The Queen's Secret

DANGEROUS LOVE

I knew I had changed. I knew that Agnes and the Joannas looked at me incredulously and that there was a hint of fear in Guillemote’s eyes.

But they said nothing. Nor did I.

I was happy…as happy as Jane on her journey to Scotland. I was happy as I had never thought to be in the whole of my life.

I could think of nothing but Owen. I wanted to hear about his life, of those early days in Wales. I wanted to hear about Cadwaladr, an ancient ancestor who had defended Wales from King Henry II. I wanted to hear more of his father, the outlaw, who had fled from the neighborhood when he had killed a man. It all seemed so wildly romantic and I loved to hear him recount those stories in his beautiful musical voice.

I was obsessed by Owen.

“We must not show our feelings,” he warned me.

“You must not look at me as you do when people are present,” I admonished him.

“Do you not like it?”

“I adore it. No, no, forget what I said. I care not. Please look at me like that.”

“How do I look at you?”

“As though you love me.”

“Which is no more than the truth.”

Lovers’ talk. Lovers’ ways. I could not help it. Life was wonderful suddenly.

I was losing my baby, but I had my love to comfort me. Owen was making life wondrously happy for me.

I will not lose all, I reasoned with myself.

Guillemote was strangely silent. She seemed a little aloof. I had betrayed too much and she was wondering what would come out of this. She would guess the truth, I knew. I had been so desolate at losing my child; and she would know that I must have something in my life to help me replace that loss.

She said nothing, though I knew the time must come when she would.

The household had been taken over now. Dame Alice Butler and Mrs. Astley were in charge of it. There was no place for me. Henry’s Court moved to Windsor, and I stayed on in Hertford.

It was easier here for Owen and me to meet, for the King must necessarily be under constant scrutiny; and it would be more so now that he had his own household. Thus I could live more or less privately, for a time at least. I should be grateful for that.

I became more and more aware of that anxiety in the looks which my dear ladies cast in my direction, and they appeared to be a little embarrassed when Owen’s name was mentioned.

Guillemote could contain herself no longer.

She came to me one day and I guessed what was on her mind, because for the first moments she was silent and she looked at me in a puzzled sort of way.

“My lady,” she said solemnly at length, “are you aware that you have changed and that it is…noticeable?”

“Changed? In what way, Guillemote?”

“Something has happened. I knew it…and what matters is that others know it.”

“We all know that the King has his own establishment now. That is certain to make change.”

“After all your sorrow, you seem to have accepted that separation. Is that because …?”

“Because, Guillemote?”

“Because you have found consolation?”

“Consolation,” I mused. “Oh, Guillemote, it is more than that.”

“It is Owen Tudor, is it not?”

I nodded. It was no use pretending with Guillemote. She was too good a friend and she knew me too well.

She said: “This is…reckless.”

“I know.”

“Have you thought what it might lead to?”

“Listen, Guillemote…I married once to please them. This time I suit myself.”

“But it is not a question of marriage. A queen cannot mate with a …”

“A brave soldier,” I cried. “My husband thought Owen was one of the finest men in his army.”

“But you cannot …”

“I cannot help it, Guillemote.”

“Well, it was understandable. You were overwrought. You saw Jane with the King of Scotland. Your baby has been handed over to his nurse. I knew it. It happened. But now there must be no more.”

I felt suddenly confident to manage my own life. I laughed at her. I said: “Guillemote, it is for me to decide what there shall be…for Owen and me.”

“He is the Clerk of the Wardrobe.”

“He was the companion of my late husband.”

“He is a penniless Welsh squire.”

“And I am the Queen who loves him.”

“Holy Mother of God, has it gone as far as that?”

“It has, Guillemote.”

“They will discover.”

“They?”

“The Duke of Bedford, the Bishop of Winchester…the Duke of Gloucester. Gloucester…now he is a mischievous one. I would not want him to know. You are placing yourself in danger, my lady.”

“I care nothing for danger.”

Her next words frightened me. “And there is one whom you might place in even greater danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Owen Tudor, of course.”

I was terrified, for she was right.

“Yes,” she went on. “He is the one they would blame. You…well, you might be shut away in a convent…away from the world. But wardrobe clerks who aspire to queens…well, I would not want to dwell on what might happen to him. Mon Dieu!They could call it treason.”

That sobered me.

And Guillemote was satisfied. She had made me pause to think.

· · ·

For a few days I would not see him. Then, when I came upon him, he looked so doleful that I asked myself why I was listening to Guillemote’s dismal prophecies.

Owen said: “It is days since I have seen you.”

“I have been afraid,” I told him. “Guillemote knows.”

“Does she? She would keep our secret.”

“She is completely loyal…but she talked to me.”

“You are on such familiar terms that I am not surprised.”

“She is worried about what will happen if we are discovered.”

“She has a point there,” he agreed.

“They would separate us…and Owen…what charge would they bring against you?”

“Whatever it was, I should count everything worthwhile.”

“It must never be,” I said quickly.

“We must be doubly careful and make sure that we are not discovered.”

“Everything she says is because of her care for me, I know.”

“Perhaps I should go away.”

“You could not. I should forbid it.”

“How did Guillemote discover?”

“She said it was the way I looked.”

“You are beautiful…always.”

“People in love betray themselves sometimes, Owen. I listened to her. She made me fear for you.”

