …”

He lifted me up and danced around the apartment with me. Then suddenly he stopped, remembering the precious burden I carried within me. He put me down rather gingerly. “We must take care of our son, Kate,” he said gravely, “the utmost care.”

I often saw him watching me with a tender smile on his face. He was even more pleased with our marriage. I knew he was thinking what a big part it had played in his plans for France, and now it was successful in that all-important way. We had been married quite a short time and had not been together a great deal, but there were already signs of fruitfulness.

He was a very happy man.

We were in Yorkshire and Henry planned to go farther north. The going had been rough and I had seen him on one or two occasions cast anxious looks in my direction.

When we retired for the night, he was very serious. “You are tired, Kate,” he said.

“Not more than usual after a long day’s journey.”

“We must think of the child. I have to go on to the north, but you shall not come with me. We will find a suitable spot and there you will stay and rest for a while.”

“But, Henry, I want to be with you.”

“God bless you, Kate, and do you think I do not wish that too? But you are going to await my return. The way may be rough and I’ll not have you taking risks with the child. You will stay comfortable while I continue the journey. It will only be for a week or so. Then I shall return and find you refreshed and ready for the journey south.”

I felt a little melancholy. It was only for a week or so, he said, but I knew Henry. Something could happen which needed his presence…and it could be a long time before I saw him again.

I tried to protest, but he was adamant. In fact, he was so accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question that it did not occur to him to take my objections seriously. I knew it was no use protesting; and I was not yet entirely certain that I was going to have a child.

The next morning we set out.

“We are not far from my castle of Pontefract,” said Henry. “You shall stay there and wait for me.”

Pontefract! It was a castle I had heard spoken of with dread by my sister Isabelle.

When I saw it, I thought it was as I had imagined it when I had heard of Richard’s last days there.

As we rode toward it, I thought it was like a prison; but perhaps that was because I was thinking of Richard’s meeting his miserable and mysterious death within its walls.

It looked formidable—a fortress built on a rock. The walls were high and flanked by seven towers. There was a moat with a drawbridge which was lowered as we approached.

The castellan was waiting to pay homage to the King.

Food was prepared for us, and while we feasted in the great hall Henry explained to the castellan and his wife that I should be staying there for a short while and the utmost care must be taken of me. I was in a delicate state and in need of rest. It was for this reason that I was not continuing with the King on his journey.

The place filled me with revulsion. I kept seeing Isabelle’s sad face when she had told me of the last days of her husband. And here I was…within those very walls. I wanted to get away.

I knew it was no use talking to Henry. His mind was made up, and in his thoughts he was already on his way, calling people to his side, assuring them how necessary it was, for the honor of England, to meet the heavy taxes that were essential to the success of his operations.

When I lay in my room, I fancied I could hear the cries of those who had suffered in this grim place. It was more than twenty years ago that Richard had died…and Isabelle herself was dead now.

I must not be fanciful. I must, as Henry said, try to rest here. There was the child to think of.

I was glad to have Guillemote with me, and Margaret and her daughter Jane were among my attendants. I found their presence particularly comforting; but I could not shake off this heavy pall of melancholy which seemed to be a part of this dismal castle.

I longed to be away. I was sure it would be far better for me to be riding through the countryside, perhaps a little exhausted at the end of the day, than here where sad memories were coming to me.

Yet the place had a fascination for me. Isabelle seemed to be with me; and when, on my first day, I learned that her second husband, the Duke of Orléans, was actually in Pontefract, she seemed nearer to me than ever. I knew that Orléans had been captured at Agincourt, but Henry had not mentioned, when he had told me I was to go to Pontefract, that Orléans was a prisoner there. Perhaps he had forgotten.

However, it was a shock for me to discover that we were under the same roof, and I felt that fate was playing some sinister trick, to bring Isabelle’s second husband to the very place where the first had died.

I used to wake in the night and put out a hand to touch Henry. Then I would remember that he had gone and where I was…in Pontefract Castle…and a certain terror would creep over me. I remember sitting up in bed and looking around the strange apartment for a few seconds before remembering. Then it came to me that somewhere not far away Richard had been incarcerated…a prisoner…and waking as I had, listening for a step close by, wondering if an assassin was lurking in a dark corner…And what had happened? Had his end been like that?

There were ghosts in this place. I knew it. I could sense that terrible things had happened here.

I could hear Isabelle’s voice: “I do not know what happened at Pontefract. Some say he was murdered…slashed to death by Bolingbroke’s men; some say they starved him to death; others that he starved himself. How can I know, Katherine? Perhaps one day I will.”

And somewhere here in this castle was Orléans, the husband who had made Isabelle happy as she had thought she would never be after the tragedy of her first marriage.

It was small wonder that I could not rest happily in Pontefract. I should have told Henry that I would be unhappy here. Would he have understood? No. He was too practical perhaps. And in any case he would be thinking ahead to his next project: money to get to France. Rebels to subdue. There would always be rebels in a conquered country. I kept thinking of his old friend John Oldcastle…hanging over the fire. And he had been an old friend. Henry could have stopped it. But the man was a heretic; he had planned rebellion. Did Henry never think of those old days? This John Oldcastle must have been one of those who had accompanied him on his tavern adventures. I wondered what those adventures had involved. I believed that on one occasion Henry had become caught up with the law.

I began to ask myself, what did I know of Henry? He loved me, I was sure. I was good-looking…for a princess. I was attracted by him. I was about to bear his child. I had been all that a conqueror could have asked for.

I knew the King, but what did I know of the man?

Those were uncomfortable days at Pontefract for within those evil walls I was prone to introspection. Henry should never have left me there.

I had a compulsion to wander around the castle. I liked to talk to the men-at-arms. I found them courteous and respectful. Surely they would not dare be otherwise to Henry’s Queen; but I found them friendly, too.

I thought I detected in one of them a certain sadness. He was older than the others. I approached him once when he was alone and I boldly asked him how long he had been in the castle.

“All my life, my lady. I was born here. My father was a guard before me. It’s a tradition in the family, you might say.”

“Were you here when…King Richard …?”

He looked wary, but he nodded.

“That was a long time ago, my lady. I was a young man then.”

“Could you show me where he was lodged?”

He hesitated for a moment. I said: “I should like to see it. My sister was his wife.”

“Yes, my lady, the Little Queen. I hear she was a very beautiful young lady.”

“She was. She is dead now.”

He crossed himself and murmured something like “God rest her soul.”

“Could you then …?”

“People don’t go there much now.”

“I should like to.”

He hesitated for one more moment. I wondered whether it was against orders. But I was the Queen. I could not be refused.

I stepped into the small room. It looked dark and eerie.

