The Queen's Secret

THE MAID

Peace continued for a few weeks. Of course, we knew it could not last. We were prepared, for when the Cardinal had come to see me before Jasper’s birth, he had told me of the imminent coronation in France. It was becoming more and more apparent that I should be expected to be there, in view of the fact that I was French and sister to the man who was now calling himself King of France. I was not sure what part I should be expected to play. Owen thought it would depend on the state of affairs which existed between England and France at the time. They would perhaps want me very much in evidence. On the other hand, it could well be that they would want to keep me out of the public view.

“If this should be the case,” I said to Owen, “why should they be so insistent that I must go?”

“They are taking no chances.”

“Oh, Owen…must I go?”

“I do not see how it can be avoided. Your absence from the coronation at Westminster was acceptable. When the Cardinal visited you, you appeared to be unwell, so it was logical enough to assume that you were sickening for some illness. But if you plead illness again they will probably be sending doctors down to Hatfield to give a report on you. That could be very dangerous.”

“I suppose so many people have used illnesses as excuses that it can easily become suspect.”

“It is a good one if it can be substantiated.”

“You really think I must go, don’t you, Owen?”

“I am afraid, my love, that it would be highly dangerous not to do so.”

“And you, Owen?”

“It might be that I could come as a member of your household. You will surely be expected to take some of your servants with you.”

“If that were possible, I could bear it.”

“We shall have to make it possible.”

“We will. We will. Oh, but the children, Owen …”

“We cannot take them with us.”

“No…alas. They must remain. But to be separated from them. How long, Owen?”

“It will surely be some months.”

“I won’t do it. I won’t!”

“What excuse can you give?”

“That I am unfit to travel.”

“It will not work twice.”

“I will tell them the truth, then. I will say, ‘Leave me alone. Let me live my own life. I have my husband and my children…and my family. Rule this country as you will. Rule France too. But please do not try to rule me.’”

Owen took my hands and looked into my face.

“It is no use, Katherine, my love. Such talk will help us not at all. You will have to go or arouse suspicions. We cannot risk that. There must be no excuses this time. You must go as though it is a great pleasure to see your son crowned in your native land. It is the only way. It has to be done.”

“I can’t face it, Owen. Jasper has only just come to us. To leave him…to leave Edmund…for so long …”

“We have to do it. It’s no use fighting against it. And when it is over, we shall return to this quiet, idyllic life. It will be all the more wonderful to us. You will see.”

I wept silently.

“It is so hard to leave them…when they are so young.”

He stroked my hair as he held me tightly in his arms. “Think. You will be closer to Henry.”

“Henry is already lost to me. Do you think I shall ever be alone with him? I cannot see Henry now without seeing his crown. He is not so much my son as the King.”

“Yet underneath his ceremonial robes and crown, he is only a child. Remember that. He may want to talk to you. He may need your help. It may be that he needs you more than Edmund and Jasper do. They will be left in good hands. You need have no fear for them. Katherine, we have to face this. We dare do nothing else.”

I knew he was right. I had to prepare myself for separation.

I tried to explain to Edmund that I was going away, that I hated to leave him, but this was a matter of duty. He was not quite sure what that was, and I was touched by the way in which he clung to my skirts as though to prevent my departure.

“Guillemote will be here with you. And Jasper will be here.”

That cheered him a little. He adored Guillemote, and I think that when she was around he felt safe.

It would be natural for me to take a small entourage with me. Owen was in this, and so was Joanna Courcy. The other two Joannas with Agnes were staying behind to help Guillemote with the children.

I prayed that I would soon be back, but one could never be sure; and I doubted whether I should be received in France with the enthusiasm I had enjoyed when I rode with Henry at my side. The position had changed since then. I had not heard what was happening since the siege of Orléans, but I did know that there was a new spirit among the French and that the high hopes of the English had declined, with the result that there had been several French victories.

It was late February when Henry, after attending service in St. Paul’s asking God’s blessing on the proposed journey, made his way to Canterbury, where he was to spend Easter.

I, with my little entourage, joined him there.

I was formally received by him, but I saw his eyes light up with pleasure as they rested on me, and I knew he was glad that I should be near.

I did have an opportunity of being alone with him, and it seemed then that he set aside his crown and stepped out of his ermine robes to be my little son.

“I have missed you,” he said.

If only we could all be together! I was thinking of how I would introduce him to his half-brothers, Edmund and Jasper Tudor. If only that were possible! If only we could all be one happy family!

I laughed at myself. What an absurd flight of fancy. I wondered what Henry would say. They would have molded him to their ways. I supposed Warwick was, after all, following his instructions. Kings could not be kept at their mothers’ sides. They had to be brought up to ride, to shoot, to go into battle when the time arose. They were hurried through their boyhoods to make them quickly into men before they had had time to be young. They would say that was a woman’s view.

“I have missed you so much, too,” I said. “But I heard about your coronation.”

“Oh yes, I am truly King now. The Earl of Warwick says that a king is not truly a king until he is crowned.”

“Well, you are that now, my son. How like your father you are!”

