The Queen's Secret

THE SECRET MARRIAGE

I had always admired John, Duke of Bedford. Henry had been very fond of him. His most reliable brother, he had called him; and although perhaps he had loved Clarence more, he had always known that the elder brother was rash and inclined to envy him, whereas Bedford was the essence of loyalty and had always borne in mind Henry’s superior military skill, seeking to emulate him, certainly, but never giving way to envy.

He had aged considerably since I had last seen him. Keeping France in order was evidently a great strain. He was a brilliant administrator, stern, though just. My brother Charles, who was still called the Dauphin, was beginning to cause disruption in various parts of the country, and Bedford, laboring under the disadvantage of the waning friendship between himself and Burgundy, was hard pressed. Nevertheless he came to see me. He was very gallant and at the same time kindly.

He asked me how I was faring and if I felt a little happier now.

I replied that I felt better than I had expected. He bowed his head, thinking that I referred to the loss of Henry.

“I find it difficult to adjust myself to Court life,” I said.

“So many ceremonies,” he murmured. “And you must attend them without my brother. It brings back many memories, I doubt not, and it does not allow you to forget our loss.”

“How well you understand.”

“It was a great tragedy…the greatest tragedy which could have befallen us all…and you, his Queen, suffered most.”

There was another brief silence, then I said: “I trust, my lord, that you have been comforted.”

“I am fortunate in my marriage.”

Yes, I thought. To the sister of Burgundy. I had seen Anne once or twice, but I could not remember what she looked like. Fortunate indeed he had been to marry Burgundy’s sister. It made the straining link a little harder to break.

“Then I rejoice for you, my lord,” I said. “And I must not encroach on your time. I wanted to ask your advice.”

“I shall do my best to give it,” he replied.

“I was telling you that I find Court life irksome. I want to live more quietly. There are too many memories …”

He nodded.

“I have been thinking that…if I could retire to the country for a while, live the life of a simple country lady …”

“Would that not give you more time for brooding…nursing your sorrows?”

“I think I could interest myself in country pursuits. I should have a few of my ladies with me…those who are my friends. If I could get away…for a time…I feel I could begin a new way of life.”

“I see no reason why you should not. Henry would want you to find what comfort you could. His last words to me were of you.”

“I know. He was good to me.”

“Yes,” said Bedford. “Why not make a break? Have you any place in mind?”

“There is the manor of Hadham.”

“Hadham? That’s in Hertfordshire, I believe. It is very quiet there, I am sure.”

“It is quietness I seek.”

“Do you not think that a convent might be more to your taste?”

“Oh no…no. I should brood all the time. All I want is to live a peaceful life…without constant reminders.”

“Well then, I should say that Hadham is a good choice.”

“Do you think that if I retired there…my wishes to be left in peace would be respected?”

“I would see that they were.”

“My lord, you are so kind to me.”

“As I told you, when Henry died he asked me to care for you. He said you would be the most desolate creature on earth. I knew that that was so…and I gave him my word.”

I took his hand and kissed it; and he drew me to him and kissed me on the brow.

“I will do everything in my power now…and always…to follow his wishes. Go…go then to Hadham. I shall arrange that you shall live there free from disturbance.”

“I do not know how to thank you,” I said fervently.

I felt joyous when he had departed. I had successfully cleared the first hurdle.

· · ·

My next task was to prepare the household. Naturally I talked first to Guillemote.

When she was brushing my hair that night, I said: “Guillemote, we are going to Hadham.”

“Oh?” she replied. Then after a pause: “Well, that is a pleasant spot. Small…and quiet. I should think that would suit us very well.”

“We are going to make it suit us. My Lord Bedford has been persuaded that I should be allowed to spend a little time in retirement.”

She stared at me in amazement. “You…persuaded him?”

“Yes…that I needed to be alone. He thought I meant to mourn for Henry.”

“But it is years since the King died.”

“The Duke still mourns him. He thinks it is natural that I should still do so.”

“He does not know that you have other ideas.”

“Guillemote, the situation was desperate.”

She looked at me in astonishment, and understanding began to dawn in her eyes.

“No,” she murmured.

“Yes, Guillemote. I am going to have a child.”

“What will you do? How can you keep it?”

“I am going to, Guillemote…though as yet I do not know how.”

“Ah, Hadham,” she said, her mind working quickly. “Yes…we might manage. A time in retirement. We shall make sure that we have our friends around us. But afterward…a child! How can a child be explained? It will be …”

I could not bear that she should use the word. I said: “No, Guillemote. It will not be. Owen and I are going to be married.”

She drew a deep breath.

“When…is the child due? Where will it be born?”

“At Hadham, of course…and in about seven months.”

She covered her face with her hands. “My lady, my lady. What are we coming to?”

“I do not know, Guillemote. All I know is that I am going to marry Owen, and this child will be my very own, this time. It does not belong to the state. It will be mine…mine and Owen’s…and that is how it is going to remain.”

“But you…the Queen!”

“The King is dead now, Guillemote. I am the Queen of this country only in name. I will not be used in these political games anymore. I am myself. I am going to live my life as I want it. And that will be with my family…with Owen and my child.”

She stared at me in amazement.

“I knew it had to come to this…sooner or later,” she said. “When do we leave for Hadham?”

“At once,” I told her.

Agnes and the Joannas were jubilant. Like Guillemote they had been anxious for a long time. After that incident in the hall when Owen had fallen into my lap, there had been a certain amount of gossip. It would therefore be a good idea to keep out of view for a while, they thought.