“So this is where he lived…and died. Did you see him?”

“I was young then. It wasn’t talked of in the castle. You see this pillar here…from the floor to the roof? You see these notches in it? I heard it said that these were made by the axes of his murderers as he fled around it. But who’s to say whether that be true?”

“Did you believe it?”

He was cautious. He was doubtless remembering that I was the King’s wife and that the King was the son of that man who had taken the crown from Richard.

“There’s some said that he starved himself to death,” he said. “Who’s to know? Others said he was starved by them. Some say he escaped from Pomfret.”

Pomfret? I was puzzled for the moment; then I remembered that Pomfret was another name for Pontefract. I had heard that the man who had built it had named it after Pomfret, a town in Normandy which the place resembled.

“Escaped?” I said.

“Some said he reached Scotland and was befriended by the Scots King and lived in Scotland for many years.”

“Do you believe that?” I asked.

“No, my lady. He died in this room.”

“Murdered?”

“Hacked or starved to death. “Tis murder, every way you look at it.”

“You feel it here…do you?” I asked, and then wished that I had not expressed such a fanciful thought.

But the man nodded.

I had another experience while I was at Pontefract. I talked with the Duke of Orléans.

I said that he was my brother-in-law and I wished to see him. Our hosts were unsure whether my wish should be granted. But they remembered that I was Queen of England, and if Henry had not wished me to see Orléans, either he would not have brought me to Pontefract or he would have given orders that I was not to see him.

So here was another sad reminder of Isabelle.

Charles of Orléans looked older than when I had last seen him. Captivity was not as irksome to him as it might have been to some people. He was a poet rather than a warrior and I had always fancied that he would rather have lived in peaceful obscurity than in the blaze of one near the throne.

I was taken to his apartments in the castle. They were very comfortable, and it was obvious that he was treated in accordance with his rank. He was a prisoner only in the fact that he was not able to leave the castle without guards.

He embraced me warmly.

“I hear what goes on now and then,” he said. “Our poor country is in a sorry state. We have been ignobly defeated, and because of that…I am here, and you also.”

“Yes. The war has had a great effect on our lives. Tell me, Charles, are you treated well?”

“I do not complain.”

“What do you do here?”

“I am allowed to walk. Sometimes I ride, if there are enough guards available to accompany me. I write …”

“Your poetry, of course.”

“It satisfies me. You understand, Katherine?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I brood a great deal. I pray for forgiveness.”

“For the death of Burgundy?”

“I never wanted that, Katherine.”

“I know.”

“All this strife within. It was certain to lead to ruin. I remember those days with Isabelle. They were the happiest of my life.”

“She was happy with you, Charles.”

“I know. That makes it all the more sad. If only she had lived …”

“Then you would not have married again.”

“I did not want to. Armagnac decided…and it had to be. My life ever after has been like something out of a nightmare…until I was captured at Agincourt. Sometimes I wished I had gone the way of so many others.”

“No, Charles, you must not say that.”

“And then…Isabelle is dead…if only she had lived!”

“She would be mourning now…separated from you as she would be. At least she did not have to suffer that.”

We talked of Isabelle. He read some of his poetry to me and when he did so his face was transfigured with a certain contentment; and I believed that he was happier in his prison than he had been as the tool of the ambitious Armagnacs.

It was long since Isabelle had died, but I felt her close to me during those days in tragic Pontefract.

I was relieved and delighted when Henry came riding into the castle.

He kissed me fondly. I was now sure that I was pregnant and I told him this, to his great delight.

“Did the people respond as you wished to your plans for taxes?” I asked.

“To a man…and woman,” he replied jubilantly.

“Does that mean you will soon be leaving England again?”

“Nay,” he cried. “I would not want you to travel. I shall stay in England until my son is born.”

I was happy. I was going to forget all my misgivings. Henry loved me and I loved him. I would not ask myself so many questions. I would stop wondering how deep his affection for me went. I must learn one of the great lessons of life which was that people were as they were, and to attempt to change them could prove fatal to any relationship.

So a few weeks passed. We were in June, and June is a beautiful month. My baby was due in December. It was a long time to wait, but I looked forward to the waiting months because Henry would be with me.

He was looking forward with great excitement to the birth. What if the child should prove to be a girl? But even if it were, we should love it, and the fact that I had become pregnant so quickly augured well. I knew that Henry was looking to a happy future when his family would be as numerous as that in which he had grown up…or perhaps he visualized more children, as everything Henry did must be better than others.

I might have known that such happiness could not last.

I remember the day well—a hot June day. I had awakened to a feeling of intense happiness. I was feeling very well, no longer experiencing those early inconveniences which sometimes are the lot of pregnant women. The days were full of contentment. I was growing fonder of Henry, and our love for each other was a great joy; we played our harps together as we lived, in harmony.

Thoughts of the coming child absorbed us both. We talked of the event continuously.

It was in the early afternoon when messengers came riding to Westminster. I knew from their demeanor that something terrible had happened. I was with Henry when he received them. There were two of them and they both knelt before the King; I could see that they were desperately afraid to give him the news.

“It was at Beaugé,” they said.

“Yes, yes,” cried Henry impatiently. “Tell me the worst. Our forces have been defeated?”

The men were silent for a few seconds. Henry roared out: “Speak! For the love of God, tell me!”

“It is the Duke, my lord…the Duke of Clarence.”

“They have taken him …”

That terrible silence again and then: “He was slain, Sire.”

I watched the emotion in Henry’s face. This was his brother…his best-loved brother. Slain! I thought of Margaret…a widow once more. Oh, the tragedy of war! Why did men have to make it? How much happier we should all be without it!

Henry began questioning the men. They stammered out what had happened.

I could not bear to see the misery on Henry’s face. He loved all his brothers, but Clarence was the one closest to him. It was more than that. I knew that he was thinking that the line of victories had been broken. This was defeat. The French had beaten the English. And the reason? Because he was not there.

I knew him well enough to read his thoughts. He had indulged himself; he had given way to a desire for family life. He had been spending time with his wife, contemplating the birth of his child, and consequently the French had beaten the English, and his beloved brother had been killed.

The messengers feared the wrath which was sometimes the reward of bringing bad news; but Henry was too sensible for that. His grief was intense but it was under control.

He fired questions at them. He wanted to know all that had happened.

It was something like this: when we had come to England, Bedford accompanying us, Henry had left Clarence behind as Captain of Normandy and Lieutenant of France. Clarence had carried on with Henry’s advance and had reached Beaufort-en-Vallée. My brother Charles, the Dauphin, had signed no contracts with Henry. I could imagine his wrath when he heard that our mother and father had given away his birthright and I had become Henry’s queen. Naturally there would be many who would deplore the surrender of France and would rally around him. Moreover, the Scots were the perennial enemies of the English, and there were many in France who had gone there to support the French.