He was silent.

“I could not bear it if anything should happen to you, Owen.”

“I will take the utmost care to preserve myself for you.”

I knew it was useless. We could not stay away from each other. It had begun and it must go on.

So through all the days my thoughts were of Owen; and all through the nights we were together.

We lived in a state of bliss. This was the most wonderful experience which had ever befallen me. I had not known there could be anything like it, and I marveled to contemplate that, if Owen had never come my way, I should have lived my life without it. I had thought I loved Henry, but now I realized that that had been a pale shadow of this exciting relationship.

Henry’s kingship, his need to conquer, had been the driving force of his life. To him love was a light adventure, pleasurable and rewarding in a way but something apart from the main purpose of life. Whereas I was everything to Owen and he to me. Not only was there this all-absorbing, awe-inspiring passion but there was the need for secrecy which gave an added excitement.

There were times, of course, when I wished that we could live in peaceful harmony, openly and unafraid, but the fact that we were living dangerously, in those early days, did add a thrill of which we could not be unaware.

I was not cut off from my son. I was allowed to visit him. It was not like living under the same roof, but at least I could assure myself that he was not unhappy. Dame Alice was a good, serious-minded woman, determined to do her duty; and Henry appeared to accept her.

It was clear to me that Joan Astley was ready to devote that loving care to her charge which the best nurses give unstintingly, and I could see that he was safe in her hands. She would protect him and if—which I fervently hoped would not be the case—Dame Alice felt at times that she wished to avail herself of the permission to chastise him, Joan Astley would be there to comfort him.

Henry showed his pleasure in seeing me and was not overdistressed when I left—a fact which both saddened me and made me rejoice.

Guillemote, who had accompanied me on the visit, said: “It is not as bad as we feared. He will be happy enough and he will not forget us.”

“A child should be with his mother,” I insisted.

“There would be many people around to watch us…if he were with you,” she reminded me.

She was right, of course. She was worried about me—which I realized she had good reason to be.

Owen was still a soldier at heart; his life had been governed by the war in France and he was very interested in how it was progressing. He listened avidly to the news of what was happening across the seas as well as in England.

Neither of us wanted to look too far ahead. Each of us knew that if our relationship was discovered we should be in trouble…deep trouble. Marriage would be out of the question, I was sure.

I should be disgraced and Owen would be accused of treason. That worried me a great deal; but in the first flush of our passion I could think of little else but the joys of the moment.

There were times when we lay in bed when Owen would whisper to me of what was going on in France.

“It is always dangerous,” he said, “when a country extends its dominions. Communications have to be kept up. Armies have to be sent to guard the outposts. It is never easy. If the King had lived …”

“If the King had lived,” I retorted, “we should not be here now…like this.”

He was silent. He had a great reverence for Henry. I think he was deeply concerned that he had become Henry’s widow’s lover.

“The Duke of Bedford is very good, they say,” I said.

“There was only one King Henry V, and he was the greatest soldier the world has ever known.”

“What do you think will happen now, Owen?”

“I think the Duke of Gloucester will make a great deal of trouble.”

I shivered. “I am afraid of Gloucester.”

“He is a man to be watched. But now he is going to Hainault with a company of men to fight for his wife’s rights…so he will be out of our way.”

“I hope he will stay there. Do you think he will regain Hainault? It was what he married for. Poor Jacqueline. I wonder if she knows?”

“I feel she must. Or it may be that she prefers to delude herself. But from our point of view it is good that he has gone. As far as England is concerned, I believe what he has done may prove disastrous.”

“You mean his quarrel with Burgundy?”

“The Duke of Bedford will do everything within his power to keep the alliance with Burgundy, but it seems as though his brother will do everything he can to destroy it.”

“Gloucester thinks only of his own good.”

“Which is what he is doing now. He will jeopardize the English and Burgundian alliance for the sake of regaining his wife’s estates for himself. It is unfortunate that the Duke of Brabant is the Duke of Burgundy’s kinsman. This could well cost England Burgundy’s friendship, and that is something they cannot afford to lose.”

“At least he is out of the country. I have for a long time had a feeling that he is against me. I feel afraid for little Henry while he is here. He wants to be King of England, and there are others in the way. Clarence died. There is Bedford, of course…and now he has married and strengthened his alliance with Burgundy through his marriage to the Duke’s sister. But if Bedford died without heirs…and if something happened to Henry…then Gloucester would be King of England. I cannot bear to think of that.”

“It could not get to that,” said Owen. “I do not know what the outcome of all this will be, but of one thing I am sure, and that is that Gloucester, by his conduct, is putting the alliance between England and Burgundy in jeopardy.”

“Let us forget all about them,” I begged. “Gloucester is far away. He is not concerned with us now. And we have found each other. Swear that you will never leave me.”

“Not of my own free will, my dearest.”

“Then I am happy.”

Henry, Bishop of Winchester, called to see me.

The visit of such a man must necessarily alarm me. I was constantly wondering whether my relationship with Owen had been discovered beyond my intimate circle, and what the consequences would be, so I received him with a good deal of trepidation.

He was gracious, very dignified, very much aware of his royalty and position in the country. He made me feel that it was an honor for him to visit me.

I hoped I did not show my anxiety, but if I did, I supposed he would attribute it to my realization of the honor he did me.