The fact that I was now to marry Owen and that our child was on the way thrilled them, and they were eager to have a share in the adventure.

Joanna Troutbeck said that we must pick the servants we should need with the utmost care. Only those who had proved their loyalty should be allowed to come.

“Better to be short of a few servants than have a traitor in our midst,” she added.

How I loved them—those faithful friends of mine! They knew they were running a certain risk in conniving at our schemes, but they did not hesitate and threw themselves wholeheartedly into the project. Together we selected those who should accompany us; and it was not long before we were on our way to Hadham.

I was happy settling into the old manor house—in fact, I had never been so happy in my life.

We were eager that the marriage should be performed as quickly as possible, and I was deeply concerned for my confessor, Johan Boyers, who was the only one I could trust enough to ask to perform the ceremony.

We hesitated for some time before we could bring ourselves to put the proposition to him. It was a great deal to ask and we knew that he must be reluctant.

I spoke to him after confession.

“Dear Johan,” I said, “I am in great difficulty. I am with child.”

He stared at me in horror.

I went on: “I must marry the child’s father, who is the man I love. I am asking you to help me…but if you feel you cannot…I will understand…though I cannot think whom else I could trust with this matter.”

I saw his face whiten and there was a tightening of his lips.

“It is Owen Tudor,” I went on. “We love each other, Johan. We must marry, for this child must be born in wedlock. I know of no one I could ask but you. Oh…I know the danger. The danger to you, to Owen and to myself…to us all. I do not command you, Johan. I throw myself on your mercy.”

He said slowly: “This could be treason.”

“I know. We intend to keep our marriage secret. I am no longer of importance. They have taken my son away from me, Johan. I want to beg of you, but I must not. It is for you to decide.”

“If you do not marry,” he said, “this child will be …”

I interrupted quickly. “I know. And I see that I am asking you too much. We must try to find someone who will help us.”

“You could not ask a stranger. That would indeed be too dangerous.”

“Yes…but I think we must risk it…for the sake of the child.”

“Does Your Grace realize what you are doing?”

“I fully realize. Dear Confessor, you have always been a friend to me. I must ask you now to forget that I suggested this matter to you. It is dangerous. I am fully aware of that. But there is no law against marrying. I married once for state reasons. Now I would marry for love.”

He was silent for a long time. Then he said he wanted to be alone. He wanted to pray.

I felt deeply depressed. Of course I understood. It was asking too much of anyone. If he married us and it were discovered that he was the one who had performed the ceremony, he would be blamed almost as certainly as Owen and I would.

The next day he asked if I would come to him.

I went, expecting a refusal.

“I have thought of this matter,” he said. “I have prayed, and I think God has shown me my duty.”

I said: “I understand, Johan. You must do as your conscience tells you.”

“My lady, I have long cared for your spiritual welfare. I shall take this risk with you. I shall perform the ceremony.”

“Oh, Johan!” I cried. “Oh thank you…thank you. But…are you sure?”

“Yes. For the child.” His hand shook a little as he placed it on my shoulder. “And for you, my lady.”

“I shall never forget what you have done for us, Johan,” I said. “But I have been thinking. It is wrong for us to ask you to take such a risk. For Owen and for me…that is different. But for you …”

“My lady, you must marry and I must perforce perform the ceremony. We shall pray to God to protect us, for I do believe that in His eyes we are committing no sin. No. I am convinced of it. It would be a sin not to do this. What we propose to do is no sin against Heaven, though it could be called one against the State; and a sin against God is the only sin with which we need concern ourselves.”

I was overcome with joy.

“We shall pray to God to preserve us, and if it be His will, that will be done.”

And so came that never-to-be-forgotten day when Owen and I were married in the attic at Hadham which had been transformed into a chapel for the occasion.

Our witnesses were our trusted friends.

What we had done was highly dangerous, and it must never be discovered by our enemies. Everyone present knew that if it were, they would all be implicated. There was, therefore, a pressing need for us all to maintain the utmost secrecy.

As for myself, I was too happy to give much thought to the dangers as I settled down to await the birth of my child.

I was in a mood of deep serenity during those waiting months. My thoughts were all for the child, Owen and our future life together. At last I had found happiness, and everything that had gone before seemed worthwhile.

I could not think beyond those months—nor did I want to. I did not want to consider that I might be in a dangerous position—and Owen too, perhaps more than I. I did not even want to think of how we must act with the greatest caution and be ever on the alert. I only wanted to think of the coming child.

What preparations we made! Guillemote with Agnes and the Joannas would sit together sewing garments…talking of babies. Guillemote recounted incidents from my childhood. Ah, I thought, my child shall not suffer as I did. He—or she—will have a wonderful father…a mother who cares. Sometimes I thought of my poor father. I prayed that he was happy in Heaven as a good man should be. And my mother! What was she doing now? Communing with the English conquerors, I doubted not. And my poor brother? Was he going to struggle…hopelessly…to regain his kingdom?

My thoughts did not stay with them. I had happier matters on which to brood; and in my mood of serenity, I refused to consider the dangers and thought only of the blessings of childbirth.

And at last the day came. I knew what was involved, having given birth to Henry, so I was prepared. I knew something of the agonies, but I also knew they passed and were quickly forgotten in the joy of holding one’s child in one’s arms.