I understood the attitude of Henry’s brothers toward him. They recognized his brilliance and all regarded him with a certain awe and sought to emulate him. Bedford was the only one who realized that, efficient as he might be, he did not, nor ever could, compare his skills with the military genius of Henry. Clarence believed that he could equal it; Gloucester, I was to discover, was deluded enough to think he could excel it.

I guessed that what Clarence wanted was to present Henry with as great a victory as Agincourt—with himself, Clarence, as the hero of the day.

When he heard that the Dauphin was marching on Beaugé with a strong force, he was impatient to go into battle. His main army was not at hand and could not join up with him for a day or so; but he was eager for glory, and with a very small force he rode in to the attack. It was brave but it was folly.

I watched Henry half close his eyes and grind his teeth as he listened.

Clarence’s little band of knights were quickly overcome and in the fighting which ensued Clarence was slain.

Henry stood numb. I guessed what emotion he was suffering. Grief at the loss of a beloved brother and there would be the realization that the aura of invincibility, which he had built up and which he believed was one of the elements of victory, had been tarnished.

Oh, foolish Clarence! Henry would never have acted so. He would have waited. He would have taken no risks. Great planners only took risks when it was necessary to do so. Henry would never have been so foolish as to attack without the means to win. But others were not Henry.

“My lord,” went on the messengers. “The Earl of Salisbury recovered the bodies of those who were slain. They are sending the Duke’s body back to England.”

Henry nodded. He stood silent for a few moments; then he dismissed the men. They needed refreshment and rest; they had ridden far and fast.

They were relieved to go.

I looked at Henry and I knew that the peaceful days were over. He was shedding the role of lover, husband and prospective father. These were forgotten in that of the conquering king.

“I must leave for France,” he said, “as quickly as possible.”

I had known it would happen. The next days were spent in feverish preparation. I scarcely saw him and wondered when I should again.

The day came for his departure. He expressed regret at leaving me, but I knew that his heart was in France.

On the last night we spent together he spoke about the child.

“Perhaps you will be back by December,” I said. “You should be here when he is born.”

“I shall do my utmost to be here, but who can say? I did not plan to leave England until after he was born.” Then he became very solemn. “The boy must not be born at Windsor,” he said.

Not at Windsor! Indeed, I had thought that my confinement should take place there. It was the place I loved best of all the castles and palaces of England. I had promised myself that I would go there and await the birth of my child. And now he was saying it must not be Windsor.

“No,” he repeated, “I do not want him to be born in Windsor.”

“I cannot think why you should say that. It is the most beautiful place I know. I felt happy there…at peace with myself and the world.”

“Windsor is a fine castle…yes. The park and the forest are indeed majestic. But there are other places. And remember this, Kate: I do not wish my son to be born at Windsor. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Then, sweetheart, that is settled.”

That night, as I lay beside him, I was thinking, when shall I see him again? By that time I shall surely have my son…or perhaps a daughter. That was the one thing of which I felt certain.

And the next day he was gone.

After he left I went to Windsor. A mood of serenity had settled upon me. There was a certain relief in not having to ask myself when the summons would come to take him away. He was gone and there was no point in thinking about it any more. I knew some months would pass before he returned. Moreover, there was the baby to think of.

In six months’ time the child would be born, and as the days passed I could forget everything but that wondrous fact.

Guillemote was in her element. She loved babies and was looking forward to mine with as much excitement as I was myself.

Since I had come to England I had grown very fond of four of my English attendants. They were Agnes and the three Joannas. We often laughed about their having the same name. They were Joanna Courcy, Joanna Belknap and Joanna Troutbeck. With these friends around me, I could not feel that I was in an alien land.

I knew we should all be happy at Windsor. Each day when I awoke I would remind myself that I was a day nearer to the great occasion which was to take place in December. My own child! That was what I wanted more than anything on earth.

We talked about the child continually. Guillemote was making tiny garments. She remembered me, she said, when I was little more than a baby.

“I watched you grow,” she said, shaking her head and thinking back, I knew, to those days in the Hôtel de St.-Paul. We should never cast off the memory of those days—any of us who had lived through them. Guillemote could only have been a young girl when she came, but they would live in her memory forever.

It was about three weeks after Henry had left that Jacqueline of Bavaria arrived and the peace of Windsor was broken; one cannot say that it was shattered exactly, but it was ruffled.

Jacqueline was a disturbing person; moreover, she was filled with resentment against life.

I remembered her slightly from the old days when I had seen her once or twice, for she had been my sister-in-law, having been married briefly to my brother Jean.

She had gone back to her birthplace, Bavaria, when Jean had died, for she was the daughter of the Count of Hainault, Holland and Zealand and Margaret of Burgundy, sister of Jean the Fearless, the murdered Duke.

When her father died, she had inherited all his lands and had married the Duke of Brabant, who was her cousin and also a cousin of Philip, Duke of Burgundy. However, her uncle, at one time Bishop of Liège and known as John the Pitiless, had usurped her possessions, having tricked her second husband, the weak Duke of Brabant, into signing them away.

As a result she was in exile and had been given refuge in England, where she was treated with great respect. This might have been partly due to her connection with me, for I suppose the Queen’s former sister-in-law could not have been denied a haven.

I said to Guillemote: “We must be patient with her. We must let her talk of her wrongs. It helps her. She has suffered so much. Imagine being an exile…and robbed of one’s inheritance. She is just about three months older than I.”

“She looks years older,” said Guillemote.

“She certainly looks experienced,” added Joanna Courcy.

“One would expect her to be after having had two husbands,” said Agnes.

“I remember her…just a little,” I told them. “She came to France when she was married to my brother Jean. He was Dauphin for a while.”

“She reckoned she would be Queen of France,” said Guillemote.

“Well, she might have been…had he lived. But he died, as my brother Louis had before him.”

“Two Dauphins…to die,” said Joanna Belknap. “How very sad…and strange.”

There was silence. I knew what they were thinking. I had thought it myself many times. It was suspicious…and my mother had liked neither of them. But did she like my brother Charles any more? For a few moments I was back in that unhappy past; my mother exerting her power over us all; my father shut away in darkness. Michelle was happy, I believed, with Burgundy, but how did it feel to live with the fact that her brother had been in the plot which had resulted in the death of her husband’s father? Marie was the only one who had found peace, in her convent. Charles…poor little baby brother…had lost his throne and was now trying to regain it. The Duke of Clarence had died because of that.

But I had escaped. I was the fortunate one. Here I was, happy at Windsor…awaiting the greatest event of my life. I must forget the past. I was beginning to. It was only now and then, on occasions like this, that it was brought back vividly to me.