Henry had thought very highly of him. He had said to me once: “My uncle has enough dignity to balance his illegitimacy, for although my father most wisely legitimized him, the fact does remain that he was born before his parents’ union was sanctified by the Church. He cannot forget this, and it irks him, so we must forgive him that little extra dignity he has to exercise to remind us all that he is equal with the highest in the land.”

I thought that summed up Henry Beaufort exactly.

Henry had said he was a good man to have working for him; he was exceptionally intelligent; he knew that allegiance to the Crown would serve his best interests, and therefore he was loyal to the Crown. “But I trust Beaufort,” Henry had said, “and I have always known he was a good man to have on my side.”

Beaufort was a man who would stand up for what he considered best for the country, while making sure, if it were possible, that what was done was profitable for himself.

His recent quarrel with Gloucester had shown that Gloucester held great power, particularly while his brother Bedford was in France acting as Regent there for young Henry. Yet Beaufort had made no secret of his disapproval of Gloucester’s marriage to Jacqueline of Hainault because he knew it would be detrimental to the alliance with Burgundy, which was all-important to England, even though this created great antagonism between the two men and could be harmful to him.

I told him that I was well and said I trusted he was in the same happy state.

He assured me that he was and then came to the point of his visit.

“Your Grace will be aware that His Highness the Duke of Gloucester is causing some dismay abroad.”

“I know he has gone to Hainault to regain his wife’s estates.”

“His wife!” said Beaufort. “There is some doubt that she is that.”

“Did not the Pope grant her a divorce?”

“The Duke of Brabant does not accept that. There are many who say she is still married to him and that the alliance with the Duke of Gloucester is no marriage at all.”

“But he has gone …”

“I regret to say that the actions of the Duke have been…quite dangerous…to me…to the whole country…and perhaps in particular to his brother the Duke of Bedford who is striving to consolidate the great victories won for England by the late King.”

“I have heard of this,” I said, great relief sweeping over me, for I realized he had not come to talk of my affairs. I had been in terrible fear that he might have come because he had heard something about Owen and me.

“I have done all in my power to stop his leaving for the Continent,” went on the Bishop, “but I have not been successful in doing so.”

I was wondering why he should be telling me all this, for I was sure that, like most of his kind, he would think the opinion of a woman not worth having.

He went on: “The Duke of Gloucester has taken Hainault. There was no opposition. The Duke of Brabant was unable to prevent this. Hainault has now recognized Gloucester as its ruler.”

“Then there will be no fighting,” I said.

He looked at me with faint contempt. “The Duke of Burgundy will certainly not allow this to pass unchallenged. He is hurrying to the assistance of his kinsman. You misunderstand the gravity of this situation. In order to go to Brabant’s assistance it was necessary for Burgundy to conclude a truce with France. You can guess what that means.”

“The English are losing their ally.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Now I come to the point of my visit. The Duke of Burgundy has challenged the Duke of Gloucester to single combat…a duel between the two of them to settle the dispute.”

“Surely not!”

“But indeed it is so, and the Duke of Gloucester has accepted the challenge. I know it seems incredible, but it is so. That duel must not take place. If it does, one or the other will be killed. You can guess the consequences. If Gloucester kills Burgundy, the Burgundians will be in revolt against him; and if Burgundy kills Gloucester, it will be the same from the other side. One thing is certain: it will be the end of the alliance between Burgundy and England. And that alliance is of the greatest importance to our success in France.”

“I realize that.”

“This duel must be stopped. And you may help in some small way…but we cannot afford to neglect any means…however small…to bring an end to this folly.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Philip of Burgundy is married to your sister. He is devoted to her and she to him. If she could be persuaded to beg him not to continue with this ridiculous gesture, it could be a help.”

“It is long since I saw my sister.”

“Nevertheless, she is your sister. What we wish you to do is write to her…tell her exactly what this would mean…a rift between us…further trouble for France…the prolonging of the war. You could help perhaps.”

“Do you think the great Duke of Burgundy would listen to me?”

“No. But he might listen to his wife.”

“I see.”

“We are asking the Queen, your mother, to do her best in the matter,” he went on. “We are determined to try anything…just anything…to prevent this disaster. Write immediately. I will take your letter and see that it is delivered to your sister by special courier. You must do this for the sake of your son, the King.”

Writing to Michelle was an emotional experience. I could only see her as the poor frightened little girl in the Hôtel de St.-Paul. Although she had been slightly older than I, I had always felt I had to protect her. Our sister Marie had had her unfaltering faith to sustain her. Poor little Michelle had suffered with the rest of us, but she had seemed weaker than I. She always seemed to be colder and more hungry. It was difficult to imagine that shivering little mite as the Duchess of Burgundy.

She had always seemed rather simple, less able to cope with our desperate situation than the rest of us. Yet she had married the great Duke and he cared for her. Even when her brother had been involved with the men who had murdered his father, he had not turned against her.

He must truly love her, and because of that these men, who made it their business to know what was going on, thought she could influence him.

I wrote to her, trying to eliminate from my mind the image of that shivering little girl as I did so. What could I say. “Dear Michelle, you are the Duchess of Burgundy, I am the Queen of England…my little son is King and now I am the Queen Mother. I have lost my husband. Do not lose yours. Please try to stop this duel. Persuade your husband that it is not worthwhile. Beg him not to risk his life. You must not become a widow…as I have.”