They were all around me…my faithful servants. They had found a midwife who could be trusted, and in due course my child was born.

I could not contain my joy when I saw him. He was the perfect child…already I had detected a look of Owen, and when I pointed this out, they all smiled but they did not deny it.

I said to Guillemote: “With my husband beside me and my baby in my arms, I am the happiest woman in England.”

· · ·

We decided to call him Edmund and he was baptized at Hadham by Johan Boyers. Guillemote was, of course, his nurse, but nobody was going to stop me looking after this child as a mother should.

My little Edmund was mine; and I would not allow anyone to take him from me.

For some weeks we lived in complete bliss, the whole household refusing to believe that anything could disturb it.

Now and then we had news from outside our little world. Owen would ride into the village and talk to the villagers. They had been in awe of him at first because of his connection with the Queen’s household, but when they found he would talk to them as though he were one of them, they accepted him as such.

I had not been out for some time. I might have been seen at the time of my arrival at the house, but I had not dared risk anyone’s seeing me in the later stages of pregnancy, so I always took my exercise in the walled gardens surrounding the house.

We had wondered how to explain the presence of a child. We decided that it should be thought that one of my ladies, married to one of the men of the household, had given birth. Then, if anyone glimpsed the baby, they would assume that he was their child.

Owen had said that we must think of all these details, for it was often some seemingly trivial matter which put one’s enemies on the road to discovery.

One day there was disquieting news.

Gloucester had assumed the role of Protector of England now that Bedford was back in France. Therefore he had the power to induce Parliament to pass laws.

Owen was very disturbed. He said to me: “It would seem that he knows something because he has now put forward a statute which actually mentions your name.”

“Tell me…quickly,” I begged.

“He is threatening dire penalties on any who would dare marry the Queen Dowager—or any ladies who hold land from the Crown—without the consent of the King and his Council.”

“What does it mean!”

“It means,” said Owen grimly, “that we must not be discovered.”

“But if he knows …”

“He cannot know that we are married, but he may know of our feelings for each other. There was that incident in the ballroom.”

“Do you think that could have been the reason?”

“Very possibly. I know that there was talk about it.”

“Owen…if they found out…what would they do to you?”

“They would have to capture me first.”

“Let us take Edmund and get away from here. We’ll go to Wales.”

“My dear! Do you think we should be allowed to do that? No. To run away would confirm their suspicions.”

“But what can we do?”

“We can stay here and be watchful. It is the only way, Katherine. But we must be forever on the watch.”

I knew that perfect peace was at an end.

For some weeks a cloud darkened our happiness. We waited for the blow to fall, for we were sure that Gloucester knew something of our relationship since he had caused such a law to be made.

But nothing happened. Each day went smoothly. I cared for my baby, sat at my needlework with my ladies, and Owen and I were together for most of the day. Sometimes we rode with a party into the neighboring countryside, but we were always very careful.

Owen said that Gloucester would have other matters to occupy him which would be more important to him than our affairs. As Protector he had control of the King, although Warwick would have disputed that, for he had been commanded to take charge of Henry by his father and that was well known.

Moreover, it seemed that Gloucester was losing his popularity. The handsome, swashbuckling adventurer was looking a good deal less handsome, by all accounts. The profligate life he had led was leaving its marks. The people did not like his treatment of Jacqueline; they were aware of his relationship with Eleanor Cobham, and the women of London did not care that he should set a bad example to their husbands by discarding Jacqueline for the sake of one who, it was said, was a harlot.

He had failed to win Hainault, and one thing heroes cannot be forgiven is failure. Burgundy was now virtually in control of all the territories Gloucester had tried so hard to gain for himself, and Jacqueline had named him, Burgundy, her heir and co-regent of those territories. She had sworn never to marry without his consent, and had declared that she had never lawfully been married to Gloucester.

“You see,” said Owen, “how very much the marriages of ladies in important positions mean to these ambitious men.”

I did see and I trembled.

“But at least,” I said, “this stops Gloucester from turning his attention to us. And people no longer think so tenderly of him. He is becoming a failure.”

“Let us continue to hope that his thoughts will be fully occupied elsewhere,” said Owen fervently.

“I don’t trust him,” I said. “I wish they would send him to France and Bedford would come back and govern this country.”

“Bedford will not leave France, and Gloucester has already done enough to undermine the English position there. They would never send him to France as Regent.”

“All I care is that he does not come worrying us.”

“We will outwit him. All we have to do is to be careful.”

“We are that…and especially so since we heard of this new statute. But I do not trust Gloucester.”

“Nor I,” said Owen.

The weeks passed and nothing happened. It occurred to us that, having promised dire punishment to any who dared marry me, Gloucester thought he had settled the matter, and turned his attention to other affairs which I imagined would be more important to him than I could be.

The months slipped by. Hadham was the perfect dwelling for us. The house was too small for entertaining. Its situation was in a backwater. People were forgetting the existence of the Queen Mother, and I refused to allow my happy life to be disturbed by fears of what dangers might be lurking around us. Even Owen thrust aside his misgivings. As he said to me: “Gloucester is pursuing his conflict with his archenemy, Beaufort. There is this matter of Beaufort’s accepting a cardinal’s hat from Rome, which gives him a real chance for a grievance.”

“Well,” I said, “everyone knows that a cardinal’s first allegiance is to the Pope, and that puts his country in second place.”

“Beaufort should think twice before accepting.”

“It is certainly sometimes a millstone around the neck.”