Jacqueline was often in my company. I supposed she thought that, in view of the family connection between us, I should have her with me. She talked on and on about her grievances and I would feign to listen sympathetically while my thoughts were elsewhere. Would the child be a girl after all? I wondered. A little girl would be delightful, but of course it must be a boy. Henry wanted a boy. The country wanted a boy. The bells would peal out and everything that had gone before would be worthwhile because of this child.

Jacqueline was saying: “Of course, what they all wanted was Hainault, Holland, Zealand and Friesland. They were mine. That is why they were so eager to have me.”

I looked at her. She was quite comely; but there was something mildly repellant about her. It is due to what she has suffered, I told myself.

“They were ambitious for me,” she went on. “Both my mother and my father. It was a great blow to my father that I was not a boy. How highly men rate their own sex.”

I agreed. “It is because men lead other men into battle,” I said. “People always want war…or conquests. I do not think they like it overmuch when it goes against them. But for war, Henry would be here now. We had to marry to make a harmonious union between our two countries. But for war my father could have remained King and Charles would have followed him peacefully. But they had to make war, and what men would want a woman to lead them? When you come to think of it, what woman would want to lead them? That is why they always want boys.”

“If Jean had lived …”

“What if Jean had lived? Do you think Jean would have been able to stand out against Henry? Jean, less than any, wanted the crown.”

“They would not let me remain a widow for long,” she was saying.

“And you were not happy with your second marriage?” I asked perfunctorily, because I knew the answer already.

“How dared they marry me to such a weakling!”

“Well, he is your own cousin and therefore cousin to Philip of Burgundy.”

“He is a fool. He allowed my wicked uncle to rob us of our estates.”

“Money! Power! It seems there is always conflict where they exist. Oh, Jacqueline, do you not wish sometimes that we had not been born into families such as ours?”

She looked at me in astonishment. “No! No!” she cried. “I would not have it otherwise. We are the ruling class. We have the power.”

“Until we lose it. Look what has happened to you! What has happened to my family!”

“That was war. And all is well with you now. You have made your way to the winning side. All would have been well with me if they had not forced me into marriage with Brabant…and if my wicked uncle had not seen how he could cheat the fool and rob me of my rights.”

I knew so well by now the story of Jacqueline’s second marriage to the Duke of Brabant who had foolishly allowed himself to be tricked by her scheming uncle, who had made a treaty with the Duke that all the property left by his late brother to his daughter should pass to him.

“Brabant should have fought for my rights,” she cried in anguish. “Our marriage will be annulled. Yes, I shall be free of the fool. But look at me! What have I now? I…who was once the greatest heiress in Europe?”

I sympathized. We did what we could to help her, but her continual ranting about her wrongs wearied us.

“One day,” she said, “there will be someone who will help me regain what was stolen from me.”

“I hope so, Jacqueline,” I replied.

I did indeed. Then she would go back to her own country and leave us in peace.

Meanwhile I continued to plan for the baby.

The time was passing…July, August, September.

I watched the leaves turning to bronze. Time was passing and Henry showed no sign of coming home.

I thought, a little resentfully, that he should have been here for the birth of our child.

I left Windsor and went to Westminster. October came.

I said to Guillemote: “I long to be at Windsor.”

She replied: “Well, you could go there and return to Westminster for the birth. There is time.”

So we went to Windsor.

Jacqueline stayed at Westminster. She had been given a comfortable pension by the state which had mollified her a little. I was glad of that.

I wanted to spend my time peacefully waiting…in the company of my dear Guillemote and my faithful ladies.

November had come.

Guillemote said: “If the child is not to be born at Windsor, we should begin to think of leaving. You will not want to travel in a week or so.”

“Guillemote,” I replied, “I do not want to travel now.”

“I thought the King expressly said that the child must not be born at Windsor.”

“How could he get such a fancy, Guillemote? Henry…the practical soldier…to have such a whim. I love this place. I don’t feel so happy anywhere else. It is pleasant not to have Jacqueline always with me. It is so delightful here. I feel safe and secure. Just a few more days, Guillemote.”

“A few more days,” echoed Guillemote. “But no more.”

But when those days had passed I still felt reluctant to leave.

“They say a pregnant woman’s whims should be satisfied,” I reminded Guillemote.

“How shall we move later on? You will not be fit for it.”

“No, Guillemote. I shall not be.”

I do not know why I did what I did. It was like some compulsion. Each day I put off the departure. I thought he could not really have meant it. It was such a fanciful notion and Henry was not a man of fancies. It was just said on the spur of the moment. And I did not want to leave Windsor, where I was so happy.

I was still at Windsor when December came. The weather had turned cold. Bleak winds swept through the park and the forest and there were flurries of snow in the air.

“You could not leave in this,” said Guillemote. “The King would not wish it and I would not allow it.”

“No,” I said. “It is too late now, Guillemote.”

Then came that wonderful day when my child was born.

I lay on my bed and they brought him to me and put him in my arms. Happiness surged over me. My child had been safely born and he was perfect in every way.

“A beautiful boy,” they said.

I thought of Henry’s joy when the news reached him. But I had disobeyed him and my son had been born at Windsor.

What did that matter? It was a slight matter when he was here, alive…healthy.

I looked at his little red face, the tiny nose, the little hands, perfectly fitted with miniature nails…and on his head I pictured a crown.

Henry VI was born, and I was happy as I had never been before.

Each morning I awoke to a sense of excitement. I would go to the cradle and gloat over my son. Because Henry was absent there had as yet been no arrangements as to the setting up of a royal nursery. I could keep him with me as any lowborn mother might. That was wonderful.

Guillemote and I would talk of him endlessly. When he whimpered, there was a race between us to reach him first.

Those wonderful days were only overshadowed by the thought that they could not last.

Immediately little Henry had been born, news had been sent across the Channel to his father. I was very proud because I had given him not only a child but a son.

When the messengers returned, I sent for them and I asked what the King had said when the news was imparted to him. I wanted to know each detail.

“His joy was great, my lady. He first asked news of the boy. He was a little sad because he had been out of England at the time of his birth. Then he asked where he had been born.”

I felt a twinge of alarm. He had been so insistent. I could hear his voice echoing in my mind: “The child must not be born at Windsor.”

“And,” I prompted, “you told him …?”

“We told him that the Prince had been born at Windsor.”

“And what said he then?”

The messengers looked at each other and were silent for a moment.

“Yes,” I repeated. “And what said he?”

“He said nothing for a moment, but he seemed uneasy. Then he said slowly: ‘Are you sure that the Prince was born at Windsor?’ ‘Without a doubt,’ we told him.”