I went on in that strain. And all the time I was thinking of those days when my father was alive and we children were living in poverty and neglect while our mother sported with her lovers.

And what of her? What would she write to Michelle? We had all hated her. No. No, hatred was too strong a word. We had all feared her, and we had always known that no good would come to us through her.

The Bishop was pleased with my efforts; he took my letter and rode off.

· · ·

Guillemote came to me one day and said: “The Duke of Gloucester is back in England.”

“Oh,” I replied. “What of his duel with the Duke of Burgundy?”

“People say that he has come back to prepare for it. They are also saying that he is heartily sick of the whole affair. He thought he could take Jacqueline’s possessions easily…and it seemed that he might but for Burgundy. But Burgundy will take them from him. It looks as though the Duke of Gloucester is getting away from it all and leaving Jacqueline to face Burgundy alone.”

“How can he do that? It is so dishonorable.”

“I don’t think the Duke would give much thought to that. The rumor is that he is tired of Jacqueline and greatly enamored of one of the ladies who went out with Jacqueline from England…if lady she can be called.”

“You have been listening to gossip, Guillemote.”

“How can one learn what is going on if one does not listen to gossip? We learn more from that than from what they call news. From that one hears of victories which turn out to be defeats…winning today…losing tomorrow. No, it is the gossip in which the real news is wrapped up. Believe me.”

“I do believe you, Guillemote, and what is this news about the Duke’s new friend?”

“A voluptuous piece, by all accounts. Irresistible…saucy…luscious…everything that would appeal to His Grace’s jaded tastes…which poor Jacqueline failed to do.”

“Who is this charmer?”

“Lady Eleanor Cobham…daughter of Lord Cobham.”

“I have heard of her.”

“And doubtless you will hear more now. They say the Duke is so enamored of her that he has lost his love for Hainault, Zealand and the rest.”

“And poor Jacqueline I am sorry for her.”

“In any case she will be rid of the Duke.”

“What will happen to her?”

“Burgundy will overrun the place in a very short time, I am sure. Doubtless she will be his prisoner. He might send her back to Brabant.”

“And what of this duel?”

Guillemote shrugged her shoulders. “I have heard nothing of that,” she said.

“It will be rather pointless when Burgundy is in possession. Oh, how I wish that he had stayed in Hainault.”

She looked at me sagely and nodded.

I had heard from Michelle. She had been pleased to get a letter from me.

It brought back so many memories, she wrote. “How different our lives are now. Who would have thought when we were living as we did in the Hôtel de St.-Paul that we should come to this? I have been happy since my marriage. I believe you were happy in yours. It was so tragic when it ended. I have spoken to the Duke, my husband. I have pleaded with him. He always listens to me. He is very tender. I am hoping he will not fight this duel. I am praying for it …”

I could not believe that Gloucester would want to fight. Of course, he had had to accept the challenge. It would have been against his nature not to. People might have thought he was afraid. He must always present that image of the dashing, reckless, devil-may-care charmer. Strangely enough, people accepted it. They closed their eyes to his follies. They thought it was noble and chivalrous to go to fight for his wife’s possessions, to win back for her all that she had lost. They did not see that he was winning back those lands—not for her—but for himself.

The people were deceived. They loved him. They would cheer him in the streets, they would welcome him back. They preferred him to the Bishop of Winchester who, in spite of his arrogance and avarice, had the good of the country at heart. No, the people liked the swashbuckling, licentious Duke far better than the serious-minded priest.

The Bishop did have the courtesy to call on me again.

“I am pleased to tell you,” he said, “that our efforts were successful. I am sure that the letter you wrote to your sister helped; and your mother, too, played her part. The duel would have been a disaster. In the end, the Pope forbade it. But the Duke of Burgundy has been moved by the entreaties of his wife. So we can be grateful for this mercy.”

I said: “But the friendship between England and Burgundy?”

“It has been considerably impaired, but the Duke of Bedford is very clever. His wife is the Duke’s sister, which makes a bond. We must hope to repair the damage.”

“And the Duke of Gloucester is now in England …”

“I very much doubt he will want to venture to Hainault again.”

“But his wife will need help.”

The Bishop shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

I felt very uneasy. If the Duke of Gloucester had abandoned hope of ruling Hainault, then he would seek power in England. That alarmed me not a little.

They were uneasy days. Gloucester’s health had suffered. How he had thought he could stand up to a duel with the Duke of Burgundy, I cannot imagine. I think a great deal of his defiance was bluster.

I should have been grateful, I supposed, that he seemed to become immediately absorbed in his quarrel with Henry Beaufort, for it would turn his attention from my son. How he and Henry Beaufort hated each other! I suppose it was largely because their temperaments were so different, and Beaufort, with his strong sense of duty to the State, was appalled by Gloucester’s self-interest.

The people of London took up the quarrel—some siding with Gloucester, others with Beaufort. There were even riots in the capital between the two factions. The feud became so fierce that widespread civil unrest was feared. This became so alarming that emissaries were sent to the Duke of Bedford, begging him to return to England, where his rule was needed as urgently as it could possibly be in France.