“Well, let us rejoice because it takes Gloucester’s mind from us. Then there is his new wife, Eleanor Cobham. They say he uses a great deal of time and energy in her company.”

“What amazes me is that he is still allowed to retain his power.”

“I should have thought that, after all the havoc he has wrought, some attempts would be made to curb him.”

“He is the late King’s brother.”

“But the Duke of Bedford is above him. After what he has done, I should have thought they would have seen that he could cause more trouble.”

“There is no doubt that things are not going well for the English in France, and it began with the uneasy relationship between England and her ally Burgundy.”

“Do you think Burgundy is necessary to the success of the English?”

“I think the quarrel between the houses of Orléans and Burgundy was England’s biggest asset in the war.”

“And Gloucester’s foolish attempt to get territory by marrying Jacqueline, which ended in failure for him, is destroying that asset.”

“Undoubtedly. It would never have happened if the King had lived.”

“Do you really think that Henry could have stopped Gloucester entering into an alliance with Jacqueline?”

“Indeed I do.”

“And you really think Gloucester would have obeyed him?”

“He would have obeyed Henry…if no one else.”

“Well, it is done and Burgundy is still an ally of Bedford, even though the bonds are weakening.”

“Well, of course, the two are friends and brothers-in-law. It was a wise move of Bedford’s to marry Burgundy’s sister…with Burgundy’s consent.”

“It is a true love match, they say.”

“So much the better for them both.”

“Yes,” I said. “When one has the benefit of a happy marriage and learns the joy it can bring, one wants the same for everyone else.”

“That is because you have a generous nature, my love.”

“Oh, how glad I am that we were bold and brave. Just think, Owen. We might have turned our backs on all this happiness…just because we were afraid to take it.”

“My dearest,” he said. “I hope you will never regret it.”

I shook my head fervently. “No matter what awaits me in the future, I would not have missed the happiness I have with you for the whole world,” I told him.

And so we continued in our blissful existence. It may have been that every day seemed more precious to us because somewhere, at the back of our minds, we knew it could not last.

How long should I be able to live secure with my family in this cocoon of secrecy?

There was strange news from France. Everyone in the house was talking about it. It was a miracle, some said. It was a wild rumor, said the more prosaic, put about by the French, who hoped to glean some advantage from it. They must indeed be alarmed to try such methods, said others.

Owen had discovered what it was all about.

“It’s a peasant girl,” he said. “She declares she hears voices which give her commands from Heaven. Apparently she is told by these voices that France will be strong again, and the English will be driven out of every part of the country.”

“And the French believe this?”

“They were skeptical at first, naturally. An uneducated peasant girl from a place called Domrémy…working on her father’s little bit of land…tending the sheep…such a girl to lead the armies of France! You would say the girl was mad…would you not?”

“And they do not?”

“It is strange. Apparently she has a way with her. She has accomplished all sorts of difficult tasks. Who would have thought a girl like that could have encountered anything but ridicule?”

“And what has she encountered?”

“She persuaded the Governor of Vaucouleurs to arrange for her to have an interview with the Dauphin.”

“My brother saw her!”

“Yes. The story is that the men tried to poke fun at her. They took her to Chinon and into a room where the Dauphin was. They took her to one of his friends, telling her that he was the Dauphin and asking her to say what she had to say to him. But she knew they were deceiving her…and she went straight to the Dauphin and would speak to none but him.”

I was trying to visualize my brother Charles. It was so long since I had seen him. To me he was still the little brother, the youngest among us…following us around with that bewildered look on his little face. I knew he had not wished to be Dauphin. Jean had not wanted that rôle either. The prospect of a crown had been thrust upon them. And what of Charles now? What was it like to be a Dauphin but no Dauphin…robbed of his crown which now belonged to my little Henry? What did he think of me…living in the enemy’s camp? What did he think of my mother who had given her allegiance to the conqueror…passing over his crown to my little Henry…agreeing that it should be taken from her own son! Of course, that had made it better for her…to stand with the conqueror rather than the defeated; and when had she ever thought of her family? Her only concern had been for her own comfort.

It was difficult to imagine my brother Charles confronted by this strange young girl who came with messages from Heaven.

“And he received her?” I murmured. “This peasant girl!”

“It seems she overawed him as she had others.”

“Can it be that she is indeed a messenger from Heaven?”

Owen said: “There is undoubtedly a strange quality about her. They say there is a certain radiance…a fearlessness…an indifference to ridicule. Her faith shines through her. She believes she has been selected from on high to be the savior of France.”

“The army will soon put an end to that.”

I wanted to talk about the progress Edmund was making.

“We shall have to move from Hadham,” I said. “For one thing the sweetening is becoming very necessary.”

“We have been here so long. It is a pity. It is an ideal place.”

“What think you of Hatfield? That would be possible.”

In due course we decided to go to Hatfield.

Guillemote was very interested in the news which was coming from France. Naturally she had a great love for her native land. She had always been loyal to me, and during those days when I had had to adjust myself to a new country, her presence had helped me a great deal. Because I had been the wife of an English king, I had regarded myself as belonging to my husband’s country; I understood that this was something Guillemote could never do.

She was very intrigued by what she heard of the woman they called “The Maid.” I supposed the story of Joan of Arc was one which would arouse interest anywhere. A young peasant girl of no education to whom Heaven had sent voices commanding her to drive the invader from her tortured country!