“And then?” I asked.

“It seemed, my lady, that a cloud came over his joy. He murmured something. Then he turned to us and said: ‘I, Henry born at Monmouth, shall small time reign and much get; but Henry of Windsor shall long reign and lose all.’ It was strange, my lady, and as though someone spoke through him. It was so clear…we remembered the exact words he spoke. Then he closed his eyes and murmured: ‘But if it is God’s will, so be it.’”

I was overcome with awe, and my conscience was greatly troubled. After the messengers had gone, I kept asking myself what he could have meant.

Then I demanded of myself why I had allowed it to happen.

It was the weather, I excused myself. But I could have got away earlier. Why had I so blatantly flouted Henry’s wishes? I had never done so before.

It was nothing, I assured myself. It was just a fancy of Henry’s.

It was no use. I could not console myself, and the terrible feeling of guilt remained. I was not able to dismiss the matter from my mind, and it cast a slight gloom over the happiness of those days.

Live in the moment, I admonished myself. Little Henry is yours now. For how long? I wondered. They would give him the grand household which they would say was the right of a prince, especially one who was heir to the throne. They would give him all that when what he wanted most was a mother’s love and care. It was foolish to let this fleeting happiness be marred by a sense of guilt over a very trivial matter.

One of my dearest friends was Johan Boyers. He was a doctor of philosophy who had been assigned to me as my confessor. I was attracted to him because he was a man to whom I could talk freely and he had helped me over one or two trifling matters.

At our next meeting I said to him: “There is something on my mind. It is of small account really, but it is worrying me.”

“Then let me hear it,” he said.

“Before he went to France, the King talked to me earnestly about the child we were to have.”

Johan nodded. “It was his great concern. He spoke to me of it. Above all things he wanted a son. I rejoice that God has seen fit to grant his wish.”

“Before the King went he asked me not to allow the child to be born at Windsor.”

“And you disobeyed his wishes?”

“I cannot understand it. I did not want to. But I love Windsor. It is the place where I am most content. I went there when the King left. I missed him very much, but my ladies are my good friends and I became deeply content thinking of little else but the child.”

“It is natural, my lady.”

“But…I did not leave Windsor. I meant to…but something held me there.”

“Because you wanted so much to stay?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. But I did not forget that Henry did not want the child to be born there. I kept telling myself that I would go…in time.”

“Did you have a compulsion to stay?”

“Yes,” I said eagerly, “I think I did.”

“And the King knows?”

“One of the first things he asked was where was the baby born.”

“And when he was told?”

“He made a strange remark. He said that Henry of Monmouth would gain a good deal and not reign long and Henry of Windsor would reign for a long time and lose a great deal. It seemed such an odd thing to say.”

“He may have been quoting some old prophecy. He must have had a premonition before he left, as he said he did not want the child to be born at Windsor.”

“It is baffling.”

“And what did he mean about reigning a short time? He is a great king. The people love him. He must reign for many years…and then…in due course…there will be another Henry to follow him.”

“But why did I stay? If I had known of this prophecy…or whatever it is…before, I should have done everything possible to get away from Windsor. And yet I had this compulsion to stay.”

Johan was thoughtful for awhile, then he said: “If we are going to take any account of this prophecy, we must say that it is God’s will that it should have happened as it did. There was nothing you could have done to change it.”

“I could have left Windsor. I could have made sure that my child was not born there, then he would not have been Henry of Windsor.”

“What is to be will be. If you had known of this you could have acted differently, it is true. But it was clearly not meant that you should know. You will forget this matter. It is a fancy which came into the mind of the King.”

“He is not given to fancies.”

“Perhaps we all are at times.”

“I wish that I knew what it meant.”

“God’s ways are mysterious. People have strange fancies…all of us do at times. Let us pray that all will be well with the King and his son.”

I was ready to do that with fervor.

And after a while I ceased to worry. It had just been a fancy on Henry’s part. Such prophecies were meaningless. I had a strong and virile husband and a healthy baby.

I must rejoice.

The baptism of my son was carried out with the ceremony due to the heir to the throne. I said to Guillemote that it was difficult to imagine our little one with such a grand title.

Henry had chosen his godparents: his brother John, Duke of Bedford, and Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, Henry’s father’s half-brother. They were both men who were held in high esteem. His godmother was Jacqueline of Bavaria, who was immensely delighted to be given this honor. She was sure that it meant Henry had her good at heart and in time might even help her to regain her lost provinces.

Little Henry, I am proud to say, behaved with impeccable decorum at his baptism and he was the object of much admiration.

The time was passing and I knew that change must come. The inevitable happened. It was a summons from Henry for me to join him in France.

At first I made wild plans for taking the baby with me. Then I thought of the unpredictable stretch of water between me and Henry. It would be May, I reminded myself; and that would be very different from February when I had crossed before. Then I remembered the rough going across country and I knew I was deluding myself. Of course the baby would have to stay in England.

The Council had decided these matters for me. I was a fool to have thought it possible. I should never have been allowed to take little Henry with me.

It was arranged that he should be left in the care of his uncle Humphrey, the Duke of Gloucester, while the King and I were in France, so I had to prepare myself to say farewell to my baby.

“Well,” said Joanna Troutbeck, “you won’t see the baby, but the King will make up for that.”

I wanted to say that nothing would make up for parting with my baby, but of course there would be some consolation in Henry’s company, though experience had taught me not to expect too much of that. There would be the usual battles, the partings, the reunions, and never knowing from one hour to the next when he would be gone.

Duke Humphrey came to see me and the child.

He was very charming and told me I need have no anxieties about my son. Everything could be safely left to him.

He did not appear to be the sort of man who would interest himself in nurseries. But he would not have to do so, of course—just make sure that the right people were about the child and did their work efficiently. I should insist on Guillemote’s staying with him.

Jacqueline was with me at this time. She showed an interest in her young godson, but I was never sure how deeply her feelings went. I imagined she gave more thought to her lost possessions than to her godmother’s vows.

She met Humphrey. After all, the boy was under his care and she was his godmother. It should make a common interest.

I could see that they were rather attracted to each other, and it was not long—as I had guessed would be the case—before Jacqueline was telling him of her wrongs.

He knew what had happened, of course, and why she was in England, but he listened with the utmost sympathy.

“My dear lady,” he soothed, “how you have suffered! That uncle of yours is indeed a wicked man. And your husband…he allowed it to happen!”

“My husband no more!” she cried. “We are divorced. The Pope has annulled our marriage.”

“The Pope has agreed to this?”

“The Spanish Benedict.”

“He whom some call the anti-Pope?”

“Anti-Pope or not, he has been a good friend to me.”