“Am I?” he asked eagerly. “I have to be like him. They are always saying that. ‘Your father would have done this. Your father would have done that.’ That is what they are always saying. If I do not please them, they say that my father would be ashamed.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “He would have understood. He was a great soldier, but he was a good, kind man as well.”

“I wish he had not died.”

“A great many people wish that.”

“If he were alive, I should not have to be King …”

I smiled at him sadly. “Your coronation must have been impressive.”

“It was so long…and there were so many speeches…so many things to remember.”

“But I heard you did your part well.”

“Did they say so?”

“Yes…everybody did.”

He looked pleased. “I thought the banquet would go on forever, and they were all watching me …”

“Well, they would, you being the King.”

“It is a strange feeling…to be a king.”

“Yes, it must be.”

“Why do you stay shut away in the country?”

“There is little I could do at Court.”

“You would be near me.”

“I would so rarely see you.”

“I wish …”

“Tell me what you wish. You are the King. It should not be so difficult for you to achieve.”

“What I wish no one could give me. I wish my father would come alive, and then I should not have to be the King.”

My poor Henry, weighed down with honors which he did not want! His dearest wish was to be robbed of his crown!

I was glad that kingship had not given him grand ideas of his importance. Rather it seemed it had had the opposite effect.

We stayed in Canterbury over the Easter week and then made our way to Dover. On St. George’s Day we were ready to cross to France. Cardinal Beaufort was a member of the party and he was in charge of the King’s person. Ten thousand soldiers had joined us at Canterbury and they were ranged on the shore, ready to board the vessels when the order was given.

The sun was shining as we went on board, and very soon, with a fair wind behind us, we were sailing for Calais.

We were blessed with a smooth crossing, and about ten o’clock on a bright and sunny morning we landed.

The Cardinal insisted that we ride at once to the church of St. Nicholas, where High Mass was celebrated.

We stayed a short while in Calais and then the Cardinal said that we should make our way to Rouen where he hoped to find the Duke of Bedford waiting for us.

I gathered that we should remain at Rouen while arrangements were made for Henry’s crowning at Rheims. It was an uncomfortable situation, as only recently my brother had been crowned and given the same title which was now to be bestowed on my son. I could sense, too, that there was a very different feeling among the soldiers from that which I had known when I came to meet that other Henry. Uneasiness had replaced triumph. I heard whispers of The Maid.

It was surprising to me that one woman—and a girl at that—could have so changed the outlook of people. In the towns and villages through which we passed we were regarded suspiciously. I knew that the soldiers were on the alert. This country was no longer meekly accepting the conquerors. In fact, the conquerors were on very uncertain ground. Could this all be due to one girl? She must have had divine help. Many believed that, and there was I being influenced in the same way as those superstitious people who thought that God had sent His help through the person of a country girl, to drive the English out of France.

I knew that the Cardinal was very uneasy.

I did not have much opportunity of speaking to him, but now and then he seemed to remember that I was the Queen and the King’s mother, and then there would be a little discourse between us.

He would not have spoken of his uneasiness if I had not insisted on doing so.

I said to him: “Are you anticipating trouble, Cardinal?”

He raised those haughty brows and looked at me in surprise.

“It is clear that something has changed here,” I insisted.

“In what way?”

“It would seem to me that the English are no longer regarded as the triumphant conquerors.”

“There have been a few setbacks, but nothing of any great importance.”

“So the fall of Orléans was of no importance?”

“It would have been better if it had not been allowed to happen.”

“The crowning of Charles …”

“An empty ceremony. The Duke of Bedford is a great soldier and a magnificent organizer. He has everything under control.”

“I suppose it is hard to dispel a legend of this sort which has risen up.”

“You are referring to the woman who dresses up in men’s clothes?”

“I did mean the one whom they call The Maid.”

“A momentary wonder. An exaggeration.”

“It seems to have put heart into the French and taken something from the English.”

“Whatever has been taken will be put back.”

I was not sure how much importance he attached to Joan of Arc, but I believed he was deceiving himself into thinking that she could have no effect on the war.

I soon discovered that he was by no means unconcerned about her, for as we marched through those villages, the change in the mood of the people was decidedly noticeable—and it seemed that a kind of despairing depression had fallen on our men.

Owen, who always rode in my party but never beside me, for we had warned ourselves most severely about the dangers of betraying our relationship and to be continually on the watch lest we betray it, made a discovery. He wanted to tell me, but as no opportunity presented itself, he gave the news to Joanna Courcy, asking her to tell me.

“They have captured The Maid,” she said.

“The English?”

“No…not the English. The Burgundians, who were laying siege to Compiègne. Joan was on the march with three or four hundred men on her way to Crépy when she heard that John of Luxembourg, an ally of the Duke of Burgundy, had started to besiege the town. She went to the rescue of the besieged. Some people think there was treachery. There was a good deal of envy, and some of those who should have been her staunchest supporters, being so jealous of her sought to trap her. Many of them got away in boats when the battle was going against them, and Joan with a few others assisted them in their retreat. There is a strong suspicion that her own soldiers may have betrayed her. In any case, the gates of the city were shut before she could get out. She is in the hands of John of Luxembourg and he has taken her to his castle of Beaulieu.”

“I suppose that is the same as being in the hands of the English?”

