The Agincourt Bride (13 page)

‘You must do as you think fit, Mademoiselle,’ I responded, suddenly pushing the door hard against her foot in its soft leather slipper. There was a squeal of pain as she jerked it back and I closed the door with relief, inserting the peg which locked it against further entry. I had fulfilled my promise to Catherine not to let anyone in, but at what cost? This time I feared serious repercussions.

It was two days since the tournament. Immediately after its ignominious ending, Catherine had been witness to a terrible row between the queen and the dauphin over his high-handed and very public sabotage of the Anglo-French treaty. Queen Isabeau had accused Louis of ruining France’s prospects of peace and prosperity out of mere pique at being bettered in the lists, and Louis had countered by calling her faith in King Henry’s goodwill naive and foolish.

‘Henry is a bully, Madame,’ the dauphin had thundered, ‘who will stop at nothing to grab lands, titles and treasure in order to build himself an empire. How you can even contemplate giving Catherine in marriage to such a greedy, ignoble creature is beyond me. All he wants her for is to get his foot on the steps of the French throne. You want to kiss the cheek of a man who would lock my father away, humiliate my sister and disinherit me. I have not ruined any chance of peace. I have thrown down the gauntlet to a glory-seeker and told him that peace is not for sale. We will not buy off his aggression with vast tracts of land, a pair of blue eyes and a two million crown dowry. If he fancies himself as Emperor of the World he will have to fight and, God willing, die for it!’

Queen Isabeau had retorted, ‘It is you who is naive, Louis. King Henry is not a bully, he is a warrior. He will not retreat from your bombast as you hope, he will pick up your gauntlet and march against France and we cannot rely on our lieges to defend us. You have not taken control of your destiny, you have thrown it to the wolves!’

It was a thoughtful and distracted Catherine who had described this confrontation to me in detail as I helped her out of the gold gown. Then she sat and regarded me for so long without speaking that I feared she was about to reproach me for something. It was, however, the very opposite.

‘I can absolutely trust you, can I not, Mette? In fact, I think you are the only person I
can
trust.’ She said this so gravely and sorrowfully that I sank to my knees beside her, took her hand and kissed it.

‘I would give my life for you,’ I said softly. ‘But even more dreadfully, I would live my life without you if that would serve you better.’

‘God forbid that,’ she breathed. ‘Not again. He could not be so cruel.’

Despite her apparent maturity she still possessed youth’s need for reassurance and the instinctive optimism of a child. With cynicism born of bitter experience, I was far from certain of the Almighty’s benevolence in this matter.

She stood, took my hand and pulled me to my feet, steering me towards the hearth where her canopied chair was set. ‘You sit there, Mette,’ she said, pushing me gently into the chair and perching herself on a nearby stool. ‘I will tell you my thoughts and you can tell me afterwards what you think.’

Feeling distinctly awkward with our positions reversed in this way, I found myself wondering what Bonne would say if she could see my common backside sullying the royal cushions. However, all such petty thoughts were soon banished as Catherine broached her subject.

‘What I am going to tell you must never go beyond these walls,’ she began cautiously, ‘for some might call it treason. But the longer I am at court, the less I find myself able to trust my mother.’

My involuntary exclamation made her raise her hand to cut off any protest. ‘Please do not say all the things I would hear from others, Mette. I know I am young and I may not fully understand what she says and does but I am not a simpleton. I could give you many examples of her dishonesty, but it is only necessary to give you one. She professes to loathe the Duke of Burgundy for his involvement in the murder of Orleans, but that is just words. In fact, she hates the Count of Armagnac, whom she professes to admire. Whenever they are together it is easy to detect the animosity between them. Nor is there any love between her and Louis, as you know. Publicly she embraces the Orleanist cause, but in fact she schemes with Burgundy.

‘This would not matter so much if she was loyal to the king, but she is not. She sits beside him at formal occasions but otherwise she shuns him. She only wants him alive because as his queen she has the power of regency. When my father dies Louis will be king and she will be powerless, so she secretly treats with the Duke of Burgundy, paving the way for him to return to the king’s side. Why? Because Burgundy controls Jean. In alliance with him, through the son she sent into exile ten years ago, she could continue to rule France.’

‘But only if Louis were dead!’ I exclaimed.