It was a ridiculous fancy. Or so it seemed.

Guillemote had served me faithfully all my life, but I think at this time patriotic fervor stirred within her and she dreamed of marching side by side with The Maid.

Her eyes glowed when she talked of her.

“There is an old prophecy,” she said. “France would be ruined by a wicked woman and saved by a virgin maid.”

The wicked woman, she implied, was my mother; and now here was The Maid.

Had there been such a prophecy? I wondered. Or were people telling themselves they had heard it at their mothers’ knees?

I had never heard it. But then should I have done so during my days at the Hôtel de St.-Paul and later in the sequestered atmosphere of Poissy? I was sure that many such prophecies were brought to light after the event which proved them to be true.

Little had been proved yet of this one, except that The Maid had seen my brother and had aroused in him a love of country to replace his hitherto languid acceptance of defeat.

And the people believed The Maid. Men were ready to fight beside her with new energy and purpose, because they were certain that God was their ally and that therefore they must prevail.

Then something happened to make all this seem unimportant to me. I was once more pregnant. I was filled with joy. Another child! And this time there would not be the same anxiety. I was surrounded by devoted friends. We had managed with Edmund, and we should know how to do so with a new child.

Owen was delighted and, although Guillemote pursed her lips and shook her head and wondered whether I was sufficiently recovered from the birth of Edmund, I could see that she, too, was overjoyed at the prospect of a new baby.

I suppose I should have been more interested in what was going on, but my mind was wholly absorbed by thoughts of my coming child. So I did not ask myself what was happening at the siege of Orléans and if The Maid and her heavenly allies would succeed against the all-conquering English, but “Will the child be a girl or a boy?”

The journey from Hadham to Hatfield was a little trying. I rode some of the way because I did not want to arouse suspicions regarding my state of health, but Guillemote insisted that when I looked tired I should take to a litter.

I must say I was glad to see the walls of the palace before me and to pass under the gateway. I was exhausted by the journey, and Guillemote insisted on my getting to bed without delay.

My ladies were bustling around me to make sure that everything was in order.

There was an element of danger in moving to a new place. We had had everything arranged to our satisfaction in Hadham. Here there would be new servants, and servants talk.

I knew that I could trust Owen and my devoted friends to make sure that we were as safe as we possibly could be.

I needed to rest for several days after the journey.

“It has been too much for you,” said Guillemote. “I am wondering whether it wouldn’t have been better to have stayed at Hadham…sweetening or not.”

“A foul place would have been no good for the baby,” I reminded her. “And we had been there too long already.”

“Nor was the journey any good for the baby,” retorted Guillemote.

However, all seemed to be well, and after a rest I felt in good health.

Hatfield Place is a beautiful residence, grander than Hadham, and perhaps for that reason I had felt safer at the latter. We were nineteen miles north of London, which did not seem very far. I loved the long gallery and the chapel, which had some of the most attractive stained-glass windows I had ever seen. I liked to sit there and pray, with the light streaming through onto the dark oak floor. I would thank God for giving me the blessing of marriage to a good man, for my son Edmund and for the child I soon hoped to have. I was fortunate. And what I prayed for was to go on in my peaceful happy home, with my husband and children around me…free from danger.

My thoughts were completely absorbed by my family; so I listened halfheartedly to the news which filtered into the palace and was avidly seized on by the others.

Guillemote’s stream of talk broke into my reverie.

“I believe it to be true,” she said.

“What do you believe, Guillemote?” I asked.

“That The Maid has been sent by God.”

“Oh, you are talking of that again, are you?”

“My lady…dear madam, everyone is talking about it.”

“Do they still think she is divine?”

“They do not think that she is divine…just that she is a messenger from God.”

“Well, would that not make her divine?”

“She does not say that she is. She says she is a simple girl who hears voices commanding her to take up arms and lead the soldiers to victory.”

I yawned slightly and stroked the little shift I was embroidering. “Orléans will fall to the French they say,” went on Guillemote. “And if it does, that will be the turning point. It will be Paris next.”

“Orléans fall!” I said.

“Yes…the siege. The English have been holding on. It is hoped that they are on the verge of surrender. Joan the Maid is there leading the men on, urging them to break through the walls and rescue Orléans.”

“How can she…a woman …?”

“With the help of God,” said Guillemote.

“Guillemote, you can’t really believe …”

Guillemote looked at me steadily and said: “I do believe.”

“The Duke of Bedford will never allow it.”

“What hope has he? He is losing Burgundy’s friendship. It only lingers on because Burgundy loves his sister Anne, who pleads with him not to desert her husband.”

“This is gossip.”

“Mayhap. But there is often truth in gossip. If Orléans should fall, men will flock to The Maid. It will prove that she has led her fellow countrymen to achieve what seemed impossible.”

“You are bemused by this Maid.”

“Madame…the whole of France is bemused by this Maid.”

I could not take these tales seriously, but I soon learned that I should.

Orléans was taken and this was a resounding victory for the French.

I could not help thinking of my brother-in-law Bedford. He must be disconsolate. It had been a sacred mission for him to carry out Henry’s wishes and keep—and add to—the possessions in France. And now one of the key cities was lost. It was not only this loss but the effect the victory would have on the army which was losing its spirit as well as much of the land conquered by Henry.

Owen was dismayed by the news. He repeated his conviction that it could never have happened if Henry had been alive.