I daresay the Duke of Bedford was a disillusioned man. Gloucester’s reckless acts were costing him the friendship of Burgundy. It could not have happened if Henry had lived. Henry would never have allowed it. Bedford would know that, but it must have been hard to realize where he had failed.

I was greatly relieved when he arrived in England; and from that time peace returned. Gloucester and Beaufort were obliged to make a public show of reconciliation, and if it might not have been entirely genuine, it calmed the general unrest which had broken out among the supporters of both sides.

Gloucester swore not to aggravate Burgundy further, but when the Duke of Bedford returned to France, where his presence was urgently needed, Gloucester sent Jacqueline the help she asked for.

Meanwhile there were many rumors about his torrid affair with Eleanor Cobham, a very flamboyant and decidedly handsome woman who attracted attention wherever she went—especially when it was whispered that she dabbled in witchcraft. The Duke was said to be completely enthralled by her.

Oddly enough, his profligate ways seemed to enhance his popularity; the more sullied his reputation became, the more the people cheered him. His once-handsome face was becoming bloated and he was beginning to look like the dissolute rake he was; but they continued to love him.

Then came the day when I heard that the Pope had—very likely at the instigation of Burgundy—annulled Gloucester’s marriage to Jacqueline. I am sure that he breathed a sigh of relief. He could now forget his commitment to her—of which he had long grown weary—and devote himself entirely to the wiles of his fascinating mistress.

Unfortunately Bedford had returned to France, taking Beaufort with him, and Gloucester slipped into his old role of Protecter of the Realm, which caused me qualms of uneasiness.

While all this was happening, life had become very agreeable to me. I had my secret love which filled me with excitement and pleasure. The more I knew Owen, the more I realized how very much he meant to me. I could be deliriously happy, and the trials of England and Burgundy seemed very remote. In my happiness, I wondered how people could be so foolish as to involve themselves in making war.

Love absorbed me. I had Owen and, with the help of my faithful ladies, who were delighted to see my contentment, I managed to live my secret life.

Then there was Henry. No longer a baby, he was an adorable child—now five years old and a somewhat serious little boy. Already he was aware that he was apart from the other boys in his household. He was quite fond of Dame Alice Butler and he dearly loved Joan Astley; but he never forgot that I was his mother, and it was a great joy to me to see his pleasure when I visited him.

This I was able to do fairly frequently. I must not interfere, of course, with their methods of upbringing, but I had long realized this and made no attempt to do so. He loved me as his mother; he had Dame Alice and Joan Astley, and there was Owen to comfort me when I felt sad, as I sometimes did after visiting my son.

He was a strange child. He could change quickly. Sometimes he would seem a normal, fun-loving boy and then suddenly he would become serious, a little puzzled, perhaps faintly worried. When he rode out, I would sometimes be with him, for it was natural that as his mother I should be, and it satisfied the people to see us together. The people clearly loved him. He was very much aware of them. I had seen him touch the miniature crown on his head rather nervously now and then. I think it must have been a symbol to him. It was something of which at times he was proud and could at others fill him with apprehension.

There were times when we were together and I would hold him to me. He would cling to me. Then he was like the baby I had known. He liked to hear stories of his early days. He would sit listening intently, holding my hand or sometimes clutching at my skirts as if he feared I would leave him. Then he was indeed like my little one. But when he was quiet and seemed a little anxious, I knew he was remembering he was the King.

Dame Alice told me that he was good at his books but he did not excel as he should at outdoor games. She believed that he had little fancy for them.

“It is well,” she said, “that there are boys of his age here. He can watch them. Some of them are very skillful…riding…archery and such like. But the King always prefers his books. It is a pity. He should have enthusiasm for both.”

“We are all different,” I said, “and it is very important that he should do well at his lessons.”

“A king must excel in all ways,” she said with a touch of severity.

I used to talk to him about his father—the greatest warrior the world had ever known. He listened with a kind of awed anxiety.

I said to him: “But there are better things than war, Henry. It is better for countries to live in peace with each other than go to war…killing…maiming each other. There are wonderful things in the world…books…music…pictures.”

He was pleased with that. I knew that those about him constantly talked to him of Agincourt and Harfleur.

He liked to hear about his ancestors, and the Earl of Warwick had given instructions to his tutors that he must be fully cognizant of the history of his country.

I thought sometimes that they were forcing him out of his childhood too soon. It was true he was the King, but could they not let him forget that for a few years? Apparently not.

I wondered what effect coming face-to-face with the people had on him. He certainly liked their applause and responded to it in a manner which delighted them; and youth is so appealing, particularly when it wears a crown.

He said to me once: “They like me, do they not?”

“It is clear that they do,” I replied.

“Yes, but Dame Alice says it is the crown they are cheering, not me.”

“Dame Alice may be right.”

“Then why do they not carry the crown through the streets? Why do I have to be under it?”

“The crown needs someone to wear it and it is the possession of the King.”

“Then it must be the King they cheer as well as the crown.”

I could see that my son was developing a logical mind.

It brought home to me the fact that he was growing up, and I feared for him. I could not shut out of my mind the thought of Gloucester’s ambitious face.

A message came that I might spend Christmas and the New Year with Henry at Eltham Palace. I was delighted. I would travel there with my household, and that would include Owen, so I could enjoy the festivities in the company of both my son and my lover.

Henry had, that Whitsun, been knighted by his Uncle Bedford. It had been a solemn occasion, for after the ceremony he himself had knighted a few of his young companions.