“Not quite. He will probably ask a ransom for her. He’s Burgundy’s man…and the relationship between Burgundy and the English is at the moment a little strained.”

“Poor girl. I wonder what will happen to her now.”

Joanna shook her head. “It will be the end of her glory, I am sure.”

The Cardinal was clearly overjoyed, so I knew that his indifference to The Maid had been assumed.

I wondered what I should find when I joined my brother-in-law, Bedford, at Rouen.

Such was the state of affairs in France at this time that our journey to Rouen had to proceed with the utmost care. The fact that the King was one of our party meant that no risks must be taken. I thought of my little ones in England. They would be safe, Joanna was constantly assuring me. Guillemote would defend them with her life.

There were rumors about The Maid. She had escaped, said one. She had been recaptured, said another. Then…there had been no escape. She was still the prisoner of the Count of Luxembourg. She would be sold for a large sum of money, that was certain. And who would be ready to pay that large sum of money to get her into their hands? The English! And what would her fate be when she was their prisoner—she, who had been responsible for turning the tide of war against the English? However much they denigrated her, however much they pretended to ridicule her, they must realize the truth of this.

I must admit that my thoughts were mainly occupied with the desire to get back to my children. Moreover, I could not see a great deal of Owen. He had stressed to me the necessity to be careful. But at least there was the comfort of knowing that he was there.

So cautiously we processed on this slow and tedious journey, and although we had landed at Calais in April it was not until July that we arrived in Rouen.

Bedford was there, anxiously awaiting our arrival. He had changed a good deal. He looked careworn and much older. The events of the last year had naturally had their effect on him.

His great concern was for the King, but he greeted me with the kindliness which he had always extended toward me. He was the sort of man who would never forget his brother’s injunctions to look after me, and would carry out his promise to do so to the very best of his abilities. How differently I felt toward him than I did toward his brother Gloucester.

I was delighted to find that his wife was with him. Because of our relationship, Anne of Burgundy and I had seen each other now and then during our childhood, and we had always liked each other. It would have been difficult not to like Anne. She had grown very beautiful, with a beauty which comes from an inner goodness rather than from features.

I was able to talk to her more freely than to other members of the party—except, of course, Joanna Courcy.

She told me how anxious her husband was.

“The situation here,” she said, “is worse than is generally admitted. It is incredible what this Maid has done. She has even aroused Charles from his lethargy sufficiently to get him to agree to a coronation.”

“Poor Charles!” I said. “He never really wanted a crown.”

“Nor did his brother Jean. How strange that so many fight to attain a crown and that those to whom it comes by inheritance would rather someone else had it.”

“Well, there are always many to fight for it. What a strange position we are in!”

“And you and I, Katherine, now owe our allegiance to a new country…and one which was the enemy of our native land. What a mess it all is! I think that, if there had never been this quarrel between Burgundy and Orléans or Armagnacs, everything would have been different.”

“But my husband was determined to take France.”

“And my husband is determined to follow his brother’s wishes.”

“And we are caught up in it. Your case is different from mine, Anne. I was married to Henry as part of a treaty. You married his brother because you loved him.”

“Yes. I was one of the lucky ones. But you loved Henry. John says that Henry was above all other men. It was such a tragedy. John has never got over it. He worshiped his brother.”

“Henry was the sort of man people worshiped.”

She put her hand over mine and pressed it firmly.

I felt an urge to tell her. Do not be sorry for me, I wanted to say, for I have found a greater happiness than I ever had with Henry. If I could be left in peace with my family, there is nothing else I would ask.

I restrained myself. Anne was a good woman; she would be sympathetic, but her first allegiance would be to Bedford, and if she thought I had broken the law—which many might say I had—she would feel it her duty to tell her husband.

And sitting with Anne, I did realize fully that, however unimportant I had been made to feel, I yet remained the Queen, and it could be that the children I had by a second marriage might have some claim to the throne. Henry was the natural heir, of course, but Edmund and Jasper…oh no, the circumstances would have to be very extraordinary for anyone to think for a moment that they could be in line for the throne. But something of that kind must have been behind Gloucester’s reasoning when he had forced that statute through Parliament. Perhaps there was something in his scheming beyond spite. No…no…the idea was too remote.

I said: “Henry and your husband were such great friends. It was wonderful to see the brotherly love between them.”

“I felt they always wanted to protect each other…and themselves, of course. Their father’s hold on the throne was not very secure, and that made them alert for danger. It drew them together as a family.”

“The Duke of Gloucester does not appear to have the same family feeling.”

“There are some who will always work for themselves and see everything as it affects them personally.”

“And Gloucester is one of those.”

There was a pause and at length she said: “He has caused John a great deal of anxiety. I have worried a great deal. My brother is very angry with Gloucester. It affects his relationship with my husband, for my brother is, I believe, the most powerful man in France.”

“I know. There was the proposed duel.”

“Which, fortunately, did not take place.”

“I believe no one intended that it should.”

“No. But the trouble is still there, and Gloucester has caused it. I could not bear to see the friendship between my husband and brother broken.”

I nodded in agreement and she went on: “And now there is The Maid.”

“She is in the hands of Luxembourg.”

“Yes…and I believe he will sell her to the highest bidder.”