“I cannot imagine what this will mean,” he said. “It is hard to believe that one victory like this can change the course of the war. But it seems this is not all. The Maid has aroused a new spirit in France. And when people are fighting for their own country, they seem to acquire a special strength.”

“You cannot believe this story of The Maid’s being sent by God?”

“There are many strange things that happen on earth which are beyond our understanding. This might be one of them. Moreover, we have to consider this victory, this new spirit which is arising in France. The Dauphin is now bestirring himself.”

“My brother never wanted the crown.”

“It seems that The Maid has inspired him to now.”

Owen had discovered that messengers were constantly crossing the Channel. The Duke of Bedford was keeping the Council informed. Even I, absorbed as I was in the child I had and the one who was coming, could not be unaware that momentous events were taking place.

One day a messenger came to Hatfield.

I was alarmed. I had hoped that few had been aware of my change of residence, but the fact that this messenger came meant that the move was not unknown.

He was French and had been in the service of my father at one time; and I think it was for this reason that he had made the perilous journey to Hatfield to see me.

He wanted to give me the news in person, for he did not forget that, although I was the Queen of England, I was also a French princess.

I could see that he thought he had brought me good news.

I welcomed him, feeling greatly relieved that my pregnancy, as yet, was not apparent.

He told me that there was great rejoicing in France, and the news he brought was that my brother had been crowned in Rheims.

How could that be? I wondered. My little Henry was the acknowledged King of France. It had been part of the treaty of peace which had been signed between my parents and my husband who had graciously allowed my father to bear the title until his death, and my father was now dead. Henry would have been King had he lived, and then none would have dared raise a voice against that—but now he was dead and the crown had gone to his son Henry.

So how could my brother Charles be crowned King?

“The Maid came with him to the cathedral,” said the messenger. “It was a goodly sight indeed. She carried her banner high. ‘Jhesus Maria.’ So bold it was that all could read it. Her face shone with glory, my lady. All knew that she was God’s messenger.”

“And my brother…the Dauphin …”

“The Dauphin no longer, my lady, but King Charles VII of France.”

I wanted to say: that cannot be. I could see Henry’s face before me, shining with victory. If he had lived…oh, but if he had lived, everything would have been different. Owen would not now be my husband. Edmund would not have been born. I felt the child move within me as though to remind me of its presence.

No. If Henry had lived, it would have been a different story.

“Hope is springing up throughout France, my lady. It is hard to believe that this could have happened. It is a different country. The people have been given hope. And all through The Maid. But when you see her…my lady…that radiant goodness…it is not difficult to understand why.”

I lowered my head, and the messenger seemed suddenly to realize that, although I had been a princess of France, that was no longer my country and he was talking of the defeat of the one to which I now belonged.

I wanted to ease his embarrassment. I said: “It was good of you to come to me with this news. I thank you. It must have been a very hazardous journey for you.”

“I served your father. I knew of his love for you. I see now …”

“No…no,” I assured him. “It was good of you. I thank you. You must be refreshed. I wish you a safe journey back.”

He left me…subdued.

The weeks were passing. My pregnancy was beginning to show itself. September was coming to an end, and the mornings were misty; the trees were taking on their autumnal tints. Before the year was out, my baby would be born.

I remembered the day well. Messengers came riding to the palace. They always caused me great disquiet. If my enemy Gloucester discovered that Owen and I had broken the law and married—even though the law was made after our marriage—I could not guess what our fate would be. They would perhaps not dare harm me, and as my brother now called himself the King of France, they would have to act with caution. It was Owen for whom I feared. They would call him a traitor. I trembled for Owen.

Guillemote came running to me, her face puckered in alarm.

“They are asking to see you.”

“Can you not say I am unwell?”

She slowly shook her head. “They are from the Bishop.”

“From Winchester?”

She nodded.

“He is a cardinal now,” I said.

“I know. From the Cardinal, then.”

“What do they want?”

“Some message from him. Come…let me see. If you are seated, no one will know.” She brought a rug and wrapped it over my knees and my waist.

“We will tell them you have a chill and are staying in,” she said. “Mind you do not rise from the chair.”

Someone was knocking on the door.

Guillemote went to open it. Two men stood there.

“We are from his Eminence the Cardinal. We have a message for the Queen.”

“The Queen is suffering from a chill. She does not want to be disturbed,” said Guillemote.

“It is merely to deliver a message, and we have instructions to speak to her and her only.”

“Well then, do so,” said Guillemote. “The Queen is here.”

They came to me and knelt before me. I bade them rise and said in muffled voice that they should state their business as quickly as possible as I was feeling unwell.

“We are here to tell Your Grace that the Cardinal is on his way to you. He has something of great importance to impart to you and wishes to do so in person.”

Alarm seized me. I heard myself saying: “Where…is the Cardinal?”

“He has already begun his journey, my lady. He should be with you in the early afternoon.”

I felt sick with fear. How noticeable was the change in my body? Would the Cardinal realize that I was pregnant?

I thanked the messengers and sent them to be refreshed before they began their return journey.

Guillemote came running in with the Joannas. They listened in dismay to what I told them.

“What are we going to do?” I demanded.

“You could go to bed …” suggested Guillemote.

I pondered that. It was a possibility, but illness had been feigned so often and the Cardinal, astute as he was, would be fully aware of that. It might arouse his suspicions, I said.

“I have it,” said Joanna Courcy. “All of us will wear the fullest skirts we can find. We will pad ourselves out with petticoats. We shall all look alike.”