‘Exactly.’ She leaned over to lay a finger on my lips. ‘Ssh. I only tell you all this because I want you to understand why I am going to ask you to help me. I need to speak to Louis without my mother knowing. I want you to take a message to him, Mette, asking him to come here secretly. He could come via the wall-walk and we could meet in your chamber, while we put it about that a sudden fever confines me to my room. You would have to keep my ladies at bay, for they all report to the queen in one way or another.’

‘Especially Mademoiselle Bonne,’ I murmured. ‘And it won’t be easy to fend her off. She already hates my guts.’

Catherine looked apologetic. ‘I know. She is liable to complain against you, but do not worry. If anyone threatens your removal, I will just throw a real fever and show no sign of recovery until they bring you back to me.’ I was far from convinced that this ploy would succeed, but she grasped both my hands excitedly, forestalling any objection. ‘I need to see Louis, Mette. He is so isolated, caught between our mother who wishes him ill and Armagnac who professes loyalty, but serves only his own interests and is shackled to a wife who is the daughter of his sworn enemy. I must let him know where my loyalties lie.’

I was all at sea, floundering in affairs that were way above my head. ‘What about your own interests?’ I felt bound to ask. ‘The dauphin has already ruined your chances of being Queen of England.’

She shook her head. ‘Actually, I thank him for that. The marriage would have put me in an impossible position. As I said at the start, it is a matter of trust. I must marry whoever is chosen for me, I know that. But who will do the choosing? My father is too feeble and I do not trust my mother. I would rather put myself in the hands of my brother.’

I had said I would die for her and if this scheme went wrong it looked as though I very well might, but I had to help her – how could I not?

Having barred the door against Bonne, I waited in Catherine’s bedchamber for what seemed like hours, trying to busy myself with small tasks; tidying her toilet chest, pounding Fuller’s Earth for robe cleaning and replenishing the sweet-smelling herbs on the guarderobe floor. As I worked, I pictured Louis and Catherine conversing earnestly in the chamber above, where I had placed the largest chair available by a good fire, and below me I imagined Bonne of Armagnac pacing the floor of the salon, waiting for the physician who would not arrive, for the simple reason that he had never been sent for. I constantly expected to hear a hammering on the door as Bonne grew impatient, but to my surprise none came.

Eventually Catherine descended, her forehead knitted in a frown. I was aching to know how the meeting with Louis had gone but was forced to wait.

‘I must pray, Mette,’ was all she said, going straight to her prie-dieu. ‘Please keep the door a little longer.’

I promised I would, but now that Catherine was back in her chamber I thought it safe to slip down the stair to check on Bonne, whose silence I considered more ominous than her anger. As I descended, I encountered a page wearing the Armagnac cross of Lorraine climbing the stair towards me. ‘I have a message for the Princess Catherine,’ he announced.

I held out my hand, my heart racing, certain this was the first sign of Bonne’s backlash. ‘Her highness is indisposed,’ I said. ‘I will take it to her.’

He removed a sealed letter from the purse on his belt and gave it to me before retreating down the stair. I was sorely tempted to destroy the letter there and then, but prudence prevailed for I reasoned that if Bonne was working against me the sooner Catherine knew of it the better. When I re-entered her bedchamber, she made the sign of the cross and rose from the prie-dieu. The Virgin gazed benignly down from the candlelit triptych revealing nothing, but I noticed that whatever intercession had been asked of Her, the creases had not been smoothed from Catherine’s brow.

Silently I handed her the letter and, when she broke the seal and opened it, I saw that it contained several lines of script. I waited while she read it, imagining I could already hear the stamp of the guards’ heavy boots advancing up the stair to arrest me.

When she raised her head, Catherine’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘It is not from Bonne, it is from her father the count,’ she said, re-folding the parchment. ‘In view of the failure of the English treaty, Armagnac and Orleans have decided that the marriage between Bonne and the duke should take place immediately. The count deeply regrets that his daughter’s duty in this matter takes her away from my service, but he hopes I will understand and wish her well.’ Catherine laid a gentle hand on my arm. ‘So you can stop twitching, Mette. Mademoiselle of Armagnac is no longer a member of my household.’

My sense of relief was short-lived as I realised the news was bad as well as good. ‘But very soon she will be Duchess of Orleans,’ I pointed out, ‘more powerful and even more alarming.’