“Poor girl!”

“She has wrought great havoc.”

“To the English,” I replied. “To the French she has brought hope.”

Anne looked a little surprised. I could see that she regarded England as her country now. How lucky Bedford was! I felt a pang of envy. I understood completely their love for each other. Was I not blessed with similar devotion? But they did not have to hide their happiness behind a cloak of deception.

“I am so glad that I found you here,” I said.

“I am with John whenever possible,” she replied. “We hate to be separated.”

“Have you any idea how long it will be before Henry is crowned?” I asked.

“John wants it to be soon. He always wanted it to take place in Rheims. It should. That will mean a great deal.”

“Then why do we not go to Rheims? Why do we stay here in Rouen?”

“I will tell you why. Because there is so much disruption in the country. It is not safe to attempt the journey. The King must not be taken into danger.”

“Is it so bad, then? I thought …”

“The situation has changed considerably since The Maid took Orléans. There are pockets of resistance everywhere. John must be absolutely certain that the King could reach Rheims in safety before he attempts to take him there.”

“How can a simple girl have done so much?”

“John says it is the legend she has created. Somehow she has made the people of France believe that she is being guided by God. John says it is not the girl herself. It is the myth surrounding her.”

“But if there is a myth, she has created it.”

“It is the people who have created the myth.”

I could see that in her eyes all that John did and said was right. And I did not attempt to argue the point further.

As the weeks passed, I began to wish that I had made excuses not to come. I had not thought it would be so long. I had imagined that we would go straight to Rheims, the coronation would take place, and we should all return home. I had reckoned on a few months. How different it was! I certainly should have made excuses not to come.

But should I? When I thought of the consequences of discovery, I would be reduced to a state of terror. It was not for myself I worried, and I supposed they would not harm my little ones; it would be Owen they would seize. I saw that I must take every possible precaution against discovery. I must remember this and not grow too impatient at the delay.

It was brought home to me how precarious the situation was when Bedford and Anne left Rouen for a short hunting trip. I cannot think it was solely to hunt. Bedford would be investigating certain parts of the surrounding country, I supposed, testing its safety before allowing the King to move on. But it was no doubt wise to call this foray a hunt.

There was alarm when the members of the hunt came back without the Duke and Duchess. They were struck with horrified amazement to find that they had not returned.

The enemy were in the neighborhood, they said. Could it possibly be that they had fallen into their hands?

While the awful contemplation of what this could mean gripped us all, Anne and Bedford came riding into the castle. Bedford was pale and tight-lipped. Obviously they had been in great danger.

I learned afterward that they had become cut off from the party and had come very close to a company of French soldiers. By good fortune they had managed to keep hidden until the company passed, but it was only due to good luck that they had escaped capture.

It was an indication of the changed condition of the country and how close the enemy were to Rouen.

I was depressed. As Henry was with us and there could be such danger, there was no hope of our leaving Rouen just yet.

Anne told me about the adventure later. She had been very frightened.

“They were very close,” she said. “We could hear their voices. We were lucky to be in a wood where the trees helped to hide us. Just suppose they had captured John! That would surely have been the end. There is no one who could take his place.”

“You will have to be more careful in future.”

“Oh, we shall be. John says we must take precautions before making the journey to Rheims. They will know the little King is with us. John thinks they would certainly make an attempt to capture him.”

I was filled with alarm. “What do you think they would do to him?”

She was silent. I burst out: “He is only a child. What harm has he done? They would kill him…if they caught him.”

“No. They would not dare. The most likely thing is that they would hold him to ransom. Be calm, Katherine. He will not be taken. He is safe here. John would never allow him to be taken. He has sworn a solemn oath to protect the King and serve him with all his strength.”

“I know. Oh…but how I wish we could go home!”

“The crowning will take place and then you will go.”

“But when…when?”

I might well ask.

The months were passing and still we lingered at Rouen. With the French so close, Bedford dared not venture out with the King.

Anne told me that he was abandoning all hope of getting to Rheims and that it might be necessary to crown Henry in Paris.

“Why not?” I said eagerly.

“Because Rheims is the place where the Kings of France are crowned and have been since the twelfth century, when Philip Augustus was crowned there. You know that, Katherine. And the French would not believe he could be truly King if he were not crowned at Rheims.”

“Somehow I do not believe they will accept Henry as their true King wherever he is crowned.”

“In time they will. John is certain of that.”

But still the weeks passed and we remained at Rouen.

There was news of The Maid. The English had paid the ransom for her, and she was in their hands.

I guessed they would bring her to Rouen, which was a city more important to them than Paris because it was the capital of Normandy, which they had always considered part of England.

I was right. The Maid was close to us.

A hush seemed to have fallen over the castle. She was in everyone’s thoughts. Those who had seen her said that there was a radiance about her and an innocence never seen before. To see her was to believe in her Voices, it was said. Now that she was a prisoner of the English—those who had suffered most through her—what would happen to her?

“Poor girl,” said Joanna Courcy. “Sold to her enemies for 10,000 livres.”

“How could Luxembourg have found it in his heart to sell her?”

“He was thinking of his pocket rather than his heart,” said Joanna grimly.