He had described the occasion to me at some length and I had been saddened a little because I felt more strongly than ever that they were forcing him to grow up before his time. How I wished that he could have enjoyed a little more of his childhood more simply with me and Guillemote…and Owen too.

I was very pleased to see that Henry had quite a liking for Owen, who had taken great pains not to put himself forward. In view of the nature of our relationship, Owen felt a little embarrassed. I think he felt himself to be in the position of stepfather to the little King.

It was in a state of happy expectation that we arrived at Eltham. I could not restrain my excitement as we came through the magnificent avenue of trees and saw the stone walls and lofty archways of the palace. We passed into a cobbled courtyard.

Henry was waiting to greet us.

I wanted to pick him up in my arms, but I must remember that, although he was my little son, he was also the King. He smiled at me happily, so the formal greeting was not important. We should have an opportunity to be alone, when we would cast off convention and revert to the old easygoing relationship which was more natural to us.

How happy I was to be with him! He told me what had been happening to him—how he had to ride every day and practice archery. He wished it was not quite so often, but he was very fond of his horse. Best of all he loved his books. The Earl of Warwick, though, said he must not neglect sports or the study of arms for them.

“The Earl of Warwick will know best,” I said.

He accepted that rather dubiously; but I think on the whole he was a docile pupil.

He was very interested in the Christmas festivities. He had been allowed to take a hand in decorating the great hall and had helped bring in the yule log.

He had a present for me, he told me. It turned out to be a pair of gloves. He watched me unwrap them and put them on, studying me to see whether I was pleased with them.

I kissed him. I told him they were perfect. How had he known that I had always wanted such a pair of gloves?

“Dame Alice helped me to choose them,” he said modestly. “But I really wanted that pair for you.”

“They are the best gloves in the world,” I told him, “and I shall always treasure them.”

I was speaking the truth. I have them to this day. I often unwrap them and think of the time he gave them to me.

He told me that Jack Travail and his band of merry men were coming to amuse us and there would be mummers. He and his little companions would play all sorts of games. It was going to be a wonderful Christmas. “And,” he added, “you are here with me.” A remark which touched me deeply.

Among his Christmas gifts were some coral beads. He was delighted with them, and he told me that Dame Alice had said that they had belonged to King Edward.

“But,” he said, “there were three Edwards and she was not sure to which one they had belonged. I wish I knew. Do you know about the kings named Edward? One of them was a great warrior…like my father, but not so great of course. There were battles called Poitiers and Crécy—though they were not like Agincourt. He did not win the whole of France, though he did quite well. Then there was one who was always fighting in Scotland. But she didn’t tell me much about the second one. When I pressed her, she said, ‘You will know one day. But that time is not yet. It will depend on your tutor.’ He was the second Edward, and he is the one I should like to know about.”

I told him that I had learned my lessons at a place called Poissy in France. I could not enlighten him about the second Edward, but I would find out if I could.

I did find out later, and when I learned of the life of King Edward II, I felt very sad, thinking of the tragic fates which could befall kings. And it occurred to me that the second Edward was probably the one to whom those coral beads had belonged; and I rather wished they had not fallen into my son’s hand.

But that Christmas was a time for rejoicing.

There was great merriment when the boys played their games. I noticed they were all a little deferential to Henry, though most of them came from the noblest families in the land. They played blind man’s buff and hide-and-seek, and when Jack Travail arrived with his merry men, he devised new games and did little comic sketches which amused them mightily. He had brought with him some portable organs which provided special delight. I said afterward to Owen that it was wonderful to see my little boy enjoying fun naturally, unencumbered, however briefly, by his kingship.

I could not help thinking how wonderful it would be if we could slip away…taking Henry with us, and go with a few friends to some quiet place away from the ceremony of the Court…somewhere where we could live in the style of certain gentlefolk away from the turmoil of state affairs.

I think I must have been lulled into an even greater sense of security than ever, which made me careless. It was the relaxed atmosphere, the festive celebrations, the pleasure of having my son near me. I was bemused by my contentment.

It seemed nothing at the time. It all came about quite naturally, though it brought home to me the fact that I was being watched and that every little action of mine was noted, considered and judgment passed upon it.

The young people had retired to their beds and there was dancing in the great hall. Owen was present, but naturally he did not sit with me. We had to remember that in public he was the Clerk of the Wardrobe and one of the guards, and as such naturally would not be with me.

I sat watching the dancers, not wishing to dance myself. There was a great deal of laughter and chatter, and the musicians were playing tunefully. Often my eyes went to Owen across the hall, and our eyes conveyed tender messages.

Some of the courtiers had organized a competition.

“What are they doing?” I asked idly.

One of the men came up to me and said: “It is a contest, my lady. We were discussing who of us could leap the highest in the dance and turn the greatest number of times. Then someone said, ‘Let us put it to the test,’ and that is what we are doing.”

I clapped my hands and said: “Let us all see, then. Let us discover the champion.”

“Perhaps Your Grace will be the judge.”

“Why certainly. I will judge.”

They gathered around me.

“The test is who can jump the highest and turn the most number of times, is it not?” I said.

“Yes, my lady. They must jump while turning…as in the dance.”

“Well, let the trial begin. Who is to be the first?”