“Then I will say he is a good pope.”

They laughed together. I had never seen Jacqueline so merry before.

She talked to him about the importance of what she had lost. Hainault, Holland, Zealand and Friesland…all gone to the wicked uncle through treachery.

“But I do not despair,” she said. “One day some gallant and noble knight will come to my aid.”

Duke Humphrey was smiling at her.

“There can be no doubt of that,” he said. “Godspeed the day.”

At length he left, reluctantly, and I remarked to my ladies that he had talked more to Jacqueline than to me.

“He seemed taken with her,” said Agnes.

“In my opinion,” said Joanna Courcy, “he is taken with Hainault, Holland, Zealand and Friesland.”

We all laughed, and I set about getting on with my preparations to leave.

John, Duke of Bedford, was to escort me to France. I had said my farewells to my baby and left him in Guillemote’s careful hands. She had assured me that I had nothing to worry about. The Duke of Gloucester had given me his word that when the baby’s household was arranged Guillemote should remain with him.

The crossing was fairly calm, and on landing I was accompanied by Bedford and 20,000 men to Vincennes.

Henry was in the wood there with my parents, waiting to greet me.

What an emotional reunion that was! Henry embraced me with fervor. I had been a little worried as to what his reaction would be after I had disobeyed him regarding little Henry’s birthplace; but he did not seem to remember that in his joy at seeing me.

My father embraced me with tears on his cheeks. I was fearful that the deep emotion might bring on one of his periods of madness.

“My daughter…my Katherine …” he murmured. “I am so proud of you.”

My mother, plumper than ever, gloriously appareled, perfumed and sparkling, kissed me with an outward display of affection.

“My dear, dear daughter,” she cried. “How wonderful for us to be together again. It has been so long. And now there is the little one. How I wish I could see him! Later on he must come here to be with me.”

Never, I thought; but I smiled pleasantly.

I rode side by side with Henry to our lodging, and at last we were alone.

I thought he looked a little strained, and when the first passionate reunion was over I asked tentatively about his health.

“I’m well enough, Kate,” he said. “A soldier’s life is not an easy one. We go from place to place, and Meaux was an obstinate city. I did not think they could hold out so long.”

“I was hoping this fighting would be over.”

“I doubt we shall ever be completely at peace here. These people…they have too much resistance.”

“They resent the conqueror. That is natural.”

“I know. I’d have a poor opinion of them if they were otherwise. But it makes the going hard.”

“They will go on resisting forever,” I said.

He nodded grimly. “That may be so, but where they rise against me, they will be put down. Never fear. Now…tell me of our son.”

“He is wonderful and beginning to know us. Everyone dotes on him.”

“And strong…and healthy?”

“He is the son of his father!”

It was the wrong thing to have said, I knew, because I saw a shadow pass across his face. Is he as well as he pretends to be? I wondered.

I knew that sooner or later he would broach the subject of Henry’s birthplace and I decided to mention it first.

“I am sorry,” I said, “that I did not get away from Windsor in time for the birth.”

“What kept you?”

“It was the weather,” I said quickly, suppressing the impulse to tell the truth and say, my own inclination.

“You left it until it was too late to venture out?”

I nodded. Then I was contrite. I put my arms about him and wept. “I am sorry, Henry. I am sorry. It was my fault. I should have gone before…I wanted to…I really did. But it was some compulsion.”

He stroked my hair and kissed me tenderly on the brow.

“Fret not, Kate,” he said. “You cannot go against what is to be.”

“I should have, Henry. I could have …”

“Let us forget it.”

“But you were so determined. It has spoiled your joy in our son.”

“It does not do to be fanciful. All will be well with our son…and with me.”

“You will make it so,” I said. “You are brave and strong; and nothing can ever succeed against you.”

“Except God’s will,” he reminded me. And then he added: “We can do no good by speaking of it. So forget it. It has to be. And we have been apart so long. I have thought of you constantly, and now you are here …”

I felt an immense relief sweep over me. I was forgiven. Indeed it seemed as though there was no question or need of forgiveness. If he believed the prophecy and that fate had decided it should come to pass, there was nothing anyone could have done to change it. On the other hand…if it were fanciful nonsense, why bother with it?

So…we would forget it. No harm could come to any of us while we had Henry to guard us.

I gave myself up to the pleasure of being with him again after our long separation.

It was Whitsun Eve when, beside Henry, I rode into Paris. How moving it was to ride through my native city. My mind slipped back, as it must do once again, to those days of poverty in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, and I marveled afresh at the strangeness of fate which had brought me back to ride side by side with the conqueror.

I did wonder what the people thought as they watched me—their own princess—now the wife of the victor.

They lined the streets all the way to the Louvre, shouting their loyal greetings.

My parents were not riding with us. That would have been too humiliating for my father, so he and my mother had gone by a different route to the Hôtel de St.-Paul.

I was richly clad with a crown on my head, to remind these people that I was their future Queen as well as the Queen of England.

It seemed disloyal when their real queen was with my father on the way to the dreary Hôtel de St.-Paul.

We rested that night at the Louvre.

Henry was very understanding and had noticed how quiet I had become.

When we were alone in our apartment, he took my chin in his hand and looked earnestly into my face. “This is a strange day for you, Kate,” he said.

“It is certain to make me feel a little bewildered to be back here in the city of my childhood.”

“All that is behind you,” he insisted. “We are here and this is how it should be. Think of this, Kate. I can do more for France than your father could.”

“If he had never lost his senses …”

“Enough of these ifs. Life is made up of them. Come. We are together. The people of Paris are glad to see peace. You are their Queen…you who were their Princess. They will accept me, Kate, because I am your husband.”

“Let there be peace and I shall be happy,” I said fervently. “Then we can go home to …”

“To our child,” he finished. “How is England for you, Kate, then?”

“Home is where my son is…where you are.”

“Then it is in two places at this time.”

“I would it were in one.”

“It will be so ere long, Kate. I promise you.”

The next day was Whit Sunday, and a great feast was held in the Palace of the Louvre.

“It is an important occasion,” said Henry. “The people will want to see us.”

“They were always allowed into the palace on Whit Sundays…to watch the King at table.”

“Then they shall do so on this day.”

I was carefully dressed and a crown was placed on my head. Henry looked equally splendid. We sat on the dais and about us were all the highest nobles of France and England.

The banquet was served and the people crowded into the palace to watch, just as they had when my parents occupied the places where Henry and I now sat.

I noticed that many eyes were fixed on me.

I wanted to say to them: I do not forget you. I am still French. I married the King of England who is soon to be King of France, but it was all done in the name of peace.