“What will it be like for her in that prison?” I wondered.

“They may be in too much awe of divine judgment to harm her,” suggested Joanna.

“I pray that will be so.”

“But her judges will condemn her in the end. She has done too much harm to our cause.”

“I wonder what she feels lying there.”

“Your brother will save her surely.”

“Why, yes,” I cried. “Charles must save her. But do you think he can?”

“He will do all in his power. She has turned the tide for him. She has given him new hope, brought back his dignity…his crown, one might say.”

“Yes, you are right. My brother will save her. But can he do so…if she is in English hands? Oh, to think the French sold her to the English for 10,000 livres!”

“The Burgundians,” Joanna corrected me. “The French would never have sold one who was their best hope.”

“How strange it is. Are not the Burgundians French? The Duke of Bedford will be rejoicing that there is still some friendship between him and the Duke of Burgundy. I wish I could stop thinking of that poor Maid.”

“People would say that we should rejoice because she is under lock and key.”

“Oh, but she is so young…so innocent.”

“An innocent girl who led an army to victory!”

“How I should love to see her…to talk to her…to discover for myself whether I could believe she truly heard those voices.”

The Maid’s name was on everyone’s lips as Christmas came and we were still in Rouen.

I cannot say it was a happy Christmas. Few were in the mood for merriment. True, The Maid was no longer an inspiration to our enemies, and the fact that she lay at this time in her prison should have cheered us, but it did not. It was impossible to rid ourselves of the lurking belief that she was indeed inspired by Heaven and that the hand of God would be turned against us because we had made her a prisoner.

My thoughts were back in Hatfield with my children. Jasper was a year old. He would not remember me when I returned. Would Edmund? Oh, it was cruel to separate us. How much longer must we remain in France?

“Are we never to leave this place?” I demanded of Anne.

“Not until it is safe for the King to travel.”

So the days passed.

I did have one or two opportunities of spending a little time with Henry.

He was deeply interested in The Maid.

“Do you really think that she hears voices from Heaven?” he asked me.

“I do not know,” I answered.

“If it is true, we should not punish her.”

“Perhaps we should let her go back to tend her father’s sheep,” I said.

“My lord uncle says that she would not do that. She would set herself at the head of the French army and lead them to more victories.”

“Perhaps she would lead them to defeat.”

“How could she, if God is with her?”

“Your uncle does not believe God is with her. He thinks she is a wicked woman…a bold woman who dresses like a man and lives with rough soldiers. Henry, tell me. Do you defend her…to your uncle?”

He turned to me, and I saw the bewildered look in his eyes. “I should mayhap,” he said. “But I do not.”

“Why should you?”

“Because it may be true.”

“You really think that, do you not?”

“Sometimes…when I am alone…at night perhaps. And I pray to God and ask Him to guide me…to let me see the truth. But when I listen to my uncle and my lord Warwick and the Earl of Stafford, I think I am wicked to think that she who is our enemy may be working with God.”

“Dear little King,” I said, “they have put too heavy a burden on those young shoulders.”

“They are putting her into the hands of the Bishop of Beauvais. I signed an order for him to set up a court and try her. My lady, could it be like trying God?”

“Only if you believe she is holy and has indeed been visited by the angels. Your uncle does not believe that.”

“Oh no.”

“So…you will not.”

“My uncle says she is a witch, and if she is a witch, she deserves to die, does she not?”

“They will prove she is a witch if they want to, I’ll swear.”

“They do want to. Oh yes, they want to. But it must not be because they want to but because she is.”

I soothed him, for I could see that he wanted comfort.

“We shall see,” I said. “Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. It is not your responsibility, you know.”

“But…I have to sign the papers.”

“That is only a symbol. You are not responsible for what the Regent does.”

“But I am the King, dear mother.”

“I wish …”

“Tell me what you wish.”

I took his face in my hands and I was picturing him at Hatfield…in the nursery with his little brothers. Oh, if only that could be! If only I could wipe away that anxious look…if only I could make this bewildered little King into a carefree boy!

The year was moving on, and we were out of January—and still no sign of leaving Rouen.

I was growing restless. I sent for Owen.

He came cautiously, but I flung myself into his arms. He held me firmly, but I was aware of his tension. All the time he was wondering if we could possibly be watched.

“I am tired…tired of this, Owen,” I cried. “I want to go home. I want to see my children. This is a nightmare which never ends.”

“It must end soon,” said Owen. “They will try The Maid. They will condemn her…and when she is dead, the French will say that as there was no miraculous rescue, The Maid deluded them. They will return to their old slothful ways, and the Duke of Bedford will be the feared and respected Lord of France once more.”

“And what of my brother whom she has crowned King?”

“He will revert to his old ways. In fact, it seems he already has. It was expected that he would make some move to come to the aid of the girl who had done so much for him. But what did he do? Nothing.”

I thought of Charles…indolent…self-indulgent. Oh Charles, I thought, have you no shame? Everyone expects you to make some effort to save this girl. But for her you would still be Charles…ironically called the Dauphin. You would never have done anything to bring yourself out of the rut into which you had fallen. But she did it for you. Are you going to ignore her now?

I feared that he would. Perhaps I knew too well that little boy who had been with me all those years ago in the Hôtel de St.-Paul.