“He will think we have a houseful of pregnant women,” said Guillemote.

We all laughed, but our laughter was a little hysterical.

“He will be full of his own thoughts,” said Agnes. “Perhaps he will not notice if we all look alike.”

“That’s right,” I said. “He will see us dressed in a similar manner, as he will think, and it will not occur to him that one of us may be different. I think it is an excellent idea. We must get ready at once.”

We did so and I had to admit that it would have taken more than a cardinal, beset by his own ambitions, to be aware that my figure was any different from that of my ladies.

I sat in a chair covered by a rug. I should still keep up the myth of a chill.

The others ranged themselves around me. Joanna Belknap had a book on her lap as though reading aloud to us. The rest of us held our needlework. It was a peaceful scene—an indication of the life I lived in my chosen seclusion.

Guillemote had arranged that Edmund should be kept as far away as possible from my apartments.

And so the Cardinal found us.

He came to me and kissed my hand.

“You will forgive my remaining seated, Cardinal,” I said. “I have a slight chill. They have been dosing me with their remedies, which has made me feel uncommonly lazy.”

“Remain in a warm room,” said the Cardinal. “’Tis the best for a chill in the head.”

“I believe that to be so. It is good of you to come and see me.”

“A pleasure, Madam.”

He looked at the ladies seated around me. I waved my hand, and they rose rather awkwardly in their padded garments. I watched the Cardinal closely. He showed no interest in their bulky skirts, I was relieved to see.

He had aged. The bitter feud with Gloucester had taken its toll of him. There were lines under his eyes, and his handsome face was slightly ravaged. It still retained its proud and haughty look which seemed to me to be reminding people that he was royal. Watching him, I had the conviction that Gloucester would never get the better of him.

“I trust Your Grace will soon recover from this indisposition which I rejoice to see is not great,” he was saying.

“Thank you, my lord Cardinal. I am sure I shall soon be well.”

“I would not have disturbed your peace,” he went on, “but this is a matter of some urgency concerning the King.”

I was alarmed. “He is ill?” I cried.

“The King is in the best of health.”

My relief must have been obvious.

“Your Grace need have no fears on that score. The King is carefully watched over by several of us, and the Earl of Warwick gives good reports of his progress.”

“I am glad to hear of it.”

“If Your Grace came to Court, you would have more opportunities of seeing the King.”

“I hear from him often. I pray that all will go well with him. What is this matter which so deeply concerns him?”

“Your Grace will no doubt be aware of the situation in France?”

“I know something of it.”

“Bad news travels fast. This woman who has appeared on the scene …”

“You mean Joan The Maid.”

“That is how she is known. She has created a certain amount of harm.”

“A young girl can do that! I have heard that she is a young girl.”

“She makes a great show of her virginity. Whether it is true or not, I have no idea. I rather doubt it…living with rough soldiers as she does.”

“There is a great deal of talk about her. She seems to have achieved…miracles.”

“The French have had some initial success, it is true.”

“Which is attributed to her?”

“It would seem so. It is a form of hysteria.”

“I have heard that it has resulted in the coronation of my brother. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is true. He calls himself the King of France now. But he is King in name only, of course.”

“And the people of France …?”

“Well, their mood has changed. They have, it is true, risen out of the lethargy which previously possessed them. They are telling themselves that God has sent The Maid to bring them victory.”

“And this disturbs you?”

“It is nonsense, of course, but, as I have said, it has had a certain effect on the people.”

“And she has recaptured Orléans.”

“That is so…and there have been one or two other victories…minor, of course…but they have put heart into the French.”

“And taken a little from the English?”

“These matters are very unfortunate. People are superstitious. They see omens everywhere. The French believe that God is fighting with them. He comes in the shape of a young maid. It is nonsense…but it has had its effect, since they have dared crown the Dauphin.”

“Well, you say you do not regard it as important. You say it does not change the case.”

“We do not like it. And this is the reason for my visit to you.”

My heart started to beat wildly. I was wondering when he was ever coming to the point, but had feared to show my anxiety by pressing it.

“As soon as possible,” he went on, “we shall take the King to France and have him crowned there. He is the true King. The throne was freely given by your father to the late King, your husband. It is a pity King Henry V did not have himself crowned at the time of his victory. Then there could have been no disputing who was the true King of France.”

“He did not wish to deprive my father of his crown during his lifetime.”

“Such gestures, while noble, often lead to confusion. However, we intend to right that as soon as possible. Our King Henry, young as he is, must go to France as soon as it is convenient to do so, that we may put the crown of France on his head. But as he has not yet been crowned King of England, we propose to do that at once, and it would be meet and fitting for his mother to be present on that occasion.”

“You mean for the crowning here …”

“I mean for both. It will be advisable for you to go to the ceremony in Westminster, but necessary, I think, to that which follows in France.”

I was filled with dismay. Go to France! Leave my babies? Leave Owen!

He went on: “The first ceremony will take place next month. I doubt not that you will need a little time to prepare.”

Next month! I hoped I did not betray my consternation. Next month it would be impossible to hide my condition.

And to go to France …

I was on the point of crying out: I cannot. It is quite impossible. But I restrained myself. The last thing I must do was betray the true state of affairs to this astute man.

“I thought I should come in person,” he went on, “to stress the importance of this. But of course you will realize that and how necessary it is for you to be present. The King is young. And at such a time he will wish to be with his mother.”