The contest started. The men came and danced before me, twirling and leaping into the air. The watchers shouted the number of times they turned and gave their opinions of the height of the leaps.

We had almost decided on a winner when someone said: “Come on, Owen Tudor, try your luck.”

“I am no dancer,” protested Owen.

It was true. I had watched him in the ballroom with great tenderness. I would not have him like those mincing, prancing men who prided themselves on their agility in the dance. Again I thought of Gloucester, who, of course, was the perfect dancer. It was amazing how frequently his image came into my mind. It was a man’s place to excel at things other than dancing.

Owen was embarrassed and continued to protest.

“Come on, Owen Tudor,” someone cried. “Are you a coward, then? What will Her Grace think if you refuse to dance before her?”

Owen stood there slightly flushed. I smiled at him encouragingly.

“It is only a game,” I said.

The musicians started to play. There was nothing he could do but attempt to dance, which he did clumsily, twirling around and around.

“Higher, higher,” shouted one of the courtiers.

Owen leaped, lost his balance and fell straight into my lap.

I put out my hands and caught him. For a few moments I held him against me. I was not aware that I held him longer than I would normally have held anyone who had fallen upon me in such an impromptu manner until I became aware of the deep silence in the room. The musicians had stopped playing. Everyone seemed to be very still…listening…waiting for something to happen. I heard myself laugh.

“My lady …” stammered Owen.

“I do not think that Owen Tudor will win the prize,” I said as he stood up before me.

Owen looked overcome with embarrassment. “I am sorry …” he began.

I waved my hand. “You did protest,” I reminded him. “I shall blame all those who forced you to it. Come, let us continue with the game. I am eager now to see who will be our winner.”

The music had started. There were two more competitors who wished to try their luck. But something had happened. People were watchful. Secretive glances passed between them.

It was not long before Guillemote raised the subject.

She made a habit of brushing my hair before we retired for the night. It was then that we discussed the events of the day and night.

She came to the point in her usual candid way.

“It was noticed,” she said.

“What was noticed?”

“You and the Tudor.”

“What was noticed?” I repeated.

“That he fell into your lap.”

“How could they help noticing? They were all watching the contest. Owen did not fall purposely.”

“It was the way you received him.”

“Received him? He fell into my lap. How should one receive a dancer who falls into one’s lap?”

I laughed at the memory. “He looked so funny,” I said. “Poor Owen, he did not want to do it. They should not have insisted. He knows he cannot dance. And why should he? Dancing is no occupation for a man of intelligence.”

“And wit…and all perfections,” added Guillemote.

I was silent. She looked at me accusingly.

“Did you not realize? It was the way you held him…the way you looked at him…the way he looked at you. It was clear to everyone in the room.”

“What are you saying?”

“My dear…my dearest mistress…how long do you think you are going to keep this a secret?”

“What…a secret?”

“What is going on between you and Owen Tudor.”

I was silent. She placed the hairbrush on the table with an angry gesture. “Secret!” she cried. “After this night it will be a secret no longer.”

“My dear Guillemote, how could I help it if he fell?”

“You could not help his falling. It was afterward. They are whispering about you. Don’t you see how dangerous it is? You are the Queen.”

“It was nothing,” I protested. “It was all over in a few seconds.”

“Long enough for you to have betrayed your feelings…and he, too. It was the way you looked at each other…the way he stayed there …”

“For a second or two?”

“It was too long. The looks were too ardent. And there were all those watchful ones who have already been…speculating. My lady, my lady, I beg you to think what you are doing…of what would happen if it were known to some of your enemies.”

“Guillemote, you are frightening me.”

She suddenly took me into her arms as she used to when I was a child.

“There,” she said in the old manner. “Perhaps they did not notice after all. It is just because I watch over you too much. I care too much …”

“Oh no, Guillemote, do not say that. Go on caring…caring too much.”

She stroked my hair.

“You should give it up, my dearest. It is dangerous. I do not know what would happen if it were found out…in certain quarters. Give it up now…before it is too late.”

“I could not, Guillemote. I have lost my child …”

“He is here…under this very roof.”

“It is not the same. You know they have taken him away from me. Dame Alice and Joan Astley…they are closer to him than I am. They have taken him away from me…no matter what you say. And as he grows older he will be farther from me. I love Owen, Guillemote. I just could not face life without one of them …”

“I know.” She sighed and kissed my cheek. “But you must be more careful. It becomes dangerous…and have you thought that one day they might want to make a match for you?”

“I will not allow it, Guillemote. I married for state reasons once. When I marry again, it will be for love.”

“You are the Queen, remember.”

“Yes, I am the Queen and I will not allow them to arrange my life. I will do as I wish.”

She nodded her head gravely and her eyes were full of fear.

It was soon after that that I made a discovery which, while it filled me with the utmost alarm, both excited and delighted me.

I was pregnant.

Why I should have been so surprised, I cannot imagine. Owen and I had been passionate lovers for some months. We had been living together, oblivious of everything around us. It was only when I had had to go to Court that we had to restrain ourselves.

I felt dazed with the wonder of it. A child—mine and Owen’s. How wonderful it could have been, if only …

As the realization of what this could mean swept over me, I began to tremble. What should I do now? How could I keep this secret? And it would have to be kept secret.

I will not part with this child, I told myself. I will do anything rather.