Winter had passed into spring, and we still waited. A feeling of doom had overtaken me. I should never escape.

I should have been bold. I should not have come here. I should have made excuses to stay at home.

It was already May. What were my children doing? Guillemote would keep my memory alive with Edmund. She would tell Jasper of his mother who loved him and longed to be with him. I could trust Guillemote. I thought of the spring in Hatfield. The trees would now have emerged from their winter nudity and be clothed in green leaves. How beautiful it would be in Hatfield, where my children were growing up without me!

Every few days there was news of The Maid. She had been passed over to the secular law. We knew what that meant.

The law would now pass on her that sentence which the Church feared to…just in case they were dealing with someone who had been guided by Heaven. How I despised them! How ashamed I was of my brother, who stood aside and made no attempt to help the girl who had done so much for him.

There was unrest everywhere and a tension in the air. People wondered what would happen when The Maid went to her death, for they had condemned her as a witch—and that meant death by fire.

Poor child! She was little more. Could they not show some mercy to one so young? Could they not send her back to her family…to the fields where she could once again tend her father’s sheep?

But they feared her. Lurking in their minds would be the question: was she indeed the emissary of God? And if she were, what fate would befall those who harmed her?

I thought that right at the last moment someone would intervene to save her but, when the day came, no one attempted to do so.

It was May 30. A hushed silence prevailed throughout the castle. The thoughts of everyone were with that young girl who had heard voices from Heaven and as a result had led an army and changed the course of the war.

How could a simple girl have done that without the help of Heaven?

I shall never forget that day.

People crowded into the streets to witness her martyrdom. We did hear details of it afterward for those who had witnessed it were eager to talk—indeed, they could not stop talking of it.

Henry had asked that I come to him.

We sat holding hands. I was surprised that he, being so young, could be so deeply affected.

He said little. He just clung to my hand; and I knew he was thinking of The Maid.

There was a deep silence all about us. Instinctively we knew that it was over. And still we sat together…Henry and I.

His secretary, a man named Tressart, came into the room. He looked startled to see us there and was about to mutter an apology when Henry said: “Stay, Tressart.”

There was a look of shock on Tressart’s face and I guessed he had just returned from the square.

Henry said: “Tressart…you were there?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You saw …?”

Tressart nodded; he was too moved for speech.

“Tell me, Tressart.”

Tressart covered his face with his hands and still did not speak.

“Tell me, Tressart,” repeated Henry.

“She…er…she died bravely, my lord. She asked for a cross that it might be held before her till the last. An Englishman in the crowd made a cross with two sticks and gave it to her.”

“An Englishman,” said Henry. “I am glad it was an Englishman.”

“Cardinal Beaufort and even the Bishop of Beauvais wept when the faggots were lighted. Then someone fetched the cross from the church and held it before her eyes.”

“God rest her soul,” said Henry.

“And the Canon of Rouen cried out: ‘Would my soul were where that woman’s will now be!’”

“They should never have done it,” said Henry.

Tressart stood very still, shaking his head. “We are lost,” he said. “This day we have burned a saint.”

It was later that day that Tressart came to me.

“The King is asking for you,” he said. “He is distraught.”

I found Henry in great distress. He immediately asked Tressart to leave us.

I went to him and took him in my arms. “Henry, what ails you?” I asked.

“My lady…mother…I cannot forget it. We have done this terrible thing, and it was in my name.”

“You are thinking of Joan of Arc still.”

“I cannot get her out of my head.”

“It is a terrible tragedy, but these things happen now and then. It was no fault of yours. You have done nothing.”

“It was done in my name.”

“But that is another matter. You are too young to be blamed for what those about you do. They use your name, that is all, and you must obey them. It is they who are responsible.”

“But I should have stopped it.”

“There was nothing you could do.”

“She was a saint, they say.”

“She was the enemy…your enemy…the enemy of your country. She led an army against you. That is how you must see it, Henry.”

“I cannot. I cannot. Mother, there is something I must tell you.”

“Yes, my love.”

“They took me to see her.”

“In her prison?”

He nodded. “I did not speak to her. They made me look through an aperture in the wall. I saw her lying there. She was dressed like a man. Her hair was closely cropped. Yet she did not look like a man. Her lips moved. I think she was praying, because there was no one with her to whom she could be talking. I shall never forget her.”

“You will, Henry,” I said. “It is because it is so recent that you think this…and there has been so much talk about her, all this…hysteria, your uncle Bedford would call it.”

“It is not that, dear mother. There was something about her…a shining radiance. And suddenly her lips stopped moving and she looked straight at me. She just looked…and looked…and I felt as though I were in the presence of holiness.”

“My dear child, they should not have taken you.”

“I wanted to go. I wanted to see her.”

“Well, you did…and now it is over. Whatever was done cannot be changed now.”

“But Tressart was right. I know he was right. We have killed a saint.”

“Henry, you have to forget it. It is all part of war…and life. There will be other decisions…there will be many burdens. You are a king, remember, the son of a great father.”

He covered his face with his hands.

“I do not want to be King. I do not want to have this on my conscience. I want to run away.”