I knew that at the Hôtel de St.-Paul my parents would be sitting in lonely state this Whitsun. How did it feel, I wondered, to know that people had flocked to the Louvre to pay their homage to those who, on the death of my father, would be King and Queen of France? I felt ashamed that I might be seen as a daughter waiting to take the crown from her mother when my husband took that of my father.

I longed for the peace of the nursery, where all such matters seemed of little importance because little Henry had begun to crow with pleasure.

Henry sat beside me, quiet and dignified. Glancing sideways at him, I thought he seemed tired and I knew that, but for his suntanned skin, he would be looking a little pale.

I was longing for the feast to be over. I, too, was tired. I thought, soon we shall depart and the remains of the food will be distributed among the poor who have crowded in here to watch us.

After what seemed a very long period, that time came.

We left and I heard later that the people were sent away without the food which it had been the custom to distribute, that there had been a great deal of complaint and the crowd had at one time threatened to become quite ugly.

“Where is the food?” they had demanded. “Are we to be robbed of our rights as well as our true King and Queen …?”

Joanna Courcy, who had accompanied me to France, said: “I cannot imagine why it was done. I hear it has always been the custom. I heard it was on the King’s orders.”

I spoke to Henry about it later.

“It has always been the custom,” I said. “The people have always had the food that was left over from the banquet. That is why they come.”

“It is not my custom,” replied Henry.

“But…they expect it.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I did not promise to follow their customs.”

“But the people…seeing us eat all that food when some of them must be in need …”

I should have seen that he was exhausted. But I did wonder why he had given such an order. Surely it could not have mattered to him? Was it just to be different; to show them that in all but name he was their King and the old customs of French kings should be dispensed with?

He did not answer. He sat on the bed, looking more tired than I had ever seen him.

I should have dropped the subject, but something prompted me to say: “It is simple matters such as that which cause revolts.”

“Have done!” he said sharply. “The people will have to grow accustomed to my rule. When I say something is to be…it will be and that is an end of the matter.”

I looked at him in astonishment. It was the first time he had spoken harshly to me.

I was worried about him, and I longed more than ever to be back at Windsor with my beloved child.

Henry slept heavily that night. He had not risen when I awoke. I was accustomed to finding him gone and I sat up in bed and looked down at him anxiously. He looked ill and I was overcome with tenderness, for in his sleep he reminded me of my son. There was a vulnerability about him which I had never noticed before.

“Oh, Henry,” I murmured, “what are you doing? How can you endure these perpetual battles …?”

He opened his eyes and saw me studying him.

“Well,” he said, attempting to smile. “Do you like what you see?”

“No,” I said boldly. “I think you are unwell.”

“Enough,” he said, and I was aware of the look of irritability in his face. “I am as well as ever. It is late, is it not?”

“You have slept longer than usual.”

He leaped out of bed. “Why did you not wake me?”

“I have only just awakened myself.”

“And wasting time contemplating me and coming to the conclusion that my looks do not please you.”

“You need rest,” I said.

“I need rest as much as I need an assassin’s knife. For me, Kate, there is no rest until there is peace throughout this land.”

“And then I doubt not you will have other plans for conquest.”

“No. I plan to go on a crusade.”

I stared at him.

“I’d take you with me,” he added.

I did not answer. I knew that would never come to pass.

That very day there was news. My brother Charles, the Dauphin, was on the march. He was going to attack the enemy, the Duke of Burgundy.

Burgundy was now Henry’s ally, and when he heard the news he said: “I must go to the aid of Burgundy. It would be a disaster if he were defeated by the Dauphin.”

“Need you be involved?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I were foolish.

“But of course I’m involved. The Dauphin had a victory when my brother Clarence was killed at Beaugé. That gave the enemy hope, and hope is something we must not let them regain. You do not understand these matters. I shall have to leave at once.”

“Could you not send your army and remain for a while?”

“Remain here…when my army is on the march! What are you thinking?”

“Just that at this time you seem to be in need of rest.”

“I? In need of rest! When there is an army to lead?”

“So…you will go?”

“Kate, sometimes you ask the most foolish questions.”

“I would you could stay behind.”

He turned from me impatiently. But a few seconds later he turned back and took me into his arms.

“Fret not,” he said. “I will be back with you ere long.”

“I pray that you will,” I said.

I went with him as far as Senlis.

There he decided I might be too close to the fighting. “Better,” he said, “that you go to Vincennes.”

I said: “I shall be close to you here.”

I saw the impatience in his face. “You will go to Vincennes immediately.”

So I left for the castle in the woods of Vincennes and he went on to Senlis.

It was only a few days later when I heard the sounds of shouting below my apartments in the castle. I looked down from my window and I could scarcely believe what I saw. Some men were carrying a litter and in it lay Henry.

I hurried down. He was very pale and half-conscious. It would be useless for him to attempt to hide his condition now.

One of the bearers spoke to me. He was tall and very good-looking and spoke English with an accent I did not recognize.

He said: “The King has been forced to leave the army. He could go no farther.”

“I see. Can he be brought up to the bedchamber?”

“At once, my lady.”

They carried him up. He lay on the bed…breathing deeply.

The tall bearer said to me: “My lady, you should send for a priest.”

I knew then how ill he was.

He was in fact dying. It seemed incredible that one so strong, so seemingly invincible, could be so suddenly struck down.

I said to the bearer: “We will nurse him back to health.”

He looked at me rather sadly and with such pity that I was deeply touched.

It was some hours before I could convince myself that this really was the end.

Henry had suffered from dysentery for some time. It was the soldier’s disease and taken for granted, so was lightly brushed aside. Now he seemed to have some disorder of the chest, for he coughed a great deal and his breathing was difficult.

The physicians shook their heads gravely, implying there was little they could do.

The Duke of Bedford left the army and came to his bedside. I was glad of his presence. He was the one of Henry’s brothers whom I had always trusted most.

“Be of good cheer,” he said to me. “He will recover. He always achieved what to others would seem impossible.”

I tried to smile, but it occurred to me that this time he was fighting a more formidable enemy than the French.

The confessor was with him. Henry managed, between gasps, to ask forgiveness for his sins. What were his sins? Those peccadilloes of his youth? Or the blood which had been shed on the battlefields of France? He did not mention that.

His confessor was reading the seven psalms. He came to the phrase “Build thou the walls of Jerusalem” when Henry feebly lifted a hand as a sign for him to pause.

He said between gasps: “When I had completed my conquests in Europe…it was always my intention…to make a crusade to the Holy Land.”

I wished that these thoughts would not enter my head at inopportune moments, but I could not help wondering whether he thought a crusade to the Holy Land would compensate for the misery and bloodshed he had brought to my country.

The harrowing bedside scene continued and I felt I could endure it no longer.