‘And much too busy and important to concern herself with us,’ Catherine reasoned. ‘Meanwhile, she is not here so let us sit together, while I tell you about my meeting with Louis.’

I stirred up the fire and we sat by the hearth, this time with her enthroned under the canopy and myself on a stool. Outside the wind howled and driving rain rattled the shutters, but the candlelight and blazing logs enfolded us in a flickering intimacy.

‘Thank you for leaving the wine and the sweetmeats in your chamber, Mette,’ Catherine began with a smile. ‘You certainly know the way to Louis’ heart.’

I shrugged. ‘I remember how he used to fall on the pastries I brought in from my father’s bake house. He was always hungry as a boy.’

‘That has not changed. He consumed everything you left.’ Catherine made a face. ‘He is so greedy!’

‘It is making him ill,’ I commented. ‘He has too much black bile.’

‘Is that so? It is a pity because he needs to be fit and healthy. France has suffered too long from an ailing monarch.’

There was a pause while she considered the dire truth of this.

‘Perhaps I should not ask, but what did you pray for when you returned?’ I probed gently. ‘You seemed so troubled.’

She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I felt confused. Sometimes when you pray, things become a little clearer.’

‘Yes,’ I said, unable to think when prayer had done the same for me. ‘And did they?’

‘No. Not really.’ Her eyes found mine then and I saw that they were full of tears. ‘Oh, Mette! I feel so lost.’

Impulsively I took both her hands in mine, feeling the prick of tears in my own eyes. But I did not press her to confide in me. Instead I tried to be reassuring. ‘You can never be entirely lost when I am here.’

She squeezed my hands then let them drop, settling back and clearing her throat. ‘I have to make a decision, Mette. Telling you about my dilemma might make it seem less daunting.’

I nodded encouragement and gestured towards the triptych. ‘You know that I will remain as silent as the Virgin.’

Catherine’s brows lifted in mild censure. ‘I think sometimes that you are too irreverent, Mette,’ she said reproachfully.

I occurred to me to remind her that I did not have the advantage of a convent education, but instead I tried to look contrite and receptive at the same time and said nothing.

‘I was never happy at the convent,’ she observed, as if she had read my mind. ‘But I am grateful to the nuns for showing me right from wrong. It is a shame that no one did the same for my mother and brother.’

I must have looked surprised at this outburst because she went on hurriedly. ‘It is true. They are as bad as each other. At least, I think they are. I am not absolutely sure about Louis yet. I know he is not being straight with me, but I feel I should not judge him until I know why. I was praying to be shown the reason.’

A log shifted on the fire, throwing up a cloud of sparks and heralding a rush of words from Catherine.

‘He told me that he had stopped my marriage to King Henry because he did not want to see me tied to a godless libertine. Stories had reached him from England that Henry lived a debauched life and he, Louis, wanted to save me from shame and humiliation. Well, of course, I thanked him very much, but I also asked if Henry’s demands for land and money had nothing to do with it. He looked irritated and said that these had been only minor considerations. When I expressed concern that the failure of the treaty might spark an English invasion, he laughed and told me that Henry would never dare to invade France and, if he did, he would be chased back into the sea. Then he said: “England is a paltry little country and Henry is an apology for a king. His father was a usurper and he will pay the price for it. I would not give him a parcel of tennis balls, never mind my sister in marriage!”

‘I could not believe my ears, Mette. I was there when he told our mother that he sabotaged the treaty because Henry was power-crazy and only wanted to marry me in order to claim the French throne. There was no mention then of saving me from the clutches of a libertine. It was more a case of saving his own inheritance. Not that I blame him for that, but why is he not consistent?’

‘So did you tell him of your suspicions about the queen?’ I asked.

‘No, not in so many words, but I did formally pledge my allegiance to him as the heir of France, and he seemed very touched when I knelt and kissed his hand. He said he understood that as a female I was obliged to obey my mother, but to remember that he always had my best interests at heart. I think he has his own suspicions about the queen. It is clear that he does not trust her, but then he obviously does not trust anyone. What a mess! It seems that everyone is working to their own secret plan, but all of them involve me in some way or another. I feel like one of Louis’ tennis balls, being hit in all directions with no power over where I will land.’