I held him tightly against me. I could feel the rising hysteria in him. I must calm him at all cost. He frightened me.

He held up his face to mine, bewildered and afraid, and there was a wildness in his eyes.

A terrible thought came into my mind: He looks like my father. I dismissed it at once. He had had a shock. He was only a boy…a serious-minded boy and already deeply religious. He took his duties seriously. The burning of that girl at the stake had had its effect on us all. And Henry, as titular Head of the State, felt himself to be responsible for it.

I rocked him in my arms as though he were a baby, and he clung to me. I was relieved that he wanted comfort and that I was the one from whom he sought it.

I talked to him. I told him how dearly I loved him and how sad I was that he had not been left in my care. But I was there if he wanted me. I was his mother. He must never forget that, and there was a bond between us which could never be broken.

I recalled incidents from his babyhood; how he had refused to leave Staines and had kicked and screamed to express his disapproval, and how they had said it was because he was so deeply religious that he would not travel on the Sabbath Day. I was pleased to see that he smiled faintly and that his features became more composed.

He sat for a long time close to me, and a serenity crept over his face so that he looked more like the boy I had always known.

I must try to shut out that terrifying image I had caught for a moment or so.

We were all overwrought, I convinced myself. The burning to death of the saintly Joan of Arc had had an effect on us all.

How I wished we could leave Rouen! There were some who said it was a cursed city because in its square they had burned to death the savior of France. The Goddams were damned, said the French. I had discovered that this was the name they had given to the English because so many of the soldiers in every other sentence used the words “God damn.” The French had caught it. Hence the name.

The French might blame the English for sending Joan of Arc to the flames, but the English retorted that the French had done nothing to save her. And the French owed a great deal to her; the English owed nothing.

I wondered a great deal about my brother Charles. How would he feel when he contemplated the cruel death of the one who had lifted him out of his humiliation, who had made a king of him and had given his country hope?

Surely he felt as guilty as the English who had condemned this strange girl to the fiery death.

The summer was passing. I could scarcely bear to think of Hatfield, so great was my longing for it. But I did feel that Henry needed me with him, and it was some comfort to know that I had been at hand to help him, when my presence meant so much to him.

I had succeeded in soothing his fears and he was calm now. He really was a serious boy, not given to outbursts such as I had witnessed. Of course, he was overwrought. They should never have taken him to see her. And how dramatic it must have been to peer through an aperture. What had she thought when she saw those young eyes staring at her?

I had never seen The Maid, but I imagined she must have been impressive. Anyone who had the faith and courage to confront my brother and insist on his being crowned, any young girl who could inspire an army and lead it to victory, must have some divine quality. And Henry had been overcome by the experience of coming face-to-face with such a person. His reaction was natural enough. I had been unduly alarmed. I must not let myself think for a moment that he may have inherited his grandfather’s madness.

It was not until the end of the year that the Duke of Bedford decided that it would be safe for the King to leave Rouen. Anne told me that he had now given up entirely the idea of taking Henry to Rheims.

There was not the same activity throughout the country since the death of Joan. There had been no startling victories for the French, but the English had not been conspicuously successful either. Joan of Arc had had an effect on both sides.

It would be Paris for the coronation, said Anne. There would be less fear of trouble there.

My one thought was that it would soon be over and we should return to England.

“December is not the best month for such celebrations,” said Anne, “but I think it will have to be then. It is important to have it completed.”

I agreed fervently, for only then could we go home. I was growing excited at the prospect. So was Owen, so much so that we had to restrain our elation which tended to make us careless. Even so there were delays.

It was nearly two years since I had seen my children. I tried to picture a two-year-old Jasper. Edmund would be nearly four. Owen and I would be strangers to them both.

It was December 2 before we entered Paris. Advent Sunday was a fitting date. There was no lack of welcome. The Duke must have Paris under control. The city had been decorated with gaily colored bunting and, in spite of the somewhat chilly weather, the people crowded into the streets to cheer Henry as he rode in.

I suffered some qualms, for I was sure there must be many among the people who regarded my brother Charles as the true King and I was apprehensive for the safety of my son.

He acknowledged the cheers of the people with the quiet charm which won their hearts, and they were as susceptible to youth as any other people.

Cardinal Beaufort rode close to him. In due course he would perform the ceremony in Notre Dame.

Those days in Paris seem to me now like a hazy dream. This was the city of my youth and must necessarily arouse strange emotions within me. The old days came back to me so vividly…with memories of my brothers and sisters…so many of them now gone forever. My poor tragic father was a sad memory; the Hôtel de St.-Paul, the scene of my days of privation…I never wanted to set foot in it again.

My mother was in Paris. She wanted to see me. I hesitated. She had been part of the background of my youthful misery and privation—yet she was my mother.

She was living now, most unhappily, at the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I wondered whether she repented of her evil ways, and I was filled with curiosity about her.

I was after all in Paris briefly, and our paths need never cross again. How could I leave the city without seeing her?

I took a small entourage with me—Joanna Courcy and a few others—and we were not recognized as we went through the streets. We chose the early afternoon when few people were about, and moreover it was a cold and miserable day.