I wanted to shout at him: yet you took him away from me. You gave him to Alice Butler and Joan Astley!

“And,” went on the Cardinal, “your presence in France will be a great help. Especially now…when there is a sign of rebellion amongst the French. It will remind the people that the King’s mother is their late King’s daughter. So I have come to ask you to come to Court within the next week or two.”

I could not go to London. That was certain. But what excuse could I give? I must have turned pale, for the Cardinal was a little concerned.

“I trust I have not tired you,” he said.

“I…er…I must apologize for being in such a low state.”

“It was good of you to receive me.”

“Then goodbye, Cardinal. Thank you for your visit. They will send my women to me…immediately.”

He bowed himself out and no sooner was he gone than Guillemote and the others burst in.

“You look shocked,” said Guillemote.

“So will you be…when you know what he came for.”

“Pray tell us and do not keep us in suspense,” begged Agnes.

“They are going to crown Henry, and the Cardinal thinks I should be present at the ceremony.”

“When?” cried Guillemote.

“Next month.”

There was a shocked silence.

“You cannot go,” said Joanna Troutbeck.

“That is certain,” I agreed.

“It is simple,” said Guillemote. “You will just be ill. What else can you do? It is well that you have set the stage. We will start right away. I shall get you to bed. Before the Cardinal leaves, it shall be known that you are less well than you were when he arrived, and your faithful servants, appalled by your condition—which has nothing to do with his visit, as they were aware you were more ill than you allowed it to be assumed—are getting you to your bed without delay.”

My son Henry was crowned at Westminster on the sixth day of November of that year 1429 in the presence of Parliament. His mother was not present. She was at that time somewhat unwieldy, keeping to her apartments and taking good care not to be seen by any but those whom she could trust—the birth of her child being expected in a matter of weeks.

Poor Henry! I was sad that I could not be with him. I wondered what he was feeling. At eight years old he was too young to have a crown placed on his head. He had always been a solemn child. I guessed he had become more so. He would need to be.

I wondered if he missed me. I felt a deep grudge against those who had taken him away from me. Was he thinking of me at this time? Did he ever think of me…or was I just part of that early childhood which must have become like a hazy dream to him.

I wanted to hear all I could about the ceremony.

Owen thought it was not only because they wished to take him to France and crown him King of that country that they had hastened his coronation in England; for when he was crowned, Gloucester would lose his post of Protector, and Owen imagined that it was the need to thrust Gloucester out of that important role which had been the deciding factor in this rather hasty coronation.

“Surely they will not expect my son to govern?” I said.

“No. But it is a way of getting rid of the present Protector. You are not the only one, my love, who sees him as a menace.”

“I know the Cardinal does, for one.”

“Others too, I’ll swear.”

We heard reports of that ceremony in Westminster Abbey. Warwick had led Henry in. He looked splendid, they said, in his rich coronation robes; and the people loved him for his youth. He was solemn and serious, looking rather sad and wise, as though he fully understood the significance of the ceremony and was already aware of the burdens of kingship which were being set on his young shoulders.

If I were not actually at Westminster, my thoughts were with him. I would write to him and tell him how sad I was that I could not be present at such a time. But that was not strictly true. I was carrying his little half-brother or -sister and that was a fact which made me rejoice.

But how I hated this web of deceit which I had been forced to weave about myself. I did not care so much that I must lie to Gloucester and the Cardinal; but I wished I did not have to do so to my son.

I had a letter from him which I treasured. In it he expressed his sorrow at my illness, and he was deeply distressed because I had not been present to see him crowned.

A splendid banquet had followed the ceremony in the Abbey, and during it a proclamation was made that in the New Year the King would be leaving for his French dominions.

During the weeks that followed, to the exclusion of all else, I was absorbed in preparations for my child’s arrival. The same methods of secrecy which had been the order at the time of Edmund’s birth were put into practice.

“We are getting accustomed to it,” said Guillemote.

It appeared to be satisfactory for everything went smoothly. I often thought how lucky I was to have such loyal servants. I marveled at this, for there was not one of them who did not know that what they were doing would be construed as a crime against the state and, if it were discovered, could result in imprisonment for them…perhaps even death.

The days were short now, and darkness was already creeping into the palace before four o’clock in the afternoon. The snow was falling heavily.

“That is good,” said Joanna Troutbeck. “It means we cannot have visitors catching us unawares.”

At last the time came. They were all around me and I felt safe with them.

My ordeal was not a long one. It was easier than it had been with Edmund; and when I heard the cry of my newly born child, I forgot the need for secrecy and all my fears in my joy.

“The child is a boy,” Guillemote whispered to me. “A bonny, healthy boy. A brother for little Edmund.”

I saw Owen at my bedside, the child in his arms.

“Here he is,” he said. “Just look at him. He’s perfect. Are you not proud of yourself to have produced such a child?”

“He is yours, too, Owen,” I said.

And I felt: everything…just everything is worthwhile for this moment.

We decided to call him Jasper. “Jasper of Hatfield,” I said. “Brother to Edmund.”

Edmund was brought to view his new brother. He looked with wonder at the small creature in the cradle.

“He is your brother,” I said. “You will always look after him, will you not?”

Edmund nodded gravely.

“You will always be good friends. You will always stand together. You will, Edmund, I know.”

“Yes,” said Edmund. And he repeated, “Brother Jasper.”

He hunched his shoulders, smiling, as though it were a great joke that he now had a brother.