I had to think. I had to be clever. I was in a difficult situation and I must find a way out of it.

I did not want to say anything to anyone until I was absolutely sure. In the meantime I must begin to plan. What would be the reaction of those about me? But why should they govern my life? I was the Queen. I was the mother of the King and they had taken him away from me. Why should I not have a life of my own…children of my own who were of no interest to the state? It was unreasonable to deny me this. But I knew they would. I wanted to say to them: I will go right away. You can take away my title of queen. I do not want it. I only want to live in peace.

Wild plans came into my mind…plans which I knew it would be impossible to carry out. There was one thing only which I clung to, and that was my determination to keep this child with me…to bring it up as my own.

I was now sure that I was going to have a child.

When I told Owen, his reaction was the same as mine had been—that wonder and delight…and then fear.

“Owen,” I said, “what are we going to do?”

He was silent for a moment, then he said slowly: “There will be trouble.”

“I know. But…what can they do about us?”

“They can separate us to begin with.”

“I will not have it, Owen.”

“My dearest, you will have no say in the matter.”

“No say in the management of my own life!”

“You are the daughter of a king, the widow of a king. It puts you in a dangerous position.”

“Why…why…Henry is dead. They have taken his and my child from me. Why should they take everything else?”

He said: “We need to consider this very carefully.”

“First tell me that we shall not be parted. We must marry, Owen. We owe that to the child.”

He nodded slowly.

“Then,” I said, “I shall care nothing for the rest. We will fight them, Owen.”

“We must decide how.”

For a few moments he held me tightly in his arms. I knew that he was overcome by the wonder of what had happened, as I was. He was visualizing this child we should have…our very own…belonging to us…no pawn of the state, this one. Our child…Owen’s and mine. When I contemplated that, it was difficult to dwell on the problems we faced. But we had to be very careful…for the sake of the child.

“My dear one,” said Owen. “We have to think of this very clearly. We must be very clever. We must look straight at all possibilities…however alarming. We shall need the utmost skill to bring ourselves through this.”

I watched him intently. He was frowning. I could see he was contemplating the problem which loomed ahead of us with deep concentration, knowing full well that it could bring disaster to us both.

“How I wish,” he said, “that you were not the Queen.”

“It is an empty title,” I replied. “It always was. It brought me no power. It only made a prisoner of me. I cannot tell you how often I have wished that I had been born in some humble cottage.”

He laid his hand on my shoulder and smiled gently at me.

“We shall need all our energy…all our ingenuity to bring us through this, Katherine. Let us think of that…and that only. We are going to marry in spite of everything and everyone. We are going to have our child. No one is going to spoil our lives. We must think as best we can how we are going to bring this about.”

“Why should this concern others? They have taken Henry from me. Is that not enough?”

“We must not brood on what has already gone. We have to plan, Katherine…plan logically. You are the Queen…mother of the King. Any children you may have might consider they have a claim to the throne.”

“How could they? They would not be Henry’s. They would be yours and mine.”

“I am thinking of what would enter the minds of some people. We must consider these things, Katherine. This is what makes our position doubly dangerous. If in high places it was thought that a marriage would be right for you, it would be to a prince of their choosing.”

“But I would never agree to that.”

“I am trying to think of how this will seem to them. The fact is that, if you and I married, our children would be legitimate. It would doubtless be our marriage to which they would object most strongly.”

“Nevertheless, we are going to marry, Owen. We must marry. There is the child. And Owen, I will not be separated from you and my child. It is my right to be happy with my family.”

“We will marry,” he said. “Oh Katherine, we have to tread with great care. We have to be very clever. You could not have the child here. It would be known throughout the Court at once.”

“Then what? Let us run away. Let us go to Wales. I should love to see your country, Owen. The mountains …”

“We should never escape them. If we ran away they would say we were really dangerous. No, we cannot run away. We have to find a way of living our lives…in secret.”

“Here…surrounded by all these people?”

“It will have to be somewhere else. One of the small, quiet manor houses. There are several you could use. But it would have to come about naturally. There are some of your household whom you could trust…and mind you, they must be those whom you could trust absolutely.”

“Guillemote …”

“Guillemote, of course.”

“And the Joannas…Agnes, and my confessor Johan Boyers…I could trust him.”

“That is the idea. A small household…and everyone in it your friend.”

“No one knows as yet…not even Guillemote.”

“Tell no one. But what we must do is move as quickly as possible to one of the small manor houses. You could choose which. It should be the most remote.”

“I could not mention this to Humphrey of Gloucester.”

“Indeed not.”

“There is the Bishop of Winchester.”

“He might suspect. He is very perceptive.”

“There is, of course, the Duke of Bedford.”

“By great good luck he is in the country now. Things are going badly in France and he will be here in consultation with the Council. Gloucester has helped to make England’s position very grave indeed. I don’t know whether Bedford would have time to see you. He could hardly refuse, though, if you requested it. Moreover, he would be too preoccupied with affairs in France to worry much about your retirement from Court, I should imagine.”

“I will try to see Bedford.”

“That is the first thing. And in the meantime decide on the manor. Let it be small…remote from Court. We shall not want people continually calling.”

“Oh, Owen, I feel so much better. I did not realize how frightened I was.”

We clung together.

“We will come through this, my dearest,” said Owen. “Put your trust in me…and in God.”