As I went through the drafty hall, memories flooded back. I felt the chill creeping through the cracks and crevices and ill-fitting windows, and I thought of Marie kneeling by her bed, hands and feet blue with the cold. I thought of my father in his room, calling out for someone to come and shatter him because he was made of glass.

The past had come alive to haunt me.

And there was my mother.

How she had changed! She must have been in her sixties and the life she had led had left its mark on her. She was very fat but as voluptuous as ever. Her hair was curled in what must have been the latest fashion; her face was delicately tinted, but nothing could hide the debauched appearance, the pouches under the eyes, the lines around the full, greedy lips. She was petulant now, dissatisfied, full of self-pity.

She called my name and held out her arms to me. She pressed me to her perfumed and overflowing bosom.

“My child…this is a happy day for me. Oh, what a happy day! My dear, dear daughter, the Queen of England. There are not many happy days for me now, daughter.”

“You have no…friends now?”

“People are so fickle. I am old now…old and alone.”

“In the old days you had so many friends.”

She brushed the implication aside. “Your brother was never a good son to me.”

“And you a good mother to him?”

She did not see the irony. She had not changed. Her own affairs had always been so important to her that she did not see beyond them.

“Children are so ungrateful,” she said. “Charles is the tool of that woman.”

“You mean his wife?”

“His wife! My dear child, you are ignorant of affairs here. His wife is a little fool. I mean his mother-in-law…Yolande of Aragon.”

“Yes, I had heard that she influenced him…but for the good, people say. She is a strong and clever woman.”

“Clever, I suppose, in seeking what is best for oneself. As for being strong—one does not have to be strong to govern Charles. What she has done is turn him against his own mother. And now he calls himself the King of France.”

“There are some who would say he has a right to the title.”

“It is our dear little Henry who is King of France now. How happy I shall be when the crown is where it should be—on his blessed head.”

“You can talk like this! Charles is your son!”

“My son!” She snapped her fingers. “Is not Henry my grandson? Are you not…his dear mother…my precious daughter? Katherine, you were always my favorite child.”

I did not know whether I hid the disgust I felt. Did she really deceive herself? Did she believe what she said? I could imagine her working out what stand she should take. In spite of the recent victories inspired by Joan of Arc, she still believed in the final victory of the English and therefore she would side with them against her own son.

I felt sickened.

She said: “How I should love to see him crowned!”

She would not be invited to the coronation, I supposed. I wondered what the people of Paris would say if she put in an appearance. I believed she was universally hated. But as I listened to her, I felt a certain pity. She had had so much. I thought of her coming to France at the age of fourteen, of my father’s adoration of her. The chances she might have had to make a different life for herself…for him…and for us all. Was I wrong to blame the misfortunes of France on her? If I was, I was only doing what so many had before me.

“If I could but see my grandson before I die …” She was looking at me appealingly.

I said: “That will be for the Duke of Bedford to decide. He and Cardinal Beaufort make all the arrangements for my son…not I.”

She nodded.

“He is a beautiful boy, I know. I should be so proud …” She wiped her eyes.

I repeated: “It is not for me to make such decisions …”

And after a while I left. Having done my duty, I was greatly relieved that the task was over.

Henry did go to see her a few days before his coronation. I did not ask him what he thought of her. He did not know of her lurid past, I was sure, and I wondered if anyone would tell him. There was so much to occupy him. He was such a sensitive boy, and he had been crowned once in a country which had come to him as his rightful inheritance. That was very different from the ceremony when the crown had been taken in conquest. Being the boy he was, this would surely occur to him.

He was still recovering from the effects of the trial and death of Joan of Arc which had affected him so strongly, and I could not help feeling anxious as to whether he was ready, not only physically but mentally, to endure that which was being thrust upon him.

On the tenth of the month Cardinal Beaufort crowned him in Notre Dame. The ceremony was conducted with all the expected pomp, and it appeared that the Parisians, at least, accepted Henry as their King.

It was only afterward that there were complaints because the English had not observed the custom of distributing largesse to the hangers-on, who had cheered and expressed their loyalty solely for the purpose of receiving this favor. In addition, there were no pardons for those prisoners whose families had been expecting to see them freed after they had offered such expressions of loyalty to the King. The old French customs had been flouted by the English, and there were loud protestations of anger.

I guessed that Bedford needed all the money he could find to keep his armies intact, and as for freeing prisoners who might become a menace, that would be sheer folly.

However, the French were displeased, and the mood of rejoicing which had been so evident during the first days after the coronation was becoming one of discontent.

Bedford acted promptly.

It was time the King returned to England, he said; and we made preparations to leave Paris for Rouen.

I felt a terrible sense of foreboding when we entered the city, and fears beset me that we should never escape from it. It was besmirched with the blood of the martyr Joan, and her spirit seemed to be still alive in the town. To drive past the square where she had been burned alive could not do anything but fill one with melancholy. While we were in Rouen, we should never be able to forget her.

Bedford’s aim now was to get the King out of France as quickly as possible. The purpose had been accomplished, long drawn out though it had been; and Henry was now crowned King of France.

And so…before January was out, we arrived at Calais. I could scarcely wait to board that ship, and then came that moment when I was there on deck. There were tears in my eyes as I watched the approaching white cliffs of Dover.