I whispered to the physician: “He will recover, will he not?”

The man did not speak; he just looked at me as though begging me not to demand a direct answer.

“I would like the truth,” I insisted.

“My lady…it will be a miracle if he lasts for another two hours.”

Henry asked for his brother Bedford, and the Duke, who was already at his bedside, came forward and took Henry’s hand.

“I am here, brother,” he said.

“John…you have been a good brother to me.”

“My lord King, brother…I have always sought to serve you.”

“I know. You were the one…I always trusted. John…now it will be for you. You must hold what I have gained. There is my son…a baby. There is Kate…my wife. Comfort Kate, John. She will be the most afflicted creature living…so young…and the child, John …”

“I will do all you wish. I will do as you would.”

Henry nodded and closed his eyes. He looked as though he were at peace.

We stood at his bedside in silence, and into my mind came the strange prophecy I had heard. “Henry of Monmouth would reign a short time and gain much.” The first part had come true.

I was filled with a sense of awe and deep loss. I had one thought: I must get back to my son. He had lost his father. He was not yet a year old and he was King of England.

I tried to look ahead, but the future seemed dark, mysterious and foreboding.

Looking back now on those days at Vincennes, I realize that for most of the time I thought I was living through some evil dream. It was hard to accept the fact that Henry was dead. He had been so vital. If he had been killed in battle, it would not have been so unexpected. But to die like this…in such a short time…seemed impossible.

There was a great deal to be done. He must be given a worthy funeral. The people of France must be made to understand that the death of the great conqueror did not mean that the English grip on the country would be lessened. He had brothers to carry on with his great schemes of conquest.

I wondered what effect this was having on my parents at the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I could imagine that my mother was busily scheming. As for my poor father, he had long given up hope of regaining the crown and I was not sure that he would want it if he could. His only pleasure nowadays was keeping away from conflict.

John of Bedford was a great help. Deeply grieving as he was, he took over the arrangements for the funeral and, oddly enough, it was the tall squire who had helped bear the litter to Vincennes who gave me the greatest comfort.

I singled him out among the others. It might have been because he had a kindly face which showed at the same time a strength of character. I liked the lilting way he spoke English. My own was less than perfect and I had often found it difficult to follow those who did not speak the language in the way Henry and the people around me did. He was from Wales, and the Welsh accent was musical and pleasant to listen to. I was glad of Bedford’s efficiency, but he was not a man to whom one could talk easily, and this man had a soothing manner which might have been due to his voice.

I was able to ask him how the King had been at Senlis before he had allowed them to remove him from the army.

“It must have been a difficult decision for him to make,” I said. “I am sure he did it with the utmost reluctance.”

“With the utmost, my lady,” replied the Welshman. “He had been fighting against the disease for some time.”

“You were close to him, I believe.”

“Yes, my lady. I was with him at Agincourt and ever since he has kept me near him.”

“He thought highly of you, I expect.”

“I was honored to serve him.”

“Tell me about him. He was much loved by his men, was he not?”

“It is my belief, my lady, that he was loved more than any king before him, and I doubt that any who follows him will be loved more.”

“You cared for him very much.”

“All his men cared for him. There was no one like him. He was the greatest soldier who ever lived, in my opinion, my lady. All who have been privileged to know him should be proud.”

“He was friendly with his men, was he not?”

“He was always kind and generous. His men knew what was expected of them—which was absolute devotion to duty…as he always gave himself. His decisions were quick. He always knew what should be done. ‘It is impossible,’ he would say. Or ‘It shall be done!’ We all knew exactly what to expect, and it never varied.”

“You make him sound almost impossibly perfect.”

“He was as near perfection as a man can be. He was just. Some would say he was stern. He was, it was true. He made his laws and expected absolute obedience to them. That is the way of great rulers.”

“Sometimes I wonder …” I began. “Sometimes I think…of the cries of women and children who have lost their men and their homes in battle. Such cries haunt me.”

“I know,” he said. “I understand.”

“And I cannot help thinking…why should there have to be war?”

“The King believed firmly that France belonged to him. He planned to bring better rule to that land.” He paused, remembering, I supposed, that he was speaking against my family.

I smiled at him and then began to ask myself why I was talking thus to this man. I could not understand myself. I was, of course, in a highly emotional state, and he had such a kind face, such a sympathetic manner.

I wanted to hear a vindication of Henry. I wanted to forget those terrible doubts which had come to me. I thought of him on his deathbed, when it had not occurred to him to ask forgiveness for the sufferings he had caused to so many innocent people.

“My lady, the King considered his men as he did himself. He was never vengeful to an enemy, never vindictive. He was always merciful. He forbade pilfering and disrespect to women. He shared the hardships of his soldiers, he gave them example after example of his own bravery.”

“You make a hero of him.”

“He was a hero, Madam.”

I smiled, I had been greatly comforted by my conversation with this man.

I said to him: “I do not know your name.”

And he answered: “It is Owen Tudor.”

They made an effigy of Henry. It was life-size, constructed from boiled leather and painted to make it resemble his living self. On the head was set a crown, in the right hand a scepter and in the left an orb. The effigy was put upon a carriage and we set out.

It was an impressive cavalcade, with noblemen such as the Duke of Exeter and the Earl of March carrying the banners of the saints, and 400 men-at-arms in black armor riding with the bier. I followed at some distance.

Our first stop was St.-Ivian in Abbeville, where we rested for a day and night, and all through that day Masses were sung for the saving of his soul.

At length we came to Calais.

It seemed long since his death, for it was at this time October 12 and he had died on the last day of August.

There followed the journey across the Channel, and how relieved I was when I saw the white cliffs looming ahead. I thought of my child. It was nearly five months since I had seen him. Would he know me? I wondered. How foolish! Of course he would not. He had been too young to know me when I had left. But he would have been safe in Guillemote’s care. But what would happen now that he was King?

Never had I wished so much that I had been born in humbler circumstances. If I were but a humble noblewoman coming home to her child, I could find some contentment. Why did people crave for crowns? As far as I could see, they brought nothing but unhappiness.

As soon as I stepped on English soil, the ceremonies began again.

Waiting on the shore were fifteen bishops and numerous abbots in their miters and vestments; and the solemn procession set out for Blackheath.

The funeral took place on a dark November day when Henry was buried in the Chapel of the Confessor in Westminster Abbey. It was more than three months since his death and I still could not get accustomed to the fact that I would not see him again.

I had ordered that a statue should be made in silver plate with a head of pure silver gilt and set on his tomb with an inscription to say it came from me.

And when it was over, I did what I had been longing to do for some time. I went down to Windsor to see the new King of England, who was not quite one year old.